#Captain (to the league): So about the ominous voices... | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

fruitcoops · 4 years ago

Note

hiii i've just spent the last 36-48 hours reading your works and oh dear do i lOVE your writing and this universe :') . i dont know if you are taking requests but i think it would be kinda interesting (and low key hilarious) if you would write the lions reacting/reading thirst tweets? idk if this is a dumb idea or not but just like some of them reacting to them and going "well i'm actually gay/married so.. no!.. but thank you!"

Part two of the six-month celebration, everyone! Thank you thank you THANK YOU to everyone who submitted comments--I had over 60 come in, and while I couldn’t include them all, reading them was a true joy. The Lion Pride channel was something I started writing on a whim; I never expected it to grow like this <3 Much love to all of you!

TW for alcohol mentions and thirst tweets (nothing explicit)

“Why do I always fear for my life around you?” Sirius asked as Marlene settled into a cushy chair to the side of their table.

She smiled, catlike, and crossed her legs primly. “Because only Finn appreciates me.”

“That’s just the Aries connection, Cap,” Finn said with a smug grin.

“We’re both Leos, Harzy.”

“Eh, close enough.”

Remus raised an eyebrow at her. “You should probably start asking questions before this devolves further, Marley. He’s gonna keep digging himself a hole and we won’t get anything done.”

Marlene’s smile returned with a vengeance. “That’s where you’re wrong, Loops! We’re not doing any questions at all today.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“Read it and weep.” She tossed a small posterboard at him like a frisbee; he caught it, barely, though both Talker and Sirius had to duck out of the way. Marlene faced the camera and winked. “Welcome back to Lion Pride, everyone! Today I’m here with Sirius Black, Remus Lupin, James Potter, Thomas Walker, and our wonderful cubs to react to your comments on our videos!”

“Bet you thought we’d never see ‘em, huh?” James asked.

“The comments fall into four categories: thirsty, funny, mean, and sweet. I will be reading two of those groups, and my lovely fiancée will be reading the others because she is the human embodiment of sunshine.”

“If you make Dorcas read the mean ones, I’ll be sad,” Leo laughed.

Marlene gave him a look of disbelief. “You think I’m passing up a chance to roast you guys? Puh-lease. We’re starting off strong with some thirsty, thirsty comments! Loops, you’re up first.”

“This is going to be fun,” Sirius said, leaning back in his chair.

She cleared her throat, then turned a smoldering look on their table. “I didn’t know I had a freckle kink, but then Remus Lupin appeared and now here we are.”

“Oh, shit,” Remus muttered, covering his face with his hands as the others howled with laughter.

“Lupin has been looking sexy as hell on the bench for years now. I'm so glad people are simping over him like he deserves,” Marlene read. “And there’s a little heart emoji, just for you.”

“This is every one of my nightmares come to life,” Remus said, though his voice was muffled by his forearms.

James lifted his glasses to swipe away the tears of mirth that had gathered in his eyes. “Are you kidding? This is everything I have ever wanted.”

“Y’know, it is so good to see people drooling over this hot piece of ass at last,” Finn sighed, reaching over to ruffle Remus’ hair as his face turned bright red.

“One more, and it’s a good one,” Marlene warned. She licked her lips, then had to take a moment to laugh before speaking. “I feel like Remus Lupin is the type of guy to bake you muffins—”

“Accurate,” Leo said.

“—but is also a kinky motherfucker.”

Remus’ mouth dropped open as the table erupted into cheering. Logan pumped both fists in the air and Sirius was laughing so hard no sound came out; Talker sank so low in his chair that only his head and shoulders were visible as he applauded.

“Why do people comment these things?” Remus asked, barely above a whisper. “Holy fuck, I’m engaged!”

“Speaking of…” Marlene raised her eyebrows and Sirius smile drooped.

“Oh, no.”

“Oh, yes. Buckle up, Cap!” She rolled her shoulders out. “Get someone who looks at you the way Sirius Black looks at a hockey puck.”

Remus snorted; James’ laugh was so short and sharp that it set everyone else off as well. “That sounds like I have a hockey puck fetish!” Sirius complained. “Which is so, so not true!”

Finn made an ‘ehh’ noise, and he leaned around Remus to smack the back of his head. “Hey!”

“Next one!” Marlene announced. “Sirius Black was my bi awakening.”

A beat of silence passed. “Is that it?” Sirius ventured, looking nervous.

“Yep.”

“Aw, man, that one’s lame,” Talker said, shaking his head. “Everyone thinks Cap is a little hot.”

Remus shot him a look. “A little?”

“Fair. Marley, I dare you to find one person who wouldn’t tap that.”

She rolled her eyes. “Me, though that dovetails nicely into the last one for our lovely captain. Ahem. I understand why Remus is with Sirius: he's hot as hell and rich, I'd hit that too.”

“Oh, fuck, you’re right,” Leo gasped. “Why didn’t I think of that?”

Finn and Logan turned to him in unison with a mix of disbelief and offense written all over their faces. “Dude.”

“First of all, Leo, you found yourself two hot rich boys,” Remus interrupted. “Second, that comment is forgetting that he’s funny, and smart, and nice, and—”

Seconds after the initial cover, Sirius took his hand off Remus’ mouth as if he’d been burned. “Did you just lick me?”

“Moving on! This is in all caps, so be prepared.” Marlene shuffled through her posterboards and turned to Leo with an ominous smile. He glanced toward the camera in mild fear. “What does a person have to do to get some hockey player ass?! Like why is Leo Knut so fine?!”

“Amen!” Logan called as Leo blushed.

“According to six of the seven people at this table, the answer to that first question is to be a hockey player,” Talker laughed. “The world may never know the answer to the second, sadly.”

“Lily could play hockey,” James said, resting his chin on his hand. Every single one of the others rolled their eyes. “She could! She’d be so good at it, too.”

“We know,” Finn groaned. “You only mention it every other day.”

“Speaking of the lovely Mrs. Potter,” Marlene began with a sly look as she held up a new card. “Do James and Lily Potter need a third? Asking for me specifically.”

James paused, dumbstruck, while the others drummed their hands on the table. “…no?”

A general sigh of disappointment went up. “I was really hoping he’d say yes,” Leo said.

“Ask Lily next time,” Remus recommended.

James turned to him and blinked slowly. “What are you insinuating, Loops?”

“Oh, nothing.”

“Don’t worry, James, you’ll like this one,” Marlene assured him. “James Potter is the ultimate dilf.”

“You’re damn right I am!” James whooped. “Vindication, bitches!”

“Marley, what have you done?” Talker whispered. “He’ll never shut up about that, now.”

“Oh, never,” James all but cackled. “I’m officially a dilf, you guys!”

“I hate you,” Sirius groaned.

“Tremzy, are you ready? We’ve got a couple very special ones for you,” Marlene said.

“Anything to get us out of this hell,” Logan begged.

“In that case: Logan Tremblay’s ass is better than Sidney Crosby’s. I said what I said.”

A pleased flush rose to his cheeks as Finn and Leo high-fived over his head. “Really? Thank you!”

“And they would be correct!” Finn announced. “Best ass in the league.”

“Come on,” Remus scoffed, though he was smiling.

Marlene cleared her throat to get their attention. “I don’t think I can legally read this on air without being censored or getting the video taken down, but…”

She turned the board around; all seven of them leaned forward to read it, then slowly looked at Logan, who turned vivid red. “Mon dieu. Is that—someone commented that on a video? Like, for people to see?”

“I feel like I need to bleach my eyes,” Sirius said just as Finn began shaking with silent laughter.

Leo’s face fell. “You wrote that, didn’t you?”

“I did,” Finn wheezed, scooting forward to fist-bump Marlene. “We wanted to see what you guys would say. Fuckin’ hell, your faces.”

“Alright, Talkie, are you ready?” Marlene asked around her laughter. “Seeing Thomas Walker with a baby makes me want to have his babies…please hit me up.”

He held up his index finger and took a second to laugh before responding. “If that’s Noelle, yes. If that’s anyone else, I’m flattered, but absolutely not.”

Logan made a face. “Ew.”

“We have two more,” Marlene warned. “For some very special people that aren’t here today, but I think you’ll like them anyway.”

Sirius narrowed his eyes. “I don’t trust the look on your face.”

“Daddy Dumo makes me swoon.”

A muddle of horrified noises echoed through the studio as all seven of them cringed. “Oh, my god, that’s my dad!” Logan yelped, covering his ears. Sirius looked vaguely ill and Remus’ shoulders crept toward his ears; James shuddered.

“The worst part is, we all know he can get it,” Finn said with a grimace. “God, I feel like I just heard someone talking about my parents having sex.”

“I’m sure he’ll love to hear that,” Marlene laughed. “Last one, from one of our truth or drinks.”

Remus went pale half a second too late. “N—”

“Hope Lupin is a milf.”

A broken noise escaped his mouth and he clamped his hand over it while Talker rubbed his back in sympathy. Sirius shook his head. “Somehow, that’s worse than Dumo’s.”

“Whoever sent that in, show some respect!” Leo said indignantly as Remus bonked his forehead against the table. “Hope Lupin is a lovely woman!”

“I think they noticed that particular fact,” Marlene pointed out, earning herself several scandalized shouts of her name and a whine from Remus. “That’s all we have for thirst comments! Are you ready for some funny ones?”

“Anything,” Remus pleaded. “I am begging you, anything else.”

Marlene shook her head as she stood, still smiling, and kissed Dorcas on the cheek when she entered the frame. “Go for it, love.”

“Dorcas!” they all cheered, lighting up immediately.

“Hey, guys, it’s been a while!” She curled up in Marlene’s vacant spot and took her own posterboards out from underneath the seat. “Alright, let’s rock and roll. Pascal Dumais is the team dad and nothing will change my mind, and Tremzy is the annoying youngest child.”

“That is so accurate,” Sirius laughed, leaning just out of range of Logan’s playful punch. “Whoever commented that has no idea how right they are.”

“We’ve got a whole sibling dynamic thing going on,” Talker agreed. “Tremzy’s the baby of the family, Cap is the quietly chaotic middle child, and Pots is the older brother that starts shit and inevitably gets blamed for however out-of-control it gets.”

Dorcas nodded. “You are one hundred percent correct. In a similar vein: Pots was the dad jokes friend before he was even a dad.”

“Painfully so,” Leo confirmed, shaking his head as they all groaned in agreement. James looked rather smug about the whole thing. “So many puns.”

“Oh, you’ll like this one,” Dorcas mused as she drew a new card. “If Tremzy looked directly into my eyes for even two seconds, all of my problems would be solved. I am sure of it.”

“Yes,” Finn and Leo said in unison.

“It’s something about the eyes, I think,” James added. “They just stand out so much that it’s a little startling straight-on.”

Logan looked to the camera and stared at it, unblinking; it zoomed in slightly on his face. “Everything will be fine,” he said with mock solemnity. “Your problems are solved.”

“Well, that was terrifying,” Sirius said drily. “Got any more for us, Ms. Meadowes?”

“Of course I do! We’ve got quite a few for Loops and Leo.” She took a sip of her water before getting comfortable again. “My favorite thing about these videos is that we can all see Loops get steadily buffer as the season goes on. Good for you, king!”

“Flex! Flex! Flex!” the six of them chanted; Remus rolled his eyes, but slid his sweater sleeve to his elbow and flexed his forearm, resulting in enough hoots and hollers that they could probably be heard a block away. Talker fake-swooned into Leo’s arms and Remus lightly whacked him on the shoulder.

“Remus Lupin looks like he has squishable cheeks,” Dorcas read aloud.

“He does!” James cooed, scooting over and reaching out.

Remus narrowed his eyes. “I swear to god I’ll bite you.”

Sirius cupped his face between his palms and kissed his nose, then pinched both his cheeks gently. “Ta-da!”

“How many of these do we have?” Remus asked, though his voice was a bit muffled by Sirius’ hands.

“Just one more for you, and it’s my personal favorite.” Dorcas assured him. “I love how the team probably had no impulse control until Loops joined.”

Sirius let go of his face and dissolved into laughter as Finn nearly fell on the floor. “Oh my—you think he has impulse control?” Talker slapped the edge of the table as he shook his head. “Absolutely not. Hell no, Loops is the first person to do stupid shit with us.”

“Yeah, I just don’t get caught,” Remus added around his own laughter. “Everyone thinks I’m such a hardass goody-two-shoes and it lets me get away with so much more than you delinquents.”

“Speaking of delinquents,” Dorcas continued. “This one is from our ‘Taste Testing Sexy Alcohol’ video: ah, yes, now I know how to do a body shot. 10/10, very educational video.”

“Do not take educational advice from us,” Finn blurted instantly. “I know this is a joke, but please exercise caution. That video was a ton of fun but a nightmare to recover from.”

Sirius winced at the memory. “I took two naps and then wished for death for a full day.”

“On a lighter note, who’s ready for some Knutty appreciation?” Dorcas smiled at her cards. “I've only had Leo Knut for a season and half, but if anything happened to him, I would kill everyone in this room and then myself.”

“Big mood,” four of them said simultaneously.

Leo turned to the camera with a concerned look on his face. “That’s a meme reference, but are y’all okay?”

“No,” Dorcas answered. “Especially not this next person: Sometimes I do something productive and then I remember @LeoKnut is a 19 year old professional athlete who radiates happiness and with two of the hottest boyfriends the good lord has made, and then my bowl of packaged ramen seems less impressive.”

“I’m proud of your ramen,” Leo said, even as the corners of his mouth twitched in a smile. “And I appreciate the note about my boyfriends, because they are definitely the hottest people the good lord has made.”

Talker stuck his lip out in a pout. “Rude.”

“Sorry, Talkie, I’m biased.”

“Last one before Marlene comes back, so you’d better enjoy it!” Dorcas announced. “Did the Lions effectively utilize girl power when they wrecked toxic masculinity, yes or yes?”

“Can we utilize girl power?” Remus wondered, resting his shin on his hand. “Isn’t that exclusively for, y’know, women?”

“We can utilize himbo power,” Finn suggested.

James gave him an offended look. “Not all of us are himbos!”

“Okay, but you definitely are.”

“I am not!” James held up his fingers to count. “There are only, like, three qualifications, right? I might be strong, hot, and respectful, but I’m not dumb so it doesn’t count!”

“Pots,” Remus said quietly, hiding his smile for half a second. “Buddy, that was four things.”

James paused, then sighed in resignation. “Ah, fuck, I’m a himbo.”

“You really are.”

“At least we don’t promote toxic masculinity.”

They raised their waterbottles in a ‘cheers’ motion as Marlene and Dorcas switched spots; Marlene stretched her arms over her head and grabbed the new boards. “I’m back, beloved himbos. Talker, Leo, you are beloved by the people and have no mean comments. Cap, we’re starting with you.”

“Are they actually mean mean?” he asked.

“Sirius Black seems like a little bitch. Not in a bad way, necessarily. He just. Seems like he'd be a little bitch."

Sirius raised his eyebrows. “Oh, okay. That answers one question.”

“He’s not a little bitch,” Leo said. “Pouty on occasion, but not a little bitch.”

Remus gave him a long look, then shook his head. “Yeah, I mean, you teared up a little when Hattie got a splinter in her paw but didn’t even yell when you almost sliced your finger off while making dinner.”

“Duality of man,” Finn said sagely.

Marlene cocked an eyebrow. “Finn O’Hara’s hair kind of reminds me of Garfield the Cat.”

“Alright, that’s just rude.”

“It does not!” Logan gasped at the same time Leo made a noise of agreement.

Finn turned to him in utter betrayal. “Nutter Butter, I thought you liked my hair!”

“I do!” Leo defended. “But they’re not entirely wrong. It’s very orange in the sun.”

“I’m never going to forget that,” Finn muttered, staring at the floor.

“Ugh, it bothers me so much that Lupin just objectifies Black all the time!” Marlene read in a high-pitched, nasal voice. “No respect in that relationship!”

Sirius raised his eyebrows. “Pardon?”

Marlene stared at it for a moment, then shrugged. “Yeah, I have no idea what videos they were watching. Do you feel objectified in your relationship, Cap? I know the opinion of total strangers really bothers you a lot.”

“I’m really glad you picked up on that,” he said with false gravity. “Yeah, it’s such a bummer when my hot fiancé says I look nice. Such a blow to my self-esteem.”

“That was supposed to be a roast against me,” Remus said, looking amused. “Talk about backfiring.”

“Are you ready, Pots? This one’s pretty brutal,” Marlene warned. James nodded and Finn linked their hands for moral support. “James Potter is a swiftie and you cannot tell me otherwise.”

He furrowed his eyebrows. “…yeah? That’s true? T Swift is a regular occurrence on the locker room playlist.”

“Also, James Potter looks like someone who would think black pepper was spicy.”

“Now that one is mean,” he complained as the others burst out laughing. “It’s not my fault I have sensitive taste buds!”

“Oh, honey,” she said under her breath as she took a new card. “Get ready, Tremzy. This first one is short and sweet: Logan Tremblay looks like a lesbian.”

“That is not an insult,” Logan laughed. “Every lesbian I know is rad as fuck. I wish I looked that good in a leather jacket.”

“I just realized Logan doesn’t look short cause he’s next to bunch of hockey players, he’s short cause he’s 5’9.”

The smile slipped off his face in a millisecond as the others roared with laughter. “Quoi?”

“Oh, she got you good,” Sirius gasped, patting his shoulder clumsily. “Holy fuck, can I frame that?”

“That’s not what it says.” An edge of distress appeared in Logan’s voice. “Marley, that’s not what it says.”

James sat on the floor with the heels of his palms pressed against his eyes. “You’re fucking—whoever sent that in, you are my new favorite person. Jesus.”

“Do you need a second to recover before we move on?” Dorcas asked as she draped her arms over the back of Marlene’s chair. “The next one is our biggest section by far.”

“It’s the sweet ones, yeah?” Leo asked.

“Right.”

“It might be a good idea to do those before Lo spontaneously combusts.”

“Agreed!” She swapped with Marlene and hauled a short stack of posterboards out from their hiding place with a smile. “A hug from Dumo can probably solve any issue.”

“Facts,” Logan said. “I could really use one right about now, too.”

“Has anyone noticed how blue Leo Knut’s eyes are?”

“Yes,” the six of them chorused.

Finn gave him a dreamy look. “Every single day.”

“When I first read this one, I thought I wrote it,” Dorcas said with a snort. “Someone give Marlene a raise. No reason why, I just love her.”

“Can we do that?” Sirius asked, looking toward the camera crew. “Can we lobby to give you guys raises? Because you definitely deserve it after all the bullshit you deal with to make these videos watchable, and Marlene, you’ve drawn the short end of the stick ninety percent of the time.”

“How?” she called off-screen.

“You have to actually talk to us and try to get answers.”

“Fair.”

Dorcas finished scribbling something down on her notepad. “Just making a note of this conversation for future reference. Moving on! Sirius Black and James Potter are a prime example of hockey husbands, and I adore them.”

“The ironic part of that is that we’re both in committed relationships, but we’re basically married,” James mused.

Remus shook his head. “You guys are so married. Lily wanted to get you matching rings for your birthday, Pots.”

“That would be so cool!” they said in perfect unison. Remus turned to the camera and spread his hands in a case in point motion.

Dorcas stifled her laughter before moving on. “This one is cute. Give Remus Lupin all the hugs! I feel like I could tell him he’s an inspiration and he’d be so nice about it—” She paused to glance up at them. “—this next bit is in parentheses: all the LGBT Lions give me that vibe, but Cap and Knutty are super intimidating so I wouldn’t have the guts.”

Leo’s face fell and Sirius’ eyebrows pitched. “I’m not intimidating!” Leo protested. “I thought we already went over that! Loops gives fantastic hugs, but I want some, too.”

“He definitely deserves all the hugs in the world, but I promise I’m nice,” Sirius said, a bit softer than usual. “Is it because we’re tall?”

Dorcas half-shrugged. “Probably. It’s a little startling at first. Oh, I could’ve written this one, too: The Venn diagram of men I trust and the Gryffindor Lions is a full circle.”

Talker beamed at the camera. “Thank you!”

“So many hockey guys are such douchebags,” Logan said with a shake of his head. “I’m really glad we don’t do that shit.”

“Me, too.” Dorcas slid her old card under her chair. “Sirius Black’s hair looks so soft and I just want to touch it so bad.”

“It is so soft,” Remus agreed immediately. “You have no idea.”

“Everyone wants to touch Cap’s hair,” Finn said, sighing. “It’s so majestic.”

“I need a haircut.”

“No, you don’t,” Remus said as he tugged a stray curl. Sirius hummed.

“This one is from the interview some you did with Jules and Katie: these hockey boys being so soft with kids is my aesthetic! Like, it’s just so adorable to see these big, intimidating dudes be so, so sweet! Love them all!” She turned the card for them to see. “And then they added a heart at the end.”

“It’s impossible to be around those kids and not be happy,” James said. “They’re just too cute and wonderful.”

“Yeah, I love kids.” Finn nodded. “Especially the Dumais and Jules. They’re a hoot.”

“Jules would die if he heard you say that,” Remus laughed. “The hero worship is still going strong with most of you.”

“This one made me laugh when I first read it, but it’s really sweet,” Dorcas informed them. “Anyone else feel like we were deceived these past five years into thinking Cap was this hard-ass man, when in reality he's a cuddle bug who definitely captures and releases spiders instead of squishing them?”

“You weren’t deceived, I was just closeted,” Sirius said. “Also, I absolutely squish spiders.”

Remus gave him a look. “No, you do not. That’s my job. I’m the catch and release person if I can get away with it.”

James shook his head. “The third week of practices you saw a spider and threw me at it.”

“You did what?” Finn asked.

“There was a spider in my stall,” Sirius sighed, looking as if he would rather be anywhere else. “And Pots and I were talking so I didn’t see it until I almost sat on it, and my brain decided the only logical thing to do would be to grab him and shove him toward the spider.”

“That was after you shrieked,” Talker added. “Like, literally shrieked. I’ve never heard anyone make a noise like that.”

“Alright, alright,” Sirius grumbled. “We get it, I don’t like spiders.”

Remus shrugged. “But you are a cuddle bug. They got that part right.”

“We’re in the final two!” Dorcas announced. “This one has some pictures to go with it, so it’s on my phone. Fuck Romeo and Juliet, I want what these bitches have.”

“It’s us!” Leo cooed as the phone made its way down the line. In the upper corner of the screen, the photo appeared—it had been taken in New York, and Logan’s whole face was alight with happiness as Leo and Finn each pressed a kiss to his cheek. The camera caught him mid-laugh, so his eyes were closed and his chin was tucked slightly into Finn’s Strand hoodie.

“That’s my screensaver,” Finn said with a grin, pulling his phone out and turning it toward the camera without moving away from Leo. “One of my favorites.”

“I forgot you took that one,” Logan murmured. He hooked his chin over Leo’s shoulder and kissed his cheek; the four others at the table gave soft are you seeing this? looks to the camera and Dorcas smiled.

“Pots, I think yours is next. I hate to break it to you, Talkie, but they didn’t get any of you and Noelle.”

“We don’t take a ton of pictures together,” Talker said as James took the phone. “I mean, we take a bunch of selfies, but we don’t live close enough to each other to actually post that often. What picture is it, J?”

James was staring down at the picture with an unbearably sweet expression. “It’s our wedding. That’s my favorite one, actually.”

Like Logan, they had been captured while laughing—Lily was bent slightly at the waist as James clapped, his glasses just as askew as the flower crown on her head. It was impossible to tell who had told the joke originally, but they were both radiant in the sunset.

“That’s a really good one,” Sirius said with an unreadable look on his face.

“Well, well, well, fancypants, you two got a video.” James wiggled his eyebrows and Remus leaned in to see.

“What kind of video? One of our tikt—oh. Oh, this is so cute.” He shifted his chair over as the short edit began to play. “D, who made this?”

“A fan.”

“It’s really impressive,” Sirius said without taking his eyes off the screen. The edit was a series of photos, both on and off the ice; Sirius knocking their helmets together, then Remus looking back over his shoulder, then both of them in the water playing chicken in the sun. It was a slideshow of their life and their love.

“Can you send that to me?” Remus asked when it was over. “Cause that’s super cool.”

“Sure thing. Are you guys ready for the last one?” When they all nodded, she drummed her fingers on the posterboard and cleared her throat. “Arthur appreciation hours. He deserves it after managing to control the team.”

A cheer went up—all seven stood and applauded, half-laughing and half-whooping. “Miracle worker!” Sirius called.

“Best coach in the league!” Finn added.

“Most tolerant man to ever walk the earth!” Remus raised his water in a toast and they tapped the plastic edges together, nearly spilling all over the table.

Dorcas’ eyes crinkled in a smile as she turned to the camera. “That’s it for today, Lions! Tune in next time for more content of our boys, and thank you for such wonderful comments!”

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crimsonheart01 · 4 years ago

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Sugarplums (Oliver Wood x Female!Reader)

A/N: This is dedicated to @thegirlwhowritesfics and @juniperjane. No particular reason. None at all. It’s not like they were the ones to anonymously request this! This is just a random dedication of my love to them!

Prompt: “Are you humming the Dance of the Sugarplum Fairy?” Word Count: 1.9K words Playlist: Dance of the Sugarplum Fairy - Tchaikovsky [Spotify] [YouTube] Warnings: None

“Statistically speaking, that’s impossible!” Her statement rang across several tables in the Great Hall.

She hadn’t yelled, but her voice carried. All the chatter and buzz came to an immediate halt, nothing but the sound of a bench scraping across the floor. She didn’t even bother looking up from the paper in her hand. She ducked her head down, rolling her lips together to hide the smirk growing. She chuckled to herself as she heard the collection of whispers make their way up the aisles between the tables.

He’d been arguing his point for weeks now, and while she appreciated his enthusiasm, it needed to end somewhere. Everyone knew it was impossible, himself included. Today seemed like a fine day to really rile him up. The final day of classes before Christmas hols, it was the perfect storm. It also helped that he was halfway there on his own anyway. His voice had been climbing up over the chatter from the Gryffindor table. She knew they were on his side. True to their namesake, the pride of lions always stuck together.

Regardless, she thoroughly enjoyed a good debate, especially with one such Gryffindor. Logic superseded a lot of their banter, but on this particular topic, he was a dog with a bone. Refusing to let go or give up. The sounds of his footfalls drifted up into the swirl of his robes while he walked. She knew he had a flair for the dramatic when he was on a tangent, and he was in peak form this morning.

Two of her classmates skirted in opposite directions on the bench across from her. Keen to avoid his approach. No one had ever challenged him in general. Not Oliver Wood, the headstrong Gryffindor. Not Oliver Wood, Captain of the Gryffindor Quidditch team. Not when it came to the one game he was being scouted for. The one game where his talent exceeded everyone’s expectations. Smarts aside, quidditch was his and most definitely, not hers.

“Strong words coming from someone who doesn’t even follow quidditch.” He accused, his voice low and on the verge of shaking.

She lifted her eyes to regard him, her face a mask of indifference, “You think that just because I don’t obsess over it, it means I don’t keep track of the most popular wizarding sport?”

He scoffed at her, reaching down and pressing his palm flat over the paper she held. Their eyes connected as he hovered over the Ravenclaw table, pushing the paper down so that she would give him his undivided attention. She made a show of blinking innocently up at him. He narrowed his eyes briefly, starting to understand the game she was initiating.

“That’s exactly what I’m saying.” He determined, licking his bottom lip in irritation.

A collective gasp could be heard amongst the other students, even a few smug sniffs from the Gryffindor table. Head Girl and the Captain of the Gryffindor quidditch team in a tiff. In front of all to see. Every eye in the castle trained on the two of them. Even the teachers were straining to listen in. She chuckled to herself. She wondered how many of them were hedging their bets. It was common knowledge to the older students that the professors got a good laugh out of the typical house rivalries. They joined in on their own terms, always in good fun—a way to keep up morale and to encourage healthy competition.

She tugged her hand out from under his grip and finally lifted her head to acknowledge him fully. The torch he held for Portree was misguided in his patriotism, believing beyond any doubt that they were taking the world cup this year. It was the only time he became irrational about how the game really worked. She enjoyed his dedication to his country’s national team and his childhood favourite team, but again, this argument was weeks old now, and they weren’t advancing anywhere near the top of the league. Not this year.

“Puddlemere has a higher scoring average. Their Chasers score an average of 215 each game, without calculating in the caught snitch points. Even if Portree won their next game by 150 points, they’re still fourth in the league overall.” She dismissively explained, “You saying that they’re on track to come first is like saying the Canons will win their next game. It’s statistically impossible.”

Everyone knew the Canons were just a filler team. They hadn’t won a game in the last century and weren’t likely to win one in the next. She gave him a smug grin as she laid it all out for him. He narrowed his eyes at her, curling his hand into a fist, his knuckles turning white. He knew she was right but didn’t want to admit defeat. Oh no, not him. Not the quidditch all-knowing, Oliver Wood. He could never.

“Scoring average aside,” He countered, “Their newest recruits for the season have played well beyond any expectations, and they still have chance on their side. If Puddlemere loses the next two games, regardless of points, they drop out of the winning and it makes room for the other teams to move up.”

He stood up, straightening his back and crossed his arms over his chest. Proud of his statement, of his deductions. She let out a condescending laugh at his stance, looking back down at her empty plate for a second. When she glanced back up, she could see his resolve starting to crumble. He was doing the math in his head. He’d figured out that he was off base. That even though he had faith, the numbers weren’t on his side.

“You want to place your faith on the best team in the British league losing their next two games? Even after they’ve won every single one up until this point. You want to ride on the fact that they might choke? A maybe?” She cocked her head to the side, knowing that she had him right where she wanted him, “Care to place a wager on that?”

Her eyebrows lifted into her hairline as she stared at him, strongarming him to make the losing bet or admit defeat. The hall fell into a tense silence, waiting for the outcome. She was sure others had caught up with the data, the proof that Pride of Portree wasn’t winning any cups this year.

He faltered, and everyone saw it. Everyone saw the fall in his confidence. The whispers grew again, as those who knew about quidditch were informing those who weren’t avid fans. Oliver took a deep breath in and stared over at her, shocked that he’d been beaten at the game. Mostly because he’d been beaten by the least likely person he expected it from.

In hindsight, he should’ve known she’d be the only one to best him. She always did. She was the only person who could. It was why he loved her. She could go up against the best in any debate and come out victorious. Without a chance to rectify his downfall, the bells rang, signalling breakfast over and time to get on to their classes.

Excitement rose into the air as benches scratched along the stone floors and books were scraped up off the tables. She grinned up at Oliver, and he shook his head, a small smile creeping in. He turned around and headed back to his table to gather his effects before exiting the hall. He could feel the stares of the younger students were giving him. All the while, they were murmuring behind their hands to one another. The “it” couple of the year had a public row. Little did they all know, it was a ploy. One that she put into place to get him to see reality. There was never a hint of animosity between them, and even if there had been, it dissipated when she thoroughly bested him in his top subject.

~(HP)~

Students continued to file out of the great hall, the volume of their conversations rising as they retold the events of breakfast. Several versions began circulating, all from a different house’s perspective. She enjoyed hearing the snippets as she travelled along the sides of the table. Every version with its own telling features. Quite a few long sighs from the younger kids about how romantic it all was. A few chest thumps from the older ones who defended Wood’s devotion. Almost everyone with a quiet whispered holiday wish that they would find someone to share in their passions as equally as they did with each other.

She found him standing a ways outside the opened doors and grinned over at him. In her glory, she kept up a quiet tune while she strolled in his direction. Something about the electricity in the air had her feeling light. Upon reaching him, she lifted up onto her tiptoes to press a kiss to his cheek.

“Are you humming the Dance of the Sugarplum Fairy?” He asked, mystified at how her genuine good mood had him feeling uplifted even after that spectacular defeat, “It’s incredibly ominous considering our current situation.”

She laughed and shrugged her shoulders. He sighed but smiled over at her. She leaned into him, resting her head on his shoulder while his arm slipped around her middle and clung to her. He tilted his head so that his laid on top of hers while they stood admiring the snowy grounds.

“I’m never going to live this down,” He murmured to her.

She nodded, “Oh, I know.”

He couldn’t help but laugh. If there was anyone in this castle that could school him in the sport of his passion, it was her, hands down—the only person to be able to keep up with him on statistics and gameplay. Even the most die-hard fans couldn’t retain the same amount of knowledge she did. There were times when even she gave him a run for his money. He had to give kudos to her house. She was most definitely sorted correctly. After a long moment, they both turned together and began walking down the corridor towards their next class.

“I guess I’ll have to get you a new present now,” He sighed, purposely sounding forlorn.

She furrowed her brows as she glanced up at him, “Why’s that?”

He frowned, “I can’t very well gift you with a Portree jersey that has my name emblazoned across the back when you don’t even support the team, now can I.”

She stopped abruptly and grabbed his hand, tugging him around to face her. He trained his face into a cool mask of disinterest, hoping that she could piece it together herself.

“Ollie, what are you saying?” She bit her lip, the shock of his statement settling in.

He smirked at her, and she squealed, jumping up to gather him in her arms.

“They signed you!” She whispered excitedly into his chest, “You got first draft! You’re going to be the Keeper for Portree? To think, the term is barely over, and they’ve already committed!”

He laughed along with her, keeping his arms tight around her back. He held her close to him, enjoying how thrilled she was for his news. It was an anxiety he’d had since the end of last year, but thankfully all the extra training he put in over the summer and with the first few games of the year under his belt, the recruiters were impressed and offered him an early contract.

When she let go of him, she held his biceps tightly and grinned, “I’ll proudly wear the losing team’s jersey if it has your name on it.”

His mouth dropped open in disbelief, but he couldn’t help the laugh that escaped.

He took her hand in his, threading their fingers together and held his head high, “With me as their keeper, we won’t be the losing team anymore.”

#oliver wood #oliver wood x reader #oliver wood imagine #oliver wood imagines #harry potter imagines #harry potter imagine #harry potter fanfic #12 days of ficmas 2020 #holiday prompts #yes i know the gif is of the slytherin quidditch team #don't come for me #it was the best one I could find that I liked #lmao

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tsumusamu · 4 years ago

Text

amortentia ii [miya atsumu x fem!reader]

genre: fluff, mild angst, hogwarts!au, awkward feelings, (fr)enemies to lovers

warnings: slight implied sexual content

words: 8.5k (I KNOWWWW OH MY GOD)

part one / part two (you are here) / part three

content under the cut

It’s been about a month since the detention with Atsumu, and well, you’re doing your best to avoid him like the plague.

You can’t pinpoint the exact reason, however you do have your guesses. Maybe it’s because every time you catch a glimpse of him, your heart gives a tiny jolt of excitement. Maybe it’s because every time you recognize his voice in the halls, your breath hitches in anticipation. Maybe it’s because every time you overhear someone talking about him, you automatically tune in to listen.

You, for lack of better description, absolutely hate it here.

It’s not like Atsumu has been trying to do the same to you. You see him lingering around you as usual, although he has stopped calling you names when he passes you in the halls. Instead, he now opts to make intense, smoldering eye contact with you that never fails to make heat rise to your cheeks, letting the right side of his mouth twitch upwards before suddenly breaking his gaze away and going on his way.

Honestly, you’d rather him call you ‘troll’ for the rest of your life than continue to pull this shit.

At the very least, he’s somewhat been giving you space. Atsumu hasn’t approached you directly since that night, and you’re not exactly making it easy for him to do so, anyway. You've been drowning yourself into your studies more than usual; the prospect of N.E.W.T exams at the end of the year hangs ominously over you throughout your days. You are hoping to get a job in the Office of Magical Law Enforcement at the Ministry, and to do so, you're expected to achieve top marks. Not only have you been in a serious relationship with your textbooks, but you’ve also surrounded yourself by your friends more than ever, taking extra care to make sure that you’re never wandering the corridors alone or studying in someplace all by yourself. You know you’re being ridiculous; why are you so afraid of being around Atsumu?

Although you’d never admit it out loud, you know you're just scared of facing all of the mixed, conflicting feelings you have for him.

Thankfully, the last few days have been Atsumu-free. You know all the houses are holding Quidditch Trials to form this year’s teams, along with starting up the official training for the year. Since Atsumu is the new Captain of the Slytherin team, he of course is extra busy. You haven’t seen him at all in about three or four days, and it’s a huge relief. Out of sight, out of mind.

Your peace is short-lived.

You’re sitting on the edge of a fountain in the Hogwarts courtyard, engrossed with your Defense Against the Dark Arts textbook. You’re well aware that you’re a bit of a nerd, but you can’t care less, not when werewolves are so absolutely fascinating. You are completely unaware that you’ve captured the attention of two Gryffindor fifth-years who are positively ogling you from a few feet away.

“That’s the girl you were telling me about?” The shorter of the pair, a freckled boy called Moore (although you don’t know of his existence) whispers to his partner in crime, another boy named Edwards.

“Yeah, she’s super hot, right?” Edwards sighs in admiration. “(L/N) is her name. A seventh year. Think I have a shot with her?” Moore laughs out-loud.

“No way, she’s far out of your league.” Moore grunts when Edwards elbows him in the stomach.

“Well too bad, I’m taking my chance,” Edwards declares.

“Are you sure someone like her is even single? I mean, how has no one snatched her up yet?" Moore reasons.

“Positive. I’ve been watching her for a while and she doesn’t seem to spend a lot of time with any boy; she mostly studies with her friend Shimizu. Who, by the way, is just as hot. You should ask her out and we could go on double dates,” Edwards suggests with a rather delusional grin.

“So you were stalking her. Loser. You think two seventh years would agree to go out with us?” Moore snorts.

“Nah, I know so. Watch this.” Edwards runs his hand through his short black hair and approaches you with as much confidence and swagger as he possibly can, leaving an exasperated Moore shaking his head, ready to witness his friend’s utter failure.

You still don’t look up from your textbook, not noticing the overconfident fifth year coming towards you. Your thoughts are wandering to where Kiyoko is. She was supposed to meet you here around fifteen minutes ago... oh well, you assume that maybe she got caught up with her Hufflepuff girlfriend, Hitoka Yachi. Wouldn’t be the first time.

Someone clears their throat from directly in front of you, and you finally glance up to see a black-haired boy smiling widely at you. His tie tells you he’s from Gryffindor. You’ve never seen him before. You wonder what he wants from you.

“Hello,” you greet him. “Do you need something?”

“Hey (L/N), babe.” You cringe slightly at the pet name. He pulls out his wand and transfigures a pebble from the fountain into a rose. “The name’s Edwards. Joseph Edwards. I’ve seen you around and I think you’re beautiful, inside and out. I was wondering if you wanted to spend some time in Hogsmeade with me this weekend?”

“Um...” You blink in confusion as you watch the rose hover next to your hand, and you hesitantly uncurl your fingers from your book to accept it. You figured it would be a bit rude to ignore the kind gesture. But you're tongue-tied and hesitant; this is the first time anyone’s actually asked you out, and you’re not sure how to respond.

“I’ll show you a good time, promise.” Edwards grins charmingly at you, showing off his pearly, white teeth.

The other students in the courtyard have turned their attention towards the two of you, murmuring among themselves.

“No way, someone got the guts to ask out (L/N)?”

"Does he have a death wish?"

“Miya’s gonna kill that dumb little Gryffindor if he finds out...”

“Oh, I didn't know Miya and (L/N) were a couple."

“They're not, but everyone knows they have a thing."

"Poor kid doesn't know what he got himself into."

“Thank you,” you say awkwardly after a few moments of silence. “I’m flattered, really, but — “ You pause when you suddenly see Edwards's brown eyes widen to the size of saucers at the sight of something, or rather someone, behind you. Your eyebrows furrow in a puzzled manner, and you turn around only to see Atsumu Miya himself pointing his wand directly at Edwards with a scathing look on his face.

“So I got the interesting news,” he starts, sarcasm dripping from every syllable, making it very apparent the he doesn't find the situation 'interesting' at all, “That a stupid fifth-year decided to ask out my girl.”

“Your girl?” Both you and Edwards exclaim at the same time, equally confused. Atsumu doesn’t respond for a moment, instead deciding to firmly place one of his strong hands on your shoulder to move you behind him, the other hand still pointing his wand at Edwards. Atsumu takes a few steps closer to Edwards, digging the tip of his wand into the younger boy’s neck.

“Yeah. My girl. What made ya think you could do that?” he hisses.

“W-Well, I didn’t know! And she’s not your girl!” Edwards shoots back, the fear in his eyes reflecting the trembling quality of his voice.

“He’s right, I’m not anyone’s girl.” You step forward and grab Atsumu’s wand-wielding arm. “Miya, leave him alone. He didn’t mean any harm.”

“Ya think so?” Atsumu chuckles humorlessly. He waves his wand, thinking, 'Levicorpus!' Then, in a blink of an eye, Edwards is flung into the air and hung by his foot onto a nearby tree by an invisible rope, a terrified scream leaving the boy’s mouth. Someone who you presume to be his friend, a short and plump black-haired boy, rushes forward and stares helplessly as he watches his friend sway upside down.

“Let him down!” you shout, moving to retrieve your own wand from your robes, but Atsumu stops you.

“Wait just a minute. Trust me, princess.” When you freeze at the sudden term of endearment, Atsumu takes the chance to flick his wand to the right, causing the boy to jerk in the direction. A flask falls from the boy’s robes onto the ground.

“Wait! Stop! I need that!” Edwards yells, but Atsumu ignores him, sauntering past Edwards's petrified friend to pick up the flask. He unstops the flask, briefly sniffing the solution.

“Amortentia, hmm? Where didja get that from? A little fifth year like you couldn’t have brewed it.”

“Not telling!” Edwards huffs rather boldly for someone who’s hanging upside down by the foot.

“Oh?” Atsumu casually flicks his wand, making Edwards start to swing back and forth. The younger boy lets out a series of girlish screams as he is lurched forwards and backwards.

“Got it from Snape! From his classroom!” Edwards confesses through scared wheezes, and Atsumu takes mercy on him and stills the poor boy once again.

“Someone’s been stealin’, I see.” Atsumu smirks triumphantly when Edwards grows even paler. “What would Snape do ta ya if he found out?”

“Please! Don’t tell him!” Edwards squirms and thrashes around.

“This is a serious offense, ya know.” Atsumu lazily twirls the flask around in his hand. “You were tryin’ ta give this to someone. And yer unsuspectin’ upperclassman, no less. This oughtta get ya expelled.”

You’re staring blankly at the scene, in shock that a) your underclassman had tried to sneak you a love potion, b) Atsumu is defending you instead of harassing you for once, and c) you’re actually really grateful to him, despite the questionable way he is dealing with the poor fifth year.

You finally find your resolve to speak again when Edwards looks like he is about to puke, and you would rather not get vomit anywhere near you, thank you very much.

“Let him go," you tell Atsumu as forcefully as you can. You scowl when the tall blonde simply laughs at your order.

“Nah. He deserves this.” Mirth dances in Atsumu's chocolate irises as he watches Edwards's face turn greener and greener.

“Do it or I will." You start to think the countercurse, but Atsumu beats you to it.

'Liberacorpus,' he recites in his head, rather reluctantly. Edwards falls to the ground in a crumpled heap with a thud and a pained yelp, winded but otherwise unharmed. The other students in the courtyard sigh in relief that the whole ordeal is over, and turn their attention away from the scene.

“Please don’t tell Professor Snape,” Edwards begs, his hand hanging low as his friend Moore repeatedly asks if he is alright.

“Where did all that spunk go, kid? Hmm? Ya seemed pretty brave a few moments ago,” Atsumu mocks him.

"Please. Don’t tell!” Edwards repeats in desperation.

“I guess since I’m so kind, I won’t.” Atsumu yawns. “But listen here. If I ever see ya near my girl again, I’ll do worse than hang ya upside down. Much worse.”

“That’s enough, Miya.” You slam your textbook shut and stuff it in your bag. You don’t think Kiyoko is coming, after all. And you also need to get away from Miya before you freak out and do something stupid. You really don’t trust yourself around him right now. “Stop being a jerk.”

“The hell?” Atsumu pauses to glance at you. Edwards and Moore take advantage of his distracted state and scamper away. Atsumu's eyes are swimming with a mixture of irritation, hurt, and confusion. “I just saved ya from that prat. He was gonna give ya a love potion.”

“I could’ve handled myself just fine! You didn’t have to step in like that!” Your eyebrows furrow together.

“I know.”

“And you — wait... what?” Your face un-crumples as you slowly take in his words.

“I know. I jus' got involved ‘cause I was pissed at the kid for thinkin’ that he could give ya a potion. I know ya could’ve taken care of yer own self.” He gives you a crooked grin. “Maybe that’s why I like ya so much, y’know?”

You swear your entire face erupts into flames right then and there. "And... and, I'm not your girl!" you add as a hasty afterthought.

"Not yet," he corrects you, chocolate eyes twinkling with mischief. "You will be, though." You scoff, flicking your gaze away from his to stare fixedly at the ground.

“..H-How did you know? That he was gonna give me that potion?” you stammer out after a moment.

“I had ta stop by old Snape’s classroom earlier this mornin’. I had a bunch of late assignments to turn in.”

“Already? Term started just a month ago,” you interject, but Atsumu ignores your jab.

“...And I saw that kid diggin’ through Snape’s potion storage. The hidden one under his desk. He looked at me all scared and quickly left, and I knew he was up to somethin’.”

“He was lucky Snape didn’t catch him,” you comment, and Atsumu nods in agreement, shivering slightly at the thought of Snape’s wrath.

“I checked to see if he took anythin’ and yup, shelf labeled ‘Love Potions’ was missin’ a flask. Then I was tipped off that someone was botherin’ ya in the courtyard, and when I saw it was the same guy that stole the love potion — yeah, fuck that kid.” You stifle a giggle at his annoyed pout, which you find oddly endearing.

“Thanks, I guess.” You sling your bookbag onto your arm, ready to head back to the common room to rest a bit before dinner. “See you around, Miya.”

“Atsumu. Call me Atsumu.” You decide to humor him, not having the patience to listen to him pester you further at the moment.

“Fine, Atsumu then. Thank you.”

“Any time.” A dorky grin spreads across his face as he says this and you resist the urge to mirror it. You turn to leave, but Atsumu stops you by calling out your name.

“What is it?” The rest of your words die in your throat when Atsumu suddenly brushes his thumb across your cheek, completely catching you off-guard. The warm sensation of touch stains your face bright red again.

“Eyelash,” he informs you simply, before affectionately ruffling your hair and striding away casually like nothing had just happened, a new bounce in his step.

You stand there for a few moments, completely dumbfounded.

You want to slap yourself across the face, hard.

You can’t believe that after all those years of hating Atsumu Miya, you had somehow managed to allow him to weasel his way into a special place in your heart that’s always been there.

And it’s just only now that you’re slowly starting to realize it.

About two weeks later, it’s the day of the first Quidditch match of the season, a game between Slytherin and Gryffindor.

The Quidditch stands are piled to their entire capacity with cheering students and teachers alike, red and green filling the area with a sea of varying hues.

You’re sitting high up with Kiyoko and Hitoka (the seats fill up so fast that you hadn’t had a chance to get the best spots), all three of you wearing a red and gold Gryffindor scarf and each waving a banner with a moving, roaring lion on it. It had been a tricky charm to perform, but you think it ended up being worth your efforts. You're rather pleased with your enchantment, as the snarling lion pacing back and forth on the banner looks quite decent, if you can say so yourself.

You normally don’t really go to Quidditch games, and on the rare occasion that you do, it’s to support your own house. You’re not the best flier, so you’d never actually played the game yourself. You don’t mind watching the sport, but you also wouldn’t go out of your way to attend matches. It’s only just because you were bored on this Thursday afternoon, having finished your homework early when Kiyoko and Hitoka had invited you down to the Quidditch pitch with them.

You had agreed; it is the first match of the year, after all.

And well, Atsumu would be playing but you hadn’t thought about that. Not at all.

You haven't talked to him since the incident in the courtyard. You hardly see him around at all, lately. Thanks to some eavesdropping, you learn that the Slytherin Quidditch team has a new Seeker, Tobio Kageyama, and a new Chaser, Tsutomu Goshiki, so the team is busy training them. Atsumu, as the Captain, is likely very occupied with training the new Seeker and Chaser, regardless of how talented Kageyama and Goshiki are rumored to be.

You never imagined that you would miss having Atsumu around, but this is probably the longest time you've gone at school without at least passing him by in the halls. Sometimes you glance out the windows and catch glimpses of his green-clad, piss-haired figure flying around the Quidditch pitch, but that's all you see of him. At least you know he's still alive.

Kiyoko and Hitoka are supporting Gryffindor (since they are friends with some of the members of the team), so you decided to join them in making the banners and accepted the Gryffindor scarf that one of Hitoka’s friends, Shouyou Hinata, lent to you. Though maybe a small part of you wanted to cheer Atsumu on, but you’d rather cut off your foot than say that out loud.

The commentators, two Gryffindor seventh years named Yuu Nishinoya and Ryuunosuke Tanaka, start addressing the audience with their enchanted, booming megaphones.

“Hello, folks! What a lovely day for the first Quidditch match of the year! Are you all excited?” Nishinoya receives a thunderous response from the crowd. You resist the temptation to cover your ears; Merlin’s Beard there are definitely reasons why you don’t attend Quidditch games often.

“Alright, let’s get this party started!” Tanaka yells at the top of his lungs, even into the megaphone. “Here come the Gryffindors!” The red-and-gold clad players shoot out onto the field, streaking past the audience at top speed, earning even more deafening cheering from Gryffindor’s supporters.

“We have our Seeker, Kourai Hoshiumi!” Nishinoya announces.

“Next, the Chasers! Chikara Ennoshita, Taketora Yamamoto and Shouyou Hinata!”

“The Beaters! Kentarou Kyoutani and Yuutarou Kindaichi!”

“And last but definitely not least, our Keeper and Captain, Sachirou Hirugami!”

Then the green-robed Slytherins arrive on the pitch. They fly out in formation in a flurry of emerald, zipping by just as fast as the Gryffindors had.

Your gaze immediately zeroes in on their leader. Atsumu wears a cool, concentrated expression, devoid of arrogance and smugness like usual. It’s a very unusual look for him, but you can definitely say that it’s a lot less irritating than his normal demeanor.

Your heart traitorously skips a beat as you watch the wind blow through his blonde hair.

“The Slytherins are here!” Ryuunosuke bellows. “Let’s hear the lineup!”

“Their brand-new Seeker, Tobio Kageyama!”

“The three Chasers, Rintarou Suna, Kiyoomi Sakusa, and hew recruit Tsutomu Goshiki!”

“Don’t forget their Keeper, Taichi Kawanishi!”

“And finally, their very famous Beaters! Osamu Miya and Slytherin’s new Captain, Atsumu Miya!”

Girlish squeals erupt from all around you, and you notice that several girls sitting near you are waving signs with emerald snakes and the words ‘Go Slytherin!’ emblazoned across them. A few girls even have banners with Atsumu and Osamu’s faces on them. The twins are winking playfully and smiling brightly, and there are green and silver hearts scattered all around them. Ah, yes, members of the Miya Twins Fan Club.

You do your best not to gag.

You watch as Banner-Atsumu continues to wink and grin widely. You have to admire the girl’s efforts in charming the banner. Atsumu’s winking induces the same, nervous knot in your stomach that comes from the real deal.

(You really do hate it here.)

“The players take their positions as Madam Hooch steps onto the field to begin the game!” Nishinoya continues.

The gray-haired woman known as Madam Hooch opens the trunk of Quidditch balls, staring sternly up at the players. “You all know the rules. I want a nice, clean game!” Madam Hooch, the referee, warns them. “Captains, shake hands!" Atsumu and Hirugami clasp hands and perform a firm handshake. Despite the gesture, the competitive tension between them seems to radiate outwards to swallow the entire Quidditch pitch. For the two of them, this game will be their first matches as captain. Both have something to prove with victory not only to their own House, but to the entire school. "All players at the ready!" With that, Madam Hooch releases all four balls onto the field.

“The match is officially underway! Ennoshita’s got the Quaffle! He passes to Yamamoto — aww, intercepted by Sakusa!”

“There’s one nasty Bludger going towards Kyoutani, oops, he’s sending it right to Sakusa!”

At the very last split second before the Bludger clobbers Sakusa off of his broom, Atsumu speeds in, using his bat to smack the black ball away from the Chaser.

“Saved by Miya!” Tanaka declares, and Slytherin’s supporters shout in approval.

“Sakusa approaches the goal, will he be able to get past Hirugami? Oh! Hirugami's stopped it!” Gryffindor’s fans cry out in victory.

“Hinata’s got the Quaffle!”

“Wow, he’s a fast flier, isn’t he, Ryuu?”

“Sure is, Yuu! Look at him go!”

Hinata is practically an orange, red, and gold blur as he zooms past his opponents, deftly dodging a Bludger aimed at him by Osamu and successfully evading Rintarou as he tried to steal the Quaffle away. Even you, someone who’s not well-versed in Quidditch at all, have to admire his speed.

“Hinata approaches the goal!” In the blink of an eye, Hinata zips around Kawanishi and throws the Quaffle into the right-most hoop. “And he scores!”

The scoreboard is updated. Gryffindor: 10, Slytherin: 0.

The match continues, and while you are having a good time cheering along with Kiyoko and Hitoka, the constant noise is starting to get to you. The never-ending screaming, cheering, and roaring is making your ears ring.

Still, this is the first time you’re watching a match that doesn’t involve your own house. Even though you’re cheering for Gryffindor, you can’t take your eyes off of a certain blonde Slytherin Beater. You have watched Atsumu play before (maybe your attention always wandered to him in the Ravenclaw vs. Slytherin games, but you won’t let yourself accept that) but something about him seems different.

In previous matches, he was much more aggressive and petty. You’ve heard so much about him and his notoriety as a Quidditch player. He was and is truly one of the most skilled Beaters at the school (second only to Osamu, who is simply more in control of his strength and strategy. The difference between the two of them is small, though Atsumu would still rather die than admit he is second to his brother). Atsumu’s play style was reckless; brilliant, but reckless.

Now, though, you notice a clear change.

He seems much more focused and calculated than before, with careful and precise movements. But this didn’t make Atsumu any less intimidating. In fact, he is now even more of a force to be reckoned with, as Chasers scramble frantically to get out of the way of a perfectly-aimed Bludger,

You’re not sure what caused this change in his play style. Perhaps it’s the responsibility of becoming Captain. He needs to set a good example, after all. Can’t have your Captain being an out-of-control player.

You’ve lost count of how many times Atsumu makes a Gryffindor Chaser lose contact with the Quaffle, or how many times he causes Hirugami to miss a save to dodge a Bludger, or how many times he smacks threatening Bludgers away from his teammates right before they’re hit.

Although you can’t say you know too much about Quidditch, it’s blatantly obvious to anyone, including you, that Atsumu is an amazing athlete.

“Atsumu-san is so cool,” a girl nearby sighs out dreamily as one of Atsumu’s Bludgers sends Ennoshita flying. Ennoshita recovers quickly, but he drops the Quaffle, which is then caught by Goshiki.

Perhaps you agree.

The score is now Gryffindor: 70 and Slytherin: 80.

“What’s that? Kageyama’s chasing after something!” Tanaka shouts.

“Hoshiumi’s in hot pursuit of him, have they found the Snitch?!” Nishinoya cries.

The two Seekers, red and green streaks on the pitch, are neck-and-neck as they chase after the tiny golden shape flitting at breakneck speed right by their noses. You would’ve missed it if Kiyoko didn’t point it out to you.

The volume in the pitch increases astronomically as both Seekers reach out their hands, pushing at each other at an attempt for a better chance to get the Snitch. You literally can’t tell what’s happening, as Hoshiumi and Kageyama are flying so fast and are obscured by clouds in the sky. The entire crowd holds their breath in anticipation. And then —

“He’s got it!” Nishinoya yells triumphantly.

“Hoshiumi’s caught the Snitch!” Tanaka announces excitedly, and the audience goes wild with a mixture of cheers, groans, and hysterical screaming.

“Gryffindor wins the match against Slytherin, 220 to 80!”

“Yes!” Hitoka pumps her fist in the air and hugs Kiyoko tightly. Kiyoko blushes lightly but hugs her back.

The Slytherin supporters near you visibly deflate, and the girls with the Miya twins banners look especially distraught. One girl tightly presses the banner to her heart, violently sobbing.

“No! Atsumu-san and Osamu-san still did great!” a girl from the group cries.

“Rintarou and Kiyoomi scored so many times!” another groans.

“Tsutomu-kun and Tobio-kun did so well in their first game...” yet another comments sadly.

“And Taichi is such a reliable Keeper!” one more bemoans.

“There’s gonna be an afterparty in the Gryffindor common room!” Hitoka tells you brightly, snatching your attention away from the upset girls. “Want to come?”

You think you’ve had enough noise for one day.

“I’ll pass, but thanks for the offer,” you tell her with a small smile. “You two have fun, okay?” You say your goodbyes to Kiyoko and Hitoka, who run off to meet up with their Gryffindor friends Shouyou and Chikara, before exiting the Quidditch pitch.

You’re strolling down a less crowded corridor, planning to stop by the kitchen to ask the house elves for some food (you’ve befriended quite a few of them), but you pause upon hearing a female voice say, “(L/N)-san.”

You turn.

There are four girls, one Slytherin, one Ravenclaw, and two Hufflepuffs. You recognize their faces as the Slytherin supporters; the girls not in Slytherin have taken off the green scarves they were wearing. All wear troubled expressions, and are still tightly clutching their emerald-colored banners.

“You’re (L/N)-san, right?” one of the Hufflepuffs, a girl with black pigtails, asks for confirmation.

“Yes, that’s me. What is it?” you ask with a raise of an eyebrow.

“We’re all fifth years, and we just wanted to ask you some things,” the red-haired Slytherin begins. You shrug nonchalantly then nod, prompting them to continue. You're around ninety percent sure that you already know what's coming.

“Why would Atsumu-san like you?” the other Hufflepuff, a ponytailed blonde blurts, earning a glare from the Slytherin. Ah, so you were right. Something to do with Atsumu.

“Don’t ask so bluntly!” the Slytherin hisses.

“I mean, you don’t even support him. You’re wearing Gryffindor colors!” the brunette Ravenclaw accuses you.

“How did you even get close to Atsumu-san?” the first Hufflepuff presses.

You blink, slightly overwhelmed by the onslaught of questions and accusations.

“I’m not that close to him, we are hardly even friends — “ you start.

“But he won’t date me because of you!” the blonde Hufflepuff wails. You stare blankly at her, not sure how to respond. "I spent hours making him handmade chocolates so I could ask him out and he turned me down without a second thought..."

You grimace. You truly do empathize with the girl, of course. Any rejected love confession must hurt. Though, knowing Atsumu, he would likely make it crystal-clear if he isn’t intending to start a relationship even if he was previously involved with this girl. He isn’t the kind to beat around the bush when it comes to what he wants.

“Same thing happened to me, and the rest of us. And I did a little asking around, and found out he has a thing for you.” The Ravenclaw frowns. “How did you do it?"

“It’s not fair.” The Slytherin grits her teeth. “You never make any efforts for his attention, so why does it have to be on you?" You bite your lip, holding back a big sigh of exasperation.

“I’m sorry this happened to you. Really. But what does this have to do with me? I can't control what he does.”

“Did you give him a love potion, (L/N)-san?” the Ravenclaw inquires quite aggressively. You flinch back a little at the blatant accusation.

“No!” you exclaim. “I... I really don’t know how to help you. I’m sorry — “

“Why would Atsumu-san ever like a Mudblood like you?” the black-haired Hufflepuff squints condescendingly at you. Your face falls. You haven’t been called that word since your early years of school, and mysteriously, your offenders always ended up in the hospital wing the next day. Thus, no one has dared to make fun of your blood status since.

Until now, with these four underclassmen that aren’t showing you a shred of respect.

“Even worse! She’s a Mudblood?!” the Slytherin scoffs. “He would’ve been way better off with any of us. We’re all Pureblood.”

“You’re not convincing anyone of your innocence either.” One Hufflepuff scowls. “I’ve seen the two of you around Hogwarts since my first year. I see the way he’s always around you. And you never seriously push him away. There’s something going on isn’t there?”

“Okay.” You keep your voice level and steady, ignoring her implication of your romantic relationship with Atsumu. “Look, you can go after him. I mean it. I’m sure he’ll come around — “ The Ravenclaw lunges forward and slaps you across the face, catching you by surprise.

“You’ll never understand! You don’t know how lucky you are!” A few tears slip down her face, and you can only stare at the fuming girls in shock and rising anger.

You were trying your very best to keep a cool head but this is the last straw. The fact that these girls are verbally and physically attacking you for someone else's apparent feelings is absolutely ridiculous. These girls need to get out of your sight as soon as possible before you blow a fuse. You just want your fucking treacle tarts.

You start to reach for your wand.

A large hand appears out of nowhere, placing itself over yours and pushing your wand back in the pockets of your robe.

You pause, chills shooting down your spine at the sparks flying through your system at the feeling of his touch (as cliche as it sounds).

“Hey, princess. Lemme take care of these squealin’ pigs, hmm?” You’ve never been so relieved to hear Atsumu MIya’s voice.

“Atsumu-san!” one of the girls whines, clearly offended by the name he chose to call the group.

“The hell do ya think yer doin’? If ya have business with me, come directly to me, dumbass pigs,” Atsumu snaps rather harshly, causes all four to shrink back significantly.

“Why do you like her, Atsumu-san? She’s just a filthy Mudblood.” You’re not sure which girl said that, because you’re too busy watching Atsumu’s face morph into one of the scariest expressions you’ve ever seen on a person.

His eyebrows are furrowed in a deadly arch, eyes narrowed like a predator about to pounce on prey that’s been running away for too long, and the way his lip curls into a cruel snarl is well, in short, absolutely terrifying.

Even though his anger isn’t directed at you, you feel yourself tremble.

“What — ” He takes a few steps towards the group. who quickly staggers back. “ — didja just call her?”

“Aren’t you a pureblood too?” one questions, confused. “The Miya family is even one of the most well-respected pureblood families!”

“Yeah, but my family thinks that’s all washed-up, supremacist shit.” Atsumu snorts. “Our line hasn’t been completely pure for decades. We don’t care about useless stigmas like that.”

“You don’t care that she’s a Mudblood?” They sound incredulous; scandalized. even.

“Stop callin' her that. And no. I frankly do not give a fuck, 'cause I was raised right, unlike you lot,” he replies crossly.

The four girls are stunned at his response, and so are you. You guess it makes sense that Atsumu was raised to not care about blood purity, because all throughout the seven years you’ve known him, you can’t recall a single moment when he made fun of your blood status.

“I-It’s just unfair, you know? She doesn’t even like you back!” someone pipes up. At this, Atsumu sighs, still angry but slightly... sad?

“Doncha think I know that better than anyone else?”

Your heart plummets at the wistful, sorrowful note in his voice.

You never realized how much this stupid boy that’s been plaguing your Hogwarts experience since day one actually means to you. Sure, he’s the bane of your existence in a lot of ways, but he’s always just... been there. And yes, he’s annoying. Yes, he’s infuriating. Yes, he makes you want to murder him sometimes. But he never meant any real harm. Never meant to make you cry. Never meant to go too far. And he never did, he never truly hurt you, as much of an irritating asshole he is.

“Like I said, if ya have somethin’ to discuss with me, say so. Don’t fuckin’ gang up on (L/N) for no reason. Out of my sight.” He waves his hand carelessly, and you watch in a bit of amazement as the girls immediately scatter.

He then instantly looks down at you, concerned at the sight of the reddening handprint on your cheek.

“M'so sorry.” Atsumu’s bottom lip juts out into a worried pout as he leans down to inspect the mark on your face. “Are ya... are ya okay?”

“I’m fine.” You are. A bit shaken by the offensive remarks thrown towards you and the physical violence, but fine, nonetheless. You just need a few minutes to get yourself together and you’ll be completely okay.

“S'my fault. They were upset at me, and took it out on ya. Thank Merlin I was walkin’ down here ta grab a snack from the kitchen — “

“They like you a lot,” you cut him off. "They just want to be close to you. I guess it’s normal to be jealous, and I bet it hurt when they got rejected by you."

“But they were thinkin’ that harassin’ the girl I like would get my attention?” Your heart suddenly leaps with joy at the spoken reminder that he apparently has a thing for you. But you keep your composure. “Sure, they got my attention alright. Was ready to hex those pigs into next week.”

“Yes, it was dumb, and completely unnecessary, but they’re just — “

“They’re fuckin’ psychos. Don't be so nice to them, princess. They wanted to hurt you,” he spits venomously. “I shoulda hexed them or somethin’ but I can't afford ta get detention 'cause of Quidditch — "

“Miya, don’t worry. Drop it. It’s okay. They’re in love, and well, I imagine if you’re in love then it must hurt to not be loved back.” Sure, the more primal part of you also wants to hex them; you almost did. But you know at the end of the day they’re just harmless school girls head over heels for a guy that’s unattainable. Atsumu scoffs at your words.

“Don’t I know it,” he repeats, a rather faraway look in his eyes.

You’re suddenly aware of how empty and quiet the corridor is.

“You... You played great, today,” you decide to say for some reason. Atsumu continues to frown.

“Ya watched?” he asks, before his chocolate eyes trail down to see the red and gold scarf still hanging around your neck and the roaring lion banner in your hands. His mouth presses into a thin line. “And rooted for Gryffindor.” You swallow, suddenly feeling guilty even though you know you didn’t do anything wrong.

“I — my friends were supporting Gryffindor, so I just joined in,” you ramble, trying to justify yourself for some odd reason.

“Nah. Ya wouldn’t wanna cheer on some losers anyway, huh?” He can’t meet your gaze, which honestly concerns you. Usually you’re the one who can’t look him in the eye. But Atsumu’s head is hanging low. You vaguely remember Osamu’s complaining about how much of a sore loser Atsumu is, how he always beats himself up and blames himself for losses.

And to lose the first Quidditch match of the season, as Captain no less — you can’t imagine what he’s probably feeling right now.

“Atsumu.” You clear your throat, not used to using his first name. “You were amazing. You know I wouldn’t just compliment you because I felt like it.”

A ghost of a smile flits across his lips.

“I’m just — I’m so pathetic, y’know?” He buries his face in his hands. “I let everyone down. Shoulda aimed better at Hoshiumi at the end, maybe coulda knocked him away so Tobio woulda gotten the Snitch.”

“You’re not pathetic.” You don’t know what or who possesses you to do so, but you find yourself reaching up to carefully grasp Atsumu’s wrists, slowly pulling them away from his face.

The completely flabbergasted look he gives you upon receiving your touch would’ve been humorous in any other circumstance.

“There’s good reasons why so many people look up you, why you got chosen to be Captain, and why you’re considered one of the best Quidditch players in the history of the school. Again, you know I wouldn’t say these things if I didn’t mean them.” You find it weird that you’re comforting someone who you considered to be in a pain in your ass for the past seven years, but you find it even weirder that you genuinely feel the need to reassure and support him.

“Ya think so?” You’re still holding his wrists, but his chocolate irises are now boring directly into yours.

“I know so,” you say with absolute certainty. “And if you ever doubt yourself again, I’ll hex you.” He cracks a tiny grin.

“That’s my girl.” Atsumu releases his wrists from your grasp to bring you into a tight hug. You, not expecting the sudden act of affection, gasp in surprise as your face gets smushed against his muscular chest. But you don’t struggle or try to break free. His embrace doesn’t feel strange or uncomfortable.

Oddly, it feels like... home.

You don't even bother correcting him with the reminder that you aren't his girl.

After a few moments of hesitation, you wrap your thinner arms around his torso in return.

You swear you feel a few tears drip onto the top of your head, but when you try to look up at him he holds you tighter.

It’s at this moment that you silently admit to yourself that yes, you care about the irritating, bratty, arrogant nuisance that is Atsumu Miya.

You spend a while in silence, just hugging each other, in the quietness of the empty corridor.

He's warm, although you should've expected as much. His tall, large frame is pretty much a walking space heater. You find yourself leaning further into his arms, pressing yourself ever closer. Atsumu smells of his usual woodsy cologne, but with a hint of sweat and grass, likely from the Quidditch pitch. You're not repulsed by the scent; rather, you find it quite comforting.

You feel Atsumu shift slightly as his head dips down towards you, and you let out a small squeak of surprise at the sensation of his lips grazing against your forehead. You instinctively cling onto him even more, and the rumble of his chest as he chuckles affectionately at your reaction shouldn't be as attractive as it is.

Merlin's Beard, you are so screwed.

"I have somethin' ta tell ya, (Y/N)," he murmurs into your hair. "I —"

“Master Miya! Mistress (L/N)!” The two of you jump apart at the sound of the kitchen door, which is at the end of the corridor, suddenly bursting open, revealing the kind, head cook house elf known as Molky.

Molky stares at you and Atsumu.

You and Atsumu stare at Molky.

You vaguely recall Atsumu mentioning how he came down this corridor to go to the kitchen, so he ought to come here often and visit the house elves as well.

In fact, you’re pretty sure you brushed past him a few times near here with him yelling insults at you over his shoulder.

A slow, but wide smile spreads across Molky’s face.

“Are Master Miya and Mistress (L/N) in love?” The old house elf’s big green eyes sparkle in joy. “Molky is so proud!”

Both you and Atsumu turn firetruck red.

“Come in, come in! Mistress (L/N), we have some treacle tarts for you! They’re your favorite, aren’t they? And for you, Master Miya, steak pie!” Before either you or Atsumu could move a muscle, Molky ushers the two of you inside.

“Hello, Master Miya! Mistress (L/N)!” the busy house elves chorus as you enter.

You and Atsumu greet them in return in a rather flustered manner, still embarrassed upon getting caught by Molky.

“My, my!” one of the sweetest elves, Topsey, giggles. “Master Miya and Mistress (L/N) stop by so often, but never together!”

“We heard your constant bickering!” another elf, Lonpey, informs you with a huge smile. “House elves have good hearing, you see. We thought Master Miya and Mistress (L/N) did not like each other!”

“Turns out, us house elves were wrong...” Polky the house elf sulks as he hands over a galleon to Lonpey.

“Ya had a bet on us?” Atsumu’s mouth is open in shock.

“Ever since the first time we heard you two arguing, Master Miya!” Lonpey says cheerfully.

“Ahh, young love,” Bosky, the house elf who makes the best soup, sighs from her spot by the stove, where she is busy stirring something in a pot.

You and Atsumu spend a few more moments in shocked silence, even as the house elves begin bringing the two of you your favorite foods, chattering and laughing animatedly. The two of you sit down on the clean kitchen floor, accepting the plates of food from the elves.

“I never took you for someone who cared for house elves,” you comment, taking a small bite of your treacle tart, which is delicious as always.

"'Samu and I grew up with two. They were our best friends.”

“’Were’?”

“Dad and Mum set them free before we came to school this year, since we're grown up now and no longer need them to take care of us.”

“Hmm.” You nod sympathetically, not knowing how you would feel if you had a house elf friend and caretaker who got released after you became of age. House elves truly are kindhearted and loyal creatures. You absolutely adore spending time with them; they're so genuine and caring. You could easily imagine yourself becoming best friends with one of them like Atsumu and Osamu had, especially over the course of seventeen years.

“’s funny, isn’t it?” Atsumu pushes a large forkful of steak pie into his mouth.

“What is?”

“How much people assume about me.” He pauses. “They think I care about blood purity, look down on house elves... I guess there’s not many good stereotypes that come with being a pureblood Slytherin.”

“Master Miya is kind!” Bosky pipes up. “He asked Professor Dumbledore to raise our pay!”

“And of course, Dumbledore listened!” Polky cheers, and the rest of the house elves join in.

“I’m sorry.” You feel a bit guilty for your previous assumption. “I just...”

“Nah. Don’t apologize. There are plenty of things that aren’t so nice about me, as ’m sure ya know. ’m definitely no saint.”

This is strange. A normal, proper conversation with Atsumu. No bickering, no jabbing, no teasing. Just two people talking. Perhaps, two friends talking.

“I can leave ya alone, y’know.” You freeze at his words. Did you want him to leave you alone? Maybe before, you had the thought. But even you have to admit that you never truly meant it. You want him around, and that's the hard truth.

“I — “ Your protest never finishes leaving your tongue as Atsumu suddenly smirks.

“But I won’t.”

You should’ve known.

“Miya!” you scoff out, pushing his face, which somehow ended up way too close to yours, away from you.

“What?” He laughs obnoxiously. “What did I do this time?”

You unconsciously puff out your cheeks angrily, which only makes him laugh louder at how much you resemble an agitated chipmunk.

“What’s wrong, ya troll?” he teases. “What’s got yer panties in a twist?”

Instead of annoying you, his offensive nickname brings a sense of relief. This is the Atsumu you know. The playful, blunt, and infuriating boy that you’ve known for so many years. You don’t mind seeing his more gentle and sensitive side, but you couldn’t help but find yourself missing this part of him.

Atsumu, on the other hand, quickly shuts his mouth. staring down at the floor. “Ah, sorry, that just came out. I didn’t mean ta say that.” But you’re laughing, now, too.

“No,” you say through a fit of amused giggles. “It’s fine. It was weird seeing you be all sappy and not poke fun at me for the past weeks.”

“(L/N), is that permission for me to call ya a troll?” Atsumu jokes.

“Yes. Call me a troll whenever you want.” There’s a small silence before the two of you burst out into laughter.

The house elves are watching you and Atsumu in complete confusion.

“Why would Mistress (L/N) tell Master Miya to call her a troll?” Topsey whispers to Lonpey, who shrugs, just as perplexed.

“You’re not so big and bad, like you told me, huh?” you say, continuing to dig into your treacle tart. “All talk and no bite?”

“Guess m'not.” He raises an eyebrow, still grinning smugly. “But I’ve been told that m'big in another very important way.”

The joke flies right over your head, but some of the house elves gasp, scandalized..

“Whatever.” You happily finish off the rest of your treacle tart, oblivious to the lovesick way that Atsumu is watching you, his plate of steak pie sitting forgotten in his lap.

“So, um, would ya... would ya maybe wanna go to Hogsmeade with me tomorrow?” He coughs, clearing his throat awkwardly, his face burning. “I mean — uh — just 'cause I wanna buy some sweets from Honeydukes. If that’s okay with ya.”

“Are you asking me out on a date?” You look up at him, stifling a chuckle at the absolutely mortified expression on his face. It seems like he’s about to combust.

“W-What if I am?!” Atsumu huffs, aggressively shoving a piece of steak pie into his mouth.

“Pfft.” You can’t hold back your laugh, and Atsumu looks at you like a kicked puppy. “Don’t look so upset, jeez, Miya. Yes. I’ll go with you.”

“Cool.” On the outside, he seems nonchalant and collected. After all, why wouldn’t he be? He’s gone on dates with girls before. But this is you. This is you. You. Him. Date.

He's wanted this for so long and he can't believe it's finally happening.

Atsumu is singing joyously like a frolicking Disney princess in his head.

“God, where the hell is he?” Osamu grumbles. “That shithead has been in the kitchen for a good two hours now. Does he really need to eat that fuckin’ much?”

“You’re one to talk,” Rintarou snorts. “Usually you’d join him. And eat more than him.”

“Yeah, well, just didn’t feel like it today.” Osamu crosses his arms over his chest, sinking deeper into couch in the Slytherin common room he is seated on.

“The two of you are always such sore losers,” says Rintarou with a roll of his eyes.

“Naw! He is! Not me!” Osamu whines, suddenly springing up from the couch. “Look, it was just so close, Tobio was almost there — “

“Sit down, ding dong.” Rintarou pushes him back down, and Osamu pouts angrily. “It was just the first game. We have plenty of time to get back at them later.” Osamu nods, sighing.

“Yeah. Yer right.”

“Let’s go find Atsumu. Funny how he calls everyone else ‘pig’, but he spends two hours in the kitchen eating...”

The two boys stroll down the corridors towards the moving staircase leading to the kitchens, Osamu still muttering complaints under his breath. Rintarou gives into the overwhelming urge to roll his eyes to the heavens.

Right when they are about to round the corner to the kitchen, the double doors burst open. And out strolls Atsumu... holding hands with you.

Rintarou and Osamu freeze, not expecting to see this.

The two of you. Holding hands.

Talking. Not bickering.

Laughing together. Not laughing at each other.

The sight is so surreal, the two Slytherin boys’ eyes grow to match the circumference of dinner plates.

Thankfully, you and Atsumu walk in the opposite direction, not seeing Rintarou and Osamu watching you with open mouths and wide eyes.

“Well.” Rintarou recovers first. “Can’t say I didn’t see that coming.”

“For real, all that lovey sexual tension between them was really startin’ ta get to me,” Osamu grumbles. “That took years.”

“Guess Atsumu finally manned up to say something.” Rintarou sounds rather proud. “About time.”

“About time, huh?” Osamu muses, his tone suddenly changing to playful and... slightly suggestive? Rintarou doesn’t notice Osamu inching closer until they are only just a few centimeters apart. Rintarou’s heart flips upside down in his chest as he takes in Osamu’s smirking face way too close to his.

It’s a scenario that he’s only seen in his dreams.

Rintarou has been friends with Osamu since they were elementary-aged children, and has harbored feelings for him since their third year at Hogwarts. However, both of them never toed, let alone crossed, the line between friendship and romance.

But now, as Osamu backs him into the wall of the corridor, an odd, predatory glint in his eye, Rintarou can't find it in him to push Osamu away.

Maybe it's because he's been wanting this all along.

“Hey... what are you d-doing?” Rintarou’s voice shakes a little. Osamu cocks his head.

“Can’t let fuckin’ ‘Tsumu one-up me.”

When Osamu and Rintarou walk into the Slytherin common room later that day, hand-in-hand with marks littering their necks, Atsumu’s soul literally leaves his body as he girlishly screams bloody-murder in utter shock.

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carewyncromwell · 4 years ago

Photo

Hey guys! Many, many apologies for the delay in this two-part update to the POTC AU! I won’t bog down this with too many notes, as I know I left y’all on a cliffhanger last time, sooooo...

Previous part is here! Full tag is here! Rakepick’s hair here is modeled off the outline of a Lion’s Mane Jellyfish! Zephyr (or Zephyrus) was the name of the deity of the West Wind in Greek mythology, just as Calypso was a Greek nymph of the sea that first appeared in The Odyssey! And MCs referenced in this section are Jules Farrier-Weasley @cursebreakerfarrier; Finn McGarry/Davy Jones @theguythatdraws and Samantha O’Connell @samshogwarts!

x~x~x~x~x

It had started to rain. Aboard the Clearwater, the tide of battle had turned in the pirates’ favor. Even though Charlie was injured, he was able to rally the crew of the fallen Phoenix against the Navy, beating them back so they could take over the ship. Many Navy men were so afraid that they defied orders and fled to the jollyboats in an attempt to escape the pirates’ onslaught. Charlie was perfectly willing to let them go -- he consistently ordered his crew not to retaliate, if the soldiers surrendered or retreated. After all, the ship was all they wanted -- they didn’t necessarily need to kill, in order to get that.

Everything was going right when all of a sudden, one particularly brave Navy soldier with a blond ponytail -- upon surrendering -- abruptly changed his mind, unsheathed his sword, and charged at Charlie. Charlie was able to block him with his own dragon-hilted sword, but because he was too injured to properly stand, he was unable to dodge or step the way he normally could have, so he was immediately put on the defensive.

Charlie clenched his teeth, trying to power through the pain in his leg, and blocked all of the soldier’s next five blows. It wasn’t easy to try to sword fight while staying stationary -- the form almost required being able to weave around and lunge toward your opponent, if one wanted to win.

The blond soldier, clearly wet behind the ears but determined to win, took advantage of Charlie’s injury by kicking him right in his broken leg.

“ACK!”

Charlie collapsed onto the deck with a pained hiss.

Samantha, who’d been just tossed another soldier overboard on the other far end of the ship, heard Charlie fall and hurried to try to help, but she was too far away. Charlie just barely managed to keep a hold of his sword and was able to block the blond soldier’s next blow, but struggled to push the other blade back away from him.

“This ends now, pirate!” said the boyish soldier in a show of misguided conviction.

THUNK.

The soldier instantly froze up, his eyes going wide and his head falling forward in response to something having collided with the back of it. Then his eyes rolled up into his head and he collapsed.

Standing just overhead with his sword hilt where the blond soldier’s head just was a freckled young man dressed in a blue and white captain’s uniform and a damp white-powdered wig.

“Percy?” gasped Charlie.

The third-eldest Weasley was very pale as he stared from the hilt of his sword, which was smeared with some blood, to down at Charlie.

“...I reckon I may have hit him a bit too hard,” he said rather weakly.

Wiping the blood off on the inside of his coat, he then quickly sheathed his sword and hurried to grab onto Charlie and help him to his feet.

“Charlie, I’m -- I’m so sorry -- I never should’ve let you and Bill go without me -- I’ve been such a - ”

But Charlie didn’t need to hear any more. In an instant, he’d thrown his arms around his younger brother and squeezed him in a huge hug.

“It’s good to see you too, Perce,” he said lowly.

Percy’s eyes prickled with tears as he squeezed his brother in return.

“Charlie, I think Carey’s in trouble,” he confessed.

Charlie pulled back enough to look Percy straight-on in the eye as Samantha reached them at last. “She is. Davy Jones plans to commandeer her into his crew.”

“What?!” Percy was scandalized.

“Bill and Jules are on the Revolution right now, with Carey’s brother -- ”

Charlie indicated the Revolution and Flying Dutchman, which were still hotly engaged in battle.

“The only way we can stop him from taking Carey and get close enough to capture Beckett,” the second-eldest Weasley explained, “is if we can take him out.”

“If we can capture Beckett, we’ll have enough leverage to force the Navy to surrender,” said Samantha. “We don’t have enough firepower to stop the fighting any other way.”

Percy’s brown eyes too faced the sea, instead flicking over to the HMS Lion. His eyes widened when he took in what he saw.

The jollyboats were being lowered...?

He darted over the railing, taking out a telescope to look out.

“Perce?” asked Charlie. With some help from Samantha, he joined his brother at the railing.

“They’re evacuating,” said Percy, dumbstruck. “Everyone’s heading for the HMS Swallow.”

Charlie’s eyebrows knit together. “What?”

“But why?” said Samantha. “If they wanted to retreat, couldn’t they use their flagship to do it?”

Percy shook his head. “Not if the flagship was going to be used to signal the rest of the Navy...”

He combed the jollyboats with his eyes through his telescope. He saw Beckett lingering on the deck of the ship overlooking the jollyboats, but there were no familiar manes of ginger red hair.

Percy gave a start. Suddenly Carewyn’s words from before made sense.

“Don’t try to protect me or my reputation -- those things won’t matter much longer anyway...”

“...Carey,” breathed Percy. “Carey’s leading the retreat. She must’ve openly rebelled against Beckett’s orders -- ”

Charlie’s face went a lot paler. He understood the gravity of what that meant -- after everything she’d done to stay with the Navy, Carewyn had thrown away her safe position with Beckett at a chance to stop the fighting...meaning that she now also effectively opened herself to being tarred with treason.

Percy lowered his telescope, his jaw clenching anxiously as he looked out at the Revolution and the Flying Dutchman. The water under the two warring ships was burbling and swirling ominously.

The ginger-haired Navy captain bowed his head, looking very solemn.

“There’s no way that Beckett will let her get away with that,” he murmured. “He’ll do anything he has to, in order to destroy all of you. If we give him the chance to contradict Carey’s orders to the ships out here and rally the HMS Swallow and the rest of the fleet in a counterattack, then it’s all over.”

His brown eyes narrowed as he looked from Samantha to Charlie.

“If you need Jones out of the way in order to get at Beckett,” he said firmly, “then we’re taking the Clearwater straight to the Flying Dutchman.”

Underneath the Flying Dutchman and the Revenge swirled a terrible, turbulent current -- one that bent back in on itself in a demented, sickening spiral. It soon ensnared both ships in a slowly circling, deepening, descending whirlpool, illuminated largely by the cracks of violent white lightning that crashed through the sky.

Calypso was clearly not pleased about the Dutchman’s new captain.

Meanwhile, on the HMS Lion, Beckett had Orion and Carewyn cornered in the hull of the Navy ship, standing in front of the one and only staircase they could’ve used to quickly escape.

“I didn’t think I could dislike you any more, Admiral,” said Beckett with a icy cold smile as he quickly reloaded his pistol to shoot again, “but for the second time today, you’ve served to only give me more reason.”

His eyes flickered over to Orion, darkening with even further hatred, as he raised his pistol again.

“Don’t do it, Beckett,” Orion said, his voice very low in his throat with both solemnity and disapproval. “Destroying us would only destroy yourself -- ”

“You may skip the philosophy lecture, Amari,” said Beckett, pointing the pistol right at his head.

His eyes swept over the scene, analyzing it.

“If you’re here...I daresay you’ve sabotaged this ship -- just like you did my fleet of slave ships, several years back. Given your tenseness about me using my pistol, I can only fathom it’s something explosive -- I’d most assuredly have to get back in the jollyboat quickly, to escape that. And since the Admiral and you are in league with each other, it’s only logical to presume that she sent my crew away because she knew of it and didn’t want any harm to come to them. Your nobility truly is unparalleled, Carewyn Weasley. It’s just a shame you place men at such a higher value than property -- or your own self-preservation.”

His eyes flashed at Carewyn, looking if possible even colder than before as he took a few steps backward up the stairs.

“Truly, this is nothing personal,” he said in a very unconvincing voice. “Making sure that both of you can’t get in my way again...is just good business.”

His pistol, which had been pointing at Orion’s head, abruptly changed aim toward the barrels behind him. Carewyn lunged forward, but her lack of height made it so her strides were too short to reach Beckett fast enough, and since Orion was so focused on dodging, he wasn’t able to shift gears to follow Carewyn’s lead in time.

BAM.

The Clearwater had just come up on the Flying Dutchman inside the swirling maelstrom when the ship’s crew’s attention was drawn to the huge, flaming explosion that within minutes overtook and consumed the HMS Lion.

The sight alarmed Percy and Charlie, who were both convinced Carewyn was still on-board. Charlie, refusing to believe that Carewyn was dead, nonetheless harried Percy into action. They had to defeat Jones and capture Beckett to stop the battle -- it was the only chance they had at getting to Carewyn, since the maelstrom’s current was now way too strong for them to pull out of.

“Calypso wouldn’t drown you, though, would she?” asked Samantha loudly over the pouring rain. “You two get on, don’t you?”

“She was my friend when she was human, yeah,” granted Charlie with a weak smile, holding onto the railing so as to keep himself upright on his broken leg, “but remember, she sees things as a goddess now! Her anger’s clearly on the Dutchman and the Revolution -- I’m probably the size of an ant right now compared to her, I can’t assume she’ll be able to pick me out in this whole mess!”

He shook out his tricorn hat, which had gathered a puddle of water on the brim, and then slapped it back onto his head.

“I reckon the best way to save ourselves and the Revolution is to help deal with what’s gotten her so pissed off! Ready the lines -- prepare to board the Dutchman!”

At the exact same time, as either luck or fate would have it, the pirate called “Behemoth Ben” Copper had been trying to convince the soldiers aboard one of the other Man O’Wars, the HMS Royal, that he’d been sent with orders from Lord Beckett that they were to evacuate to the HMS Swallow, as the HMS Lion’s crew had. When the Lion blew up, Ben, in a rather brilliant move, took advantage of the flaming wreck to bolster his ruse.

“You see?”the tall blue-and-white-disguised pirate shot at them harshly over the pouring rain. “The Lion was compromised! That must’ve been why it was evacuated! And that’s why we’re being ordered to evacuate now as well -- the Lion is not the only one! Now stop stalling, or you’ll lose a lot more than just your rank! Abandon ship! To the HMS Swallow! NOW!”

Once the Navy officers had left in the jollyboats, Ben and the rest of the ex-Navy pirates easily commandeered the HMS Royal, following along behind the Artemis as the smaller white sloop headed for the remains of the Lion. McNully had not seen either his Captain or the Admiral escape the wreckage -- Ben prayed with everything in him that they somehow had.

When Percy left the wounded Charlie and Samantha in charge of the Clearwater and swung over to the Dutchman, he found Bill and Jacob hotly engaged in battle with Patricia Rakepick. The pirate-turned-privateer did not look like herself at all -- there was no light in her dark blue eyes and her long ginger hair flowed loose around her, the strands flicking at the air like tiny tentacles that seemed to crackle with unnatural electricity. Her blouse also gaped open at the chest, exposing a long-sealed up scar right over her rip cage, and she bore down on Bill and Jacob with ferocity, slashing at them with the intent to kill. Percy immediately yanked out his own sword and blocked Rakepick before she could land a blow on Bill, his brown eyes flaring and his teeth bared in an oddly fierce expression.

“Stay away from my brother,” snarled the Navy captain.

Bill’s face lit up in shock and delight. “Percy?”

Rakepick, however, didn’t give the two any time for a proper reunion -- instead she immediately engaged Percy, beating him back with her sword while also holding off Jacob, who continued to cut at her with his own blade.

“This sibling is not the one you should be protecting, boy,” said Rakepick very coldly.

Once she’d successfully fended off Percy and Jacob for the moment, she went after Bill again, hacking in the direction of his head with her sword.

Percy was about to chase Rakepick, but just before he did, another voice called his name over the rain.

“Percy Weasley!”

Percy turned, to see an unusually striking, clean-shaven and well-dressed pirate with brown eyes and a brown ponytail fending off about three different fishy members of the Dutchman’s crew. When their eyes met over one of the cursed pirates’ shark-shaped head, Percy felt like the clean-shaven man was somehow able to see right through him, and yet it was an oddly relaxing feeling, rather than anything intrusive. The man’s eyes narrowed upon Percy, as if he’d determined something important just by looking at his face.

“You’re needed here!” Ashe said firmly. “Come here, now!”

Percy wasn’t sure why he followed that direction, but he nonetheless dashed over and helped Ashe beat back Jones’s old crew members. Once he’d reached that side of the deck, he found Jules knelt down on the deck behind Ashe, holding a very familiar wrought-iron Chest with a heart-shaped lock in her lap and a make-shift lock-pick in one hand.

“Percy!” breathed Jules.

Percy immediately bent down beside her, his freckled face very pale. “Charlie and I came to help -- Jules, I’m s -- ”

“It’s all right,” said Jules very quickly, almost dismissively. “Percy, we have to get the Dead Man’s Chest open -- Rakepick’s heart is inside, it may be the only way to stop her -- ”

“Rakepick’s?” said Percy with a start. “What happened to Jones?”

“He’s dead!” said Ashe very curtly, having to project his voice to be heard over the rain. “But now Rakepick’s got it in her head to tear down both our and your fleet, with the power she’s accrued! Worse still, that shark-headed feck threw the Key overboard, and there’s no way we’ll get it back in the middle of a raging storm! You know this Chest, don’t you?”

Percy had no idea how Ashe knew this, not knowing anything about the merfolk’s ability to sense the emotions, desires, and memories of humans, but the Navy Captain looked down at the Dead Man’s Chest with a rather surly expression.

“Yes -- Beckett asked Carey for help in opening it, since she’s great at picking locks! She and I were able to manage it after a while, once we’d tinkered with it enough...”

Percy reached up into his coat, tearing one of the ornamental buttons off and bending the hook into a long wire, like he’d seen Carewyn do once before when she didn’t have a lock-pick on hand.

“I think I remember how she did it -- Jules, help me!”

It seemed like the new captain of the damned was more focused on Bill than anything. Even though she obviously loathed Jacob and was clearly being given a run for her money by him despite her immortality, she still seemed to be actively trying to get around Jacob in an attempt to kill Bill.

Meanwhile, Cutler Beckett and the crew of the HMS Lion had just about reached the HMS Swallow in the jollyboats when all of a sudden, something massive lurched out of the raging waves. The crashing of the dark waves that slammed the jollyboats aside was so violent and large that the ocean seemed to roar almost as loudly as the monstrous mass that had emerged from its depths -- one so large that one could really only make out tentacles and a black-hole-like mouth framed with about a hundred rows of sharp teeth.

It was the Kraken -- brought back to life one final time by Calypso, to take its revenge.

Beckett very shakily clutched onto the overturned boat he’d been riding in a moment ago. His tricorn hat had fallen off and his powdered white wig was drenched, but he barely even seemed aware of it. “This -- this is impossible,” he breathed. He looked out at the other overturned jollyboats and the fleeing soldiers being yanked aboard the HMS Swallow and other ships a good ten miles away, with an endless, thousand-mile stare. His face was pallid and as blank as a doll’s as he very, very slowly turned his gaze up onto the wide-open jaws of the Kraken bearing down on him.

“Seems my little pet remembers you.” Beckett’s eyes widened. He whirled around at the sound of the familiar voice, but instead of being faced with the barnacle-encrusted, octopus-bearded Davy Jones, he was face-to-face with a very tall, translucent, glowing cloud of mist -- like a shadow, if it were made of light instead of darkness. Its form was nebulous enough that it couldn’t be considered solid, but one could still barely make out the face of a pirate with a slash-like scar over his eye and a cold smile framed by a beard. It hovered leisurely over the ocean waves, occasionally slipping in and out of the blackened water with ease. “He’s come back one last time just for you, Beckett,” said Finn McGarry’s spirit, his eyes flashing with satisfaction. “You should be flattered.” Beckett’s mouth hung open slightly like a fish. He seemed unable to speak as he looked from Finn to up at the Kraken’s open jaws. “Wait -- you -- you can’t -- ” Finn began to laugh. It was a very loud, harsh sound. “Calypso has made my soul one with the air, Beckett,” he spat in intense satisfaction, “transforming me into Zephyr -- the West Wind over her raging sea. Neither you nor your precious stooge Rakepick hold any power over me now.” In an instant, the incorporeal white light that was Finn -- now the West Wind itself -- exploded, encompassing Beckett in a concentrated dome of swirling air. The head of the East India Trading Company tried to move, but Zephyr was so strong that he rivaled a hurricane and he held Beckett down in place against the overturned jollyboat with little effort, so he couldn’t even try to swim away. “And since you have nothing to offer me that I could possibly want -- money -- status...hell, my own life -- you can hardly expect me to have any reason to spare you,” Zephyr’s voice breathed cruelly. “‘It’s just good business.’” No one on the HMS Swallow, the HMS Royal, or any of the other neighboring Navy or pirate ships nearby, heard whether or not Beckett screamed before he died. The Kraken’s jaws and tentacles ensnaring the jollyboat and pulling it down into the depths in one gulp blocked out any possible sound he could’ve made.

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notquiteaghost · 3 years ago

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Tiana Wheeler hits a Triple!

due to blaseball happening so much i will likely never finish this, as much as i want to, so for @blaseballwipamnesty weekend im posting the beginning of my kurt/tiana thesis, set at the beginning of s14 when tiana joined the magic

Roster changes, Kurt’s learning, are always planned, but sometimes it’s not clear who exactly did the planning. All season, Glover’s been talking about taking a break, which as far as Kurt knew wasn’t something they could actually do — there were definitely clauses in her contract about it, and also the Spies keep handing her flyers about labor rights after their games. But, irregardless of objectively immoral contracts, three weeks before the new season starts, Glover stops showing up to practice.

Someone else shows up, instead.

“Oh!” Frank says. “Hi! You’re replacing Glover, yeah? What do they call you?”

Frank’s fishing for a fun nickname, to break the ice. The someone doesn’t give one, though. Doesn’t say anything at all, for long enough Frank starts to frown, then abruptly, in a voice like a phone patched through a car’s speakers, says “Yes.”

Another pause, and then Frank smiles, and says, “Great! Well, I’m Francisco Preston, but you can call me Frank, and I’m the closest thing we’ve got round here to a captain. We’re glad you’re here. Hey, everyone, come meet our new batter!”

The introductions don’t take long — they might not be the smallest team in the league, but like any team, they’ve got the introduction patter down. The new batter still doesn’t offer a name, just nods at everyone in turn, not much of an expression on their face.

Bevan breaks the patter, when he says, “Bevan Wise. We’ve met before.”

Bevan has this way of making everything and anything sound incredibly ominous. It had unnerved Kurt, at first. Well, it still does, but it’s difficult to find anyone that unnerving when you’ve seen them drink something neon green and faintly humming because they refused to admit they made a mistake with their coffee spell.

“Shadow,” the new batter says. This time, their voice is a vintage radio.

Bevan nods. “Tiana. You wanted a change of scenery. Are you in pain?”

The batter – Tiana? – flickers. Or, no, like a TV losing connection just enough for the picture to wave and static, but not disappear completely. They say, “Tiana.” And they static again, and this time it makes a noise, crackling, skipping. There’s a bat in their hand, now. They say, “Tiana Wheeler, they– It, she.”

Bevan nods again. “I’m not in pain.”

“I’m not in pain,” Tiana says. Her mouth doesn’t move.

Bevan looks at Oscar, and Oscar picks the introduction patter back up.

When it’s Kurt’s turn, she says, “Kurt, she/her, I’m– Uh, last season was my first season? So, if you… Y’know, I’m here if you need anything!” And then she suppresses a flinch. Not smooth. Eiz raises a knowing eyebrow. Kurt ignores her.

Introductions done, practice begins. It’s nothing interesting, except for Tiana. They decline Frank’s offer of a rundown of the rules, and they decline Oscar’s strategy tips, and they set up with one of Logan’s automated pitching constructs and hit ball after ball after ball. Steady, methodical, the same swing. The exact same swing.

She doesn’t stop when practice ends. She only stops when Logan dismantles the pitching construct. She just stands there, bat in hand, and she’d settled while she swung, almost enough that Kurt could definitively describe her, but now she’s dropping detail like something’s turning her resolution down.

“Hey,” Kurt says. Most everyone’s already left, not conspicuously faster than normal. “You okay?”

Tiana’s gaze, settled solely on her, feels heavy even if Kurt can’t really tell its eyes from the rest of its face. “Tiana Wheeler batting for the Magic. Tiana Wheeler hits a double. Tiana Wheeler hits a triple.”

Kurt hums. “Easier, isn’t it? Gives you something to focus on.”

Tiana nods.

“Can’t play all the time, though. Frank’ll give you the disappointed face, he’s got some kinda sixth sense for if you’re overworking. Does being around people help?”

Tiana says, “Kinda.”

“Do you want to be around people, right now?”

Tiana thinks for a long moment, then says, “Gives something to focus on.”

“You ever fish?”

Tiana blinks.

Kurt refuses to let her nervousness show. This isn’t anything, this is just helping out a new player, she is not thinking of Eiz’s knowing look. She says, “Fishing is good, for helping you stay present. Or it is for me, anyway. There’s a spot I like nearby? If you want?”

Another long moment of thought, then Tiana nods. Holds out a hand, the hand not holding their bat, and Kurt has to take a moment herself before she can reach out her own and link them together. Tiana’s hand is warm. They walk towards the fishing spot together.

#blaseball #tiana wheeler #kurt crueller #blaseball wip amnesty #yellowstone magic #fic tag #pour one out for my girls... neither of them are on the magic rn

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friendshipcampaign · 4 years ago

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Truth or Dare

Here’s something a little different: backstory writing!

This story takes place in 1439, 5E, 16 years before the start of the campaign, and deals with an encounter Erwyn had in the past with the DPL officers Creed and Aurelia. Since the experience and relevant characters cropped up in-game this arc, I was able to share it with the group -- no more secrets! The only thing that remains redacted is the name of Erwyn’s hometown, which hasn’t come up yet in-game.

As morning light began to filter into the tiny jail cell he’d spent the last couple of days in, Erwyn barely even tilted his head to look the direction it came from. Though he was exhausted, having not tranced at all since his incarceration, he didn’t want to tear his eyes away from the barred door to the little room for the same reason he hadn’t been getting any rest -- he was terrified here, and far too scared to let his guard down.

Resting his head on his arms, which were in turn folded on top of his knees, he felt tears start welling up in his eyes again. They still felt puffy from his last bout of crying, but no one seemed to have informed them that they weren’t allowed to start it up again just yet. So he sat there, still as the surface of a frozen lake, and trapped in the second prison of his anxious thoughts. Even the sound of voices making their way down the hall wasn’t enough stimulus to pique his interest -- at least, not until he made out a particular phrase in their conversation.

“Right down here,” the jailer was saying. “I have to say, we weren’t expecting anyone to get here to deal with the elf kid until sometime later this week.”

A gruff voice that he didn’t recognize replied, saying “Then you clearly don’t understand how seriously we take these sorts of infractions.”

Erwyn squeezed his eyes closed for a moment, his overwhelming anxiety causing his instincts to stay alert and his desire to disappear entirely to war within him. He was already curled up fairly small, but tried to fold in on himself even more. It was a useless course of action, but every part of his body was telling him he ought to try to hide, and there was nowhere to do so.

He heard the sound of jangling keys, likely meaning someone was opening the cell door, followed by the voice of the jailer calling out to him.

“Hey, kid. Got some people here who want to talk to you.”

Unmoving, Erwyn kept his eyes clenched shut and ran through about a dozen different scenarios that could be referencing. None of them were good.

“Kid,” came the jailer’s call again. “Get moving. You’re not in a position where you want to keep people waiting right now.”

When Erwyn still didn’t get up or even open his eyes, the jailer kept talking, but this time to whoever had come down the hall with her.

“He’s been like this ever since we brought him in,” she said. “Doesn’t move, doesn’t talk. Hasn’t even been eating or doing whatever that weird thing elves do instead of sleep is, far as I can tell. For days.”

“Oh, come on then!” came another voice, much more singsong than the jailer or the other new person. “We’re just here to get things sorted. If you truly didn’t know what you were doing, you haven’t got any reason to be afraid.”

“You have got a reason though,” the gruff voice he didn’t recognize from earlier cut in, “if you don’t get moving. I’ll drag you out of this cell by your pointy ears in another ten seconds.”

The “If I don’t do what these people want I’ll be in even more trouble” anxiety now overriding the “I’m scared of why they’re here” kind that had been captaining his brain thus far, Erwyn opened his eyes and lifted his head a little to get a better look at the strangers.

The jailer he recognized, and standing with her were a grumpy-looking human woman and a pale blue tiefling man. The pair were almost comically mismatched -- she was short and round-ish where he was tall and lithe, and where she bore a scowling expression, the tiefling seemed oddly cheerful given the circumstances. Though Erwyn supposed that he wasn’t the one who had anything to be afraid of right now.

“Come along,” the man said, “We’re not going to ask you questions about dabbling in demonology out here in the open.”

The prisoner in the cell across from Erwyn, a rough-looking human man who’d heckled him a little when he’d first been brought in before seeming to realize that the boy was too miserable a target to be much fun and had since adopted the stance of just making occasional snide comments about how much he was crying, snapped his head up in interest.

“Demons?” he said, incredulously. “You mean that scrawny kid got thrown in here for trying to summon demons?”

The scowling woman turned her head to give the other prisoner a withering look, and he didn’t press further. But before Erwyn could muster any relief at that particular chain of questioning being stopped, she whirled back around to face him.

“Get up!” she snapped. “Are you trying to get yourself in even more trouble?”

Erwyn scrambled to his feet, fighting back tears again already. He was scared enough as it was. People yelling at him could only make things worse. It always made things worse.

Once standing, he stared at the two apparent investigators nervously, eyes flitting between them as he awaited more -- and hopefully quieter -- instructions.

“Just follow us,” the tiefling man said, opening the cell door a bit wider and gesturing for Erwyn to exit. “There’s a room in the back where they’re going to let us ask you some questions. Mostly to figure out if you’re working with anyone, though if you truly weren’t trying what it looks like you were, we’ll likely be able to prove that as well.”

Erwyn started to walk towards the door. The mismatched pair and the jailer started to head down the hall, though the man stood and waited a bit longer, walking almost alongside Erwyn and towering over him.

“I’m Creed,” he said, “And the woman with me is Aurelia. We’re with the Demonology Prevention League. Have you got a name?”

“Of course he’s got a name, Creed,” Aurelia snapped from ahead of them. Erwyn was beginning to get the distinct impression that these two might not actually like working together. Or at least that Aurelia didn’t.

“M-my name’s Erwyn,” he said nervously.

“He speaks!” Creed exclaimed, tossing his hands up into the air and grinning. Though he couldn’t see her face, Erwyn had a feeling Aurelia was rolling her eyes.

“Last name?” she asked, voice sharp, and more demanding than Creed’s when it came to acquiring information.

“Cestacelvar.”

“Bit of a mouthful, eh?,” Creed said. “Bet you had fun learning to say that as a kid.”

Though it was clear from the tiefling’s tone that he was trying to make friendly conversation, Erwyn wasn’t in the right frame of mind for it. He looked down at the ground, deciding that for the rest of the walk to wherever they were going he wanted to stare intensely at his shabby boots.

It wasn’t long before they arrived at a door near the entrance, behind the jailer’s desk, that Erwyn hadn’t noticed when he’d been brought in. Understandable, as even though his perception was typically decent, he’d been even more distraught then than he was now. As well as slammed against said desk by the officer who’d dragged him to the jail from the library.

The jailer unhooked a key from her belt and stuck it in the lock on the door, pulling it open once there’d been a small click. It made an ominous creaking sound that didn’t set his nerves any more at ease.

“Alright,” she said. “You folks are welcome to it. Let me know when you’re done if we’ll be hosting him any longer.”

Aurelia pursed her lips. “You won’t,” she said. “There’s a slim chance he’s deemed innocuous enough today that we decide he doesn’t need to be locked up anymore, or more likely, we get him transferred somewhat more high security that knows how to deal with his type.”

Erwyn squeezed his eyes shut again. His heart had, for just a moment, stopped pounding so loudly he could swear it was audible to everyone, but at the declaration that made it sound like Aurelia already assumed his culpability, it started racing even faster. He’d been absolutely miserable these past few days, physically shaking with anxiety much of the time. Not to mention too stressed to eat, and too instinctually terrified to trance. If he ended up getting a longer sentence, he was genuinely unsure he’d survive.

People legitimately imprisoned for demonology usually got very, very long sentences.

When he let himself look at everyone again, he realized they were all staring at him and his rapidly pulsing heart began to sink towards his feet.

“Well, you planning on standing there?” Aurelia said, sounding annoyed. Erwyn very quickly shook his head in response and stepped inside, nervously glancing back at the jailer and investigators in fear. Part of him felt like asking him to go first was a ploy, so they could shut the door behind him, lock him up again, and have a laugh about it.

It was one of those thoughts he had so frequently that was entirely irrational, but he still couldn’t convince himself might not be true.

Creed and Aurelia followed in after him though, and only then was the door shut by the jailer -- and certainly, with those two inside as well, not locked. The former of the two even walked around him to pull out the chair at the table in the center of the small room, the only two pieces of furniture inside it, and gestured for Erwyn to sit down.

As soon as he obliged, the investigators took places standing towards opposite corners of the table on the other side, Aurelia crossing her arms. Creed seemed like he wasn’t entirely sure what to do with his until he started speaking, and they waved around wildly.

“Now,” he said. “I’m sure we’ll all be happier if you tell the truth -- we’re looking for it, and even if you try to disguise it, we’re going to figure it out, and it probably won’t be so pleasant for you if we have to extract it in a difficult manner.”

“I-I’ll tell the truth, I promise,” Erwyn said, a disting quaking entering his voice. He hoped he didn’t sound as terrified as he felt. Though on the other hand, perhaps that would help his case -- someone as scared as he was would probably be less likely to lie.

“Yeah, promises aren’t going to cut it, kid,” Aurelia said. “We’ve got a method that’s going to be a lot more effective.”

Looking frantically between the two, Erwyn hoped one of them was about to give an answer, and that it wouldn’t be something as frightening as his own brain was supplying.

“Oh, don’t worry,” Creed said. “It’s entirely painless, just a spell. And if you’ve got nothing to hide it’ll only help you, seeing as we’ll actually be inclined to believe you. Makes you tell the truth, that’s all. Sound good?”

Erwyn was only slightly comforted by this explanation, as while he didn’t like lying, especially to authorities, there were certainly still things he’d rather not have to tell the truth about. But he wasn’t in a position to tell anyone they were causing him distress, so he simply swallowed heavily and nodded.

“Now, some people try to resist it. Everything’ll go a lot smoother for all of us if you just… let it happen,” Creed continued.

“And I’d listen to him,” Aurelia said, staring him down, “Because otherwise we know you’ve got something to hide, and it’ll be a big mark against you. Seeing why you’re here in the first place, you’ve already got a lot of marks.”

“Alright, casting in one… two… three…” Creed said, doing something odd with his hands that clearly represented manipulating magical energy.

Almost instantaneously, Erwyn felt a horrible sensation wash over him. It started in his brain, and he so desperately wanted to fight it, but he instead took a fistful of his cloak in his right hand and tried to stay grounded in the outside world, and not the prying, tickling feeling he suddenly felt all over. He shut his eyes tightly again, only opening them when the feeling had subsided to be a bit duller.

“The Zone take hold?” Aurelia asked, looking at Creed.

“Perfectly,” the tiefling said. “Thank you, Erwyn, for working with us thus far.”

Aurelia just planted both her hands on the table to lean over it, staring at him like she was trying to pry as deeply into his brain as the spell seemed to have.

“What’s your name?” she asked.

Erwyn swallowed nervously. If he was careful with his phrasing, perhaps he wouldn’t have to disclose, well…. you know.

“I already told you my name is Erwyn Cestacelvar,” he said after a moment of thought.

“Yeah, well a lot of people make stuff up,” Aurelia said. “Creed?”

“Registered as truth. Shall we establish now that I’ll just tell you if something’s false?”

“Yeah, I guess. Might still ask on some important ones though.”

“Fair enough.”

“How old are you?” Aurelia asked, turning to look back at Erwyn.

He was about to answer when Erwyn felt tears prick at his eyes again -- he’d just realized he didn’t actually know. He’d been aware he was starting to struggle with keeping track. Humans and other races used a very different calendar than the elves, and he’d never learned their equivalents. His age wasn’t something he liked to think about for that reason. But he hadn’t realized he’d pushed it so far out of mind that it had escaped him entirely.

“I don’t… I don’t know,” he said, choking slightly on the words. The two investigators exchanged glances.

“He isn’t lying,” Creed said, shrugging.

“What,” Aurelia said, “Are you an orphan or something? Never learned?”

Erwyn shook his head, still trying desperately not to cry. This was an unfortunate situation to be in when learning he’d lost such an important piece of information about himself. He’d much rather have realized it when he was alone some night -- perhaps around the winter solstice, idly trying to recall how old he’d be after this one. When he could think about it enough to accept it a bit more. Not in a scenario where he felt like crying anyways.

“No,” he said, “I-I did know, once. But I don’t anymore. I’m sorry.”

“Have you got any idea?” Creed asked. “Approximately, of course. It would aid our inquiry if we at least knew whether or not you’re an adult.”

“Well I can say… I mean, I do know that I’m over 100, i-if that’s what you need to know. Probably about 109,” he said, hoping it wasn’t too far off. It sounded about right.

Aurelia made some difficult-to-interpret noise than nonetheless seemed disdainful, followed by something muttered under her breath that sounded suspiciously like “Elves…”

“Where are you from, Erwyn?” Creed asked.

“ ,” he said.

“ ?” Aurelia said, quirking an eyebrow. It was a short name, but she still managed to butcher the pronunciation.

“I-It’s an elven town,” he said. “North of here.”

The two investigators exchanged glances, seemingly trying to decide if they should pry further. Hopefully they didn’t -- he didn’t know how else to describe where he’d grown up other than to say it was about four days’ walk from where Lyrium had been, and mentioning Lyrium didn’t seem like something that would help his case here.

“Okay then,” Aurelia said. “You’re from a place with elves, as far as I’ve heard elves usually stick around other elves, and yet somehow you ended up here, digging into things you shouldn’t have instead. Care to explain that?”

Trying to ignore the first part of the phrasing of her question -- and desperately hoping that these people weren’t going to ask him for his whole life’s story -- Erwyn replied “I’ve been traveling for a while now, visiting towns large enough to have libraries in particular. Th-there are some things I’ve been trying to learn about, but most places don’t have much information on them.”

“Demons?” she accused.

“Other planes,” Erwyn said.

Aurelia narrowed her eyes. “We were informed that you asked for a book on Abyssal,” she said.

“Well, yes,” Erwyn said. “Other planes, and… and things that live on other planes. They sort of go together.”

“An aspiring cosmologist?” Creed asked.

Erwyn nodded. “You could say that.”

“Why not try to learn about less dangerous ones?” Aurelia said. “Less evil ones in particular? If you’re not trying to summon demons, why would you spend your time on the Abyss and not Arborea?”

“People need more protecting from those ones.”

Aurelia pointed a finger at him, like she’d caught him in a lie -- or something equally incriminating.

“Then you’re no academic,” she accused, “If that’s even true, you’re just a vigilante!”

Erwyn hung his head. He didn’t really have a good counter for that. Usually -- thought he didn’t have a particularly large sample size -- saying he wanted to protect people was good enough. It had never occured to him that some people mind find that a danger to society, too.

Creed cleared his throat. “Erwyn,” he said. “Can I at least get a verbal confirmation from you that you never intended to summon anything?”

“I didn’t,” he said. “And I-I don’t intend to in the future either. I’m trying to learn how to get rid of dangerous creatures, not the opposite.”

The tiefling turned to Aurelia. “That was a truthful statement, by the way,” he said.

“Doesn’t mean he’s not dangerous,” she said, her eyes still narrowed in Erwyn’s direction. She hadn’t taken them off him since he’d answered her last question.

“No, it doesn’t, but it does give us much shakier grounds for any kind of conviction,” Creed said.

“I don’t want to tell him he’s free to go if in a couple weeks we’re going to have to deal with some amateur’s shoddy patch job on a portal making a bad situation worse,” she said.

“Well I’m not sure what you want anyone to do here, then,” her partner said. “Seeing as the boy’s been nothing but truthful and given us not only an assurance that there was no malicious intent to his previous research, but an additional statement that he isn’t harboring any for the future either. And from the report we got from the jailer, I would assume this little visit has scared him enough on that front.”

Aurelia glowered for a bit, but finally seemed to relent.

“Alright, fine,” she said. “We’ll let him go -- on one condition.”

Glances with varying levels of curiosity versus distress were exchanged with here by both Creed and Erwyn.

“And... and what might that be?” Erwyn asked nervously when she didn’t give an immediate answer. He didn’t feel like he was out of the woods yet.

“He promises to stop looking into this stuff and leave it to the professionals,” she said.

Erwyn felt his heart plumment back into his stomach. He couldn’t promise that, and if he did, it certainly wouldn’t register as truth. Not because, as Aurelia seemed to think, he arrogantly thought he knew better. That couldn’t be further from the truth. It was simply the fact that he’d sacrificed nearly everything to follow the path he was currently on. It wasn’t something he could just throw away like that -- even with the threat of more jail time lingering over his head.

He turned every possible phrasing around in his head, trying to come up with something he could stay that would be enough within the bounds of truth to work. Just as he was beginning to despair that he had no ideas and he’d waited long enough that the fact would be betrayed whether he said anything or not, he caught a flicker of movement in the corner of his eye.

Creed winked.

Aurelia was still staring straight ahead, practically into Erwyn’s soul, and didn’t seem to notice the gesture, but it was unmistakable. His heart fluttering, Erwyn hoped he wasn’t misinterpreting what it might mean. He supposed he’d know in a matter or moments if he trusted his intuition and it failed. At the same time, however… it almost felt like the truth magic was fading.

“...I-I promise,” he said. The words were shaky but they tumbled out of his mouth nonetheless. He could have cried.

Creed folded his hands behind his back, looking pleased, but Aurelia didn’t seem to notice.

“Truthful?” she asked.

“Most certainly,” he replied, the expression fading from his face seamlessly as she turned to look at him.”

“Alright,” Aurelia said. “We’re letting you go, so that should make you happy, but don’t think you’re entirely off the hook. You’re still going on our list of potential threats. I wasn’t born yesterday, so I’m not taking the risk that you know some way of getting around truth magic or have a loophole or are somebody’s accomplice. So I’d step carefully from now on unless you want to end up back here, and if you end up back here, we won’t be so nice.”

Erwyn nodded.

“Come on, then,” Creed said, stepping over to the door behind him. “I’m sure you feel you’ve spent enough time in the stuffy place. We can tell the jailer to collect your things and get you out of here.”

He followed the tiefling out, in a bit of a daze as the agents talked with the jailer. She left after a short while, probably to grab his bag and bow (that was all he really had), and Creed turned to him, chatting idly while they waited.

“Should’ve gotten into trouble nearer a big city,” he said. “Then you wouldn’t have had to wait so long for some of us to get out here.”

“I-I’m just glad it worked out,” he replied.

There was a brief pause, and Erwyn spoke again.

“Thank you,” he said.

Creed winked at him a second time, the implication going unspoken between them. “We got a fairly good read on you, I think,” he said. “I don’t think letting you walk free is a poor decision.”

“That’s because you’re not hard enough on anyone, Creed,” Aurelia said, rolling her eyes. “You’ve got your uses, but judging character isn’t one of them.”

Looking over her head to give Erwyn a sly, friendly smile as he leaned against the counter, the tiefling either ignored her or didn’t seem to mind the insult. Erwyn thought that was fair of him -- he was a biased source, obviously, but it felt to him like Creed seemed to be the member of the pair who was all that discerning -- or understanding -- at all.

#erwyn #creed #aurelia #writing #backstory writing

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elder-lols · 5 years ago

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Idiots of Tamriel, Episode 4

(In the interest of learning new skills and making some cash, the Vestige has joined the Fighter's Guild. She has made a fun new collection of friends: Merric At-Atmora, who is Captain America but for Stendarr; Sees-All-Colors, who is way too interested in Dwemer bullshit; and Aelif, who is totes not shady, really, she promises)

Vestige: Does anyone else think it's weird that our fighter's guild guildmaster who never does any other magic can open portals up to wherever whenever?

Merric: Nah, basically everybody but you can open portals to wherever whenever. Actually it's more weird that you can't open portals.

Aelif: (hisses threateningly)

Merric: Oh Aelif, you're so funny!

Scene 2, A Creepy Dwemer Ruin

Jofnir Ice-Blade: SOMEONE, and I'm definitely not saying it was the only person who obviously benefited from my unexpected death, WILL BETRAY YOU.

Vestige: (runs swiftly back to the Guild Hall) Holy mysterious shit, y'all, the previous guildmaster appeared to me as a ghost and gave an ominous warning!

Aelif: (growls suspiciously)

Vestige: He said someone close to me would BETRAY ME!

Aelif: (hisses menacingly)

Vestige: Good thing I know it's definitely not any of you!

Aelif: (gives Vestige the crazy eyes)

Vestige: Thanks, Aelif, you always know just what to say.

Scene 3, A Gathering of Guildmates

Vestige: OMFG, Jofnir Ice-Blade was MURDERED!

Aelif: Yesss. (puts on Coldharbour Softball League t-shirt) Bet it was that shady fucking lizard. (picks up Molag Bal Is My Copilot sign and hoists it over her shoulder) She always creeped me out. (puts on WWMBD bracelet) Okay, let's go.

Vestige: Thanks, Aelif, you're the best!

Scene 4: The Earth Forge

(deep in the Earth Forge, Aelif has summoned up Jofnir Ice-Blade. He appears to be in great pain and extraordinarily reluctant to be there.)

Aelif: I'm gonna ask you ONE QUESTION and you're gonna ANSWER IT.

Jofnir: Let me goooooo, please, this is awwwwwful

Aelif: I SAID ANSWER, OLD MAN. Now, who specifically killed you.

Jofnir: Sees-All-Colors, but--

Aelif: KTHXBAI NOTHING FURTHER YOU MAY GO.

Vestige: Well, that seemed like a totally normal way to question someone who was ostensibly your friend. Definitely no need to ask for any details. Probably that strained tone of agony in his voice was just 'cause he was so happy to see you. Wanna get a beer before we go find that traitor?

Scene 5: The Morty Vitality

Sees-All-Colors: Okay, so since nobody noticed my name is a Meridia reference or that I talk about the light an awful lot, lemme just say outright, ACTUALLY I have been working for your Daedric bro Meridia this whole time, and while I did kill Jofnir, I actually had a really cool motive.

Aelif: PRAISE MOLAG BAL! (goes for the throat)

Vestige: (gasp) Aelif!? YOU are the one who will betray me!? I never could have surmised this based on your bad attitude, creepy voice, unusual interrogation methods, and fond discussion of your time playing for the Vile Laboratory Vilifiers in the Coldharbour Softball League!

Scene 6: The Guild Council

(Having successfully killed Aelif and destroyed the Mortality Vociferous, the Vestige comes before the Guild Council in the Earth Forge)

Vestige: ...so then Aelif tried to kill everybody, but Colors was pretty helpful, and also we destroyed the Mortician Vivacious, so I really think you should forget that there were approximately forty-thousand times that I should have noticed something was weird.

Countess Hakruba: ...I am surrounded by imbeciles. Merric, you're guildmaster now, they can be your problem. Peace - Council Out!

#elder scrolls online #eso

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ankhlesbian · 6 years ago

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FE Rarepair Week: Day 2

Prompt: Longing, for @ferarepair-week

Fandom: FE Fates

Pairing: Velouria/Soleil

AO3 Link: Here

Length: ~2k

Title: Opposites Attract

Soleil, star of her high school's lacrosse team, finds herself head-over-heels for Velouria, someone way out of her normal social circle, and definitely out of her league. But this is high school: anything can happen, and Soleil's unorthodox courting method may just pay off...

(aka I tried to write angsty Soleil and then it lasted for like one scene)

“She’s so perfect,” Soleil sighs, slamming her locker shut and leaning against it mournfully. “She’d never want to talk to me!”

Caeldori switches her sweaty practice shirt for a clean one and wiggles a finger at her, disapproving. “She doesn’t even know you, there’s no way she hates you. You have to actually make a move before you say things like that.”

Soleil crosses her arms. “But what could I do? I’ll probably just embarrass myself. She’s goth, right? I’m just a dumb jock.”

Caeldori rolls her eyes. “Literally only you think like that. As long as you ask her out properly, I’m sure she’d say yes.” Caeldori’s eyes are sparkling, surely thinking about some grand romantic gesture. Soleil’s seen her reading enough of her cliché romance novels to know what Caeldori considers the “proper” way to ask someone out.

“Maybe I’ll leave notes in her locker.” Soleil says, choosing to ignore Caeldori. Caeldori secures her lacrosse stick onto her bookbag and turns to leave the locker rooms. Soleil follows suits.

“You could leave flowers!” Caeldori suggest brightly. Soleil opens her mouth to protest, because what goth girl wants a locker full of flowers, but the flowers she saw on the way home from school recently spring to mind.

“That might not actually be a bad idea.”

Caeldori huffs, swinging around. Soleil has to duck to avoid the handle of her lacrosse stick as she turns. “I’m full of good ideas! Especially on the field. Maybe if you’d listen to me instead of daydreaming about Velouria, we’d—”

Soleil lunges forward, slapping her hand over Caeldori’s mouth, furiously looking back and forth down the hallway to detect any eavesdroppers. It’s empty, thankfully.

“Don’t say her name!” She hisses. Caeldori pushes her hand away with disgust, wiping at her mouth.

“Not even our teammates are around. Don’t interrupt your captain. As I was saying—” Soleil lets the familiar lecture wash over her, focusing instead on her master plan for wooing Velouria.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

Soleil watches with bated breath from around the corner as Velouria approaches her locker. She’s wearing her usual combination of black and red, contrasting with her silver hair. She’s truly breathtaking, and Soleil can’t help but swoon just a little.

The girl wrinkles her nose as she swirls her lock, and when she opens her locker she’ll see a black rose, taped to a note. She’d pulled out her best calligraphy, hoping it would be distinguishable from her usual scrawl in case Velouria decides to do any detective work.

Velouria unfolds the note carefully, and then scowls. Soleil’s heart drops. Then, oddly enough, Velouria holds the note, rose and all, to her nose and sniffs deeply. Her head turns, eerily, in Soleil’s direction. She ducks back behind the corner, palms sweating. There’s no way Velouria suspects her. That would be absurd. But what if she comes this way?

Soleil’s eyes dart around the hallway. School hasn’t started yet, and there’s plenty of people milling around their open lockers.

“Out of the way! Emergency happening here!” She shoves some poor soul aside, and crams herself into their locker, for once thankful for her short stature. She slams the door shut. “Just play along,” she whispers to the bewildered face peering in at her. Her reputation must come in handy, because her accomplice obeys wordlessly.

She peers out through the slits, holding her breath. After a few seconds, she sees distinctive black combat boots passing by. She sighs in relief and bangs on the inside of the locker door.

“Okay, you can let me out now.” The door swings open and she crawls out, dusting herself off casually like she didn’t just do something extremely weird. “Thanks!”

After that close call, she’s careful to not stick around after slipping the note and rose into Velouria’s locker. It’s been a week since she’s started, and she’s pretty satisfied with her progress. Maybe after another week or two she’ll try talking to Velouria, like, in person.

She’s in a good mood after lacrosse practice, humming merrily to herself as she exits the locker room.

“We need to talk.” Says an ominous voice from the shadows.

“Gah!” Soleil jumps, hands going for her lacrosse stick. From the darkness of the hallway steps the last person she expected to see here.

“Velouria? I mean, uh, who are you?” Velouria’s arms are crossed. She’s very clearly unimpressed.

“You know who I am. Unless you’ve been leaving flowers in my locker for the past week on accident.”

“How’d you even know that was me?” She’s never been very good at lying, so she concedes defeat.

“I have my ways,” Velouria declares mysteriously. It’s very goth of her, and extremely cool. “So.”

“So.” repeats Soleil, unsure of what happens next. IS there an expected response to this?

“So,” Velouria prompts.

“So?” Soleil says again, confused.

“So…” Velouria coughs imploringly. “You must have been leaving those in my locker for a reason.” In the dim lighting, Soleil can just barely make out Velouria’s face. Are her cheeks… pink? She’s blushing? Soleil grins, and attempts to turn up the charm.

“Well, I thought they were an appropriate gift for you. Just as beautiful as you are. I figured I should woo you proper before asking you on a date.”

Velouria nods approvingly, trying to stay calm even though Soleil can tell she’s delighted. If she was a dog, her tail would be wagging. “Very well. I accept your offer.”

Soleil’s bouncing off the walls by the time they exchange phone numbers and arrange a time and place. She bursts back into the locker room, crashing into Caeldori to give her a hug.

“It worked! You’re a genius!”

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

That Saturday, Soleil finds herself waiting nervously outside of the mall. She’s in her best outfit, one that goes with her pink hair, and has her hands tucked into the pockets of her letterman jacket so that no one can see them shaking. She’s cool, she’s suave, the ladies love her, she’s the star of the lacrosse team, she’s got this.

“Hey.”

Soleil jolts. She must really be out of it, because Velouria’s staring down at her with a raised eyebrow. Actually, wait a second. She glances down, and yep, Velouria’s wearing a different pair of boots. These ones have a heel, giving her another good two inches on Soleil.

“Hey. Let’s go in! How’s your day been?” She enters chatterbox mode out of habit, but Velouria doesn’t seem to mind. She keeps up gamely, usually offering one word responses or even a sentence or two.

They enter the mall, walking around aimlessly. It’s the only mall in town, so it’s not like there’s anything they’ve never seen before here. Window shopping is always fun, and she discovers that Velouria has a soft spot for dogs when they pass the window of a Build-A-Bear. The other girl trails off in the middle of a sentence as they pass, her gaze lingering on the wolf plushie on display in the window.

“Should we go in?” Soleil teases, though her dad did give her some money for this date, and she’d be more than willingly to spend it on a stuffed animal.

“No. Why would you ask that? I just saw some dust,” Velouria says quickly. Soleil giggles.

“Your tough goth girl image is safe with me.”

“Speaking of that…” Velouria points to an upcoming store. Soleil freezes.

“You want to go in?” It’s a scary place, one Soleil, as a self-proclaimed prep-adjacent jock, has never stepped foot in. The walls are dark, stacked from floor to ceiling with shirts plastered with eerie images and unfamiliar characters. Everything seems to be either black or red. It’s… Hot Topic.

Velouria seems pleased, poking thoughtfully through the merchandise. Soleil may dye her hair, but the man with green hair by the cash register is giving her the creeps. The things she does for love.

“I can get you something. If you want.” It takes all her bravery to ask, doing her best not to look too closely at the sharp accessory Velouria’s holding. To her surprise, Velouria just laughs at her, smiling softly.

“I just wanted to see if you’d agree to come in, I don’t actually need anything. You’re certainly out of place.” The other customers are giving her the stink eye, that’s for sure.

Soleil puffs out her chest. “And you’re certainly devious. I’m making you look at athletic wear next.”

She must have a weak spot for Velouria, though, because instead they end up buying ice cream.

“We should eat outside. It’s a beautiful day!” Soleil declares, scooping up an enthusiastic spoonful of her cup of mint chocolate chip ice cream.

“Hmmmm,” Velouria says, licking at her cone of coffee flavored ice cream thoughtfully. “But it’ll melt.”

“You better eat fast then.” She pulls out her secret weapon. “There’s a dog park out back, you know.” Velouria caves, and outside they go. It’s not actually that warm out, but the sun is shining.

They end up acquiring a frisbee from a dog owner who isn’t paying enough attention to what their pet is doing. Velouria is clearly enamored by the dogs, crouching down to pet them immediately, unconcerned with touching the damp ground. She even makes pathetic, albeit they endearing, attempts at throwing the frisbee for a lively lab.

“I’ve got this. Just watch!” Soleil takes the frisbee from her and winds up. Lacrosse players have excellent arms, and the frisbee goes flying. The dog barks happily as it chases it, jumping over the dogs in its path.

“I suppose sports are good for something, after all.” Soleil holds up her right arm, flexing the bicep proudly. Nothings really visible under the thickness of her jacket, but it’s the principle of the gesture that counts.

“If you want to see what else these guns can do, you could always come cheer me on at a game.”

Velouria rolls her eyes. “Don’t get too ahead of yourself. I’d look terrible in a cheerleader outfit.”

Soleil grins cheekily, giving Velouria a once-over. “I dunno, I think you’d look great in one.” Velouria blushes, turning her attention back to the dogs.

Velouria tires quickly, probably due to her lack of athletic activity and her dark clothing. They settle underneath a tree, and Soleil tentatively takes her hand. It’s damp from sweat and dog slobber, and kind of sticky from the ice cream, but Soleil has no complaints.

Five o’clock comes all too soon, and her dad texts her that he’s in the parking lot.

They stand up, still holding holds, and face each other. Soleil smiles up at her, gripping her hands a little tighter.

“I had fun. A lot of fun! We should do this again.”

“It went surprisingly well.”

“Hey!”

“You’re doing a great job of melting my cold, cold heart.” Velouria amends, a smile tugging on her lips.

“You’re just a big softie.” Soleil scoffs, sticking her tongue out. “You don’t have to act all aloof.”

“Not around you, I guess. You’ve figured out my secret.” She deadpans.

They fall silent, staring at each other. Soleil bites her lip. Should she kiss her? Is a first date too soon for that? Should she let Velouria make the first move? Maybe a kiss on the lips is just too much? The cheek then, maybe. Or…

Soleil raises their joined hands to her lips, gently kissing the back of Velouria’s hand.

“I’ll see you at school on Monday?” She asks hopefully.

Velouria nods, eyes bright.

“I’ll text you.”

And then they part ways. Soleil makes her way back to the car with a goofy grin on her face. Her lips taste faintly like coffee. For once, she can’t wait for Monday to come.

#ferarepairweek #velouria/soleil #soleil/velouria #soleil (fe)#velouria (fe)#it writes #feif

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omgcpumpkins · 7 years ago

Photo

This is the full list of prompts for OMGCPUMPKINS, as sent in by a wide array of anons and less-mysterious contributors. A big thanks to everyone who sent in something creepy - we’re sure they’ll be greatly appreciated by prospective content creators!

To participate in the fest, you do not have to use one of these prompts. If you do want to, however, send us a message (no anons for this, please) with which one you’ve chosen, and we’ll strike it through to let everyone know it’s been taken. This even holds if you’re just using a prompt as a starting point - we’d like to avoid too many similar works as the fest goes.

The fest will start posting entries on October 13th (which, yes, is a Friday), but will continue posting up to October 31st (obviously, Halloween). You’ll have until then to make what you want and shoot it through to us. For more details on submission, make sure to check the guidelines. If you still have questions, you can send us an ask (feel free to use anon for this one, though).

[full list of prompts under the cut]

ZIMBITS PROMPTS SCENARIOS

Jack is a werewolf and his transformations are kind of painful/violent, so the rest of the guys help him work through it. Maybe Bitty’s a frog and it's his first time witnessing this? Or something later when Bitty has a crush on/is dating Jack? Either works! Bonus for mentions of other creatures CLAIMED

For Year 1 Halloween Bitty is dressed as Mrs. Lovett, so I'd like to see him have a weird obsession with making people pie (Zimbits, if it fits there anywhere) [see below for more direct alternative]

The Bittles are a family of vampire hunters, infamous in the South. When Bitty gets turned and flees instead of staying and turning himself in, they send a call out to every hunting family in the world. Wanted Dead. Jack Zimmermann of the Zimmermann hunting family runs across a sweet little baker that runs the night shift CLAIMED

Jack and Bitty come out, get married, and live happily ever after... until Bitty finds out that Jack is actually a serial killer. CLAIMED

There are things hockey players are never to do on the ice -- voluntarily shedding blood is one of them. One person cutting themselves on a skate starts a Grudge. If a Line sheds, it's a Rivalry. If an entire team does it, it's a Death Sentence. When Jack Zimmermann dies on the ice during a playoff run and the league protects the player who targeted Jack, Kent Parson leads the Aces in shedding blood during the Cup final. No one expected the ritual to summon Jack's spirit to exact revenge. (Zimbits overall)

Jack or Bitty is actually the vessel of some ancient and horrible multidimensional being that would make mortal men mad with a single gaze. They still fall in love. CLAIMED

Bitty is an angry/vengeful spirit who was murdered in a house Jack moves in to CLAIMED

AUs

Jennifer’s Body AU (Bitty survives some kind of campus tragedy/attack and comes back a very different person. While the team adapts to their newly bloodthirsty captain, Jack tries to figure out what happened to his boyfriend.)

Sweeney Todd AU

OTHER PAIRING PROMPTS SCENARIOS

Person A is lost in the woods in the middle of the night when they come across Person B in the middle of murdering someone CLAIMED

Based on the text post: “flirting with death” fucking WEAK catch me sucking deaths dick in a burger king dumpster at 3am CLAIMED

Person A summons a demon to ask for a favor or a trade. The demon is Person B. It can go either hilariously or horribly. CLAIMED

Tater/Bitty or Tater & Bitty. Tater swears that there is something from Russian folkore stalking him at night. No one believes him. Except for from-the-most-haunted-state-of-Georgia Eric Bittle. Cue shenanigans or horror shenanigans.

Bitty/Parse, Bitty is a hedgewitch and Kent is more of a ritual type of guy. They have to band together when they are both accused of witchcraft by their town. CLAIMED

Person A takes Person B to their mountain lodge where they get snowed in. It wasn't going to be too bad of problem, just wait it out. Until they try to leave and realize that they are trapped on the mountain with a yeti that has destroyed their only method of transportation. CLAIMED

A and B have been BFFs since the day they met. They know everything about each other... except for one thing. What will happen when B finds out A's dark secret?

If you push canon back one year, then the night before Jack would have gone in the draft is the third and final night of the full moon. Newly turned Werewolf!Jack manages to stave of the transformation the first two nights by drugging himself, but goes on a rampage on the third when Kent finds him and takes him to the hospital.

AUs

American Mary AU (with Ransom the bodymod surgeon, and Tater as his affable supplier of clients)

Saw AU (Two people wake up alone in a room together. There's a gun on the table loaded with 1 bullet. The serial killer's voice comes over a speaker and says, "only one of you can leave here alive.")

GEN PROMPTS SCENARIOS

The Haus is cursed to be haunted by a pair of ghosts forever and Mandy & Jenny will do anything to secure their replacements so they can finally be at peace. Anything. CLAIMED

Jenny and Mandy (the Haus ghosts) are actually holding back something much worse (writer's choice of something), but their power is fading, and on Halloween night, their seal breaks completely

One by one, the windows and doors disappear from the Haus, until the gang finds themselves locked in together. Where did the exits go? How will they escape? And was someone in the Haus somehow responsible?

Cryptid!Dex, but with less fun and more half eaten corpses at the bottom of Lake Quad CLAIMED

Jenny and Mandy are actually angry, vengeful, petty, and malevolent ghosts

A newly-created, anonymous YouTube account posts a video. It appears that it was originally meant to become a vlog entry on creating tasty campfire treats, but now contains the blair-witch-esque last moments of the Samwell Men's Hockey team members who went missing months ago.

Based on this post: Naked, Covered in Ram’s Blood, Drinking a Coke, and Feeling Pretty Good (SMH as a sacrificial cult) CLAIMED

Bad Bob Zimmermann didn't come by his talent naturally, and neither did Jack (not that he's aware). Bob made a deal (with a djinn, demon, faerie, whatever) and now they have come to collect their payment from the Zimmermann line. CLAIMED

Bitty has a recurring nightmare about the bullying he has received, except this time some kind of Monster!Bitty shows up and takes out his tormentors. He wakes up and there is some kind of ominous sign that he has in fact become some kind of monster.

The Haus is haunted, but not by Mandy and Jenny. The angry spirit wants SMH out of the house. CLAIMED

AUs

What We Do In The Shadows AU (perhaps with the frogs; vampires hiding in plain sight)

The Finals Girls AU (campy slasher setting with SMH)

Shaun of the Dead AU

#omgcp #check please #zimbits #omgcprarepairs #omgcpwomen #prompts #admin

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tarantula-hawk-wasp · 8 years ago

Text

Bat Paladin Chapter 2

voltron / batfam /dc comics crossover.

Chapter 1 link chapter 3 link Shiro is Bruce Wayne’s adopted son and part of the batfam AU created by me (I was the anon) and @newtsckamander

word count : 3.6k

Chapter 2/ 10?

When the Galra ship had first tractor-beamed him and the Holts up from the surface of Kerberos, he had hoped that they were just aliens who were overly enthusiastic and lacking in external communication methods.

And then when he was forced to his knees before what he assumed was their leader, a part of him still optimistically insisted that this was just some overly formal and rigid greeting custom.

From his experience aliens were just people -from other planets - but still people. He’d been enthusiastically prying stories about the cultures of Mars, and Tamaran, and Krypton and other planets from heroes for years. So he'd go along with the situation and their customs until he had a chance to explain his crew’s mission and hopeful rectify the whole deal.

After all, this was why he wanted to be an astronaut, - why he had joined the Garrison. Yes, a few humans had been to places throughout the universe. The Green Lanterns were like intergalactic police, the Justice League had some crafts that were many times faster than the ship that Shiro had flown to Kerberos, but they all were used for missions - for tasks that required speed and had a goal of justice or desperate diplomacy.

Shiro was in this to explore. He wanted to not just fly by moons and planets, but to set foot on them, to admire the view while he orbited, and maybe to interact with new cultures in a more immersive way than a week-long crisis allowed.

However, now he was beginning to realize that he seemed to have drawn the short-straw on alien encounters in his family.

Bruce was best friends with a Kryptonian, Dick had helped introduce both Starfire and Miss Martian to the planet, and Tim and Kon were close. Although from looking at the canines on them, he was rather glad their translation program didn't involve kissing.

The ship’s Commander? Captain? had called up someone who apparently outranked him and started speaking what Shiro heard as English, and he decided it was time to act. The Holts were both slumped with their helmets on and didn't seem inclined to take the initiative, but that was fine.

Shiro had been preparing a first contact spiel for nearly as long as he'd wanted to be an astronaut. It had worked on Superman. He hoped it would work now.

The Galra interrupted his “we come in peace” speech with a savage blow that knocked him unconscious.

******

The next species he saw went little better.

The three of them had been dragged and marched to a large room filled with other shackled beings for an ominous “processing”.

They were made to strip, scanned, sprayed with some vaguely ammonia-scented mist, scanned again and dressed in purple body suits and crop tops.

Matt started making a joke about the purple aesthetic that fell heavy when robot arms seized Sam Holt.

Callous limbs restrained Shiro and Matt and they hung shouting from their hold as Sam and a number of other aliens were pulled from the room; the tiny wasp like being with segmented legs that kept coughing, the thin wispy bamboo like pair, a hunched over green hominid, an old being wrapped in a shawl over the crop top with horns that curled three times before their point. The guards wouldn't say what was to come of those selected or of those left.

Shiro and Matt were shoved together into a dimly lit cell. There were already occupants, Shiro's eyes were still adjusting from the bright corridors, but he could hear and see bodies shifting along the walls. Shiro and Matt stayed still in the position they had been in when shoved in, half hunched and partly clinging to each other.

At last a deep voice came from the middle of the back wall.

“Can you speak?”

The question didn't sound hostile, more concerned.

“Yes.” Shiro answered.

“Where do they take the old ones, where did they take the others-?” Matt cut in. Shiro nudged him sharply. “- I want to know where they took my father.”

“Patience child, I can tell you.” Came the voice again. The speaker shifted forward into the swath of light from the door, they were a hulking alien with brownish magenta fur covering them except for a circle of shiny glands in the middle of their chest. They had four arms, the lower two of which planted on curled knuckles like an ape to hold them up so they could lean forward and gesture them closer with their upper arms. Their face was foreign but kind, eyes full black and a muted glossy and mouth wide. Shiro was in awe.

“The Galra take the weaker prisoners to work in their labor camps.”

“So they don't kill them.” Matt said almost desperately.

“No, though many die working, they are not slaughtered outright.” It was a paltry reassurance, but it answered Matt’s questions. Shiro, however still had many inquiries into the whole situation, however he did not want to pester the first friendly alien they’d met in this hellish place.

***

Matt seemed uninterested in their surroundings, after he had found out where his father was sent, he had shut down. He was sitting next to Shiro, pressed against his side, but staring at the floor with a furrowed brow.

When rations were given through a replicator-like inset rectangle that opened in the wall, the alien directed the distribution among the eight beings in the cell sternly from their place seated against the wall. After passing a water receptacle and servings of protein pellets that reminded Shiro of dog kibble and carbohydrate paste to Shiro and Matt, they regarded the pair with a thoughtful expression.

“You mentioned a parent and your eyes are fresh. Are you grown for your species?” Their low voice was again soft.

“Yes. I’m twenty-four and Matt is twenty-two years old.” Shiro felt suddenly aware of his youth. “We are barely adults, but yes, we are grown.”

“How long does your species live?”

“Eighty years, some longer, sometimes over one hundred.” Shiro was warming up to conversation, he was always interested in the differences between aliens and humans, and Matt seemed to have perked up marginally to listen in.

“So you are adults for your kind. My youngest child, they are thirty and in secondary school. I am one hundred and thirty-seven. My mates will likely outlive me by another hundred.” Their expression turned somber.

Shiro burned with a spark of righteous rage for this noble being. To have a lifespan like that, but seemingly no hope to see it, Shiro was disgusted with the universe, and now even more concerned for Matt and himself.

***

“How do we understand what’s being said?” Matt asked after they had overheard the guards yelling at the inhabitants of a nearby cell.

“The Galra took to using ancient Altean translation programs that are built into the computer mainframe of the ship. No one but the Alteans, or now, I suppose, some Galra, knows exactly how they work. Some form of adaptive brainwave system that interacts with the mind of the listener. It doesn’t work on texts.”

“So they can order their prisoners around, but we can’t make use of any signs or control panels.” Matt reasoned.

“Yes.”

***

That night they eventually slept against the wall near the alien and woke up to another meal of bland sustenance.

After the meal the alien warned them about the gladiator arena and what was to come. How they would be lined up in order, and the weapons allowed, and the sandy environment of the arena.

“Are the fights to the death?” Shiro asked. The alien looked sad.

“For newcomers like you, they often end up being so. After you survive that, not always - as long as you give a worthy show.”

Matt paled. He had engaged more in the morning but still seemed dazed in a way that Shiro could not fault him for.

“What do you mean by a good show? Long or talented or-” Shiro began to ask, his mind going back to movie nights with his siblings and then dramatic calls of ‘are you not entertained’ that earned an amused glare from the cowl on missions.

“Bloody.” The alien interrupted with a disapproving shudder. “The crowd is bloodthirsty, they want to see suffering and savagery.”

Shiro found himself frowning, he did not like the ideas that were beginning to spin into plans in his head.

****

After hearing the undefeated reputation of the gladiator, Myzax, who was to start the day’s fight, Shiro knew he had to do something. He just didn’t know when or what. It didn’t seem possible to simply make a break for it while they were being escorted to the arena from their cell.

It was Matt’s outburst of doubt, the first extended speech he’d done since the day before, that spurred Shiro into action.

Someone had to fight in this arena and Shiro wasn’t going to let it be Matt. It had to be Shiro for so many reasons. Matt hadn’t spent years watching expert martial artists train. Matt didn’t have a comprehensive grasp of self-defense or any form of fighting. Matt hadn’t sparred with dozens of people of different sizes and ability levels. Matt didn’t know anatomy well enough to know where to inflict injuries, where to take a hit, or how much a human could survive. Matt hadn’t had strategy drilled into his skull by listening to Bruce give the same lessons to child after child. Matt had no chance in this arena, Shiro had a small one.

So Shiro channeled the abilities of his father, and acted.

Shiro cut Matt’s leg as neatly as he could. It would be a damaging, hindering wound, but not entirely incapacitating or crippling. Matt wouldn’t be put to death for inefficiency but he would not be made to fight.

Shiro told Matt to take care of his father. He wished he could have had time to make sure Matt knew to take any chance he had of escape, and to not try to come back for Shiro. He wished he had time to tell Matt to find a Green Lantern. He wished he had time to tell Matt many things.

But strong hands were already on him pulling him towards his fate and away from Matt. Matt’s scared eyes that had dawning comprehension drowning in fear were burning into him and he knew they would stay with him in his dreams for the rest of his life. However short that may be.

Shiro had been raised by heroes but never became one himself. Maybe he couldn’t live his life as a bona fide superhero, but he could die by the principles of one.

***

Shiro hadn’t died.

The mantras and skills he had absorbed in Gotham City had kept him alive and without major injuries. He was scraped and sore and had a badly bruised rib, but nothing was broken when he was taken back to his cell.

The large alien in the back made a pained sound of inquiry when he was shoved into the room alone.

“He’s alive. He got sent to the labor camp instead.” Shiro didn’t want to tell this kind being how he had felt the vibration up the sword into his wrist when it cut through Matt’s flesh. Or how much harder he had to swing to cut through the thick skin of Myzax.

He did anyway that night, pulled flush to their side with a heavy arm resting on him.

Before he fell asleep he had wept. For Matt, for Sam, for himself. Then for Keith, and for his brothers and sisters, and Bruce and Alfred and the league and everyone he felt like he was disappointing by winning.

***

After his first fight to the death, Shiro made it back to their cell before he threw up. He retched and retched and all he could see in the bile was the splatters of blood spilling onto the sand. Each spasm aggravated the bite on his shoulder that the now dead opponent had given him. It had been half healed by a cursory use of a light-based device and then covered by a skin-conforming synthetic bandage. It ached in time with his pulse.

Shiro retched on nothing, gagging and choking with tears in his eyes.

There was a heavy hand on his back, not rubbing in circles as his father or Alfred would have done, but resting as a still weight. For once, Shiro appreciated the difference.

“Have you killed before here?” They ask, unprompted.

“No.” Shiro tries not to hear the echoes in his mind of Bruce’s no killing mantra, and shouted arguments between everyone and Jason.

Shiro throbbed with self-loathing. He had had no choice but to strike down his opponent, who had been trying even harder to kill him. But he still felt like he had failed. Bruce would have found a way to incapacitate his opponent. So would Dick. Tim could have wielded the thin broken pipe he had stolen from the swivel-jointed appendage of his opponent nearly as well as his staff. Cass wouldn’t have needed to make a choice. Jason wouldn’t have cared.

Shiro didn’t have the strength of personality to justify his actions despite the circumstances. All he had were convictions beyond his ability level. He felt less like a hero and more like the creatures of the shadows they fought.

“If you want it to get easier each time, it does.” They paused and sighed. “I find it does not.”

Shiro considered this. He could dehumanize the aliens. It would be so easy, just to see them as monsters, boogeymen from nightmares and mediocre movies. But that would be hypocritical to everything he had stood for before this. And it would dehumanize him even more.

“I don’t want it to.”

The alien nodded.

“You already seem to understand the benefits of ending a fight with injury, many of us at the level you are now employ this tactic against new prisoners and weak ones. At least we aren’t killing them directly.” Shiro felt his spirit warmed an increment by the praise. “But as you rise in the levels of the arena, you will face more and more gladiators who revel only in slaughter. Some are those who choose to fight for the opportunity for violence. Some have enough favor with sponsors that any injury will be healed. If you do not kill those, they will only kill the weaker opponents they face after you.”

Shiro wondered if this was how Jason rationalized his decisions. That if he didn’t kill a criminal, their next victim would die instead. Shiro had always somewhat understood his reasoning, even if he hadn’t agreed at the time, but now, faced with the decision himself, he felt a pang for his brother.

***

After his second kill, their cell has more space now. Their numbers have dropped to five and new prisoners haven’t been shoved in to replace those lost yet.

Shiro had been in the first fights of the day, and now was back before the other gladiators. The cell wasn’t empty, but the two aliens still in there stayed in the corners next to the door and spared him little more than a glance.

This fight had been physically exhausting, and the alien had latched onto his arm and dragged him close with xir dying strength to stare into his eyes with an unrepentant stare that slowly faded.

Xir bodily fluid had been cleansed from him before he was thrown back into the cell, but in the dim light he could almost see the stains on his hands and feel them spreading up his arms.

He lay on his side, half curled, staring at his shaking palms, facing the back wall.

He didn’t know how much time passed, but then the door was opening again, and the size and shape of the shadow that flashed on the wall before the metal sealed off the brightness of the hallway told him it was the large alien. The sound of the door and the quiet after made Shiro realize detachedly that he was hyperventilating, and filling the room with rushed breaths.

He didn’t turn around but he felt the alien cross the room in a few strides and crouch beside him.

“My name is Solaan. I’m a Valdoran from the Lanx Moon Colony. And you?”

Shiro’s wet gasps slowed.

“I’m Takashi Shirogane, a Human of Earth.” Shiro hadn’t taken Bruce’s name when he was adopted. That would have made what happened too real, and neither Dick nor Jason had added the “-Wayne”. It had been made clear that a name wasn’t what made them family. Solaan made an approving noise.

“My kind mates in threes to reproduce. We all have a third of the genetic material and take turns nourishing the developing infant. So I have two mates. We met in art school. I am an architect, if you’d believe that. I favor sweeping arched ceilings and light glass structures. Lyrus is a weaver, they minored in history, and use that as a subject in their work. Some of their tapestries are in our planet’s museums. Frund is a sculptor. They started using clay and stone, but in recent years began experimenting with wood and natural materials.”

By the end of the speech Shiro had rolled onto his back and was looking at them.

“Did any of your buildings get made?”

“Not any of my grandiose plans,” They let out a short laugh. “But I did see a few law offices made.”

Shiro smiled wanly.

“What is your job?” Solaan asked at length.

“I’m an astronaut. I signed up for this.” Shiro didn’t have the fortitude to sound bitter.

“Oh. My kind haven’t had astronauts in centuries.” A hand brushed over his hair.

“We’re pretty new to the space thing. I doubted I’d meet any aliens beyond microbes on this trip.”

The hands pressed more firmly against Shiro and he tried to only focus on those points of pressure.

****

Solaan made sure he survived when his face was cut.

The injury had been healed enough that he would not bleed out - as was the way for gladiators’ injuries - but he was still left in agony.

His whole head throbbed from the swelling, and his world swum on the edge of unconsciousness every time he choked around a loosened blood-clot. He’d thrown up twice, a painful experience that left him incoherent and shaking.

It would have been unbearable alone. But Solaan had been there as soon as they had been released from their own fight.

Solaan stabilized him with their arms while another set used ripped his crop-top into rags to wipe his mouth and another to cool his brow.

Solaan crooned nonsense at him while he rested against their side. Even when regained his composure he could not bring himself to pull away.

When he realized that the crunch of the kibble-like protein food sent spikes of agony through his head, the serving was exchanged for their carbohydrate paste without prompting.

Three days later, in the medical facility after his first fight since the injury, the alien getting treated across the room from him informed him that in one of the matches Solaan had been in while he recovered, they had killed the being that had cut him.

****

He killed three more notorious gladiators, one with sharpened teeth that left deep cuts that only just missed the tendons in his calf by a centimeter, one with metal barbs on their tail that raked a set of scars across his back, and one that sprayed acid that burned through his crop top and bodysuit and into his skin. He told himself it was a hero’s job to protect the weak. That killing monsters did not a monster make. He told himself not to be a hypocrite to Jason.

After the third fight, instead of taking him back to the cell with the kind Solaan who told him stories that made him feel like himself again he was taken to a small lilac-lit cell that was a third of the size of the shared one. He was in a form of solitary, it seemed isolation was to be his latest torture.

In the hallways he now overheard the words of the Galra guards and the other prisoners. “Bloodthirsty” and “Killer” and over and over again “Champion”.

Apparently the persona he was cultivating with blood was now too dangerous to live with others. Like the beings he killed, he was now separated from the prisoners.

His life was becoming the four walls of his cell, the unending and undimmed lilac lights, the roar of the crowd rushing in his ears, and the feeling of self-betrayal burning his soul each time he fought.

He would come back to his cell and weep and then make himself rise and exercise, choking down increased portions of protein kibble and doing push-ups and wall-sits and crunches until his mind blanked. He wanted to survive, he told himself he needed to for the Holts and to warn earth, but really it was because he was too much of a coward to die. He cursed his convictions again.

They never took him out of his cell except to go to the arena every few days for another fight.

Meals were brought in what he assumed was morning and at night, or before and after a match. His only hygiene was the freshening of his appearance before he was sent out onto the sand, and the clean-up in the callous medical facility afterwards. It was a routine.

Until it wasn’t.

The guards - two more than usual, surrounding instead of flanking him - roused him from his sleep and hauled him from his cell and turned corners he hadn’t expected and took him to a chamber with a table in the middle and the sound of crackling lightning in the corners.

Then, they took his arm.

chapter 3 link

#shiro #voltron #takashi shirogane #batfam #but like not only referenced in this chapter #my writing #shiro is a batkid au #i was nervous about this chapter for so many reasons #style and like that alien oc and pacing #I wanted shiro to have someone be nice to him in prison like at least for a little while until like ..............next chapter but #this will be up on ao3 whenever i come up with a title #which is like who knows bc i have like no ideas its bad

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sportworldnews-blog · 6 years ago

Text

Bundesliga: BVB wins first division: With heart and ass

Check out https://sportworld.news/bundesliga/bundesliga-bvb-wins-first-division-with-heart-and-ass/

Bundesliga: BVB wins first division: With heart and ass

Borussia Dortmund won the first Bundesliga game of coach Lucien Favre against RB Leipzig with 4:1 and thus took over the top of the standings. At the beginning not everything went smoothly. However, the decisive factor for the victory was a characteristic that was particularly important to those responsible in the summer when the squad was put together: passion.

A scene can say so much. Dortmund’s stadium explodes, BVB has just taken a 2-1 lead against Leipzig through Marcel Sabitzer’s own goal. The players in the black-yellow jerseys just lie in each other’s arms for a moment, then one raises his voice and gives instructions at the moment of the cheering. Accentuated with a focused facial expression and clear gestures. In the style of a leader.

Surprisingly, it is not a longstanding spokesman, not Captain Marco Reus or ex-captain Marcel Schmelzer. It’s Thomas Delaney. A newcomer who wears the jersey of the BVB for the first time ever in the Bundesliga.

Delaney radiated a natural authority not only in this scene during his Dortmund Bundesliga debut. He did this with his commitment, his consequent dueling and his move forward on the pitch. He wasn’t responsible for the fine blade. Delaney’s job was to bring a component into the game of the Borussi that those in charge lacked last season: mentality.

“That wasn’t a demonstration of our strength, as we moved into the Champions League last season,” Hans-Joachim Watzke said to ntv only this weekend: “Then we noticed:’We need more players who defend themselves, win the duels and get angry.'”

This was not the first statement to point in this direction. In the entire second half of the season, the BVB did not let go of this topic. Even at the beginning of the transfer period it was clear that the people of Dortmund regarded this as one of the most important requirements for newcomers.

Get angry, get bilious, have an ass in your pants – this is how a team in Dortmund can set the audience on fire. That’s exactly what happened at the season opener on Sunday against Leipzig.

Delaney was as much responsible for this as another newcomer. Axel Witsel combined presence (most ball actions) with ball security, overview and a shot of biliousness. He scored his second goal in his second competitive game for Borussia.

Not only that it was remarkable, but also how Witsel scored: The Belgian kicked off the match 3-1 in the meantime.

This artistic shot was the decisive moment only a few minutes after the lead. With the double strike, the BVB took a two-goal lead into the break and could be certain of the loud euphoria of the supporters from this point on at the latest.

But the goal was not only of high artistic quality, it was also a goal of will. Not after a switching situation, beautifully played out or perfectly combined. No, after a corner and a powerful header from Delaney, which Leipzig keeper Peter Gulacsi could barely fend off. Witsel changed the rebound because he had gone all the way and walked into the right room. For the game it was fitting that this 3:1 was a co-production of the two mentality players Delaney and Witsel.

Euphoria is premature despite the convincing opening win and the associated lead in the standings. Things have not yet been going well.

Newcomer Abdou Diallo showed his qualities in the game structure, but after his mistake before the 0:1 still seemed insecure in the entire first half time. He seemed to be overwhelmed with the high starting speed of the Leipzig team. Only after halftime did he improve significantly.

The non-consideration of Mario Götze (90 minutes bench) or Shinji Kagawa (not at all in the squad) was also a topic that was at least on the agenda.

Even in the forward game, the processes were not 100 percent homogeneous. Christian Pulisic brought a lot of momentum, but did not radiate any danger of scoring.

Maximilian Philipp played as expected as a nominal forward. He played along well, opening the equaliser with a clever pass to Marcel Schmelzer, but was often out of place against the two physically strong Leipzig central defenders.

Is that enough in the long run? The striker’s question did not answer the match on Sunday either.

“We still have five days and it is not completely out of the question that we will do something else in the transfer market. We still need a little patience and then we know what will happen,” Zorc told Sky.

Zorc did not comment on the name Paco Alcacer, which is apparently about to move to Dortmund. Sebastian Kehl at least confirmed that he is on an ominous list of possible candidates. Or stand. A little wishy-washy.

No, the first home game of Borussia didn’t answer every question. Nor can the football that Favre wants to establish in the long term be conclusively concluded. A pressing and switching machine like RB Leipzig is not the right standard for this.

But there were initial findings. Especially that the new team has heart. And an ass in my pants.

BVB was visibly shocked by the delay after only 32 seconds. The defensive alliance then seemed insecure, especially in the first quarter of an hour. The Leipzig tactics of aggressively attacking the Dortmund team’s game structure obviously overtaxed them.

Thoughts a la “Here we go again” would not have been absurd in this phase. After a strange last season. And also with the memory of 2014.

Four years ago, almost to the day, BVB were also trailing insanely early on the first day of play. Karim Bellarabi took the lead in Leverkusen after just nine seconds. Dortmund did not come back, lost the game 0:2 and started a bewitched season, at the end of which the era of Jürgen Klopp was over.

This time an era may have begun, that of Lucien Favre. The parallels would have been obvious. Leipzig plays a football similar to that of Leverkusen under Roger Schmidt. BVB could have been even more disturbed by the early arrears. But it didn’t happen.

Instead, the BVB brutalized itself into the game. Through midfield presence, duel strength and goals of will, two of them according to standard situations.

The new mentality has passed the first field test. The fans in the Dortmund stadium liked the new heart, the new ass. And what could possibly be the cornerstone for a new hierarchy in the team. Delaney and Witsel have already collected arguments.

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aardenpress · 7 years ago

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The Armageddon Machine-North Korea just stole China’s superweapon… After an attack on a military base in China a frightening secret weapon is stolen by a radical group of North Korean terrorists. Their goal? A unified Korea under their own rule. They ar

North Korea just stole China’s superweapon… After an attack on a military base in China a frightening secret weapon is stolen by a radical group of North Korean terrorists. Their goal? A unified Korea under their own rule. They are willing to do anything to achieve this goal, and now they have in their possession a terrifying weapon like no other. It will be up to intelligence services around the world, including the top secret NTRA, to find the weapon known as Dragon's Breath, and take down a group of extremists who are willing to go to length to get what they want, even if they must use the Armageddon Machine. BuzzNet Tags: terrorism,terrorist,doomsday,invasion,korea,north korea,radiation,national security,wmd,secret agent,terrorist attack,secret weapon,weapons of mass destruction,free spy thriller novella 1st Pages June 17, 2014 Series CA-13 BCRS ratings? Xining Military Complex, Qinghai province, People's Republic of China He turned to go back inside, but stopped when movement caught his eye. He turned back and scanned the powdered white surface of the ground, perfectly smooth except for a few well-beaten tracks leading to and away from the main building. He couldn’t see anybody. He took a few steps forward and strained to make out the fence line fifty yards away. He could just make out the chain-link fence by the reflection of the security lights glinting off of it. He saw nothing out of the ordinary. He held the rifle down in a low-ready position. His boots crunched in the snow with each step he took. He stopped and listened. All he heard was the howl of the wind, and the far off sound of city traffic. Then there was the crunch of snow off to his left. The guard swung around and lifted the rifle to a high-ready position. He could just make out the silhouette of a man about forty feet away, hidden mostly in shadow. “I am unarmed,” the man called back. “Step forward slowly!” the guard commanded. “Come into the light.” “Do not shoot,” the man said. “I am unarmed.” The guard never felt the shot that ended his life, the bullet entering his skull from behind and then fragmenting, each fragment digging a different path through his brain matter. He fell to the ground and lay there with a pool of blood expanding around his head, creating a halo of blood in the snow. “Thank you, Cobra,” the shooter said. “Let’s go.” Captain Lin was in the Black Room--ominously (and appropriately, he felt) named to reflect what the room contained. In the late hours of the night, and early hours of the morning, when all was quiet and still, he often liked to come into this room, something that few people on the base had the clearance to do. Whenever he came he would stand tall, with his hands clasped behind his back. That’s exactly how he was standing just then, looking at the device that sat in the Inner Room--a small room formed by four Plexiglas walls and a Plexiglas ceiling. The device--which was about the size of an old VCR-- and the metal table it sat upon were the only objects inside the Inner Room. Even Captain Lin did not have the clearance to enter that room. The knock came again, louder and more insistent this time. Captain Lin sighed--why was he cursed to be in command of such useless incompetents? An emergency. To his men, a backed up toilet was an emergency. “Please hurry, Captain.” He was looking at a group of men in white camouflage that stood facing him, each with a weapon in hand. “Is this it?” he asked. “Just this?” “Get this door open,” he commanded, gesturing toward the door to the Inner Room. “We were not able to get the codes,” Viper said. “No matter; this will be easy enough.” The three men left the room, leaving the door standing open. They turned a corner and walked partway down the hall. The man with the bag took out a small black device with two buttons on it. He pressed one button and a little green light on the side of the device lit up. He looked to Viper, who nodded. The man pressed the second button and there was a loud concussion from within the Black Room. Viper and Cobra rushed around the corner. Captain Lin’s body was still lying on the ground near the entrance to the Black Room, and his uniform had caught fire. They walked around the smoking body and entered the Black Room; two men followed. The group of men hustled through the halls and corridors, passing several dead soldiers along the way. They left the way they had come in, through the door that the guard had propped open. The other group of men--the group they had split from when they first entered the building--were already waiting for them outside. “Good.” May 26 -- 14:25 UTC/7:25 am local time David walked to the banks of the river and hunkered down, squatting on his hams and reaching down into the water, scooping up a double handful and splashing it on his face. It was pleasantly cool, and it sent a brief, pleasant shiver down his spine. He dipped one hand back into the water and felt the movement of the water, his hand creating little eddies on the surface, as he listened to the familiar sounds of the living woods. His body tensed, and he withdrew his hand from the water as he realized that there was another sound on top of the familiar sounds, a sound that was out of place. He turned to the right and scanned the tree line; something or someone was approaching. Then he heard something that chilled his blood--the unmistakable sound of a pistol slide being cocked back. The sounds drew closer. He chanced a quick peek around the corner and saw two men emerging from the woods, neither of whom looked like a hiker. One of them held a gun. David moved back as far as he could, and held the hunk of wood like a bat, ready to swing. The men moved closer, whispering between themselves, their voices too low for David to make out what they were saying. He could hear the crunch of their feet on pine needles, the scrape of their boots on the dirt. Before the first man--the one without a weapon--could answer, he came into view; as he took a couple more steps, he turned and saw David standing there like a Major League batter getting ready to send the ball into the bleachers. The man’s eyes went wide, but before he could say or do anything the other man came into David’s view and David swung, the wood swinging around in a vicious arc and catching the armed man in the face. “Stop! Please! We mean you no harm.” David turned back around to face this man, who was getting back to his feet. “That’s Agent Greeves. I guess you could say he can be a littler overly cautious, but he’s telling you the truth--we really mean you no harm.” David lowered the makeshift bat a little at the mention of that name. David thought about this for a second, and then broke into a broad smile and dropped the hunk of wood. Inside the house David found his first aid kit, and he did a fair job of bandaging Agent Greeves’s nose. He also gave Greeves something to take the edge off the pain. The man sat at the table with a wad of gauze wrapped around his nose, his eyes tearing up slightly, looking haggard and in pain. “So,” David said, turning his attention to Agent Norwalk, “which outfit do you belong to? CIA?” “The National Threat Reaction Agency.” “That’s not surprising. It’s a relatively new agency, and its existence hasn’t been made public yet.” “Hank a Director,” David said. “He always preferred to be out where the action was, not sitting in some cushy office. Things change, I guess.” “That’s what we’re hoping, but--” David looked at Agent Greeves, who nodded in assent. “Okay; I’ll bite. What can you tell me?” “We don’t know. Soon.” “What’s the nature of the weapon? Is it nuclear? Chemical?’ when . David thought it over. “Against my will, if necessary?” David asked. “Bigger than you could ever imagine,” Agent Norwalk said. “Sir, if it’s all right with you, we really should get going without delay. Anything you need will be provided for you once you’re in Washington.” “I assume we’re headed to PDX?” David said. Washington, D.C. The driver--who David had not been introduced to--was a beefy G.I. Joe-type, undoubtedly a soldier, or at least a former one; he drove in silence, seeming to take no notice of his backseat passengers except for a couple of occasions when David caught him looking back at them in the rearview mirror. Then again, he may have just been checking to see if they were being tailed. David glanced at his watch. When they arrived at their destination, he glanced at his watch again; Agent Marquez had been right on the money--it had indeed taken ten minutes. At the gate the driver flashed his identification and the security guard hit a button, raising the barrier arm and lowering the tire spikes that barred free entrance into the parking lot. They drove through, and the driver quickly pulled up to the main entrance of a drab, non-descript building. “I don’t see any security guards,” David said. “Anyone could just hop over that thing to get in.” At last they came to a door that stood alone at the end of a winding hallway. This door had both a keypad and a card swipe. Agent Marquez swiped her ID and punched five digits on the keypad too quickly for David to follow. The little light on the keypad turned from red to green, and Agent Marquez opened the door. When they entered the room the door shut behind them with a soft click. They were in a short hall with another door at the end of it, this one just a plain door with no security clearance needed to get through. Agent Marquez opened the door and they entered a large office filled with busy people who were moving back and forth between desks, sitting at computers or hunched over stacks of papers. “David Diehl; long time, no see,” said the General. He pounded David good-naturedly on the back before releasing him. They both laughed. David had seen Hank in action long before he had stars on his shoulders, and this was one man he didn’t ever want to tangle with. The opposite wall started to move then, rolling up completely to reveal a large screen. The screen came to life, showing an aerial image of what looked to David like a military base. There were a series of small buildings built in a rough square, and off to one side stood a much larger structure. “Yes,” the General answered. “It seems that in the early hours of the morning the number of troops in the main building were at their lightest. If the raid had happened just ninety minutes later the number of troops would have been doubled, maybe even tripled. Which means?” “Correct,” the General confirmed. “They knew when the number of soldiers on base would be at an ebb, and they used that information to their advantage. As far as we know every soldier in the building at the time of the raid was killed. When they were finished, the assailants planted enough explosives to level the building. That big building you see there was reduced to a smoking ruin.” “That took us some time to figure out,” General Cromwell said. “We knew about the raid within twenty-four hours, but for quite some time we didn’t know General Cromwell motioned to an aide who sat alone at a small table in the corner of the room; the aide bent to the laptop set in front of him and hit a button. The image on the big screen changed, and a reproduction of an official-looking document appeared on the screen. *** From: Gen. Ma Shangkun (CotGS) I regret to inform you that Dragon’s Breath has indeed been lost after the callous and villainous attack on the Xining Military Complex that we discussed previously. I had hoped that Dragon’s Breath would be found in the wreckage; unfortunately it was not. I will leave it to you to inform all necessary parties. *** “I’m sorry, sir, but I see something called Dragon’s Breath mentioned twice in the report. What is it?” The General gestured to the aide with the laptop again, and a moment later the image on the screen changed. The people gathered around the table leaned forward; some of them squinted--none of them knew what they were looking at. All they saw was a dark object sitting on a table. is He said it so matter-of-factly that for a moment everyone just stared at him blankly, too bewildered to say anything. A few people laughed nervously; David did not. “They were really willing to pull the temple down around them just to take some land?” David pressed on. “They were arrogant; they’ve been that way for decades. Despite all the fearsome parades of troops, and the columns of tanks and SAM launchers put on display, the truth is that the Chinese are far behind us in many respects, such as simple organizational structure.” “Wait a second,” a blond-haired man spoke up. “If Dragon’s Breath is missing, who the hell has it?” “Yes,” the General replied. “This,” the General said, “is the hierarchy--as best as we can figure--of an organization within North Korea that calls itself Violet Dawn. They are a group of fanatics drawn together by a philosophy of Korean supremacy. Or, more accurately, “No shit,” the blond guy who spoke earlier blurted out. The General went on: “You’ll notice that the top bracket has the name Mamba in it. That’s who we think is quarterbacking this organization. All we have are codenames.” “And they are willing to end the world?” David asked. “What’s their angle?” David asked. “What you’re looking at, ladies and gentlemen, is a rough draft of a plan for invasion of the Republic of Korea by the DPRK; the exact date that this plan was drawn up is unknown, but we think that it was between three and five years ago.” were “I agree it doesn’t make much sense,” the General said. “Our best guess at the moment is that they intend to use the device in the same manner as the Chinese intended--as a threat. They invade the South and warn us that if we step in they’ll use Dragon’s Breath.” “Any idea of the exact location of Dragon’s Breath?” David inquired. “Most of you will be receiving these binders you see here,” General Cromwell said. The glass wall morphed again, once more becoming clear. “Stinson...” the General said. David looked up from the report he was reading. David laughed at the absurdity of it. “Well,” David said, “I wasn’t given much of a choice. You sent a couple men out to find me and tell me that there was a national emergency, and that you needed my help. What was I supposed to do--tell them good luck, and send them on their way?” a national emergency, David.” “How so?” “Yeah,” he said. “We can’t afford to. Hopefully this will all be over quickly, and we can have a drink together, you and I. We can talk about old times.” Agent Marquez stood, tucking her binder under her arm. She looked at her watch. “Where exactly are we headed?” he asked her. David stopped in the doorway and turned back to face General Cromwell. “What is it?” “Smartass,” General Cromwell said to the empty room.

Chapter Four

Lu Ping was getting impatient. She looked at her watch for the umpteenth time with an exaggerated gesture in hopes that General Zhang’s secretary would take notice. Their meeting was set for one o’clock, and it was already twenty-two minutes past. She blew a wisp of hair out of her face and looked again at the selection of magazines spread across the coffee table, as if she hoped to find something interesting that she had somehow managed to miss the first three times she’d looked. Again, she found nothing of any interest. “Do you have any idea when General Zhang will be able to see me? I was supposed to meet with him a half hour ago.” The secretary held up a finger as the door to General Zhang’s office opened and a short, middle-aged man stepped out, closing the door behind him. The man gave the secretary a polite nod--which she did not return--and exited the offices; he took no notice of Lu Ping. A moment later the phone on the secretary’s desk buzzed; she picked it up and listened. “The General is ready to see you now. Go right in.” “Please sit,” Zhang opened. “Very good, indeed. It has been ages since I saw you last; you were just a tiny thing then. Your father was a good man, and I was honored to call him a friend.” She considered it, and took some pleasure in the thought of the woman being put out by having to bring them tea. She shook her head, however. The General adjusted himself in his chair. He laughed, and his laughter eased her uncertainty somewhat. “Dismissed?” “I would like you to take over as head of the Recovery Team.” “Yes, of course,” she said. “I will give you my best, sir.” “I’ll let you go on your way,” Zhang said. “I know you will be very busy for the foreseeable future. Give my greetings to your mother.” As these thoughts scrambled around in her head the elevator beeped, letting her know that she had arrived at her level. The doors slid open and she stepped into the dimly lit underground parking garage. She searched in her purse for her keys as she walked. She found the keys as she turned into the aisle where her car was parked. May 27 -- 07:36 UTC/12:36 am local time “I’m exhausted,” David said. “I’m assuming we’ll be given accommodations after we land?” “I’m staying in L.A., but you’ve still got quite a ways to go.” “Korea?” As they began their descent David peeked out the window to get a look at the airport. He could tell immediately that it wasn’t LAX; it was far too small. He thought of asking Agent Marquez about it, but decided that it didn’t really matter. He leaned back in his seat. It was a bumpy landing, after which the plane taxied into a large hangar before coming to a stop. David and Agent Marquez disembarked, and David walked around a bit, stretching out his legs. A door at one end of the hangar opened and a man came striding in, walking towards where David and Agent Marquez stood near the plane. As the man came closer David recognized him. It was Agent Norwalk. “Except for the nose of course.” She turned to David. He cocked his head at the Learjet. “It was good meeting you, Mister--excuse me, David shook her hand. “Just lead the way,” David said. David stopped and turned back. “FBI?” he asked. David watched her for a moment, and then turned to follow Agent Norwalk, who was waiting patiently. Norwalk led David back out through the door he had just entered through. The Boeing C-32 was waiting for them on the tarmac. “Christ,” David exclaimed, not for the first time that day. Manchester, UK What had he thought he was going to achieve? Men like him were not made to be heroes. He stopped at a red light. The man behind the wheel of the car next to him glanced over and did a double take. Kwon Hyun-kyoon pretended not to notice. Instead he looked in the mirror again, this time taking a good look at himself, seeing what the man in the other car was seeing: a middle-aged man sporting thick black-framed glasses, with terror written on his face; he looked pale and sweaty, with deep dark circles under his bloodshot eyes. Kwon stepped on the gas, swerving around a slower moving car in front of him. He made a quick turn, the car’s tires squealing on macadam. The car followed after him, nearly sideswiping another vehicle as it took the sharp turn. Kwon drove as fast as could, struggling to keep an eye on the road ahead, as well as on the car chasing from behind. He blew through a red light; he hoped that cross traffic would slow down his pursuers, but they kept on coming. He had to swerve to avoid hitting a woman crossing the street, and the left tires of his car rode up on the sidewalk for a few seconds before he was able to pull back onto the road proper. When Kwon opened his eyes he had no idea where he was, but he knew that something was very wrong. His body was one big ball of pain. He smelled gasoline and motor oil. He looked around and realized two things: he was in a badly damaged car, and he was upside down, held in his seat by the safety belt. “I already did,” someone responded. “They’re on their way.” “No, please! Don’t hurt me,” Kwon pleaded in Korean. May 28 -- 00:15 UTC/9:15 am local time “I apologize for keeping you gentlemen waiting,” the older man said, holding out his hand. “I am Commander Choi Junseo.” The younger Korean man held his own hand out as he introduced himself. “And this here is Captain Rhee Chan-sook,” Commander Choi said, indicating the woman. Captain Rhee fixed Agent Norwalk with an unflinching stare. She smiled. David and Agent Diehl took their seats again, as Sergeant Jung and Captain Violet Rhee dragged over two more seats from against the wall and also sat down. Commander Choi sat in the leather chair behind the desk. Agent Norwalk nodded his concurrence. Commander Choi opened a desk drawer and pulled out a stack of papers, leafing through them with a furrowed brow. He found what he was looking for and passed a single sheet of paper across the desk to the Americans. David grabbed it up and took a look at it; it was a printout of a photo. It looked like it had been taken with a telephoto lens from a great distance, and it showed a tallish, dark-haired man walking towards a car, his eyes hidden behind a pair of reflective sunglasses. “Who is he?” Agent Norwalk asked as he placed the sheet of paper on the desk. “If I recall correctly, Viper is second-in-command of Violet Dawn,” David said. “None.” Violet Rhee cleared her throat. “Well, gentleman,” Commander Choi said. “Unless there are any questions you would like to ask, you can go. I’m sure Sergeant Jung and Captain Rhee are eager to get on with their day.” Agent Norwalk gave David a quick nod before turning to follow Jung. David turned to Captain Rhee. She turned on her heels and walked away from him. David followed after her.

Chapter Eight

Greg Toland wiped the lenses of his glasses clean on his shirt as he walked up the street he had lived on for the past fifteen years. He was on his way home after a light lunch at the Full Moon Café. Though it was spring the day felt like full summer--hot even by Atlanta standards--and Greg wiped away a thin sheen of sweat from his brow. He slipped his glasses back on, pushing them up the bridge of his nose. “Yes, I do. As a matter of fact, I live right there.” Greg almost groaned; he had come across people like this before, always with a sob story--their purse had been snatched or their wallet had been stolen, and if you could just give them a few bucks for a cab ride home they would be ever so grateful. He was right; this was where she would ask him if he could maybe spare twenty bucks, swearing to mail it back to him later. Greg considered this for a moment. The white-haired man led the blond woman up the steps, and she followed him into his house. He showed her to the landline phone that was set on a table beside the couch. When Greg came back into the living room the woman was just finishing up her call. “My friend is coming to pick me up, but she said that it may take a while; she has some errands to run first. Thank you for your help…sorry, I don’t even know your name.” She moved toward the door. “It’s all right with me if you want to wait in here,” he said. “There’s no reason for you to wait out in the hot sun.” “Do you have any lemonade?” “Have a seat,” he said. “I’ll be right out with it.” “It tastes great,” she said. “Thanks, I needed something to cool me down.” “So, what do you do, Greg?” Vera asked. He smiled. She took another sip of lemonade as she looked around the living room, her gaze stopping briefly on a row of framed photographs on the mantel. Vera took a big swig, finishing off her glass of lemonade. Greg set his own glass down on the coffee table and took Vera’s empty one. He hurried to the kitchen and filled it up again. Back in the living room he handed her the glass and seated himself once more at her side, picking up his own glass and taking another sip. Greg smiled and emptied his glass in three sips. He set the glass back down on the coffee table. Greg’s tongue felt funny, sort of thick and fuzzy. “I’m here on business, actually,” Vera said. “I’m sorry about this,” she said. “It’s just ‘bithnith’,” she said. “Help…help…help…” “Whuh…hap…happening?” May 29 -- 02:08 UTC/11:08 am local time “Just let me know if you see any sign of activity.” Agent Norwalk leaned his seat back and shut his eyes. He had gotten little sleep the night before and he was dead tired. “You can sleep later. Keep an eye out.” He lowered the binoculars and looked around at the rest of the street. There were a few other businesses on this street, but their customers were sparse, and the whole block seemed pretty quiet. Jung motioned with his head, and Agent Norwalk followed his gaze. The fence that blocked the view of the back lot was slowly sliding open. A short man with a shaved head appeared--he was the one pulling the gate aside. When the gate was open the man just stood there, leaning against the fence. “Nothing going on, huh?” Sergeant Jung asked wryly. Agent Norwalk followed Sergeant Jung’s lead. They both got out of the car and shut their doors gently. They walked across to the other side of the street, and then walked up to the end of the block where the target building was. Sergeant Jung slipped around to the side, creeping up to the fence. He grabbed the top of the wooden-slat fence and boosted himself up, took a quick look, and dropped back down. Sergeant Jung searched around and spied a bucket turned over on its side in some weeds. He picked up the bucket, dumped some foul-smelling water out of it, and set it down. “Call what in? That we saw a car drive though here? We don’t really know anything yet. I want to get an idea of what is going on before I waste anybody’s time. You stay out here; if anything happens there’s a radio in the car that will put you in contact with headquarters. Use it.” His panic proved unnecessary, however, as the car passed by, the driver seemingly taking no notice of him. He breathed a sigh of relief and went back to the fence. He peered in, but once again had lost Sergeant Jung, who was no longer near the dirty window. Agent Norwalk looked through a few more cracks in the fence, but couldn’t find Jung again. Agent Norwalk put his face up to a gap between two slats in the fence and tried to see what was happening in the lot; he saw no one. He walked to the overturned bucket, rested one foot on it, took a few deep breaths, then boosted himself up and over the fence, dropping down to the ground and going into a crouch. The lot was empty, but he could hear raised voices shouting to one another inside the building. Agent Norwalk looked around the room he was in, searching for anything that could be used as a weapon, but found nothing except a couple of cheap plastic chairs. A fresh spate of gunfire erupted in the neighboring room, and he got low to the ground before peeking into that room. The man who had been crouched behind the table had abandoned the post, but Agent Norwalk could hear others in there, voices shouting between shots. Agent Norwalk looked down and saw a pistol lying on the ground just inside the room. The standing men both had their backs turned to him, and he took this moment of advantage to take two steps into the room, grab the pistol and raise it at the man who put the last bullet in the crawling man. “Put the weapons down now, or I will fire!” Agent Norwalk shouted. He stood up and looked around the ruined room. He saw a box sitting near one wall; inside there were two grenades shaped like small apples; he knew that there had been a third grenade until a few minutes ago. May 29 -- 06:21 UTC/2:21 pm local time But she had stuck with it, kept her head down, had done her job. Now, six years later, her hard work and perseverance had paid off. Three months before she had been just another analyst in the Threat Assessment and Management Department, and two days before she had been a low level analyst on the Recovery Team. Now, inexplicably, she was the leader of the Recovery Team, and she had been filled with an indelible fear over the last two days that had seemed to fill her up. What if she wasn’t up to the task? What if General Zhang had been mistaken to place such great trust in her? Failure now wouldn’t just result in a bad performance report, or a demotion. Failure would cost lives. “Greetings, Madame Lu,” Captain Yu greeted formally, voice raised to be heard above the slowing rotors. “Intelligence sources led us to believe that Lotus was being kept somewhere here in Tianjin,” the Captain said. The Captain and the Lieutenant exchanged a look. “No, ma’am. It was an old factory that has been out of use for eight months.” “I want to see this factory,” Lu Ping said. “You can fill me in on the rest on the drive over.” “Yes, ma’am. We entered the building at eleven-hundred hours. We shot half a dozen canisters of CN gas through several windows on both floors of the factory. Tactical Team One entered through the front entrance while Tactical Team Two entered simultaneously through the rear of the building. Team Three was held in reserve. There was almost no resistance on the first floor of the factory. On that floor three suspects were found in one room; all were armed, but none of them drew their weapons. They were likely too disoriented from the gas. The suspects were subdued and restrained quickly.” “Our men faced stiff resistance from the suspects on the second floor. These men were better prepared than their comrades; they had gas masks, and they opened fire as the men from Team Two attempted to climb the stairs. A firefight followed, lasting approximately fifteen minutes. We incurred six casualties in all, one dead and five wounded. I ordered the men to retreat to the first floor. I was worried about damaging Lotus, but I weighed the risk and ordered the men to fire an X99-J round up onto the second floor. Effective resistance ended immediately.” “It is a variant of the Russian TGB-7V,” the Captain said. “Thank you for the clarification, Captain.” “Yes, ma’am,” Lieutenant Jin replied. “All the gases have dissipated by now.” “After the detonation of the grenade Team Two gained the second floor. Of the five suspects on that floor four were dead. One was obviously dead from a bullet wound to the head, one from the explosion of the grenade, and two from a combination of bullet wounds and shrapnel.” “The last suspect had severe shrapnel wounds, as well as extensive burns,” Captain Yu said. “The medical team was rushed in. I had to pull two medics from working on our own men in an attempt to keep the suspect alive. They did their best, but the man succumbed to his injuries shortly thereafter.” “Correct. Lotus was here recently, we are certain. Radiation readings confirm it.” “Which means that the containment vessel has not been breached,” Lu Ping said as she stared at rust-colored blood stains on the floor, and burn marks that covered the floor, walls and ceiling. “Not yet. None of the men had identification on them. We are running both fingerprint and facial-recognition analysis.” “A Marine battalion had been dispatched to the port, and they are working alongside units of the Water Police, Border Patrol troops and members of the Anti-Smuggling Bureau to inspect ships in port. They have radiation scanners to help identify vessels that may be carrying Lotus.” Lu Ping turned away from the evidence of the recent carnage and headed back down the stairs. Again the men followed. Lu Ping led them out of the factory and back to the Humvee. “But the port--” Washington, D.C. “There’s an interesting report in the in-house folder,” Captain Danko said. General Cromwell nodded his assent, and Captain Danko slid the folder closer to himself, opened it and searched through the papers until he found what he was looking for. He took out two sheets of paper that had been paper clipped together and laid them on the desk before the General. General Cromwell picked up the papers and skimmed the first page. It was a report on the suspected kidnapping of a man named Greg Toland from his home in Atlanta three days previously. “On the basis that, due to the knowledge that these people have of top secret projects, they could be dangerous to us if they were to fall into the hands of an enemy state,” General Cromwell finished. “So what was kind of project was this Toland working on?” “No, it isn’t,” Captain Danko said. “I made some calls to friends at the different services and asked them if they knew anything about this guy, or who he might have worked for. None of them knew of him out of hand, but a few of them said they would look into it and get back to me if they found something. About twenty minutes ago I got a call back from an old colleague of mine who works over at DARPA now. He said that Toland once contracted with them. He appears to have worked on only one project over there, but he left five years ago.” The General’s eyebrows went up. General Cromwell read the two page report again, with more interest this time. The report was a summary of a missing persons report filed with the Atlanta PD. Greg Toland had been reported missing on the evening of the 28A neighbor reported seeing Toland speaking with an attractive young woman near his stoop sometime in the early afternoon. The neighbor was unable to identify the woman, and police remained uncertain what connection, if any, she might have with Mr. Toland’s disappearance. So ended the summary of the missing persons report. There was an addendum at the bottom of the second page letting the reader know that, as of the filing of the report, Mr. Toland had still not been found, nor had the mystery woman been identified. “Yes, sir.” Captain Danko stood, tucked his satchel under one arm, saluted and exited the General’s office. The General picked up the receiver and hit a button. The call began with the familiar brief three note ringtone letting him know that this call was being received on a secure line. The Special Operations and Intelligence Command was essentially the UK version of the NTRA. “Good afternoon, General. I suppose good morning would be more accurate, given the time difference.” General Cromwell nodded his head; they had already figured the man to be North Korean. “Indeed he did. We have a team examining the contents of the drive, and they definitely shed light on the documents that were also in the briefcase.” Captain Lucy Tinder spoke for a long time. As she went on a knot of fear slowly tightened in General Cromwell’s gut.

Chapter Twelve

In the dim conference room David Diehl sat on one side of a long conference table with Agent Norwalk and Captain Violet Rhee. On the other side of the table were five senior officers of the National Intelligence Service, including Commander Choi Junseo. Everyone at the table had their chair turned so they could see the west wall of the room, where various images were being projected as Commander Choi spoke aloud, describing what they were seeing in heavily accented English. Agent Norwalk stirred a packet of sugar into his coffee, his eyes hollow and surrounded by dark circles. He hadn’t gotten much sleep in the past two days. “Yes; one moment, please,” Commander Choi said. One of the men on Commander Choi’s side of the table laughed. “So what happened--Sergeant Jung’s death--it was all for nothing, then.” “Yes,” Commander Choi said. “The port was reopened yesterday afternoon, though the Navy destroyer CNS Shenyang is still patrolling the waters nearby.” “Did they find what they were looking for?” Captain Rhee spoke up. “Dragon’s Breath,” David finished. “Those Violet Dawn bastards must have tried to smuggle it out through the Port of Tianjin.” “Possible, yes,” Commander Choi answered. “To be completely honest, perhaps it is even likely.” “I wasn’t convinced that the theft of Dragon’s Breath wasn’t just a cover, and that the Chinese weren’t actively aiding Violet Dawn. If the Chinese are willing to close down an entire port for two days to conduct a search operation of ships before allowing them to leave, it means that they are very serious about finding this thing before it leaves their borders.” Commander Choi nodded his head, conceding the point. Commander Choi gathered up his papers nodded his head in the general direction of Captain Rhee before leaving the meeting room. One of the men who had sat near Commander Choi shut off the projector. David, Agent Norwalk and Captain Rhee left the meeting room together. “I’m not hungry,” Agent Norwalk said. “I think I’ll stick around here.” June 2 -- 05:53 UTC/2:53 pm local time The five days since he had been drugged by the blond bitch seemed like one long bad dream to him. There had been a two day drive hidden in the back of a semi among boxes of dry goods, and then two more days chained to a radiator in a dingy house. Whenever he was allowed to leave the room his captors would put a blindfold on his face, but once, while being taken to the bathroom, he was able to peek under the bottom edge of it for a moment as he and two of the captors walked past a window. In the distance he saw a tall palm tree standing against a bright blue sky. His immediate thought was that he must be in either California or Florida, the two states he most associated with palm trees. Judging by the amount of driving time it had taken to get there he figured California was more likely. Then the possibility that they had crossed the border into Mexico crossed his mind, and he gave up trying to guess where he was. Sometime later--he had no idea how long, he had lost all sense of time --there came the sound of a key being inserted into a lock and turning, and the steel door swung open with a bang. Another blindfold was put on him, but he could see weak rays of light peeking in around the edges. Someone undid the straps around his wrists and ankles, pausing once to laugh--he assumed that the fact that he had pissed himself had been noticed. He was handled roughly, made to stand and led from the room into a cold corridor. The light was brighter now. “Good evening, Mr. Toland,” the seated man said. The man pushed himself back from the desk and lifted one booted foot and laid it on the opposite knee. He and Greg stared at each other wordlessly for a moment; then the man laughed quietly. The man simply smiled. He had nothing to gain by retaliating for the comment and risk injuring his captured butterfly. “You should be grateful, Mr. Toland,” Adder said. “You are going to be part of something marvelous.” Adder stopped in front of Greg Toland and faced him. “As I said, we need you to help us finish what we started. You could also say that we would like you to finish what “What?” Greg took the binder from the nameless man and started opening the cover. “I need a shower,” he said. “And some clean clothes.” Again Greg was grabbed from both sides. The men who had ahold of him--neither of whom was wearing a mask, he noticed--led him to a shower room. He left his clothes and the binder in a pile near the door to the room, and a guard stood watch as Greg showered. There was no hot water and no soap, but it felt great to get clean. By the time he finished his shower another guard had brought a clean change of clothes, a plain gray shirt and matching pair of pants, both made out of a rough material. He put the clothes on, retrieved the binder and left his old clothes where they lay. He was just finishing reading the last few notes written in another man’s neat, tight script when the lights went out. In the darkness Greg closed the binder and sat for a while, thinking. Eventually he stood up, found his way to the bed and lay down. He found that the new bed was not much better than the first one. He didn’t think he would be able to sleep, but soon exhaustion had its way and he was asleep anyway. That night he dreamt of fire.

Chapter Fourteen

David admired the confidence of Violet Rhee as she led him around in a neighborhood that looked tough enough to make him nervous. They had left Violet’s unmarked car several blocks away, where she said there was less chance of it being stolen. “Not here,” she would say cryptically before walking out and continuing on. “The Pile of Dirt,” Violet said. David thought of asking who the “him” She turned and walked away before he could ask her who she was talking about. He followed her, wary now. His gaze shifted around, looking for any sign of danger. Violet led him around the interior of the club, staying near the wall, until they at last came to a set of carpeted stairs that led to a raised area populated by a single table. At the foot of the stairs David realized who Violet had been talking about when two men stopped them as they got close to the stairs. David threw an indignant look Violet’s way, though she didn’t seem to notice it. She was looking at a third bodyguard for some sort of confirmation. This man looked her over, then David, and turned his attention back to Violet. He nodded his head toward the stairs and Violet started up. David wasn’t sure if he was supposed to follow her or stay put at the foot of the stairs; he made a decision and started up after her as she neared the top steps. “Ah, Violet; I was beginning to think that I would never see you again,” Kenny said. “It made me so sad.” “This is Agent David Diehl,” she answered, waving a hand toward David. “From the United States.” “David, this is Kenny Kim,” Captain Rhee said, completing the introduction. “To what do I owe the pleasure of your visit, Captain?” Kenny asked as he lifted a goblet up to take a drink. “Go on, go on; I’m all ears.” “All Kenny laughed; this time the bodyguards did not laugh with him, instead burning holes into Violet with their eyes. Evidently they did not appreciate her attempt to have them dismissed. Violet said nothing; she simply held her gaze on Kenny, and waited. His laughter dissipated. “You, too,” Kenny commanded his men. “Go! Hurry, hurry.” “You are most welcome,” Kenny said. “Now let’s cut to the chase, shall we? I know that you didn’t come here tonight just for the pleasure of my company.” “There are some people who are trying to smuggle something dangerous into this country,” Violet began. “There is a possibility they may have smuggled it in already.” “Guns then.” “You don’t need to know that,” Violet said. “It would be the biggest thing you would have heard about in your life, Kenny,” she said at last. “You wouldn’t forget this.” “Is my gratitude not enough?” Violet asked with a smile. David lowered his hand from the empty holster and looked back at Violet and her captive. Kenny Kim’s face had gone red as he tried to pry her hands from his thick neck. He was making pathetic strangled sounds. The music in the club was too loud for anyone who wasn’t within a few feet of the table to hear the struggle. “And why did I do all this?” Violet asked. “For one reason only--because you are useful to me. But if you are no longer useful, what shall I do then?” “You are an insane person, you crazy bi--” “I don’t know if it’s what you are looking for,” Kenny Kim began, “but a little birdy told me about some shipments that have come in over the last couple of months from the North. Very hush-hush.” “Sounds to me like these North Koreans were putting a buffer between themselves and the shipments,” David said. “If the South Korean muscle got pinched, they would give up the people who hired them, who were themselves South Koreans. By the time those guys were rounded up and interrogated, the guy pulling the strings would have had plenty of time to skip town.” “The guy who was left to supervise could have been under orders to kill himself if he was about to be taken into custody,” David surmised. “Or at least trained to stand up to enhanced interrogation long enough for the others to get away.” know “I don’t remember. Cobra, Rattlesnake, stuff like that. Supposed to sound scary, I guess.” “I don’t know. I told you that I don’t remember.” “So, the Northern boys wanted protection for these shipments,” David said. “How many men?” “Usually when a black market shipment comes in there are a lot of containers or crates to take off a ship. But not for these shipments. The man from the North would board the ship alone, and come back minutes later with nothing; not a crate, not a box, nothing. Then he would have the muscle escort him to a location where he would change vehicles, and then he would go his way and they would go theirs.” “How do you know so much?” Violet asked. “Maybe you were involved.” Kenny Kim thought about it. “I know it sounds crazy,” Kenny said. “What can I say? North Koreans are fucking crazy.” If you should hear something new, about another shipment coming in or whatever, I want to know about it immediately,” Violet said. “Yes, I understand.” “Thank for the hospitality,” David told Kenny Kim as he rose from his seat to follow Violet. Outside, away from the noise, David breathed in the cool night air. He checked his watch and found that it was past midnight. “How does all this fit in with Dragon’s Breath?” David asked. “Our assumption is that Violet Dawn was trying to smuggle it out of China, but these black market shipments came from North Korea.” the shipments came from North Korea, which doesn’t mean they didn’t really come from China.” They found the car where they had left it. Captain Rhee had to shoo away some teenagers who were leaning against the vehicle, but they didn’t start a fuss about it. In the car Violet started the engine, then sat for a minute staring out into the night. “What if we can’t stop this?” she asked. June 3 -- 00:03 UTC/8:03 am local time “Of course, General. All documents are secured in one of my filing cabinets, and I always lock my office door behind me.” “You don’t think I need to take such precautions here in the Ministry building, do you?” General Zhang looked around the cramped office; Lu ping imagined that he was wondering why the head of the Recovery Team was working out of such an inauspicious little office. “As you are aware, General, the trail went cold after the incident in Tianjin. No clues of any import were uncovered that could lead us to the current location of Dragon’s Breath. Radiation readings tell us that the weapon was there, and recently, but that is all. None of the criminals survived the raid, so we were not able to interrogate anyone for information. The search of the port yielded nothing, as well.” General Zhang nodded, though Lu Ping couldn’t tell whether he did so because he was pleased with what he had heard, or simply to acknowledge that he understood. “Surely the North Koreans have been informed of what is happening.” “There are a number of possibilities,” General Zhang replied. “It could be that they are simply embarrassed to admit that this group has been able to defy the government for so long without punishment. There are more than a few inflated egos in that government. This could account for why they at times deny their existence. Or perhaps they are scared of the group, and afraid of the consequences of a crackdown.” “It is possible, but not likely. They have informers everywhere, from the cities to the countryside. They must know something. There is another possibility.” Lu Ping said nothing as she considered the implications of this. “Correct. We are in this alone. Which makes your work all the more important, Madame Lu. I’m sure you are aware that there are those who questioned my judgment when I chose you to head the Recovery Team. Those who said that you were untested, unready to be trusted with such an important task.” “I am honored and grateful for your faith, General. I promise that I will not betray it.” “I must be going,” he said. “I have important matters to attend to. As do you, Madame Lu. I hope we can speak again soon, and that the news will be good.” Lu Ping walked behind her desk and sat down. She did have many things to attend to, but she felt that she needed just a few minutes of quiet. She had never considered the possibility that Violet Dawn was being secretly run by the North Korean government. If it was true it would be another major complication in an already complicated situation. It was bad enough that she couldn’t expect any help from the North Koreans, but if they were actively working against the recovery efforts it definitely added a new wrinkle to the situation. June 3 -- 12:45 UTC/9:45 pm local time The street was dark in that way that he should have gotten used to but hadn’t. Another blackout, all too frequent in this country, had extinguished the lights of all the homes and streetlights of the neighborhood he was walking through. He only hoped that the power would be on in the neighborhood that he had called home for the past five weeks. He didn’t need a key since he had left the door unlocked when he left the apartment earlier in the day, so he simply turned the knob and walked in. He reached for the light switch and flipped it up. But there was no light. For a moment he stood still in the darkness, wondering what the hell was wrong with the light, and then he felt something sharp jab his arm and he found himself in a whole new realm of darkness. “Good evening, tongmu,” Cobra said. “I was beginning to think that I would not see you again in this life. I am pleased to have been wrong.” Han Ji-hoon--who until recently had been known simply as Taipan--felt like he couldn’t speak. His lips felt as if they were frozen shut, his tongue felt thick and stupid, his throat felt parched as a desert. He knew that he must speak anyway. “There is no need for lies now, tongmu,” Cobra said. “We are past that. I didn’t come up here from the South to listen to lies and excuses. Don’t you understand? We are not here to find out whynever do anything--to hurt the cause.” “Ka Sung-jin…I don’t recall the name,” Han Ji-hoon said. “Who is he?” “Ka Sung-jin…uh, yes I remember him now. An office worker, I believe. I saw him sometimes at a noodle shop that I used to go to sometimes. I think that was in Pyongyang. Y-yes, I’m certain it was there.” “You never knew that he was a member of the State Security Department?” “Tell me the truth,” Cobra commanded calmly. “We know it all!” Cobra shouted. “You must see that if we know all of this we know it all.” “You will not speak to brother Viper.” “Your friend who sent you here told us what you said to him that day.” “No, no, he is lying. I told him none of that.” “But I don’t.” London, UK Now he was in London, under the protection of some government agency he had never heard of before; he remembered that the acronym was SOIC (which the official-looking man who had informed him of his protected status had pronounced “so-ick”). The morphine was set up to enter his system in a slow, steady drip, but he also had a button he could press to up the dosage when the pain got particularly bad. The doctors had assured him that it was impossible to overdose on the drug, as there were safety features built in to prevent such an accident. “Nothing for you, I’m afraid,” Agent Hassani said to Kwon. “Doc says no coffee for you.” “Yeah; yours is right over there.” “No worries.” “Nothing. Always nothing new.” “Fucking hell, it’s pure black,” Agent Blackburn said. “I hate it like that.” The door pushed open. It was a doctor, not Agent Hassani. The doctor was wearing a matching blue scrub hat and surgical mask. “Shh!” “We want nothing from you, Kwon Hyun-kyoon,” the man answered. “There is nothing that you can give us.” The fake doctor raised the gun; the barrel was barely an inch from Kwon’s head. Kwon closed his eyes and held his breath, waiting, wondering if he would feel it and hoping that he wouldn’t. She stopped in her tracks when she saw the fake doctor and the gun that he held to the patient’s head. The nurse opened her mouth to scream, but there was another pop, and the woman folded to the ground, her scream dying with her. “Hey, what’s going on there?” came a call from behind. doctor--standing where the one hall intersected another. He pulled the pistol out of his pocket and fired twice at the doctor, who caught both rounds in the chest. The fake doctor ran for the stairs then as a woman’s scream rose up behind him. He slammed through the door and barreled down the stairs, passing no one along the way. The fake doctor turned his head and saw a brawly security guard headed right for him. Two pops stopped the guard, but they were his last two rounds; his pistol was now empty. More screams. The fake doctor ran for the exit. A would-be hero stepped in his path and he pistol whipped the man. The Good Samaritan backed away, cupping his gushing nose. The fake doctor made it to and through the exit and continued running. He stepped off the sidewalk, not knowing where he was going, only knowing that he had to get away from the hospital before the police arrived. June 5 -- 11:01 UTC/8:01 pm local time They were headed for a restaurant whose sign identified it as the Diner Americana. When they walked in David saw that the place was packed. “When I’m home I usually just grab something from McDonald’s,” David said. “But this place looks nice.” “Have you eaten here before?” David asked. “You can’t go wrong with a medium rare cheeseburger.” “A burger sounds good,” he said. They chatted for a while, joining a chorus of at least two dozen different conversations. “I’m just curious. I don’t know much about you.” “No, I’m not married.” “Why not?” Violet looked down at her own hands, which were pressed flat on the table. Here fingers were indeed bare of any matrimonial ornamentation. “No, no boyfriend.” “No, no girlfriend,” she said. “I like men, but…work, you know?” They stared at each other for a long moment, neither of them saying a thing. When the food came they dug right in. Neither of them had realized how hungry they were; over the past week meals had been quick and light, food eaten simply to keep their bodies running more than any other reason. David had to admit that the burger was very good, if a bit greasier than he would prefer, and the shake wasn’t so bad either. The fries were the best part, thick and crispy with a bit of skin still attached to them. “What’s so funny?” David asked. “Yes,” Violet answered. “How was this a work dinner?” “What happened when he got caught?” They walked to the car, which again was Violet’s unmarked service vehicle. She drove him home, “home” being a three star hotel that the South Korean government was paying for. David and Violet Rhee said their goodbyes, and he thanked her for the meal. David paused at the lobby entrance and turned back; Violet had already pulled away from the curb and was driving away, headed to wherever “home” was for her. June 6 -- 16:32 UTC/12:32 pm local time Across the table sat Ben Chancer, who looked older than his companion; not quite old enough to be her father, but old enough that people who saw them together would look at them in that way that he hated, that way that said, “What is such a lovely young woman doing with a guy like that?”. The official reason for the blackout had to do with previously unannounced war games being carried out by the People’s Liberation Army. The blogosphere was filled with reports that this was just a cover story. Some blogs that were being run from within China had gone mysteriously dark after casting doubt on the official story. “Yeah. Get the check, honey.” “FBI, get down on the ground!” one G-man barked. Her sunglasses had been knocked loose and Ben could see her wide, terrified eyes. Both Ben and Vera were cuffed, then one at a time they were made to stand and shuffled toward the vehicles. They were put into different SUVs. The FBI agents bundled into the vehicles with them, and they pulled away from the curb. Ben said nothing back. A small smile spread across his lips, and the FBI agent looked away from him. They would get nothing from him. He knew what he had to do; he wondered if Vera would do the same.

Chapter Twenty

“Do you have any idea what this is about?” Agent Norwalk asked David as they filed into the room with Captain Rhee, Commander Choi and a host of other NIS top brass. David had been whiling away another night alone at the hotel, flipping through channels on the TV and looking for anything in English, when he had received a call from Commander Choi telling him that he had to get to NIS headquarters immediately, and that a car would be there shortly to collect both Agent Norwalk and himself. They had met in the lobby, and that was when Agent Norwalk had first asked if David knew what was happening. The car had arrived less than a minute later, and two serious-looking men had driven them to headquarters. “Good evening, everyone,” General Cromwell said. “Greetings from Washington. It’s good to see you again, Commander Choi.” “We understand, and we thank you for your concern, General,” Commander Choi said. .” The photograph disappeared, and once again the General and the others in the States occupied the screen. . The witness gave a statement that he saw Toland speaking with an unknown young woman, further stating that, to the best of his recollection, he had never seen this woman with Mr. Toland before. We deployed a team to Atlanta under FBI cover to conduct our own investigation. Our break came when we pulled footage from the surveillance systems of gas stations and convenience stores within a five mile radius of Mr. Toland’s home. We zeroed in on footage from a security camera at a Mobil station about a mile from Toland’s home. At approximately three minutes past noon on the day of the 28On queue the surveillance footage appeared on the screen. “This is footage at the same gas station approximately thirty minutes after the man and woman departed,” General Cromwell continued. “Now we see the man enter again, alone this time. He purchases a beverage and exits the store.” The footage shows the man lifting his phone to his ear. “The agents who reviewed this footage had a hunch, and they followed it. They sifted through footage from exterior cameras of several businesses nearer to Toland’s home. The camera outside a bank three blocks away from his home shows the same vehicle you just saw pulling into the bank’s parking lot at 12:25.” th “Hello, David.” “What’s so special about this Toland guy, General?” Agent Norwalk spoke up. “You mean the United States has its own Dragon’s Breath?” “We do.” The General paused to take a drink of water before continuing: “No broken bones,” General Cromwell said. “Our methods are much subtler than that. But he did get information. He revealed that the pair who we believe took Toland were a couple, possibly married. He didn’t know their real names, but he gave us the cover identities they were using when he worked with them. We did a search using those names on the off chance that they were still using them. That’s where they slipped up. They were still using the same cover identities of Gerald and Paulina Miller. We traced the “Millers” to an address in Manhattan, and staked out the location overnight. Again we had an FBI cover. Shortly after eleven-clock in the morning they exited the apartment building where they lived and walked to a café a few blocks away to eat lunch. In the interest of civilian safety we waited until they were walking home to move in on them.” General Cromwell looked down at some papers on the table on front of him. “It turns out that they were not married after all, but they were living together. The man’s names was Ben Chancer, aged forty-four. Just as our agents were about to start their interrogation of him Mr. Chancer swallowed a poison capsule that he had hidden on his person. His death was quick and painful. The agents who witnessed his death rushed to the room where Ms. Polk was waiting to be interrogated. They found a similar capsule hidden in the neck lining of her dress. All she would have to have done is duck her head down and bite down to free the capsule, and then swallow it. Apparently this was a security measure that she and Mr. Chancer routinely used in case they were apprehended. Evidently she didn’t have the stomach to go through with it.” “Viper,” David repeated under his breath. Commander Choi shook his head, visibly displeased with this news. “No; that is all for now, Commander.” June 8 -- 05:30 UTC/1:30 pm local time . He had also tried to make himself look like James Dean, but he had been given a face only a mother could love--or so his mother told him--so he had given up the affectations, but kept the name. “Still paranoid as ever, Jimmy,” Lu Ping said. “You should really get out more, Jimmy. There’s a whole wide world out there.” Jimmy Chen was staring back at her, and she looked away from him, pretending that his comment had meant nothing to her. She picked up a folder sitting on a small table and opened the cover, flipping through the first few pages. “I have your report over here,” he said. She took the thick folder, opened the cover and scanned the first page of Jimmy’s report. She riffled through the pages, reading bits and pieces. She closed the folder and slipped it under one arm, satisfied; she would give the report a thorough read-through later and elsewhere. She reached into the inside pocket of her jacket and retrieved an envelope, which she handed to Jimmy. As moments before she had inspected the pages contained within the folder, now Jimmy Chen inspected the contents of the envelope. He opened the envelope, slipped the ends of a different kind of paper out of it and thumbed through the bulk of it, doing a quick count. The envelope contained eight thousand yuan in a mix of denominations, mostly fifties and twenties. This was what Jimmy usually charged for a job like the one he had performed for Lu Ping, but in this case this money was only the second half of what he had asked of her due to the higher level of danger involved. She had accepted the higher cost and had paid him the first half of the payment up front. The money had come from a funds account used to pay low-level informants in the employ of the Ministry of State Security, which her security clearance gave her access to. “You do that.” Kusong, North Korea His days consisted of waking at the crack of dawn, not because he was naturally an early riser, but because that was when the guards would start banging on the steel door of not only his cell, but all of the others. It was the day after he had arrived that he came to realize that he was not the only prisoner being kept at the facility. There were others--other physicists, engineers, manual laborers. They had all been brought there for a reason, and they all had a purpose. The weapons--which their captors referred to as Fireblossoms--were constructed with great care in a large, factory-sized sealed room that had its own air supply. When not at work the prisoners were sent back to their rooms to while away the lonely, quiet hours. The exception was an hour-long period every evening when they were allowed to gather together in a cramped common hall. Greg wasn’t sure why they were allowed this small concession; he thought perhaps their captors fancied themselves merciful. Wong, a Chinese national, sidled up to Greg. “I started smoking when I was fourteen. I’m not picky; I would smoke just about any brand if they would just give it to me. I know they have cigarettes; I can smell it coming in under my door at night when the guards smoke in the halls. I think they may smoke near my door purposely, just to torture me.” The South Koreans finished their conversation as one of them walked away from the other, obviously displeased with the outcome of their talk. On the other side of the room several of the worker bees erupted into a fit of laughter at something one of them had said. Laughter wasn’t something one heard often in this place. “I think I have a rash,” he said. “Can you tell me if my neck looks red?” “It feels like a rash,” Wong insisted, scratching the same spot again. The man had spoken the words quietly, as if he were afraid of being overheard. “What happened to him?” “I overheard one of the guards saying that Viper will be visiting in a few days,” Wong said conspiratorially. Here Wong looked around to see if any of the guards were watching or listening. “What was his name?” Greg asked quietly as two guards rounded up a few of the North Korean worker bees and headed away with them. “His name was Shen Dao,” Wong replied. “But we called him Father Dragon.” June 10 -- 20:12 UTC/3:12 pm local time Khee Jun-yeong took another drink, relishing the pleasant burn as it slid down his throat. The heat was nothing compared to the hatred that burned within him, hatred of the pigs passing him by, so drunk with their money and absolutely certain of their righteousness, flocking to this temple of consumption. He could still remember the feeling of hunger, He finished the last of the liquor, set the empty bag-wrapped bottle down on the bench and stood up. He picked up the duffle bag and slung it over one shoulder. It was a warm Texas afternoon, and he wiped the sweat from his brow with one sleeve, took a deep breath and entered the shopping mall. The interior of the place was noisy, like a hall of echoes. A man bumped past him, but he didn’t mind. A righteous fire burned in the pit of his stomach, and a great power coursed through his veins. He was pure, he was reborn. He was a brother of the Violet Dawn. He was proud. The first scream of the afternoon rose up as a woman in a green dress noticed the man with the gun. Her scream was cut short as Khee Jun-yeong squeezed off two rounds. The woman fell to the ground, silent now. A deep red stain spread across the front of her dress. The world erupted in noise, screams, and shouts. And gunfire. He finished the second clip and started on the third. A man tried to rush him as he changed clips, but Khee was fast, and he dropped the guy while he was still at least five steps away. Khee stepped onto an empty escalator and rode it to the second floor. He looked about for more targets. The rats were hiding, but he would find them. A shot rang out, and Khee heard something whiz past his ear. He spun around and saw a mall security guard crouching on one knee and pointing a pistol at Khee. A second shot caught Khee in the gut; it felt like someone had slammed a hot sledgehammer into his stomach. Khee pulled the trigger of his own weapon, and three bullets knocked the guard to the ground, his pistol clattering away from him. Khee changed back to single shot and fired one more round into the guard before turning and walking on. Voices were shouting at him. He looked to the left and saw two cops leaning around a corner. They were shouting, but it felt like his ears were stuffed with cotton and he couldn’t make out what they were saying. Washington, D.C. “But how can we be certain that this guy was connected with them?” one of the men sitting opposite the General asked. reasonable “Either you’re certain or you’re not.” “Let us review the evidence,” the General said, hoping to appease the congressman. “We have a young man of obvious Asian origin. He appears to have been between the ages of twenty-five and thirty, of medium build. He walked into the Grand Pines Mall in Dallas, Texas, yesterday afternoon, shortly after three o’clock, and opened fire with an H and K MP5 submachine gun. Casualties: twenty-five dead, thirty-two wounded. Five of the wounded are still listed in critical condition. Rep. Varrick nodded his head, apparently convinced of the “reasonable certainty” of the matter. “It’s possible,” General Cromwell answered. “We just don’t know at the moment.” “Do you have an idea about why this guy did what he did?” the DoD rep asked. “This doesn’t exactly have the hallmarks of a sophisticated terror op. This was just sloppy.” “Do you think this media blitz, the push to get the shooter’s picture out there, will lead to any solid tips?” a rep from Homeland Defense asked. they know the guy, but it turns out to be someone else entirely, people looking to get their name in the paper, somebody looking to settle a score by pointing the finger at someone they’ve been quarrelling with, and so on. We can only hope that within the haystack there is in fact a needle, and that we are able to see it for what it is when we come across it.” June 12 -- 00:14 UTC/9:14 am local time They had landed at Incheon International Airport shortly after seven in the morning. David Diehl and Violet Rhee had brought three NIS agents along with them. They were met at the airport by a Captain and four officers from the National Police. From there they had driven to the SWAT assembly point. Incheon’s one SWAT squadron had been supplemented by a second squadron from Seoul, which had arrived earlier, in the dark hours before dawn. There were more than two dozen uniformed National Police officers on standby, ready to swoop in and secure the scene when the operation was over. After the APC pulled out of the new opening it had made in the house, and after its machine gun had fallen silent, the SWAT officers charged into the house. For ten tense minutes David and the others who had stayed back from the battle could only listen as at least a dozen separate firefights took place within the house. The only reports of what the situation inside the house was like came by way of shouted reports over the police radio, but David didn’t understand any of what was being said and no one bothered to translate. “Maybe our best chance will be to question some of the wounded men once they are stable,” she said. “They will probably be given something for their pain, which will hopefully lower their defenses.” “Do you speak English?” he asked the man. “I already did.” “Ask him again,” David said. “Nothing good,” she answered. He moved away from the row of handcuffed men and looked over the wounded men who were being seen to by paramedics. Some of the wounded had already been evacuated, but there were still at least a half dozen laid out on the floor. David knelt next to one of them. The paramedic who was attending the man started to say something, but a sharp word from Captain Rhee cut him off. The paramedic looked first at Violet, and then at another member of the medical team, evidently his superior. This man simply nodded his head, and the paramedic stepped away. David looked down at the wounded man. “I need a latex glove,” David said. The man cursed in Korean; David didn’t need to speak the language to get the gist of what the man was saying. David pressed against the man’s wound again, and blood seeped out from it. The paramedic protested, but David ignored his exhortations. “What did he say?” David asked. “He says that Cobra escaped during the firefight using a secret passage.” “It’s a trap door,” she said. Both he and Violet pulled out there service weapons. Violet called for a group of SWAT team members to follow as she and David climbed down into a low passageway. David, who was in the lead, called for a light, and in moments a flashlight was handed forward to him. He flicked it on and pointed it down the passageway, but the light wasn’t strong enough to reach the far end of it. They started forward, David and Violet Rhee followed by six suited-up SWAT officers. The passage was narrow, so they had to move in single file. “The bastard got away,” David said. “It’s Agent Kim,” she said. “They finished their search of the house. All they found were a cache of guns, and a few knives.” June 12 -- 04:48 UTC/1:48 pm local time Toland nodded, but said nothing. He was trying his best to maintain a calm demeanor, to be unreadable. In truth he felt more nervous than he had ever felt in his life. His stomach felt like it was twisting inside of him, and once already he had had to will himself to not vomit. “Is something wrong?” Wong asked. Three North Korean guards stood at the edges of the room, watching over the lot of them; they cut imposing figures with rifles slung over their shoulders. Greg Toland watched the guards, wondering just how quickly they would react if he made a dash for the door that Viper and Adder has disappeared through earlier, sizing up his chances. He decided that he didn’t like the odds. He figured the guards would probably have a dozen bullets in him before he reached the door. The door opened and both Viper and Adder appeared. They were both smiling as they chatted in Korean. Toland watched as they came nearer, his body tense. The two men walked right up to him. Adder appeared to be thinking about it. “You should feel honored,” Viper said, more serious now. “You are serving in a great cause.” Viper and Adder both stopped and turned to look at Toland; Viper’s eyebrows were raised in curiosity. Viper’s brow furrowed in confusion. Toland could see that he didn’t understand the vernacular. “The birds.” Viper nodded his head. Viper seemed to think about whether or not he wanted to answer the question. “Then you’re the man I need to talk to,” he said. “In private.” “No; I won’t talk out here,” Toland said. “Wait,” Viper said. “You want to talk, Mr. Toland? Fine. We will talk in private. But if I decide that whatever you have to say is a waste of my time I will have you beaten severely. Do you understand?” “I do.” “This is ridiculous,” Adder said. “Keep working,” he said. “I won’t be long.” After the three men walked through the door, as they entered a hallway, Adder took up a position beside Toland, throwing curious glances at him as they walked. Toland thought the man was worried, concerned that something might have gone wrong with the project on his watch. Toland hoped the man was scared; let him swim in fear for a while. “You see, the thing is…” Toland began. Neither Viper nor Adder said anything. Toland could see that Viper was clenching his teeth in anger. “We’re all going to die,” Toland said. “Every single one of us will die one day. Some of us will just die sooner.” Viper looked from Toland to Adder, not sure what was happening. Adder drew his weapon, raised it and fired three times. The first round was a bit off, and missed Toland. The next two rounds hit Toland in the chest; one tore through his left lung, exited, and tore through the right one as well. The second one pierced his heart. But it was too late, and with his last act in this world Greg Toland brought his hand down, throwing the metal capsule that he held in his hand to the floor. The capsule was comprised of two segments fitted together. When it hit the floor it came apart, releasing a small cloud of fine white powder. Adder looked at the broken capsule, and at the powder now settling on the carpet. “He just killed us,” he said.

Chapter Twenty-Seven

When Agent Sarah Marquez drove up to the scene it was hard to believe that a group of terrorists had set up base there. It was a small, nice-looking house on a shady, nice-looking street in East Dallas. Those neighbors not awakened by the noise of the raid just after dawn had soon thereafter been awakened by the knocking of police and NTRA agents on their doors. “Agent Marquez, I’m Agent Bell. I was in tactical command of the raid here.” “Show me to it.” “I thought they didn’t have basements in Texas,” Agent Marquez said. “Something about a high water table and shifty clay.” “The levels are extremely low,” Agent Bell said when he saw the look on Agent Marquez’s face when she saw the man with the wand. “There’s no danger.” “The trunk hasn’t been moved?” Agent Marquez said. “I could open the lid for a moment.” “Nope. We thought it better to wait until we get this trunk to a safe, secure facility before we open the box. The report said that there were two surviving suspects?” she asked. “I have agents at the hospital ready to step in when the doctors give them the okay.” “Sir, the transport is here,” the agent said. The man stepped outside again. “After you, Agent Marquez,” he said. After the men in the spacesuits--as Agent Marques thought of them--had been inside the house for over a half hour, she wondered just what in the hell was taking them so long. She understood the need for caution, but she was eager to get the device somewhere safe, where it could be analyzed. June 13 -- 05:22 UTC/1:22 pm local time “How high should our hopes be that they will really do all that they can?” Lu Ping asked. Colonel Guo didn’t answer her. He looked around at some of the others gathered around the table before looking back at Lu Ping. Colonel Guo thought for a moment. “All right, then,” she said. “Thank you for your report, Colonel.” “I apologize,” she said. “I’m just a little tired. I guess all of us have been working hard; I’m sure I’m not the only one who hasn’t been getting a full night’s sleep lately.” She listened as the man filled the group in on the thoughts and concerns of the MOD. The mee________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________ting broke up a half hour later, after everyone had gotten a turn to speak and to ask questions. As the people gathered around the table got to their feet and shook hands, or passed a little idle chatter for a few minutes before clearing the room, Lu Ping kept an eye on one particular member of the group. Even when Lieutenant Li, the newest member of the Recovery Team, came over to have a few words with her, Lu Ping surreptitiously kept one eye on the man. June 15 -- 00:07 UTC/9:07 am local time superpower, but He believed it even as he accepted that he was dying. The wound in his leg was bleeding much too fast for him to have any hope of staunching the flow. All he could do was hold a wadded up piece of shirt, which he had torn off a dead body, to the wound as he shouted orders to his men. He tried to stand, but his left leg--his wounded leg--hurt too much, and he sank back to the floor, trying to stay as low as possible to avoid gunfire. There was an explosion outside, and too late he covered his ears against the noise. A high-pitched ringing blotted out all noise momentarily, and when the sounds of battle (and of his own quick breathing) returned, they sounded muted, like the noise from a TV in another room. Sandsnake lifted himself up so that he could peer over the windowsill. Below he could see men in fatigues scurrying around like rats. Rats in army fatigues--that’s what they were. A bullet ricocheted off the wall just to the right of his head, and he ducked down for cover. He could hear the soldiers, those rats, yelling back and forth to one another, coordinating their attack. They were traitors to their people, every last one of them. He hoped that when Violet Dawn completed its revolution each of the traitors was found out and punished. He checked his pistol, making sure there were still plenty of rounds in the clip. There was gunfire downstairs, followed by screams of pain. Sandsnake had no idea which side was doing the screaming. He supposed that it made little difference. He waited. He was getting tired, had to fight to keep his eyes open. If he could just get a little sleep, he knew that he would feel better. No time for sleep now, though. Then all he could see was darkness. June 16 -- 11:11 UTC/6:11 am local time That was when the decision was made to move her to Fort Hood, where she could receive a more thorough interrogation. It had been a two and a half hour drive, the ambulance escorted by four vehicles, two carrying NTRA agents and two carrying soldiers who were dressed in civilian clothing but were armed to the teeth, ready to counter any attack on the convoy. “Ms. Mihn,” Agent Marquez spoke. “Can you hear me?” Again Mr. Tong translated, and again there was no response from Mihn Ji-hyun. Agent Marquez let out a quiet sigh. “Once we are satisfied that you have told us all that you know, we will let the doctor give you something for the pain,” Agent Marquez said. Mihn Ji-hyun opened her eyes and looked at Agent Marquez for a moment, and then closed her eyes again, having said nothing. “What are the names of your superiors within the organization?” After Mr. Tong had translated, and after Agent Marquez saw that Mihn Ji-hyun was content to remain silent, she looked toward where Agent Mulroney stood near the rolling table and gave a slight nod of her head. Agent Mulroney put on a pair of latex surgical gloves, extracted a small packet from the case and tore off one end. He slipped an alcohol pad out of the torn packet and wiped down a spot on Mihn Ji-hoon’s arm near the inside crease of the elbow. He moved back to the table, tossed the used alcohol pad aside, and took a small glass vial out of the case; it was filled with a cloudy liquid. He set the vial down on the table, took one of the needles out of the case and slipped off the plastic cap. With the needle in one hand, he picked up the vial in the other, inserting the needle through the rubber stopper at the top end of the vial and drawing a small amount of the milky fluid into the syringe. He extracted the needle and set the vial back down on the table. When Mr. Tong failed to translate Agent Marquez looked at him. “What is she saying?” Agent Marquez asked. Mr. Tong told the woman, raising his voice to be heard over her groaning. The woman responded to him. To Agent Marquez, it sounded like she was struggling to keep from screaming. He translated, and Mihn Ji-hyun responded, sounding like she was on the edge of hysteria. Agent Mulroney repeated the procedure, only this time he used a vial filled with a clear liquid. He cleaned a patch of the woman’s skin near where he had made the first injection, and gave her a second one. Within fifteen seconds the moans and groans subsided, and Mihn Ji-hyun laid her head back on the bed and closed her eyes. A tear spilled from one eye, tracing a path down one flushed cheek. “She asks that you come closer,” Mr. Tong said. “She says that she is too tired to raise her voice.” “Why didn’t you let us know that you spoke English before now?” Agent Marquez asked. “Ms. Mihn,” Agent Marquez spoke. “Tell us where we can find other Violet Dawn cells here in the United States. We know that the one you belonged to isn’t the only one.” Agent Marquez went back to her chair. Seoul, South Korea He was speaking to Captain Violet Rhee, who sat across from him at her desk. They had met up in the cafeteria to share a light breakfast, and now David sat watching as she read over a report that had been left on her desk overnight. The report was printed in Korean, so he had no idea what it said. “I’m afraid not. They either know nothing or are pretending not to know.” “Perhaps they really don’t know anything. Seems to me like they’re just muscle.” “David.” “We have a call from Washington. It’s urgent.” “Do you mean that not even Commander Junseo will be allowed to sit in,” Violet asked incredulously. “All I know I sthat a message came in for the two of us to haul ass to a secure phone and wait for an incoming call.” Violet Rhee looked as if she wished to protest further, but under the stern gaze of her commander she remained silent. Commander Junseo led the way and Agent Norwalk followed. David hung back for a moment. He turned back to Violet; she did not attempt to hide her displeasure at being left out. “I’ll fill you in if I can,” he said. “The phone’s speaker has been turned on so that you both can speak with the General. If you gentleman should need anything, let me know,” Commander Junseo said. David and Agent Norwalk entered the room, and Commander Junseo closed the door after them. The two agents took a seat at the table, and Agent Norwalk cleared his throat. “Yes. Agent Diehl is sitting right beside me.” “Are the two of you alone?” General Cromwell asked. The General continued, without waiting for either of the listeners to confirm his order; there was no question that they would obey his orders. “Fireblossom is the end result of a project started by Violet Dawn. We believe that over a period of at least four years they have kidnapped scientists from several different countries and smuggled them into North Korea. They used the technological advances brought about by China’s Project Dragonfire to build a similar weapon. Unlike Dragon’s Breath, of which there was only one built, Violet Dawn has manufactured several Fireblossom weapons, possibly more than a dozen. We got our hands on one of the Fireblossom weapons that were in the possession of a VD terrorist cell based out of Texas.” David and Agent Norwalk looked at each other for a second, apprehension etched on both of their faces. “If one of these bombs was set off in the middle of a heavily populated city…” David began; he was unable to finish the thought. “But the people living in that city would be dead,” David finished. “But why would they want to leave the infrastructure intact?” “That’s the theory we are currently operating under,” General Cromwell said. “This especially makes sense if you consider that possibility that American targets, as well as possible targets in Europe and elsewhere in the world, are only secondary targets. The primary targets--and keep in mind that this is still a theory, albeit one we place great stock in it--most likely lie within South Korea. And why would Violet Dawn place great importance on leaving the infrastructure of South Korea’s cities intact?” “And they don’t want to take over a blasted country,” Agent Norwalk added. immediately, and will hopefully be touching down here in DC no later than eight o’clock Eastern. A vehicle will be waiting to bring you to NTRA HQ. Good luck, gentleman.” Violet Rhee was understandably curious when David told her that he was leaving for the States. She was an intelligence officer herself, though, and understood when he told her that he was under orders not to disclose anything. He did let her know that her people would be teleconferencing with General Cromwell the next day, at which time she would know all there was to know. Someone was knocking at the door to the hotel room, and David heard it through the open bathroom door. He figured it was Agent Norwalk coming to talk about their trip. Agent Norwalk could wait; David didn’t want to get out of the shower just yet. He unlocked the door and pulled it open. It wasn’t Agent Norwalk standing outside his door; it was Violet. They stood staring at each other for a moment. Violet looked him over. He laughed. “No; he doesn’t know that I’m here. I came because I wanted to tell you…I wanted to…” June 18 -- 16:58 UTC/9:58 am local time “There’s a secure satphone up near the cockpit. Cromwell’s on the line and he wants to talk to you.” Agent Norwalk shook his head. “Agent Diehl speaking,” he said. “Fill me in, Hank,” David said, abandoning formalities. “Agent Diehl…David…,” the General trailed off. “We’re diverting your flight because Edwards is too close to L.A.” The words had no effect on David at first; they seemed too absurd to have been spoken, and for a moment he wondered if he was still asleep and dreaming. If so, he wanted to wake up now. despite a lifetime of practice. “I know that must have been hard to hear, David. It happened about eight hours ago; I just got a free moment, and I thought I would tell you myself.” “N-no. No, no family. No friends, as far as I know. But Jesus, Hank, all of those people. How many have been lost?” “It appears so,” General Cromwell said. “But some of them will live?” David asked. “Jesus fucking Christ,” David said below his breath. “Not yet. Right now we think that the cell that set off the Fireblossom in L.A. might have jumped the gun. Intel tells us that the shit has hit the fan in North Korea, and Violet Dawn is feeling the pressure.” There was a pause. “Do you really believe that?” David asked. “What happens after we land at PDX?” “I’m betting that’s a lie. Get something to eat. Okay?” “Same to you, Hank.” June 18 -- 01:10 UTC/9:10 am local time The corridor led to the storage area behind a clothing store; the store had remained closed for the day. The store was owned by a cousin of Jimmy Chen, and Jimmy was the first person Lu Ping saw when she came out of the corridor. With Jimmy there were three men and two women, all of them either standing or sitting on boxes. They turned their inquisitive eyes on Lu Ping as she entered. “Welcome, Madame Lu,” he said. “We’ve been waiting for you.” “I’m glad to see you here, Mister Yeung,” Lu Ping addressed the man who had spoken. “I will explain everything momentarily. Jimmy, has Wu Lei arrived yet?” “I’m right here,” he said. “I will,” Lu Ping said. Wu Lei laughed at this. --was rotten. That’s why I got in touch with Jimmy. I placed great faith in him, and he came through for me.” “You spied on us?” one of the women asked. “Yes. I believe that I have. And after what happened to the city of Los Angeles, the need to take him down is more urgent now than ever. And I need you to help me do it.”

Chapter Thirty-Four

For eight years his name had been Tarantula, and that was how he thought of himself. He watched the building across the street, and waited. He had always been a patient man, and he displayed that patience now; he had been waiting for three hours, sitting on a bench across from the headquarters of the Ministry of State Security, North Korea’s feared secret police force, which shared a name with China’s intelligence ministry. Tarantula was feeling no fear at all. In fact, a sense of calm had settled over him the night before, a welcome end to days of worry and anguish. He worked his tongue in his mouth, feeling the thin wire wrapped around a back molar, reassured by its presence. He closed his eyes and took several deep breaths, then opened his eyes and stared up at the blank windows of the Ministry building, a thousand dead eyes staring back at him. Time slid by and around him, everything seemingly in slow motion--the people walking past, the few cars on the streets, a group of soldiers passing by on some errand he would never know of. Kwoong looked up into his face with a quizzical look, feigning forgetfulness. Mr. Ho from Shanghai didn’t exist; he was merely a code word (one of many) used between members of Violet Dawn and their fellow travelers to identify themselves to one another. The guard went back inside after throwing one last suspicious look at Tarantula. “Please have a seat,” Kwoong offered. “I know. That is why I am here, Mr. Kwoong. We have been very disappointed that our...friends in high places have failed in their duty to us.” “You clearly do not understand the meaning of loyalty, Mr. Kwoong.” “I understand everything,” Tarantula said. “I understand that we were foolish to ever place our trust in pigs like you.” Kwoong picked up the telephone and punched two buttons. A moment later he spoke something quietly into the phone; Tarantula didn’t catch what he said, but then again he wasn’t really listening. “What are you doing?” Kwoong asked with a tone that was closer to annoyance than apprehension. When Kwoong tried to pass by Tarantula he was pushed back. “Unlock this door,” someone called from outside. “Open this door immediately!” commanded the voice from the other side of the office door. “This is your reward, Mr. Kwoong,” Tarantula said. “”“Help!” Kwoong called. He never finished the thought. A tremendous explosion rocked the building to its foundations. Of the four thousand people who were in the building at the time of the explosion, only thirteen would survive.

Chapter Thirty-Five

In the green glow of the night vision goggles, the house looked like just any ordinary home, like a million others in the city. The windows were bright squares of flaring light. The large house was set back on a side street, and the nearest house was at least five hundred yards away and looked as if nobody was currently living there. There was little traffic along that street, which was as good as Lu Ping could have hoped for--isolation, where she and her team could carry out their operation without interference or prying eyes. She lowered the googles from her eyes and handed them to Wu Lei, her second-in-command for the operation. With them was Jimmy Chen, as well as Lin and Song, one of the men and one of the women from the meeting at the clothing store. Yeung and the others from the meeting had moved off two minutes before to sneak around the back of the house, where they would hunker down until the order was given to make entry. Wu shook his head and rolled his eyes. Lu Ping just smiled. “Just remember to stay back until I call for you,” Lu Ping said. “Keep your radio low, but pay attention. If you hear the order to abort, or if things go really wrong, make your way back to the van and wait for three minutes. At that time you leave with anyone who has made it back by then. The second van will still be there for any stragglers.” “Team Two is in position. Over.” “Are you certain the message was sent?” she asked. “All right. Helmets on and weapons check,” she said. She clipped the radio to her belt and started forward in a running crouch. Her team followed, while Jimmy Chen hung back as had been planned. They moved quickly and silently, shadows in the darkness. They crossed a well-kept front yard and stopped on the stone path leading to the front door of the house. They came upon two more guards as they made their way through a series of hallways. Since their weapons were all equipped with silencers, these guards were unaware that shots had been fired, and were caught as unaware as the first guard had been. Echo,” came a voice from behind a door at the far end of the dining room. “Lin, Song and Han,” Lu Ping said. “You three clear the rest of the house.” Lu Ping whipped around, bringing her gun up to meet any threat. Feng and Yeung were wrestling with Li Hong. He had tried to swallow one of the papers from the table, but all he was managing to do so far was to choke on it. Yeung pulled the paper out of the man’s mouth and swatted him on the side of the head. Li Hong held his head, looking at Yeung with a hurt, confused expression on his face, as if he could fathom why he had been struck. Li Hong did not respond. Lu Ping nodded in acknowledgment. She turned her attention to the man sitting across from Li Hong. It was the first time she had gotten a chance to really look at him, and immediately she realized that he looked familiar. “I have never seen you before, Madame,” he said in a low voice. I have no idea who that is,” he answered. The man didn’t respond to the threat; he didn’t even look at Lu Ping when she spoke to him. A flash of anger--no doubt brought on by the all too fresh memory of Wu Lei’s ruined throat--rose inside of Lu Ping, and she pistol-whipped the stubborn man. He screamed and grabbed his head, and when he took his hand away there was blood on it. “The man simply looked back at her defiantly, and she raised her pistol to hit him again, causing him to flinch back. “His name is Hu Qi,” Li Hong repeated. “Does he know that you are here?” he asked in return. Hu Qi laughed. It was a deep, grating sound that seemed to move through his throat reluctantly, as if he was unaccustomed to laughter. “He just laughed again, and it sounded even more unpleasant than the last time. “What did he mean by that?” Lu Ping asked Li Hong. June 23 -- 21:00 UTC/2:00 pm local time The plan crumbled within hours of being implemented, as thousands of vehicles started to pile up at the checkpoints as huge numbers as people attempted to flee the urban centers. It was time for Plan B, and Plan B meant that while everybody crossing the security lines could possibly be stopped and asked for identification, only a small percentage actually were. Security forces--a mixture of local and state police as well as National Guardsmen, the make-up varying from city to city--were to use their own discretion about who to stop and which vehicles to search. An issue quickly arose around racial profiling; security forces were accused of pulling aside people of Asian descent for extra screening. Then orders came down from Washington. Agent Norwalk was to fly south, to an Operational HQ stationed fifty miles outside of San Francisco, while David was to go north, to a similar OHQ near Seattle. The orders didn’t give them any hint as to why they were being sent to these locations, simply that they would be briefed once they had arrived at their respective destinations. “Follow me, sir,” the soldier said as he and David climbed down off the plane. David looked around. He saw a house set back on a small plot of land that seemed like it was in threat of being swallowed by the woods that rose up behind it. “But it’s just a house. I don’t even see any guards around.” The soldier led David to the house’s large dining room, which little resembled any dining room David had ever seen. There were tables set along one wall, with a series of computer monitors stacked on it in a row. Men were bustling about, some in uniform and some in civvies. One man--a burly guy with a thick beard, who reminded David of a lumberjack-- took notice of the newcomers and came over to them. The man stuck out one beefy hand and flashed a brilliant smile; David was surprised to see anyone smiling under the circumstances. “I’m ASAC O’Donnell,” the big man said. “But you can call me Phil. I’m in operational command here. Or rather, I was. Now that’s your job, I guess.” “That’s what I’ve been told.” ASAC O’Donnell checked his watch. “I’m not entirely sure. From what I hear we got a tipoff from the Chinese.” “Yes, but we’re obviously not waiting until the clock runs out to move. The take down operation for the local Violet Dawn cell is set to take place anywhere from twenty-four to forty-eight hours from now. The boys in Washington are setting it up so that all of the cells across the country can be taken down at once.” “That’s above my head.” ASAC Phil O’Donnell led David into another room, where they sat down at a tabled covered with maps and reports. David was scared. What scared him most was the knowledge that he was now personally overseeing an operation to take out a terrorist cell that had a weapon that could wipe out the entire population of Seattle.

Chapter Thirty-Seven

Viper felt cold and hot at the same time. He hadn’t known that was even possible, but now he knew only too well. It hurt to breathe, and every time that he coughed there was blood. The people around him kept glancing at him with concern. He knew that he must look like an awful mess to them. He hadn’t dared look into a mirror in at least a week. He wore a knit cap on his head to cover his bald head; a small consideration for the sensitivities of the others. He smiled at the thought of it. Across the room a young woman--he had forgotten her code name, though he was certain she had told it to him at some time or other--turned toward him and flinched away when she saw his smile. It was probably the missing teeth that put her off. Or the flaking skin. He felt a cough coming on and held it in; he didn’t want to see more blood coming from his body. It was bad enough what he saw whenever he had to use the toilet. The tickle in his chest subsided, and he considered it a small victory. He pulled his jacket around him a little tighter as a chill ran though his body, making him shudder. “No, sir,” the man said as he let the curtain fall back into place. Viper was jerked awake as one of the windows shattered inward as a projectile came sailing through it. There was a moment of shock in which everybody stared dumbly at the metallic canister that rolled across the floor until it came to rest against a wall. Then the canister started expelling a noxious cloud of gas, and pandemonium broke loose. Discipline and order broke down in mere seconds as everybody started to do a thousand different things at once. Some of Viper’s comrades went running for the storeroom for gas masks, while others rushed to get their guns, and still others headed for the closest exit they could find. He continued to crawl as two of his comrades fell to the floor with multiple bullet wounds from the gunfire that continued to pour in from outside. Viper managed to fight the coughing spell and resume his belly crawl. He wound around the two dead men, and then a third. He made it out of the large central room and out into a hallway. Viper climbed the stairs as rapidly as he could, even as his legs wanted to give out, even as every part of his body just wanted to lie down and never get back up again. With each step it felt as if he were wearing lead weights strapped to his ankles, but he fought against that weight, fought against his own failing body even as it betrayed him, as it threatened to betray his plans and his honor. The guard came closer, his gun still raised. The guard came close enough to see Viper’s sickness-ravaged face through the faceplate, recognizing him. The guard lowered his firearm and saluted. Viper waved away the salute. Viper took a moment to breathe. He closed his eyes for a moment, then opened them. He tried again, and this time the light flashed green. He opened the thick door of the safe. There were a series of shelves inside; all of them were empty save for one. A black box, made from steel that was lined with lead, stood alone on that shelf. on the first floor. The woman carrying the box stepped out of the house and walked up to a man who was wearing a bulletproof vest over his dress shirt and tie. The woman took off her gas mask and presented the black box to the man. June 25 -- 13:15 UTC/6:15 am local time A uniformed man with captain’s bars on his cap checked a laptop that was placed on the table before him before looking back up at the television screen. David turned back to the screen. Seattle was spread out below, before and around the choppers, a city that still hadn’t completely wiped the sleep from its eyes, and that faced a danger that was closer than all of those people below could imagine. Even after what had happened to L.A., many Seattleites took comfort in the mistaken belief that they weren’t strategically important enough to be targeted by the terrorists. They didn’t understand the nature of the enemy. David had to beat down a flutter of panic in his gut. Failure now didn’t mean a bad mark on a report, or a demotion in rank; failure meant death for thousands or more. Failure meant a future self-inflicted gunshot to the head after the bender to end all benders. David watched as the choppers slowed their rate of speed as they approached the target. He saw the target appear far below. The target was an apartment building that was only fifty yards from Interstate 5. David picked up a pair of headphones with an attached microphone, and slipped them on his head. “Hold steady for the moment. Over.” The Captain looked down at his laptop and typed something in. After a few seconds he looked back up at David. “Team Leader, this is Operations Command. You are to remain in a holding pattern until further advised. Over.” David kept one eye on the clock hanging on the wall to the right of the television screen. The seconds passed much too slowly for him, each second feeling like at least ten. On the screen the city streets and buildings on the ground sped by as the choppers whirled around in a circle around their target, waiting for the order to drop their men. David took a breath, and then spoke into the microphone: One by one the three choppers of the Operations Team swooped down and hovered over the roof of the apartment building, pausing just long enough for four black-clad soldiers to rappel down onto the roof out of each Black Hawk before the choppers whirled away again. They worked quickly and efficiently, every man knowing his role and exactly where he was supposed to be. “Switch over to Active Coms Channel,” David said. “Watch your three o’clock!” “He’s down. Clear the next room.” “OpCommand, this is Operations Team. We have cleared the apartment. All targets neutralized. We have the Fireblossom. Repeat, we have the Fireblossom. For God and country. Over.” David took off the headphones and set them on the table. He covered his face and started to shake. Captain Reynolds looked at him, visibly uncomfortable. For a moment people thought that David was crying, but as he took his hands away from his face it became apparent that he was laughing with joy.

Chapter Thirty-Nine

This operation was different than the raid on the meeting between Hu Qi and Li Hong. This time Lu Ping wouldn’t just have a small force backing her up, but a whole company of soldiers from the People’s Liberation Army, as well as two dozen agents of the Ministry of State Security. And she had Feng and Yeung with her, the fellow survivors of her little band. In less than an hour--a very long stretch of time in which the survivors of the raid felt they might be raided themselves at any moment--Jimmy had cracked the encryption and found a pot of gold. The pot of gold came in the form of a folder marked She had rushed immediately to the headquarters of the Ministry of State Security. She didn’t need to fret about who to trust any longer. Thanks to Hu Qi’s little insurance policy--which he had probably thought would protect him if he ever fell out of favor with the rest of the conspirators--she now knew who the double agents and traitors were in the Ministry. She also knew about what Viper had thought of as the “day of reckoning”, which Hu Qi referred to in his documents as X-Day. Soon after the North Koreans discovered the factory where the Fireblossom weapons had been made, a dozen That was where Lu Ping was headed now. The helicopter she was a passenger in was one of six, and they were to be met by three truckloads of soldiers who had set out two hours before from their base fifty miles away. The helicopter landed one at a time in an open field and the passengers disembarked quickly. Lu Ping conferred with Colonel Chun, who was in charge of the troops. He assured her that his men were ready to go. Lu Ping and those she had brought with her boarded the trucks and they headed off. Colonel Chun, who stood nearby, nodded. When the time came, it was Lu Ping who gave the order. The raiding party rounded the hill and headed for the cabin. Lu Ping led the way, with Yeung, Feng, and a dozen MSS agents at her side. Behind them was a line of soldiers decked out in fatigues. They moved quickly, but quietly, with weapons drawn. Halfway to the cabin some of the soldiers broke off and started on a course that would take them around to the rear of the cabin, where they would guard against any attempt at escape in that direction. Lu Ping and the rest of the party continued on their original course. Lu Ping inspected herself. The bullet had hit her in the chest, but had been stopped by her vest. She was okay, though she could expect a nasty bruise to form later. She moved to the spot where Zhang had fallen. He was still alive, but bleeding profusely. His breathing was quick and shallow as she stared up into her eyes. She saw pain in those eyes, but no fear. them?” Lu Ping looked at the man who had delivered the news, then back down at Zhang. “Your cause is lost,” Lu Ping said, “You have nothing left to win. Tell me where it is.” “It’s…not…over,” he managed to finish. But she knew the truth of it. Dragon’s Breath wasn’t in the cabin. It was out there somewhere. And someone knew where it was.

Chapter Forty

It was the day when the nation celebrated its independence from an imperial power. There had been a debate among city and town councils across the nation on which would be the appropriate way to celebrate the occasion. Some decided to scale back their normal festivities, but most were opting to go the whole nine yards--carnivals, elaborate fireworks shows, and everything else. The general feeling was that this was the way a nation showed its strength, that people would not change their way of life out of fear or sorrow. The country would move on, as it always has. The thing that was bugging him the most at the moment was the fate of Dragon’s Breath. It had been the theft of that terrible device that had started the whole thing. The Chinese reported that the weapon had been found and destroyed. But they hadn’t allowed any foreign representatives to inspect the device, or to witness its destruction. Perhaps he was just being paranoid, but something about it bothered David, and he couldn’t help being nagged by a doubt about how truthful the Chinese government was being. He noticed a small commotion fifty yards away and he turned to see what was going on. A woman was trying to cross the cordon behind which the general crowd was kept away from the stage. The woman was trying to tell the officers who held her back that she knew someone near the stage, asking them to let her pass. David knew that voice. He jogged over and put himself between the woman and the cops. David flashed his own pass. Some of the crowd nearest them were looking at them now. “Yes; I understand.” “I was starting to miss you,” she said. “I managed to get a hold of Norwalk, and he told me that you would be here today. I asked him not to tell you I would be here; I wanted to surprise you.” “I hope you don’t mind,” she said. David checked his watch. At exactly two o’clock the Cardinal began ringing the bell. The bell was rung in memory of the dead. There were too many dead to ring the bell for each lost soul individually, so each toll would count for a thousand people. With each ringing tone, a thousand lives that had been snuffed out. - Assistant Special Agent in Charge. DARPA - Democratc People's Republic of Korea. The official name of North Korea. Fireblossom - Integrated Automated Fingerprint Identification System. A national automated fingerprint identification system maintained by the FBI. LZMinistry of State Security (MSS)National Threat Reaction Agency (NTRAProject Dragonfire - IATA code for Portland International Airport. ROK - Satellite phone. Threat Assessment and Management Department (TAMD- Korean equivalent of the word "comrade". Violet Dawn (VD) Click to Post

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