#And rather than set them free he jumped to using that new influence to turn them to attack the autobots

[classychassiss]

Maybe this is a hot take but I’m always a bit disappointed when people read the part about Orion Pax lamenting about Six Lasers and not being allowed inside as only a 'haha' moment and use this to paint him as privileged and out of touch, and completely gloss over the fact that he’s openly talking about an arbitrary form of segregation he is beholden to.

Like this is a genuine plea: I would really like to encourage you all to approach the Aligned Continuity - the novels, the games, TFP and Covenant - all as parts of one big story and read about them, at least a basic summary, all in some capacity. Transformers Prime is only one part of a bigger story and its the one that deviated the most and I think if you engage with all the material with an open mind and DON'T import any ideas from IDW or other continuities, what you will get is a story that is distinct and tragic and rooted in Cybertronians being a colonized people and how they deal with the repercussions afterwards.

And listen, colonization, imperialism and slavery are in the fabric of Science Fiction: most stories you engage with in Sci-Fi, especially older ones, have elements of this and its not always progressive. I think its become so codified that people will gloss over it and not think about what that means. But I really want to encourage you to read the Aligned Continuity through a non-Americanized lens, and really think about whats going on. Because this isn't new to Transformers, but we rarely ever see them on other end, and I personally believe that their societal issues being rooted in Quintesson ideas is important. I think that their world slowly losing energon and stagnating and on the precipice of self-destruction is important.

And I want you to think about this, and this language, and the actions they take as a previously non-ultra violent race into who they become during their war, and think about which characters choose to perpetuate that same colonial violence. And I also want you to acknowledge that no one in Aligned is SO privileged that they were somehow untouched by any form of violence, there is NO ONE in this universe who doesn't, at the very base of their character, understand that something is wrong and that their collective choice to not face that trauma head on is a big part of that. That the layers of shedding those held ideas is a difficult and ugly process.

And I want you to think of the parable of the War of the Primes and how Alpha Trion laments that in the end, the notion that any Prime is somehow 'eviler' because of some arbitrary belief that some of them were 'closer in spark' to Unicron was, in fact, wrong, and that truthfully ALL the Primes had been traumatized by Unicron but they allowed themselves to become divided and didn't communicate their growing anxiety and apathy and rage and it resulted in all of them participating in some form towards their tragic downfall. And I want you to think about Cybertron and the Quintessons and the war they have later on

[rey-jake-therapist]

I really need to know what happened to Elrond at the end of season 2. He spent almost the entirety of season 2 pestering about the rings of power being corrupted by Sauron. He jumped off a cliff at the risk of killing himself, just so the Elves wouldn't have them. This scene was even paralleled in the finals, with Galadriel doing the exact same thing but to escape no other than Sauron !

This should raise some eyebrows regarding his sudden change of heart, at the very least.

This was Elrond's stance at the beginning of season 2, and for most of the season, really. For him, there were no doubts that Sauron had corrupted the Elven rings in a way or another, and guess what ? He was right. Sauron had not only touched the mithril, but he had also touched Galadriel's dagger, which was used by Celebrimbor. His imprint was all over the Elven rings, which is the reason why the Elves took off their rings after Sauron forged the One Ring :

"But the Elves were not so lightly to be caught. As soon as Sauron set the One Ring upon his finger they were aware of him; and they knew him, and perceived that he would be master of them, and of all that they wrought. Then in anger and fear they took off their rings." [The Silmarillion].

Elrond was so sure that the rings were no good news, that he would have rather see the Elves abandon Middle-Earth forever, than them wearing these rings. And it wasn't because he wanted to leave, far from it ! he's actually the one who pushed Gil-Galad into giving Celebrimbor a delay, so he could find a way to save the Great Tree. He wanted the Elves to stay in Middle-Earth as much as Gil-Galad did.

While they were travelling to Eregion, Elrond refused to follow any direction that would come "from this trinket". It turned out he was wrong, because they indeed fell into a trap.*

But it didn't change Elrond's mind, nor did the healing of Camnir's wound; it is proven by his resentment towards Galadriel, as Camnir says that she sacrificed herself to save them all.

"No, you are mistaken, Camnir. She didnt do it to save us. She did it to save the ring."

He was impressed by Nenya's power of healing (and the fact that it heals doesn't indicate that it's free of Sauron's influence, mind you, as his purpose is to heal Middle-Earth), but it didn't change his heart at all. When he pronounced these words, he seemed disgusted, as if for him his friend was already a slave to the ring, which to her (in his opinion) mattered more than her friends.

So, "tell it to me like I'm a six year-year-old" : what happened between this scene, and the finals of season 2 where he's all of a sudden all giddy when he announces Galadriel that they're "in a sanctuary, protected by the Elven rings" ? We know that in the future, Elrond will become a ring-bearer himself as he will get Viliya from Gil-Galad. So he's converted for good.

He even puts the ring on Galadriel's finger, a knee on the ground, as if he was asking her in marriage. I mean, wot ?

I can understand that faced with the imminent death of Galadriel, he realized ("told" by Nenya, probably) that the only way to save her was to put on the ring. He didn't look especially happy to do it, if you notice.

His face said, "fu*ing hell, I have to do this" to me. Did he have a sort of epiphany while wearing it, like it happened to Adar when he put on Nenya and healed himself ? It would be my guess : as soon as he put on the ring, his opinion about the rings drastically changed.

But is it necessarily a good sign ? Are the Elves deceived by Sauron through these rings, or are these rings really good for them ? And if they are good, then why all it took of Sauron was to forge the One Ring to master the Elves, forcing them to take the rings off to be free of his influence ?

Food for thought.

*Sauron wanted Galadriel in Eregion, as Elrond predicted. And he probably wanted her safe and sound, since he still wanted her to be his queen (Charlie said so). So I don't think that Sauron wanted the company to take the bad path Elrond chose.

[ibis-gt]

chapter one of mercenary au! there may be more if i can dig uo the proper motivation... anyway here u go. requisite meetcute, 3k words, content warning for mentions of past family member death.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Light shone through the bedroom window of one Luther Algers. The beam moved steadily, achingly slow, as the sun rose in the sky, until it finally reached the perfect angle to shine on his face and, when the sensation made him blink awake, directly in his eyes.

He groaned and rolled over, rubbing at his face with the heel of one hand. He would’ve tried to fall back asleep, but his thoughts caught up to him too quickly.

Today. He knew what today was. Today, he set off for Pentel. Today he gave up his freedom for the good of his kingdom.

Okay, so maybe that was a little dramatic. It sounded like he was going off to war or something. In truth, he was going to get married. It would be a lovely ceremony, lots of people in attendance, a splendid banquet, good feelings all around.

It just would’ve been nice if someone had asked him if he wanted to be married. Or told him who he was marrying.

But that wasn’t how this worked. It was an arranged marriage, one meant to strengthen the peace treaty between Pentel and Contigo. Traditionally the marriage should have been between princes or princesses of both kingdoms, but since Contigo’s king was childless, Luther had been chosen to seal the deal. Luther’s father was a high-ranking noble with a fair amount of money and influence, and he owed the king a favor. He seemed an obvious choice.

Well, no point in putting it off any longer. It would be about two weeks’ journey to the city of Pentel and once he arrived there were still details about the wedding to hammer out and his fiancee to meet. He rolled out of bed and dressed in the outfit that had been laid out for him last night. All lace and ruffles, with a runed belt, the symbols for first encounters and strong bonds etched across it. His job from here on out was to look pretty and smile on command. Like some kind of trained dog.

Before he had time to really properly wallow in his discontent, his father’s voice rang out from the foyer.

“Luther! It’s time! Don’t be late!”

“Coming!” Luther called, skipping out of his room and descending the stairs as quickly as he could. He caught sight of his father just as he exited the front door to their palatial estate. Luther took a moment to catch his breath and make sure his clothes and hair were in order before he followed, stepping out into the daylight. Outside, a line of splendid carriages sat, with people milling about between them. A trip like this was expensive, even beyond his father’s means, but since it was a matter of national importance the king was footing the bill. Servants flitted to and fro with last minute additions to the carriage train’s luggage, attended the important guests who would be traveling with Luther, and were generally busy as bees. Everyone was decked out in their finest finery, which seemed odd to Luther. Shouldn’t they save it for the last day of travel, when they’d actually arrive? But he supposed that they’d be stopping along the way for food and rest, and they’d need to look their best.

“You could’ve had breakfast if you’d been up earlier,” his father grumbled in lieu of a ‘good morning’, “but as it is either you can wait until lunch or see if there’s anything they can dig out of the provisions for the road. Now, your carriage is the one in the middle of the group. You’ll be in with two diplomats and a manners coach. They’ll teach you how to act and speak to Pentel’s royalty, topics to avoid, so on and so forth. There’s a historian in the carriage behind you, try to meet with them at meals and - are you listening to me?”

Luther was not listening. He was staring wide-eyed at a figure standing near his carriage. The man was dressed in armor, with strong boiled leather covering his chest and stomach. Metal pauldrons, gauntlets, and shin guards, slightly tarnished from time and use, glinted dully in the light. An oversized hammer hung from his belt. A few strands of black hair had come free from his long ponytail, and a scraggly beard clung to his chin. Probably the most interesting thing about the man, though, was that he looked to be about twenty feet tall. He could’ve picked up Luther’s carriage under one arm and walked off with it. He was watching the pair of them intently, ignoring the people bustling around between the carriages with packages and bundles for the road. Luther tried to drag his attention back towards his father. He could’ve sworn he saw someone actually walk between the man’s legs out of the corner of his eye.

It was rude to point, and probably unnecessary, so Luther said as delicately as possible, “Who’s that, uh… rather tall man?”

“Ah. Your bodyguard.” Luther’s father turned and waved at the giant.

“My - ?” Luther started to say, but lapsed into awed silence as his new bodyguard walked over to them. The ground practically shook under the weight of the man’s footsteps. He blocked out the sun as he stood before the two of them, and Luther suppressed a shiver that was half from the chill of the shade and half from the sheer size of the man. He was even more intimidating up close than he’d been at a distance. Luther felt practically pinned in place by the intensity of his gaze. Luther’s father continued speaking as though there weren’t a colossus standing mere feet away.

“As you know, your safety is my top priority,” he said, turning back to face Luther. “I’ve hired this mercenary to protect you on the journey.”

“I… see,” Luther said, glancing nervously up at the giant. “And… what is your name?” He raised his voice a little just in case the man had trouble hearing him.

“You can call me Cam, sir,” the giant replied. A hint of a smile played at the corner of his mouth before his face resumed the professional mask. His voice was gravelly and incredibly deep. Luther felt it vibrate in his chest.

Luther’s father glared at his son. Luther knew he didn’t really approve of fraternizing with those of a lower station, but it would have been so rude to just continue talking as though Cam weren’t there. Besides, that was such a stupid prejudice. But he didn’t dare disobey his father any further, so he did his best to listen as his father ran down a litany of instructions to ensure the journey was as productive and successful as possible. Largely it boiled down to Luther learning a lot of very boring things very quickly so he could present himself as the best Contigo had to offer.

Finally, his father put his hands on Luther’s shoulders and gave him the closest thing to a smile he could manage.

“You’re doing a good thing, son,” he said. “Good for both our kingdoms. You’ll be perfect. And you’ll be very safe.” He sounded like he was trying to convince himself more than Luther. Since Luther’s mother had died in childbirth, his father had been very protective. Overly so. To the extent that it bordered on paranoia. It didn’t help that an assassination attempt had been made on his father’s life after his involvement with an unpopular ruling about taxes that shifted the burden to the mercantile sector. His father had been convinced from that day on that home was the only safe place for him and his son. Luther hadn’t been allowed out unless accompanied by at least three handpicked guards, all of whom were serious buzzkills and never let him do anything fun.

That was probably why his father had gone so overboard with his protection on this trip, Luther supposed. Anyone wanting to cause trouble would hopefully be scared off by just the sight of the giant bodyguard walking alongside the carriage train.

He snuck a glance at the giant again. Cam was still standing right next to them, keeping them in his shadow, but was now looking out at the horizon as though scanning for threats. He was probably just as bored as Luther was, having to listen to his father prattle on. The thought was oddly hilarious, and Luther bit the inside of his cheek to keep from giggling as he met his father’s eyes.

“Well, I suppose this is goodbye, then,” Luther said. “I’ll be sure to write to you often.”

“Yes. Goodbye, Luther.” His father said the words as though he wasn’t entirely sure what they meant. He brought his son into an awkward, hesitant embrace, and quickly let go again. He’d never been good at showing affection, not through words or actions. Truth be told, Luther would’ve been jumping for joy at the chance to get away from home and his controlling father, if it weren’t for the fact that he was just going to end up in a no doubt equally controlling situation. “You go on ahead. I’ve got a few things to clear up with your bodyguard here.” Luther saw the small grimace that Cam attempted to hide and smiled to himself. He seemed like he’d be good company, at least.

As he set off towards the carriage that would be both his salvation and his prison for the next two weeks, he caught only a few words of the fairly one-sided conversation his father had with the giant. It sounded mostly like strict instructions not to talk to Luther except in times of extreme emergency, and a few other nitpicky details he didn’t quite hear. There was a rumbling, “Yes, sir,” from Cam, and then the giant’s thundering footsteps, drawing nearer. Luther’s heart beat faster as Cam approached. His stomach started to knot in anxiety. He knew the giant had been hired for his protection, but having such a large being walking so close behind him hit his fight or flight reflexes, and he’d never been much of a fighter. Luther forced himself not to look over his shoulder. He climbed into the carriage and settled himself on the cushioned seat, then finally shot a sideways glance out of the window. Cam had resumed his post in front of the carriage and all he could see from inside was a section of the giant’s leg.

Luther’s heart sank as he stared glumly at the ceiling of the carriage. The most interesting person on this journey, no doubt, and he was under orders not to say a word to him. He hoped he could break down the giant’s walls eventually. No doubt he had countless exciting tales of action and danger that would be loads more entertaining than listening to dry old historians and prim diplomats lecture him about how to hold a fork.

~~~

They had been on the road for only a few hours, but it had dragged like an eternity as the diplomats prattled away. Luther could barely hold any of it in his head. His eyelids drooped, he swallowed yawn after yawn, and he had to consciously stop bouncing his leg every five minutes. They’d finally decided that was enough for now, clearly dissatisfied with how poorly he was paying attention. Luther stared out the carriage window. He would’ve had an excellent view of the rolling green hills in the distance if it weren’t for Cam.

The giant was trudging along beside the carriage, easily matching the pace of the horses with a measured stride, and mostly blocking Luther’s line of sight to anything else. Luther realized Cam was going to have to walk the whole way, basically alone, since everyone in the carriage train seemed afraid of him and avoided him whenever possible. That was almost worse than having your ear talked off by stuffy old men telling you how to act. Luther knew Cam was under orders not to talk to him, but how was Luther’s father going to find out, anyway? He reached up and swung the window open, leaning his head out to call up to the giant.

The motion of the window opening caught Cam’s eye, and he glanced down just in time to see Luther’s curly-haired head poke out. Whatever the kid was saying was lost in the rumble of the cart wheels and the thunder of the horses’ hooves. It must’ve been important, though. The kid’s father had been very clear that he was engaging in extremely important business and should not be bothered or distracted by Cam. He could practically still hear the man’s thin, unpleasant voice. “Only in the utmost emergency should any communication pass between the two of you.” Well, this looked like an emergency, if he was interrupting his business, and how was the guy going to find out, anyway?

“Can’t quite hear you, sir,” Cam said. “Maybe we could talk when the carriage pulls to a stop at the next town?”

Oh, god no, I can’t wait that long, Luther thought. In fifteen minutes these old fogeys were going to try to start lesson number two. He leaned a little further out and on an impulse yelled, “Pick me up!”

Cam caught that one loud and clear, although for a moment he thought he must have misheard. But there wasn’t much else that could have been. He shrugged and said, “Open the door, then.”

Luther couldn’t believe that worked. He’d half expected the giant to laugh or shake his head. The diplomats stared at him open-mouthed.

“S-sir, I don’t think you should - ” One of them began nervously, but that only strengthened his resolve. He unlatched the door and swung it open with a confidence that completely crumbled as Cam’s huge hand reached in and grabbed him around the middle. It was a delicate maneuver since the carriage was still rolling, but Cam managed it deftly, lifting Luther up and setting him on one shoulder, then laying a hand across his lap to keep him in place. He'd had to crouch to reach into the carriage and Luther felt his stomach drop as Cam straightened up. The ground fell away at an alarming speed, and then he was swaying gently back and forth with Cam's stride, hair blowing in the breeze.

"So, what were you going to say?" Cam asked. 

"Uh, um, I, uh.... Hi?" Luther squeaked.

Cam's eyebrows knit in confusion. 'Hi?' Did the guy just want to say 'hi'? Really?

"Hello," he replied.

Luther was silent, fidgeting for a moment. He'd lost his nerve completely. He was up so high and so intimately close to Cam's face. He couldn't even find his voice enough to ask to be set back down.

Oh my god, Cam thought, that was really it. Well, that was embarrassing. Didn't really need to go to all that trouble. But the guy seemed content to sit there for now. He decided to try some small talk.

"Enjoying the journey so far? It must be pretty stuffy in that little carriage. Good to get out and get yourself some fresh air."

"O-oh, um, yes. Quite stuffy. The air is, uh. Nice." Luther could smell Cam very distinctly. Sweat, salt, steel, and leather. An earthy combination, but not entirely unpleasant. It was so different from what he was used to, and honestly a welcome change. It was a lovely day, a little on the chilly side, but Cam's hand on his lap kept him quite warm. Even the cold steel pauldron below him was heating up pretty quickly. "I’ve, uh, never met a giant before."

Oh, there it is. He'll have all kinds of invasive questions, no doubt. Cam suppressed a little sigh. "Honored to be your first, then." Technically not exactly true. Cam was only half-giant. But to sheltered nobles who didn’t know better it didn’t matter.

But there was no follow-up. Possibly Luther caught the tired edge to Cam's voice and wisely decided to drop that line of discussion. The silence that followed wasn't as awkward as Cam thought it would be. The little noble smelled faintly floral and citrus-y. The scent was light, not at all cloying like some other rich folk's perfume. Cam found that he kind of liked having him on his shoulder, actually. It made him feel like a protector, as opposed to before when he felt like he was just tagging along uninvited.

Luther was glad that Cam had his eyes fixed ahead on the road, because he was blushing so hard his face must have been lobster red. The giant was unexpectedly gentle. He'd half expected to be accidentally crushed in Cam's grip at first, but Cam had much more control than that. The hand across his lap was a firm, comforting pressure, and he was grateful for it. His own hands had been held tight to his chest, but as he relaxed he lowered them slightly. He hesitated, then rested them on the side of Cam's hand, anxiously glancing at Cam's face as he did so. No reaction. His hunched shoulders slumped, and he let out the breath he’d been holding.

Now that Luther felt more comfortable, he could enjoy the sensation of being carried. It was quite the way to travel. He looked out across the fields and watched a pair of birds in flight. The advantage of Cam’s height allowed him to see so much farther than usual.

Cam snuck a sideways glance at Luther. He had his head turned slightly away staring out at the horizon and seemed much more relaxed with a slight smile on his face. Cam suppressed a smile of his own. The little noble was pretty cute, he had to admit. His carefully-arranged brown curls had gotten mussed and out of place when Cam picked him up, and they now fell much more naturally around his face, framing it nicely. He could just about make out constellations of freckles across his delicate face, and warm, curious brown eyes that tracked an arc across the sky. An expression of wonder and amusement perched lightly on Luther's face.

Cam realized he'd been staring at Luther too long just as Luther looked back in his direction. Cam yanked his eyes away and focused on the road again, desperately keeping up the blankest poker face he could manage. He realized he was nearly about to walk right over the carriages and course-corrected as subtly as he could, cursing himself for getting distracted. This was just another pretty noble he had to protect and he couldn't afford to mess this job up. The payout would be huge, along with bi-weekly payments as long as he hung around after the wedding. Nearly a real steady job. He heard Luther stifle a giggle on his shoulder and his brow furrowed, his neutral expression drawing down into a frown. He hadn't been nearly as subtle as he'd hoped, then.

Blessedly for Cam, Luther's carriage door swung tentatively open again, and one of the diplomats poked his head out.

"It's, ah, time for the next lesson," he called over the clatter of the horses' hooves. "If we could have the young gentleman back, please…?"

Cam nodded his agreement and shifted his grip on Luther, leaning down again to place him back in the carriage. "Watch yer head," he muttered, and Luther ducked inside, giving Cam a wistful glance over his shoulder.

There. With any luck, those would be the last words they ever spoke to each other.

[fallen-gravity]

Intellectual Adequacy

Stan hates to start any unnecessary conflict, especially when there’s a very real chance that Ford will be moving to California next year, but he knows deep down that if they don’t talk about this now then he’ll never have the courage to bring it up again.

“Wait,” Stan shouts to Ford, and he stops dead in his tracks.

~~

Notes: In which one little plot bunny that was preventing me from getting any work done becomes its own rabbit hole.

I genuinely cannot believe that in the six-seven years I've been in this fandom, I've never tried my hand at the fix-it-fic where Stan and Ford just talk it out as teenagers, just like they should've in canon. I've seen a lot of different approaches, but I feel like I've yet to see one that tackles it from the perspective of Stan's own battle with his self-worth, rather than the actions he or Ford have already taken.

AO3

Stan hates the principal’s office more than anywhere else in the world.

He swears, he’s called down every other week for something that’s not even his fault. He punched Crampelter in the nose for harassing some poor freshman? Principal’s office. He talks back to a teacher calling his classmate stupid for forgetting an “obvious” geometry equation? Principal’s office. He accidentally drops his pencil during an exam and bends over to pick it up? He must be cheating. Principal’s office.

If you asked him, the whole idea of sending kids to the principal’s office is pointless to begin with. Oh, you did something bad, and now we’re gonna make the big man in charge tell your mommy and daddy? How old do these people think they are?

Stan wishes he could say that this time is okay because they’re not even talking to him. They’re talking up a storm to Ford in there about another college scholarship and all the reasons why he and he alone would be the perfect candidate for some random school all the way out in California

But it’s not okay, because the longer Stan sits in the dumb waiting room the more he’s starting to feel like chopped liver. They’ve been in there for at least five minutes with no sign of stopping anytime soon, but every time Stan asks the secretary if he can just go back to class already she dismisses him with a wave of her hand and it’ll be your turn soon, sit back down.

He’s thinking of just sneaking out the next time the secretary buries her nose back into her magazine. It’s simple: just wait for her to pull it out from her desk, sneak by as quick as he can, and slip out the door and back to class before she can even notice he’s gone.

He stands from his chair, pretending to stretch and preparing to execute, but freezes solid when he hears his name being spoken from within the principal’s office.

“…What about our little free spirit Stanley?”

It’s Ma, and whatever it is they’re talking about in there, she isn’t happy about it. Frowning, Stan glances over at the secretary to make sure that she isn’t staring at him, and presses his ear to the office door to listen to their conversation more carefully.

The principal laughs in response. “That clown? At this rate he’ll be lucky if he graduates high school”

Stan’s taken aback by the harsh choice of words, but if he knows Ford, then he won’t just sit there and let the principal talk about him like that. He presses his ear further into the door, waiting for Ford to interrupt the principal’s rambling about how he’s never going to amount to anything with you just don’t know him like I do, or something along those lines, but it never comes.

Not a single interjection that…anything he’s saying is wrong. Not from Pa, not from Ford….and not even from Ma.

They don’t…all really believe that, right?

There has to be something else he’s missing. He bets they’re defending his honor right now, and the reason they’re not making a big scene about it is because they’re in public.

Yeah.

He’s got nothing to worry about.

He peeks into the window, expecting to see Ma glaring daggers into the principal, or Ford silently cursing him out behind his back, but what he’s met with is so much worse. Ma and Pa are exchanging warm smiles, and Ford is frantically shaking hands with the principal, beaming brighter than Stan’s ever seen in his entire life.

Matter of fact, Stan’s not sure he’s ever seen any of them look so happy in his entire life.

He’s worthless, he’ll never go anywhere, and they’re all smiling about it.

Stan’s heart drops to his stomach, and he slides to the floor to join it.

Is this some kind of cruel joke? Were they expecting him to listen in on their conversation? Is this their cruel workaround of telling him he’ll never amount to shit?

He sighs.

He stays there on the cold tiled floor for what feels like hours, contemplating all the times he’s been called dumb, or stupid, or a terrible influence on his brother. All of those times when he could brush it off just because it was coming from someone he didn’t care about.

But worthless?

Behind his back, spoken directly to people he loves, and they won’t even bother to defend him?

That one’s new, and if Stan is going to be completely honest with himself, it’s much harder to brush off his shoulders than all those other times.

Stan doesn’t even notice the office door opening until it nearly smacks him in the back of his head. He quickly jumps to his feet and brushes himself off, pretending the best that he can that he wasn’t just eavesdropping on them for the past ten minutes.

“Stanley!” Ford comes bursting out of the room, his grin threatening to split his face in two. “I just received the most incredible news! The admissions team at West Coast Tech heard about my science fair project, and-”

The beam suddenly slips from his face, replaced with some sort of mix of confusion and concern. “Is...Something wrong?”

Stan rubs at his eyes to make sure he hadn’t started tearing up without realizing it, but no, his eyes are bone dry.

Curse Ford’s stupid ability to read his mind.

Stan covers up the gesture of rubbing at his eyes with a yawn, and stretches his arms in the air. “Nothing except you taking forever in there” he flashes a fake smile easily. “Talk about a blabbermouth, am I right?” Stan gestures towards the principal with his thumb.

Ford laughs, and returns his gaze to the pamphlet in his hands. “I don’t know,” he says. “I don’t think he’s so bad”

Stan opens his mouth to quip back, but Ford doesn’t seem to be paying much attention anymore. He’s just staring at that dumb pamphlet, his grin slowly but surely returning to his face again.

Instead, Stan shoves his hands in his pockets and shrugs, turning his gaze to the floor. “Yeah, I guess you’re right”

~~~

Stan feels like he’s in a haze for the rest of the day. Even when he tries to focus on class to take his mind off of things and redirect it on anything else, he can’t get his mind to stick.  Not even final period gym class can save him, which is really saying something, because the gymnasium is usually the one place where he thrives.

Worthless.

The word won’t stop bouncing around in his skull, hitting him where he’s most sensitive.

It doesn’t help a thing that Ford is dead silent on their walk home from school. He’s usually chatting up a storm to Stan about stuff he doesn’t really understand, and under normal circumstances Stan can’t wait to get home so he can bury his head in his pillow and drown out the sound of Ford’s babbling.

But today he’s not even looking in Stan’s direction, just burying his nose in the West Coast Tech brochure with stars in his eyes, and now Stan wants nothing more than to hear Ford babbling on about his advanced physics classes.

It’s almost insulting.

Stan sighs, and lightly taps on Ford’s shoulder to catch his attention. “Can we talk?”

“Hmm?” Ford blinks, like he needs a few moments to readjust to reality. “Oh! Of course. I was actually planning on asking you the same thing” he places the brochure in his pocket. “Same place as always?”

Stan nods. “Same place as always”.

It’s a quick change of direction and a shortcut to the beach before they find themselves on their old swing set. By now they’re both too heavy to use it properly without a risk of snapping it, but they still find it’s a good place to go when they just need to get away and talk.

“You’re not really thinking of going to that stuffy old school, are you?” Stan asks as soon as Ford sits on the swing beside him. “They’ve gotta be crazy if they think four more years of essays and exams are better lookin’ than tanned babes and gold chains. We’re so close to finishing up the Stan-O-War. Soon as graduation rolls around we’re outta here, just like we always promised”.

Ford chuckles. “That is a nice thought, but…” he pulls the brochure out of his pocket again, and unfolds it for Stan to see. “You have to understand that I can’t just pass up an opportunity like this. Maybe I don’t need a degree from any old state school, but this is West Coast Tech we’re talking about!” he beams, the stars returning to his eyes. “They’ve got cutting edge technology and multidimensional paradigm theory”

Stan rolls his eyes, but he can’t help but admit to himself it’s nice to have his brother back again after an entire day of radio silence.

“Beep boop, giant nerd robot oncoming” Stan punches Ford in the arm.

Ford’s grin only widens. “I figured you’d say that, but it’s too late to change my mind. The head of admissions already flew in this morning, and with my go-ahead they’re going to check out my science fair project later tonight and let me know then and there if they want me at their school”

“Well that seems kind of harsh” Stan quips. “What if they say no?”

Ford shrugs. “Well, then it’s like you said. If they don’t want me, you and I sail off on the Stan-O War and never look back”.

Stan frowns at the strong emphasis on if. He really thinks he’s going to get this, doesn’t he? Stan can’t exactly blame him when he’s been the reigning valedictorian of their class every year since they were kids.

“And if they say yes?”

Ford grins. “Well, then you better visit me on the other side of the country” he punches Stan in the shoulder, and stands to his feet without saying another word.

Stan can’t bring himself to join him. He knows that Ford didn’t mean anything by it, but he can’t help feel wounded by his brother’s implication that while he’s off in California having the time of his life, Stan’s still gonna be stuck living with their parents in New Jersey.

It’s just like their principal said. He’ll never amount to anything anyway, so why wouldn’t he stay in New Jersey? Where else would a worthless piece of shit like him end up?

Stan shifts on his swing and watches as Ford walks away, and he can’t help but wonder just how much of the principal’s tangent that Ford believed.

All of it?

Some of it?

Had Ford even been listening to what he said at all?

As he continues to watch his brother walk away, he can’t help the feeling in his gut that he has to know. He hates to start any unnecessary conflict, especially when there’s a very real chance that Ford will be moving to California next year, but Stan knows deep down that if they don’t talk about this now then he’ll never have the courage to bring it up again.

“Wait,” Stan shouts to Ford, and he stops dead in his tracks.

“Yeah?” Ford says, turning around to face him. Stan suddenly finds himself very aware of his heart loudly pounding against his chest, but he forces himself to squash that down. He’s never felt shy or anxious about asking his brother anything, and he sure as hell isn’t letting that start now.

“You don’t…uh,” he swallows. “You don’t think I’m…worthless, do you?”

Ford looks appalled. He neatly folds the brochure back into his pocket and starts walking- no, jogging, almost sprinting back to the swing set. He pauses in front of the empty swing beside Stan for a moment, like he’s debating whether he should sit down or not, but eventually he shakes his head and sits down anyway.

“What on earth makes you say that?”  There’s a hint of anger to his tone, but Stan’s not entirely convinced it’s directed at him. “Why would I think you’re worthless? You’re my twin brother! What could’ve possibly put the idea in your head that I thought that?”

There’s a tiny voice in the back of his head screaming at him to back out, brush it off with a joke and have this conversation later, but there’s an even louder voice shouting at him that it needs to be had now.

Stan sighs. “I…overheard everything in the principal’s office today”

Ford blinks, like he doesn’t understand a word that Stan just said. “About…West Coast Tech? Is this because you’re afraid that I’ll get in, but you know you won’t because you’re not even interested in applying anyway, but you know you’re going to miss me, and you’re not sure if you can handle-”

“About me, Sixer!” Stan shouts, and tries his damn hardest to ignore the waver in his voice. “He practically called me a useless piece of shit directly to Ma and Pa and neither of them said a word about it!” He scrubs his hands down his face because he’s not choking up, not over something so pointless and stupid. “You’re going to travel the world and become the smartest person the scientific community has ever seen, or whatever, but me? Apparently I’ll always be stuck here in New Jersey to pick up after everyone else’s messes, because that’s all I’m ever good for”

Stan buries his face in his hands. He hadn’t meant to blow up, and he certainly hadn’t meant to direct his anger at Ford, but he just feels so hopeless, and he’s the only one around who’s willing to listen. He wouldn’t be surprised if Ford returned with anger of his own, or told him off for being selfish, or even if he just decided to stand up and walk away from him for being such an embarrassment.

The silence that follows is thick and heavy. Stan is so convinced that he must’ve driven Ford away that when he feels a hand on his shoulder he nearly jumps a mile out of his skin. When he finally pulls his hands out of his face to meet Ford’s eyes, his face is flushed pink and he looks…embarrassed.

“Stan, I had no idea, I…” he awkwardly pulls his hand away and grips tightly to the chain of his swing. Stan can see Ford’s face shifting through about a dozen different emotions at once. “I…must’ve been too focused on everything else to realize he was saying those things about you.” He shakes his head. “I know it’s not an excuse, but…” he sighs. “I’m sorry”

There’s another bout of silence between them. Stan’s half-expecting that to be the end of it, and for Ford to walk away without another word.  

But Ford breaks the silence with a sigh, and when Stan glances over at him he’s staring down at the ground.

“If it’s any consolation...you’re much smarter than me in a lot more places than you realize”

Okay, now Stan has to laugh. “Okay, now you’re being too nice to me. You don’t need to lie to make me feel better”

“I’m serious!” Ford’s cheeks flush pink again, and he adjusts his glasses before returning his gaze towards Stan. “There’s actually been a fascinating number of studies about intelligence lately, and, well…” Ford’s face is turning redder by the minute, Stan swears. “It turns out that…there’s more than one type”

Stan raises an eyebrow. “You’re losing me here, Sixer”

“Well, you see, I thrive in academic intelligence. Math, science, history, you know, school stuff. That’s the most commonly known type of intelligence because a lot of our formative years are based on it”

Stan doesn’t say anything, just raises his eyebrow even further.

“But,” Ford continues quickly, “They’ve also made discoveries about the existence of social intelligence”

“Social?” Stan blinks, suddenly finding himself significantly more interested. “You mean like talking to people and stuff?”

Ford nods. “Precisely. They say people with high social intelligence are much better at picking up on social cues, and can make friends with others much easier than those with lower social intelligence.” Ford kicks at the sand. “The reason social intelligence hasn’t been recognized is because it’s often mistaken for having a friendly personality”.  His face flushes pink again, like he’s afraid he said the wrong thing. “Not that a person can’t have both, but…”

Stan smirks, nudging at Ford with his elbow. “Stanford Pines, are you calling your good-for-nothing brother intelligent?” He teases, but can’t help the genuine smile creeping to his face.

“Think about it!” Ford throws an arm into the air, the other one tightly gripped on the swing to prevent himself from falling off. “Every time Ma and Pa leave us in charge of the shop so they can go to Atlantic City for the weekend, who’s the one bringing in all the customers? Who’s the one selling out our daily stock less than two hours after we’re open? You are, Stan, just by being yourself. You know how to persuade people into buying our stock at ten times the listed price.”

“You can’t learn that from twelve years of public school. They can try to teach you, but at the end of the day it’s all about your ability to connect with people” Ford rubs at his arm. “I’ve tried teaching myself those kinds of tricks for years, but at the end of the day…” he shakes his head. “I’ve never been able to catch up.” He smiles. “I raise my white flag to you, Stan. You’ve outsmarted the smartest brother in the world”

Stan chuckles. “Try telling that to Principal Comb-over. He hears you saying the so-called dumbest clown in the entire school system is smarter than you and he’s going to cart you away to the loony bin”

Ford laughs. “You know, now that I think about it, there may actually be a way to tell him off for what he said about you and get away with it scott-free”

Stan raises an eyebrow. “Yeah? How so?”

Ford smirks. “I think you should try to graduate out of spite”

Stan’s not sure he follows. “Whaddya mean?”

“I mean, think about it” Ford stands from his swing and begins to pace back and forth. “The principal called both of us down even though he only wanted to speak to me, and then he talked shit about you even though he knew you were sitting right outside his door?” he pauses in his pacing. “Stan, he knew that you could hear him. Maybe he didn’t intend for you to listen in when he was talking to Ma and Pa about my scholarship opportunity, but he knew you’d be listening the moment you were brought up in the conversation”

That’s…true. Stan was just about to sneak out before he heard them say his name.

“He’s expecting you to fail, and he wants to put it in everyone else’s head too. He thinks it’s the easy way out, because if you choose to fail out on your own than he doesn’t have to take responsibility for being such a shitty educator. It gives him the chance to say look how he didn’t even try instead of look at how we failed him.”

“But if you proved him wrong? Imagine the look on his face when he has to be the one to place that diploma in your hand. Imagine him having to look you dead in the eyes and tell you he’s proud of you. You’ll know he’s speaking bullshit, but he knows he can’t talk shit about you anymore without making himself look bad.” Ford smirks. “Matter of fact, imagine the looks on the faces of everyone who’s ever doubted you walking across that stage. Pa alone is gonna have a heart attack”

Ford’s smile softens. “I already know that you’re much smarter than you’re given credit for, and I think it’s about time that everyone else recognizes that too”.

Stan’s cheeks burn red, and he shyly kicks at the sand. “Heh, thanks. I appreciate it.” He says. “But even if I did manage to graduate, what am I supposed to do with a high school diploma? Every job application I’ve been skinning through recently says college, college, college”

“Well…” Ford taps at his chin. “Then why not go out for college?”

Okay, now he’s taking things too far.

“Pardon?” Stan mocks, because if Ford thinks that Stan’s going to willingly take four more years of classes than maybe he should be carted away to a loony bin.

“I’m serious!” Ford blushes. “Maybe not a high intensity school like West Coast Tech, but college is so much more freeing than high school, Stanley. It’s not class after class on subjects that other people tell you to take. It’s personalized. If you hate science class so much, you never have to take another science class again”

Ford’s blush darkens. “I know that school is a big drag and all, but if you asked me?” he averts his gaze. “I think you’d really benefit from business school. Charisma and social intelligence is the number one thing that big name businesses are looking for, and I know you’re filled to the brim with both. Ultimately it is your decision, but…” Ford fiddles with his thumbs. “Just…just consider it, okay?”

For a brief moment, Stan just wants to burst out into hysterical laughter. Ford’s been offered the opportunity of a lifetime at one of the best schools in the country, and he’s still taking the time to help out his good-for-nothing brother who’s been cheating off of his exams for the past ten years.

Instead he settles for a roll of his eyes. “Alright, Professor Poindexter, I’ll consider it”

Ford giggles at that, and for a few moments neither of them says anything, watching the waves gently lapping on the beach in the short distance. It’s a comfortable silence, a reassuring sort of feeling that Stan hasn’t felt in a long time.

The frantic beeping of Pa’s wristwatch interrupts them, and both boys flinch at the sound in unison. For a moment Stan is worried that Pa’s standing behind them having heard every word, but when he glances over at Ford, he sees him rolling up his shirt sleeve to reveal that he’s the one wearing the watch, and clicks the alarm off.

“Pa made me borrow it so I wouldn’t be late for the presentation with the school board” he rubs awkwardly at the back of his head. “I’ll probably give it back as soon as I get home tonight”

Stan smirks. “You still hate the sound of that thing too, huh?”

“I can still hear it in my nightmares,” Ford exaggerates, his eyes going wide, and the twins burst into laughter as they both stand from the swings and stretch their arms and legs to wake them up from sitting for so long.

Ford wipes at his eye as he fidgets with the wristwatch. “So…do you think you’re going to be okay?”

That in itself is a pretty loaded question that could take him all night to answer, but all things considering…

“Yeah,” Stan smiles. “I think I’ll be okay”

Ford smiles back, and gestures with his thumb towards the direction of the pawn shop. “Then I’m going to head home and get ready for my presentation. You coming?”

Stan shakes his head. “I think I’ll stay out here and just…watch the ocean for a little while longer”

Ford’s smile softens, but he doesn’t say anything else. He turns heel and walks back towards the house, and it feels as though a giant weight has just been lifted off of Stan’s chest. He glances back to watch Ford go, but finds comfort in the feeling that he feels nothing at all.

~~~

Nearly five hours later, Stan sits at home, watching television on the couch to pass the time. Just out of the corner of his eye he sees Ford slip into the kitchen and gently click the door closed. Stan shuts the TV off, and spins around on the couch to face his brother.

“Well?” Stan asks, though he knows he doesn’t even need to bother asking, given that Ford looks like he’s about to burst. With a shaking hand, Ford reaches into his pocket and pulls out a glinting white envelope.

If he’s trying to keep an air of mystery about it, he’s doing a really bad job, because all at once his composure breaks and the smile that spreads across his face looks as though it could burn out the sun.

“They loved me!” He shouts, excitedly pacing the floor. “They told me they’ve never seen anyone else like me!”

His smile is so contagious that it hurts.

Perhaps another day, in another timeline, Stan would take offense to Ford’s excitement to bounce off to the other end of the country without him. Perhaps he’d even lash out, or do something he would’ve immediately regretted.

But here and now, Stan couldn’t be happier for his brother if he tried.

[pearlplusau]

Attack of the Multiverse!! (Pink Pearl edition)

“Presenting....a new writing series! Here’s the preview of the entire story! Enjoy and thanks for reading in advance!”

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*que intense chase track

 A pink pearl in her latest crystal gem form, was blindly running into the darkened beach, where everything was pitch black. She couldn’t see the water, she couldn't see the sand, heck, she couldn’t even see the giant temple that should be located somewhere in front of her without any light source!

She couldn’t remember how long she ran, but it was more than her physic could take. As she slowed down, she huffed and puffed, almost wheezing from all the running. 

But her break was cut short when-

A sound of blast came from somewhere behind her, controlling whatever it touched as the torn objects such as floor boards, trash cans, and giant chunks of earth levitating around the enemy figure.

As Coral raced towards the temple, which was finally visible from the bright aura of the floating gem, another figure appeared, stretching out her ballerina leg and tripped the poor pink gem.

“Ooof-“ she exclaimed as she faceplanted into the sand.

 As Coral lifted her head, she saw two figures, no wait…two identical figures!

The closest figure wore the outfit she had before the rebellion, her first ever pearl form, except it's all nastified, torned up and darkened, as if someone drenched her with the colour schemes of an arch villain. Instead of buns for her hair, two shaggy and messy side ponytails wildly danced under the blowing night wind. Under her eyes was a trail of dark ink, making her look more horrifying than she could ever imagine! (She’s abandoned pearl, but let’s go with Crazy)

The other figure looked like the first figure, except she was completely greyscaled. Her entire body radiated absolutely no colour, just the dreadful shades of black and white! Her hair, too, was in a complete mess, but in a mad scientist style, where her hair looked like it was electrocuted, but more neatly and less frizzy. Anger was radiated from her twitching eye and her frozen W pose, the twitching eye was glowing with power, as if it’s holding back the power with what’s happening next!

The two of them both bore a damaged right eye, but resembled no difference to each other, they even look like-

Coral gasped, “No way! You’re…me?” as she pointed to the two Pink pearls, getting more and more confused.

“That’s right!” Crazy Pearl spoke with a raspy voice and some crazy in her eyes. “And now that we finally got you, we’ll take our sweet time to DESTROY YOU!!”

The pearl brought out a wand from her gem, and it immediately extended and sprung  into a deadly, pink, glowing rejuvenator. “Once you’re rejuvenated, you can join my little army, and we’ll destroy the worlds together! Mwahhahahhahahahaha!!”

Coral was only able to whimper out, “worlds?” as the crazy gem wasted no time and brought down her pink glowing scythe!

As Coral braced for rejuvenation, a pink ribbon lashed out and gripped on Crazy pearl’s arm. The scythe was frozen in place, but it was flung aside as Crazy was yanked out of her spot! As the ribbon retreated, another figure slowly came out of its hiding.

“You won’t be destroying anything once I’m done with you!” It’s the same voice as Coral herself, but more confident and sure. The figure had Coral’s face, her hair, her gift from Pink diamond. The more obvious significance was the green dress and the placement of the gem on her forehead. The gem in green shouted, “Earl! You take that freak while I take care of crazy here!”

As soon as she ordered, the sound of a gem retrieving their weapon echoed, “SHING!” with the sound of pistol fire not long after!

Bullets were shot, all flying towards freak pearl, but a metal trash can flew out of nowhere and acted as a shield against the attack. 

Coral saw the shooter come out with angered expression, as if she was annoyed of the constant blockage of her attacks. The shooter looked almost exactly like freak pearl, the only difference was one of them is a bleached floating freak while the other wore a long sleeved silk shirt with a diamond shaped cut around her gem, bright pink shorts with huge pink splatters and spots all over her body. Her grey hair buns had little strays of hair at the end, with far less cracks on her face. Earl also had the same cracked eye, but she’s looking a lot less freaky than her counterpart.  

As the two pearls fought as ballerinas, assassins and shooters simultaneously, the confident pearl grabbed on to Coral and ordered, “Come on! We need to get out of here! That ribbon wont hold her for long!!”

The said ribbon was wrapping up crazy pearl with a neat bow on top, however, she looked like she could break free any moment!

“Hurry!” Coral got up and they both went to help Earl. The confident pearl pointed to the levitating gem and ordered,  “Use your lance and take her down!”

“What!?” Coral questioned in surprise, “isn’t that a bit too much?”

“Trust me, it's not!”

Coral summoned and gripped her lance, aimed at the freaky pearl and threw.

The weapon was barely slapped away with the metal trash can, but that little distraction was able to give Earl the chance to finally strike and take her down!

Earl leaped into the air and performed a 10/10 somersault, she gracefully kicked freak pearl as far as she could! “Smack!”

The knocked pearl made no sound, just the sound of her SPLASH landing into the dark ocean.

Coral immediately took the chance and demanded answers from the two, “Can someone explain what is going on!?”

She looked at Earl, who, instead of speaking, did hand gestures that were clearly sign language, but Coral didn’t get the chance to study them unfortunately…

Confident pink pearl translated, “She’s saying we don’t have much time! Come one, this way!” she pointed to the side of the crystal gem temple. “There's a portal there that should lead us straight to her!”

Coral demanded as they ran, “Her who?!?”

“Coral, do you believe in alternate universes?!” Confident pearl asked.

“I do now! Seeing all of you here! Being literally alternate versions of…ME!”

“Well actually, we’re all alternative versions of the OG Pink Pearl, The original! I’m from a diamond swap universe where White Diamond and Pink diamond swapped places, I’m one of original crystal gems, without White diamonds old pearl.” C!Pearl said as Earl nodded at the side.

Earl made more hand gestures to say something, pointing to herself along with more sign language. C!Pearl translated, “That’s Earl, she’s from another timeline where she… you know what, it’s a long story, all you need to know is that we can trust her!”

“But what about the two we just fought?” Coral demanded. 

“Those two? I call them freaky and crazy! They’ve been after us ever since we started portal jumping! I’m not sure where they’re from, but I’m pretty sure Crazy is from an AU where SHE was abandoned in Pink diamond’s garden instead of Spinel! As for freak pearl, really not sure here. Maybe she’s an interpretation of how powerful she could get under a diamond’s complete influence and power?”

Coral gave another quick question, “How do we know who the original Pink pearl is if we’re all from different timelines?”

“Simple,” C!Pearl said, “she’s the pinkpearl that followed the Canon timeline, where she got controlled by White Diamond and spent 6000 years as her mindless servant! Us, however, were created to avoid that specific timeline, so she’s the root of all Pink Pearl. The most important thing to do right now is to look for the first Pink Pearl!! She’s the only one that can help us get deal with our...situation right now.”

“How are we gonna get there with these two on our tail!??” Coral said as she notices more rubble floating behind her as well as a maniacal laugh echoing louder and louder!

“All we need is to get through that portal! Those two wont be able to catch up! Come one!”

The portal, swirling in pink and white star dust, finally became visible behind one of the temple palms. Within the right distance, all three pearls leaped into the portal as it closed behind them!

Shooooofwop!

End of part ???

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Multiverse Pink pearl series! Next chapter coming in-

The two rogue pink pearls stopped their tracks when they found...no portal, nor any of the pearls they were fighting. 

The two antagonists turned to the camera, made little chuckles and pointed at you, the reader. Crazy teased, “Look what we got here freak pearl, someone that thinks this ISNT an April Fool’s special.”

Freak pearl rotated her floating junk around her until they got to a trash can. She set the trash can on the sand and tapped three times. 

Knock

Knock

Knock

There was a moment of silence and snoring, sounds like someone fell asleep. 

Crazy summoned a speaker phone from her gem, placed it at the side of the can, and screamed, “HEY PEARLPLUSAU WRITER! ITS YOUR QUE!” 

 The writer groggily woke up rubbing his eyes, “Yawnnnn….”

He fell off into the sand. 

“Heyyy there fellow readers, yes this IS an April fool’s special, a friend of mine was curious if i would write one of these and sure enough, once the idea got developed, i got straight to the writing process.”

“What was surprising is using us AU characters into his little joke writing, where are the credits you punk?!” Crazy asked in a rather annoyed tone. 

"Oh that? ” The writer continued," Credits of the characters are below! You can see the images, as well as the title of the AUs. Some of the characters are linked back to the creators tumblr account, while other creators who dont have tumblr accounts are linked to original posts, like from Instagram!! ”

Freak pearl snapped her fingers for the writer’s attention and pointed to herself, asking for her origin. 

“Oh freak pearl? I just thought it would be cool if there’s more than one antagonist for this special, so i kinda created you myself. The idea was, how dangerous can pinkpearl be with a diamond’s ability, and there you are! Telekinesis and mega white laser beams! Pretty cool huh?”

Freak pearl did not respond...well. 

“Anyways,” the writer proceeded, “writing this was a pretty fun 1.5 hours of the time i have, not including reviewing and editing tho. If theres anyone out there that wishes to continue the story in their own way, be my guest. Just let me know so i can read it myself lol, im very interested in your take of the situation! “

April fools! And thanks for reading!

Characters (even though they’re not drawn) 

Coral/Pink pearl from Pearlplusau - Original design by Tripixle!!

Crystal gem Pink pearl from Diamond swap au - Credit to @dreambigstars

Earl from WD steven au - AU character from @ask-whitepearl-and-steven

Crazy pearl (Despair pink pearl), Design from Shrimp.face (Link to their post) 

Freak Pearl, no specific au named, nor from any creator. So i guess she’s my AU character?

A/N: Hope you guys had fun reading as much as i had fun writing it!

Also the real new chapter coming in probs two weeks from now.

Slightly unrelated, there might not be as much visuals as there was last chapter. The drawing pen is a bit busted. 

Till then! Bye!

[skellebonez]

if you still wants prompts, how about 9 with red son after being taken in by tang and pigsy, seeing how they, mk, mei, and sandy all act around each other and being completely bewildered and out of his element around an actually affectionate family dynamic?

I had an idea a while ago about what might have happened if WBS had left one of those wisps that possessed the Bull Clones in DBK after episode 10, something she could use to try to manipulate him much more subtly and from a distance behind the scenes, so I'm gonna play around with a smidgen that here (so this ended up a little long... ok a lot long... SUPER LONG, 2K words). This is set between episode 10 and the Lunar New Year special, a little canon divergence.

How long have you been standing there?

The last few weeks hadn't been easy on anyone, but it hit Red Son harder than anyone else. Everyone had been hurt, physically at least, but Red’s hurt was on a deeper level... he'd thought everything was at least back to the status quo after Xiaotian had fought his possessed father.

He had no idea that the fight would be the catalyst for being forced into leaving his parents.

Oh, he had tried to stay. For a while everything had actually been pretty ok, his father was less cold and one minded on gaining power, but it quickly became apparent that something had gone wrong. He tried to talk reason into his father when he began to lash out at him, a little more every day, but after what had happened last time he couldn’t argue without his chest feeling tight and the words sputtering as they escaped his lips. His mother had tried as well, and she had managed to get through to him for a moment before that familiar blue light shone in his eyes and they realized exactly what had happened.

It was at her urging that he leave after that. For his own protection, she said, and Red didn’t know why that brought up so many conflicting emotions. DBK has fixated on him at the White Bone Spirit’s insistent manipulation, once again latching onto the notion of him being a traitor (and that hurt even more the second time around somehow) and she feared she would not be strong enough on her own to keep DBK from nearly succeeding in what he had failed to do last time. They had agreed on a plan, one that would have PIF playing along and pretending to banish her son so she could try to keep DBK under her watchful gaze while Red Son was at the very least out of harm’s reach.

It hadn’t taken him long to realize that he wasn’t safe anywhere alone. His mother had kept in contact with him at first, back when he tried to stay in his old apartment. DBK had made short work of that plan and Red realized quickly that if his father considered him a traitor and his mother wanted his safety before anything else he would need to swallow his pride and do the one thing he hadn’t planned on trying.

He went to Pigsy’s Noodles and asked for shelter... After he was body slammed by Noodle Boy and his two companions there, naturally. He supposed now that the reaction was relatively warranted.

The first thing they asked him was “How long have you been standing there?” since he was completely soaked in the rain that was pouring outside.

It was the scholar, Tang, who had listened to him most out of anyone. He seemed to be well versed in the stories of the White Bone Spirit and knowing the fight Xiaotian had put up against his father (and seeing the news stories of DBK smashing a random apartment) he was more than willing to give him a chance. Xiaotian had seemed willing to help after a time and once his stomach started growling and he admitted he had not eaten a full meal in over a day (and had been eating the worst meals he had in a while due to always being on edge) while hiding Pigsy had scowled and told him to sit down and wait. It was an awkward silence that fell over everyone.

The bowl of soup the pig demon placed in front of him was the best looking and smelling thing he had seen in days and he could barely hold himself back from scarfing it down. It was delicious, not that he was ready to admit so out loud. “Perfectly adequate” was what he had said when asked, around a full mouthful of noodles no less. He doubted it fooled anyone.

Though he hadn’t known what to expect when he asked for help, where they would send him or if they would even say yes. He thought maybe he would be sent to stay with Sun Wukong, though that would have been the worst possible outcome given their less than stellar history, or been told to stay with Xiaotian in his cramped tiny apartment. What he hadn’t expected was Pigsy to lead him out by the shoulder with a firm grip toward his and Tang’s apartment.

They’d given him their spare room and an old mattress and a set of rules. No going off on his own for his own safety (though he had a sneaking suspicion they also didn’t fully trust him which was honestly fair). He would work with Xiaotian on his deliveries or in the Noodle Shop (the idea of driving with Noodle Boy all day made him shudder and he hoped he would be set to work in the kitchen instead most days, but he bit his tongue). He could leave only if he stayed with Xiaojiao or Sandy. No catching things on fire (again, fair). Try not to fight with Xiaotian and Xiaojiao too much.

They tried to work out some kind of payment but he knew his father had no idea how bank accounts worked so he assured them he would at least be financially stable.

And things just... fell together somehow.

In time he started calling Xiaotian and Xiaojiao by their names rather than the nicknames he has given them. He found he actually quite liked Xiaotian’s music and driving delivery routes was not as bad as he feared. Xiaojiao had shown him the wonders of street racing (in disguise and the less Pigsy and Tang knew the better) and they bonded over mechanics. He had met Sandy and his many cats and learned that he was both a cat magnet and, according to Sandy, needed anger management (and also bonded with him over mechanics). He’d seen Sun Wukong only once, very briefly and neither saying a word in awkward silence. But somehow he could tell the monkey looked sad as he flew off back to Mount Huaguo.

Soon enough Pigsy had allowed him to help making soup and as it turned out while his own preferences for spicy food weren’t exactly popular with most normal clientele it drew an entire new group of food challengers. Pigsy seemed more than appreciative of this.

Tang, meanwhile, was overjoyed to have someone to talk to about all his stories and scholarly pursuits that wasn’t just Xiaotian and an annoyed (if, Red eventually realized, affectionately so) Pigsy. It was honestly quite fun to discuss topics he knew about and learn things even he had not known, learn how humans had passed down stories of demons he knew long ago, and just enjoy mildly antagonizing Pigsy in good fun.

This was all stuff he almost could have anticipated given what he knew about them all already. What he hadn’t anticipated was how... affectionate they all were.

Oh, some things he expected. Pigsy and Tang constantly being together? That wasn’t much unlike his parents. Xiaojiao grabbing him in hugs and pulling him around? He had seen how she was with others, that seemed in her character. Xiaotian bumping shoulders with him all the time? Much the same. Granted, he flinched every time this happened out of reflex.

But his confusion had started when Pigsy had ruffled Xiaotian’s hair on the first day Red Son worked in the noodle shop. The action baffled him, especially when the other young man swatted away the chef’s hands in annoyance, but there was a smile on his face and a laugh in his voice that belayed that he hadn’t hated the action.

He saw how much Xiaotian and Xiaojiao hugged, threw their arms over their shoulders, playfully punched each other. How Tang would also ruffle their hair and how Pigsy would move Xiaotian with a firm hand to where he needed him to be walking to. How Sandy would just gather everyone up in massive group hugs out of the blue.

He saw how Pigsy sometimes, when no one else watched, gave Tang the free helping of noodles he hassled him for with a smile. How he frowned after Xiaotian as he walked up to his apartment on shaky legs that were tired from a day of work and fighting demons. How Tang and Pigsy would sometimes reach over the counter and hold hands for a second before going back to what they were doing. How one time he had seen Xiaotian and Xiaojiao sitting back to back on his bed when he was sent up to get them and just... enjoy each other’s company.

He heard the nicknames and saw the casual brushes of hands and bumps of shoulders and smiles and gazes and it...

It made him realize how alone he had been with his mother, before his father had returned. How he almost always had Bull Clones for companions as he worked on his machines, how she rarely gave him casual touches of affection. Even after his father had returned she had been somewhat cold to him. His father was far more concerned with opening the box that started all of this, though he did not know how much blame to place on his father’s neglect itself or the influence he was under.

He loved his parents and he was certain they loved him. He had to be certain of that. But he could no longer deny they were not... affectionate.

So when one day Tang had reached out to grab his shoulder he had panicked.

Luckily he hadn’t burned the man, he had jumped back when he felt his hair flaming up, and he apologized profusely (when had he started being apologetic for his actions? maybe he was just afraid they would second guess giving him a chance and kick him out) for almost harming him.

It surprised him even more when Tang apologized and asked if he was the one ok, saying he didn’t mean to startle him and he should have asked before touching him. He honestly didn’t know what to say, staring at the man before Pigsy had managed to get his attention. Again, he apologized, saying he just didn’t expect it and that it was alright. He didn’t care as long as he wasn’t surprised again.

Something changed after that. Every morning when he woke up Tang and Pigsy made it a point to just nudge him in some way after getting his attention. A grip on his shoulder, warm and firm. A nudge on his arm. At first he tensed or flinched just like when Xiaotian or Xiaojiao touched him, but after a while he just... got used to it. Soon their gentle affection didn’t elicit any reaction and after that he realized he was starved for this kind of attention. He wanted more, not much, maybe he could stand his hair being ruffled a bit now.

And so he started to return it. He grabbed Xiaotian’s arm one day to get his attention and the look of surprise and joy on his face told Red that Pigsy and Tang must have told him something. He started sitting closer to him in the tuk-tuk, no longer pushing away when a bump made their shoulders brush together. He sat closer to Xiaojiao when they played video games or worked on blueprints for their rides. He allowed Sandy’s cats to have free reign of him (within reason) and accepted the hugs and nudges the large man had clearly been holding back from him (he was never able to initiate contact first, the other man was too touchy for him to beat him to it).

He started tapping Pigsy on the shoulder at work for his attention. He didn’t sit two seats away from Tang anymore, instead sitting right beside him.

And a few weeks later when Tang reached up to ruffle his hair the same way he did with Xiaotian he paused, looking at Red Son for permission. He nodded his head yes.

He knew why his old rival seemed to like them so much now.

[unmaskedagain]

Rock Star

I was feeling a bit of writer’s block this morning. So I went through my prompts and found this awesome one. It has a bit of angst.

  She lost her friends. The boy she was in love with broke her heart. No one in class apart from Chloe would even speak to her anymore. Lila’s lies had taken root in class, leaving Marinette in the back alone and abandoned. The worst part was that Marinette didn’t even know if she could be friends with any of her classmates again after the truth was exposed. In the effort to cling tighter to the coattails of someone who promised them the world, they had abandoned a childhood friend as if the friendship meant nothing; as if Marinette meant nothing. And as if that wasn’t enough, Akumas were getting stronger every day. Chat Noir was pushier than ever before. Most days it was all too much.

           Most days Marinette didn’t want to get out of bed. She rarely smiled anymore. She couldn’t find it in her to design. It was like the life force had been drained from her. It didn’t take long for her parents to notice. However, after weeks of trying, when it became clear that Marinette wasn’t going to talk to them and that she wasn’t getting better, they sent her to a therapist. After they managed to get her to promise to at least try.

           Dr. Vanderbilt was a kind woman with greying red hair and a Scottish accent. It took multiple sessions before Marinette started to open up about her problems at school; about feeling overwhelmed. One day after a session, the doctor gave Marinette a notebook.

“What’s this for?” Marinette asked taking the black notebook. The front of it said it had a 1000 pages.

“Whenever you’re feeling overwhelmed, I want you to write.”

“Write what?”

“Whatever you want,” Vanderbilt smiled. “What you’re feeling. Poetry. Songs. Quotes you know. Write a story. Whatever helps you get what you’re feeling out, lessen the load you’re carrying a bit.”

           So Marinette did.

           It was a struggle at first. She never thought of herself as much of a writer. Then she started writing random quotes she knew. Then Marinette started writing a bit of poetry just to try to express herself in a way she could understand. However, during a particularly troublesome day, when Alya accused her of being lazy and not being a good class president, Marinette resigned her position much to the shock of the class and started writing song lyrics.

           One of the recommendation from Vanderbilt was to always stop doing things she didn’t want to do just because it made other people happy; especially if it was at harm to herself.

           The doctor made Marinette write 100 times: I will not set myself on fire to keep you warm.

           Marinette always hated being class president; the stress alone could kill a dozen elephants. She hated doing free commissions so she stopped that too. She hated doing the whole birthday celebrations, when everyone was quick to forget her that year. Or plan parties and fundraisers for trips that class made sure to make clear they didn’t want to her go to or on. So she stopped that too.

           It was freeing.

           Writing lyrics to songs were freeing. Soon she was writing them during class, lunch, after school, when there a moment of free time when helping out at the bakery.

           And Vanderbilt was right. It did help her.

           Marinette to smile a lot more. The pep in her step was back. She started hanging out with Chloe and Luka more and more. She made friends with others kids in class. She created a website and started selling custom designs.

           One Friday, after school, Marinette found herself in Jagged’s Hotel room with Chloe and Luka. Jagged had asked Marinette to bring his new concert wardrobe that he had commission from her. He had and Clara Nightingale were going on tour together.

           After Jagged had reviewed the clothes and approved them, proclaimed each outfit to be, “Rockin!”

           Marinette found herself writing a song in her notebook while Luka and Jagged discussed musical influences. Chloe and Penny discussed a potential internships.

           She was so invested in writing that she didn’t notice when the talking stopped. Or when Jagged asked her if she wanted Pizza.

           Marinette jumped back when a hand suddenly waved in her face. “Wait! What!” She looked around and saw the amused faces of Jagged, Penny, Chloe, and Luka. Even Fang had a long grin on his face.

“What’s this love?” Jagged asked pointing to her notebook. “I’ve been trying to get your attention for ages.”

           The bluenette blushed and tried not to hide her notebook; it would only make them more curious, “Nothing; just a notebook for ideas.” Technically that was true.

“Right on, can I see?” Jagged asked.

           Marinette instantly pulled the notebook to her chest and her blushed turned a dark red. She was not going to show a Rock Star the song she wrote. She’d rather die. “Nope! Nah ah, nothing to see here.”

           Chloe rolled her eyes, “Yes, because that’s totally what someone with nothing to hide does.” The blond looked at Penny. “She writes song lyrics. They’re pretty good.”

           Marinette glared at the blond, “Traitor.”

           Luka looked a bit curious. Jagged had a full blown grin on his face, “I knew it!” he shouted. “I knew there was a rocker in you. I had just had to wait a bit, love. Come on. Let me see then! Show Uncle jagged your songs.”

           It took about twenty minutes to get Marinette to agree and then another ten to pry the notebook out of her hands. She watched with a pit in her stomach growing bigger and bigger as she watched Luka, Chloe, Jagged, and Penny flip through her notebook. Reading the lyrics that came straight from her heart.

           What if they hated them? What if they thought she had no talent? What if they thought she was a freak? What if! What If!

“This is good, mate,” Jagged suddenly said. An impressed look on his face. “These are really good.”

“Told ya,” Chloe said smugly.

           Penny nodded, “I wouldn’t mind commissioning some songs from you.”

“I’d like to jam together,” Luka said. “Maybe we can do a duet.”

           Jagged suddenly shot up, “Penny! Call the guys. We need a band! Marinette’s gonna sing for us!” He ran for his guitar.

“Marinette’s going to do what now?” Marinette shouted.

           Marinette was going to sing.

           She sat on a dark brown wooden stool, in front of Jagged’s backup band, with Jagged and Luka on guitar. Chloe and Penny watched in the background. An assistant help up a camera.

           Jagged had decided to give Marinette a rockstar makeover; well as much as she would let him. Her hair was pulled back in a faux hawk with a few curls framing her face, her makeup was flawless, her face was painted to look like she had been crying and her mascara had gotten everywhere.

           It took a while for Jagged, Luka, and she to work out the music would be good for her songs and what songs she’d use. She decided to let the four: Jagged, Penny, Luka, and Chloe decide on the best ones. Marinette was too bias, she knew.

           They had practiced. Everyone assured her she had an amazing voice but Marinette thought they were a bit biased too. They loved her too much to hurt her by saying anything mean.

“Hey fans watching!” Jagged said into the mic. “Today, I got a special guest here. My honorary niece and personal fashion designer; Marinette. She’s written some kick ass songs and agreed to prove that she’s a rockstar like her Uncle. Give her some love!”

           Marinette got up and waked to the mic.

           The drum beat started slowly. Marinette took a deep breath. The guitars and piano started.

           Marinette opened her mouth to sing,

“Someday I won't be afraid of my head

Someday I will not be chained to my bed

Someday I'll forget the day he left

But surely not today.”

           The beat picked up a bit.

           She fought not to close her eyes as she sang. Instead, she thought of why she wrote the song; all the pain, all the mess going on inside. Her blue eyes got a faraway look to them.

“One day I won't need a PhD

To sit me down and tell me what it all means

Maybe one day it'll be a breeze

But surely not today

But surely not today”

           Admitting she was in therapy was hard. Penny comforted her and admitted she went a lot too. Jagged hadn’t been happy when Chloe told the two adults just what was happening in Marinette’s class.

“Oh you don't know what sadness means

'Till you're too sad to fall asleep

One day I'll be snoozing peacefully

But surely not today

Surely not today.”

           Marinette voice carried across the room. She let herself get lost in the music. Otherwise, she’d be too panicky over the fact that she more or less admitted to being depressed.

“One day I'll swear the pain will be a blip

I'll have the hardest time recalling it

I'll be the king of misery management

But surely not today.”

           This song was a promise to herself. That she would move on. She would get better. Somehow, someway, Marinette would conquer all that she was going through and be better for it.

“One day that song won't make me cry anymore (oh no no)

One day I'll get up off the bathroom floor (hey yeah)

Oh, piece by piece I'll be restored

But surely not today (surely not)

Eh, not today”

           Marinette swayed to the music, dancing in place. The other people in the room watched, entranced by her voice.

“oh you don't know what happy means

If it's only in your dreams

I'll be acquainted with my jollities

But surely not today

Yeah, surely not today.”

           There were days when Marinette swore she forgot what it meant to be happy; questioned if she had ever been really happy. Or if she had just fooled herself into thinking she was. She knew better now. And Marinette refused to let the dark thoughts win.

“Surely not, surely, surely not

Surely not (surely not today)”

           Marinette sang that part softly. She knew she wasn’t going to get completely better right away. But she would… One day.

“One day the thought of him won't hurt the same

Won't need distractions to get through the day

I guess I hope I'm gonna be okay

'Cause I'm not today.”

           The song slowly died down. Silence filled the room. Then there were claps and cheers. Jagged’s new manager Harvey Boyd looked ready to wet his pants from excitement.

“Yes!” jagged yelled. “That’s how you do it!”

           Marinette blushed again and ran off stage as Luka readied himself to perform. Penny and Chloe both assured her that she had been amazing but Marinette couldn’t stop her heart from racing in her chest.

           Chloe helped prepare her for her next song as they watched Luka perform.

He had gotten used to being Solo since Kitty Section kicked him out the band. Luka sang a called, She will be loved. A sad melody that was fit him to a T.

“I don't mind spendin' everyday

Out on your corner in the pourin' rain

Look for the girl with the broken smile

Ask her if she wants to stay awhile

And she will be loved, and she will be loved”

           When he was done, once again Harvey Boyd had that hungry look on his face.

           Then Jagged performed one of his hits. After that he brought Marinette up on their makeshift stage again.

           Marinette didn’t feel any better performing the second time. She’d be singing the song Jagged chose.

“Oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh

So much for my happy ending

Oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh

So much for my happy ending

Oh, oh, oh, oh, oh”

           The song was definitely more Rock than her last one. And she wrote it most about Adrien, some of it geared toward Alya and the rest of her friends.

“Let's talk this over

It's not like we're dead

Was it something I did?

Was it something you said?”

           Marinette had wondered for months what she had wrong. Why it was so easy for them to just ignore her; disregard her, end their friendships.

“Don't leave me hanging

In a city so dead

Held up so high

On such a breakable thread”

           They left her alone. Adrien left her alone. She trust them, and just left her.

“You were all the things I thought I knew

And I thought we could be…”

           Marinette closed her eyes for just a moment as the beat of the music changed.

You were everything, everything that I wanted

“We were meant to be, supposed to be, but we lost it

All of the memories, so close to me, just fade away

All this time you were pretending

So much for my happy ending

 So much for my happy ending.”

           The song went on for a few more minutes. She had let the music as the guitar solo slowly died down. The song was met with applause.

           Marinette performed a few more songs, along with Luka. After one of them, Harvey had come directly up to her and Luka and offered to be their manager. Apparently, Jagged’s label had been watching them and wanted to give each of them a record deal. If Penny and Chloe hadn’t been there, both Luka and Marinette wouldn’t fallen her their butts in shock.

           Jagged called Boyd away to discuss something.

           Luka gripped his guitar so tightly Marinette feared it would break, “That didn’t just happen, did it?”

“Nope,” Marinette shook her head, earnestly. “It’s the fumes from all their hairspray. It must have knocked us out. We’re in coma right now.”

           Chloe glared at them. “Oh. Shut. UP! You were amazing. You both were. Marinette you screamed Girl power. And Luka, there’s probably a million girls planning on marry you right now.”

“I have to call my mom!” Luka and Marinette said at the same time.

           Her parents were excited about the news. But they made it clear as long as it didn’t interfere with her school work, she could do whatever she wanted. Sabine and Tom were just happy their little girl was back.

           Luka said his mom was the safe. School first, hall of fame second.

           Jagged pulled Marinette on stage for one last song. The song was chosen by Chloe. It was the song Marinette wrote once she realized she was done. She was done with the drama in class, done with fake friends. Done with game and lies. Done with mean comments and ice cold glares. She was over it. And Marinette didn’t care anymore.

“You wanna play, you wanna stay, you wanna have it all

You started messing with my head until I hit a wall

Maybe I shoulda known, maybe I shoulda known

That you would walk, you would walk out the door.”

           Marinette watched Penny smile as she turned on the big fans pointed at her.

Said we were done, you met someone and rubbed it in my face

Cut to the punch, she broke your heart, and then she ran away

I guess you shoulda known, I guess you shoulda known

That I would talk, I would talk

           She remembered Alya standing in class renouncing their friendship, and nearly everyone joining her. The look on Lila’s face as she finally fulfilled her promise. Adrien not doing anything, and avoiding contact. He never stood up for her; not once. He blocked her calls, stopped answering her texts, until finally he let Nino and who else in class convince him to end his friendship with Marinette outright.

           But when got over the loss, the heartbreak; she decided it was for the best. Marinette didn’t need them. She didn’t want them. Marinette swore she’d never be friends with them again.

“But even if the stars and moon collide

I never want you back into my life

You can take your words and all your lies.”

           The fire in Marinette’s eyes caused a few people to step back; including Luka. Then a wide smile spread over her face and

“Oh I really don't care

Even if the stars and moon collide

I never want you back into my life

You can take your words and all your lies

Oh oh I really don't care

Oh oh oh I really don't care?”

           When the song ended, everyone cheered.

           Jagged grabbed the mic, “Wasn’t she pure Rock and Roll, or what?” He picked up Fang. “What do you think, Fang? You loved it! For those of you who don’t know; this is my pet,” He told the camera. “Totally coolest guy ever. I’d never do anything mainstream like get a cat or anything.” He said with a wink. “For those of you who loved today’s acts; I’ve got some good news. All songs are going to be on itunes. Just look them up! In Addition; my label wants to offer both Luka and Marinette records deals. Who knows, maybe I’ll reach out to Clara about them coming on tour with us; we could use a couple of awesome opening acts.”

           Marinette went home with the biggest smile on her face. She didn’t think much what happened. She figured the record deal wouldn’t go anywhere; someone would realize just how lame she was and stop it dead in her tracks. Marinette also figured that Chloe had exaggerated about how many watched; no one wanted to see some Amateur sing, even if it was on Jagged Stone streamed it.

It wasn’t a big deal, Marinette thought when she went to bed, tomorrow no one would even remember her. Still, it was a pretty fun.

           By Monday morning, Marinette would learn just how big of deal it really was. Little did she know that, overnight, her song ‘Not Today’ was downloaded over 2 million times? Her song ‘Happy ending’ sold over 3 million. But ‘Really Don’t Care’ broke records. The rest of the songs had had performs sold well too; each selling over a million copies. The world was listening to her music, and she had no clue. Luka did pretty well too; his songs were just trailing after Marinette’s in sells.

           Marinette had been helping her parents in the bakery’s kitchen, listening to the radio, when a new song started to play. Marinette turned white as a sheet, “M-Mom! Dad!” She said, her voice trembling.

“What’s up, honey?” Tom asked, worry clear in his eyes.

           She pointed at the radio with a shaky hand, “That’s mine.”

“What?” Sabine asked confused.

“That’s mine,” Marinette repeated. “That’s my song!”

           Her parents looked even more confused. Until they listened closer to the song and recognized their daughter’s voice.

           Sabine dropped the pans she was holding, “You’re on the radio,” She whispered. “You’re on the radio.” She yelled, cheering.

           Tom pulled his daughter into a giant bear hug, “My sugarplum’s a Superstar!”

           After Marinette’s song

           Once, she finished in the bakery, Marinette ran to Chloe’s. When she was let into the penthouse, she rushed to Chloe’s room, and as soon as she saw the blond, she yelled, “I’m on the radio!” And screamed. Chloe screamed with her.

           Then Luka called and screamed, “I’m on the radio!” The sound of his mother cheering the background. As far as he was concerned it was the best day of his life. The year had sucked so hard; first his sister became one of Lila’s groupies, then he got kicked out of his own band, he realized he and the girl (Marinette) he had a crush on were better off as friends, and he broke his lucky guitar and had to fork over his savings to buy a new one.

           But getting a record deal, being on the radio, nearly made all of it worth it. Luka still really wanted his sister back though.

           The three friends spent the rest of the weekend hanging out and being amazed at their luck. Chloe got the internship she was after in the PR department. Thanks to Penny, she’d be Luka and Marinette’s promotor. Or least learning firsthand how everything works.

           When Monday morning came, Marinette was still oblivious to just much had changed in so little time… Until she got to school, and some random girl asked for her autograph. Marinette stuttered out a, “Sure.” And signed the girl’s notebook. While she was doing it, four other kids lined up behind her. She signed each one with a smile.

“I really like your song: Not today,” One guy told her. “It’s nice to know I’m not the only one that gets that way sometimes.”

           Marinette was so touched, she nearly started crying right there. She would’ve if Chloe hadn’t dragged her away, with a hiss about not crying in front on fans.

           On the way to class, a few kids stopped and asked her for a picture. She agreed. But when more and more kids tried to get her attention, Marinette, once again, had to be saved by Chloe.

“You are not getting mauled on my watch,” Chloe tossed her hair over her shoulder. “I’d never get to work in PR again.”

           Marinette giggled. Chloe rolled her eyes with a fund smile.

           The smiles died when they reached class. They had gotten there early. Marinette was rarely ever late anymore sense she had lighted her work load. Only a few kid were there. Max, Nathaniel, and Mylene; they all looked at Marinette with wide eyes.

           Marinette ignored them as Chloe and she went to their seats. They made light talk and ignored the looks of the other students as more and more arrived. Most didn’t say a word to her; not knowing what to do or say.

           When Rose arrived, she immediately rushed over to Marinette, “I love your music. I didn’t know you could sing!” She chirped. “I can’t believe you performed with Jagged Stone. You’re so lucky.”

           The bluenette gave the other girl a small smile, “Yeah it was amazing. Luka was great too,” She added. “He’s ecstatic about the record deal. He was so bummed when Kitty Section kicked him out; something about him holding you guys back. Did you guys ever find a new singer and lead guitarist? It’s been months, right?” It was spiteful. It was the meanest thing Marinette had ever done. And they deserved it.

           Rose visibly wilted. So did Ivan and Juleka. Every member of Kitty Section regretted kicking Luka out of the band the moment they saw him performing with Jagged Stone; getting the break of a lifetime. And when they heard about a potential record deal… well, let’s say regret didn’t begin to cover it.

“Oh, we’re working on it,” Rose smiled, a big fake smile on her face. “We got a lot of people we’re considering.” The truth was, and it was hard for Kitty section to learn, that most people who had a fraction of Luka’s talent didn’t want to work with a bunch of teenagers. And without Luka there, no one was reminding them to practice or book gigs.

           Rose returned to a seat, feeling more bummed than she had when she got to the class. She had been happy for Marinette, and for Luka. But she had so many dreams for Kitty Section and herself that just because she was happy for them, didn’t mean she wasn’t unhappy for herself.

           Chloe pulled Marinette back into the conversation, just as the last of the students arrived, “So, once you sign the record deal, are you going to go on tour with Jagged and Clara. Luka said he’s going.”

           Marinette frowned. She hadn’t really considered it much. Clara had reached out to her congratulate her on the record deal and tell her how much she loved Marinette’s songs. Clara had hinted hard that she’d love Marinette to come on tour with her. But Marinette didn’t know. Being a rock star wasn’t ever one of her goals in life.

“I still want to design,” Marinette admitted.

           Chloe shrugged, “So do that too.” She suddenly gripped Marinette’s arm. “You can wear design your own dress to the Teen Choice Awards, and the MTV music Awards. You can design my dress!”

           Marinette laughed, “My song came out like three days ago, and you’re practically writing my acceptance speech; I might not get nominated.”

           The blond scoffed, “Oh you’re getting nominated. Do you know how many people downloaded your songs? Records were broken. Even my mother played ‘Really don’t care’ whenever she wants someone to stop talking to her now. Go on tour!”

“I’d need more songs,” Marinette said. “I’ll need to release like an actual album.”

“Penny went through all yours songs, remember?” Chloe said. “She sent me a list of all ones that she think would top the charts. She wants to record, ‘Fight Song’ as soon as you sign with the label. And she swears, ‘I kissed a Girl’ is going make people lose their minds.”

           Marinette sent her a smirk, “That song’s half yours remember; we wrote it after you and Kagami got closer.”

“Won’t even hide the body, Dupain-Cheng,” Chloe growled.

           Marinette laughed, “Fine! If I go on tour, I want you there with me. I couldn’t do it with you! You’re only one I’d trust me my social media accounts.”

“How could you invite Chloe,” Alya asked hearing the end of the conversation as she arrived just after the bell rang. “I’d be a much better social media influencer than her!”

           Chloe raised an eyebrow, “Uh huh, and how’s the traffic for the Ladyblog?” She asked.

           Alya flushed with anger. It was bad. They all knew it was bad. Ladyblog had died dramatically after Ladybug vocally for the other press to hear told Alya she didn’t work with reporters who didn’t fact check. “Marinette’s my bestie; I should be going with her.”

           Marinette snorted, “Last I check your bestie was Lila. Or don’t you remember ending our friendship?”

“Well, I, uh,” Alya stuttered out. She had completely forgotten disowning the bluenette. She had been so excited when her mother told her friend’s name was trending, thinking she’d see Lila Rossi, only to see Marinette Dupain-Cheng on the top search list of the day. Then she watched the video of her performing, when Jagged mentioned the record deal, Alya lost her mind. Her mind was filled with images of her and Marinette at music awards shows and on tours; movie premieres. It was all going to be amazing.

           Except it wasn’t. She and Marinette weren’t friends anymore. A balloon popped inside Alya.

           Marinette gave her a sad smile, “What did you think I forgot? Or you must have.”

“The chances of that happening or as likely as Jagged Stone owning a cat,” Chloe smirked as Lila walked into the door. “Or did you forget that part too? Wonder how Lila saved something he never owned?”

           To her credit, Lila didn’t bat an eye. “He doesn’t own one now. He must have forgotten the poor thing once he got really famous and they went out of style. I wonder what happened to it.” It was good performance. Lila even got teary eyed.

           Still, Lila was met with suspicious looks. The class started to wonder if she was really their golden ticket. Or if the pissed of the real one instead.

“Congratulations, Marinette,” Lila simpered, jealously flaring in her eyes. “Who knew Jagged Stone was your Uncle?”

“Shouldn’t you?” Chloe poked yet another hole in her story. “You said you were oh so very close.”

           Marinette smirked, “I had get my rock and roll genes from somewhere.”

[sabraeal]

Whenever I view the moon on the battlefield

[Read on AO3]

Written for @bubblesthemonsterartist, on the occasion of her becoming older than me once again. Old as dirt really. Practically middle aged...😂

It had snowed the night before.

Kai can taste it; it’s a sharp bite in his nose, a vivid chill on his tongue. There’s nothing to show for it now; the engawa creaks beneath his tabi, but there’s no crunch, no wetness to tell it was once there. Only the lingering scent remains, and only for those who know to look for it.

Hah, reminds him of someone he knows. Oh, how it would annoy him to hear it, to hear his shadow wrapped in strokes and made solid on the page. Maybe he would whisper it in the Vice-Commander’s ear one day; at least then that bit of poetry could come from a welcome mouth.

He takes in another breath, the cold burning deep in his lungs, and-- ah, it’s not just winter on the air today, but something else. A buzz, a jangle of bells; something dissonant with the usual bustle and boom of the compounds. This is a place filled to the rafters with young men; it should be boisterous, a raucous din of swords clashing and chatter threading through the air, but instead--

Instead it is silent. Kai is not one to put a hand to hilt, not when there is no reason to draw, but in this loud lack, he considers it.

Kai is not a small man; we could put you in the ring, Nagakura would tell him when his wallet no longer made the sweet music it ought, really give those sumo a run for their money, eh, Raki-san? He would laugh-- what man wouldn’t, when Nagakura rolled his words in his mouth, undaunted by sake or sense-- but it was true he was of a size with those men, that he could make the ground thunder under his feet should he choose it.

But when he paces the engawa now, no boards sing beneath his feet. Sound is a choice, but silence takes practice, takes precision. Babes are born into this world wailing, but it takes a lifetime to learn how to stifle a step, how to sit with a quiet mind and a calm heart. When they write of him, they will say that Shimada Kai moved mountains when he walked, but only the Watch will know that he could breathe so slowly that dust would lie still.

Well, the Watch and Gen, who slides open the shoji with a sigh, wiping at his tonsure with a grimace, and promptly jumps.

“Shimada-san,” he laughs, weakly. “I didn’t hear you coming.”

Kai would assure him that he wouldn’t be the first, but considering his reputation, he doubts that will be much of a comfort. Besides, this is hardly the first time he’s caught one of the captains unaware. I’m going to put bells on you, the Vice-Commander told him more than once, frowning at his spilt tea, then at least I’ll know you’re coming before your shadow arrives.

There’s voices coming from behind the paper; the Vice-Commander’s low, intense rumble is one of them, as well as Okita’s higher, prodding tones. The two of them sharing a room without shouting was rare enough, but for Gen to have subjected himself to it-- “There’s a meeting of the captains?”

Gen’s men call him stern, an exacting task master as relentless as any dojo’s sensei-- but they never fail to remark upon his kindness either, nor the open warmth his smile radiates, like the gentle heat off a hibachi. Expressive, a learned man might say; it makes him a good captain, a lethal warrior, and a terrible diplomat.

“Ah...” His mouth pulls tight, a grimace that flashes before he is able to school his face. “Yes. Er, or should I say, among some. There was quite a commotion last night.”

“A commotion?” It had been Okita in that room and the Vice-Commander. It would be a necessity to have Kondo as well, to keep them from nipping at each other’s throats. Captains, with Gen but one among them, but not all-- the arithmetic alone makes his blood run cold. “You mean with the Furies.”

The word alone sets Gen’s face slack, his eyes pulsing wide as he searches the courtyard, fearing the ears that might hear them, unwitting. “Yes,” he replies slowly. “Two ran free last night.”

If Shimada cussed, he would be sorely tempted to do so now. “There were bodies then? Has Yamazaki-kun--?”

“Toshi sent him out last night,” Gen assures him. “Just after he returned with Saito and Souji. There will be nothing for anyone to find when they wake this morning.”

He would be back soon, then. Dawn leaked over the horizon, lazy as it always was in these last few winter months. “Then why have the captains met?”

Gen’s breath tumbles into the air, troubled. “There was a witness.”

“A witness?” Kai shifts, restless. That would make things complicated-- or simple, depending. With their luck, however...well, anticipating the worst made more answers seem sweet.

“It’s a boy, barely more than a child.” Every word bobs heavily between them, weighed down by Gen’s disapproval. “We’ve had him in custody since last night.”

“Even a child can hold a knife.” Something a man who knew Okita as a boy should know, if half of what he’s heard is true. “And those that can’t have eyes and tongue still.”

“You would say that,” There’s no heat behind Gen’s words, just a reluctant fondness. “But you still let them beg you for candy in the marketplace.”

Ah, he would bring that up. “Even a child can hold a knife,” Kai blusters, “but that doesn’t mean every one does.”

“Then you see what I mean.” Gen shuffles down the engawa, casting a thin scowl toward the shoji. “This boy’s cheeks are smooth, not a threat of stubble on them, and yet we have him bound hand and foot like some common criminal. And all because he had no choice but to witness...”

His words stumble, but Kai does not need to hear them to know just what those child’s eyes have seen. Yamazaki may be the one that cleans up after the Fury’s missteps, but he has seen what their bloodlust leaves behind. Pieces, never enough to be made into a whole; hardly enough to throw into furnace for ashes.

“Toshi wants me to bring him,” Gen mutters when Kai matches his recalcitrant pace. “A boy not old enough for a razor, but they’ll interrogate him to see what he knows.”

“No.” The answer rattles around in his chest, hollow. “They want to know what he thinks he’s seen.”

“They might as well ask a man asleep in his bed for all the good it will do them.” Gen’s mouth is little more than a blade’s edge, hardly parting as he grits out, “Fear paints uncertain memories, and the terror this boy must have witnessed...”

Kai does not speak, but in his silence, he agrees. The Vice Commander could fire his barrage of questions, as relentless as any Black Ship, but for a child to remember anything but the beating of his heart as he waited to die-- he would be a true warrior, not to be wasted on Okita’s blade.

“It won’t be so bad,” Gen says with a wave of his hand, as if the movement alone could banish their concerns. “Heisuke is of an age with him. You know he could hardly stand to see a potential comrade in distress.”

True enough. Shinpachi used to tease him about Serizawa’s page; to hear him tell it, the boy had barely awoken before Heisuke asked him to call him by the same, bandying about the name Ryunnoske like they were brothers rather than strangers. He doesn’t, not anymore, not since...

Well, perhaps this time Heisuke would not be so quick to adopt a stray. Not when the last had hardly washed clean from the river’s shore.

“And Shinpachi-san and Sano-san won’t suffer it either.” Gen’s voice bubbles brightly, like the sunshine over a still river’s rapids, danger lurking just beneath the surface. “They might sit quiet now, but once they see this child...”

That, Kai doubted. Both were good men, but they made better warriors. Perhaps if this boy were as pitiful as Gen claimed, he would have the right of it. But otherwise, his age might work against him; boy he might be to men such as them, but to two that were used to thinking of Heisuke as an equal rather than a child--

“Okita will want to kill him,” Kai reminds him instead; the largest danger. Shinpachi and Sano would bend whichever way the Vice Commander’s wind would blow, but Okita is ruled by his own whims-- or Kondo’s word. And Kai knew which of those were faster.

“There’s few enough men he doesn’t,” Gen grumbles. “He can say what he wishes. I doubt his word will carry much weight among the captains, after...”

Everything. The Shinsegumi’s name might be new enough to shine, but already it is smeared with blood, and most of it from Okita’s blade. No one would be eager to follow his lead, not when Serizawa’s influence sat heavy on him as a yoke.

Gen hesitates, steps stilling on the boards. “You’ll watch for him, won’t you?” He turns his head over his shoulder. “Yamazaki-kun, I mean. Toshi will want to speak to him, once all this is...decided.”

Between a body and a hostage, he means. “I will,” Kai promises. “We will be ready, when it’s time.”

One way or the other.

Kai knows better to linger when Gen brings the boy out-- he needs to make a show of normalcy, of everything being what his men expect to see, even if Shinpachi is not there to drill them when they stumble from their quarters, bleary-eyed and cotton-mouthed. He does, however, catch a glimpse later when he lingers at Nagi’s well. 

The boy’s a narrow thing, undersized, not dressed in the more subdued kimono of the emperor’s dictates, but a pale salmon. Not that it makes him strange among the men here, but still-- it’s odd, as is his lack of haori, and the way his hakama sit on his hips. There’s something strange in the way he walks too, in the flexibility of his spine, but Kai can’t put his finger on it, the answer just out of reach.

“There was a witness.”

He does not startle as Gen did; instead Kai peers up at the roof, gaze catching on the shadow that doesn’t sit right until it resolves into a man instead. Yamazaki isn’t a small man-- though he’s not tall either-- but he seems it crouched there, dressed in unrelenting back.

“There was,” Kai confirms, “but the captains mean to keep him.”

Yamazaki nods, eyes too serious above the cloth of his mask. “Until they know what he knows.”

Yamazaki had always been serious; Kai noticed it that first day in Nagi house, when they swore to uphold the name of the Roshigumi. Such gravity is not often seen the young; it marked him to Kai’s eye, made it easy to take him on as a colleague in the Watch, despite their difference in ages. But he had hoped, as he watched this young man take his first stumbling steps toward friendship, that it would lighten him, give him back some of the boy he still should be.

Whatever youth Ibuki had brought out in him, there’s no trace of it left now. All that remains is that stern intensity, that arrow-like focus.

It makes him afraid. Not of Yamazaki-- he is not the sort of man one needs to fear without reason-- but for him. He’s too young to throw himself away on the dreams of other men, but it’s useless to tell him so. At his age, Kai would have been much the same.

“Yamazaki, perhaps--”

There is a commotion in the courtyard; one loud enough that his hand is on his hilt before his thoughts catch up to him. The captains have converged already, all of them on a single door, and he can’t imagine why, until--

Until he catches that glimpse of salmon, and the wide, determined eyes of their captive.

“Idiot,” Yamazaki grumbles. “Who would try to escape when they know they have the notice of the Vice Commander?”

“I don’t think...” Kai slows his tongue to match his thoughts. “I don’t think he did. I think...he doesn’t know he’s of interest at all. He hardly even knows what he saw, let alone what it means.”

The air prickles with silence.

“Enough,” Yamazaki says, decisively. “He saw enough.”

By the time the Vice Commander calls for them, Yamazaki has changed into his jinbei; no longer the lethal ninja, but a mild-mannered acupuncturist. Still, it does not change the intensity his eyes take when he kneels across from Hijikata, nor the way his hands clench at his pants.

His head bows. “Vice Commander.”

“Shimada. Yamazaki. Thank you for handling our problem last night.” A faint smile lingers around his lips, but with his next breath, it’s gone. “But I’m about to hand you another one.”

Yamazaki jerks up at that, eyes pulled wide. “Sir?”

Every word is sour when Hijikata replies, “We’re keeping the girl.”

A pin could drop, and they all would hear it.

“Girl?” Kai’s voice lifts an octave. “You mean that the boy was--?”

“A poorly disguised girl? Yes. And that’s not all.” His mouth pulls thin with distaste. “She’s Kodo’s daughter.”

Were it in him to goggle, Yamazaki would. “Yukimura-sensei’s...?”

“Yes.” The word twists wryly in the air. “Quite the coincidence, isn’t it?”

Kai shifts restlessly on his knees. “Then does she know--?”

“She doesn’t know a damned thing about Kodo’s whereabouts,” he spits out, mouth rumpled in an irritated knot. “To hear her tell it, it’s been a year since she’s heard a single word. Came all the way down from Edo to look for him.”

“Alone?” Kai asks, too sharp.

Hijikata’s brows lift. “That’s what she said. She was coming down here to find Matsumoto, see if he’d heard anything since him and her dad were old friends. But apparently he’s out of town, and she’s out of luck.”

Kodo Yukimura’s daughter showing up on their doorstep mere weeks after his house burned to the ground with not a body to be found... it’s too good a story to be true, too convenient. Still, Kai find himself believing it, believing this girl he’s only seen a glimpse of.

Hijikata sighs into their silence, leaning an arm against his desk to lounge. “Sanan thinks that if we keep her here, Kodo might finally peek that shiny head out from where he’s hiding.”

“Do you think she’ll cooperate?” Yamazaki asks, every word dripping with doubt.

“Maybe. She’s quiet enough.” The Vice Commander huffs out a laugh. “Well, except when she tried to sneak out. But to be fair, I wouldn’t stick around if Souji said he’d kill me either.”

Yamazaki goes rigid at the sound of that name, knuckles blanching on his knees. Still, he stays silent.

“For the record, I don’t think the girl lying,” Hijikata mutters, already ill tempered from the thought. “But as long as we keep her, I want you two to keep an eye on her.”

“But Vice Commander--”

“Yamazaki.” The name cracks like a whip from Hijikata’s tongue. “Are you questioning my orders?”

He squirms on his knees, mouth bowing into a frown. “N-no, Vice Commander.”

“Good.” Hijikata’s mouth twitches. “Her identity stays between us. The men don’t need to know there’s a woman among us, no matter how she’s dressed.”

Kai considers that. “But if she’s meant to stay here, at Yagi House...”

“She’ll need a better cover. I know.” If anything, the Vice Commander turns...petulant. “Souji had the bright idea of putting her as my page, and Kondo thought it was a good idea--” the implication in his tone that he did not agree was impossible to miss-- “so make sure that’s the story that circulates.”

He nods. “Of course.”

“Good, then you’re both dismissed. And Yamazaki?”

The boy perks up, eager as any dog for his master. “Yes, Vice Commander?”

Hijikata hesitates, his face growing lean and wary, the way a hunter’s does before the hunt. “If she runs, you have my permission to deal with her.”

[sunflowerandco]

After the Fact: Act V - The Duncan Special

Rating: T

I wanted to dedicate this chapter to @straighttxhell for just being so nice and supportive of this story! And I really hope you all like this one for the fact that’s it’s all very soft so prepare.

previous acts here

         Duncan, DJ, and Geoff were all settled on the couch in need of a game plan.

         "As much Courtney gives off that energy, I can't imagine her wanting this grand gesture, and I don't either. I'd rather it happen in the moment, like in a moment you wouldn't expect." DJ came up with an easy solution to Duncan's dilemma.

         "So basically, do the complete opposite of what Geoff did." Geoff responded in offense to DJ's suggestion. "Then why am I here?!"

         Duncan removed the hands behind his head and shrugged his shoulders. "Moral support?"

         "I think there'd have to be morality involved then..." DJ trailed off. They heard the door unlock and immediately straightened up despite only having to stop talking. Courtney walked into the living room and their joint silence automatically raised her suspicion.

         "Why are you being so quiet? What did you do? Did you eat my key lime squares?"

         Duncan didn't know what the hell a key lime square was, but his answer gave him a free ticket out of her line of questioning. "...Yes?"

         Courtney gasped like she just witnessed him kick a puppy. "Carlos makes them specifically for me! Now I have to go back to the bakery!"

         "I'm sorry, baby." Duncan grabbed one of her reusable grocery bags, handed it to her, and kissed her on the cheek in baseless consolidation. "Tell Carlos he's gonna be busy making you more." He went as far to turn her toward the door by her shoulders. She yelled out before closing the door.

         "You're picking up the order though!" As soon as the door closed Duncan turned back to his friends.

         "I don't even know what the hell a key lime square is." DJ felt sympathy for Courtney's unneeded frustration.

         "You didn't have to lie to ol' girl."

         "If I didn't, she would still be on my ass. Trust me, you don't wanna see Courtroom Courtney." It was the nickname he came up with after she got accepted into law school. It made her even better at arguing her point across, which Duncan didn't even know was possible for her to do.

         Geoff got up from the couch, eager to get his point across to his friends. "All I'm saying is it would be a shame if it wasn't a memorable moment. That's why I went all out for Bridge."

         Duncan pondered on what he said. He could understand why Geoff felt the way he did, considered the aspect of the event being memorable for Courtney, and not just a passing moment between them. He thought maybe grand gestures weren't such a bad idea. "Alright, then. What do you think I should do? When it comes to big, I have a few ideas.

        The three of them exchanged ideas until they could think of the most extra idea for the amount of time they had left to plan.

                                                        ***

        Duncan stood in the kitchen, leaning his back on the counter as he awaited an answer on the other end of the phone.

         "Hi, yeah, I'm calling to book a balloon ride for two on Saturday evening?"

        …

        "Uh, yeah it's Duncan Miller and Courtney Álvarez. I haven't been on one, but I think she has."

       …

        "Five-thirty's great. Okay, we'll be there. Thank you."

        Duncan mentally crossed a line on his list. If doing this meant they'd have a memorable, story-worthy day, it would all be worth it in the end. He turned to walk back to the living room but jumped at the sight of Courtney looking in the refrigerator. "Oh my God! How long have been standing there?"

        Courtney looked at him before refocusing on the contents of their refrigerator. She seemed to be low-energy and confused by him being startled. "Oh, hey, Babe. I just got here?" He appeared to calm down after she told him. She couldn't find anything that she wanted, so she closed the door defeated, and sighed against the door.

        "What's wrong? Didn't you have another class today?"

        "Yeah, but my professor went into labor, so it got cancelled. I'm happy for her and all, but now I'm glum." This was one thing he knew upset her, but one thing he couldn't understand. Her personal enjoyment for classroom settings, participation points, and homework made her feel most productive. So, missing out on it made her star dim.

        "Needa hug?" Duncan held his arms out to invite her in and hoped his heart rate didn't give away nearly getting caught by her. She responded by entering and wrapping her arms around his torso. She looked up at him. Her voice was so low and the number of times he'd seen her like this were very seldom.

        "Thank you. I'm gonna go shower now." He let her go do whatever she could to raise her spirits, but he couldn't help but find her crestfallen demeanor cute.

        He heard the bathroom door shut and he let out the breath he didn't know he was holding in. He couldn't remember the last time he felt this nervous around her. Duncan habitually relied on his confidence as a stand in and he couldn't decipher whether it weakened from the act of posing the question, or the method he chose to take under the influence of his best friends' views.

         Duncan's cell phone went off. It was a number he couldn't place but answered anyway. before he could say anything, he heard another man's voice speaking in a sultry tone.

         "Hey, Courtney. It's Carlos. You gave me this number for the order, right?"

         "This isn't Courtney. It's Duncan, her boyfriend. She wanted me to pick up her order. But, if you plan on talking to my girlfriend like that again, I can give you something I'm good at, too."

         "Oh, alright. it's ready for pickup. Bye"

         The call dropped immediately after he spoke.

                                                       ***

         Duncan sat on their couch with a picnic basket in his hands. It would be their first time in a month where they were able to devote a day to themselves without their busy lives getting in the way. Duncan was feeling the pressure now in hopes of the success of this day; he just hoped he'd done right by her with his plans. His head filled with preoccupations and all the possible ways it can go while Courtney readied herself for their outing. Duncan looked in the direction her voice was coming from, abruptly bringing him out of his contemplative state.

        "What do you think?" Her white dress highlighted her warm skin. The puffed sleeves-cottage core look was not her usual style, but she pulled it off effortlessly. He stood up from the couch, ready to hype his girl up.

         "I just thought I'd try something new since I haven't dressed up in a while. I think I look pretty good."

         "My god you look gorgeous, Princess."

         "Oh, stop. You really think so?" Courtney feigned bashfulness before she broke out into a few poses, looking over her shoulder and putting her hands on her hips. Duncan playfully scooped her up and kissed her on her cheek.

        "Ready to head out?"

        The car ride to the dock park filled with conversation of Courtney's excitement and Duncan's guise of normalness. When they arrived, the sky took on a gray hue, one Duncan did not expect from the forecast he checked today. They found the spot of their choice and unfolded their blanket. Their time was spent indulging in their favorite foods packed, relaxing, and reading.

        Courtney laid her head on Duncan's lap, holding a book in her face while he fed her grapes, helping her live up to his name for her. She closed it when she looked up and noticed Duncan was being quieter than usual. "What are you thinking about?" Courtney sat up to face him.

        Duncan tried to shift the focus of the conversation to her to deflect. Still, Courtney persisted. "How beautiful you are right now."

        "Nice one, but seriously. What's going on?"

        "Nothing. Why are you being such a lawyer?"

        "Because it gives me answers; you've been acting weird, key-lime-square-eater."

        Duncan threw a grape at her hoping to distract her. Courtney tried not to laugh when her mouth dropped open. To counter, she reached for the can of whipped cream to dispense some on top of his head. She couldn't suppress her laughter after some of it fell on the tip of his nose, using her finger to catch enough to eat. Duncan challenged her even further. This was just their one of many food wars, just at a new, unexpected location. "You really wanna do this. Right here?" He grabbed the can, making Courtney retreat behind a nearby tree. He felt a few droplets from the sky fall on his head, but it was nothing serious enough to wreck their plans. He caught up to her, grabbing her from behind and carrying her back to their blanket while he threatened to dispense confectionary mousse on her hair. Courtney pleaded for mercy in between laughs.

        "Duncan, please don't!"

        "Don't dish what you can't take, Princess!"

         Then, there were more droplets to which they didn't mind. The rain got a little heavier, but it didn't interrupt their preoccupation.

         A bolt of lightning near a tree and shower-like pour down confirmed their decision to make a run for it in the boathouse near the docks.

         They thanked the Gods for the door being unlocked as they entered the boathouse; the rain still beating loudly on the tin roof. This cabin proved to be nightmare fuel and they were surrounded by live bait, large, sharp fishhooks, and surprisingly no boat resting on the inside dock. Thunder rumbled loudly over the roof of the cabin just as they secured the door shut. Duncan's instincts compelled him to slip his leather jacket over Courtney's shoulders to stop her from shivering but took the ring box out of his pocket before doing so and stuffed it in his jeans pocket. He tried his best not to show his annoyance to their plans, but then it dawned on him that maybe this happened for a reason. He could read the signs the universe usually gave him, and this time he determined that the storm was a sign that he was right all along. He subtly joked about the fortunate event, trying to throw a curve to keep her surprised.

         "Worst date ever, huh?"

         Her hair was still dripping wet, and her natural waves made her hair shrink slightly. She was cold, wet. Her response surprised him. It was as if she tore a page from his book and didn't base her happiness on perfection. "I mean... it depends on how you look at it. I'm with you. We haven't had a day like this in a while." She wrapped her fingers around his arms to pull him in and attach her lips to his. Her acceptance of their situation confirmed his perception of their moment, and he felt more ready than he'd ever been to ask her. Their kiss was shortened when Duncan pulled away slowly, and his hands went from her hips to hold onto her forearms. He kept his eyes on hers as he brought one knee to the floor, still holding onto her when he started.

         "It isn't gonna get more memorable than this."

        Courtney caught on immediately and had no control over the tears flowing to her eyes. Her voice broke when she tried to speak. "Duncan..."

         "Courtney, when I told you that you save my life every time, I meant it. I don't know where the hell I'd be if you weren't in my life." He continued, and the more he spoke, the more relief he felt.

         "You are the only person who makes change worth it because you deserve the best of me if it means dealing with the worst sometimes. I want to keep giving the best of me to you. I love you so much, it's been this way for so long, and I don't think I'll stop."

        He reached into his pocket and pulled out that small box, and held it open in front of her while she tried to wipe away the tears on her face. "Will you marr-"

        "Yes" Duncan let out a breathy laugh, both relieved and humored by her fervent nature.

        She giggled as she choked back tears while Duncan slid the ring on her finger. He stood up to hold her in his arms tightly, not wanting to let go as she left lipstick marks all over his face and neck.

         Courtney forgot they were in a fish cabin. Duncan often had that effect on her.

                                                       ***

        When the rain let up, they decided the best way to spend the rest of their day was in the comfort of their own home, on the couch, wrapped up in blankets. Courtney finally got her hands on her favorite dessert, and they were watching whatever interested them on TV.

         "Carlos always nails it perfectly with these!" He glanced at her and remembered his interaction with that baker.

         "By the way that guy has it bad for you. I don't blame him though. Now, he knows better than to bother you, though." Courtney objected in disbelief, still chewing her dessert.

         "He does not!"

         "Of course you're blind to any guy having the hots for you. If it weren't that way, we would've been together since ninth grade."

         "That sheer confidence. What gave you the idea I wanted to date you in the ninth grade?"

         "The ring on your finger tells me otherwise."

         She held her hand out proudly and admired the oval-shaped gem on her finger.

         "How did you afford this? You didn't rob a jewelry store, did you?" Duncan gave her a blank stare before she started giggling. He brought her hand down and intertwined his fingers with hers, looking at the TV again.

         "No. I started saving the day before you moved in with me."

         Courtney's chest warmed up with an unexplained feeling of completeness when he told her. She looked in his direction and into his eyes; she felt even more soothed after realizing he rubbed circles on her hand with this thumb. She gave him a look of contentment before positioned her head on his shoulder and stared at the TV while he slid his arm around her shoulder.

        "Thank you." He looked down at her, puzzled at her sudden gratitude.

        "For what?"

        "For giving me your shirt at the beach. For opening conversations about our feelings that I was too scared to have, and just growing with me. Had it been anyone else, I think my life would be very... fragmentary. Like, this just wouldn't feel right with another person. Maybe even... insipid? We might not make total sense to some, but I feel like I perfectly fit here." She let her mind speak for itself in this moment while she traced the lines of the tattoo on his hand out of habit.

        "You said it better than I did. I love you, and if I can express that in any way, I'll take it." Duncan knew he'd always remember feeling unfathomably lucky to have taken this route of fate.

        "I love you, too."

A/N: Well I hope you all enjoyed this one! Again thank you for reading and I’ll see you in act vi

[shiversdownyerspine]

4. Respite

Part 4, get it while it’s hot! PART 5 COMING SOON TO THEATERS NEAR YOOOUUUUU!

One more time, you run your fingers through your wet locks. Feeling for any lingering shampoo or conditioner that would be betrayed by a noticeable texture, you deftly detangle any little knots brought about by your thorough scrubbing.

Satisfied, you carefully scrunch your hair dry with your pale blue towel, taking care to gently pat your feathery nape dry as you take a moment to recollect; yesterday hadn't quite gone according to plan what with Axel discovering one of your odd little attributes and delaying your preparations for the kittens...not to worry though, you had managed to track down a couple of toys and kitten-proof some potentially dangerous spots in your home before dinner time rolled around.

With towel held loosely in hand, you sigh and lightly rub a down feather between thumb and forefinger. Funny how such a small thing can cause you such trouble...but honestly, it could have gone a lot, lot worse. As a matter of fact, considering their occupations, the three men have been considerably decent towards you and your secrets. Towards something they have every reason to consider a threat, yet they don't.

Well...they don't exactly have the entire picture, so it's not too surprising they regard you passively. You can only imagine what they would do if they knew. You ponder the irony amusedly for a moment; you live with assassins, anyone else would be having conniptions at the danger that would present. But you're not anyone, and they're not anyone, so maybe you all...cancel the danger out?

You smile at the thought. Whatever it is that's keeping things relatively peaceful, you're thankful for it. Speaking of keeping the peace, you've decided to adjust the rules for these question sessions a little bit; nothing too drastic, but hopefully enough to satisfy everyone and allow yourself some wiggle room if their questioning gets a little too...personal. You take a deep breath and release the thought in favor of focusing on kitten planning.

Shiver crawling up your spine, you reach for one of your toastier sweaters and slip it on. Believe it or not, it was the cold that had persuaded you to take a hot shower even after your unplanned little washup from the previous day's kitchen mishap. It's not a particularly frigid morning, but if you're chilly, then you're chilly. A cup of coffee will be just the ticket.

And so that's where the early morning finds a sleepy you, hot drink in hand as you meander around your home collecting items, checking off a mental list as you go; Scratching post, check. Cozy blankets, check. Old towels, check. Litter, check. Extra litter boxes, check. Stain remover, check. Just a couple more things and some additional kitten-proofing and you're all set.

You eye Butternut and Pumpkin in their cat tree, snuggled up together as the big ol' Maine Coon spills over the side. Introductions shouldn't be too difficult...you swear Butternut doesn't have an aggressive bone in her body, though the tabby will probably be a little temperamental in the beginning as the pecking order is established. Pumpkin isn't really a bully, but with multiple cats soon to be around, you need to be prepared in case she shows aggression. You'll be trimming those claws and letting the cats meet the babies nice and slow, just in case.

It isn't long until morning light peeks through your windows that the Swedes begin to stir; Butternut and Pumpkin perk up, and as the tabby jumps from Butternut's side to bounce down the hallway and wait at the door, the other feline decides she is too cozy to move. You take a moment to envy her extra snooze time before heading to your kitchen as the ding of your timer signals breakfast's imminency. It will be a light meal thanks to your work taking a good bit of your time and attention, but still you hope the three men will appreciate your fancy lemon glazed blueberry muffins and fresh fruit from your garden with a pot of coffee.

Axel pours himself a mug while Otto and Oscar inspect the muffins, and as the two younger brothers take their seats, you apologize for interrupting their morning time but you have made some changes that need to be brought to their attention. The adjustments you present for their question sessions is met with suspicious curiosity; repeat questions will still most likely not produce new information, so if they choose to ask anyway, you will instead offer personal information of your choice. You warn them not to get too excited, it will probably be just some small tidbit.  

Oscar takes a massive violent bite out of his chosen baked good as Otto looks on with mild exasperation, "..So...hints? Of you. Little...like favorite things?"

You nod in response to Oscar's muffled inquiry as Otto takes a more civilized bite of his own muffin. With a little nervousness, you state the other change; if they ask a question you are uncomfortable with, you will tell them so and decline to answer.

Axel selects his own muffin from the basket, turning it this way and that before his eyes slide to his larger brother, "Jag tror att vi blir mutade."  

Otto swipes his tongue across the pad of his thumb to remove a bit of glaze, "Det är en bra muta."

Oscar reaches for another, "Det bästa, jag accepterar."

You hesitate momentarily at their short enigmatic conversation before addressing their 'recruitment' question directly, "For example, you've been wondering if I have previously encountered the Commission, and you are right, I have. But it wasn't a recruitment and it has no influence on the work that I accept and enjoy. That's all I'm willing to say. The rest, as you may have guessed, is private."

Slowly chewing his own mouthful, Axel carefully compares your new rules with the quality of your bribe before accepting with an incline of his head. He is content with the changes...for now. Mouth a mess of crumbs, Oscar immediately asks about replacement information for yesterday's repeat question. You decide to humor him and offer, "I consider myself better at baking than cooking, I enjoy it more too."

Gathering your nerve, you quickly address one more thing; you're sure Axel already told them, but just to be certain, you take a seat at the table, turn, and reveal your nape feathers to them. It's only fair. Otto makes an inquisitive sound at the sight, not because they weren't aware of this feature, Axel did indeed report his findings from his pseudo interrogation, but rather as a surprised response to you willingly revealing it to them in an attempt to catch them up to speed. The plumes are small, just like you, and look just as soft as Axel casually admitted to them being when Oscar asked.

Otto notices the twitch of Oscar's fingers and the fixation in his eyes. The large man subtly leans forward and tenses as he locks eyes with the younger, body language a clear warning to behave. Oscar is tempted to ignore the warning, but taking note of the sheepish set of your shoulders he decides against discovering the texture for himself...for the moment. Being patient now will result in higher satisfaction, especially if he catches you unaware.

Really, he can't be expected to abandon the chance to find out if you'd squeak or squeal at an unexpected touch, not when your reactions to being snuck up on have thus far been delightful yet restrained. Otto's eyes narrow; the suspiciously blank look his sibling fixes on his face does little to hide the spark in his eye, nor does it do much to inspire confidence. He'd be keeping an eye on the impulsive brat.

Listening to your explanation, Otto turns his attention to Axel and nearly does a double-take; the look in his eldest brother's eyes is oh so abstruse and only lasts a split-second before you lean back up and shyly smooth your ruffled hair into place. He disregards the warmth he thought he saw as a trick of the light, interpreting it instead as approval of your continued thoughtfulness and accommodation towards them. Even after Axel’s scare tactics, you show them such earnest consideration.

The largest Swede bites into another muffin, barely containing a groan as the flavor bursts on his tongue. He wonders if you'd bake more often, maybe if Axel takes up dinner you'd have a little more free time for it? He knows his brother misses cooking. Otto's ruminations are interrupted by you snatching up a muffin in a paper towel and refilling your own coffee mug as you announce your need to continue your work, the new kittens are bound to arrive any day now after all. You insist that if they need anything they not hesitate to ask, and just like that you wander out of the kitchen with Pumpkin hot on your heels.

Leaving them to enjoy the last of breakfast in peace, you step to your bookshelf to collect several of your informative books on cat breeds, kittens, health, and behavior. With the small stack of books tucked in your arm against your chest, mug in one hand and muffin in the other, you wander over to your coffee table to deposit your goods.

Taking a seat with books beside you, you settle in to do some serious research. Content with the setup you had prepared in advance in your bathroom to provide the kittens with their own little bedroom, now you can focus on learning about the breed itself, what to expect, and how to care for them...so long as Pumpkin isn't too distracting. It's not like she's attempting to lay her body down in your lap or anything...right on top of the pages. You stare the purring feline down and lift your book from under her furry body. The tabby chirps as you use her as a book rest with a murmur of, "Don't complain, this is what you get."

A snicker gives away Oscar, and you turn to see the man behind you; one hand rests on the top of the couch, the other rubs Butternut's ear as she stretches on his shoulders. You flush at being caught talking to your cat but raise an eyebrow in playful challenge, "Can I help you?"

Pumpkin yowls in response to no longer being the center of attention, pulling your gaze back to her in lightly exasperated surprise, "...No, not you."

Oscar leans slightly over the couch, face scrunched and intense as he peers down at the books by your side. Butternut grasps a lock of his hair in her mouth and tugs for the heck of it. With a grin you lift the book on kittens up for him to take. He inspects the cover curiously and flips it to the back as you explain your need to know a little bit more about the Siamese breed, how you did the same thing with the other animals, how this is your first time with kittens so young, and so on and so forth. Your excitement for your work bleeds through as you babble on while Oscar listens and watches you with growing mirth. He doesn't have to glance back toward the kitchen to know his older brothers are listening in.

Some part of you realizes you're rambling, but before you can overthink it you ask, "When the kittens are here, would you like to help with them? You won't have to do all that much, just make sure they're not getting into too much mischief when they're exploring. I know you're all bound to start receiving missions soon, so it'll help keep boredom away in the meantime."

Oscar makes a show of considering, head cocked as he mulls it over before accepting with a shrug and a nod. You beam, seeing the spark of excitement not quite so hidden in his eyes and chirp knowingly, "Don't spoil them too much."  

He snorts. Like anyone could stop him. Not wanting to leave your other two guests out of the fun, you ask if they have any ideas on names for two long skinny kittens. Both men regard you blankly, look to each other with furrowed brows, and back to you. You can't quite hide your amusement at the bafflement on their faces, making an educated guess that the question threw them for a bit of a loop and they have absolutely no idea. With your fun had, you save the men from your teasing, "You know what, it's best to wait until they're here. Figure out their personalities."

Otto folds his arms and nods sagely at your decision with a twinkle in his eye. Axel fixes you with a look of entertained vexation at your playfulness. You suspect both men don't really mind it. Oscar looks at you with unlimited approval as he leans further against the furniture.

You relax more into the couch, lighthearted with how successful the day was turning out to be. You shiver as the cold begins to nip at your skin and reach for your coffee with a sigh, careful not to disturb a napping Pumpkin. It's good to enjoy the little victories while you can.

———————————————————————————————————–

Jag tror att vi blir mutade- I believe we are being bribed.

Det är en bra muta- It’s a good bribe.

Det bästa, jag accepterar.- The best, I accept.

[hot-wiings]

The One Where You're Stuck At A Work Christmas Party, But At Least You Have Your Cute, Charming Coworker At Your Side.

Edited: 12-8-2020

"Would you like to pay for that upfront, or at the end of the night?"

“Isn't this an open bar party?”

You stared at the bartender with confounded and bewildered eyes and she nervously shifted as she stood, her eyes looking at the counter, occasionally glancing at other people at the bar avoiding your eyes. You took one strong whiff in her general direction and you could get a good reading on her aura, her feelings.

Molten Cheese; Anxiety. Rotten Eggs; Nervousness. Formaldehyde; Fear. 

It was your quirk that gave you such access to her vibes. You could smell emotions and feelings, provided you were within smelling distance then you could release your on pungent scents and alter someone's emotions, however, the stronger the emotions of a person then sometimes it would alter your mood. When you were younger you couldn't understand it, you didn't understand these feelings you felt or why you could smell people so strongly, as you got older you realized what each scent meant, the more pungent the stronger the feeling, the more floral meant someone was in a positive mood, and the more putrid meant they were the latter. 

“I’m sorry ma’am, this is not an open bar.  I can make a tab for you...”

You had to roll your eyes. Your company was probably the only company not to spring for an open bar for a Christmas party. You knew it was to discourage drinking, but they had to understand, as a hero, you dealt with a lot of things on your average day. The people you don't save, the countless lives that were waste and killed, children and the elderly, the horrors you saw on the battlefield. Sometimes you needed to let loose from all it, and whom more responsible to drink than a party full of heroes? Your bosses would digress.

Of course, none of this was the bartender's fault, and you felt slightly bad for getting upset after you smelled her aroma. She was young, obviously new to her job, and nervous to be dealing with alcoholics and tipsy people for the first time. Even if everyone here was probably a hero, it could still be very daunting. You never knew how someone would react under the influence, especially someone you didn't personally know.

“This is your first day on the job isn't it?”

“Is it that obvious? It's not just my first day, it's my first job.”

The girl nervously chuckled while she scratched the back of her neck, still nervously avoiding your eyes. You tapped your foot against the floor, her strong nerves beginning to affect your mood, and take over your nervous system. This was a great quirk to use on the field, especially in hostage situations, it helped you understand villains and easily sway their decision to harm people, but your mood was so easily affected by other negative emotions. It was so draining to try and change someone's mood to stop you from being affected, you changed one person, and soon three negative auras replacing it.

“That explains a lot, you're perfume is so pungent."

"Oh! You're the smelly hero, oh gosh- I- uh..."

Her eyes lit up as she realized who you were and she smiled, but the smile quickly faded as she realized what she had called you. It wasn't the first time someone realized who you were and it wouldn't be the last but never had someone so horribly botched your hero name. Maybe it was the nerves, the anxiety, the embarrassment, and every strong negative emotion she was feeling being absorbed up into your mood, but you felt completely mortified. You felt embarrassed with her and suddenly, you were crossed with the anxious thought about whether that's what your coworker called you behind your back. You wanted to cry. It was so irrational, but that's what her vibes were making you feel.

Christmas Cookies; Joy. Pine Trees; Relaxation. Candy Canes; Energetic.

The new smells engulfed you. They surrounded you as if you were inside a bakery. They entered your lungs, with each breath out and each new intake of oxygen it was there, you couldn't escape it and you didn't want to. It was distinctly joyful, distinctly happy and laidback, distinctly him. No matter how his smells changed on a day to day basis, you would recognize his scent anywhere. It was so pungent, so strong, and you could smell a lingering scent of the ocean. The smells wrapped you up and shifted your mood, they took away every negative emotion coursing through your body and replaced it with those of positivity.

You looked over your shoulder with a smile on your face as you spotted him. The Stun Gun Hero: Charge Bolt. He had a grin on his face as he sauntered over to you at the bar and occupied the barstool next to you.

"Sunset rum for the lady, on me."

The woman scurried away to make the drink with an embarrassed blush on her cheeks. You turned to Denki and smiled. You didn't know if it was purely lack of brain cells, or what, but the man was always grinning. He was always smiling, he was always happy. Even on bad days, even when battling villains he seemed to reek of dopamine, serotonin, happy endorphins. You didn't know how he did it, but you were grateful for it. On days when you were stuck in the office doing paperwork or studying up on the villains you were tracking down, your coworkers seemed to bring you down. So many negative feelings from different people took hold of you, sometimes you couldn't handle all of them at once and you needed to escape it all.

That's when you discovered Denki Kaminari, a faint scent of happiness among the abyss of dark emotions. Sometimes you found yourself craving his scent, sometimes you found yourself just standing outside of his office door, just breathing him in. You were sure he'd find it weird that you stood outside his office door trying to get a whiff of his smell, but it was so much more than that. He helped you feel good, he helped the bad feelings go away and he didn't even know.

"You don't have to pay for my drink."

"But I want to, besides, I can tell you've had a pretty rough day."

“I'd rather be at home, management said I had to come, apparently I'm not social enough, and I need to strengthen my relationships with the other heroes.”

“What a pain. I came for the drinks, didn't realize they weren't free.”

The bartender set down your drink in front of you and you took a swig from it, letting the alcohol wash over your senses as you turned to Denki again. It was a strong drink and you could already feel it taking its toll, but Denki had paid for it, and wouldn't it be rude not to drink it?

“Fuck work parties, am I right?”

“Well, they're not all bad. The foods free, and I'm sitting here with a really beautiful woman.”

A blush makes way across your face, dusting your cheeks a pink color as you turn your gaze back to your drink. You thought about how to reply to his blatant flirting as you swirled the liquid around in your cup. He always threw comments like this towards you. After a training session, after you'd taken down a villain together, when you were stuck in the elevator, and even by the coffee machine. If it was anybody else but Denki, you would've filed a sexual harassment charge, but Denki was so kind and so nice about it. His smell wasn't hostile or putrid, it was always sweet. He never threw these compliments your way when you were alone, he always did it in the presence of others. He did that to avoid making you uncomfortable by giving you flirtatious attention alone, but you always took it as ungenuine feelings, but he did it so often, and so kindly, perhaps he did mean his words. Maybe it was his feelings affecting yours, or maybe it was the alcohol, but you flirted back in your own coy way.

“True’ and I have the pleasure of having the company of such a charming, handsome man.”

Denki lightly chucked at your words, flattered and surprised you flirted back. Through all his time knowing you, you just blushed and thanked him for the compliment. Truthfully, he was ready to give up on his attempts, but you had never told him you didn't like his subtle advances. His chuckle only increased the blush on your cheeks. You brought your cup up to your lips and emptied the remainder of the contents down your throat, letting the liquid courage wash over you completely, enhancing your sense of smell and making you slightly tipsy. You always had been a lightweight, and how were you to know sunset rum was eighty percent alcohol, that's sixteen times the amount of the average beer.

“So I- Are you okay?”

Your eyes were closed, making you look asleep. Leaning closer to Denki, trying to get a better whiff of him, you were practically falling out of your barstool. Denki stood up from his stool and gently pushed you back into yours so you wouldn't fall, but instead, you gripped onto his jacket and pulled him closer to you.

“I’m fine! You just- God! You smell like Christmas!”

Denki would have blushed or laughed at your words, but your tone had gotten louder and your words were slightly slurred. You were obviously drunk, or at least seriously tipsy. If he had known you were such a lightweight he would've ordered you a lighter drink. 

“Ma’am, can I have water?”

“Sure.”

“I don't need water, I'm not drunk.”

“Right, you want to jump my bones sober then?”

Your hands were still gripping Denki's jacket and your nose was in his neck, practically hugging him. In your defense, he was the one who made the first move by pushing you back in your chair. 

“I’m not trying to jump your bones! You just smell so good, you always smell good.”

You whined your words out and a deep blush came across Denki as your words entered his ears. Denki would never admit it to anyone, but the real reason he came here tonight was because he heard you would be there. Over the years of working with you, he had developed a small crush. You were so admirable, so amazing. You dedicated your career not to just saving people, but using your quirk to save the criminals, to understanding them and taking them down using pathos rather than violence. 

“I always smell good?”

“Yes! God yes. I love the way you smell, it makes me so happy and warm. Sometimes I walk by your office just to steal some of your serotonin.”

Your confession made Denki smile as the bartender set down a cup of water in front of you. Embarrassment flooded your body as you realized what you had said to him. When you were tipsy you could say some honest things, but this was a deep secret you'd been harboring.

“I shouldn't have drank, I can't believe I said that. I- I should go home.”

You stood up from the stool with your bag in hand, tripping slightly as you went. Denki quickly grabbed onto your wrist and tugged you towards him. Still buzzed, you didn't fight him and tumbled towards his chest. 

"Don't go, you're drunk. If anything happened to you, I wouldn't forgive myself. Have a glass of water."

"This is embarrassing. I'm not being creepy, I swear. Your happy mood, it helps calm me down."

“You know, my flirting isn't meaningless. I think your quirk is neat and special, I think you're neat and special. If smelling me helps you calm down, then by all means, next time come into my office."

You took the glass of water and took tiny little sips to help sober yourself up. A blush spread across your face again, Denki had just indirectly confessed to you. You thought his flirting was meaningless, you thought he didn't really like you like that. You had such a fear of rejection around him, scared he would find your smelling habits weird, but he didn't. You leaned up to Denki again, this time was not to smell him drunkly, but to place a quick, sweet, chaste kiss on his cheek.

"Think you can say all of that to me tomorrow when I'm sober?"

"Depends. Tomorrow's Christmas, do you want to see me tomorrow, or are you going to regret tonight? Regret accepting my drink, regret spending the evening with me."

Denki bit his lip, and a new scent came from him. A foreign one. You had never smelt such a thing coming from him. He had always been so happy, but now you could smell fear, anxiety, everything the waitress reeked of earlier. It appeared you were not the only one with worries and fear of rejection. Lacing your fingers with Denki's, you reassured him the only way your inebriated mind could think of, by using a pickup line.

"You wanna know what I told Santa I wanted for Christmas?"

"Hmm?"

"Told him I wanted you."

[robuttsinyourthighs]

Maybe some HCs about KnockOut and BreakDown with a sparkling that's fast and shiny who loves to try and race around the Nemesis

Knock Out had been a little off lately and Breakdown couldn't quite place why. He wondered if it was because he had been left alone with their sparkling more often ever since Breakdown got the okay to resume regular field work overseeing the mines.

"What's got you all sour in the face, doc?" He leaned close to his favorite medic, catching him pouting to himself instead of working on a new drill attachment.

"JUST... I don't know... I feel like... I thought I would be more of an influence on the baby." Breakdown didn't quite understand why he was so upset? It sounded silly, but when he saw the look on his partner's face he couldn't laugh.

"Why do you think that you don't have any influence on him?" He looked to their happily burbling bundle of joy as he toddled around within the confines of his gated off play area.

"He hardly lets me hold him, he reacts FAR more happily to you when you come in than when I do, and he never fusses for you during feeding time, but he hardly wants me to hold him EVER... I mean look at him, Breakdown! He looks like a mini you; blue body, orange face, clearly going to be a heavier frame type..." Breakdown carefully pulled the medic close to him, allowing the other to huff and cling to him.

"Don't be like that... He's uh... He's got your cute audials?" Knock Out growled half-heartedly. "And I noticed his servos are coming in more and looking a lot like yours. Probably going to have your amazing medical skills." Knock Out hummed loudly and pulled back a little to look up at Breakdown.

"I think... Maybe I'm just... Worried he'll be so much like you, and only want to be around you if he has nothing in common with me... I don't want to get jealous of you stealing all his love." Breakdown chuckled finally and kissed Knock Out's forehead.

"I don't think that'll happen. He'll always love you! After all, you're part of him just as much as I am." Knock Out opened his mouth to protest when they both heard a noisy clatter come from the sparkling's play area. The mini fencing had been unsecured and toppled and the door to the medical bay opened and shut immediately after.

Both of them leapt into action, sparks racing as they feared someone had snatched their sparkling. There was no way he could toddle off THAT fast! They heard a squeal of rubber down a hallway and ran towards it, turning the corner as a pair of vehicons were falling.

"WHICH WAY?!" they shouted in unison, the drones pointing the way. The duo jumped over the felled mechs and transformed to try and catch up. A door would slide open and they would slam their brakes, shifting into bipedal form to check and have someone point them in a new direction. How were they still not seeing this sparkling-napper?!

:Lord Megatron!: Knock Out sent a com to their leader. :I need authorization to lock down the Nemesis! Our sparkling is-:

:I am well aware, Knock Out. That won't be necessary. Come to the bridge and collect him.. NOW.: He growled his order and cut the link. Knock Out filled Breakdown in that the little one had been found and they both rushed to the bridge, ready to beat the paint off of whoever dared try to snatch their poor little bitlet.

"He's probably terrified, Breakdown!" Knock Out huffed and fret more the closer they got to the door.

"As long as he's in safe hands he'll be fine." They keyed the door open to Starscream yelling.

"NOT YET HE'S MAKING A BREAK FOR IT!"

Both mechs stood right in the doorway to block whoever it was, only to have something smack against their lower legs and bounce back.

Four furiously spinning wheels greeted them, along with tiny revs from the motor inside. Knock Out was the first to snap out of his confusion and knelt down, carefully scooping the tiny car up and watching in fascination as it rumbled and wiggled it's tires. He knew that deep blue paint and those red accents.

"How?? We were right there with him and, I.. I didn't even hear him CHANGE?? Then he was gone??"

"He's certainly a quick little devil," Starscream muttered as he walked past them, wings flicking in irritation. Soundwave stalked silently up to the pair and pinged them with new schematics for a more secure play area they could set up in a new room.

"Thanks to Soundwave's quick thinking he was able to ground bridge him from the hallway right to us," Megatron sounded strangely amused. Knock Out and Breakdown came into the bridge more to better speak with him.

"Who had him?" Breakdown asked sternly.

"No one had him," he huffed. "He was simply fast. Too fast for anyone to just snatch him up," he started to laugh a low deep rumble in his chest. Soundwave radiated annoyance when Megatron asked him to "play it again".

The main screen queued up a security recording showing the tiny blue car zipping past and startling vehicons into falling, slamming into Starscream's ankles so fast and hard it had knocked him right on his aft, and finally Soundwave bridging the little one to him but still struggling to grab him with his cables. The sparkling ran so many laps around poor Soundwave he'd wrapped his cables around himself and deployed Lazerbeak to save himself before he fell on him.

Only with the symbiote free and flying overhead did the tiny car stop and transform onto his stubby little hands and knees, cooing and squealing as he tried to stand up to make grabby hands at the symbiote. Megatron was THOROUGHLY amused and the pair were relieved that they wouldn't be punished for their little one's first vehicle mode jaunt.

After they were safely back in their own habsuite and the doors properly secured did Knock Out start to coo and baby talk their little one. "Look at YOU! YOU'RE SO FAST! YOU'RE A NATURAL! Oh, you're going to LOVE racing! Yes you are!" Breakdown chuckled and put an arm around the red medic's waist, giving him a kiss on the cheek and smiling at their excitedly squealing child.

"Well would ya look at that? Guess I was right. He does take a little after his sire after all." Knock Out was pleased to know. He'd definitely have his hands full now. No wonder the little one didn't want to be held. He'd much rather test his wheels instead!

[ly-canthropewrites]

Love or War

Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Reader

Word Count: 2998

Rating/Warnings: SFW. Brief mentions of previous season drama.

Summary: “I saw you staring at each other, I wasn’t sure if it was sexual tension or murderous rage” 

You can feel the heavy gaze from across the field. Intense eyes fixated on your figure as you rattle the chain-wire fence that surrounds the newest section of Alexandria. The post-apocalyptic town has been thriving since the end of Negan’s reign and with the undead being the town’s only consistent antagonist, it has given the community an opportunity to expand their borders. The chain-mesh fence was scavenged from the Sanctuary before the community fell off the map and serves as a strong protector as the new plot of land gets tilled. But it remains fragile when leant against and it has become a daily task during guard duty to rid the walkers that stumble near the temporary fence, a job you jump at to vent your frustrations. 

The deliberate noise draws the attention of the few walkers close by and they turn, growling as they catch your scent in the wind and they shuffle your way. It’s second nature now, muscle memory, to shift your grip on the knife handle and strike at their heads, using the fence for leverage and stability. The motions do nothing to quench the frustration and fire that rages inside you and you growl, yanking your knife from the last walker’s head with more force than necessary. The bloodied blade gets cleaned on the rag that is tied to your belt loops and then you are left with nothing to do, no more walkers to distract you from the boredom or the swirl of emotions that fester inside. 

You find yourself glancing over in his direction, succumbing to the gravitational pull of the universe and you don’t find yourself surprised at all to find him still staring at you, a dark scowl painted across his face. You sneer back at him, standing strong with your own gaze. 

“Stupid, fucking redneck,” you mutter under your breath and the fire that burns in your chest grows hotter, feeding off of your anger. 

The swishing of grass on your left distracts you and you are met with Carol only a few feet from you. You nod at her, giving her a tight-lipped smile as well before turning to look at the perimeter, finding nothing in the wilderness has changed and you sigh. 

“I saw you staring at each other, I wasn’t sure if it was sexual tension or murderous rage,” Carol says lightly, walking to your side and mirrors your stance; arms crossed and back straight. 

You scoff, openly showing that you aren’t in the mood for her banter today but it doesn’t deter the older woman. 

“Most definitely murderous rage” you grit.

“See, I don’t know about that - I see a lot of passion,” She teases.

You throw her a withering look, disdain heavy in your eyes and if Carol isn’t careful; some of that murderous rage will be pointed at her soon. 

“So if it is murderous rage, how long are you going to remain angry at him?” Carol tries a gentler approach, obviously getting the message and you wince, guilt beginning to set in as you mentally chastise yourself about your unrestrained attitude. 

Shrugging, you refuse to make eye contact with your old friend. “I don’t know Carol, he humiliated me,” you breathe.

“He didn’t mean too, he was worried,” Carol begins to defend him but when she sees you shaking your head and the flash of hurt across your face, she stops herself. 

“But he did it anyway. He humiliated me, he berated me in front of everyone, undermined me, treating me as if I am some soft fucker who hasn’t been beyond the walls” you spit and you render the woman silent, unsure about what to say next. 

When the silence between the pair of you becomes stagnant, Carol realises it’s time for her to leave and she steps back a few feet, mulling over her next words. 

“Talk to him,” she pleads and you snort, “Fuck no,”. 

Carol says your name in warning, making you roll your eyes. “I’m not fucking submitting. If he wants to talk, then he can man up and come to me with a goddamn apology,”. 

You hear her heavy sigh behind you before her retreating footsteps, leaving you to stew in your malcontent alone. It is your stubborn pride and bruised feelings that prevent you from talking with your old companion, from making amends and burying the hatchet, an ideal that is important in this world because life is too short and unpredictable to be so petty. And yet, you cannot help yourself this time. He hurt you, deeply, a stinging wound that will take time to heal. 

It’s not like you have done anything wrong in the first place. With the apocalypse a decade old, resources are unimaginably scarce, leaving only items that are grown, hunted or handmade to be used. It was commonplace for you to be the first person out of the gates in the morning and the last to return in the evening, spending hours and even days hunting, refusing to go back to Alexandria empty-handed. You are too stubborn for your own good, too arrogant in your capabilities to survive and adapt to the dangerous world. As a repercussion, your last run was almost the death of you. 

Enemies are like hydras; one falls and another takes its place. Negan was once considered Alexandria’s greatest threat, but that fear was usurped by the latest peril; the Whisperers. Negan ruled with fear and violence. The Whisperers rule with death. Their ability to influence herds is an obstacle that the community does not know how to overcome. The capricious nature makes every run, every scouting mission, every patrol dangerous and life-threatening. Therefore, it became law that no-one is to go outside the metal walls without a group and without informing the council. It should have been expected that you would struggle with this rule, never been one to abide by strict regulations, but the thought slipped the minds of the council and you kept slipping outside the gates. 

Your last run is a perfect example of why the rule is in place; you got caught by the herd with Whisperers dotted within. Perhaps they tracked you down or perhaps it was just shit luck that you ran into them, but it resulted in a fight for your life and an injury that planted fear on sight. It was sheer, dumb luck that allowed you to escape with your life; an old tree fell whilst you were in the midst of swiping at walkers and humans alike, and caused a great enough distraction that gave you the opportunity to bolt. You damn well shocked Rosita who stood on guard duty that evening as you came sprinting towards the main gates, coated in two types of blood and clutching at your side, out of breath with wild eyes. 

That night you had Siddiq inform you that you got lucky the knife wound at your abdomen was free of infection but he was stern to chastise that only one hour more and you wouldn’t have made it, wound too deep to be stemmed by only pressure and the combination of exhaustion and blood loss would have defeated you. His words didn’t shake you that night, instead, you shrug nonchalantly and smirked, telling him that death in this world is inevitable and you would greet it like an old friend.  

You refused to stay in the infirmary that night, scrunching your nose at the thought of being surrounded by sick people in a sterile environment, rather opting for the privacy of your own place. He was unable to stop you, letting you go with an armful of supplies and a sigh, watching you stagger down the pathway. You made it only halfway home before you were halted by a loud yell, the noise capturing the attention of not just you but the other residents that were milling in the nearby courtyard. 

“What the fuck wer’ ya thinkin’?” Daryl yelled, storming towards you with a glare that would frighten Hades. “How fuckin’ stupid are ya?” he adds. 

He berated you in public that night, practically screaming in your face about your stupidity, your lack of respect to the council and their rules, your selfishness and conceited attitude. He didn’t let you get a word in to defend yourself as he raged, words becoming harsher by the second. You could handle the words but it was the venom in his voice that surprised you. It was filled with so much anger, so much hatred and spite that you lost the words that you wanted to scream back at him. Instead, when he took a moment to catch his breath, you just walked away, your eyes on the ground as you stifled the bewildered cry that ached in your chest. 

The incident happened two weeks ago and you haven’t spoken since, avoiding each other like the plague but the distance hasn’t stopped either of your from directing heated glares at each other, consequently deepening the rift in your friendship. 

                                                          ----

The guard changeover occurs on dusk and when your replacement comes, you greet them with a tight smile as you pass over the unused rifle before quickly leaving the post. You don’t head home after the shift and instead, you go down to the armoury with hopes that working maintenance on the weapons will distract you from the words Carol has lodged in your mind. Daryl worried? You scoff at the thought. In a previous time, those words would have made sense - you and Daryl have been partners in crime since the fall of the world, similar in too many ways and it made sense that you were friends. But after seeing the pure acrimony he directed at you, you fail to believe it stemmed from a place of compassion. 

It was well past midnight when the doors to the armoury creaked open. It was probably someone on shift wanting to pick up more ammo or something alike. What you didn’t expect was to see the rugged hunter ease into the room. You stared at him with furrowed eyebrows and a twist in your lips, hands paused on the shotgun you were working on. 

“You weren’t home when I knocked,” Daryl states simply, gruff voice a melody to your ears after the long radio silence. 

“You know I don’t sleep when I’m alone,”

It’s true; you struggle to rest when there is no-one watching over you, a position that is usually filled by the man in front of you. 

Daryl nods, biting down on the inner side of his cheek as he reflects. Of course you don’t, you never have and he knew that. The poignant silence weighs heavily between you and Daryl shifts uncomfortably, moving further into the room to take a seat on the chair that sits in front of the sole workstation. You never sat at the workstation, preferring to sit on the floor so you had more space to work with but at this moment, you hated how you were positioned lower than the man. 

“Yer gonna use that thing on’ me?” There is a ghost of a sly smirk upon his lips, a sparkle of mischief in his eyes but you aren’t having it, you won’t befall to his sparse charm. 

“Don’t tempt me, Daryl Dixon,’’

The full use of his name and the stern attitude makes Daryl wince, the severity of damage he inflicted to you now evident before him. He nods silently, gnawing anxiously at his lip as you both fall back and stew in silence. You resume cleaning the weapon in your hands, needing to keep busy in an attempt to distract your mind from the chaos that sits in front of you. Daryl watches you, this time without the hatred and disdain, but his gaze is just as heavy as before. 

“Why are you here, Daryl?” 

He notes the tiredness in your voice, not the physical exhaustion that is a permanent state in this new world, but the emotional weariness that burdens you. 

“‘M here to apologise,” 

“Are you here because Carol told you to or because you actually want to?”

His hesitation is a loud answer and you scoff, glaring up at him with your teeth bared.  

“Of course not. Daryl Dixon never apologises because he actually wants to, no, someone else has to puppet him. You are so fucking incompetent,” you growl, “You can’t even do the right fucking thing. Whatever ‘apology’ you have concocted to make this all better; forget it, Daryl. I don’t fucking accept it!”. 

You take a predatory satisfaction in seeing the raw hurt flash across his face at your words. Your words are harsh, digging at old wounds that the man harbours but you can’t even conjure up the guilt or regret; hungry to dish out the same pain that you have received. Vexation and wrath raise its ugly head and you furiously rub at the long barrel of the shotgun, as if you would be able to transfer your rage through kinetic energy. 

“Yer keep sacrificing yerself for the group ‘n’ and I fuckin’ hate it,” He breaks the icy air. His voice cracks despite his whispered tone but you catch it the little hitch. 

Your cautious gaze meeting his is the signal he needed because he keeps going, as if the dam inside breaks and the words come spilling out; unrestrained, pure and honest. 

“You’v’ done it since the beginnin’. Take the burden of the group on yerself ‘n’ takin’ all the risks. We’v only survived this long b‘cause of ya. You’v always kept us goin’. When the prison fell, you wanted ter round everyone up ‘n’ then Terminus happened and..” he breaks off, eyes squeezing shut as he recalls the horrible and degrading things the savages there threatened you with; how they held the machete to your neck and how powerless he was to stop everything. You were so close to death that afternoon as well, mere seconds away from being just an empty vessel. 

“Then all the shit that's happened since. You’ve never stopped, never broke down. Just kept trudgin’ on. But it all caught up and you could’ve died out there… without me. ‘N I wouldn’t have known until it was ter late”. 

“But I could have died in here and you still wouldn’t have been able to do anything, Daryl - that’s life,” you argue.

Daryl’s head whips up so fast, you are sure he could have suffered whiplash, but you get distracted by the flames in his eyes. 

“It’s not life. You ‘ave no fuckin’ idea what yer do to me, woman,” Daryl groans, looking at you so helplessly, almost insulted at how you don’t get it. 

“Apparently I piss you off!” you retort, “Ya know, with my selfish attitude and lack of respect” you parrot his own words back to him, a glare resituating across your face. “You yelled at me, Daryl. You screamed in my face, in front of everyone, and then gave me the cold shoulder. Me, out of all people, your fucking friend”. 

He shakes his head while you speak, an action that only infuriates you more. You are ready to attack him about that, mouth already open as you reveal your disgust, “Stop fucking shaking your head as if I’m playing the vic-”. 

In your rant, you don’t acknowledge the scrape of the metal stool along the concrete, given barely enough time to react to the new stimulus of rough lips upon yours and a hand that grips your chin. Daryl swallows your surprise, mouth unyielding as he crowds into you, pushing you back against the back leaving you no room to run. He kisses you desperately. Frantically. It is messy and unruly, a bruising kiss that steals the breath from your lungs and makes your head spin. You can taste every single secret that has ever danced across his lips, taste the fear that dwells within him but has never been uttered to another soul. You learn more about Daryl in this instance than you ever will in a lifetime. 

You both are slow to break apart; lips barely separating as you catch your breath, greedily sucking in as much oxygen as you can to sate the burning of your lungs. 

“‘M so fuckin’ sorry,” he cries against your lips. 

His hand still has a firm grip on your jaw, which is sure to leave finger-shaped bruises in its wake, but like his kiss - his touch is desperate as well. 

“You’v neva been a victim. I was just so fuckin’ scared that I would lose ya. I can’t lose ya,” he stresses, a voice that sounds so pained and winced; it sounds as if the wounds were personally inflicted upon him. 

He drops his death-like grip on your chin, bowing forward to rest his head against yours, never straying too far from your space. Your arms wind around his hulking form; bringing him closer and Daryl lets himself slump against you, his head slipping to rest on your shoulder as he nuzzles into your neck and his body, although heavy, feels like comfort from a warm blanket. You can feel him utter endless apologises into the crook of your neck, lips brushing along your skin and you memorise the soft tone of his voice as he echoes “‘M sorry,”. 

You hush him, turning your head to press a gentle kiss to the dark tresses, whispering “I know,” to every apology he mutters. Eventually, the apologises fade and you are submerged in peaceful silence, curled into each other. You don’t need to ask why he couldn’t have just told you all those words at the beginning, to save you both the agony and trauma of the last few weeks. But your Daryl is complex, a stunning mosaic of intricate emotions that aren’t easily given and you accept that this is who he is. The man would go to war for love; for you.

Tags:

@guywithacrossbow​

@oncemorewithfeelingg

@rachelxxraucous

@gaenahelleborus​

[concussed-to-pieces]

The Mettle Of A Man; Part Four

Fandom: Fallout (4)

Pairing: Eventual Paladin Danse/Female Sole Survivor

Rating: Holy shit M.

AN: Hey there my broskis! I figured I would start backing this up over here as well, cross-posting from my AO3. The chapters got somewhat restructured, so there may be some retreaded ground. Hopefully this will also give me a bit of incentive to actually finish this tale ;-;

Enjoy!

Part One: ArcJet

Part Two: The Prydwen

Part Three: Orders

Paladin Danse, pride of the Brotherhood of Steel, found himself incredibly nervous as he watched Backhand suit up for the first time. She gave him no real reason to be, of course, climbing into her power armor with veteran grace. She had forgone their jumpsuit in favor of her Vault suit so she was short a few of the securing clips, but it was her call. She did put on a hood though, stating that she wasn’t a fan of getting chunks of her hair ripped out by the helmet.

  Danse barely hid his grin at the way she shook herself all over once she was in the suit, metal clanking loudly as pieces fell into place. “What do you think, Knight Vega?” He asked cautiously.

  “I think I’m gonna’ have a lot of fun with this.” Backhand sounded like she was smiling.

  Proctor Ingram sighed. “Yeah yeah, just try not to fuck up your actuators. Damn kids and your Prydwen jumps.”

  Danse flipped his helmet and smoothly clicked it into place in his suit’s gorget, then blinked in confusion at the HUD. “Proctor, did you change the-”

  “Oh, yeah. Sorry Danse. The yellow HUD makes me queasy.” Ingram apologized. Danse sighed, bringing up the internal options screen and readjusting the HUD color back to the warm amber he preferred. “Don’t be that way, Paladin, I have to look at a million of these helmets every day.”

  “What? How do you change the…oh, I got it.” Backhand paused, obviously fiddling with the HUD in her own suit. “ Purple .” She said firmly.

  Danse tried to mask his chuckle by clearing his throat, but the look Ingram shot him told him the attempt was unsuccessful. “Well, uh, I think it’s about time we begin our maneuvers.” He said hurriedly.

  “You two take as long as you need. Bring Brandis back safe. Backhand, remember what I told you.” Ingram said sternly, saluting the two of them.

  Backhand nodded solemnly, returning the salute. “Ad Victoriam, Proctor Ingram.” Danse saluted as well, curious about Ingram's mysterious statement.

  Maxson hadn’t cleared them for vertibird transport to a general location. Danse could see why to an extent, the elder probably needed all the aerial support he could get while they sent out scouts to find more clues about the Institute. The reason Maxson had given was...still logical, but a little different.

  “ With you on foot, there will be less warning for Brandis. ” Arthur had said in his briefing, arms behind his back as always. “ If he is alive, we don’t know what shape he’ll be in mentally. Use extreme caution. If you fear for your lives, do not hesitate to kill him .” He glared at Danse when he said that and Danse had swallowed hard.

  Do not hesitate. Do not hesitate like you did with Cutler, Paladin.

  Danse let Backhand set a pace she was comfortable with once they were on the ground and he followed her lead, the paladin silent as they marched. His thoughts churned and roiled, scratching to escape his head in a frenzy of uncertainty. He almost didn’t notice Backhand skipping , aside from how ridiculously loud her sabatons were on the remains of the road. “Knight Vega, what on earth .”

  “ Finally! I’ve been trying to ask you something for five minutes. Figured I would opt for a different approach.” She laughed, knuckling his shoulder with her gauntlet. “After we find Paladin Brandis, I have-”

  “ If we find Paladin Brandis.” Danse corrected her grimly.

  Backhand paused, tilting her head to the side. “Sir?”

  “I said, if we find Brandis. There’s no guarantee that he’s alive after all this time. It’s entirely possible that we’re simply on a remains retrieval detail.” Danse warned her.

  Backhand shook her head after a moment. “Paladin, you really think I don’t know that? Damn.” She grumbled. “You’d rather find him alive, right? That’s the hope?” Danse nodded reluctantly. Brandis was an incredibly skilled survivalist, a respected squadron leader and free thinker of the highest caliber. He would be a phenomenal asset to the Brotherhood if…

  If he was still alive.

  “I apologize for my pessimistic outlook.” Danse said after a moment. “I have not had…exceptional luck when it comes to search and rescue details.”

  “Hey, first time for everything.” He was almost positive that she was grinning at him under her helmet. “You’ve got me here. You can't say the homeland doesn't take care of their own; I’m practically the embodiment of a four-leaf clover.”

  “We can hope.” Danse murmured, half to himself. “You certainly came through previously.”

  “Maybe I’m your good luck charm.”

  The notion that he had outlived his men because of luck left a bitter taste in Danse’s mouth and he fell silent once more. She at least seemed to understand not to poke him and simply carried on down the road at an easily-managed pace.

  Danse couldn’t decide whether he personally wanted to find Brandis or not. On the one hand, of course he was a valuable asset. But on the other, Brandis had a penchant for… noticing things. Arthur had butted heads with the older man numerous times, usually over what Maxson labeled ‘ trivial issues ’.

  And Danse still hadn’t forgotten the nasty rumors he’d heard about the real reason for Recon Squadron Artemis being sent to scout the Commonwealth…

  “ Brandis overreaches, connects well with young recruits. The elder fears his influence. ”

  “ Brandis was sent to die and you know it! ”

  The atmosphere in the barracks had turned ugly fast when Arthur had dropped the tidbit that the Brotherhood lost contact with Squadron Artemis almost immediately upon their arrival in the Commonwealth.

  Aspirants got into shouting matches; several scuffles broke out. Danse ended up wading through the midst of a pitched fistfight, throwing one knight over his shoulder and pinning the other beneath his arm momentarily.

  “ This is behavior unbecoming of a soldier, knights! ” He had shouted over the ruckus. “ Stop the childish antics, use your brains and think! ” His voice carried in the cramped bunk room, and due to his massive height he was easily visible through the swirling hurricane of young men and women. “ Paladin Brandis would be ashamed of every one of you for losing sight of what is truly important in the Brotherhood! Your brothers and sisters are all you have in the world, you cannot set into them at the first sign of trouble! ”

  “ Elder Maxson wanted Paladin Brandis to die! ” One brave scribe cried. “ That’s why he sent him! ”

  “ He is the elder and you will show him the respect he deserves! ” Danse admonished the young man. “ I will not tolerate this insubordination! ”

  “ You’re only on his side because you’re fucking him! ” The knight over his shoulder yelled furiously, beating his fists against Danse’s shoulder blade.

  The entirety of the barracks went dead quiet and Danse was certain his face must have been an ungodly shade of purple from his insinuation. “ What did you just say, Knight? ”

  The young man slowed to a stop, and then suddenly burst into tears. Danse set him down on his feet and the knight stood in front of him, his shoulders hunched. “ I ap-pologize, Palad-d-din Danse sir. ” He had hiccupped, saluting him without looking up.

  “ Knight, you cannot lash out with harsh words or actions just because something isn’t going your way. ” Danse had known he was letting him off too easy, but the young knight was still weeping. “ You will go to Knight-Captain Cade in the morning. He is…far better at managing situations like these than I am. I fear I will do nothing but cause more damage. ”

  “ Paladin Danse, have they told you anything about Paladin Brandis? Anything at all? ” A tiny squire had piped up from the door, her hair already braided for sleep.

  Danse shook his head regretfully. “ All I know is what you’ve already been told. I have no other information at this time .”

  “ Will…will you tell us if you learn anything new? ” She had continued hesitantly, glancing up at the aspirant holding her hand for confirmation. Murmuring rippled through the crowd, all eyes on Danse as he stood there silent, stoic. The knight's words echoed in his mind over and over, on his side, on his side...

  “ You have my word as a Brotherhood paladin, Squire .”

  It had been a simple thing to promise then. Almost negligibly simple. Danse shook his head, trying to disperse the memories. This rumination would get him nowhere. Thank goodness he had Knight Vega with him, at least she could keep an eye out for threats while he wandered down his proverbial Memory Lane.

  Speaking of Knight Vega…

  Danse swung his head around, perplexed. She had just been here, it wasn’t exactly like she could sneak in all that plating. He spotted her finally as he came over the next rise in the road. She appeared to be speaking to a civilian, the ragged-looking man gesturing wildly off to the side.

  “…idea how many of them there are in the facility?” Backhand was asking.

  “Usually we only see three to five, b-but sometimes there’s loads more! Hounds too! Please, General, if you can spare the men, we really need your help.” The man begged.

  General? Danse thought with confusion. Why is he calling her General?

  “Currently, we’re focusing our efforts on rebuilding Fort Independence…er, I mean, the Castle. We have mobile cells but they are few and far between. I will send word that-” Backhand was cut off by the man shaking his head rapidly.

  “I knew it, I knew you would refuse! That’s how it always is! Say anything about super mutants and everyone pusses out!” The man shook his fist in Backhand’s impassive face. “I had hoped that you of all people would be able to help us, but I guess I was wrong.” He spat, “should have known better than to trust things would be alright with your group back on the playing field.”

  Danse had heard enough, practically stomping down the road towards the man yelling at his charge. “Civilian, I suggest you watch your tone.” He uttered the words curtly, his eyes narrowed behind his visor.

  The man huffed out a breath at him, obviously unimpressed. “So you have a bodyguard now, General?”

  “Hardly.” Backhand replied dryly.

  Danse got the feeling he had just been insulted, but he brushed it off. “Where is the nest of vermin?” He queried instead, making a considerable effort to try and keep his tone neutral. “You mentioned super mutants.”

  “They’re in Weston. The pre-war water treatment plant. Are… you’re going to help?” The man asked uncertainly.

  “There are other, more important matters that currently take priority, civilian. When we have the time, we will investigate. Now I would advise you to be on your way before I have to assist you in making the choice of departure.” Danse ordered, his laser rifle not quite at the ready, but high enough that to the untrained eye it would look like he was poised to strike.

  The man grumbled something under his breath and then announced, “I'd better see you later, General. Oberland would be a good spot to spiff up, y'know, but it's so close to Weston no one will touch it.”

  “Thank you, Rob. Hey, tell your wife I said hello. I hope your little one is doing well.” Backhand's face had gone strangely soft.

  For some reason, the man's shoulders relaxed. “She is, she's doing really good. Her mom is teachin' her everything that she knows. She's wicked smart for her age.” He bragged.

  “No doubt there. Take care of yourself, and tell people to steer clear until we can get to Weston.” Backhand gave the man a nod in reply to the tip of his hat. “Thanks for helping.” She said out of the corner of her mouth to Danse, who straightened up.

  “I don’t recall doing anything helpful, Knight Vega.” He was startled when she knocked her pauldron against his own in a playful gesture.

  “Rob loves to puff himself up and talk about how no one’s ever done anything for him ever. It’s harmless, but he’ll drag on for ages unless you nip it in the bud.” She grinned at him. “Thanks for going on the offensive and heading him off at the pass. Lots of people are like him out here. When the Minutemen disbanded, it meant that the simple people had to take the full load of raider assaults and super mutant attacks. Still plenty of distrust for me and my crew.”

  “Your ‘crew’?” Danse echoed, thoroughly confused. Why did he call her General? What is she talking about?

  Backhand just nodded, putting her helmet back on. “You want to take point? You were kind of spacing out back there, Paladin. Might help you get centered. Run down the list of objectives?” She suggested.

  “I must be worse than I thought if you noticed my thousand-yard stare.” Danse realized it was a sarcastic quip the second after the words left his mouth, and he felt horribly awkward.

  That is, until there was an undignified guffaw from the knight. She clunked her whole forearm against his own in a makeshift nudge, still snickering. “How incredibly rude of you, Paladin! I’ve got bad eyesight, but it’s still there. Kinda’. Didn’t need twenty-twenty to see that you were deep in thought.”

  “Knight Vega, I appreciate your attention to detail. And…” Danse hesitated, biting his lip. “And thank you for… humoring my wandering mind.”

  “I’m not humoring anything. You’ve been through a lot recently and you’ve had no breathing room at all. You’re allowed to have time to process.” When she put it like that ...

  Danse made a noise of acknowledgement. Backhand cleared her throat, stepping aside and letting him go ahead of her.

  …

  Do me a favor and try to limit his time on board this rustbucket, okay? I don't know what's going on and it's not my place to ask. But Danse is a good man and he shouldn't be getting jerked around, Elder or no.

  Ingram's words spurred Backhand to speak up. “Paladin Danse, sir?” When he turned to face her, she wished that he wasn’t wearing his helmet. “Sir, I meant what I said before.”

  “What?”

  “When I said I was available if you needed someone to talk to. I’m serious. It’ll all be off the record, just between us. The only person I report to is you.” Backhand said firmly.

  “And the elder.” Danse reminded her, his voice soft.

  “Nope.” Backhand grinned, trying to lighten his obviously bleak mood. “Just you. You might answer to the elder, but I don’t.”

  “That’s tantamount to treason, Knight.”

  “He’s not a sovereign , for--”

  “Elder Maxson’s orders are law in this chapter of the Brotherhood, Knight Vega.” Danse sounded like he was repeating the words from memory, clearly used to defending the young elder. “I suggest you cease your needlessly-flippant flouting of Brotherhood practices.”

  Backhand knew she was on thin ice. “Of course, sir. I apologize. Forgive me my misstep.” She saluted loosely. “My previous military experiences were a little more lax. When out on patrol we spoke to each other and our superiors as equals. It was common to poke fun at the higher-ups, as well.”

  “I wouldn’t begrudge you a joke or two, but not at the expense of the elder.” Danse replied tersely. “He works exceptionally hard to keep everything in line and running smoothly. I will not tolerate any disrespect towards him.”

  “Understood, Paladin.” Her suspicion only thickened at Danse’s rebuke. What is Maxson doing to him? Normally, soldiers gleefully took the opportunity to joke about their superiors. But Danse was acting like it was a cardinal sin to so much as tease about the young elder. No wonder Ingram had told her to take her time. Danse was obviously kept on an incredibly short leash. The longer he was away from Maxson, the better.

  They continued down the road in silence for nearly an hour before Danse finally sighed heavily. “Knight Vega, I must apologize again. You were not raised in the Brotherhood, it’s not as if you would know any better. My shortness of temper is unrelated to you.”

  “It’s okay. You’re worried about Brandis, right?” Backhand asked. “A little scared, a little hopeful?”

  “For being a relic of a bygone age, you are remarkably perceptive.” Backhand sputtered a little at being called a relic but Danse carried on gravely, “I am concerned about the state Brandis may be in when we reach him. If he is mentally compromised…dealing with a man who was Brotherhood but has lost his senses is not a task I take lightly.” He turned to her. “The younger recruits love Brandis. He was a father figure to a multitude of them.”

  “You promised them you would bring him back.” She realized. Danse didn’t reply immediately, instead focusing his attention to the road in front of them.

  “I could not feasibly promise anything.” He muttered, quiet enough that she was unsure if she was supposed to hear him. “It was not within my power to promise.”

  “But you did anyway. On that slim hope that Brandis was alive and in one piece.” Backhand’s heart ached as she thought of the paladin trying to decide what to tell a group of young recruits, a group of kids .

  “…Yes, Knight. I did.” Danse admitted after a long pause. “My motivations are irrelevant. I lied to children, because I…I cannot see the little ones as soldiers. They begged for news of Brandis and I had nothing to offer them except my word as a paladin.”

  “That’s okay.” Backhand said simply. “We’re going to find him.”

  “I suppose we are.” Danse sounded a little surprised. His shoulders straightened up. “One way or another.”

  The asphalt had dissolved into nothing a mile back, leaving the two of them to continue trekking through the wilderness on the remains of the flattened earth that was once a road. Backhand was used to the booby-trapped state of everything at this point, so she didn’t even bat an eyelash when she heard the warning beep of a landmine.

  Danse on the other hand stopped dead, helmet swinging rapidly back and forth as he tried to locate the mine before it went off. “Wait, Knight Vega-!” He began as she knelt, trailing off when he realized that she had deactivated the landmine. “Oh.”

  “Impromptu bomb squad.” Backhand replied by way of explanation, tucking the salvaged mine into her satchel. “I got pretty good at working in gauntlets.”

  His worry was touching all the same, the paladin letting out an awkward chuckle. “Hell, maybe you are lucky.” He shifted his weight nervously, pauldrons clattering in the relative stillness. “I should have known better than to think Brandis would make it easy. There’s a reason that old codger lived through everything.”

  “You can either think I'm lucky, or you can just attribute it to the Sarge's bandanna like I usually do.” Backhand grinned, flexing her fingers experimentally. “Keep your eyes open for more and point them out if you see ‘em. These gauntlets are way better than the ones in my old suit. The mines won’t know what hit them.” 

  “Affirmative, Knight Vega.”

  With both of them on guard, their progress was slowed somewhat. But they found three more mines thanks to their diligence, and Backhand carefully deactivated every one before the timer ran out. She was so focused on scanning the ground that she almost walked into Danse’s back when the paladin stopped in the middle of the path. “Danse?” Inwardly, she cursed herself for not addressing him properly.

  Danse didn’t even seem to notice though, his attention fixed on a bunker built into the side of the shallow valley they were in. “Recon bunker Theta…of course .” He hissed like he was talking to himself. “How could I have forgotten?”

  “Is this the place?” Backhand asked, peering over his shoulder warily. The armored man nodded, already striding towards the door of the bunker.

  “It must be.”

  …

  There was a terminal affixed to the outer concrete of the building and the paladin wasted little time painstakingly manipulating his huge gauntlets to press the correct keys on the keyboard. There was a loud clunk! when the lock on the door disengaged, but the door itself remained shut tight. Danse swore under his breath, firmly rapping his knuckles on the metal door. “Paladin Brandis!” He called. “Can you hear me, sir?”

  “Paladin Danse? Are you sure you should-” Backhand started to ask, sounding nervous.

  “ Quiet , Vega.” Danse ordered brusquely. To her credit, she immediately fell silent. He could still hear her shifting back and forth behind him though, and he wondered what on earth could have her so antsy. Surely it couldn’t be that she was worried about what Brandis might do? “ Paladin Brandis! If you’re in there-”

  “Uh, D-Danse, I don’t think you should be so loud.”

  “Vega, he will not hear me otherwise.” Danse, losing his limited patience, hammered his fist on the door. “ Brandis! ”

  He heard a flurry of motion behind the door. “Who’s out there? How did you get that keycode? Never mind, never mind, just go away! I’m not letting you in here!”

  Danse’s throat tightened at the elderly officer’s voice. “Paladin Brandis, sir! It’s me, Pal--"

  In his distress over finding Brandis, Danse had forgotten to be wary of his surroundings. Heavy footsteps shook the ground and Backhand’s cry of surprise was the only warning he had, the paladin halfway through turning around when he was thrown against the door of the bunker by a thunderous blow from a behemoth’s improvised club. His shoulder protested violently at the rough treatment but Danse shrugged off the pain. He was so used to getting pummeled by the inside of his armor, he practically anticipated the bruises. He raised his head and got a good eyeful of the ugly brute inches from his face.

  Suddenly he couldn’t breathe. There was a dull roaring in his ears, static pounding at his temples like a hammer while he stared at the creature and it stared right through him. Bloody spittle foamed around its mouth, eyes wide and pupils nothing but pinpricks. Nostrils flared to take in his scent.

  This thing was once human . Danse felt sick to his stomach.

  “ Paladin! ” Backhand yelled, firing a glancing shot off the beast’s shoulder that made it rear back. She was giving him time again, Danse realized dimly, his body refusing to cooperate as he remembered Dawes’ horrific death at the hands of a super mutant, remembered Cutler, Cutler like a punch to the face. And this mutant was a behemoth .

  His laser rifle, unnamed as of yet, shook in one slack, trembling hand.

  Backhand flanked the massive creature to end up back at his side, her pauldron clanking into his own. “Paladin!” She barked and Danse instantly straightened up, his grip snapping tight on his gun.

  “Ma’am!”

  “Attack the enemy, soldier!” She sounded almost like Krieg, all righteous authority and fury inches from detonation.

  An order, an order. Danse felt his body refocus on the here and now, banishing the horrific images of Dawes’ demise for later contemplation. “Yes ma’am!” He replied automatically, pulling the trigger and spraying laser shots into the behemoth’s massive chest. Backhand slung Righteous Authority back out of the way to dangle from its strap, her shotgun in her hands now. Danse was so used to the comparatively quiet report of laser weaponry that he actually flinched when she fired the shotgun. The drum-fed gun bolted to life at her touch, heavy slugs making the behemoth pause.

  “ Eat hot lead, freak! ” Backhand shouted over the weapon, her words punctuating her shots. Danse got the feeling that pairing her with a Fat Man would make her nigh unstoppable.

  Behind him, he heard something swing open. The door to the bunker! Brandis! “Knight Vega, maintain this position!” He demanded, not bothering to look back.

  “A paladin…?” Brandis’ voice had an unfamiliar tremor in it.

  “ Now , Vega!” Danse snapped.

  “Sir, yes sir!” Backhand replied quickly, sliding into place where he had been a second ago. Her power armor frame filled the doorway as well as his had, and Danse brandished his rifle. The behemoth brayed deafeningly loud, seeming perturbed that its prey refused to cooperate.

  “Not today, you giant freak!” Danse announced firmly.

  …

  Backhand had barely caught a glimpse of a worn face with an unkempt beard peering around the side of the doorway before she moved herself in front of the opening. She braced her shotgun against her plating and continued to hammer away at the behemoth, shell after shell ripping the creature’s thick hide.

  Danse kept up his own attack, a seemingly endless stream of mutant-related verbal abuse pouring from him in time with his laser shots. Backhand almost wished she could hear him clearer, certain that he was swearing a blue streak that could put Sergeant Cathan to shame.

  That club swept low, knocked Danse’s legs out from beneath him. The paladin landed on his back with a grunt of pain and the behemoth (in a surprising show of intelligence) picked up one of the nearby boulders and dropped it onto Danse’s chest. Danse gritted out an infuriated curse and started struggling to lift the boulder, actuators in his armor shrieking under the strain when the behemoth started pushing down on the rock. Clearly it was either trying to crack Danse’s armor or crush the paladin inside it.

  “Shut the door.” Backhand said calmly. There was the sound of fidgeting behind her. “It’s going to be alright. Just shut the door.”

  At the loud clunk! of the door closing, the behemoth looked up from Danse. Backhand barely had a moment to inhale before she was snatched up by a massive hand, the creature roaring triumphantly.

  “Knight Vega!” Danse shouted, the paladin still trying to shift the massive rock enough to get free.

  Backhand squirmed desperately in the beast’s grip, arms pinned to her sides and her shotgun pointed towards the ground. Well kid, you gave it a good try . She pumped her trigger out of desperation, not sure if she even had any shells left, and blew a hole through the behemoth’s foot. The gargantuan mutant howled in pain, flinging her through the air when it toppled over. She hit the ground hard enough to lose consciousness briefly, her head slamming against the inside of the helmet.

  When she blinked her eyes open again, all she could see was a power armor sabaton inches from her face. There was a muffled report to her right and super mutant skull fragments and brain tissue abruptly sprayed across her helmet visor. “ Tango down .” Danse snarled.

  “Jesus.” Backhand muttered, her gauntlet clanking loudly against her helmet. “What a hit.”

  “Are you injured, Knight?” Danse sounded like his teeth were clenched.

  “Blacked out for a second is all. You alright?”

  “That’s irrelevant. We need to see to Paladin Brandis.” Danse said sharply.

  “It’s been so long since I’ve heard my name.” Said a quivering voice. “I imagine I’m hallucinating at this point. Going mad from seclusion.”

  “It’s Danse, sir, Paladin Danse. Don’t you recognize me?” Danse asked, and Backhand was sure she wasn’t supposed to hear the uncertainty in his tone.

  Danse pulled her to her feet and she took in the sight of the elderly man in badly-worn combat armor across from them. He was studying Danse hard, his eyes widening when Danse unfastened his helmet and took it off. “ Danse? You…is it really you?” Brandis asked, his voice still shaking. “Oh my God, is it true?”

  “It’s me, sir.” Danse replied stiffly. “Knight Vega and I were tasked with reacquiring you. Elder Maxson-”

  “Maxson? It’s his fault that I’m even…my squadron…” Brandis’ words grew disjointed, choked with emotion.

  “ The elder believes that you are still a valuable asset to the war effort, Paladin Brandis.” If Danse had been stiff before, he was outright stony now.

  Brandis, entertainingly, waved off Danse’s chastising attitude. “Yes yes, praise be to the elder. I suppose it’s you two that I ought to be thanking, though. After all, you’re the ones who risked life and limb to come find me.”

  “It was Knight Vega’s first assignment as a member of the Brotherhood. She was honored beyond measure.”

  “I don’t suppose she can talk , can she?” Brandis asked dryly. Backhand decided that she liked Brandis. “Why all this trouble for me, though? And so suddenly? I’ve been sending distress signals for years , Danse.”

  “It was only through sheer luck and our acquisition of Knight Vega’s skillset that we even managed to signal the Brotherhood for support.” Danse replied curtly. “Over half of Recon Squad Gladius is dead, their lives claimed in the line of duty. Much like your own squadron.”

  “Oh, Danse.” Brandis said helplessly. “It’s such a heavy burden to carry. Their lives…and Astlin , I know you were so fond of her.”

  “She was a good soldier. Best marksman I ever knew.” Danse gritted out.

  “I’ll bet she was an even better friend.” Backhand said tentatively.

  “She died with honor.”

  “I don’t doubt it.” What the hell was going on? Danse sounded livid , the set of his shoulders visibly tense even through the power armor. A muscle ticked in his jaw.

  “Danse, what does the Brotherhood even expect to get out of me? I’m too old, I’ve…I’ve been away for too long.” Brandis floundered.

  “Elder Max-”

  “ Fuck Arthur, Danse!” Brandis exploded. “I’m asking you . What do you believe that the Brotherhood can get out of me?”

  “Intimate knowledge of the Commonwealth.” Danse snapped. “You’re a survivor, Brandis, and your skills could be indispensable to our troops.”

  “There’s nothing I could teach that the locals couldn’t Danse, you and Maxson know that.”

  “Yes, and you’re not a filthy local. You’re Brotherhood.”

  “Am I?” Brandis mused, glancing towards Backhand. “And I’ll assume that Knight Vega is one of the so-called ‘ filthy locals ’?”

  Danse paused, his hand still up in the air in the beginning of an irritated gesture. Backhand barely kept her snort in check. “Knight Vega is a…special case.” He said finally.

  “Typical Brotherhood. You’re filthy, you’re garbage, you’re nothing . And then, you’re a special case if you’re useful. Sound familiar, Danse?” Brandis grumbled. “Sleep with one eye open, Vega. Maxson is a little boy in a much larger man’s battle coat.”

  “Paladin!” Danse barked. “There is no need for this insubordinate behavior in front of my ward!”

  Brandis drew himself up to his full height (which, next to Danse in full armor, wasn’t exactly intimidating ) and jabbed his index finger into the larger paladin’s breastplate. “Don’t you dare speak to me about insubordination, Danse.” He hissed, his green eyes snapping with fury. “My squadron is dead because of Arthur and you still want to play Lancelot?”

  “The Brotherhood will honor their memory.” Danse intoned dully.

  “I’ll honor your memory if you keep this up, you damn fool.” Brandis growled. “No, no , I won’t go back to that madman. Better that I stay in isolation.”

  “I’m relatively certain that you staying here isn’t an option.” Backhand interjected. “Look, if the elder is as tricky as you say, he’s not going to let you live out your days in peace. You’re Brotherhood, or you were once, and you know too much. It was the same with the army.” Danse looked horrified and Backhand hurried to finish, sure that her opening wouldn’t last. “You should be as close to him as possible, if anything. Make it more difficult for him to do something shady by keeping an eye on him.”

  “Knight Vega! ” Danse sputtered indignantly.

  But Brandis was nodding his head, looking intently at her. “Take that helmet off, Vega. I make it a point to know my allies.”

  “Yes sir.” Backhand undid the helm and pulled it over her head, tucking it under her arm as an afterthought. “It’s an honor to meet you, sir.”

  “You’re bleeding, Knight Vega.” Brandis pointed out after she saluted him and Danse fairly pounced on her, a huge finger looped through the pauldron on her shoulder jerking her around to face him. His gauntlet grazed her temple and she winced, grimacing when the metal returned brick-red.

  “Just a scrape. I’ll be fine.” She insisted.

  “I’m certain you will, Knight. How long have you been in Danse’s care?” Brandis asked genteelly.

  “Ah, about t…two, three days?” Backhand answered cautiously.

  “But Danse said that-”

  “Knight Vega did not immediately accept the offer. I imagine that our ranks did not strike her as particularly impressive.” Danse cut Brandis off, his tone incredibly bitter.

  “It wasn’t that. I had other obligations to deal with.” Backhand corrected him, trying to be gentle. “You guys were in a worse situation than most, but my responsibilities took me elsewhere.”

  “True, I did not…I apologize, Knight Vega. That was unnecessarily harsh of me.” Danse admitted after a second.

  “Be still my heart. You got him to apologize! Never thought I’d see the day.” Brandis said with a hint of faked bewilderment. Backhand decided to keep the fact that Danse had apologized to her three times in the same day to herself. “Alright Danse, I’ll return to that rustbucket . But only because Knight Vega makes an excellent point.”

  “Shall I signal us a vertibird?” Danse asked, his hands clenched tightly at his sides.

  “ Ha! And let Maxson get the drop on me? No, no, it’ll be better for me to show up on foot, alone. Provided you two have been discreet, this place will still serve its purpose as a fallback point. I’ll meander for a few days and then make my way…hmm.” Brandis’ eyes rested on Backhand.

  “Can I loan you my suit for your journey if you won’t accept an escort?” Backhand offered, following his train of thought. “My combat armor is functional and on standby. May I loan him my power armor, Paladin Danse sir?” She knew she was spreading it on thick, but Danse was obviously a stickler for protocol. “He is a senior ranking officer, and I…I mean if I’m with you, I’m sure it’ll be fine.” It couldn’t hurt to flatter him a bit.

  Danse’s face pinked up endearingly and he cleared his throat. “I don’t see why not. If you hope to arrive safely Brandis, this is the least we can do. I would prefer, of course, to accompany you sir. But it’s your decision.”

  “How gracious of you to permit an old man his preferences.” Brandis replied dryly. Backhand couldn’t stifle her hiccup of laughter and Danse ‘ harrumph ’ed, obviously embarrassed by her behavior.

  “Knight Vega and I will busy ourselves with other tasks in the Commonwealth until you make your return to the Brotherhood, Paladin.” Danse said sternly. “You realize that my knight cannot return without her armor and empty-handed.”

  “Understood, Danse.”

  Backhand fought the excited leap in her chest at the way Danse referred to her as ‘his’ knight, choosing instead to extract herself from her power armor and start strapping on her heavy combat gear. It’s only because he’s sponsoring you. Don’t be ridiculous , she scolded herself while she donned her breastplate and greaves.

  “My thanks, Knight Vega. When you return, I’ll see that your armor is waiting in the bay for you.” Paladin Brandis promised, a heavy hand landing on her shoulder. “As well as a frazzled Maxson, if I play my cards right.” The old man grinned, his eyes still sad. “You two can help yourselves to anything in the bunker. I’ve collected some odds and ends over the years, so if you see something you need it’s yours.”

  “Much obliged, sir.” Backhand said gratefully, struggling to recall what Preston had asked her to pick up in her travels. Well, we can always use more aluminum ...

Part Five

[commander-orca]

COTW FANFICTION

CHAPTER 9: THE BROKEN AT EACH OTHER’S THROATS

“Hello Kannavi! Itia greeted, stepping into the infirmary through the front door.

She wore a tunic from here she’d been given on the first day, after the treatments. Her brown hair, still very soberly tied, was discreetly tousled by the wind and her monocle bore the traces of the sun on the glass. She seemed relaxed and the smile on her face, although shocking at first had gradually become one of the expressions she was wearing the most.

"… Hello Itia," the latter replied hesitantly, looking up from his remedies. "Tell me, weren't you supposed to stay in bed for five more days here so the wounds would heal well?" "

Itia nodded in his direction, keeping her smile, bathed in warm light.

“No worries, I'm counting on it. It’s just that I’ve gone out to listen to Suoh's speech.

-Ah. And how was it? "

The young woman raised her palms to the sky, showing that she had no particular opinion.

" I don’t know. He didn't show up.

-Oh ".

The rays of sunshine which accompanied her arrival faded once the door closed with a heavy slam and the room was plunged back into the shadow. Itia quickly took off her shoes and hung her jacket on the coat rack. Kannavi’s eyes followed her as she strolled across the room to her assigned bunk to sit comfortably, legs under the sheets. She breathed peacefully, her chest heaving in regular gusts of air and was mentally present. This carefree, almost lazy air was also new to her, who always seemed wary in Empire territory. Kannavi kept his inner remark to himself and went back to work, rolling up his sleeves.

He was busy crushing herbs in a mortar, then pounding them with a roller, doing a bit of a botched job. He had fallen behind on the chores he had been given for today since he had failed to wake up on time. Fortunately, the infirmary was half empty, most of the patients were still sleeping and Itia's excursion benefitted him well since she didn't seem to have noticed that he had only emerged from bed half an hour ago. Using the excuse of a new environment disrupting his sleep schedule might work for a while, but people here would eventually find out that he wasn’t actually very punctual. However, keeping up appearances for a while wasn't bad in itself; this would allow him to form a new, more flattering temporary image before inevitably one would decide to fire him. In addition, this job was not stressful and did not have the constraints of a superior on your back screaming at you all day that you sucked, unlike back in the Empire. This job was pretty relaxing. So, Kannavi would push himself to work hard and try to stay affiliated for as long as possible.

There were only a few things that really mattered in his life. Making sure you didn't end up on the streets or in jail was one of the most important things. The rest didn't matter. Since childhood, he had had little free will in the end, lugged from family to family like a trinket. Then the army. All these things had been decided for him, without him having a say or being able to influence the course of it and yet, it did not bother him that much. Making decisions for oneself seemed to affect people with crippling anguish and give them all the tools for an even stronger grudge against themselves. That didn't mean he wasn't attached to anything. The young nurse was careful never to stray too far from Orca. But Kannavi preferred his little quiet position; the rudder of his life was not in his hands, he was content being carried by life, chance, people, and if he found himself in an unpleasant situation, he would only have to wait until it would pass. Knowing that we wasn’t at fault for the misfortunes that befell him, or those of others, was a calming thought.

The water in the pot began to boil and he set the temperature to low. He lifted the lid, added the few mint leaves he had pre-cut and the herbal powder he had crushed. The water immediately took on a reddish tint. He replaced the lid on the container.

Rather than a fear of trying or failing, the reason was outrightly simpler than that: Kannavi really didn't wish for anything. Nothing really arose any desires and that surge of excitement others sometimes had looking at their goal from afar, motivating them to work harder, was relatively unknown to him.

"Excuse me if I'm disturbing ...", asked suddenly Itia's voice hatching through the hissing of the pan, "But can I talk to you about something?" 

Kannavi raised an eyebrow, astonished by this wording. People never came to him for serious discussions. Hands caught in the herbs, he continued to extract their juice and stir it vigorously in a bowl. Without looking back, he said:

“It depends on what you want to talk about. I am often told that I am not very delicate, you know ... "

Behind his back, Itia's voice grew more hesitant. The blankets had just moved and she too, making the slats of the bed creak. Outside, a gust of wind shook the windows and the shutters creaked against the walls; the weather was getting colder.

"I know, but ... I have the impression that you are the only one who can really enlighten me on that topic”.

-Mmh. Go ahead... "

At that moment, the door to the infirmary swung open and cracked loudly against the back wall. A clear, confident voice exclaimed, echoing through the room:

“Kannavi! "

Itia jumped up and fell silent, crouching in the back of her bunk, disappointed. Taken by surprise, Kannavi whirled around, his gloves dripping with berry juice beading on the floor. Orca strode towards him. He looked cheerful and more light-hearted than he had been in the past few days, which reassured him. When he had visited his friend at his place a few days ago, Orca had subtly tried to hold him back, stealing part of his night before he had returned to his own hut. The young nurse suspected nightmares, linked to their last adventures perhaps ... However, he was dumbfounded to find him here; usually, he refrained from visiting the most vulnerable and from mingling in the places where the inhabitants gathered.

Orca grabbed his shoulders, half laughing, half teasing. His pale hair twitched at the rhythm of his smile.

"Kannavi, I thought I was going to die of laughter ... I walked out of the council and ... Saw you take a sprint all the way here half-dressed ... I see someone overslept again!

The nurse gritted his teeth and turned a quarter of a turn to glance over his shoulder; he could feel stares on him. Awakened by this sudden animation in the infirmary, a few patients sat in their beds and were now staring at them with a disapproving air. Kannavi grabbed him by the arm, a small displeased pout clearly visible on his face. What an idiot. The duality of his personality was probably a little too strong at times: playing the eloquent strategist at important meetings and immediately switching to a carefree joker when he was no longer doing anything related to his personal affairs and interests. That was probably why he got into so much trouble.

"Oru ... Lower your voice a bit!  Come to the back-shop ... And you just ruined my coverage! I'm going to be fired now ... "

Orca took a quick look around and looked as though he had finally realized the presence of the convalescents. He immediately put his hand to his lips, feeling sorry. Nodding, he quietly followed the direction his friend was pointing. But it would have been to be underestimating Itia who sat up on her pillows, looking furious and threw her legs to the side, ready to jump.

“Wait… Kannavi !?, Itia exclaimed, whose mind had just connected the dots to Orca's words,“Did I hear correctly? You just arrived ?

-Uh ... "

Kannavi readjusted his apron, looking for something to make up or justify. But frankly, there wasn't much to say… He sighed, giving up any attempt to lie.

Orca watched him, putting his hand over his mouth once again, but most likely hiding a chuckle this time around.

“Itia, please come too. If you want to reprimand me, reprimand me in the back-shop”.

Itia got up hastily from her bed, her face closed and fists clenched, and walked in a straight line towards the storage room.

"And that I will do," she muttered through her teeth. "You too, Sir Orca".

Orca raised a few fingers awkwardly at her as she walked past him, a sly smile on his lips.

“Hello Itia.

"Hello Sir Orca," Itia retorted, coldly, as if she had just returned a mockery.

Her figure disappeared under the beaded curtain that separated the main room from the storage area. The brown beads tinkled for a few moments, knocking against each other, hinting between their strings the shape of a shelf and medical posters stuck against the yellowed walls, then froze again, giving the curtain the air of a real wall. Silence fell in the infirmary. Orca exchanged a look with Kannavi, Kannavi's wide eyes meant he was expecting to be given some wild dressing down. His friend nodded, pulling his long hair to the side and shrugging, silently exposing him that he didn't know what he had done to get there. The two men followed her, both looking constrained and sheepish. Kannavi entered the storeroom and leaned against one of the shelves containing the syringes, stethoscopes, and other essentials. Orca removed a stack of papers from the old chair and sat down, bringing the papers to his knees. Itia, for her part, closed the door to the storeroom and remained standing in order to appear more authoritative. She crossed her arms, looking at them in turn, saying nothing. Orca turned his head, pretending to be captivated by the medical scale. He whispered faintly to his friend:

"Ah ... I don't like it when she does that." It means she will -

- Tell me, are you not being serious ?! "

Orca stopped talking immediately, blinking several times. Fury shook Itia's voice, the two of them didn't have to look at her to know that.

"Do you think you are on a vacation or staying at a hotel? Think you can afford to skip your assigned duties and lounge around all day ?! "

“Itia…” Kannavi began, taken aback, “I must have told you already, but… I'm not very good at keeping a job. But I’m trying, obviously. I don't want to lose this job, it's the quietest I've had so far ... "

Itia's face took on a more scarlet color. Swooping down on the young nurse, she grabbed one of the flyaway locks sticking out of his head.

"I can’t believe it! Is that all you care about, Kannavi ?!

–Not my hair Itia, please, ”he begged,“ They still have to grow! "

Orca stared at them, alarmed and hastened to cover his own hair with his hands.

Itia released a panicked Kannavi and walked away. In the corner of the room was an old, moth-eaten desk, neglected because of its disparate surface area that made it difficult to disinfect. The young woman grabbed it with both hands and pulled it with her. She brought it to the center of the room, in front of the two men, after much effort and squeaking. Perched on the table, her legs hanging out to the side, she smirked. It was a more than satisfying sight: these two slackers, looking at her from below, somewhat tense, anticipating what her next move would be. A rare sight that neither of them turned a deaf ear to her or only half-listened to her! But, remembering what she had to say, she lost her smile and granted them a serious expression.

“I believe you’re still caught up in your illusions or you just don't realize, but these people are our only chance to have a normal and maybe even happy life. We hurt them tremendously, many of them died under our attacks. And yet, they’re forgiving us! "

She paused, scrutinizing them closely. Strangely, a glimmer of full attention burned in Kannavi's eyes and he had shed his slumped position. On the contrary, Orca was looking away, occasionally smoothing out the folds of his dress over his crossed leg.dominant, but his wiggling pupils in their sockets, proved that he was also drinking her words.

“We need to give them reasons to trust us a and to have forgiven us! If all goes well, maybe they will allow us to live here. It would be convenient, we who have nowhere to go now! But it is not by botching your work - Itia stared firmly at Kannavi - or by doing nothing - she let a glare fall on her superior - that they will come to consider such a thing!

Kannavi held up a quiet hand, hoping to be able to place a word. He made a small thoughtful sound, but avoided completely contradicting the young woman. His hair still had a long life ahead of it.

"Excuse me, Itia, but I think Orca does a lot for the Clay Whale. He participates in all the councils and has recently started on guard tours ... "

Orca turned his head towards him, eyebrows raised. Itia scowled, looking annoyed. Her hands took the shape of a triangle as she looked up at the ceiling light.

"I know that, Kannavi, but you see, I think Sir Orca has to work twice as hard as we need to."

“Not to the point of collapsing anywa—” the other protested, before being interrupted by Orca who had placed a soothing hand on his shoulder, as if making a call for him to stop.

“No need, Kannavi. She's right. I have to try harder ”.

Kannavi stared at him flatly; Orca was already very involved. Was it possible to try harder? Itia, meanwhile, fixed her pair of eyes on the commander, as if she was rediscovering him. He rarely admitted his wrongs. It was a good thing, it put her in a good mood.

“Anyway, we owe them a lot and I think it is essential for us to help. I can clearly see the efforts of Sir Orca ", she resumed, in a more tender voice,"And I see, given the level of fatigue he has shown in recent days, that he’s worked a lot ".

Even though, embarrassed at the thought that he had plausibly caused her chickweed, her superior lowered his head.

"Get more involved ... What I mean by that is that I find you oddly withdrawn, Sir Orca," Itia said, a soft and compassionate smile dawning on her lips. “You should dare more to sympathize with them. Regain self-confidence. The people of the Clay Whale also recognize you as the one who saved them from an undisputable disaster now ... "

With that, her superior looked away again. Itia, who continued to look at him, began to swing her legs off the top of the old desk, having lost track for a moment. Kannavi took hold of the silence to think about something that had just re-appeared in his thoughts. Itia had said she wanted to talk to him on a certain subject. A subject on which only he could enlighten her ...

"Well ... I'm aware that I haven't done much myself either. I have caused concern and as an injured person I require extra work. I hope I can get down to business soon.”

- You must not feel guilty Itia. These injuries are not your fault… I'm sure you'll find a way to be useful here and fit in really well, ”Kannavi assured him.

The young woman smiled at him, thanking him with a nod, then her gaze fell on Orca who had risen from his chair and dusted his dress vigorously. Itia put her hand towards him as if to hold him back, then hid her hand behind his back.

"Leaving already, Sir Orca?" "

Orca's bangs slid to the side as he swiveled his head towards her to fix her in amusement.

"You give us nice talks about the usefulness of being productive but find it useful to just sit there twiddling your thumbs?" "

Itia scowled and crossed her arms again.

“We’re not twiddling our thumbs. I argue with you for the best. You could have waited for me to finish! "

Orca raised his eyebrows, not losing that mocking smile.

" Well ?

"M-Make an effort to get along with people, please," Itia grumbled, irritated by his impatience and rudeness, “And be more polite”.

Her boss gave one last cheeky little smile before nodding and walking out the door. He arched his back to squeeze under the curtain. The young nurse followed him with his eyes, inwardly amused by this vision; Orca was almost too tall for the dimensions of the Whale, and you sometimes thought you saw an intruder in a children's village. In front of him, the young woman came down gracefully from the office and slandered in frustration. Why did he always have to nod with that smirk that seemed to mean he didn't get it?

“Ah! By the way, Itia, you wanted to talk to me about something ...? Kannavi asked.

The young woman seemed to hesitate. After a while, she opened her mouth to start something, but a high-pitched crash suddenly interrupted her. Then, bursts of voices. Dismayed, Kannavi got up immediately and hurried to the main wing of the infirmary. Itia sighed loudly. You could never have calm for a second here ... Following the nurse, she stepped through the beaded curtain and froze, just like him at her side. The two young people found Orca on the other side of the curtain in confrontation with the Prince of Amonlogia. Slightly behind them, the island's chief, Suoh, stared at a small object at his feet, his palms still open suggesting it had once been in his hands. Rochalizo took a step closer to Orca, his concave nose upturned with great contempt.

" What’s your fucking problem!? You’re all quiet now. Think you can get away with this ?! "

The atmosphere that fell on the room had grown heavy. Dozens of pairs of eyes on them, the two leaders stared at each other in silence, exchanging mute threats and disdain. Orca met his gaze, firm, yet not trying to defend himself in the slightest. Rochalizo's heterochromic eyes were very lively, seething with explosive rage. Kannavi focused on the faint marks of saimia appearing on Orca's forearms, jiggling dangerously, then on the Prince's clenched fists which vibrated crescendo on either side of his body; he thought for a moment that they’d come to get into a fight. But the tension dropped somewhat and the latter finally clenched his teeth and exclaimed again in a calmer, hissing voice:

“Go back to the Country, you only cause issues here. Nobody wants you, not even your sister! "

Orca rounded his eyes for a moment, but didn't show more of him  being destabilised. Hiding behind his eyelids and long bangs, he walked out of the room quickly.

Running after him, the young nurse held back the clapper and also rushed outside. Silence fell, sharper this time and suffocating. Itia bit her lip, completely shattered. Presumably unaffected by his surrounding’s unease, Rochalizo crouched down to pick up the pieces of the object - the small sculpture of a tree made of wood, half of the branches and trunk of which had split in two from the shock. . Once gathered between his fingers, he came back to Suoh's height and sought his gaze insistently.

“Suoh? Are you okay ? He jostled you, didn't he? "

The young chief's face darkened a little more and his hands fell against his sides like a relaxed rubber band.

"Hey, answer me," the Prince persisted, scratching his friend's apron with the tips of his blue fingernails. The words were harsh but the gesture was gentle.

Itia could only watch them, feeling deep inside her a great despair threatening to drown her entirely. Was it futile to try to obtain forgiveness from civilians? Rochalizo was not part of the Whale but they seemed to have adopted him for good. The inhabitants, maintaining in their customs a sympathy and a great compassion for others, had never reproached her for not being in her place or for being an enemy, nevertheless, this tradition of 'forgiveness obliges' did not say everything and sometimes she could feel a reminiscent indignation in their hearts, which had not been listened to, for lack of any outlet. Rochalizo's lack of tact was certainly hurtful to those who ran and crashed into it, but Itia appreciated it for the sole reason that she was sure it was the key to understanding how people here felt, what 'they dared not say. The Prince must have had grown up in an environment which had encouraged him to be frank… Itia couldn't say that was wrong, but his harsh words risked causing further clashes.

Did Rochalizo's words hurt Orca by the way? No one could be sure. She would probably go check on him later in order to oversee the mental strength of his superior. Superior who had just caused another incident ... What a pity. She was starting to wonder if her words had really had effect, when Suoh's voice pulled her from her personal introspection.

“Excuse me, Itia. I was dumbfounded for a while and - he gave a light laugh - I must’ve dramatized. After all, it's just a statuette. It is possible to do it again! "

Rochalizo, looking unhappy to have been pushed to the conversation’s background, leaned forward, still trying to get the island chief's attention.

“It's not just a statuette. Remind me how many hours you spent there ?! You have the right to be pissed off.

"As long as it's not human loss, I don't care," Suoh assured, looking serene.

With the broom hanging from the workbench, he too knelt down and quickly collected the last splinters of wood littering the ground that Rochalizo had neglected. Itia was starting to feel more and more uncomfortable. In normal times, she would have paid little attention to it; the misfortunes of others are usually not her problem. Taking care of other people's problems always brought a lot of trouble. However, in this delicate position, his inability to be able to repair the damage caused or to be able to do something to alleviate the situation caused her great distress. Mortified, the young woman bowed before them, not knowing how else to express the guilt that was rising to her head.

“I'm really sorry for what happened. I'm sure Sir Orca didn't wish for any of that to happen, "she stammered a little before coming to herself and stating clearly," You have to know ... He thinks highly of you! "

Rochalizo mumbled something between his teeth that sounded like a:

"Yeah, well when he gets something from it ..."

Itia bowed again, an attempt to renew her assertion. A benevolent smile broke on Suoh's lips. Clasping his hands together in front of his now soft face, he reassured her as best he could.

“No need to apologize, Itia, please. There are still tensions between our two peoples, but it will only get better, - the Prince pulled a pout which was ignored by all - I am convinced of it, believe me! "

The young woman nodded. Suoh was the lung of the island; his patience and the strength of his ideals would guide them. She had no choice, she left it entirely to him. If the Clay Whale and the United Kingdom of Siderasia had managed to come to a diplomatic understanding despite barbaric beginnings, there must be chances of striving for peace between their nations. Tensions would eventually run out of steam and, perhaps, new bonds would blossom, based on a land of mutual trust and aid.

"I'm in your hands, Suoh," Itia repeated, solemnly, her eyes closed.

A ray of sunlight shone through the infirmary, lighting Suoh's face in a golden glow. His long dress shimmered in the light, its whiteness evoking a divine sign, uttering in the room, a moment of peace. His clasped hands tightened more firmly, a proof of his resolve.

" Of course. Our agreement is only partly postponed. After all, even though we are so much more than that, we are all here victims of the Empire, aren't we? "

As they left the building side by side, Rochalizo pulled Suoh by the sleeve, forcing him to slow down. His worried expression, shaded by the red strands falling over his eyes, he seemed to want to give in to anger, before resigning himself. Hoarse and at the same time cracked, like the sound of a candle crackling in the night, he called out in a low voice:

" Hey. Suoh. Your hands are bleeding again”.

Suoh didn't bother to lower his head to the skin covering his joints, unalarmed. He was used to seeing on his hands, those fingernail marks crossing his flesh with scars or bright red gashes barely coagulated, manifestations of his anguish and inner sadness. It was a habit before, a daily sight since the day Sami died. However, knowing that they were engraved deep in his skin, accompanying him in daily adversity, was a sign of comfort inexplicably. It was the evidence that he had survived until then all the most disastrous days and that he had a way of getting rid of strong emotions. Suoh resumed his walk, imperturbably.

“I'll take care of them when I get home.

“No, you're going to take care of them now,” the Prince stubbornly raised his voice.

With force, he grabbed the shoulders of the young chief, standing in front of him to block the way and anchored his eyes in his menacingly.

"And wear bandages. Now."

The threat in his voice was clear, but his nervous twitching lower lip implied another thing.

"I would like to know ...", Rochalizo reiterated, his voice shaken, as Suoh looked down at the stream of blood flowing from his knuckles to his elbows, "... Why you hurt yourself so much these days".

[incorrectbatfam]

For the vampier au: how do they each get turned?

The year is 1000 BCE. Ra’s and Talia Al Ghul rule the Persian empires as two of the first vampires in existence, existing largely in secret. They make it their goal to turn as many people over to their side as possible, whether by battle or biting. Biologically, Damian was born a vampire and they utilize some arcane magic to make him appear as a child forever, because even back then people knew that children were far better at getting their way than adults. Honed as a weapon for literally millenia, Damian Al Ghul practically becomes a cryptid in his own right. Villagers shared stories of people who saw the child and never being the same—or worse, never returning. The Al Ghuls were responsible for the most well-known vampires in history, including the famous Count Dracula.

The year is 800 BCE. At 200 years old, Damian was still considered very young for a vampire. He is sent on a mission to turn to their side a young lady who was practically viewed as a goddess by other women, and who aspired to become one of the greatest poets of all time. Talia dropped Damian off on the island of Lesbos. Faster than lightning, the child warrior swooped down and bit the legendary Sappho. Now an immortal, Sappho dedicated her eternity of free time to her passion for writing, where she composed her famous Ode To Aphrodite. Eventually she got bored of Greece, so she changed her appearance and set off exploring the greater Asian continent.

The year is 1206. Genghis Khan had conquered much of the world. Under the Mongol empire, it was as common for women to serve in army as men. One of Khan’s most distinguished fighters came from the Manchuria region. She was a mercenary for the army, a lone wolf. And though she found thrill in battle, she was lonely. And, as fate may have it, so was Sappho. They met in a village where the army was stationed and forged a tight-knit partnership. They laughed together, they fought together. And the thought of being separated was unimaginable. So when Sappho revealed herself to be a vampire, the Mongol warrior jumped at the chance to become one too. And so she was transformed with consent, and together they roamed the world in search for adventure.

The year is 1775. The two girls had heard of this supposed New World and the colonies Britain established. They wanted to see it for themselves. Changing their names and appearances to something more Anglican, Stephanie Brown and Cassandra Cain boarded a ship set for what would become modern-day New Jersey. Immediately they found a stark lack of immortals there and they didn’t want to be the only ones, so they set off on a biting spree, turning men, women, children, and even a few farm animals (two dogs, a cat, a cow, and a turkey) without care. One of these victims was an elderly English nobleman named Alfred Pennyworth. Cassandra took the animals under her wing, while Stephanie felt bad for Alfred because he seemed to have nobody around. So the girls “adopted” Alfred as their grandfather so he wouldn’t be lonely either. 

The year is 1871. Haly’s Circus was the most popular traveling show during Europe’s Industrial Age. Disguised as mother and child laborers working behind the scenes, Damian and Talia were on the lookout for new potential soldiers. And who would make a more perfect killer than the swift, agile Flying Graysons? Talia tried persuading John and Mary nicely, using Damian’s adorable boyish face, and they did give in. At least, at first. But within a few months of John, Mary, and Richard being turned, the parents changed their mind. They wanted nothing to do with Ra’s Al Ghul’s agenda and threatened to expose the vampires to the world. Talia had no choice but to get rid of them. She paid a lower-level mortal criminal to rig the ropes and douse the trapezes in holy water, which would lead to the downfall of John and Mary. The press reported it as a tragic accident. Alfred, who was at the circus during his holiday when it happened, couldn’t help but notice the burn marks on their hands. He chalked it up to coincidence or a prior unrelated injury in the end

The year is 1920. All that the grieving Richard Grayson wanted was to get away from the ghost of his past. He traveled to America, settling in the subpar city of Gotham, New Jersey. As much as he wanted to drink his troubles away, it was just his luck that he arrived at the beginning of Prohibition. His apartment was near a speakeasy, though, so he frequented that. The underground bar itself was owned by mob boss Jason Todd, who was notorious for brandishing guns and picking drunken fights—and winning all of them. But his streak would end when he had one too many glasses of moonshine and challenged an unwilling Richard Grayson to a fistfight. “What, you gonna back out, ya little dick?” Jason taunted. The former Flying Grayson himself wasn’t in the most sober state ever, so after some convincing and people placing betting money on the table, they took up the challenge. It was the roughest fight that bar had ever seen, and in a final act of self-defense, Richard bit Jason. (Granted, it wasn’t in the neck, but a bite was a bite). Jason becoming vampire wasn’t the worst consequence. No, it the older one being stuck with a terrible nickname: Dick.

The year was 1965. One of Ra’s fortune tellers predicted an influx of young soldiers arriving in Vietnam before war was even declared, and Ra’s sent his grandson to a rural village in the country undercover to find more recruits as the League of Assassins’ influence was diminishing. The environment of thick, bushy jungles worked in Damian’s favor as he was able to hide and strike on French and U.S. soldiers. He even managed to turn all but two members of a New Jersey infantry. Later on, the government reported one of the drafted soldiers, Duke Thomas, as missing, but in reality the young man went into hiding with two other vampire soldiers on his squad. And it was a reasonable move—mass media was on the rise and the last thing anyone needed was vampires being exposed as real to the public. Not only that, but Duke displayed abilities that the other two didn’t have, likely attributed to the combined effects of vampire magic and chemical agents like Napalm used at the time, and neither General Grayson nor Lieutenant Todd knew what to make of it.

The year was 1999. A teenage Tim Drake was out on a late-night grocery run to get more supplies, because 2000 was in just a few months and everyone was preparing for the supposed end of the world. He made the grave mistake of taking a shortcut through Crime Alley in an effort to get home on time, and was bitten in the leg by a “homeless” kid who seemed to appear out of nowhere before scurrying off. He didn’t experience anything strange for the next few years. He got plenty of sunburns, but he burned easily even before the incident. He kept his bedroom dark and stayed awake all night, but so did a lot of teenagers during that grunge/post-punk era. Silver felt weird, which he brushed off as an allergy. He avoided churches but that was because religion was never his thing. He craved red meat and avoided garlic, but hey, people had their likes and dislikes. It wasn’t until about five years later, when Tim realized he hadn’t aged a day, that he considered doing some research. 

The year was 2019. Bruce Wayne was at one of his famous Wayne Enterprises gala on New Year’s when he met a stunningly beautiful woman named Talia. She slipped a little something into his drink when he wasn’t looking. Bruce couldn’t remember what happened after that, only waking up with a killer hangover and strange hickey on his neck. He had been Batman for a while now, and when he started experiencing unexplainable things he sought the help of the magician Zatanna, who found out that somebody turned him into a vampire. If he wasn’t brooding before, he definitely was now, and it didn’t help that the butler was a smartass. Alfred revealed to Bruce that he had been a vampire the whole time, looking over the Wayne family since Thomas’s father’s father, because the wealthy Waynes made easy targets for the supernatural. In an attempt to make Bruce feel less alone, Alfred invited Stephanie and Cassandra over for dinner (“Alfred, great to see you again! It’s been, like, a hundred years!”). It was over dinner that Bruce asked questions and the older vampires told their stories, and Alfred offhandedly mentioned something about Haly’s Circus that caught Bruce’s attention. Fresh burn marks from touching a trapeze? Something didn’t seem right. Though the case was over a century old, Bruce did some searching on the Batcomputer and found too many discrepancies in the Flying Grayson case for it to be just a regular accident. With Stephanie and Cassandra’s help, Bruce traced the parents’ deaths back to the League of Assassins. But one new questioned surfaced after all this: what happened to Richard? That question would be answered a few weeks later when Bruce dug up another cold case: a file about an MIA Vietnam War soldier from Gotham, Duke Thomas. He tracked down Duke’s whereabouts, and it turned out he was hiding from the League of Assassins with two other missing people from history: the circus performer Richard Grayson and mobster Jason Todd. Bruce offered him the best damn thing in their eyes: sanctuary. He took all three of them under his bat wing and they joined his immortal crusade against Gotham crime. Some time later, Talia introduced Damian to Bruce under the guise that Damian was Bruce’s son, citing the night she met Bruce at the party. Damian only agreed to Talia’s infiltration plan because he was sick of how Ra’s treated him, like an object rather than a being. So although the paternity test came out negative, Bruce still insisted that Damian was his son and kept him. As for Tim Drake? His story is pretty much the same: deducing Batman and Nightwing’s identities and demanding to join them—classic Timmers move