#I’m actually not sure if some of that is sarcasm given several people were blinded by my blog colors 😭

[ozzgin]

For you, gorgeous, handsome, breath-taking, glorious soul given the highest form of monster fucker purity. You take my breath away with your grace, your demeanor and stunning personality. Your posts are as alluring to me as a siren's call, your words stringing me along a beauteous vision. The colors you have chosen are simply pulchritudinous for this here blog. I grant you a flower, for being my test subject for different ways of saying beautiful <3 ⸜(｡˃ ᵕ ˂ )⸝❀♡

Y’all…I’ll be on my balcony. Soft sigh.

[frostahesmegabite]

DWC Day 1 - Reunion - Daily Writing Challenge Entry - Mega Goes Home

[ This scene takes place after a two year storyline between the FBC Guild that I’m the GM of and a personal storyline between Megahes and his Fiance, Naturasu. During this time, Megahes was cursed by a Cultist to slowly die from an agonizingly painful hex that was slowly killing him and all hope of its curing/removal was stripped away when this Cultist was killed during the conflicts. Ammaelin came to save Megahes (and acquired some ‘favors’ along the way) by using fractured shards of a Naa'ru to force Megahes into becoming Light Forged in a sense. This process took several years thanks to the manipulation of time via magic and while Mega felt the strain of three-four years of work, for everyone else it was roughly eight to ten weeks before his return. ] The Zeppelin ride to Orgrimmar was agonizingly slow, probably more than any other ride Mega had ever had on one before in his entire life. It was enough to drive him mad and the longer it took in combination with the closer it got to taking him home to Naturasu the worse it became. The goblin fidgeted, tugging at his clothes and making sure all the buttons on his shirt were done properly. His sleeves still crisp and the ironed lined still present. Hell, he even fought with the rolled up sleeves and their buttons that kept them pulled up to his biceps. The wait on returning home was killing him. What was Nat going to say when he walked in the door? This reunion between her and him played in his head a thousand times just today alone, he couldn’t even count the amount of times that he played out similar scenarios while he was away. “Nervousness does not become you Mister Frostbite.” The voice was formal and flat, its source coming from a blinding armor clad Blood Elf that stood several feet higher than himself. Crimson red hair blowing in the breeze thanks to their mode of transportation. Ammaelin, the Blood Knight who was responsible for the absence that proved to be a miraculous, and most likely a very heretical, healing process. If one could butter their bread with his smugness, one’d choke on it just from looking at him. “I’m aware, but that doesn’t make it any less. I been gone for three years now.” He quickly brings up a hand to stop the Elf, they’ve had this conversation several times before already. “And I know, I know. Months for her, for everyone else. Years only for You, Me and the others. But still years for me…” “We did what needed to be done, especially in regards to our agreement. You would have surely died otherwise.” Ammaelin’s head turns if but barely, just enough to cast a glance down upon the golden metal that was imprisoned into Mega’s flesh near his wrists. “You are lucky that you had those shards hidden away. Had any other Paladin known you held those, my brother's curse would have been the least of your concerns. I have no doubt the Church or the Draenei would have come marching on your doorstep…” Megahes’ face contorts as draws upon sarcasm to mock the Elf. “I have no doubt…” Mega blows a massive raspberry in the Paladins direction, which causes him to turn and look back upon the horizon, not giving in to Mega’s provocations. “Look. I know how risky tha thing was and I appreciate what you did and I get that I owe ya. But… all’a that aside. I’m just nervous man. What if…” He just stops and breathes, voice quivering a bit as his eyes begin to moisten, forcing him to stop and look back over the side of the Zeppelin once again. “If she doesn’t approve or she’s moved on due to thinking you dead or not coming back?” “I mean, I could have put that in better words, but yeah.” “I think perhaps you worry too much.” Megahes grumbles and sighs, running his hands up and down his face several times before they slide into his hair, where he just grabs hold of himself and pulls out of frustration only to realize he’d fucked it all up. His head shakes and he sets out to fix his hair as best he can, a nervous tick, to be sure. Mega was about to open his mouth to retort, but the Paladin stopped him by pointing to the horizon. Pandaria’s Jade

Forest. Pillars of tall stone began to rise and fall down into gorgeous forests, rolling hillsides and lily and reed filled rivers. The air was crisp and something about it just filled one's body with a rejuvenating sense of purpose and peace. “We’ll be at your domancile shortly, Mister Frostbite. I suggest you gather your things and we’ll drop you off directly.” If Mega wasn’t nervous before this, he sure as hell is now! His nearly trips… Well, he does actually, right over his own two feet and in a fluster, he looks about for something that wasn’t there before he speedily heads towards the cabins to gather his bag. He’d had this ready hours ago. It wasn’t much, he had no time to prepare for this little ‘retreat’ of his, which he was thankful for now as he threw it over his shoulder. He pauses and looks over at Ammaelin. “For as big of a pain in tha ass ya have been these past couple of years, thank ya. Truly. If it wasn’t for you and them Priests, I wouldn’t be makin’ this trip back.” Ammaelins’ face during this brief statement was a rollercoaster! Disdain and irritation appearing quickly was soon replaced with an oddly peaceful smile by the end of it. “Our time has taught us much, Mister Frostbite, about a great many topics. It has been… enlightening.” His choice of words being an intended pun and irony placed upon Mega. There were no hugs, no great exchanges of physical emotion. The two just look at one another before Mega turns and descends into the bowels of the Zeppelin so he can board the loading platform and get lowered down to his home. Their home. Gold, this was excruciating. The platform lowers slowly, painfully so, at least to him. Each inch makes Mega’s ears pound so hard that he can hear them in his ears and if it got any higher in his throat, he’d choke. “I’m gettin all nervous for nothin’, she probably ain’t even home. Probably in Orgrimmar havin’ some drinks or workin’ at the Knot.” He blows through his lips with enough strength to cause a slight whistle. Stress and worry, all self-induced of course, at how this was going to go. He was happy, no doubt, but worry came natural. The lift jerks as the ground makes contact, nearly sending him sprawling down to the floor of it just for him to look up in utter irritation, sending up a solid middle finger at the crew whether they could see it or not. “Ain’t no wonder these things fall out of tha fuckin sky so much…” He grumbles, straightening himself and clambering off before they end up actually managing to kill him somehow. Once off, the Zeppelin began to hoist the platform once more as it turned to head off towards its next stop. Mega’s red eyes watch it drift off for a moment, offering an overhead wave in case Ammaelin was on deck and looking down upon him. Given time, Mega turns away from it, looking at his pandaren styled home. The smell of the Arboretum orchids wafting through the air hit his senses and caused him to smile and for a moment, peace was welcome until he began to pick up his feet, swearing they are encased in lead the closer to home he became. Much like a scene from one of those cheesy romance books he kept hearing people go on about, he freezes at the door, hand up and ready to knock but nothing comes. No, instead he pats himself down and takes the key out of his shirt pocket and uses that instead. Quietly, creeping open the door slowly as if he expected to walk in and find his place full of cobwebs and everything cold and abandoned. The sight he gets is quite the opposite. Everything was nearly just as he left it. Albeit, more golden now. Naturasu loved her gold and it was a miracle that everything they owned wasn’t gold or khorium at this point in some facet or another. The sight brings a small smile to his face, sucking him into the house where he quietly closes the door behind him, fingers tracing over chairs and couch arms before he lets his pack slide down into the floor where it was quickly abandoned. Quietly, he walks through the house, almost scared to break the silence just to realize that that’s all there’d be

but a sudden clattering coming from the kitchen broke what he hadn’t dared. “Oh gold… what is she remodelling in there now?” It was a good question to ask! Not one that he had malice towards however, as the modifications they’d made thus far were phenomenal. His feet take him into the doorway where Nat can be seen in her usual home attire of thigh-high socks and underwear along with a set of tools, some powered and some not, as she was working on some of their retractable steps that allowed the two of them to cook shoulder to shoulder despite their obvious size differences. And it was this image that made him choke in silence and just stare at her. She was still here and all of his fears, irrational or not, just vanished and all he’s left being able to do is croak out a cough and throat clear. Nat’s voice calls out in irritation as the work clearly wasn’t going as planned. “Just leave tha rollers and frames there on the floor Sugah, thanks.” She must have thought he was someone from the Contingents Engineering or Supply Staff. Had this been any other time, Mega probably would have played into this mistake and taken up the chance to pretend to be said person and elicit some lewd scene, but, no, not today… Well, at least not right -now-. “Sorry, I uhh… must have forgotten them back at tha office. I can go back and get them if ya like.” Mega’s voice quivered in a nervousness that refused to leave his bones that were joining with both excitement and happiness. Naturasu on the other hand, froze entirely just to drop the wrench that was in her hand to the floor. Slowly, she wheeled about, perhaps not sure if she heard the voice correctly or if it was just her senses fucking with her. Whatever her reasoning, the moment her copper colored eyes hit Mega’s own crimson hues, time stood still for them both. No words came, they didn’t need them. Naturasu hit her knees and before she could even get her arms outstretched entirely, Mega was across the room, pinning himself to her and locking his own behind her in an embrace so strong that Titan Steel couldn’t have broken it if it tried. The two remained conjoined and just wept. [ Thank you again for reading my entry to the @daily-writing-challenge ! This is Day One (09/19/2021) and today's words were #Reunion and #Afterlife. I had the choice of using one or both, but decided to run with only Reunion today just in case I decide to pull out some deathly stuff later in the month. ] [ Edit Addition: I apologize if there's some formatting issues. I tried to implant a couple of images to help convey things but Tumblr just wasn't having it, so I had to remove them. I've tried to correct the errors I did find, but I may not have gotten them all. ]

[cozykozume]

Growing Pains

Slow Burn Tendou x f!reader 

Chapter One - Orientation

WC: 1479

OC’s below:

Daiki, Ho-sook, Jules, Sofia - Readers high-school friends

Jazmin - Daichi’s girlfriend

Lysette - Ushijima’s girlfriend

Ayanna - Kuroo's girlfriend

I have tried to keep any identifying information out (body type, skin tone, hair color, etc.) but there may be some instances where it alludes to a curvier y/n.

Thank you so so much to all my beta readers so far, especially @hispipsqueak, @lemonadencran and @anime-nymph

You met Tendou during your freshman year of college. He was one of the freshman team leaders and of course you had been assigned to his group. Granted, compared to a lot of the other team leads, you had gotten one of the fun ones. Tendou constantly had goofy things to say and kept people laughing. But when you looked in his eyes, it wasn’t humor that you saw. There was a depth to them, something darker hidden in those scarlet hues that you couldn't place.

You were fairly quiet during orientation. Since you were surrounded by people you didn't know, you preferred to watch them a bit more before interacting. You found it easier to observe the people around you and adjust yourself to the environment, mixing into the background rather than standing out. This behavior was something that you had brought with you from your high school years. It had nothing to do with not wanting to make friends; rather it was just easier to skate by on the outskirts, no risk but also no reward.

That's not to say you didn’t have friends in school. Throughout elementary and middle school, you were friendly with a number of people, some of them you are even still friendly with today. It wasn’t until you were in high school that you met your now best friends. Actually, the four of them had been friends before meeting you, but Ho-Sook invited you to sit with them at lunch during your 2nd year of school and she kept doing it until you kind of just became part of their group.

Ho-Sook was definitely the friendliest of the group and the one you connected with the most. Daiki and Jules became best friends after going to an all boys middle school, and Sofia lived down the street from Ho-Sook since elementary school so they had always kind of stuck together. Sofia and Jules were both very serious about their studies, both wanting to get into very competitive fields. They met during cram school their first year and that was how their group of friends came to be. Naturally, you always felt a little left out because of their history together but you figured it would get better with time. And it did somewhat, but there was still something missing, or so you thought. It wasn’t like you had a lot to compare it to, so you were truly happy with the friends you had.

Thinking about your friends, how they were doing, and if they were missing you as much as you were missing them took up a lot of your thoughts while orientation dragged on. This was the slower portion where they were going over campus safety and what to do during different situations. You should have been listening, you really should have. But you couldn’t bring yourself to care enough to zone back in and focus on what the overly happy team leader had to say.

“This could be useful information at some point you know,” a hushed voice said from behind. You gasped softly, whipping your head around to be met with two piercing red eyes. A few people around you looked back, their eyes shifting between you sitting in the chair and Tendou crouched close behind you. He smiled at the others, motioning with his hand for them to turn back around. The unhappy look on some of their faces humored you, causing a small smile to paint your face.

“Ahh, so she does smile…” He whispered again along with a small chuckle. You looked at him, attempting to wipe the smile off your face as you rolled your eyes. “So you can smile for me, gasp for me, and even roll your eyes. Yet you haven’t said a single word to me all day. Tsk tsk where are your manners?” He teased, sitting on the ground next to your chair. As he pulled his legs up to set his chin on, you looked down at him.

“And what do you expect me to say to you exactly?” You whispered, another smirk playing at the corners of your lips. Tendou’s eyes zeroed in on your lips as your tongue peeked out to wet them.

“I have a feeling that you don’t operate according to anyone else's expectations…”

This caused you to laugh softly, the people around you once again twisting in their seats to see where the noise was coming from.

Tendou waved his hands at the people who turned around while facing you. “Shhhh, we’re in an orientation you know.” He said just loud enough for you to hear, his voice dripping with sarcasm. You once again rolled your eyes, your arms crossed over your chest as you attempted to zone back out.

But each time you tried to zone back into your intricate daydreams, this head of fiery red hair would pull you from your inner thoughts. He could not sit still for the life of him. If he wasn’t rocking back and forth while listening to the leader at the front talk, he was picking at the dirt on his shoes. And if it wasn’t the dirt on his shoes, then it was the dirt on YOUR shoes.

Any other circumstances, this would annoy you to no end. But for some reason when this redhead did it, it made you smile and want to laugh. “Do you think that you could sit still for five minutes? I’m trying to listen to this very important information being given to me.” You whispered to him, not even attempting to cover the smile that had formed on your face.

Tendou’s eyes lit up as he picked up on the teasing tone of your voice. “Oh yeah? Can you tell me what she’s talking about right now?” He asked, his tone matching yours. You looked forward, trying to remember anything the woman had said within the past ten minutes.

“Well, that’s the point. I haven’t been able to listen because someone has been distracting me. I can’t focus on what she’s saying,” you retorted, biting your bottom lip to keep yourself from laughing at your own outrageous statement.

The glint in his eye caused your stomach to knot up as he licked his lips. “For some reason, something tells me you aren’t a good listener to begin with. You need some...gentle reminders to listen and behave well.”

You opened and closed your mouth several times, trying to come up with a snarky comeback but your mind was completely blank.

The clapping around you caused you to jump, looking around and clapping your hands to keep up the appearance that you knew what was going on. Tendou smiled, standing up as he began clapping as well. You could feel the fire in your cheeks as you stood, grabbing your bag and looking around for the nearest exit.

“Here, I know a quicker way out of here,” Tendou whispered in your ear, grabbing your elbow. In your mind you knew you shouldn’t follow him, but your body clearly did not care about reason or logic. Before you knew it, Tendou was weaving through people, making his way to the front of the room.

You both slipped through a door into a dark hallway that led to a flight of stairs. The only thing you could feel was your heart beating erratically, causing your body to vibrate with excitement and Tendou’s long slender fingers intertwined with yours. After a few more twists and turns, Tendou pushed open a big metal door and your eyes were blinded with sunlight. You looked around as you stepped outside, covering your eyes with the hand that Tendou was not holding hostage. You were in a back parking lot within view of all the other orientation students.

Tendou laughed, walking slowly towards the group as they headed away from you guys. If not for his fingers still locked with yours, you would have stood there just staring. “Where did you think I was going to take you?” He chuckled, “Think I was gonna kidnap ya?” He joked, his eyes staring straight into yours like he was reading your entire soul. As much as you tried to look away from him, you couldn’t seem to break the intense eye contact. Finally you both jumped when you heard a whistle, signaling it was time to break for lunch.

“Did you bring something with you or do you need to go to the café?” Tendou asked, dropping your hand as he twisted his backpack around to the front of his body. He began digging through his bag, pulling out extra clothing and a few empty water bottles.

“Uhh no. I actually packed something to eat for today...I wasn’t sure what kind of food they were going to have in the café.”

Tendou smiled, pulling his lunch out of his bag and looking back at you. “Great. Then we can eat lunch together. I know a great spot.”

[mimzy-writing-online]

I'm incredibly sorry for this ask , but I'd like the opinion of different writers. I have this story I have finished. It's has been re-read, edited, polished. It's technically done. The story is consistent, the pacing is okay. But what I don't like is how the characters are portrayed. They lack life, and I think it may be because during the years I improved my writing, and now I'm sure I'd be able to do better. What would you do? Would you rewrite the story from scratch? Thanks in advance.

First, no worries about asking for advice. That’s legit what I’m here for. And having been in the same position you are now, (twice) I know how impossible it feels.

Off the bat, advice I would recommend: 

Beta Reading: Get some fresh eyes to look at it, ideally someone who 1) reads books in that genre and that age range, and 2) has no obligation to worry about your feelings.

Thoroughly consider why you want to rewrite it: make an actual pros and cons list. It sounds silly, but it helps because you realize what decision you’re arguing for, what your instinct says.

Give yourself a shot at attempting a rewrite. Give yourself a set time limit to try it out. Your current book isn’t going anywhere and publishing takes forever anyway, so what’s another month or another three months?

At the end of this trial run you can ask yourself: Did a rewrite make it better? Do the characters and their world feel more alive? Even if it looks like a mess, given more time to finish and edit, would it look better than the original?

If you find you like the characters better, if you feel like you know them better, then you can consider going through the book and highlighting where they feel out of character compared to your new understanding of the characters

Watch Whispers of the Heart. I mean it! It’s a Studio Ghibli movie, and I swear to god it will inspire you and make this decision a little easier. The whole movie is about developing your creative craft. Its overall analogy is that of a geode. Your craft looks rough and sloppy on the outside, but with time, practice, and love you’ll find the beauty hidden underneath and make it shine. Amazing movie, it will change how you think about writing.

Now, finally, ask yourself: Is this the story I want to debut with? Is this the story I want to begin my writing career with?

This will be when you make your decision.

That’s the most objective advice I can give you. Since you’re asking a lot of writers for their stance, you’ll probably have a few different opinions, but I think running through this troubleshoot method will give you a chance to see for yourself.

My biased opinion?

It comes from my own experience with A Witch’s Memory. 

This is about to be a very long story, fair warning, but it’s my entire thought process over 7-8 years of working on and off with the same project. A big part of the reason why I’m going in depth about the experience is because I keep going back to what you said:

“I think it may be because during the years I improved my writing, and now I'm sure I'd be able to do better. What would you do?”

The same thing happened to be. I started the series when I was much younger, but in the 7.5 years since then I’ve changed a lot as both a person (not adult/not teenager) and as a writer (who’s had several projects since then). I’m gonna walk you through 7.5 years of personal development and how it affected the project.

I joke that A Witch’s Memory has three universes, and those universes are all different rewrites. I first started the series I was seventeen. I finished the rough drafts of three books in the series and got down to full on editing the first book after I graduated high school. Within a year I had a finished novel that wasn’t necessarily polished (not by my standards today) but at the time I was ready to move forward and publish. I sent query letters out to lit agents but didn’t get any bites back. I didn’t get to work at it for long due to health issues, my whole body kind of just crashed so for six months I was too sick to do much of anything, let alone stress myself out over query letters. I started community college the next semester and got more involved in school than in writing.

17 when I started, 18 when I started editing, 19 when I queried and got sick, almost turning 20 when I started college.

I put the book on hold for another year and focused on school. During that time I had a lot of personal development as a person. I got more experience being myself, being an adult who can make decisions for themself.

And I realized that at age 19 I’d developed a lot of insecurities about my book.

In my case, it was the world building. I love my characters, and at their heart they’re still the same, albeit a bit more realistic. I re-examined what about the world building I didn’t like.

It felt too much like Twilight to start, with the way vampires and werewolves were supposed to hate each other, and witches and fairies hated each other, because that just made sense to a 17 year old who had never read paranormal before Twilight changed the direction of the genre.

I didn’t like magic being a secret that no human could know about, so I changed that. I didn’t like my character’s backstories too much, so I tweaked that too. For the best.

At age 20/21 (it was right around my birthday) I rewrote the entire first book. After finishing the rough draft I looked at editing it, looked at starting the rough draft of the second book, and I realized I didn’t like this version either.

So I put it on hold for anther two years. I worked on two different projects, experimented with writing style, got to know myself as a person better.

At 23 I reexamined what I didn’t like about “Universe 2″ and I realized-

I wasn’t comfortable with the way the book was written now. Too many main characters meant to many pov changes and too many personal plot lines to plan. I could see from the beginning how much I favored Anna and Ulric and Felix over my other main characters, so I cut my cast of six main characters down to three, focusing on my favorites. I also saw that the setting wasn’t working for me and it would be a lot less stress for me to chance the setting to somewhere I was more familiar with, setting it mostly in America instead of the U.K.

And I decided to stop worrying about what my past beta readers would think if the book didn’t look the same in “Universe 3″ and to just run with my heart.

(For any wondering, the beta reader in question is my mum, who has been the biggest supporter of my writing since I was 14 and believed I would be published even when I was ready to give up writing and work at a different career. She’s very attached to “Universe 1″ but it’s not where I want to go, and I know she’ll love this new direction when she reads it)

I started the rough draft for Universe 3 in January of 2019 (almost a year ago to the day I’m writing this). I did it on a whim. I had a dream of Anna and Ulric flying to safety from a villain on a broomstick and I asked myself why witches never had broomsticks in my old world, and I was like “why not, let’s add it”

And I just messed with world building. I aimed it for a more whimsical feel than my older angsty versions. I��m gonna blame all the Studio Ghibli movies I saw that year. Some of my local theatres have been doing special weekends where they show the movies, and I’ve gone to see four in the last year or so. I saw Kiki’s Delivery Service a few months earlier with my best friend (A) and then a month after starting the new draft I saw Howls Moving Castle and Spirited Away (same week, I think, all in theatre) and then as I was finishing the rough draft I saw Whispers of the Heart for the first time.

(this was the moment I realized that specific movie would help A LOT on this decision making process, so I included it above)

Anyway, I just gave myself permission to go in a completely different direction with my book.

I should note, that at 23 I had been visually impaired/blind for some 3 years, although it wasn’t medically official until I was 22. I’d also fallen in love for the first time and broken my own heart. I’d also spent the last two years struggling with gender and sexual identity and really starting to understand that part of myself. 

So in general, the whole experience with those last two years of my life really changed the direction I took the book. 

I focused more on internal struggle as well as the outside “main bad guy” I’d always been planning to work with. It 

I kept the heart of my characters the same. Anna is still the kindest person you’ll ever meet, as well as sarcastic and brilliant and studious. Ulric is an anxious mess who is crazy loyal to his friends and who wants to gain his own independence. Felix is still a brat, but a loving one with the dryest sarcasm and a penchant for mischief.

Anna’s more cautious than her original incarnation. Ulric wasn’t disabled in previous versions (but at 23 I was disabled and I wanted to write a blind character, but I didn’t want blindness to be their only trait, so I took my most developed character and made him blind). Some of the characters are POC instead of white, I let myself have multiple LGBTQ characters (because 17 year old me thought the token queer was the norm because I only had one queer friend before that and we weren’t that close) and I changed some origin stories. It’s much better for that.

Growing up taught me how to put more life in my books, how to write more realistically less melodramatically, and what it feels like to have friends. Seventeen year old me didn’t have many friends in life, but 24 year old me has some wonderful friends.

Summary in Short?? (can I even do that?)

This advice post is getting long and I’m feeling bad, so okay, here I am: I’m almost 25 (in March). 17 and 23 year old me were very different people with different priorities and different levels of experience. And if I had to choose which book I would go with? 

I’d stay with Universe 3 (and Universe 1 will just be a thing my mum and I know and keep to ourselves, mostly)

I’m nearly done with the 1st edit. I still have days of self doubt, but they’re nothing like what I had years ago. I’m closer to publishing than I was before, mostly because I have a solid plan now and I’ll be self-publishing, allowing me to publish on my own.

In my case, rewriting was the best decision I could have made. I’m not everyone else though, nor am I you. You know yourself and your story better than anyone, and I know you are the most qualified person to make that decision. I have confidence in your ability.

[lpdwillwrite4coffee]

CHILDREN OF LILITH CHAPTER NINETEEN

Serena was going to kill him. Slowly and painfully. She might not even use her tools to rip out his insides- just her nails, new manicure be damned.

Every time she set out to finish her job, one of Nicholas’ pathetic packs of Newborns was right around the corner already fucking everything up. He was being careless; oblivious to anything other than his own scheming. Typical.

Striding out of the elevator, Serena blew past several human Familiars, none of whom were hers. She’d lost her desire for a pet a while ago, when-

She cut her own thoughts off with a short grunt at the back of her throat.

One of Nicholas’ many secretaries stepped out from behind her desk, moving towards her. “I’m sorry, Mr. Bradley is in with-”

“Does it look like I fucking care?” Serena snarled, fangs jutting against her bottom lip.

Stiletto heels grinding into the carpet, she proceeded to the end of the hall and threw open the door. “What the hell is wrong with you?” She shouted.

Then she noticed the other woman sitting across from Nicholas, sipping from a cup of tea and tossing her dark wavy hair over her shoulder. Her laughter faded at Serena’s entrance, but her warm eyes still danced with the joy from the moment she and Nicholas had been having.

She was beautiful- slender and olive skinned- and she held herself like she was aware and proud of her appearance. Serena immediately hated her.

“Who the hell is this?” Serena asked, motioning to her while glaring at Nicholas.

Leaning back in his seat, Nicholas smirked. “Which question would you like me to answer first? Wait, never mind, I don’t care.” He glanced over at the other woman and winked. “Serena, this is Caroline. She’s a Public Relations adviser for City Hall.”

“How exciting,” Serena deadpanned.

Nicholas continued through her interjection. “She’s also Alexander’s newest acquisition.”

Serena blinked. “What?”

Caroline smiled over the edge of her cup. “You act as if I’m a prize.”

“A woman as beautiful as you is a prize,” Nicholas said, grinning. “One a man like Alexander must have fought very hard to win.”

“He certainly put forth a considerable effort,” Caroline said, finishing her tea. “He even sent over flowers to my office this morning, just because.”

Serena folded her arms over her chest and sneered. “You might want to adjust your definition of ‘considerable effort’.”

Caroline’s lips twitched as she set her cup down on the low side table. “You really weren’t exaggerating, were you Nicholas?”

“And this isn’t even the worst of it,” he said, eyes flicking over to Serena.

Death was too easy for him. Serena was going to split him apart a thousand different ways but leave his heart safely behind his sternum, just so he could suffer in agony for the rest of eternity.

Serena took a step forward, ready to leap over the desk and begin dismembering him, when another voice joined them.

“Caroline?” Alexander stood in the doorway, a thick stack of papers in his hands. “What are you doing here?”

“I came to see you for lunch,” she answered with a knowing smile. “Nicholas found me wandering the halls and offered me a cup of tea while I waited for you to wrap up your meeting.”

“It was the least I could do,” Nicholas said, eyeing Alexander. His expression was polite but there was a cold edge in his gaze that made even Serena nervous.

Her Sire noticed it as well, given the sudden stiffness in his shoulders. “That was kind of you, Nicholas. Thank you.” There was no hint of gratitude in Alexander’s voice. Looking to Caroline, he said, “Have you finished your visit or should I leave you to entertain Nicholas some more?”

“No, we just finished.” Standing, she flashed a brilliant smile at Nicholas and said, “Thank you again. It was lovely to finally meet some of Alexander’s colleagues.”

“The pleasure was all mine,” Nicholas said. “Enjoy your lunch.”

Wrapping a protective arm around Caroline’s waist, Alexander lead her out of the office, but not before staring Nicholas down, irises flashing white.

When the two had disappeared down the corridor, Serena squared her shoulders and faced Nicholas. “What was that about?”

“I was intrigued by the girl,” he said, lounging casually in his chair. “And she smells like honey. I love honey.”

Serena rolled her eyes. “I was talking about the serious round of hate eye-fucking you and Alexander were giving each other. Poor Caroline must have felt left out with all that potent eroticism bouncing over her head.”

Chuckling darkly, Nicholas stood up. “Believe me, I won’t be the one getting fucked in this scenario.”

“What does that mean?”

“Aren’t you tired of following him blindly?” Nicholas asked, walking to his drink cart and reaching for a decanter of scotch.

“I don’t follow anyone blindly,” Serena snapped.

“Sure about that… kitten?”

Her snarling rippled through the air and Nicholas lifted an amused eyebrow.

“Whoops. I forgot only he calls you that.”

“Exactly.” She took a step forward. “So give me a reason not to cut your tongue out.”

“Because I’m looking out for both of us,” Nicholas said, turning with his drink in hand.

Serena frowned. “You’re not questioning anymore, you’ve already decided. You don’t trust him.”

“I don’t trust anyone. Not even myself,” he added with a smirk.

“Does this have anything to do with what you said yesterday?”

Slipping his hand into his pocket, Nicholas leaned back as he took a long pull from his glass. “Things aren’t adding up.”

“Care to explain further?” Serena asked.

“Whether or not it benefits our reputation, don’t you find it a bit reckless of our Sire to allow that girl to continue running through the city, just to be publicly ruined?” Nicholas finished the contents of his glass and turned to pour another. “Do you know what that book called her? ‘The Fire that Overtakes.’”

Serena scowled. “What does that mean?”

“It means she’s a lit cigarette ready to be tossed into a patch of dry grass,” he said. “And Alexander refuses to stamp her out before she causes real damage.”

Unease settled in Serena’s stomach. “What other reason could he have to keep her alive?”

Nicholas’ stare became distant as he absently swirled the liquor in his glass. “I haven’t figured that out yet.”

Agitation curled under his skin, causing him to fidget with the rolled sleeves of his button down. Swallowing his drink in one gulp, he slammed the tumbler down on the cart and started towards the door.

Watching him, Serena called, “If you think he has some kind of hidden agenda, then what purpose does Caroline serve?”

Nicholas paused, looking askance at her. “My guess? In two or three years, she’ll be your replacement.”

Unmoving and blind with dread, Serena stared into the space previously occupied by Nicholas until she couldn’t hear his footsteps any longer.

And then she growled.

* * *

“I don’t like this,” Nikki said, staring at her warped reflection in the stainless steel elevator doors.

Sliding a new magazine into his gun, Griffin cocked it before glancing at her. “What? That we’re crashing your doctor’s office or that we didn’t take the stairs?”

It wasn’t just the Underground’s patterns Nikki was discovering, she was discovering the patterns of the people too. And with Griffin, his use of sarcasm was directly proportionate to how tense he was.

Well fine, if he was going to be that way...

“Actually I was talking about how much I don’t like the carpet they put in,” she said, motioning to the floor. “Too much paisley, don’t you think?”

Griffin huffed out a laugh and she narrowed her eyes on the distracting tug at the corner of his mouth.

“I meant this.” She said. “All of this. Going in there, armed to the teeth-”

“I only brought my guns and four knives. I hardly see how that’s ‘armed to the teeth’.”

“He’s a fifty-something neurologist from New Hampshire.”

“Who’s also a Vampire’s Familiar,” Griffin added, lifting an eyebrow at her.

“He’s human.”

“Humans are dangerous too.”

Nikki’s stare was drawn down to the visible edge of his holster strap, like it was emphasizing his point for him.

“Let’s just try not to scare the guy too much okay? It might give him a heart attack.” She turned away with a sigh.

“Fifty’s kinda young for a heart attack,” Griffin muttered, glancing at the LED screen above the door.

Making an aggravated noise at the back of her throat, she started to retort back when she saw his smug grin and the fine wrinkles at the corner of his eye, and lost her words.

That bastard.

Nikki groaned and rolled her eyes, facing forward again. She would not smile back. She would not indulge his impish behavior.

Except that was definitely a grin she saw in her reflection.

Damn it.

The elevator doors separated with a ding and the warm, flirtatious tendrils surrounding them evaporated as they both remembered why they were there to begin with.

“Which way?” Griffin asked, stepping into the lobby.

“Left,” she said, following at his side.

A nurse at reception saw them both and nodded in greeting. “Hi there, how may I-?”

Griffin didn’t break his stride as he spoke. “Doctor Oliver. Where is he?”

“He’s with a patient right now.”

“Where?”

Panic widened the woman’s eyes as she reached for the desk phone. “Sir, you’ll have to wait-”

“Fine, we’ll find him ourselves,” Griffin said as they passed her.

Moving down the corridor, they both started pushing open exam room doors, ignoring the shouts from the nurses behind them. At the end of the hall at the left Nikki spotted the room she was most familiar with- Doctor Oliver’s private office. He had brought her in there after their first appointment to discuss her eligibility for the medical trial he was conducting. At the time the room had felt comforting, but now it reminded her of a steel trap. Jogging ahead, she threw open the door and rushed inside.

Doctor Oliver sat across from a young woman no older than Nikki, with a thin medical file in his hands and wire rimmed bifocals pushed to the tip of his nose. The woman gasped, glancing between Nikki and Griffin and then back at the doctor.

“Miss Anderson,” Doctor Oliver said with wry smile. “I’m sorry, but as you can see I’m with a patient, so if you’ll just wait-”

“Sorry doctor, but I’m not exactly in an accommodating mood,” she cut him off. Looking to the other woman, Nikki jerked her head towards the door. “You should leave.” When she didn’t move Nikki added, “Trust me. You don’t want this guy anywhere near your brain.”

At that, the woman gathered her purse and hurried past them, knocking into the nurse that was entering.

“I’m so sorry doctor, I told them to wait. I’ll call security-”

“No Linda, that’s alright,” Doctor Oliver said, removing his glasses and standing up. “I have business to discuss with Miss Anderson. Shut the door, will you?”

Confusion furrowed the nurse’s brow, but after a moment she did as she was asked and left the three alone in his office.

“So I take it you were expecting us?” Nikki asked.

“Somewhat,” Doctor Oliver said, edging around his desk. “I anticipated some sort of confrontation, but I hadn’t thought you’d bring your own attack dog.” He motioned towards Griffin, who only smirked menacingly.

Nikki leveled her stare on the man. “Well when you find out your physician is working with a Vampire, it’s a good idea to bring backup.”

Doctor Oliver regarded her with interest. “So, you’ve been made aware of the Underground.”

“I’ve been made aware of a lot of things,” she said, stepping forward. “Like how you’ve been peddling a drug made by Nicholas Bradley’s company while simultaneously being Alexander Rex’s bitch. Both of whom are Vampires, and one an Alpha.”

“Only one?” Doctor Oliver quirked an eyebrow at her, unfazed by her accusations. “Hmm. You might want to reconsider your source.”

Nikki’s throat went dry as she stared back at the man. “Both Bradley and Rex are Alphas?”

“That’s not possible,” Griffin said. “Each territory only has one Alpha.”

Doctor Oliver lifted his dark eyes to Griffin’s. “According to the old Codes. But those aren’t in existence anymore.”

“Says who?”

To Nikki, the gentle doctor had always had an air of benevolence surrounding him, making it even easier to trust him with her health and well-being. But in that moment, as a slow grin cracked his aging face apart, she saw the twisted malignancy hiding under his surface all this time.

“My Master, of course,” Doctor Oliver said, looking back to Nikki.

“You mean Rex.”

Licking his lips, Doctor Oliver said, “Your corpse will be the foundation of his empire.”

“Why?” Nikki snapped. “Why does he give a damn about me?”

The old man studied her a moment. “You already know.”

“Because I’m a Hunter? That’s why he poisoned me?”

“Poison?” Doctor Oliver frowned. “You weren’t poisoned. You were tested.”

Fear settled under Nikki’s skin like frostbite. “Tested for what?”

“To see if you were from the right bloodline.”

Griffin moved forward, crowding into the man’s space. “How about you start giving us the full story, before I really get impatient.”

“We had to be certain you were who my Master believed you to be,” Doctor Oliver started, looking at Nikki. “The rarest breed of Blooded Hunter… A Luminari.”

“A what?”

“The fire that overtakes,” Doctor Oliver continued. “Your kind present a very difficult obstacle if not dealt with immediately. Which is why we needed to find you as quickly as possible.”

She scowled at him. “By giving me fake migraine medicine?”

“’Fake’ isn’t exactly an accurate descriptor,” he said. “More like amplified.”

Griffin glared down at the doctor. “Meaning?”

“The pills Nikki took were about a hundred times the strength of a normal dose of Vicodin,” Doctor Oliver explained. “For the hundreds of others that took them, it was strong enough to kill them. But for Nikki, it was like taking a fast acting aspirin.”

Nikki’s face distorted in horror. “You murdered hundreds of people, just to see if they were a Hunter- a Luminari, like me?”

“We did it in search of you,” he clarified. “And we’ve been looking for a very long time.”

“But why?” She shouted, rushing forward. “What does being a Luminari have to do with your boss or his fucking empire?”

In a burst of manic energy, the doctor came at her, thrusting her against the wall and sending several framed pictures clattering to the floor. “Because you’re the only one that would be able to stop him and any other Vampires that got in your way! So we had to stop you first! We had to snuff you out before your fire engulfed us all!”

The tip of a silver blade appeared at the doctor’s neck and Nikki’s stare flashed up to see Griffin’s fist tightening around the handle.

Voice low and lethal, Griffin said, “How about you take a step back, before I snuff you out.”

Releasing Nikki, the doctor moved away with several halting paces, keeping his hands up in surrender.

“You don’t understand,” he said as he backed up against his desk. “I did what I had to.”

“You purposefully killed hundreds, maybe thousands, of people because your Master told you to,” Griffin said with disgust. “You’re nothing but a well-trained sheep.”

“It’s better to be a shepherd’s livestock than a wild beast caught in his snare,” Doctor Oliver replied, eerily calm.

“The only beast I see is you,” Griffin bit out. Turning, he went to Nikki and wrapped his hand around her arm. “C’mon,” he murmured, trying to lead her to the door. “He’s not gonna give us anything on Rex.”

“Wait,” she said, pulling away briefly and facing the doctor. “So who really wants me dead? Bradley or Rex?”

Doctor Oliver was quiet for a beat before he said, “Every Vampire in this city wants to watch you be drawn and quartered so they can suck the marrow from your bones.”

Nausea washed through her as she gaped. “Go to hell,” she spat.

“He’ll ruin you, like he’s ruined others,” he continued. “He’ll never stop. There’s no hope for you Nikki. You’ll burn, by his hand or yours, it doesn’t matter- You’ll turn to ash no matter what.”

“Enough,” Griffin shouted, wrenching open the door. As he did a scream echoed down the hall, only to be cut off by a wet tearing noise.

“Come out, come out, wherever you are,” a female voice called out, taunting them.

Griffin and Nikki both stepped out of the office, staring down the long corridor. Blocking the main exit was a pack of ten- no make that twelve- Vampires, with the same black haired female from earlier at the head of the group. She held Linda’s lifeless body by the front of her pink scrubs, blood still gushing from her ravaged throat. Dropping the nurse, the female prowled forward, licking her fingers clean.

“So it is you,” she said, eyeing Griffin with a fanged smile. “Griffin O’Connor. We all thought you were dead. It was in the papers and everything.”

“Is this the part where I tell you not to believe everything you read?” He said, a mocking edge creeping into his words.

The female ignored him and flicked her blanched eyes to Nikki, adding, “And there’s your girlfriend. The Hunter bitch everyone’s been talking about.”

“Careful.” Nikki warned. “Bitches in glass houses shouldn’t throw stones.”

“Cute.” The female smirked. “But you should probably start running now.”

As she spoke the Vampires behind her crouched down, readying themselves to launch forward at a deadly sprint. With a lion’s growl, the female snapped her jaws, and in a blur of motion the whole pack funneled down the hall towards them.

Gripping her hand tight, Griffin started running and pulled Nikki with him, through the side corridor and to the right. A red exit sign caught his attention and he aimed their trajectory, barreling past the metal door and down several flights of stairs.

“Griffin, something’s wrong,” Nikki gasped behind him.

“What?”

“I can’t… I’m trying to run faster, like I did before but-”

“Shh, it’s okay,” he cut her off, afraid of any inhuman ears catching on. “C’mon.” He slowed at the eighth floor entrance and led her into the hallway.

The entire floor was under construction, probably Rex’s doing after he bought the building, with the overpowering smell of fresh paint and drywall clinging inside Griffin’s throat. Tarps were thrown over new furniture and cubicles and equipment had been left out near unfinished projects. Griffin scanned the area but from what he could see, the floor was empty of workers.

The room was quiet. The dogs, however, were howling at the encroaching Newborns. They had broken up their stampede and taken to the ceiling, stalking closer.

Brittle tile crumbled under a hard footfall and a heavily muscled male leapt down, hissing through elongated fangs. Two more followed suit, landing in lithe crouches behind the first.

Griffin’s gun was in his hand before he blinked. Three bullets found their marks and each body thudded to the concrete floor, dust swirling out from where they fell.

Wrapping his hand around Nikki’s, he quickened to a sprint, hauling her with him. She had been right- Nikki’s speed wasn’t a fraction of what it had been the day before or even that morning. Her limbs faltered and she stumbled several times, only staying upright because he caught her.

“Griffin,” she panted with fear behind her eyes.

“It’s alright, I’ve got you,” he told her as they jogged down another flight of stairs.

Zigzagging their path would hopefully slow down the ones following them, and fade their scent trail enough to confuse the others that had split off from the pack.

Hopefully.

They bolted into another empty floor of half completed offices under construction and he made sure they got close enough to the cans of paint and primer to mask their smell.

“Oh no,” Nikki whispered, fingernails pinching into the back of his hand as she squeezed him tight.

“What?” He slowed momentarily, staring down at her.

At first he didn’t understand where the red drops on the concrete came from. The office walls were obviously being painted a dull white, so there would be no need for scarlet paint…

And then he saw Nikki’s other hand. Her fingers were smudged with an even deeper shade of red, the kind that twisted a huge knot in his stomach. It was the same color he’d been helpless to watch pool around his own abdomen, as he bled out on the floor of a burning night club.

Cursing under his breath, he pulled her to a halt and snagged a relatively clean rag off a work bench nearby.

“Here,” he said, pressing it under her nose.

“I’m okay,” she whispered. “It only just started.” She looked around at the floor and rushed to a collection of painting materials. Popping the lid off a can of paint thinner, she dumped it over, covering the thin trail of blood she’d left behind.

“Okay, let’s go,” she said, taking Griffin’s hand again as she started to run.

“Nik-” He planted his feet, the soles of his boots squeaking on the slick floor. “You have to go.”

Wiping away the last smear of blood from her nose, Nikki stared up at him. “Yeah, I know we need to go, c’mon.”

Griffin’s hand, the one still firmly locked in her grasp, started to tremble. Painful realization clutched his insides, constricting until he couldn’t breathe.

He shook his head, swallowing hard. “Not us. You.”

A frown etched deeply between her brows. “What?”

“You have to run,” he said, pulling free of her and digging into his pocket.

“Griffin? What are you-?”

“Here.” He pressed keys into her palm and folded her fingers over them. “Take the van and drive as fast as you can back to the house.”

Nikki blinked. “No.”

“I’ll find my own way back.”

“No, Griffin.” She stared up at him, bright eyes wide with disbelief.

“I’ve gotta give you a fighting chance,” he said, leaning in and locking his gaze on hers. “I can hold them off long enough for you to make it outside, but you have to hurry.”

“No.” She shook her head, trying to hand him back his keys. “Griffin, I’m not leaving you.”

“I’ll be fine.” It was a lie.

Blue irises flashed gold as she grabbed his arm. “No,” she shouted.

Cupping his hand around the back of her head, tangling his fingers in her hair, he held her so their faces were inches apart. His voice dropped to a firm whisper. “Listen to me. Nikki, I have to keep you safe. That’s all that matters now.”

“What are you talking about?”

“You heard what Doctor Oliver said. You’re important- more important than we ever thought.” Griffin’s throat tightened, straining his words. “I have to keep you alive. You have to come out on the other side of this Nikki, and this is how.”

Angry tears stung her eyes. He wasn’t giving orders for an escape plot. He was trying to say goodbye.

“No, Griffin.” She fought to shake her head again, but his grip was too strong. “There’s too many of them. I’m not just gonna abandon you here.”

He paused, only for the span of two heart beats, memorizing the details of her face…The brilliant color of her Hunter eyes.

Then the dogs started to snarl a warning.

“Yes you are.”

It was a stunning flurry of movement Nikki couldn’t process.

His hold on her still firm, Griffin swept her towards the door and shoved her through, releasing her into the stairwell. He slammed the door in a deafening clang and twisted the dead bolt, locking her out.

Nikki’s horrified gasp echoed off the cinderblock walls around her. Breaking out of her shocked stillness, she leapt at the door, pulling violently at the handle but to no avail.

Bruised fingertips slid down the gray metal. “No,” she breathed, staring at the thin sliver of light at the frame.

“Run, Nikki,” Griffin shouted through the door.

Jagged keys bit into the flesh of her palm. Shoes dragged in uneven steps, backing her away from the door.

A fist pounded against the steel, and Griffin bellowed, “Run!”

Demonic growling filled the air around her and Nikki did as Griffin told her.

She left him behind.

* * *

There were few moments when Amsterdam wished the modern world was aware of the existence of Vampires, but he found himself having that desire now. It would mean they would have invented a phone casing capable of being chucked across the room and not obliterated by his inhuman strength. Unfortunately, cell phones were too much of a pain to replace every other day, so his stayed intact in his grasp.

There was a tiny new crack in the screen though. Perhaps he wasn’t as good at controlling himself as he thought.

Tapping the keypad as gently as he could, he redialed Griffin’s number for the fourth time and waited for the inevitable.

“You’ve reached Griffin O’Connor. I’m unable to come to the phone right now, so please leave a message and I’ll get back-”

John ended the call and exhaled through his nose, jaw clenching.

This wasn’t the kind of news to be left on an automated voicemail service, and it was certainly too urgent to wait much longer. He dialed again.

“For God’s sake,” he growled, swiping his thumb over the end call button.

As a last stitch effort, he scrolled through his contact list, scanning the names. He was almost certain Griffin had given him the number in case of an emergency…

Double tapping the icon, he pressed the phone to his ear and waited.

“You’ve released Boz the computer genie, what are your three wishes?”

“Ah…” John drew his brows down in confusion. “Boz Cavaletti?”

“Speaking.”

“This is John Amsterdam.”

“Oh, yeah, hey John! How’s it going man?” He crunched down on a mouthful of what sounded like popcorn and smacked his lips. John struggled not to be horrified by his manners.

“I was trying to get in touch with Griffin,” John said, pacing in front of his windows.

“Oh, sorry I’m not with him. I’m out dealing with something in Queens,” Boz said. There was a moment of tense silence before he continued. “Wait, is Griff not answering his phone?”

“I’ve called several times, but I only got his voicemail. Is he with Lisa?”

John could hear the creak of a desk chair and fingers typing over a keyboard. “No, she’s out on patrol.”

“And Nikki?” John glanced over the nearby rooftops at the small collection of rainclouds in the distance.

“She’s still with Griffin,” Boz answered, still typing.

A pit of cement took form in John’s stomach. “Oh.”

“Do me a favor and put me on hold while you call him again, ‘kay?” Boz asked and John could hear the sequence of keys being hit. It had the cadence of someone typing in a specific password.

“Of course, just a moment,” John said. Touching another icon on the screen he brought up the call log and hit redial. Ring… Ring… Ring…

He switched to the other line. “It’s still his voicemail.”

“That’s okay, I traced the signal,” Boz told him. “I gotta go. Thanks John.”

“Yes, but-”

The line cut out and John was left staring at his phone.

With yet another crack in the screen.

* * *

Breathing wasn’t easy.

The act of it was. Cyclical patterns of inhaling and exhaling that continued without conscious effort- that was easy. But once the brain and body disagreed, things became difficult.

Breathing when every nerve ending rejected its simplicity and lungs begged to let loose in a torrent of screams or sobs or both, was another matter.

Nikki stood with her hand tightening compulsively on the door handle, gulping down air and forcing it out. He told her to do it. He had told her to leave. Thrown her into the stairwell and ordered her to run.

She could hear the noise from the city outside, just on the other side of the gray metal expanse in front of her. Pressing her forehead to the door jam, she listened to the passing cars and pedestrians. The van was parked only a block away. She could make it there safely in less than two minutes.

Except… she couldn’t. She couldn’t run.

“Goddamn it,” she snapped, releasing the knob and spinning the opposite direction.

Her speed wasn’t anything to be envious of, but at least her legs felt steadier than moments earlier. She climbed each flight taking two steps at a time, using the banister to pull herself along. Nikki stopped when she reached the floor Griffin had last been on, and tested the door handle. It was still locked.

Silence. She held her breath, hoping to hear some faint noise of life, but…

He’s fine. He’s going to be fine. He ran… lead them away from her….

Stamping down the panic, Nikki started running again, up two more floors to where Doctor Oliver’s office was located. If the pack was chasing Griffin she doubted they’d loop back to where they’d started. Racing as quietly as she could down the corridor, she glanced into each examination room in case anyone was lingering, but the whole floor had cleared out.

She rounded the corner, heart dropping at the sight of nurse Linda’s corpse angled grotesquely between the reception desk and the wall. Nikki looked around again before ducking into Doctor Oliver’s office and heading for the desk.

She’d thought the doctor would’ve had a letter opener or a tool kit hidden in a drawer somewhere- any sharp object she could use to defend herself. But all she found were loose paper clips and the occasional staple. Not exactly Vampire resistant.

Finally, under a stack of printer paper, she found a box cutter with a retractable blade.

“That’s stealing you know.”

Nikki jerked her head up as Doctor Oliver moved further into the room… with a revolver gripped at his side.

“It wasn’t supposed to happen this way,” the doctor continued, with eyes wide. “I wasn’t prepared.”

Nikki could only stare at the older man. She wanted to ask what he meant, but the glinting lethal promise he clutched in his hand kept her silent.

“My Master warned me,” Doctor Oliver said. “He told me to push you, to jab at you like a rancher does to cattle, herding them along.” A manic grin split his face and he chuckled darkly. “But instead I opened the gate and let you run wild.”

“What do you mean?” Nikki asked, in spite of her fear.

“I betrayed the cause,” Doctor Oliver answered. “Your legend was meant to end in bloodshed. But now you know too much. You were never meant to know!”

Nikki locked her stare on the muzzle of the gun, now aimed squarely at her chest.

She felt utterly small in that moment. A speck cast into the void. At the mercy of every imaginable influence. And everything went still.

“You don’t have to do this.” The words were firm as they passed over her lips. “Rex doesn’t own you. He can’t make you do anything. You still have a choice.”

The doctor laughed and the sound fell around her like glass shards. “I am bound by loyalty.”

“It seems to me a man that cruel isn’t deserving of your loyalty.”

“Watch it,” Doctor Oliver shouted, taking a step forward. “You don’t speak of my Master that way. He has done everything necessary to bring about a new empire. Nothing great was ever constructed without bone dust.”

“And this empire of his,” she started. “It’s my bone dust that will help make it?”

“The extinguishing of your flame will forge his steel.”

Nikki’s jaw tensed. More riddles, she thought.

“So, I’m special. I get that,” she said, taking half a step to the left. “But is killing me really worth all destruction he’s already caused? I’m just one woman.”

“You’re more than that,” the doctor blurted. “You’re a Luminari. The rarest of embers made to spark a war.”

Nikki frowned, his words taking root in her core. The familiarity was as if he was reciting a poem she’d heard before, but had since forgotten.

Doctor Oliver advanced another pace, adjusting his grip on the revolver. “But my Master will prevail. He always has.” His dark gaze held hers for a moment before he said, “I can see it… your fear of what’s coiled up inside you. It’s already started to work against you.” His eyes flicked to the red stain on her hand. “You’re already losing the battle.”

Nikki clenched her fist against her thigh. The shadows edging his words were filled with a mangled truth she wanted to understand, but knew she’d never be able to.

The smile that curved across Doctor Oliver’s face was one of bitter acceptance.

“At least my death will be quick,” he said, just before he jammed the muzzle under his chin and pulled the trigger.

The doctor’s body arched backwards, a spray of red and gray erupting along the wall behind him, just before he crumpled to the floor. Bone chips scattered throughout the river of blood pouring from the top of his head, adding a sickening topography to the white carpet.

Clamping her hands over her mouth, Nikki cut off her scream, but that didn’t stop the broken groans slipping between her fingers. She closed her eyes, but those few seconds replayed over and over until she was certain she would be sick.

Breathe… she needed to breathe.

And she had to focus.

She needed to find Griffin.

With shaking legs, Nikki skirted around the doctor’s body and ran from the room, box cutter in hand. She sprinted to the other end of the hall and took a left towards the second flight of emergency stairs and down three floors to a vacant hall that had just finished with construction.

She heard him before she saw him.

Halfway down the corridor, around the corner in the open cubicle space- That’s where she heard the chaotic sounds that made her heart fall into her gut.

Keeping herself close to the wall, she glanced around the corner at the ongoing brawl. Griffin was surrounded by eight Newborns, all of whom were taking their turns to attack in short bursts, wearing him down. He was holding his own, but Nikki could tell he was exhausting himself. Not to mention the injuries he’d already sustained. His lip was bloodied, and bruises were forming along his jaw and cheek.

The female in red plaid with ink black hair pounced on Griffin, delivering multiple expert blows that ended with a nauseating pop of his left shoulder. Griffin shouted in pain and folded in on himself so severely Nikki thought he’d fall to the floor. But then he was upright and slicing at anything near him with his blade, cutting into two males.

It still wasn’t enough. Griffin wouldn’t last much longer on his own.

I’ve seen Newborns rip each other apart over a drop of fresh blood…

They were his words, said only as an example of Vampire cruelty.

Nikki really hoped it wasn’t an exaggeration.

Staring down at the box cutter in her grip, she inhaled and leaned back against the wall. With the pad of her thumb she slid the blade up through the handle and laid its edge against her left palm. Searing pain burned along her hand, followed by a thin red line that welled over onto the floor.

Taking one last fortifying breath, Nikki stepped out of her hiding spot into the middle of the hallway.

“Hey,” she shouted, catching the attention of several Vampires. They lifted their heads, scenting the air and growling.

Holding up her wounded hand, she called out, “You want some?”, blood trickling down her wrist.

A group of four swiveled around, watching each other as they prowled closer.

“Yeah, that’s it,” Nikki coaxed. “Come and get it.”

A behemoth of a male, with broad shoulders and thick neck, took the first step out of formation and two females turned on him. One with blonde curls and the other a short brown bob, leapt onto his back and sank their fangs into sinewy muscle. The brunette ripped a hunk of flesh out of his shoulder, spitting it on the ground while the blonde had her fingers jammed into his eye sockets, plucking the gooey membranes from their cavities. He wailed in agony as he fell to knees, blood streaming down his face.

A leaner male with long dark hair took the opportunity to run at Nikki, only to have the brunette female give up the other male’s shoulder she was gnawing on to go after him. She swung at him, tackling him to the ground, but he flipped her and punched his fists through her ribcage like it was made of tooth picks. Twisting, he pulled out a mass of arteries and fibrous muscle tissue and crushed it in his hand. The female turned to ash underneath his boot as he stood.

Nikki could barely hear Griffin shouting at her over her pulse drumming in her ears. She clenched her fist and blood seeped through her knuckles. She just needed to give Griffin time…

Hair like the wings of a crow spread out across the male’s shoulders, his white eyes locked on her throat as he stalked closer.

Three… Two…

“Come on,” Nikki shouted before spinning on her heel and bolting down the corridor.

Blood splattered the floor, leaving a trail as she ran. Heavy foot falls were gaining on her at a pace that made her sick with panic. Her legs ached and her joints burned as she hung a right down a perpendicular hallway. She wasn’t going to be able to outrun him. She could already feel weakness taking hold, weighing her down.

Going left, she expected another long corridor but pulled up short in a dead end supply closet. Several meters away she heard his low icy chuckle. She was trapped, and the male knew it too.

A fire extinguisher hung in its case by the closet door, and she wrenched it free. Bloodied fingers yanked out the pin and gripped the nozzle, ready to squeeze the handle.

Nikki held her breath, watching the top of his shadow sweep across the wall and around the corner. Rushing forward, she aimed the hose, releasing a cloud of nitrogen gas directly into the male’s eyes. He cried out, covering his face with his hands, stumbling back.

Using both hands, Nikki swung the extinguisher like a baseball bat. The dense cylinder made contact with his chin, toppling him over with a satisfying crack. Dropping the extinguisher, she started to run, but he caught her by the ankle and dragged her to the floor.

Nikki screamed, digging her nails into the carpet as he hauled her back. She was flipped in an instant and he was over top of her, grabbing her legs and kneeing them apart. Throwing her elbow into his throat she was able to wriggle away, enough to rear back and kick him in the chest. She kicked again and rolled onto her stomach, crawling towards her box cutter. Just as her fingertips brushed the handle, he caught her by her calf and she felt his fangs shred the hem of her pants leg.

Fevered heat blasted through Nikki, and in a powerful thrust her heel found the underside of his jaw, bone cracking like ice. He roared and lunged forward, grabbing her arm. Contorting out of his grasp, she sliced the blade through the corded muscle of his bicep before angling upwards and stabbing him in the left eye. Kneeing him in the ribs, she leveraged his weight off of her and pinned him to the floor. She brought the box cutter down again, this time severing the main arteries in his neck and cutting through his vocal cords. Pulling the blade free, she stumbled away, tripping over his torso as she tried to regain her footing and make a run for it.

Someone caught her by the elbow, pulling her into the doorway of one of the offices, shoving her back. Her head swam and she slid to the floor, leaning against the doorframe. Long brown hair tied back in a ponytail billowed out as the woman disappeared around the other side of the wall.

Woman?

Two rapid gunshots fired, then a pause, followed by two more.

And finally, silence.

Nikki tried to get to her feet when Lisa appeared in the doorway, slipping her Glock back into its holster. Crouching down, she extended her hand to Nikki.

“You okay?”

Nikki was vaguely aware she was nodding. “I…”

“What happened?” Lisa asked, inspecting her wounded hand.

Hearing two other sets of footsteps, Nikki turned as Griffin and another woman rounded the corner.

The newcomer regarded Nikki with bright hazel eyes set against tan skin and thick black hair. She stared at her with curiosity and Nikki felt an eerie familiarity. This woman was looking at her just as Griffin had that first day in the coffee shop.

At the thought, Nikki glanced to Griffin, who hung back a few paces. Bloodied and exhausted, he cradled his left arm to his abdomen and stood favoring the same side. He wouldn’t look her in the eye. He simply stared into space several inches to her right, a muscle in his jaw working overtime.

“Nikki?” Lisa tilted her head. “What happened?”

Her voice as hollow as she felt, Nikki said, “I cut myself.”

[tisfan]

Title: From Russia with Purrs Square: A3 - FREE SQUARE Warning: no animals were actually harmed in the writing of this fic Rating: Gen Pairing: Peter Parker & Ned Leeds / background Bucky/Tony Summary: Spider-Man doesn’t always get called in to help with the Avengers stuff, but when Peter is given a special, urgent mission from the Winter Soldier, he needs to call in backup Link: A03 Word Count: 2505 For @tonystarkbingo

The spidey-sense was a bitch, really. Bad enough all his senses were cranked up to eleven and a half, but then he was on edge constantly for the first year, or more. Spidey-sense wasn’t common sense. It wasn’t directional. About half the time it wasn’t even useful. Had him ducking spitballs by diving to the floor like there was an lone shooter on school grounds.

Not that Peter didn’t already have a rep for being a bit of a spaz, and at a school for top academics, that was saying a lot. There were many ways to bully people, and shoving them into lockers was only for the most uncreative.

Which did mean, after the first year or so, he got sort of… used to it. The spidey-sense tingling didn’t have him bolting upright out of bed at three in the morning to cling to the ceiling like a terrified bat.

Usually he woke up long enough to blink at his clock, pause a moment to see if whatever it was actually planned to break through his window, and then went back to sleep.

Not this time.

His skin rippled and electric jolts went up and down his spine. Spidey-sense was like licking a nine-volt. Not painful, but impossible to endure for long, and freaky-weird on top of that.

Rap-rap-rap.

Peter rubbed at his eyes. “I swear,” he muttered, pushing himself up from his bed, “if I’m getting danger signals because there’s a pigeon at my window, I’m going to hurt someone.”

(more below the cut)

He reached under his bed and grabbed one of his spare web-slingers. Not one of the fancy things that Mr. Stark had set up for him with five hundred and seventy-six possible combinations, but the regular old one. Because he was tired and he was pretty sure it was a pigeon, but he wasn’t sure, so--

Rap-rap-rap.

Peter was just peeking through the blinds when a hand shoved his window up. A metal hand, with black and gold fingers. A moment later, the blinds shifted aside and there was a man in his bedroom.

A familiar man.

“Hey, aren’t--”

“Hush, kid,” the guy said in a deep, smoky sort of voice. The kind that spies used in meetings with their contacts.

“Aren’t you the Winter Soldier?” Peter hissed, excitable. Better to keep his voice down, though. Aunt May would completely freak out if there was a superhero in his room. Especially one that had been wanted for war crimes.

“Look, kid,” the Winter Soldier said. “Stark told me you could be trusted.”

“Mr. Stark said--” Peter squeaked. “Yeah, I mean, yeah, he… we do missions. Sometimes. Together. We’re a team. Partners. Like that.” He crossed his fingers. “You can trust me, yes sir.”

“Great,” the Winter Soldier said. “I need you to watch this cat for me.”

“What?”

The Winter Soldier reached outside onto the fire escape and brought in a cat carrier. It wasn’t an ordinary, plastic PetsWorld thing, either, but a fancy, modular box. Shiny and sleek and bearing the Stark Industries logo. “This is Alpine,” the Winter Soldier said. “Don’t let anything happen to this cat. I’ll be back in about a week.”

Peter looked into the carrier and saw a pair of blue eyes looking back at him.

“Okay--?”

The Winter Soldier was gone.

At least the multilayered cat carrier had come with supplies.

And the highest high-tech litter box Peter had ever seen, which was not saying a lot, because Peter had never lived in a rental that allowed pets, much less ever had one. Aside from a goldfish he’d won at the fair one time, but that had died within a week, and really, the less said about that, the better.

“You--” He told the cat, pointing at it, “--had better not die in a week.”

The cat came forward to sniff at his finger, and then brushed her head under his hand.

The Stark-Box came with a very fine layer of particles -- like crystals, really, in red and gold, because sure, why not, let the cat poop on the Iron Man colors. That was probably a bet that Mr. Stark had lost, or something. Or a joke that he didn’t want to know about -- and did a quick removal of feces or urine, put it in a little air-tight bag like they were on the International Space Station, as well as performed basic medical analysis on the output and sent a text to Peter’s phone, telling him that Alpine was in perfect health.

“What are you, some kind of spy cat?” He couldn’t imagine Mr. Stark going this far out of his way for a housepet.

There were also several tins of food, packets of a semi-soft food, and some hard kibble. There were feeding instructions and an admonishment to water the cat (that also went directly to his phone and he wondered if there was some sort of bluetooth connection and onboard computer in the Stark Carrier.

There were enrichment activities -- including a miniature of Cap’s shield that zoomed around the room under its own power and Alpine chased it a few times before batting it into Peter’s laundry basket where it stayed, buzzing fitfully, until Peter put it away.

A cat brush that Alpine turned her nose up at, and proceeded to attack his hand when he tried to use it. “Well, I went a week last year without brushing my hair-- don’t look at me like that, it was finals -- and it didn’t hurt me, so you’ll probably be okay.”

Alpine turned around and curled into a ball on Peter’s bed and went to sleep.

Which was great until Peter considered the fact that it was now four in the morning, he’d spent the last two hours poking and playing with the Winter Soldier’s cat, and he still had school in the morning.

And the cat… was laying in his bed. In the center of his bed. Where he wanted to sleep.

He poked her a few times. “Get up, that’s my sleeping spot.”

She ignored him.

Peter sighed, considered moving her. She opened one blue eye and gave him a Look.

Psychic cat, maybe?

“Ug, whatever.” He slung a web hammock and climbed in. He’d slept in worse places.

“You look like crap,” Ned said, sliding into the desk next to Peter. “Busy night crime fighting, rescuing stolen bikes? Giving directions? Oh, oh, I know, stopped a mugging?”

“Cat.”

“What?”

“I have a cat,” Peter explained, through a yawn. “The Winter Soldier showed up and left me a cat. A special cat.”

“Like, a lion? Or a radioactive housecat? Do you think if it bit me, I might get powers?”

Peter almost laughed.

Almost.

“I don’t think so?” Peter opened his textbook and turned to the page the teacher required. “I don’t know, he didn’t say much, just that it was important, and--”

“Mr. Parker, is there something you’d like to share with the class, or can I get on with our history lesson?”

“Sorry, sorry,” Peter said. “Go on, it’s fascinating.”

“Sarcasm, dude,” Ned hissed at him.

He waited until the teacher turned away again. “So, come over and help me out?”

“With a cat?”

“Dude, you have pets, I need advice! Help!”

“I have sea monkeys that I ordered from a comic book,” Ned said, with vast patience. “That’s not exactly the same as keeping a mutant cat under control.”

“She’s not a mutant,” Peter said, “at least I don’t think so. I don’t know, maybe she’s housing nano-tech or something. Just come over and help me out, okay?”

“Mutant nanotech cat,” Ned said. “And yet, somehow, this seems like work.”

“You’re the one who wanted to be a hero, pal,” Peter told him.

“Guy in the chair, Peter,” Ned corrected. “Q to your Bond.”

“Why is your room covered in webs?”

“She keeps knocking stuff off the shelves.”

“Really? Like that’s an actual thing, I thought it was just a meme,” Ned said.

“Sure, sit something there-- just on the edge of the desk.”

Ned pulled out his cellphone and put it on the side of Peter’s desk.

“Now come over here, so you don’t scare her,” Peter told him.

And sure enough a few seconds later, Alpine hopped up onto the desk. Sat next to the phone.

And knocked it on the floor.

Alpine was strong, Peter discovered. After pushing over Ned’s phone, a pile of algebra books, the casing for Peter’s old computer, a few dumbell weights that he’d used back before the spider bite and rarely even thought about now…

“This cat can push fifty pounds,” Ned said in awe. “Maybe it’s got the super soldier serum in it!”

Peter scoffed. “I can pick up an eighty-thousand pound cargo truck.” For a few seconds, at any rate, and really, it was more like he caught it. And it had kinda knocked him on his ass. A bit. But Ned didn’t need to know that.

“Well, not everyone can be Spider-Man,” Ned said, philosophically.

“Peter, you need to be -- are you listening to me?”

“Yes, Aunt May, “ Peter said, grabbing a bag of granola from the drawer and emptying into his mouth, chewing like a chipmunk. The worst thing about the whole Spider-Man gig was how he was always freaking hungry, no matter how much he ate. And he knew they couldn’t afford it. MJ had gone on a tear a few months ago about a diet that the goal was SNATT -- slightly nauseated all the time -- to obtain the perfect beach body.

One time his stomach had growled in biology so loudly that the whole class turned to stare, and Peter had said he was doing the kimkins diet. Almost everyone had stopped worrying about it, then, except for MJ, who started bringing him articles about eating disorders.

“--you need to be more careful about leaving your window open. There was a cat in your room.”

Slightly nauseated all the time.

The granola turned into a rock in his stomach. “So--” casually, casually “--where’s the cat now?” And how the heck hadn’t she noticed the cat box and food and litter if Aunt May was in his room?

“Her owner came and got her,” May said, blithely unaware that she was single handedly destroying Peter’s entire existence. “Nice man. Michael-- what did he say his last name was? I don’t remember. He said he saw her in your window, and came over to get her. I said we didn’t have a cat here, he must be mistaken, but when I opened the door to your room, she ran right to him. Says she’s his companion animal -- suffers from a rare blood disorder and she can smell it when he needs to medicate. That’s so smart, you know, having an animal that can do that.”

Morbius.

His aunt was less than six feet away from someone who drank human blood? Peter just about swooned.

“Peter, are you okay?”

“Yeah, I mean, you know, cat. In my room. I should go check and make sure she didn’t leave any presents.”

Aunt May made a fair enough sort of shrug and Peter bolted, leaving the rest of his snack on the kitchen counter. Threw on the spider-suit, stashed the Stark KatCaddy in his closet, and was out the window in a moment.

“Now, aside from a castle, if I was a nasty old vampire with a cat that I wanted for some reason, where would I go?”

Alchemex.

Alpine was, of all crazy things, asleep in Peter’s lap. He’d webbed her twice trying to get her back from Morbius, she’d spent half the day with a crazy vampire, and then she’d taken a trip across the city via the spider-street.

That she was curled up in his lap, absently kneading his thigh and purring little cute snores while she slept was…

“This cat is something else,” Peter said. He scratched between her ears and she opened up one eye to peer at him, then mewed softly and went back to sleep.

“So, like a mutant cat?”

“Well, no,” Peter said. “I’m not sure. Morbius thought she might have been injected with the super soldier serum. He was planning to drain all her blood and analyze it, with the idea of making a cure for himself.”

“A vampire who wants a cure,” Ned said. “Why is he a bad guy again? I mean, if I was a vampire who could go out in the day time, I’d go to high school every day and be cool and broody. Like Twilight.”

“Ned, you do go to high school every day,” Peter pointed out.

“Oh, right, yeah…”

Spidey sense didn’t wake him up.

The knocking on his window did, though.

Peter groaned. “What’s the matter with you? Can’t you just come by during normal daytime hours?” He shoved the window up to let the Winter Soldier in.

“You look tired, kid,” the Winter Soldier said.

“Yeah, well, your super cat’s like super useless,” Peter said. “Three villains, two nights of knocking all my stuff on the floor, one day of puking on my bed, and a partridge in a pear tree. Does she have any abilities, because you should totally train her up some.”

“Villains?”

“Dude, your cat got catnapped -- and not like in the cute, sleeping in my lap way -- four times. Twice by Morbius, who either wants to drink her blood or test it or something.”

The Winter Soldier’s eyebrows went up and his face took on murderous intent.

“Look, I got her back, everything’s cool, you do not have to get Cap to drop another 18-wheeler on me,” Peter said. “Everything’s perfectly fine right now, we’re all fine here, how are you?”

“I’m still stuck on villains,” the Winter Soldier admitted. “What’d you do, take out an ad in th’ papers that you were cat sitting?”

“I don’t know how Morbius knew,” Peter admitted, “but once the Sinister Six saw that Spider-Man was rescuing a cat, they decided the cat had to be important for some reason, I guess.”

“Well, shit, kid,” the Winter Soldier said. “I didn’t think that would happen. I just-- Tony… last minute--”

“You had a mission?”

“I had a vacation,” the Winter Soldier said. “Vacation. I love the sound of that word. Va-caaaay-shun.” The Winter Soldier rolled his shoulders and stretched his neck and --was that a hickey?

“I thought you had healing factor,” Peter said, “so-- who-- I mean, how har-- you know what, don’t answer that. You had a good vacation, that’s all I need to know, it is not my business if Mr. Stark was gnawing on your neck like a starving vampire, we have enough vampires around here, that’s all perfectly normal and fine.”

The Winter Soldier laughed. “Somethin’ like that, kid,” he said. “Sorry about the trouble, though. She wouldn’t have liked a kennel and I jus’ didn’t have anywhere else to take her, to someone I trusted.”

“You know what, Mr. Winter Soldier, sir, any time,” Peter said.

[liskantope]

“Can” vs. “can’t” feminism

At the American Democrat activism event I attended last week, several political clips of commentary and satire were prepared and shown, with the chosen finale being the recently viral song of otherwise-little-known artist Lynzy Lab called “A Scary Time”. I sat a bit uncomfortably in my chair, having avoided commenting on that choice of clip when it was being discussed in the email exchange beforehand. It occurred to me that my issues with the song reflect one of my main issues with modern feminist rhetoric which I’ve probably alluded to on this blog several times and was planning to write more of an effortpost about eventually. This song so perfectly illustrates it that I might as well do that effortpost now, I suppose.

Let me start with some disclaimers so as not to be misleading about my general position: I think that the song exhibits a very well-done form of satire that I respect to the point that I’m willing to overlook the uncharitable portrayal of men’s fears (because a little uncharitability is fair game in that type of satire, I think); I find the president’s “This is a scary time for men!” comment that inspired it to be asinine (at least using that precise phrasing in that context); and I’m all for women rising up and voting this November 6th in opposition to this asininity as the artist implores them to do at the end of the song.

However. [Long post to follow, loosely organized and written over several days.]

The other organizers of the event where this song was shown heaped lavish praise on it for “making such a good point”. And the thing is, I’d probably agree with them and see the song as completely unobjectionable -- or maybe a little hyperbolic, but what the heck, it’s satire -- if it weren’t for the context in which I place that feminist message among the general flavor of feminist messages I’m receiving on a daily basis that the other people there possibly aren’t. Age might have something to do with it; the other organizers are a generation older than me and I was clearly the youngest in the whole party. I make this speculation because I’ll be mentioning age and different generational perspectives later.

Anyway, without further preamble, what bothers me about this song, in the context with one of the general themes of today’s feminist rhetoric, is (to put it maybe overly bluntly) the particular way it portrays women are weak and/or even promotes weakness in women.

As far as I can tell, feminist rhetoric didn’t used to be this way. A generation ago, it was pretty much all about how women are strong and able and capable of doing anything a man can do. It was a “women can” type of feminism. This more modern type of feminism seems to be all about “women can’t”, as evidenced by a song written and sung by a woman who starts out every line with “I can’t”. Of course, this is an uncharitable way to look at it. There’s an obvious well-intentioned reason for all this I-can’t-ism*, which is that in order to get the message across about how serious a particular form of oppression is, it’s sometimes necessary to highlight how badly the victims are affected by it in a way that often boils down to them being unable (in some sense of the word) to do things that those with more privilege are able to do. But however noble the intentions behind the rhetoric are, I still have the right to be annoyed and worried about the consequences of taking it too far.

Since I consider the song such a useful example, I’m going to pick into some of the lyrics so as better to explain on a concrete level exactly my beef with all this.

If you want to quickly get to the main point of this post, feel free to skip this part. (Actually, I feel like the tone may detract from my real objective and am hesitant to leave it in. But aside from enjoying expressing the occasional snark, I’m curious to hear any responses/explanations from someone with some typical women’s experiences.)

Let me start by saying that a few of these lines, if not taken too literally (especially the “I can’t” part) seem probably valid, e.g. can’t go to the club just to dance with friends (if you don’t want to be hit on); can’t leave drinks unattended (at least in many bar/club scenes). Maybe some others are valid as well and I’m blinded from seeing that from male privilege, in some sense of that term. Certainly there are a couple of lines that just seem bizarre and make little sense to me, perhaps because I’m a man: “I can’t wear a mini skirt if it’s the only one I own” and “I can’t be wearing silk pajamas when I answer the door”.

The very first line similarly had me scratching my head: “I can’t walk to my car late at night while on the phone”, specifically the “on the phone” part. After thinking about it for a while, I realized it probably reflects a notion that one is safer from violent assaults when both hands are completely free to defend oneself. I’m not sure that this makes sense from a purely physical point of view (we’re talking about a small but heavy object that one can drop or throw at a moment’s notice), and I’m definitely skeptical that it makes sense when one considers that being on the phone makes it easier to call for help. In fact, I think the main reason I’m so confused is that I remember in my early days of walking outside late at night, in situations where I felt uncomfortable and worried for my safety, I remember my then-girlfriend suggesting to me that talking on the phone would make me safer; a potential assailant would be more worried about the consequences of attacking someone who might have a friend or family member on the other end of the line. I’m not sure that is entirely valid either. It’s just not clear to me what the safest approach is. But that song lyric suggests to me that, validly or not, at least since the time that my girlfriend was trying to help me stay safer over a decade ago, The Womanhood has come to the consensus that it’s unsafe to walk in the dark while on the phone and maybe my ex-girlfriend now knows this and if I were a woman I’d know it too?

Now let’s move on to what strikes me as the most preposterous line in the whole song: “I can’t use public transportation after 7pm”. Wait... what?? After the end of the political event where the video was shown, which was sometime past 10pm, I went home on the metro and -- lo and behold -- there were plenty of women on board. Sarcasm and overly-literal uncharitableness aside, suggesting that women have to face some intolerable risk or nuisance just by taking a bus or metro in the early evening seems like a reckless exaggeration. Maybe the artist just wanted a two-syllable number so that the line would scan better, but replacing that number by 10 or 11 wouldn’t affect the scanning that badly and in fact “past 11″ scans as well as “after 7″. Clearly, aiming for something that doesn’t sound ridiculously exaggerated (or that doesn’t scare girls inexperienced enough not to know how ridiculously exaggerated it is) was not one of Linzy Lab’s priorities.

(Just imagine if that line were really true, and the drastically restricted lifestyle a city woman would then be forced to have! If there were a legal 7pm curfew for women (the kind of thing some women within my radar hint they would like to see for men), that would practically amount to women being second-class citizens, and even without legality behind it they would still be right to feel that way in essence. Which I guess is precisely the sentiment the artist wanted to convey.)

One more line to pick apart before I move on. The final “I can’t” of the song is “I can’t ever speak earnestly about all these fears”. I’d be interested to know how everyone who endorses this line interprets it. As referring to not being able to speak out about one’s fears in some sort of uber-conservative bubble that routinely dismisses all concerns about women’s physical safety? How many Lynzy-Lab-type artists or American Democrats are stuck in that bubble? Again I suppose I wouldn’t know, but I can guess that most women with the fears expressed in the song speak earnestly about them on a regular basis with their woman friends and (this is important!) may well have gained some of those fears from other women or the general rhetoric in whatever left-wing circles they’ve hung around. And Lynzy Lab herself is performing an entire song earnestly expressing those fears in a YouTube video, one which immediately went viral and got her a performing spot on Jimmy Kimmel!

The way I feel about I-can’t-ism based on evidently exaggerated dangers boils down to this: when citing evidence to make a point (however valid or important), one should aim to convey the truth, exactly the truth, and nothing beyond the truth. (I suppose this is a variant on opposition to the “arguments are soldiers” mentality.)

Here are what I see as the main consequences of straying beyond the truth:

1) Possibly strengthened fervor of the cause (witness the effects of the president’s constant delusional fear-mongering).

(This is positive from the point of view of whatever cause one is fighting for, I suppose, but to the extent that the cause is based on claims that aren’t factual I’m not entirely in favor of it, and we’re going to be better equipped to go about actually fixing whatever the problem is if the fight to fix it is based on facts.)

2) An at-least-equal and opposite strengthened fervor in opposition to the cause. In particular, the more blatantly far from the truth the fearful rhetoric is, the more ammunition the opposition is given.

3) Overblown fears among the community one is trying to protect, and greater limitations because of those fears, especially among younger and less experienced members of that community. (I wonder how many more teenage girls just setting out into the world of being independent now have an idea that violent men are lurking around every corner and they mustn’t use public transportation past 7pm because they watched Linzy Lab’s song.)

4) Less strength in dealing with and worse reactions to everyday dangers or the ambient fear of them. I once discussed this a bit more at length.

I suppose (4) deserves a bit more delving into, in the context of Lynzy Lab’s song. One naïve way to criticize it is to point out (as I already pointed out in passing with some lines) that every one of the “I can’t” lines refers to something that women can do and in fact women do do... all the time! A defender of the song might reply, “Oh don’t be so pedantic and literal-minded! Obviously when someone in that context says, ‘I can’t X’, what they mean is ‘I can’t X without running the risk of suffering Y’.” But in my opinion, for questions of agency and ability it’s conducive of clearer thinking to start by taking “can’t” statements as literally as possible, because that sets us up for the above opposing point, which exposes that a potential question of the degree of risk and suffering has been obfuscated. “I can’t X” is essentially shorthand in many contexts for “Doing X puts me at an unacceptably high risk of an unacceptable level of suffering.”

And we should be able to consciously acknowledge that the amount of risk and the amount of suffering are tricky things to evaluate and might be up for debate. I’ve already focused on the amount of risk often being exaggerated or less clear than many activists make out that it is. Evaluating the amount of suffering as a result of various oppressive behaviors (e.g. catcalling, minor sexual assaults) is much more fraught with potentially insensitive and obnoxious discourse, and I just want to make clear that the type of reaction a woman (or anyone else) has to these things varies depending on the woman herself and an array of background circumstances** which are largely outside of her control and not her fault. But it might be helpful for women (and non-women) to see a possibility that they won’t necessarily suffer in the worst possible way from the range of horrible behavior they might face, that their degree of suffering depends on a lot of individual factors and if those are favorable might even be quite minimal.

My complaint isn’t that activists arguing for social change don’t always cite justification perfectly factually or that they might go a bit overboard in expressing their genuinely-held beliefs. It’s that pretty much nobody ever seems conscious of the risks in (1)-(4) above or at all mindful of a “don’t exaggerate” self-checking that should be present alongside “don’t downplay” and “don’t be timid and hesitant about telling it like it is”.

Is it really the case that feminism has evolved from focusing on “women can” a generation or to ago to the “women can’t” that seems prevalent today?

It’s hard for me to say, because while I’ve certainly noticed a change over the last 15 years, I wasn’t around for the feminism of the 60′s or even of the 80′s. I have to rely on the way I hear old-school feminism described by older people (it would also be nice if I read some feminist literature or followed some more layman-oriented discussions from those periods). I do often think back to something one of the middle-aged female professors in my old math department said to a group of us who were meeting to organize a department seminar to discuss diversity issues. I can’t remember her precise words or the context in which she brought this up, but to my best recollection it went something like this:

The whole time I was growing up and going to university and studying mathematics and engineering, it seemed like everyone was telling me all the ways I could be like a man. All I ever heard was “Women are as strong as men!” and “Women can learn and understand anything that a man can!” and “Women can do the same work that men can!” And then one day I woke up and had the sudden realization, “But wait a minute... I’m not a man! I’m a woman! Why should it be my goal at every turn to be more like a man?”

That speech touches on some other issues, and I don’t mean to shoehorn it too hard into the thesis of this post, but it’s an example of what I see as a “women can” mentality of women’s-lib-era (maybe second-wave?) feminism. Other anecdotes, along with the general way that older people in my life talk about women’s issues, suggest the same.

So why did feminism change from an emphasis on “women can” to “women can’t”?

One reasonable explanation that comes to mind is that the civil rights issues for women have themselves changed. (This would also apply to a similar evolution in the rhetoric for other social justice causes.) Sixty years ago, feminists were fighting for women to have legal rights to do things and societal acceptance of them doing those things. This lent itself to a message of “women can do everything men can do, don’t assume someone is incapable because she’s a woman”. Nowadays those rights have mostly been secured in the West, and the main grievance on the part of women is having to deal with various kinds of oppression (of a sort of that doesn’t involve society disallowing women to do something on the grounds that they’re incapable because of their gender). This can be overly-simplistically divided into opposition to reproductive rights (which has nothing to do with a perception that being female makes someone incapable of doing something, it’s just an oppressive restriction on what one is allowed to do and so we’re just left with “women can’t”), and having to deal with oppressive behavior (mostly in the department of sexual harassment/violence, which again leads to “women can’t”).

While that is part of it, I’m convinced that the evolution from “can” feminism to “can’t” feminism is part of a much more general movement being led by younger generations -- specifically, my generation of millennials and the generation just below mine -- which is tied in with the largely internet-driven de-stigmatization of mental illness, identity politics, preoccupation with labels, and other things. Those who have read other posts of mine probably have an idea of where this is going, and for me to fully explain where I make the connection would be another post in itself, but this is my theory about what drives the culture gap between generations as well the clash between old-school feminist rhetoric and the modern kind. It still makes sense to say, okay, why has this general change been brought about? I would posit that it’s a combination of what I suggested in the last paragraph, plus an increased understanding and culture of accommodation for emotional suffering and trauma which is naturally part of the arc of progress that carries us in the direction of Niceness, plus the usual dash of “rise of social media” thrown in. The result, in this case, is a somewhat ironic tendency for younger activists to characterize America as a much more terrifying place for women than older women who remember objectively scarier times do.

I don’t mean to fault “can’t” feminism entirely, of course. To some extent it makes sense, for reasons I already gestured at. But I do feel that if it’s dominating the rhetoric to the point that a woman’s song with two entire verses of lines starting with “I can’t” is representative of the discourse on gender oppression, then it might be time to revisit the roots of feminism as conveying the (I would think more empowering) message of how strong, capable, and independent women can be.

* I’m also in the habit of using a different term which is alluded to in the tags.

** I’ll be just obnoxious enough to suggest that one of these background circumstances is how much fear-inducing rhetoric one has been exposed to!

[riga789]

Double Date

Summary: It was just a double date. How bad could it be?

Read on ao3 | ff.net

“Do you think they’re still waiting for us?” Isadora Smackle asked as they walked briskly to the restaurant they should have been at ten minutes ago.

“We’re only a few minutes behind.” Maya tried to keep the guilt out of her voice, and hoped she didn’t sound exasperated instead. “They’re not going to leave just because we didn’t turn up on the dot. We’re not standing them up. And that’s if they’re even there already in the first place.”

“We would’ve been here on time if you hadn’t been late,” Smackle pointed out in her usual blunt manner, her heels clicking in time with Maya’s.

“I’m sorry! You know I didn’t do it on purpose, Smacks. I took a nap and overslept.”

Which wasn’t exactly the truth. Oversleeping on an afternoon nap implied she’d been awake the whole morning before taking the nap, when in reality, she’d gone to bed sometime around 7.00 am and, completely worn out, had slept like the dead until the evening. And remembering the reason she’d been up the whole night before, well past dawn, had colour rising to her cheeks. Fortunately Smackle didn’t notice, preoccupied as she was with their upcoming double date.

A double date Maya honestly had no interest in anymore.

When Isadora had first asked her to come along with her, Zay, and whichever friend he brought, Maya hadn’t needed much persuasion.

For one, she was aware that her friend didn’t have much experience with dating, having had only one boyfriend throughout her high school years. Smackle had explained how Farkle Minkus was as much a nerd as her, and that they had dated mainly because they were intellectual equals (arch nemeses before becoming arch lovesis-es), ambitious, and had found each other “aesthetically pleasing”.

Maya wasn’t exactly an expert in the dating department herself — her only serious relationship had ended up bombing spectacularly at the end of her first year of college, and her ex-boyfriend had turned out to be a complete douche, despite being related to her best friend and actual angel Riley Matthews. Josh was the reason she had sworn off relationships and stuck to one night stands.

But Smackle had also told Maya how her Asperger Syndrome made it difficult for her to understand emotions, which was why she wanted Maya to be there on her first date with the guy she’d been texting for a while now and had decided she really liked. Maya was definitely better at reading people than Smackle.

For another, Maya was sort of acquainted with Zay, a drama and theatre major who was heavily involved with the college dance scene. She knew he was a funny, brash, outgoing chatterbox who seemed to be the exact opposite of the studious, overachieving, and somewhat socially clueless Smackle. And since she liked both of them, she’d been curious to see how they would work out.

She hadn’t given much thought to her counterpart on this double date. If he was attractive or appealing in any way, it would be a bonus. If he wasn’t, well she knew Zay enough to know that he wouldn’t ignore her and let her be bored, especially as she was his date’s closest friend. She was doing this pretty much exclusively for Smackle.

Now, however, the last thing she wanted to do was make awkward small talk with a stranger while Smackle and Zay flirted right next to her, when all she could think about was the guy she’d spent the previous night with, and what she was pretty sure had been the best sex of her life.

When she’d left his place that morning, Hot Guy (she’d asked that they not exchange names, and after a brief moment of hesitation and reluctance, he’d agreed) had still been fast asleep, sprawled stomach down and stark naked on the bed, his hair completely mussed from her hands, and his muscled back sporting the marks of her nails. And for the first time in the history of her sex life, Maya had questioned her strict no-repeat policy on one-night stands.

She wouldn’t mind a repeat of last night. Hell, she wouldn’t mind several repeats. Even after sleeping the whole day, her body still felt gloriously achey, with muscles she didn’t even know she had all pleasantly stretched.

On top of that, Hot Guy had been genuinely interesting, funny and sexy in a dorky way, capable of making engaging conversation, and probably the first person ever who’d been able to keep up with the sarcasm, banter and teasing that was Maya’s usual form of flirting. She couldn’t remember an evening she’d enjoyed more, especially with an unknown college guy she’d bumped into at the bar. It was a shame that she’d probably never see him again.

But then, Maya reminded herself, she had excellent reasons to avoid any and all romantic entanglements. She liked her life fine the way it was, where she could focus on college, art, friends, and the freelance assignments and commissions she’d recently started getting for her work. She didn’t have the time to complicate it by adding more people to it.

Mentally sighing, she resigned herself to the fact that Hot Guy would just be a lovely, satisfying memory (pun very much intended, she thought with a rueful smile) that she could look back on in the future. Meanwhile, there were other things she had to focus on right now. Like Isadora’s potential love life.

They reached the restaurant and both girls paused outside.

“I’m not mad at you, you know.” Smackle said, wringing her hands. “I’m just—” She broke off to gesture to the door, the nervousness unmistakeable on her face. It wasn’t a sentiment the normally confident young woman was familiar with. Until now.

“Oh, I know, honey.” Maya pulled her friend into a side hug. “It’ll be fine, you’ll see. Zay’s a great guy, mostly. And if you decide you’re not interested in him after all, we’ll go back to my place, break open that bottle of fancy French wine that Shawn got me, and binge watch the latest season of Doctor Who.”

That earned her a laugh from Smackle, and made her feel much better. Enough ruminating about something she had no control over, she told herself as they pushed open the doors to the noisy, Saturday-night-crowd filled restaurant. It was just a double date. She could do this. How bad could it be?

She saw Zay, seated at one of the booths in the corner. His face lit up when he spotted them, and he raised a hand to wave them over. Maya followed a grinning Smackle as they wound their way through the tables. And came to an abrupt halt about ten feet away from the booth when the broad-shouldered man sitting opposite Zay, with his back to them, turned to face them and goggled when he saw her.

Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck.

“Isadora,” Zay stood up, beaming. The relief on his face was palpable. “You came.”

“Hi, Zay.” Smackle beamed right back. “Sorry we’re a little late.” She stepped a little to the side. “You know Maya.”

“Of course! Hey Maya, good to see you.”

“Yeah, you too,” she muttered weakly.

Zay turned to his friend at the table. “Isadora, Maya, this is Lucas Friar. Lucas, meet Isadora Smackle and Maya Hart.”

Maya could actually feel the colour surging up to fill her face. Not for the first time, in some vague corner of her mind that wasn’t drowning in embarrassment, she cursed her pale skin. Her cheeks were probably as red as cooked lobster.

The guy at the table — Hot Guy, (no, not Hot Guy, he had a name now, Lucas), because, of course, who else would it be? — was still gawking at her as he got to his feet. His face was crimson, and he looked exactly how she felt: a mix of panic, bafflement, hope, and lust (she recognized that look in his eyes pretty easily).

And since neither Zay nor Isadora were blind, they were currently looking back and forth from him to her, puzzled.

“Hi,” Hot Guy — Lucas — croaked. He sounded utterly mortified.

Against all expectations, that steadied Maya a bit, enough to see the hilarity of the situation.

Hadn’t she been feeling sorry just a few minutes ago that she’d never see him again? And now here he was, handed to her on a platter, his hair still adorably mussed like last night and looking just as delectable. If she was looking for a sign, then she had just walked face first into it.

She stood up straighter and aimed a sultry smile at him. “Hi,” she purred, suppressing a smirk of smug satisfaction when his eyes widened and his ears went bright red to match his face. This was going to be so much fun.

[magioftheseas]

Star Stitches

Day 2: Eyes (Alternative: Scars)

Summary: Post-SDR2 AU in which Hinata Hajime is swallowed up by the program following the shutdown. Kamukura decides to continue assisting in the recovery of the remnants while keeping the true hopelessness of Hinata's situation under wraps. Komaeda, of course, immediately sees through him.Considering their past relationship, this shouldn't be a surprise.

Rating: T+

Warnings: Mental instability, hospitalization, and some suggestive themes.

Notes: This one is super bittersweet with the KamuKoma being more past than present. Given the circumstances, that’s pretty understandable. Anyway, I actually really enjoy this one. It’s pretty indulgent on my end so there’s a lot of gooey sentimentality and introspection. Yaaaaay!

***Alternate Ao3 Link***

Commission? Donate?

He’s more than aware of how haunted his reflection is. Especially now that they’ve all woken up and his work is more or less finished. But the effects of days and nights of tedium, of tirelessly working those days and nights, constant scans, constant test runs, constant experimenting until finally, finally—

He looks as outwardly dead as he feels dead on the inside.

Unsurprising. Predictable. Boring.

The shadows under his eyes only highlight the gauntness of his face and the piercing shade of crimson that filled his irises. Hiding them with the long locks of black would do little. In fact, such an action could very well be counterproductive.

His hair getting to be this long was an oversight. If he is to oversee the recovering remnants of despair, he must take care of this as soon as possible.

With the situation that befell Hinata Hajime, it would be best to distance himself from the appearance that defined Kamukura Izuru.

There was nothing he could do for his eyes, save for perhaps colored contacts. Perhaps. But getting a haircut would be a very simple task.

The only real concern is how the remnants will handle Hinata’s situation. They already know the basics, but they may be curious about the details. Said details would be troublesome to explain.

Especially when this knowledge would be distressing. Despairing, even.

He...cannot allow that. So, he shall let them believe the best that they can. Grant them a bit of blind hope, as it were.

Truth be told, he believes he can successfully fool the remnants in this manner. Most of them.

Except one.

And this one will undoubtedly be the most troublesome of all.

--

“Honestly, Kamukura-kun, I’m flattered that you even tried. I didn’t think that would ever be possible. But here it is! You tried and failed! What a remarkable day this is! I truly am so lucky to bear witness to it!”

Komaeda claps and laughs with mirthless delight.

Kamukura keeps his face impassive. There’s no point, after all, in feigning innocence. Such a look would be unfitting for Hinata Hajime either way. And, well...

There had been no point in trying to fool this one in the first place. Truly, I should have known better.

“...you are not going to tell anyone,” he found himself saying. “The others will not believe you.”

“I know they won’t,” Komaeda replies cheerfully. “Even if they hear you talk about how hopeless the situation is, they’ll just assume you’re not trying hard enough. They’ll refuse to give up! And why wouldn’t they? Hinata-kun is their friend, after all.” His smile twists and distorts. That cheerfulness begins to ooze contempt and sarcasm. “They’re such optimistic, loyal people once you scrape away the despair.”

Kamukura’s gaze flickers downwards, briefly. And then, swiftly, he removes his contacts. The contacts had been a poor idea, anyway.

Komaeda’s breath catches, but then he clears his throat. As if trying to hide it.

“It’s...really weird, seeing those eyes when your hair’s so short. Maybe you should grow your hair out, Kamukura-kun,” he suggested, almost lightly. “The others might be understanding if it’s just a little.”

“This appearance is more efficient,” Kamukura said. “It lulls them into a false sense of security the more I resemble Hinata Hajime without being exact. However, you know the truth of my perspective on the matter.”

How troubling that is. And yet, it is expectable as well. At the same time...

“I predicted the possibility of you seeing through me,” he went on. “But truthfully, I am not entirely sure how you saw through me so easily. I had worded Hinata Hajime’s situation very favorably without so much as a twitch in my expression. But you didn’t even seem to hesitate on calling those words into question.”

Komaeda twitches a bit, and he brushes back his hair.

“I just had a feeling,” he said. “A lucky guess, you could say.”

He giggles at his own joke. It is a poor façade.

“It was not just that,” Kamukura almost snapped. His eyes narrowed sharply, dangerously, piercingly enough for Komaeda to flinch. “You were confident. You did not even hesitate before calling me out. Why would you be so sure?”

Komaeda shivered, briefly, fisting his hand into the edges of the hospital blanket. Then, he wheezed out a not quite laugh.

“Kamukura-kun,” he sighs, and chuckles warmly and ruefully. “It’s because I remembered you almost immediately when I woke up. I remembered how well I knew you.”

...almost...immediately.

“That should not have happened.”

“I don’t remember everything,” Komaeda said. “But I do remember you. Being close to you. Taking in just the way you looked when you were about to lie for someone else’s sake. And then... You looked at me that very same way when you walked in.”

The briefest slipup. And of course, that had been enough.

“...how problematic. I should have known your situation would involve unforeseen consequences of the simulation’s faulty programming.”

Komaeda’s smile is a rueful one.

“I’m not going to tell anyone,” he said. “Besides the fact that they’re not going to believe me, I know why you’re doing this. It’s distasteful, but—the last thing we need is any of them falling back into that despicable despair. So.” His eyes brighten. “Why don’t we work together? Why don’t we nurture the hope still resting within their broken souls?”

Komaeda offers his remaining hand. All Kamukura can see is all the ways in that this very person is a broken soul, both physically and emotionally.

“We should prepare you with a robotic arm, soon,” Kamukura mused. “But you are not the only one missing parts. At the very least, however, all remnants of her have been scraped off.”

Komaeda beams.

“And what’s left is still a rotted husk. That said! I’m perfectly willing to help you, Kamukura-kun. This is the perfect opportunity for your redemptive arc, after all!”

This isn’t fiction, Komaeda Nagito.

But there was no point in saying that. Komaeda Nagito knew, but it made thinking of the circumstances easier. Easier to be detached from.

“I do not need it,” Kamukura said firmly, but gingerly took the offered hand all the same. “I am only accepting it because you are offering it. It would be more boring to simply refuse.”

“Ehe, there, see?” Komaeda’s thumb brushes almost fondly over his knuckles. “You’re already on the right track, Kamukura-kun. Hope’s Peak would be proud.”

“No, that is wrong.”

Komaeda’s eyes twinkle in response.

--

Caring for the others is simple, but tedious as one would expect. They all require a level of attentiveness and a heightened perspective. Truly, Hinata Hajime would’ve floundered considerably.

Kamukura does not, and they do not mind, despite how unsettling it might be. It cannot be helped. Though they still worry, they’re all too willing to have hope, as Komaeda said. It is unsurprised. They are already wrapped up in their own troubles, their own relationships. Hinata Hajime was always best suited as a background character. A background concern.

That much he remembers. The simulation had truly been a different experience in several ways for the person inhabiting this body.

But it does not matter. He must focus on the remnants.

That said, it is all still so very—boring. Tiring.

As he had expected.

Even when it came to the person who knew.

“That’s usually how it goes, Kamukura-kun,” Komaeda said. “Recovery isn’t fun. It’s very boring. Very dull. Very dry. Life, sadly, isn’t made of the milestones you see in narratives.”

“That does not stop you from treating it as such,” Kamukura pointed out dryly, squeezing and massaging the other’s thigh. Komaeda blinks at him innocuously. “You are going to need crutches. Likely for longer than the rest. Your tendency poor dieting and nutritional habits really have worsened matters.”

“Yeah... That sounds about right...”

For a moment, Kamukura is distracted by one of the symmetrical scarring on his thigh. These injuries when inflicted had likely needed stitching. It is clear that Komaeda Nagito did not get said stitching.

Thoughtlessly, he runs his fingers over the ruined tissue.

Komaeda flinches and then flicks his forehead.

“At least take me out to dinner first,” he said coldly and kicked him away. “Or have some tact. I don’t ask to feel up your head scars, now do I?”

At that, Kamukura reaches up to touch said scars. Because of the haircut, they had been prominent. He was used to receiving stares for them and yet, at this moment...

“...no, you do not.”

“Because that would be rude!” Komaeda exclaimed huffily. “So you really shouldn’t feel up mine, either! Massages for the muscles, I can take, but no strokes for the scars, Kamukura-kun!”

“Understood.”

What came over me?

Somehow, he remembered as well. And the memory was so much that he forced himself to leave immediately.

--

He doubted that Komaeda remembered that he had, in fact, felt up his surgical scars before. In return, Kamukura had done the same, fingers brushing along marks that were well-hidden by soft wisps of white.

“The surgeon who worked on you was the same as the one who worked on me,” Kamukura had said quietly. “That is quite the coincidence, I suppose.”

Komaeda giggled, pressing into his hand.

“Well, one could also call that fate, Kamukura-kun.”

“Fate. What a ridiculous and boring concept.”

“Coming from you?”’

Komaeda’s eyes had been bright, shimmering like the ocean’s surface reflecting moonlight.

“...I am not wrong.”

“How unromantic!”

Despite those words, Komaeda had clung to him with a squeal. Impulsively, his arms wrap around Komaeda in return. Komaeda presses up against him, angularities and bone, and yet, soft and warm as well.

There had been a time when he avoided contact. Unnecessarily simulation. Aggravating.

But here, the sensation is different, not unpleasant, especially with the softness of Komaeda’s hair and the warmth of his skin.

He had the scent of centuries old potpourri and decay. A mixed bag of scents, but—it was still Komaeda Nagito.

Komaeda Nagito, who cuddled up against him when they were in bed together. Komaeda Nagito, who clung as though he were a security blanket.

Komaeda Nagito who touched his scars with nothing short of curiosity and tenderness.

“Do they hurt ever?” he asked, those starlit greens twinkling once more. “Hey, Kamukura-kun... Do you ever get headaches?” A smile flickers across his lips. “Is talent so overwhelming that it sometimes feels as though your head will burst?”

“I imagine that if I were ever struck here, it would hurt considerably,” Kamukura answered, and he brushes his hair back so that the stitch marks are covered. “But that would never happen.”

“You should still wear something as protection!” Komaeda exclaimed. “I can let you borrow my parka. I think it’d look good on you!”

Kamukura ruffled his hair.

“You need that more. Do not concern yourself with me.”

“Ehhh? But how can I not?” Komaeda puffs his cheeks. “After all, Kamukura-kun, I—!”

(He does not expect Komaeda Nagito to remember.

Thus, he should not dwell over this.)

--

He can only pacify for so long. It is inevitable that the remnants grow restless with themselves and with the situation. So restless that they reach out and cling—but he is the only person to cling to.

And he is not the one they want.

“H-Hey...” The mechanic in particular is the most shaken up, unsurprisingly. This one is the neediest of the bunch, aside from the former healthcare committee member. “When is Hinata coming back?”

That said, this one likely has the greatest interest in seeing Hinata Hajime again.

(Aside from Komaeda Nagito, as loathe as he were to admit it.)

They were soul friends, after all.

“Soon.”

“...How soon?”

The mechanic is shaking. He looks close to tears. Troublesome. Expectable, but troublesome.

“Once everyone recovers fully, I shall focus entirely on accessing his files on the program and retrieve him if I have not already done so.” The words are fluid and swift. Practiced. “For now, however, the code is complicated and I have much else to concern myself with.”

“And...” A lick of his lips. “And, uh... You’re really sure you can do that?”

“You have the word of the Ultimate Hope, former as I may be.” Practiced. Precise. “For now, focus on yourself.”

It is easiest this way.

“It is what Hinata Hajime would want.”

Despite that uncertainty, the mechanic’s dark eyes light up a little, a pitiful smile pulling at his lips.

“Aha, yeah... Yeah, he would... He’d probably get really annoyed with me for being a wimp.”

“He would. You are quite annoying.”

“Hey,” he moaned. “T-That’s pretty harsh! Christ, you haven’t changed at all, have you?!”

...Have I?

“Urgh, I really hope you bring back Hinata soon,” he babbles on, rubbing at his temples. “I-I don’t think I can take much more of you...”

Kamukura says nothing. The mechanic freezes up.

“U-Uh...! By that, I mean...!”

“It is nothing,” he said. “Do not concern yourself with it. There is no need.”

“I... Um... Y... Yeah...”

There was no need, whatsoever.

--

He looks into the mirror again, running his fingers along the deep, dark shadows that serve to make the crimson irises all the brighter. All the more piercing.

He has not been getting much sleep. Restlessness invites restlessness.

He feels dull-minded.

But it is nothing worth concern over. It never has been. He exists only to serve a purpose. Said purpose may mold, but the basic principle remains.

He is nothing more than an intended pillar. Something foundational, to support and to be trampled upon like the very ground.

He understands this. He understands it keenly.

(When he first met her, she used this knowledge to manipulate him. Even though he knows he saw through it, he still...)

Now he understands better than ever.

But, all that said...

He remembers Komaeda Nagito.

--

“You’ll never be the Ultimate Hope.”

Komaeda had said it with such confidence. It was expected, but also, above all else, it was different. He understood it, but these words, this belief, still belonged solely to Komaeda Nagito. No one else would say such things, not even her.

He understands Komaeda’s reasons for feeling this way, all the same.

But, Komaeda still found a way to surprise him.

“Kamukura-kun...” He still keenly remembers that crooked smile, that innocuous tilt of Komaeda’s head. “Do you know why? More than being artificial, you don’t care about hope at all. Honestly, I can’t tell what you care about. I suppose I could guess.”

“You could,” he replied.

Komaeda laughed.

“Well, then... I think Kamukura-kun cares the way I do about existing, at least.”

Luck is a boring, insignificant thing, and yet, here was a moment that had Kamukura Izuru perk with interest in a way that even she hadn’t managed to accomplish.

“...wrong,” he said, eyes narrowing. “I am not nearly so self-important.”

“Maybe not,” Komaeda hums. “But you certainly do have a purpose of being a mere stepping stone. That said, I have the feeling that you want more than that.”

“You thought wrong,” he said. “I do not care about such things.”

“Is that true?” Komaeda asked. “Or are you just saying that because the last person who showed an interest in your desires was that wretched, hateful manipulative girl?”

He hadn’t said anything to that. He hadn’t anything to say, really.

“Just because you’re nothing more than a tool, just because you were even more used up than intended, that doesn’t mean you don’t still place an inherent value in your own existence and concerns. At least, I assume so.” Komaeda smiles up at him. “I can’t tell for sure. You’re so difficult to read. And so closed off! So cold! You really don’t play nicely with others.”

“Such things are inconsequential,” he said. “Boring. Nothing to concern myself over.”

“Your eyes are so vacant,” Komaeda commented, blinking. “Emptiness is as despairing as it is lonely.”

Emptiness.

“You are irritating, Komaeda Nagito.”

Komaeda laughed brightly.

“I know, I know! I’m just the worst! So obnoxious! It’s really, really despairing!” he exclaimed, grinning. “But, you know, in times like these...”

Komaeda reaches for him.

“Don’t cold, empty creatures like us crave warmth and fulfillment?”

Komaeda’s hand was cold and skeletal like that of a corpse. Komaeda childishly swings their connected hands with a giggle. In that moment, there had been a spark.

A spark of gentleness that he had not experienced before, even as he knew others were capable of it. A vulnerability that was intimate. Open.

As though they were close.

As though they were familiar.

At first, he had told himself that Komaeda Nagito was merely imitating her.

But, she would and never could be like this.

“I think we’re very similar, Kamukura-kun,” Komaeda says it so serenely. “Which is why, even if I detest the circumstances, I can’t help but be drawn to you. It’s...strange. But also comforting.”

His thumb runs over Kamukura’s knuckles. There are countless ways to break that bone. Komaeda Nagito could die to his hands so easily.

That thought—is as gruesome as it is unpleasant.

“What about you?” Komaeda’s eyes are starlit fog. Before despair, before her, before the dark, casted shadows underneath, they must have been pure, sparkling light. And, yet. “Kamukura-kun, how do you feel about all this?”

“I...”

I just...

“Insignificant.”

I just want everything to end.

And, yet. The way Komaeda nods sympathetically, the way that serene smile twists sadly, the way Komaeda Nagito ducks his head... Finally, the way Komaeda Nagito squeezed his hand.

“I understand, Kamukura-kun.”

The rest of the world could give way to decay and ash but this moment was one that clung.

How irritating that was.

How foolish he still is.

He really is still trapped in that cold, gray, empty room.

--

He lays awake staring blankly at the ceiling for a long, long time.

No matter where his thoughts wander, he cannot fall asleep, all the same.

...how boring.

Kamukura pushes himself up.

He decides to go for a walk.

He is not the only one out and about late at night. Both the gangster and the princess are fond of contemplative nights. The musician will sometimes practice songs, but said songs are quieter than they’ve ever been, the notes shaky and often hesitant.

But right now, she is clearly frustrated. It will not be long before one of the other former remnants checks up on her. The swordswoman, perhaps. The photographer, perhaps, although she will be dissuaded from doing so if the swordswoman arrives first. Either or.

It does not really matter.

None of this really matters.

At least no one is screaming.

The temperature has been dropping as of late. It’s resulted in much chillier nights. Despite that, he does not go outside with a coat even as the cold air nips at his skin.

It hardly bothers him. With a body like this, he’s distressingly durable. So he just walks, surveying his surroundings as he does. Makes sure that no one’s trying to drown themselves in the ocean again. Or the pool.

(He thinks about how much bad luck Komaeda Nagito had with the ocean. He remembers the time he found Komaeda Nagito washed up along the beach, coughing up seawater with a grotesquely painful grin.)

He quickens his pace and shoves those memories far back.

This only causes them to fester.

(Komaeda Nagito covered in injuries and still smiling. Komaeda Nagito smiling up at him as he bandages him up. Komaeda Nagito giggling as he kissed the bruises. Komaeda Nagito. Nagito.)

“You shouldn’t be ashamed of these scars,” Komaeda had murmured while running his fingers over them. “They’re a part of who you are, Kamukura-kun. You should accept that with pride. Aha. Just kidding.”

Briefly, Kamukura reaches up to touch the scars in question. He finds that he’s in front of the pool after all. It hasn’t been cleaned in a while, so the water is murky and dirty.

Good. He didn’t want to see his reflection at a time like this. He didn’t want to see his eyes—

“Red like a rose,” Komaeda had murmured, lashes low. “The color of passion. Of blood. Of...”

A despair-ridden sky.

Blinking, he raises his gaze to stare up at the starlit night sky. Wide, vast, endless. With so little lights on the island, it was all the grander.

...boring...so...

A flicker of light catches his eye. And then, another. And then, several more. And then, all the stars seemed to be falling down. But of course, that was not truly the case.

...ah.

It was a meteor shower.

A mere meteor shower.

Nagito has spoken of these before... Nagito...

Without even thinking, he turned on his heel.

--

Komaeda Nagito is, as he expected, outside. Not in the hospital, not in his cabin, but outside, bundled in blankets, sitting at a table with a book placed upon it, and blowing daintily at a cup of tea. A wheelchair was folded up nearby.

“Kamukura-kun,” he says as Kamukura stills before him. “Good evening. I wanted to go outside to read, but...” He gives his usual smile, lacking any real humor. “The meteor shower started up—so my attempts were thwarted.”

“...you mentioned that happening to you before,” Kamukura replied. “Do you remember?”

Komaeda blinks those doe eyes back at him.

“Ah, right,” he said cheerfully. “Before coming here, you probably haven’t seen a meteor shower before, have you, Kamukura-kun?”

No, he hadn’t.

“This is my first time,” he found himself admitting.

“Ah, I see.” Komaeda’s smile widened. “Well, what do you think? I’m a bit sick of them, but that’s different for you, isn’t it?”

“It is...different.”

It doesn’t really mean anything to me, either.

And, yet.

Komaeda sips at his tea.

“That’s not much of an answer,” he said. “Why don’t you sit with me? You’re looking like you might drop dead any moment. Aha, just kidding. You always look like a walking corpse.”

At that, Kamukura frowned.

“You should not be the one telling me that.”

They both flinched. Komaeda blinked at him a few times, and Kamukura realized that he was—flustered.

Something about that remark caused a snap. Over a minor comment like that.

Over something like that...?

But then, Komaeda laughs and the sound is a genuine one.

“It’s been a while since I’ve heard you sass anyone,” he chuckles into his hand. “At least, I think it has.”

Kamukura shuffles to the other chair, sitting and keeping his head down.

“...I have been feeling the effects of stress a lot more keenly,” he said. “More so than I am used to. Of course, that may be because I am not under constant sedation. With how busy things are, I simply have not had the time...”

And he has been antsy as of late. But it is something he can handle. It does not matter.

“Your eyes are looking pretty dull,” Komaeda murmured, smile twisting. “Like wilted roses, aha. What a shame. You probably should eat more. Or maybe do yoga. Tai chi? Aikido?”

“...too boring,” Kamukura said lowly and quietly. “It is nothing I cannot cope with on my own. You need not show concern.”

“Mmm...” Another sip of his tea. Kamukura takes notice of the floating tea stalk within it. Because of course.

“It must have been tedious to get here,” Kamukura said. “Why even expend that much effort for something so menial? Were you that bored?”

“Making the tea was easy,” Komaeda chirps. “Getting the wheelchair wasn’t too bad. Rolling down here with the tea and the book went rather smoothly.” He grins. “The hardest part was actually setting up here, ehe. But if nothing else, I’ve got tenacity. It’s not nearly as bad as grasping onto floating wreckage for dear life for days. It was tedious, but I managed! Are you going to praise me for it?”

Kamukura blinks at him, and then—

“It is...impressive. Good job, Komaeda Nagito.”

“Eh?” Komaeda blinked once. Twice. Several times. “I... Wow... I didn’t actually think that you would...”

“I mean it,” he said. “Your tenacity shows promising potential for your recovery.”

Komaeda blinked at him once more before flickering his gaze to the ongoing meteor shower.

“...aha... How long has someone said something like that to me? Coming from you, it’s such a strange feeling.”

I suppose that it would be.

For a while, he was quiet even as he watched Komaeda brush back his hair, tucking ivory strands behind his ear. There are scars on his fingers. In the dark, they’re hard to see, even with the flashing meteor shower above, but—Kamukura knows very well every mark that overlays Komaeda’s skin.

They had been lovers once, after all.

...and now...?

“Komaeda Nagito... Nagito... I...” He swallowed. “I am...sorry that I was the one who came back.”

“It wasn’t your fault,” Komaeda said so simply. “It’s not like you wanted to come back. And it’s not like he didn’t want to come back.”

“I... Yes...” His head hangs. “It is unfair, but it cannot be helped. Still, I regret this situation.”

I regret it so much that it hurts, and hurting feels like dying.

Komaeda hums, and he finishes his tea.

“Kamukura-kun,” he said. “If it’s any consolation, there are plenty of falling stars to wish on! You’re the probably only person who can say your wish three times fast enough! Go for it, Kamukura-kun! Go, go, go!”

Kamukura blinks at him, and stares blearily at the sky.

“...wishes...so trite...”

“You say that, but your eyes just twinkled, didn’t they?!”

“That is merely the reflection of the meteor shower.”

“I don’t belieeeeve that,” Komaeda sing-songs. “Just then, Kamukura-kun’s eyes held a spark of desperation! Of hope! My heart skipped a beat so I know it to be true!”

It had skipped a beat. Is that really why?

“Kamukura-kun.”

The chair scrapes against the ground.

“Kamukura-kun,” Komaeda said more seriously, facing him completely. “In times like these, hearts as dark as ours need all the light we can get.”

At that, Kamukura perked. And then, Komaeda smiled.

Just like that, Komaeda turned back to the falling stars.

“I hate those wayward former classmates of mine, but... I should at least wish on these shooting stars for their sake,” he said.

Kamukura frowns.

“Are you going to wish for his return as well?”

It hurts.

“If I tell you, the wish won’t come true,” Komaeda said cheekily. “But for what it’s worth, I’m wishing for Kamukura-kun’s sake as well.”

The words strung a chord of warmth.

“...you really are so sentimental, Komaeda Nagito.”

It’s one of those aspects to your character that I can’t help but...

Komaeda met his gaze and held it. Like the sky, his eyes were of scattered starlight. Starlight, with a smile softened by moonlight.

“Let’s do our best tomorrow, Kamukura-kun,” he chirped. “Let’s pretend that the very night sky is wishing us luck.”

Kamukura blinks back.

“Tomorrow I’ll get some reading, but I want to stretch out my legs more,” Komaeda wiggled his toes. “And Kamukura-kun should help me. If you help, I might just let you kiss my feet.”

“Ah,” he inhaled. “Very well.”

“Don’t touch my scars again though,” Komaeda snapped haughtily. “I’m not quite that comfortable with you quite yet! Even if I used to be, that’s not the case anymore. At least...not for the moment.”

“I understand.”

“And if I fall down, you’re not allowed to carry me back unless I’m unconscious!”

“Understood.”

“And also...! You really should style your hair! I know I said you should grow it out but it—it looks like a rat’s nest, Kamukura-kun! Very uncool! Very gross!”

“...ahhh...”

“It’s long enough to braid. So maybe we should do that from now on.” Komaeda clapped his feet. “How’s that sound?”

“Mm.”

“You also shouldn’t let my classmates take advantage of you,” Komaeda huffed matter-of-factly. “They’re grown. They can handle themselves. They shouldn’t expect so much from you. There’s only one Kamukura-kun in the world, after all.”

“Hm.”

“Only one Kamukura-kun! So we can’t afford to overwork him! It would be really bad if you were overworked so bad that you obtained a status down, right? Right?!”

Kamukura said nothing, but he did make a soft noise. To which Komaeda flustered once he realized.

“D... Did you just snort?!”

“No.”

“You did! You snorted!”

“I did not.”

“You definitely did!” Komaeda exclaimed heatedly. “T-That’s so...childish...! And here I was trying to be nice and helpful since you’ve been doing your best to help everyone...!”

Kamukura definitely snorted that time, and then, Komaeda’s breath caught.

“Thank you, Nagito.”

Komaeda shivered, cheeks pooling with a deep dark red.

“I... You look...really creepy...” He was starting to slur his words. His eyelids were drooping. “When you...smile...”

And just like that, Komaeda Nagito slumped, passing out. He was quick to catch and steady him, of course. Komaeda was unsurprisingly very light.

“...you overworked yourself as well,” Kamukura muttered into his hair, hoisting him up. “Pushing yourself so much for something so trivial and ultimately worthless and then getting so worked up...”

He says all that, and he notices the meteor shower stopping, leaving behind still, twinkling stars that would never move to the naked eye. He then brushes it off.

These kinds of cosmic coincidences are to be expected where Komaeda Nagito is involved.

With all that said and done, he really should carry Komaeda back to his room.

“Let’s pretend that the very night sky is wishing us luck.”

And he should retrieve everything Komaeda brought with him on a second trip. For now, though...

“Let’s do our best tomorrow,” he echoed as he carried Komaeda off. “To face a new day...”

For everyone’s sakes.

[neojeno]

why do you hate armies? we're like really chill idk

Lmao my inbox starts working again and this is the first ask I get.

Anyway… hi hon, you obviously haven’t been following me for very long— maybe you aren’t following at all! Whatever, the point is, I don’t hate armies. I hate prejudiced, annoying little shits who have to make everything about themselves. Oh quick note, why do you assume I hate armies? I haven’t made any recent posts regarding BTS or their fandom.

Anon, I was once an Army. I created this blog for the sole purpose of stanning BTS. Trust me, I think BTS are great. I absolutely love their music. I have several of their physical albums and went to one of their concerts (which was, by the way, one of the best times of my life). However, I have since left the Army fandom and, by the state of my blog, become an NCTzen living in NCT’s world (NCity). Why did I leave the Army fandom? Well, actually, there was an in-between part where I was stanning NCT and BTS at the same time. I’ve been into BTS for the past three years now and NCT? Only the past four months. I might be a good representation of that one pretty funny post that was floating around for awhile about how BTS wrote “Don’t Leave Me” because half of their fanbase was leaving them for NCT. NCT just came back at the right time and I was given the lovely opportunity to stan another incredibly talented group! Oh author’s note: don’t hate on the multi-fandom stanners, it takes a lot of fricken work to keep up with a lot of different groups and they’re just spreading the love bc there are so many talented idols out there! Anyway, I got into NCT naturally and I have just grown to really really love them. At some point, I just sorta stopped posting about BTS and you know what? That’s fine, it’s my blog and I can post whatever the fuck I want. Now, the truth is that I still really really love BTS. Their music is amazing and I still really love them— just as much as I always have.

But here’s where I might be able to get at what you’re asking: I haven’t left BTS, I’ve left the Army fandom. Why? For a couple of reasons: When I stan groups, I like to give them all my attention so I know what’s going on and so I can support them as much as I can— so that’s why NCT is my main concern/focus right now. I just really love them, what can I say? So that’s why I’m just posting a lot about them. Sure, I’m a part of like one BTS network, but I don’t feel like I even deserve to be called an Army anymore if all I’m posting about is another group. Idk, it just doesn’t feel right. Anyway, the second reason is that, after having become an NCTzen (wow I’m really talking as though I’m morphing into different beings or something), I’ve started to see a lot more into the Army fandom. Remember when I was talking about how there was an in-between stage when I was sorta stanning BTS and NCT at the same time (just look back through my archive,, sometime in March was that part of my life)? I started to view Armies (remember I’m talking about the fandom not BTS) as an outsider. I didn’t feel like I was one of them anymore (now that was one of the signs that told me I was already leaving, gone). I started to see the more toxic side of the Army fandom because I was no longer consumed in it. When I was still hardcore stanning Taehyung (and seriously he is the loml but Jeno’s sorta taking that spot now oof) and really into BTS, I was quite blind to the toxic environment that is sometimes the Army fandom. When I started stanning NCT, I started subconsciously comparing (it’s just a natural thing human beings do,, you might not want to, but you subconsciously pick up on what’s different about the different things you’re involved in) the NCT fanbase to BTS’s fanbase. that’s how i started to see the things i didn’t like about the Army fandom. Of course, all that I’m about to say doesn’t apply to all Armies and all that I’m about to say doesn’t have to be the image/reputation of the Army fandom (I am one person and if my words have that much of an effect on you then I suggest you reflect on the state of your emotional security), but from my experience, I’ve seen a few things the Army fandom, in particular, perpetrate that I’m uncomfortable with: One is that the BTS members are hypersexualized. BTS smut is all over the place. (I may be a horny teen but idk I sorta just wanna focus on college) People talk about Jungkook like he’s a meal in the most ordinary situations. Second, Armies tend to equate BTS to Kpop and, as someone who’s grown up listening to Kpop her entire life, I just can’t deal with people who think BTS are the only relevant group around here. Third, and along with my second point, I often see Armies making comments about BTS when BTS literally isn’t involved. Like, stop making everything about your favs??? I og stan B.A.P and when “That’s My Jam” came out, Armies in the comment sections were like, “omg Youngjae’s orange hair looks like Jimin’s” — umm like omg you don’t have to fucking make everything about yourself Youngjae looks like Youngjae!!! When Jonghyun passed, @/mimibtsghost made a post telling her followers to be grateful that, unlike Jonghyun, BTS is under such a caring agency and if you don’t see something wrong with that fucking comparison in that sort of fucking situation then fuck off my blog. Anywayyyy,,,, last and probably most influential in my leaving of the Army fandom was the fact that I no longer felt close to the fandome. My old blog (which was dedicated to BTS) had 1k followers but I didn’t have a single mutual whom i talked to often. I didn’t even realize how lonely that life was until I joined the NCT fandom. Oh author’s note: I’m using my experience as an NCTzen to reflect on what I realized I didn’t have/didn’t like about the Army fandom— not to put NCT on a pedestal. Anyway I follow quite a few big bts blogs and stuff and what I’ve realized is that a lot of people just follow the big blogs and pretty much (for lack of a better word) worship them. Now this isn’t shade on the big blogs, this is shade on the fact that, at least in my 3 years of experience as an Army, the fandom doesn’t feel tight or close. And guess what? That’s my opinion and my experience. Who knows? Maybe I legit just don’t know how to make friends. But in addition to that, I just see a shit ton of drama even within the Army fandom and it’s just exhausting. Oh that’s another thing, when I was an Army, it was fucking exhausting to see fights break out within the fandom or to see fellow Armies starting fights with other fandoms and then think to myself: well at least I’m one of the good Armies. I mean idk about you but now that I’m living the good life and having a better time, having to reassure yourself with that sort of thought is depressing and quite reflective of the Army fandom itself. Armies themselves know they can be awful sometimes.  

Anyway, I don’t necessarily hate Armies. I love that people are supporting BTS because I really do think BTS deserves all the recognition they’re getting for their hard work. What I hate is the shamelessness and disrespect that some people exhibit and don’t excuse because they think they’re insured by BTS’s top-of-kpop status (this isn’t sarcasm,, if you’re asking me to be objective I actually believe BTS is riding the peak of kpop like icing on a cake rn and I’m proud of them). Because the Army fandom is just so freakin huge— maybe like 40% of the world are Armies now (again, great! I’m glad BTS is getting a lot of love), it just happens to be that most of that sort of behavior is concentrated in the Army fandom.

Anyway, if you’ve read this far, good for you. Honestly, im sorta glad you asked this. This was a way for me to sort out my own feelings about this, too. if you’re frustrated with this answer, you can send hate but you’ll still just be frustrated by yourself. As RM once said, “I like hate comments more than no comments.” You know the rest. Sorry your words don’t hold much power if I’m unaffected. I just don’t give a fuck. ~h

[ranger-of-estel]

A Legend Returns: Chap 9

Leonard's plan to catch Maestro is set in motion

The forces of the Wellspring have other ideas

Read it on AO3

              The next morning at breakfast Jax lets them know they are able to take off. Leonard walks the whole team through his plan, addressing concerns and questions as he goes.

               “But what if he doesn’t take the bait?” Nate asks, frowning.

               Mick chuckles and Len just smirks, “Leave that part to me.”

               Sara is still frowning at him, but makes no vocal objections. Once the meal is over he and Mick make their way to the still functional bounty ship. Leonard leaning against a wall, watching as Mick flips switches and motions across the dash with practiced ease. “You know,” he drawls, gaining his friends attention. “this doesn’t seem quite so unpleasant without the handcuffs,”

               Mick offers an amused look, “Could say that about a lot of things.” Len just nods, and after a moment Mick shakes his head. “Never expected to be back on a ship like this.”

               Len steps closer, allowing his eyes to wander over the unfamiliar control panel. “More annoying teammates this time.” Mick barks a laugh at that, then flipping one last switch he steps back and motions to the dash. Leonard steps forward, looking down at the blank screen before him. “My name is Leonard Snart, and I’m looking to make a deal.”

               Leonard returns to the Waverider, making his way to the main deck when he hears voices in the all ahead. “Professor, are you sure this is wise?” Nate’s voice gives him pause.

               “Is what wise?” Stein replies.

               “Trusting Snart,” Len can hear the frown in the younger man’s voice. “I mean, given his history, what assurance do we have that he won’t actually turn us over?”

               “Mister Haywood,” The older man sighs, “I understand your concerns, but despite our many differences I can assure you of two things.” Leonard takes several silent steps closer to the edge of the hall. “Mister Snart is no longer the mere thief you know from Central city. And regardless of his opinion of the team in general, he will not betray the Captain’s trust.”

               Leo is surprised at both the words, and the fleeting warmth they bring. Of all the people who could defend him, he’d never expected it from the professor who’d shown disdain since the first day on board. He supposes that’s proof to how much they’ve all changed since the rooftop. An almost smile tugs at his lips, turning to take a secondary path to the where Sara awaits.

               When he reaches the main deck most of the team is already present. Sara looks over at him, head tilted slightly in question. “All set?”

               He nods, “Raymond is on his way to the jumpship now. Mick is just waiting for us to take off.” He makes his way to his own seat, pulling the harness down and securing it.

               “Then let’s finish this.” She states, taking off the moment everyone is locked in. They come to a stop just outside the landing bay.

               Debry still clutters the atmosphere, Gideon’s voice filling the room. “You will need to go in manually from here.” Sara nods, grabbing controls as Leonard releases his harness and goes to get the Coldgun and amulet.

               When he reaches the cargo bay he runs through the plan in his mind once more, leaning into a cargo crate while waiting for the doors to open. He sees blonde hair in his peripherals, turning to see Sara approaching slowly. She stops a couple feet away, watching him with a sadness, a fear in her eyes. “We’re coming in…” her voice is uncharacteristically quiet. “You’re sure this will work?”

               “Why?” He looks at her, their fearless Captain, looking at him almost like she had at the Oculus. “Don’t you trust me Assassin?” he teases.

               “Of course I trust you. It’s just-“ she huffs; and with anyone else he would mock the vulnerability being shown, “I just go you back.” She shakes her head. “I can’t lose you again.”

               “Hey,” he takes several steps toward her, allowing his fingers to rest against her wrist. “I’m not going to die here Birdie. You’ve got my back, besides.”  He smirks, “I owe you dinner.” Before she can respond he closes the distance between them, lips meeting hers in a short but searing kiss. Just as she begins to press back he pulls away, offering one last smirk “See you soon,” then turning and sauntering out the now open doors.

               The feel of her lips lingers against his as he walks toward the wellspring. The feel of her little gasp, brush of fingers against his wrist. He focuses on the way she looks curled against him, or nursing her coffee with a half awake gaze. From there his mind shifts to the team; to Ray’s blinding optomisim and Mick teaching tricks to Axel, Stein’s defense of him. He things of Lisa, all bright smiles and mischief, waiting for his return.

He died to protect them all once, now they remind him why he must live.

               As he approaches the rubble that was once the Oculus he feels a twisting in his gut, and the fog that has slowly settled in his mind gets thicker. He can’t remember the last time he felt like this before a job. He shakes his head, trying to clear his thoughts and pushing it away, focusing on the figure waiting ahead.

               Maestro is younger than he expected; short dark hair and piercing brown eyes watching his approach. But then, he supposes Time Masters aren’t often what they appear. The man looks at him, a slight tilt of his head in recognition. “Mr. Snart, I wasn’t sure you’d really show.” He’s smiling, but it’s sharp and unwelcoming.

               Len scoffs, “Then you obviously didn’t do your research,” he settles himself across from the figure, arms coming to rest over his chest, “I never back out on a deal.”

               “So it would seem,” Maestro shifts, “You brought it with you I assume?”

               Leonard reaches into his pocket, pausing as a wave of nausea washes over him. “Of course.” He removes the amulet, tossing it to the other figure.

               The man flips it in his hand, inspecting the device. “I underestimated you, and for that I must apologize.” He pockets the item, “But then, men like you were never meant to settle as heroes, were you?”

               He smirks, “No, can’t say I’ve ever been much of a hero.” He hears explosions in the distance, meaning Mick and Ray have succeeded in placing charges on the other ships. “But,” he draws Maestro’s attention from where he’s now looking to the side. He pulls the coldgun from its holster, fighting to get it level as the world spins before him.

               “He is a Legend,” Sara’s voice seems distant, and he sees Maestro drop just as his own world blackens around the edges. He hears her shout his name, but can’t find his voice before the whole world goes dark.

               Leonard wakes with a groan, reaching up to cover his eyes from the brightly lit room. “Hey,” Sara’s voice is gentle, and after a moment of letting his eyes adjust he can see her seated at his side.

               “Hey,” he grumbles in return, letting his arm drop back to his side.

               “You know, we really need to stop meeting like this.” He can’t help the short laugh, or the smile that mirrors the one on her lips.

               He shifts to sitting in a more upright position, pleased she doesn’t protest. “What happened?”

               “You passed out,” she replies.

               “Thanks,” his voice drips sarcasm as he gives her an irritated look, “I remember that part.”

               She’s still smiling at him, then motions to the ceiling. “Gideon says it was the timestream.” She frowns, “Some kind of side effect after the Oculus explosion; you and the timestream now repel one another like the same poles of two magnets placed together.”

               “And the closer I got to ground zero, the worse the effects.” He adds.

               She nods, “Exactly.” There’s a flash of irritation, “So why didn’t you call it off when they started?”

               He shrugs, “I figured it was nerves, unease at being back at the Vanishing Point.”

               “You’re an idiot,” she glares, “And you owe me a really nice dinner.”

               He chuckles, looking down at her. “I think I can manage that.” He reaches out letting his fingers trace her jaw before pushing hair behind her ear. “Thanks for having my back.”

               She reaches up to cover his hand with hers, “Anytime,”

               The tension is so thick Len is pretty sure it could be cut with one of her knives. He’s considering leaning in when Raymond bursts into the room. “Sara! There’s a problem in – Oh!” he cuts off, “Am I interrupting?”

               Leonard sighs, letting his hand drop before turning to glare at the other man. Sara just chuckles, patting Len’s leg before turning her attention to Ray. “Nothing that can’t be done later,” The younger man’s face heats slightly, and Len feels a smirk tugging at his lips when Sara flashes him a mischievous grin. “Now what’s the issue?”

               As the pair walk out of the room Len settles back into the chair. “Gideon, how long until we reach Central City?”

               “We should be landing near S.T.A.R. Labs within the hour.” The A.I. replies.

               “Guess I better get moving then,” He smiles to himself, “After all, wouldn’t want to keep the Captain waiting once we’re settled.”

               “Would you like my help in procuring reservations?” the ship asks.

               “No, I’ve got that covered.” He’s quiet a moment, then adds. “But I could use a hand with wardrobe.” He detaches the wrist monitor, carefully getting to his feet. “Can you make a box to deliver it in?”

               “Sure thing, what did you have in mind?” she replies, and he swears she’s grinning.

Chapter 8 (x)

Chapter 10 (x)

[mrevaunit42]

Nova vs Chapter 18: This is how we do it

Hello everyone, Mr.E here and back! Thank you for everyone who likes, comments and reblogs this story. it means a lot to me

i want to apologize to those who were waiting for this. I took a month off because in all these nearly 2 years of writing (holy snap that’s next month) and the random bouts were i didn’t post, I never actually took a break. but I’m back, refreshed and ready to keep stories for you amazing people.

Here it is, the finale of the current arc thought of by my good friend @marionette-j2x who was kind enough to let me borrow her ocs *Jelina, Mary and Berry with their lord Kim* and let me write out the arc idea she came up with and a special @thefandombytes who helped me with some translations. thanks buddy, I greatly appreciate it! 

This is not the story finale so no worries, there’s still some more nova on the way. Well I am going to simply let the show get on the road cuz I know a few of you waited a long time for this so here we go.

also here’s the link to the ff page in case you want read this from the beginning or stumble upon this randomly https://www.fanfiction.net/s/11773524/1/Nova-Butterfly-vs-the-Forces-of-Adolescence

Notification Squad 

@hipster-rapunzel @isolated-frequencies @artgirllullaby 

There was a deathly silence that filled the air, a stillness that no one seemed to want to break.

Katrina stood defiant in front of the children, hammer still embedded in the ground before the shifting, almost slithering robes of the cultists, their eyes empty and lifeless.

“Do you refuse to yield?” Katrina asked, body tensed with preparation.

She knew their answer already but never hurt to make sure. Royal bodyguard she may be but she was always fair.

The cultists stared at one another, not a single word shared among them but each agreeing with the same course of action.

Together as one, they surged forward, their thick black robes moving as a singular entity and making it seem like the shadows themselves were lunging towards the group.

“Yep” Katrina muttered to herself as she kicked her weapon into her armored gauntlet, lifting the massive object without pause “That's what I thought.”

Katrina leapt into action, swirling and twisting her body around faster and faster until she was a whirling hurricane of righteous fury.

The cultists paused in their charge, sharing a concern look of regret as Katrina crashed into the frozen foes and sending several flying helplessly through the air.

Katrina was relentless in her attack: Her hammer swept droves of enemies off their feet, scattering and breaking their formation with one blow.

The closest cultists jumped onto the armored figure, trying to use their weight to slow the juggernaut but all that managed to achieve was let loose a sigh of annoyance.

Katrina effortlessly gripped a helpless cultist in her hand, rolling her eyes as she threw them as far as she could, an unseen smirking gracing her lips while the sickening crunch of his bones against the solid stones walls filled the room.

However, Katrina was but one warrior among a sea of enemies and no matter how many she held back, she could not stop them all.

Katrina reached for one of the robed figures who managed to slip under her and bolted towards the helpless children but before she could grasp his hood, another one of his comrades slammed his fist against her chest plate. While the attack had done nothing more than broke the attacker's hand, it had startled Katrina enough. Instincts took over and she turned around, instinctively grabbing head of the unlucky cultist and smashing her helmet into him, sending him reeling to the floor.

“Wait, NO!” Katrina cried but the cultists were swarming and Katrina had no time to lament her failure. She thrust her hammer outward, catching an approaching enemy in the stomach before flexing. With one mighty shove, the nearest cultists skidded the floor with an angry Katrina looming over them.

Jack was the first noticed a few of the robed figures heading their way, a small group that manged to break through Katrina's defense.

Jack wobbled to his feet, his body tired and sore from the previous battles. Two transformations a day had drained a lot out of him but he had no choice but to attempt a third.

“What I do for covy....” Jack muttered wearily.

Jack stood up straight, trying to ignore the aches in his body but before he could even take a deep breath, someone gestured at him with a strange hand sign he vaguely remembered.

“Oh crap” Jack managed to get before he sailed through the air, the dark magic taking hold over him and bringing him closer to the figure.

Jack slid across the floor, wincing in pain as he fell a few feet short of the spell caster.

“You suck!” Jack shouted angrily, struggling to get to his feet “Seriously, my lola can do magic better than you and she doesn't understand what a wiccan is!”

The hooded caster made no indication he heard the half demon. Instead, he broke into a sprint, drawing closer and closer to the helpless Jack.

Jack gripped the stone floor rightly, his claws digging into the tile as he tried to will himself up but he felt like there was a massive weight on the back of his head pushing him against the floor.

“Stop struggling, I need a steady surface.”

“YOU!” Jack snarled when he finally noticed Jelina kneeling next to him, one hand held firmly on her massive bazooka and the other square on Jack's head, planting him firmly to the ground.

“I know you don't need my help right now” Jelina explained, a hint of sarcasm hidden in her neutral voice “But could you please stay down? I need to provide covering fire if we are to escape”

“I hate you” Jack muttered quietly as Jelina began unleashing a barrage of missiles into the thickest parts of the horde.

With hand grabbing at the scuff of Jack's collar, Jelina rose to her feet, hoisting the magician in the air like he was some sort of kitten.

“I don't have a lot of ammo so keep up” Jelina told him flatly

Jack struggled, flailing his arms and legs wildly in an attempt to break free of the mechanical maiden's grip “Well put me down and I'll...”

“No time”

and without warning, Jelina broke into a full sprint, the world becoming a blur of colors that lasted only a moment before Jack found himself unceremoniously dumped next to the still embraced figures of Nova and Connor

“Alright” Jack admitted “that was pretty cool.”

“I'm afraid we have to engage the enemy” Jelina glanced towards Berry and Mary who nodded in agreement

“I forbid it” Kim chimed in defensively “You will not foolishly risk your lives.”

“But master, we...”

“You live to serve me” Kim replied, a finality to his voice “You cannot do that if you are dead.”

Before Jelina could argue, the room was filled with a pinkish purplish light that glowed softly in the darkness.

Amidst the fighting, everyone had forgotten about the still massive dimension portal lazily hovering where the ceiling once was.

The sudden shift in illumination blinded many of the combatants (except Katrina who kept wailing away on her foes unhindered.)

Nova rose her hand to shield her eyes from the glow, Connor's embrace tightening despite the warm feeling that surrounded them.

Something descended slowly. Nova could hear the light fluttering of wings approach, softly growing louder as the source of the light drew closer to her.

Nova squinted, trying her hardest to see past the blazing light.

“What is that?” Nova muttered to herself, leaning forward to get a closer look.

A little gasp escaped Nova's lips, her eyes wide with awe and wonder upon seeing through the veil of illumination.

“Mom...” she softly whispered.

Nova couldn't help but stare at her mother as the light slowly dimmed. She had never seen her mother in her Mewberty form before and despite the descriptions from varying sources, none had done the sight justice.

Her mother's normally fair skin was now tinged a deep, rich purple. Her pink, rose colored wings with fluttered gently behind her. Her long, golden blonde hair was now faded and twisted into two antenna like cones. Star wore sleek, well polished sliver battle armor that had obviously been custom made for the queen given her pair of arms were now six. Her eyes and hearts glowed with a harsh light and for once in her life Nova could feel the royal authority behind her mother.

This was the Butterfly that would not allow anyone to deny her her choice of husband. That was the Butterfly that fought tooth and nail to reunite with her beloved and daughter. That was the Butterfly who defeated Toffee and reformed an ancient dynasty, bringing unity to two warring enemies. That was the Butterfly who connected two dimensions forever.

That was Star Butterfly.

The light faded from her eyes and hearts, returning them to normal.

“Mom!” Nova cried, unable to help herself as she raced forward (with Connor supporting from behind)

She lunged at her mother, locking her arms around her tightly as tears began to pool in her eyes

“Mommy, I'm so happy you're here” Nova sniffled “I was so scared. I thought I wasn't going to see you again a-and the wand! Mom, I'm sorry I couldn't...”

Nova fell silent as Star's hand gently brushed her hair, her touch soft and affectionate while she held Nova closer.

“I'm here. Mommy's got you sweetie. You are safe. Nothing else matters.”

Nova pulled away only to find a relived smile on Star's face, her eyes warm and loving.

“Hey, what about me?” A voice called from behind Star.

“D-dad? You're here too?”

Marco scoffed in mock annoyance as he appeared from behind Star, still well dressed though now rocking another accessory in the form of a sheathed katana.

“My little girl was kidnapped! Of course I'm going to be here.” Marco rolled his eyes playfully.

Nova tackled him, hugging her father tightly while the tears flowed freely down her cheeks

“There, there angel” Marco whispered gently, patting Nova's head lovingly “It's okay. We're here.”

Marco and Star shared a look, one that brought a shiver down Nova's spine.

“OOOOOOO KATRINAKINS!”

Katrina flinched in embarrassment, ignoring the thrashing of the figure whose figure she held by the throat.

“Your majesty, did you have to call me that here? Now?”

Star gave a peppy nod as Marco ushered everyone behind himself and his wife.

“Of course. Katrina, please come back and help the children through the portal. Kim and his maids included. We will take care of this.”

Katrina's mask was indifferent but the fierce warrior's posture changed at once.

“Oh boy” Katrina muttered to the still struggling cultist “You are all in trouble now”

Katrina smashed the figure against the ground and jumped high into the air, effortlessly landing next to Star and Marco in a single leap.

“Okay kids time to go!” Katrina instructed, hoisting Connor by the scuff and tossing him through the massive portal

Connor flailed wildly for a moment before landing on the Diaz's living floor with a muted thud.

Nova stayed back though close to Katrina who now was arguing with Kim about how much trouble he was in.

“In, now” Katrina snarled

“we refuse” Jelina shot back, the trio of mechanical maidens standing between the towering monster and their demon lord.

“I'm afraid you don't have much of a choice. You are under suspicion of conspiracy of kidnapping the princess and if I have to take you by force, I will.”

“Wow” Berry chimed in, thoroughly impressed “that sounds bad. Really bad.”

“Ugh, who cares” Mary crossed her arms “We're not going with you.”

“Our master has done nothing wrong. We refuse to comply with your request” jelina added in

“Ladies”

The trio turned to Kim who gestured them to remain calm

“I will go with you”

“Master!” The maids cried out indignantly

Kim raised his hand and they fell silent at once

“My maids will accompany me of course” Kim went on “I will go with you willingly though I suspect you to be honest in your findings.”

Katrina gave a curt nod “We just need to verify if you were working alone or of your own free will. Nothing more.”

Kim nodded “I agree to your terms, shall we?”

Katrina picked up Kim with one hand and the fuming maids in the other, placing them carefully on the floor away from the portal

Sol stared at the demonic overlord and the brightly colored maids that suddenly appeared in his home.

“Whoa” Sol nodded “I'm going to need more cookies” and promptly raced into the kitchen to get snacks for their guests.

Marco drew his katana, tossing the sheath into the portal and onto the couch.

Star took a step forward. There were still dozens upon dozens of cultists despite the countless groaning bodies that littered the floor.

Star took a deep, calming breath. She closed her eyes, imagining a peaceful relaxing field in Mewni she was so fond of.

Marco braced himself, hands covering his ears.

Star's eyes snapped open, her grin bending into a bone chilling smirk.

The cultists fidgeted nervously, their self preservation instincts screaming at them to run for the door.

“So.” Star spoke gently, her gaze scanning the sea of fabric that stood before her “YOU TRIED TO KIDNAP MY LITTLE GIRL!?”

Star's voice boomed with an unearthly volume, shaking the hooded figures externally and internally.

Despite their stoic, inhuman nature, they shuddered at the sound of pure anger laced within the mother's tone.

Star hadn't even waited for a response.

She gestured outward with a single hand and before faster than anyone could anticipate, ribbons of pink energy collided with several cultist chests, sending them crashing into those fortunate enough not to blasted by the righteous fury of Mewni's queen.

Silence as the world seemed to slow, Star's fingers smoking in the stillness

With a screeching battle cry, the figures that remained standing raced forward, hoping to overwhelm the Mewman with their sheer numbers.

Marco rolled his eyes, strolling past Star to place himself between the horde and his wife.

“Marco sweetie” Star cooed lovingly

“Yes honey?”

“Save some for me, will you?”

Marco a gave short nod as he held his katana at his side.

One poor soul made the unfortunate decision to lunge at Marco, thinking it was the most brilliant idea he ever had.

Marco smirked, swinging the flat of his blade against the mid-air foe who tumbled to the floor face first, his nose breaking with a sickening crunch.

Marco charged forward, pushing deep into the crowd while his sword blurred about his body with inhuman speed

Cultists fell at his feet, clutching the various body parts Marco struck achingly, thick, nasty looking bruises already forming.

Marco slashed towards a line of approaching hooded figures and with a flick of his wrists, pieces of hair fell gently to the floor, their owners clutching at their heads fearfully as they backed away from the king.

“got you!” Someone cried from behind, leaping onto Marco's back and attempting to trap him in a hold “Surrender or...”

Crack.

The figure stumbled backwards, a river of crimson leaking from his nose. Marco swiftly turned about and drove the hilt of his katana into the attacker's forehead.

He crumpled to the floor motionless at his feet.

The cultists were giving Marco a wide berth now, surrounding him a very loose circle.

“Look, I just want to go home” Marco told them, motioning with his weapon casually “Just back off and this won't hurt. Well it will hurt but it won't hurt as much as if you make me take you down. What I mean to say the ratio of pain is lessened if you just give up”

“Marco! Stop mathing at them and kick their butts” Star yelled

“You are but a man!”

“But I'm not” a voice called from the door way and stepping out of the shadows was Tom who was as impeccably dressed as Marco.

Marco waved cheerfully with his sword “Oh hey Tom! What brings you here?”

“I figured we could speed this along. Got word that Kim is not a board member and thus fair game. Hey, are we still meeting up for bowling?”

“Totally” Marco nodded in agreement “But this is getting boring. Let's wrap thing up.

“Boring?!” The cultists cried out indignantly but their groans of complaint grew into whimpers of fear as Tom's trio of eyes glowed with a blood red hue.

The CEO of the Underworld grew in size, his limbs and body elongating to an impossible length. his entire form changed, growing and growing as his muscles budged outward ripping the fabric of his shirt. His nails grew and glimmer with a razor sharpness. Glowing orange demonic runes were scrawled every inch of his body as his horns bent and curved backwards, twisting in a tight loop. Flames spread across the normally clean shaven face of the demon until a thick, burning beard made of pure fire crackled against his skin.

Tom let out a roar that shook the very foundation of the world before reaching for a hooded figure, easily plucking him from the sea of his comrades despite his struggling.

Tom swept outward, knocking rows of the cultists to the floor as Marco sprang into action, driving his hilt and flat of his blade into every forehead he could find.

Star took to the skies, bombarded the unlucky souls below with multicolored narwhals, ribbons of concussive force and bright pink gumballs of energy.

Nova watched in awe as the numerous enemies dwindled rapidly before her eyes.

Nova shifted guiltily at the sight of her parents

“They really are amazing.....” She mumbled sadly to herself.

Star waved with a free hand and at her command swirls of pink energy formed at the cultists feet,  spinning faster and faster with a reckless abandon before forming into a thick, powerful pink tornado that swallowed entire figures whole and trapped them in an endless cycle.

Several figures attempted to leap at Tom all at once in hopes of somehow overwhelming the demonic lord but Tom swiped them out of the air, sending them crashing against the solid stone floor before giving them a good punt outside the door.

Marco ducked and weaved through the hooded figures, expertly attacking any cultists who was foolish enough to try and stop him, making sure to give some warning cuts to some clothing for good measure

“That is pretty terrifying” Connor called to Nova, his green eyes wide with awe “I've never seen your parents fight before.”

“I've never seen mom transform before.” Nova replied in a stun awe.

“What is going on here?!” A new voice called from the Diaz household.

The fighting stopped at once with no one sure why exactly everyone had paused.

There was a dull thud as someone fell through the portal into the underworld, the darkness of the room against the illumination from the setting sun on Earth basked the person in a shadowy silhouette

“JACK!” A motherly whine called out and before the young half demon knew it, he found himself trapped in a familiarly tight embrace.

“MOM!” Jack cried out in embarrassment, much to his horror “What are you doing here?! AND STOP TRYING TO KILL ME!”

“How dare you run off to the Underworld without telling me?” Janna scolded, grabbing and pulling on her son's ear “Hmm? What were you thinking?”

“Oww, OWW! sinusubukan ko lang makatulong sa aking mga kaibigan!”

“Really?” Janna peered closer “AND YOU RUINED YOUR CLOTHES?!”

“MOM!” Jack whimpered helplessly

“Don't you mom me!” Janna frowned “I worked very hard to make you those clothes and you can't even keep them cleaned?!”

“I was in the Underworld mom! It's kinda hard to....”

“Excuses” Janna cut in.

“Umm...” Connor said calmly “is this really....?”

“Yep” Nova confirmed, her gaze never leaving mother and son “It's happening”

“and YOU”

A cultist froze as Janna pointed directly towards him, inching closer and closer with a blind rage in her stance.

“M-me?” The cultist stammered

Janna gave him a quizzically stare before punching him straight in the jaw and sending tumbling to the floor.

“not you” Janna scoffed before turning furiously at the towering Tom “YOU”

“Me?” Tom gestured helplessly to himself “Wait, what?”

“You let our son...”

“Mom, it's not...”

“... go on a dangerous rescue mission to the underworld.”

“Wait, Janna it's not like...”

“AND DIDN'T TELL ME?”

Tom taken aback “He just showed up on my doorstep! I didn't really have time to call you.”

“Did you at least give him the armor?”

“He's wearing it sweetie”

“And did you at least walk him here?”

“Janna I couldn't just.....”

Janna shook her head disappointingly “We'll talk about this later.”

Janna turned to face the few cultists that remained and told them in a low, dangerous whisper “get out.”

The cultists shared a surprised look with one another. Was this woman really expecting to...

One of the hooded figures jumped as a battle ax suddenly embedded itself in the floor, barely missing his arm by an inch or so.

Janna leaned in closer, hilt of the weapon still in her hand “I said go.”

The cultist opened his mouth to reply when he felt something warm tickling down his arm. He glanced to find a piece of his robe had been cut off and something red trickling down his arm.

The cultist fled at once, tripping and falling over their fallen in their race to escape.

Silence overtook the room once again before shattered by a loving, excited “JANNA BANANA!”

Janna barely braced herself in time for Star sudden hug attack, the queen of Mewni wrapping her arms tightly around her deputy mayor while bouncing up and down (Luckily she had returned to her normal Mewman form)

“Hey Star” Janna greeted in a lazy drawl, patting Star's back in a friendly manner “Been a while.”

“it has!” Star pouted “You have to tell me how it went in Paris. Tell me tell me tell me!”

“Star” Janna raised a hand to stop the mayor's pawing “Kids”

“Don't worry Katrina's got them buuuut we better go. We need to close the giant portal we left in the ceiling.”

“So...” Tom coughed, slowly approaching his wife “You look...”

“Yes I look good and yes I'm still mad. Come on hothead”

Nova felt strange sense of disconnection just sitting in the living room next to Jack and Connor despite being trapped with a demon's manor just moments before. The adults stood around them in a loose formation, talking about life and things that occurred since the last time they saw each other but Nova could feel the worry roll off of them, their gazes protective yet relaxed though it's probably the several massive Mewman knights standing at every possible entrance into the house, at the ready.

Katrina was sitting on the floor, laughing at Sol who was eagerly trying on her helmet despite the fact it was several times too big and span freely on his head.

“Everything is so normal” Nova said cautiously “ like nothing happened.”

“I know right?” Connor added in, eying his surroundings carefully.

Jack shrugged indifferently “This isn't our parents first battle.”

Nova thought back to her mother's Mewberty form, how majestic and powerful she had been.

“...yeah....”

Marco carefully approached the children, giving a reassuring smile “You guys okay?”

They all gave a nod

“So how many days were we gone?” Connor asked curiously

Marco scratched his chin thoughtfully “about 4 hours?”

“Four hours?! SERIOUSLY?!”

“Yeah, it's still Thursday”

Connor sunk into the couch in disbelief before wincing in pain.

“Connor!” Jack and Nova cried out in surprise.

“I'm fine” Connor tried to wave off their concern but he could the knowing glint of Mr. Diaz's eye

“Ah, first major battle huh? Probably got bruised pretty nicely”

“Connor!” Nova scolded.

“I'll be fine”

“Nova, bandage him up”

Nova sighed dramatically “C'mon Connor.”

Connor stayed still

Jack raised an eyebrow “I will carry you”

Connor shot to his feet at once, allowing the magical princess to lead him to the bathroom.

Connor sat there silently, trying his hardest not to flinch as Nova smoothed out the wrappings around his shirtless chest, her cold hands and the swelling of his bruises making it difficult to sit still.

Nova's face was bright red and she spent as much time as she could staring away from Connor.

“H-hey, you got muscles now?” Nova commented offhandedly

“I-I guess?” Connor coughed “I mean I just invent...but I guess some of the pieces are pretty heavy....”

“R-right....”

Awkward silence fell over the teens who were determined to just get this over with.

“....I'm...sorry....”

“Huh?” Connor turned around only to found Nova staring at him, tears in her eyes.

“This happened because I wasn't strong enough.....my own parents had to come and get me....”

“Nova? I don't...”

“I'm no Butterfly” she muttered sadly “I couldn't even fight off a stupid demon.”

“HE'S NOT STUPID” The trio of maids shouted back.

“You know what my mom did when she was my age? SHE SAVED MY DAD WHEN HE WAS KIDNAPPED BY TOFFEE! I COULDN'T EVEN....”

Nova stopped as Connor held her closely

“Nova, you're okay. Everything's okay. That's all that matters.”

Nova cried freely, wrapping her arms gently best friend.

Connor stroked Nova's hair softly, letting out a relived sigh.

Everything was okay.

Nova trudged her way to her bed after her mother decided it was best for the young ones to sleep. She threw off her father's hoodie and sat at the edge of her bed, preparing to head to sleep. Her father decided it was best if they all stayed home tomorrow given how chaotic today was.

She sighed deeply, holding her mother's devil headband gingerly in her hands.

What kind of princess was she? Not even a month with the wand and she was already kidnapped and endangering everyone. Who knows what could've happened if Connor and Jack hadn't came to save her or her parents failed to reach them in time.

Connor and Jack were asleep downstairs which brought her some small comfort but the failure of her duty gnawed at her entire being.

And as she tried to drift off to sleep, tossing and turning in her bed, all she could think of  is how horrible she was at being a magical princess.

Maybe the nobles were right. Maybe she was no heir to Mewni.

[dainesanddaffodils]

Lead Me Home - a Perc’ahlia Anastasia AU

Prologue | Ao3

Chapter One - Be Grateful

Percy couldn't remember how long he had been in this prison cell.

This being the most recent in a long, long line of things Percy could not remember.

He was rather tired of the feeling.

He sat, his knees drawn up under his chin, and tried to remember what day he had been pulled from the streets of Emon. He flexed his fingers and they twitched with a small spasm of pain. His burns still hurt from when his invention had misfired, and he knew from having more extensive experience with those kinds of injuries than he would have liked, that that meant it couldn't have been more than a few days since he acquired them.

It couldn't have been more than three days ago? Not more than a week, certainly? 

What did time even mean to a man who had no concept of anything from before five years back?

He didn't know. He just wanted-

Percy sighed, fighting the urge to run his manacled hands over his face and through his hair, even though he knew both were already filthy regardless. That was the crux of his problems, really: What he wanted. Percy wasn't entirely sure what that was, and hadn't for quite literally as long as he could remember. There were things he needed, things necessary to living, shelter and food, income to sustain both. He worked, tinkering work wherever he could get it, but he had no idea what he was working towards. He didn't know what he wanted, but he knew it wasn't the life he had.

Then there were times he had... dreams. Ideas. Inspiration for things outside of his - or anyone's - knowledge, things like the invention that currently sat in a prison guard's office. But he knew even less what end those ideas were working towards, what want that was an answer to. 

He wanted to know. Where he was going, what his life was even for, who he had been.

Percy wanted to know. 

But as things stood, all those half-formed wants still played second-fiddle to the immediate need: Getting out of this cell.

He sighed again, and then coughed. His throat and vocal chords ached; the former from thirst, the latter just from the sheer amount of disuse he had given them. Aside from a halfhearted protest to one of the guards, he hadn’t spoken a word in… however many days. His reverie was only broken on the rare, rare occasion that another prisoner was thrown in the jail, and he’d had no desire to strike up a conversation with them. And really, even before this cell he hadn’t exactly been going out of his way to have social interaction. 

So, lost in his head as he was, Percy wasn't paying too much attention to the cell to his right. A girl had been brought in earlier that day, and had been off and on whistling. It sounded both better and angrier than Percy had ever thought whistling could, and had faded into a somewhat pleasant white noise. 

Absently he tapped his hand against his leg to the beat of her current tune, recognizing it as a particularly filthy sailor's ditty. He had the brief, mad urge to actually sing along when the whistling cut off abruptly. In the absence of that sound, Percy heard male voices conversing in the front room of the prison, one louder and more confident sounding than the other.

He knew the girl was listening as well, and heard the softest accented voice say, "Oh, for fuck's sake." He almost smiled.

Not a minute later the prison guard appeared again, dragging a small, small man (a gnome, Percy supposed) in with him. He was still talking, and his wide grin and fast-paced speech held the nerves of someone who's plan was going very wrong but was not about to give it up just yet. 

The cell door right of his was swung open, the gnome tossed inside and out of Percy's line of sight. "Since you wanted to see her," the guard said simply, and left them.

There was a long, long silence before Percy heard the girl speak, her voice dripping sarcasm. "Nicely done, dad."

The gnome's voice was decidedly less confident. "I was going to try and do this the easy way first-"

"Oh that was the easy way, was it?"

There was a nervous chuckle. "I'm usually much better at this-"

"I'm certain you are," was the dry response.  

After a palpably awkward silence, he began, "I'm sorr-"

His daughter cut him off immediately. "So what's your real plan for gettin' us out of here, then?"

Percy was only half-listening at that point, but talk of an escape plan brought him back. It wasn't as if he hadn't thought of numerous plans to get himself free, but all of them fell-through in his head if the slightest variable wasn't in his favor. He'd known it was hopeless to attempt any of them. 

But these two... the man was a magic user of some sort apparently, which already gave them more advantage than he would have on his own. He might never get a chance like this again.

"Hello?"

The voices went silent. Percy took a deep breath, forcing himself to forge onward. "If you're planning to escape, I will- aid you in whatever way I'm able if you help release me, too."

Neither spoke, and for a moment Percy wondered if they had magically teleported in that instant. Then, the male voice spoke. "While I'm sure we don't need any help-" the girl made a soft disbelieving noise and he shushed her. "-you've got me curious. What are you in here for?"

"A mistake."

There was a pause. "All right, listen; the people I travel with- we don't have the best track record of helping supposedly innocent people, and you're not making a very convincing case for your trustworthiness, you know?"

Percy rubbed his face. "All right. I had a- something I built malfunctioned, and did so in such a way that I nearly injured... several people in a public forum and nothing I could say would convince these lovely guards that I had not intentionally acted."

Another pause, longer. He had no way to know but he was almost certain he was conversing with his daughter. Then, "If things go bad, I'm putting everything on getting her out."

"I understand," Percy said immediately.

"It might not work."

"It's a better chance than I'll ever have."

He was met, again, with silence.

"Listen, I don't want anything more from you - just to be out of here." When the silence persisted, Percy fell back on the only card he had left to play. "I don't have much to offer in return - they took my things - but if I can get them back, I have... maybe five hundred gold I could pay you with."

Things happened very quickly from there.

Some magic that he didn't understand, some slight of hand that he did, and a one-sided conversation with someone, or perhaps several someones, through an enchanted earring and all at once Percy was once again on the streets of Emon, squinting into the near-blinding light of late afternoon a little shook by the ease of it all.

The gnome looked up at him with a wide grin. His daughter stood a little ways off, looking maybe less bewildered than Percy, but not by much. "Gotta take care of her right now, but stick around; he rest of my team wants to meet you." He thought for a moment and shrugged. "Or don't - it's really your call." 

The two gnomes left without waiting for Percy's response.

"Thank you," he said, not even trying to let his voice carry. He wasn't entirely sure what had happened, but he had been rescued from starving to death in a prison cell, and for that he was grateful. He could wait a little while.

He didn't wait for very long, fiddling with his broken contraption and wondering what he was going to do without any of his money, before a bellowing voice called out, "You there!"

Percy tensed and looked up in time to see a- a giant coming toward him. His skin was a pale grey, scarred and heavily muscled and he was armed to the tooth with things Percy knew he wouldn't be able to even lift. The tone wasn't hostile, but his grip tensed on the handle of his - broken - weapon regardless. 

A shorter man came around his side, long black hair pulled in a messy bun leaving much of it to fall past his shoulders, walking with a casual speed that still overtook the larger man with ease. "I'm assuming you're the gentleman our friend sprung from jail," he said, his speech as mellow as his gait. He gestured up at him. "Don't think anyone else matches the description 'whitey' quite like you."

Percy's fingers twitched with a desire to self-consciously fuss with his hair. "Ah- yes."

The man's eyes narrowed a moment before he shrugged. He made no further comment.

Percy was trying to think of something to say or ask when another figure came around to join them. "Is this him?" The speaker was a tall, redheaded woman, her eyes almost unnaturally green and her smile full of more genuine joy than he thought he might have ever seen on anyone.  

"He's right here, Keyleth," the man said, lightly teasing. "But yes.” He raised his voice a bit. “Sister, come meet your five hundred gold."

The other woman came up on his other side, and for a moment Percy thought he was seeing things, blinking a few times until realization came. Though her long hair was styled differently, she was identical in facial structure and stature to the man beside her. 

She gave a sour look at her brother, elbowing him gently in the side. "Don't say it like that, you dick." She looked up at Percy and the scowl disappeared as quickly as a cloud passed over the sun. "I'm glad you're all right, regardless of the money," she said with a very pointed politeness. Her brother snorted softly, but didn't press the issue. 

"Is he all right?" The giant asked, cocking his head. "He looks like one of those undead folks."

Now Percy couldn't help but fidget, brushing at the off-white rough-woven clothing he owned. He really looked at these newcomers and for the first time paid attention to the fine leather armor, the well-kept weapons, the full pouches of coin or other items that they all possessed. They didn't carry themselves like nobility, but they certainly appeared to be of more wealth than Percy had known in the past five years memory allowed him.

Keyleth frowned, looking him over. "Are you all right? I could heal you a bit-"

"No," Percy said immediately, trying not to take a step back. He didn't mind per se the magic that the gnome (Scanlan?) had used for their escape, but he didn't like the idea of magic used so specifically on him in that way. Keyleth looked a little confused and - to his alarm - a little hurt. "I only- food and sleep on something that's not a dirt floor is all I need. But thank you," he added, because confounding as it was, the gesture was a kind one.

"Well... okay," she conceded. She studied him a moment. "Scanlan didn't tell us your name."

"I didn't give it," he said.

"Well, my name is Keyleth," she said encouragingly. She gestured to the people beside her. "That's Vex and Vax and Grog. Scanlan was the one who let you out."

She looked at him expectantly.

He sighed. He might as well tell them something. "Percy." 

The four members of his audience went suddenly still. His brow furrowed, unsure what about his name would garner that reaction. "What?"

"'Percy'?" Keyleth repeated.

"Yes," he said, hoping he sounded more sure than he suddenly felt. He already had enough difficulty with his own existence without people doubting the only thing he could reasonably hold on to.

"Percival?" She suggested.

"Keyleth," Vax (or Vex - Percy wasn't sure which the female twin was from Keyleth's speedy attempt at an introduction) admonished quietly. He didn't understand that either.

"I-"

"Yeah, do you have a last name or, like, a buncha last names?" the giant - no, Percy decided, not quite a giant, but at least part-giant - asked.

"Grog." That was the male twin with the same tone. 

Percy raised a hand, stopping an argument from breaking out over him, a stranger they'd sprung from jail. "It's fine. I don't have a last name, no." 

That got the surprise he actually expected. Twin number two asked, his brow furrowed. "When you say you don't... Vex and I, we don't acknowledge our last name. Is it something like that?"

"No, I don't actually- well," Percy sighed. "I suppose I likely did have one, at one point. I just don't know it. I don't remember it. My full name could be Percival. I don't know."

The members of his audience looked completely at sea with this information and frankly, Percy didn't blame them. He wasn't sure how someone was supposed to react to it; outside of the crew that had found him, he'd never told anyone. It never came up.

He wasn't completely sure why it had come up now. He had paid them, he was free, this should be where they parted ways. But they continued to look at them like- like they were expecting more from him.

The- well, Grog spoke again. "What, did you get hit on the head or something?"

"I... don't know," Percy said plaintively. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Vex cover her mouth with her hand, as though to smooth her smile off her face - or at very least, hide it. Either way, she failed.

"Want me to hit you on the head now?"

"No." Percy and the rest of this motley party said in unison.

Keyleth was frowning thoughtfully at him. "Is there a reason you remember 'Percy' though?"

"It's the name I was called as early as I can remember. I don't know if I gave it to the people who found me or if they gave it to me," he said, and maybe it came out a little frustrated - he was. "Does my name matter for any particular reason?"

The flicker of hurt crossed Keyleth's expression again, like she had been trying to help a wounded animal and it had bit her. That didn't make him feel particularly sorry for her, if he was honest. 

"We're sorry for the interrogation," Vax stepped in again, his voice smooth. He rested a hand on Keyleth's arm. "I don't think you can blame the curiosity though; it is an uncommon situation."

"Is it?" Percy asked dryly, but he forced himself to reign back his irritable confusion at why he was suddenly so important to all these strangers. He sighed. "There's really nothing to tell, and I don't feel that it should matter."

"Right," Keyleth said. "Sorry, I was-"

"No, it's- it's fine. It’s fine." He was very, very tired. His comment about needing food and rest felt truer than ever.

"Percy," Vex said, suddenly. He realized, while he had been talking to the others, that she had been studying him intensely. "About that five hundred gold."

He eyed her skeptically. "I gave it to... Scanlan?"

"Yes, of course, darling." She paused a moment, as if carefully considering what she was about to say. "But, I think it's rather a bit too much for a simple jail break." Percy could see Vax and Keyleth exchange brief glances of surprise. Either they thought five hundred was rather the perfect price, or were surprised that she was the one to bring this up.

"Is that so?" He said, when it appeared she was waiting on his reaction.

"Oh yes. For that money, I think you at least deserve dinner at our Keep."

Keyleth perked up immediately. "Oh yes, yes! And we do have plenty of guest rooms if you'd like to stay-" she intercepted a look that Vax was giving his sister and added. "For at least one night?"

Percy looked from face to face, utterly bewildered by the continued generosity, especially since all he’d really done was snap at them. He couldn't help but feel suspicious; he hadn't forgotten that interrogation, or their expectant expressions. He didn't know what they wanted from him, or what they'd do when they realized he couldn't give it to them. But-

He didn’t know where he was going, where he even wanted to go.

Percy held out a hand for Vex to shake, which she readily did. "I think that would certainly make us even."

Her smile was a dazzling thing. "Perfect."

And... maybe this party could lead him to that answer.

[quietpagan]

Trollhunters: What Falls and What Grows 7

"Weeds are flowers too, once you get to know them."

- A. A. Milne,  Eeyore from Winnie the Pooh

* Language, blood and violence warning *

  For the residents of Trollmarket, the excitement and gossip of a new Trollhunter faded a bit in that first week, but for Blinky the challenge of a new trainee was still fresh and new every day.

He was rather enjoying doing the complete training, as he had with Unkar. Blinky hadn’t begun training Trollhunters in anything other than lore until the previous trainer had been eaten by a goblin horde. His aptitude for the job was negligible; poor Unkar had proven that. But he’d studied up and trained Kanjigar well…although it certainly had helped that Kanjigar had already been a formidable warrior prior to being chosen as Hunter.

Alexandra was entertaining to train. She pushed herself past the previous day’s limits every session she had, but when she was finished, she was finished, and nothing short of AAARRRGGHH physically lifting her off the floor and chasing her around the arena could get her started again.

The rules of engagement were followed to the letter; even Kanjigar had struggled with rule three, which seemed to be Alexandra’s favorite.  She certainly used it on Draal a lot.

Draal, really, was another matter. His hatred of Alexandra had waned to a mere dislike, and Blinky knew that Draal appreciated the way that Alexandra would charge at him, screaming like a banshee and hacking at everything she could reach, whenever he deliberately pushed her too far. It seemed to provide a much-needed outlet for both of them, because they often got something to eat afterward and were reasonably amicable for the rest of the day.

Alexandra’s studies were going even better than the training. She was a diligent and eager student, always asking questions and taking down notes, and Blinky knew that she supplemented his lectures with the reading materials she was hoarding in her chambers.

Blinky’s studies, however, had hit a dead end. And by dead end, he meant that he had not found a single shred of evidence for Alexandra’s existence.

Which should have been impossible, or at least extremely improbable. Trolls took a lot of time and effort to record names and families, given their low numbers and long lives. Now it could have happened that her personal record was lost in the crossing and migration; Alexandra probably wasn’t old enough to have been born before the end of the war, and when the majority of trolls moved from Europe and crossed the American continent many things were lost, including documents and records. But that would not explain the absence of any record of Asphodelus, Alexandra’s…Blinky actually wasn’t sure if that was her mother or father. Blinky held one of many, many copies of records of trolls born before, during, and after the migration – it was exceptionally rare that any troll, even from a reclusive or unpopular line, neglected to have their name or the name of a new relative recorded. He, Vendel, and several other scholars around the world regularly received missives announcing the birth of a whelp.

There were three explanations for Asphodelus’s and Alexandra’s lack of records. The first was that Asphodelus was one of those rare and few who never had their names taken in the records, and they had neglected to give Alexandra’s as well. The second was that the records had – for whatever reason – been destroyed, a feat only possible through magic.

The third was that Alexandra had lied.

Maybe she didn’t know her family, Blinky thought. Maybe she had dishonored ancestors. Maybe she was in hiding. Maybe she was a criminal. Maybe, maybe, maybe.

Blinky naturally told AAARRRGGHH about his findings, but neither of them rushed to inform Vendel. As soft-hearted as he was underneath the sarcasm and disappointment, he was also extremely pragmatic. A Trollhunter who lied about something so simple, so seemingly unimportant, was not a Trollhunter that they could trust.

 Alexandra was reminded in the next week of exactly how much she loved the barter system. Prices depended on what someone needed or how much they wanted what she offered, and it varied from person to person. Her cat had crapped in the room again and she bought breakfast and lunch with its leavings, as well as a hairball it spit up. That actually got her a decent little salt lamp, in addition to a plate of seared mushrooms. The residents of Trollmarket were surprisingly accommodating, and she supposed that they were very used to having foreign trolls around, as well as Trollhunters new to the job. She had not been called to do anything yet, as Blinky had told her she would, but she wanted to be ready. ‘Trollhunter’ wasn’t just a thorn in Bular’s side, but a leader and servant to the people under his or her wing. It was more responsibility than Alexandra had ever been charged with to bear, and although she had decided to truly give it her all (though she had little choice) she tried not to think about it.

Blinky may have had pity on her on the second day, but by the third she was back in the Forge, working on her footwork and building up her strength and endurance. If she was honest with herself she would have admitted that the exercise felt good, but it also left her so sore that she dreaded getting up to go train. It didn’t help that he now made the floor of the arena move.

Sparring with Draal especially killed her. He and Blinky both seemed to take absolute amusement from making her suffer, but Draal took it the extra mile. If she failed to block a hit, she had to practice the move until she got it, and then he’d still spring around and try the same hit at random times throughout the training session.

Day four had been especially brutal, because Blinky only let her use one set of arms – the lower ones. He’d seen her struggles with using them and had her practice her sword forms to perfection, changing which hand the sword was held in each time. Alexandra’s lower arms were weak and extremely out of practice, and she was still sore three days later.

In fact she’d never been more emotionally and physically exhausted in her life. Not only was she re-learning how to control a body she hadn’t used in decades, pushing it through spars and memorizing forms, she was also studying every book she could glue her eyes to and re-reading her notes from Blinky’s daily lectures.

The sheer amount of things she was completely ignorant about was staggering, and she knew that Blinky had noticed. He had begun to ask her about her family, her childhood home, how and where she had lived, where she had learned to fence, even where she’d gotten her clothes. Dodging his queries and making up half-truths and often times straight-up lies was exhausting. She was half-ready to just shout I’m a Changeling, motherfucker! just to stop him from questioning her all the time. And he was sneaky about it, too. He didn’t just outright ask her things, but made quiet little I suppose that blah blah blah comments or made delicate little prompts whenever she spoke, or else deliberately false assumptions so that she would instinctively correct them, and thus give him more information. She’d never heard or used to much double-speak and coded language in her life.

And it got dangerous, too. He’d noticed that she knew more about the Darklands than anything else. She wasn’t sure how she’d let that slip, but she needed to be more careful. She’d been so enthralled, so unusually accepted in Trollmarket that she’d gotten careless somewhere, and careless – for her kind – was deadly.

Alexandra felt a hard little skull nudge against her elbow and absently rubbed it with another hand. She had…acquired a few more cats than she had initially intended. So far the number had grown to four, and she really needed to get proper cat supplies. She hadn’t had a pet for several decades, and whenever an escapee ran across her path she just kind of…well, stole it, more or less. She made up for it by paying for things with their leavings instead of using the good ol’ I’m the Trollhunter, gimme stuff system that several stalls seemed to expect from her and she was enjoying the company, but it was getting crowded. And smelly. She really needed a proper litterbox.

Which reminded her of her other problem: Kanjigar’s body. Blinky, AAARRRGGHH, Draal, and even Vendel had all begun to pressure her about going up and fetching it. She’d procrastinated long past the point of tolerance – it had been a week already. Every time she glanced at the empty plinth in the Forge she got a little stab of annoyed guilt.

Which was exactly why she was huddled in her nest, with a cat on each arm, reading about the trolls who fought in the Gallic wars and avoiding the trip she’d planned.

She’d received multiple offers to help with the retrieval, but every one had been refused; she couldn’t let them see her apartment.

The little watch she’d bought told her that it was almost sunset, and she closed her book with a sigh. Getting Kanjigar out during the daytime would have been more convenient for her, but too many people would see her, and even if she covered him with a sheet there would be too many questions. Alexandra also doubted that she could pick him up in her human form; strong as it was, trolls weighed a lot, especially once dead. This was not going to be fun.

She snuck out of the market just as the sun was beginning to set, and Changed in the shadows of the bridge. The light, the sounds, the smells of the human world hit her like a brick, and she wobbled for a few steps before she got used to only having two hands and more even proportions again. This was why she preferred to stay in one shape; her human and troll forms were too different. She almost felt blinded with only two eyes to see from.

She went to the town’s tiny supermarket first and bought a supply of cat litter and food. She’d run low very quickly, but it would give her time to either find some sand or get rid of the cats.

Being Upstairs was…odd. It was like returning to your hometown after an extended trip; both new and familiar. She felt distinctly more at ease than she was in Trollmarket, and by the time she got to her apartment it was like she never gone.

A neighbor greeted her, but otherwise she was unbothered. She had the habit of taking pains not to make friends where she lived; she’d found out the hard way how difficult it was to disappear for a period of time when someone expected to chat with her in the apartment hallway every day. It raised too much suspicion when someone was familiar with her daily routines.

Kanjigar still stood in the living room, a menacing stone statue staring a ruffled yellow curtain.

Alexandra quickly shut the door, taking a look around the apartment to make sure nothing was amiss; things were exactly the same as she had left them, although a bit dusty. Her senses were a bit heightened after so soon a Change, and she could smell the neglect – the things gone bad in the fridge, the clothes that hadn’t been washed, the hot-dust scent from the closed curtains. She’d forgotten to turn off her air conditioning, and it rattled on. She knew in that moment that she would pack her things away, terminate her lease, and give her notice at the bookshop. This was the world she was used to, but not the one she could stay in now. Trollhunter, unfortunately, was rather all-encompassing.

There was still glass and a stained blanket on the floor by Kanjigar’s feet, from where he’d broken the window.

Prove yourself, he had said. You are more than what you were made to be.

Prove yourself.

Alexandra shook the memory out of her head and puttered around the apartment, making calls and packing things up, trying to do as much as she could until it was the early hours of morning. As soon as it hit two-thirty, she closed her computer, packed her cat supplies into a bag, and Changed, stepping carefully around the glass to tie a sheet over Kanjigar. She had to summon the armor to pick him up and drag him over to the front door, which was just barely wide enough.

It took a little concentration, but she managed a little trick – to Change while in the armor. The armor shrank with her, forming seamlessly on her human body, and she draped herself in a long winter coat. Odd, for the time of the year, but she’d need the power-up and didn’t want to be caught either in glowing armor or in troll form if any of her neighbors came to investigate why she was dragging an enormous sheet-covered statue out of the building at three in the morning.

The elevator – because there was no way in hell she was dragging Kanjigar’s fat ass down the damn stairs – accommodated only one of them, so Alex had to send Kanjigar down by himself, while she ran down the stairs and hoped to hell that no one wanted to use the elevator.

Getting him through the front door was a trip, literally, because of the stairs. She almost smashed him – his left elbow actually caught the doorframe and chipped off, and Alexandra nearly dropped the rest of him in surprise and dismay. She frightened a young man passing by with her cursing, and by the time she got to the edge of the park she was ready to either cry or laugh maniacally, and just dump him in the grass. She Changed once more in the shadows of the trees and dragged him through the park.

She had to think for a bit on how, exactly, to get Kanjigar down the side of the canal without breaking him, and eventually she gave up, tucked him behind a tree, and went down to Trollmarket to get some help.

Blinky and AAARRRGGHH were waiting at the base of the crystal staircase, as she had asked them to, but she wasn’t surprised to see Draal there as well. He looked her up and down, as if seeing her in the armor still horrified him, and gestured around them.

“Where is my father?” “I don’t want him to break,” said Alexandra, shooting foremost for whatever would get Draal to be sympathetic. “Will you give me a hand?”

Draal snorted but brushed by her.

“You should have a few to spare,” he said. Alexandra rolled her eyes and came up the stairs behind him, hearing Blinky and AAARRRGGHH following.

“Excuse me if I’m not composed solely of muscle and bad attitude,” she muttered, just loud enough for Draal to hear.

He kept quiet, unusual for him, but she knew that most of his piss and vitriol was borne from mourning. As rude and brutish as he was, he had just lost his father less than a week ago, and the fact that he not only hadn’t tried to kill but was actively training his father’s replacement was…reasonably admirable.

They emerged from the entrance to see the morning beginning to lighten; the tops of trees were distinguishable from the sky, and although it would be at least another half hour until the sun broke it was still much later than Alex would have liked. She was immune to the effects of daylight, but the others were not and the exact last thing she needed was another cocksucking statue to drag down to Trollmarket.

“He’s up here. Let’s hurry.” Alexandra pushed past Draal and clamored up the side of the canal, keeping one eye on to the east and the others watching for humans or Bular, since he was familiar with the area.

The others had to wait until a paperboy passed over the bridge, but once Alexandra waved them clear they joined her in the park. AAARRRGGHH started to lift the sheet but Alex shooed his hands away, the pale grey sky worrying her.

“We’ll do that later,” she whispered. “Just get him down.”

Draal and AAARRRGGHH had to tag-team it to get Kanjigar down the side of the canal without any damage, and they got him through the entrance without trouble.

Alexandra went last, and just as the portal closed she saw, out of the corner of two eyes, the spindly leg of a goblin disappear behind the beam of the bridge above.

There was an uproar down below when Alex managed to get her heartrate back under control and descend the stairs.  She knew she’d have to see goblins and Changelings and Bular again, but she really hadn’t expected it, as if it could just be a slightly possibility if she didn’t think about it enough. She had not been ready.

Alexandra was still dazed when she walked to the bottom of the stairs, and thus Blinky’s warning look didn’t register with her. Only her newly-built reflexes saved her from getting her face caved in.

AAARRRGGHH caught her and pushed her back to her feet; she had tripped over the sheet she’d used to cover Kanjigar. Draal was standing in front of the dead troll, looking more murderous than he had when she’d first seen him.

“What kind of insult is this?!”

He roared in her face and gestured violently to his father. Alex looked over his shoulder; Kanjigar was unchanged. She was afraid some kid had drawn a mustache on him or something.

“What insult,” she asked. Draal shoved his face two inches in front of her own, breathing so hard that his nose ring rattled.

“You dare to bring me my father in this condition, in this state, and expect no retribution? I will not see Kanjigar the Courageous dishonored in this way!” “He’s not wearing the armor,” said Blinky behind her, and Alex finally understood. Why hadn’t she seen this before?

Each and every Trollhunter interred in the Hero’s Forge was shown in his or her armor. Every Trollhunter had died in that armor.

Except Kanjigar.

“Master Alexandra, perhaps now would be a good time to explain what, exactly, happened.”

Blinky sounded unusually stern, and with a glance she saw suspicion and accusation in his and AAARRRGGHH’s faces.

The trolls surrounding them looked as grim and distrustful as they did, and over the tops of their heads Alexandra could see Vendel’s starry eyes glaring.

“I challenge you,” said Draal then, his voice almost shaking with anger, the words difficult to hear through clenched teeth. Alexandra whirled around to face him in surprise.

“You will pay for my father’s insult with blood.”

“I can explain this,” she hissed at him. She was wholly shaken; in the week since they’d known each other she’d never have considered him a friend, but to have him challenge her to a duel? Where one or both of them would die? It was beyond dismaying. She thought she’d been doing better than this.

“Draal, I can explain – “ “I don’t care,” he said. It was all she could do to not back away when he fully stepped into her space, shoulders hunched, jaw tense, fists clenched and shaking. Right there, it was just the two of them, breathing in each other’s fear and anger.

Around them, several people were cheering him and goading him on, demanding him to fight her, to make her pay, to show her what a true Trollhunter should be, and when Alexandra looked in his eyes she saw the weight of all those expectations glimmering there. He was angry, yes, but not enough to be willing to possibly die in a duel.

Alexandra minutely shook her head. Draal’s eyes widened.

“I’m not fighting you for this,” she whispered. Draal exhaled, but didn’t back down.

“I’m not fighting,” she said, louder this time.

“No backing out of challenge,” said AAARRRGGHH, quietly, solemnly. Several of the trolls in the crowd agreed with him, yelling for them to get a move on.

I can’t do this.

I have to do this.

A Changeling’s life was one of difficult decisions, of absences and losses and unmet wants. She’d left her first family in shame; her second in mourning; friends and lovers with empty rooms and empty beds. She’d killed people who had suspected her; a man who thought she was a witch; a woman who had seen her in the subway tunnels; a fellow Changeling who fought her in the Darklands, and another who kept digging into her disappearance.

She could live with herself if – when – she killed Draal.

Alexandra refused to second-guess herself and think further on it. She summoned the armor. The people around them screamed for blood, and Draal’s eyes tightened with disappointment and determination.

The crowd followed them to the Hero’s Forge. Blinky and AAARRRGGHH separated her from the throng and Vendel pulled Draal to the other side of the arena, looking for all the world like a disappointed grandparent. People filled the balconies, and from the massive doorway Blinky situated her just inside of, most of them looked like they were rooting for Draal.

Blinky hesitated, then put a hand on her shoulder.

“Remember the three rules,” he said quietly. “I know we have not trained as much as…as I would have liked, but you are creative, and you know Draal’s habits, as he knows yours. Draal will not be afraid of you, and that will be his failing. Let his hubris bring him to his defeat.”

Alex thought back to the resignation and obligation in Draal’s violent yellow eyes, and knew that it wasn’t truly hubris that made him challenge her. But she nodded, giving Blinky a reassuring smile.

The crowd cheered and boo’d her when she stepped through the doorway.

“The Trollhunter has been challenged by the son of her predecessor,” said Vendel to the masses, “In defense of his father Kanjigar’s honor. You all will bear witness to the battle, which will be one for the ages!” Vendel muttered something after that, but Alexandra couldn’t hear it.

“Enter Alexandra, daughter of Asphodelus, Trollhunter.”

The cage-like door slammed down behind her, almost making her jump.

“And now, Alexandra’s combatant, Draal, son of Kanjigar, son of Tarigar. Draal the ‘Destroyer’.”

Draal came tearing out of his doorway, curled into a crystal-spike-covered ball and rolling across the floor almost faster than Alex’s eyes could follow. He rocketed up the wall and fell, landing in the center of the arena just a few yards from Alexandra.

“Prepare for battle,” said Vendel. Draal cracked his fists on the stone floor, roaring at Alex and hunching his shoulders. She summoned the sword and twirled it in her hand, baring her not-inconsiderable teeth and snarling. She knew he was trying to intimidate her, like he had in their first meeting, but also she knew the measure of him. He was a kid under too much pressure and little guidance, unfortunately a fantastic warrior, but he wanted to fight as much as she did. He wanted to live and he didn’t like her, but his heart wasn’t into killing her, and that was her advantage. She was a damned Changeling; their methods differed, their loyalty wavered, and their power was nonexistent, but they survived.

The arena rumbled, and then rose; Alexandra and Draal, on the centerpiece, were carried to the level of the balconies, while the rest of the floor settled on various levels below.

Vendel raised his arms, and the crowd hushed for a single second.

“Begin.”

Alexandra struck first. She rolled to the side, swinging her sword at the back of Draal’s knees. He jumped away with a yelp, obviously not having expected her to make the first move.

I’m the fucking Trollhunter, for Christ’s sake, she thought darkly. I’m not taking this shit from you!

They charged each other at the same time, and he blocked her sword with the wraps on his wrist. She knew he wasn’t going to use any of the forms or strikes he’d trained her in, and she didn’t expect him to. He wasn’t going to pull his punches, and neither was she.

This wasn’t the time to fight fair. If she could get enough limbs at least injured with Daylight she might have a chance.

While she was trying to cut through his wraps, he lowered his head and caught her on the chin with his horns, sending her reeling back before she could turn his wrist to stone.

Is the Trollhunter allowed to be underhanded?

Draal spat on the floor and rolled his shoulders, eagerly waving at the small crowd that had cheered his hit.

Y’know…I don’t give a fuck.

Draal began to turn around as Alexandra rose, and then he very softly sank to the ground, Alexandra’s foot retracting from between his legs. She ignored the booing from the crowd in favor of hitting him in the head with both right fists before he could have time to do more than groan. The punches downed him, but he rolled, retreating to the other side of the centerpiece.

“That’s a coward’s move,” he shouted, standing rather stiffly. Alexandra rolled her shoulders and summoned the sword again.

“And yet it worked. Come at me.”

Draal came after her, faster than she was prepared for. He hit her with a glance but it still threw her several feet, and she was reminded that the floor wasn’t exactly level anymore. Her second left hand caught her before she could fall and she flipped, landing in a graceless roll on the piece of arena floor below, the sword sliding away from her.

There was a crack, and the pain hit after a second of shock. The elbow she’d hurt in their first spar, almost healed in the past week, took too much pressure on the sprain and failed. Her primary arm was useless.

Too soon. It was only a minute into the fight, it was too soon, and she was already injured.

And Draal had noticed.

She looked up to see him peering over the edge of the level above; her level moved suddenly, and began to rise as his fell. He jumped over when they crossed paths and grabbed her leg, hurling her upwards, but her sword materialized in her other right hand and she slashed at his arms and face, forcing him to let go; she rose a few more feet, and then began to fall. Draal was still bothered by his left eye turning to stone; Alex’s sword angled downward, and he only managed to avoid being run through by a lucky hit. She was swatted out of the air and over the side of the level again, but she was back up when the floor flattened again. Alex scrambled backward onto the centerpiece just in time to see the pieces surrounding it turning onto their sides.

Draal jumped and landed far below.

Fuck that.

Alexandra waited until the centerpiece went back down before striking again, catching her breath in the brief reprieve. She was losing because she was fighting like a troll. Taking hits, striking fast and plain – just like Blinky and Draal taught her. But this wasn’t a brawl or a spar – she would die if she didn’t win this fight.

Draal smirked at her when she reached the floor, but when he swung at her she dodged, moving her head just enough to the side that his blow missed. She twisted and struck with her left hands, leaving claw marks on his cheek and neck before dancing out of the way again.

“You can do better than that,” she hissed. Draal snarled and charged, as she knew he would, and she slid neatly between his legs and hacked off the edges of several of the crystals on his back. He snarled in rage and swiped at her again, but she stayed out his range, throwing the cut tips of the crystals at his face.

Draal had to block his view of her to shield his face, but he quickly got tired of it and rolled again. Alexandra wasn’t fast enough to get out of his way and he grabbed her, kicking her in the nose and getting a deadly hold on her torso and squeezing. The armor crackled with blue, trying to shield her; she twisted as far as she could and managed to hook a finger in his nose-ring.

Blood sprayed her arm and face as she ripped it out; Draal yelled and smashed a hand against her helmet, the noise and pressure making her head ring and her vision blur – and then her vision blacked out completely, when she wriggled out of his grip but was tackled to the floor.

Alex managed to get an arm around his throat before several hundred pounds of hyper-masculine troll crushed her ribcage; she couldn’t breathe. Draal dug the edges of his crystals into her leg and she had to grit her teeth to avoid crying out, but she did yell and bite him when he smashed his elbow into the side of her jaw. She held tighter, tasting blood in her mouth from where she’d bitten her tongue, but she didn’t let go of his head until it was either that or have him break her leg.

Draal rolled out of her grip and they stood slowly, circling each other steadily. They each took stock of their individual injuries even as their eyes stayed focused on the eyes of the other. Draal had a slowly-healing patch of stone staining his left eye as well as several small patches on the undersides of his arms and one on his side. One of his teeth had been knocked loose, and dribbles of blood splattered on the arena floor from his mouth and the torn skin on his cheek, neck, and nose, and the place she’d bitten him on the elbow.

Alex’s primary arm was dead weight, the elbow dislocated. Her mouth was aching and the blood made her nauseas, and her chest pained when she took anything but a shallow breath. Two of the eyes on the left side of her face were swollen shut, and her head was aching and ringing. Her right leg hurt when she put pressure on it; her mobility was now severely limited. The sword, if she kept using it in one of her less-experienced hands, was more of a danger to herself than to Draal, despite all of the drills he’d made her run for the exact occasion where her primary arm would be rendered incapable.

She had three arms and one leg, in a fight against an opponent larger, stronger, and faster than she.

Rule Number One, she thought wryly. She was fucking terrified.

Draal wiped the blood away from his nose and growled at her. The sound jarred at her ringing ears but she responded in kind, and crouched in a defensive position.

When he struck next, she evaded, and kept evading, only darting in his range to land a fast strike and then dodging out of the way when he tried to hit her again. Alex hoped to tire him out; she kept moving back behind his elbow, just inside his blind stop, which forced him to turn around quickly before she could slice at the back of his arms or his neck.

The plan stopped working when he grabbed her sword. Just…grabbed her sword.

The cut it made on his hand was enough to turn the entire thing up to the wrist to stone, but once Draal got a grip he did not – could not – let go, and the sword was wrenched from Alexandra’s hands; it vanished in a spark of blue.

Alex was so shocked that she forgot to duck.

The uppercut sent her to the floor, the armor having absorbed only enough to avoid her neck being broken from the sheer force of the hit. Alex crumbled on the ground, smacked her helmet, and blacked out.

 The birdsong was loud in her ears; it was too early for the dogwood outside of her window to be blooming, but the birds perched in it year-round. She snuggled deeper into her quilt, curling her knees up around her chest to get a little bit warmer.

Hendry, her father, was gently calling to her.

“Wake up,” he said; his voice was smiling, as it often did. “Thou art late in rising, Alexandra.”

She hated when he spoke in English. Most of their community was from England and it was the primary language used, but she preferred the Welsh that Hendry and Gwladys, her mother, used at home.

“Bore da,” she murmured, which made him chuckle; the entire household knew her dislike of learning English.

“Good morning,” he said.

“Mae'n rhy oer i fod yn dda.”

“It may be cold,” he replied, “But it is still a good day, and thou must rise.”

She pulled the quilt over her head. Rising meant going outside, for milk and eggs. Breakfast wasn’t worth the cold, and she was sooo tired. Every inch of her body ached. “Alexandra,” Hendry said again, and this confused her. Her father had never known her as Alexandra. She was Verity, to him. Wasn’t she? “Alexandra. Thou must rise. Get up.”

Why did she have to get up when it hurt so much? There was a roaring in her ears, as if a crowd was outside the window. Was something happening? Had a house caught fire, like the neighbors’ did last winter? Why were people yelling so much? It hurt her head. Suddenly she wasn’t cold – she was warm. Warmer than spring had ever felt in her house.

“Alexandra, get up. You must get up!” Her right arm hurt too much to move, and the ringing in her ears, only now noticeable, was like a church bell. She was beginning to panic, but she still couldn’t bring herself to move.

“Get up, Alexandra,” Hendry yelled. “You must get up!” “Get up!” “Alexandra!”

Alex groaned.

“Dydw i ddim eisiau mynd i fyny,” she murmured. The blood and pain in her mouth made her slur; she hoped her father would understand, and stop shouting. A strange thundering sound, like the footsteps of God, were coming closer and closer to her.

“Alexandra, please, get! Up!”

She tried to open her eyes, but some wouldn’t listen. Her leg and arm were on fire.

Blinky’s yell shot an arrow of pain straight between her brows.

“ALEXANDRA!”

Alex’s eyes snapped open, and she flipped backward just in time to avoid a massive crystal-encrusted shoulder landing where her head had been. She summoned the sword automatically and sliced as Draal rolled, giving him a streak of stone across his shoulder and bicep and rendering the arm useless. Her momentum twisted her around and she used the sword and two of her arms to brace against the ground when she kicked Draal in the side as he fell. He did not get up.

The crowd above gasped and cheered, out of horror and the thirst for battle; Alex’s ears turned the sound to white noise. She had to use the sword to stand and walk.

Draal was utterly defeated. There was a cut on his throat and chin that bled sluggishly, and he couldn’t lift his arms to block when she positioned her sword between his eyes.

They stayed locked for several moments, both immobilized in their own ways.

“The match is to the death, Trollhunter,” Draal snarled quietly, but his voice was more resigned than defiant. It was the tone that made her pause.

He was resigned to being killed by her.

Something about her black-out caught at her, and a fleeting memory ran through her mind:

“All life is of worth, Verity,” said her mother, sharing with her a pot of tea while they waited for the bread to rise. She had gotten angry at one the neighbors’ boys, who had teased her when she shrieked at and kicked away a snake. She’d punched the tall one right in the nose, causing her mother to be drawn out of a Meeting to deal with her.

“Even the mean, the cruel, and the poorest of men. All break the divine bread of life, of its hopes and sorrows and loves…”

Alex couldn’t remember past that. She’d said something that made Gwladys grimace, but she didn’t hit the others again. A few years later she heard about the witch-hunts happening in ­­­Bamburg, and became the best-behaved child in the village, making friends and allies with absolutely everyone, too terrified to act out because what if.

She’d always felt better and worse after her mother’s sermons, both cleansed and guilty, because she remembered the shriek when she’d broken another Changeling child’s arm, not two years before she’d been assigned. She pushed another off a towering geode and watched her break, heard the sudden shrill whistle from the goblin who watched the fights. She’d felt favored and powerful, then – capable of surviving. Always surviving.

The crowd above them was screaming, screaming for her to so something.

She’d known from the beginning that he didn’t want to die, not for this fight. She could have lived with killing him.

But things were different now; she wasn’t just surviving. Even if people found out, she was still the Trollhunter, and would be until her death. That changed things.

Alexandra tapped her sword against Draal’s neck, and slowly bent down. She had to brace two arms against his shoulder to avoid falling over, but he was still at her mercy, and his defeated eyes knew it.

“…You are worth more than this death today,” she whispered to him. His eyes fell to her sword, and she shook her head minutely.

“The fight is to the death,” he whispered back, more urgently this time. Alexandra knew the rules; troll society was one of the first thing’s she’d read up on. But it didn’t matter.

“Do you really think that this is the best you can do,” she said. “You have more of a destiny than this, Draal. You are more than the son of your father.”

He looked utterly shocked. Alexandra removed her sword from his throat, and stood. She moved smoothly, strong and steady, clenching her teeth from the pain but refusing to show any weakness to the screaming crowd – not now.

Draal hesitated when she put her hand in his, but his fingers finally tightened, and she lifted him back to his feet.

Alexandra ignored the crowd, and slowly walked Draal to the door, barely feeling the glares and thrown refuse as they left the arena.                

Alex took them the long way around, in an attempt to avoid as many people as possible, but the only ones about were those who had not attended the fight, and so she and Draal were left alone as she took him to her quarters. She’d passed Blinky and AAARRRGGHH to fetch her bag, but at the look she gave them neither of them spoke, and she knew it would be a while before they came to check on her.

The cats had made a mess in the bathroom. Draal sank on the nest when she pushed him down, and followed the little creatures with his eyes.

“Did you steal all these cats,” he asked. Alexandra dragged herself into the patch of light that the Heartstone shone through her window and dismissed the armor, sliding down the wall in a pained heap.

“Yes.” “Can I eat o – “

“No.”

She’d closed her eyes, and so only heard Draal shift in the nest.

“What is the purpose of these cats – “ “Stop asking about my cats.”

Draal mercifully shut up, and began digging through her small stash of medicines, if her ears were correct. They were still ringing unpleasantly. At some point in time her hair had come loose, and the short ends prickled her ears uncomfortably.

Everything hurt. This wasn’t something she could just get over in a week. It was going to take a lot more than a few crystals and a salt lamp to fix the injuries she’d sustained in the match.

“Fuck you,” Alex muttered.

“You have destroyed my honor and effectively banished me from my home,” Draal replied. She smelled a package of herbs being opened, and hoped he wasn’t going to use all of it.

“Yeah, well, you kicked me in the face.”

Draal snorted. It sounded painful.

“And you touched my sword, you asshole. I hope you weren’t attached to that hand.” “As long as it stays attached to me, it should be…fine.”

I hope it crumbles, Alex thought maliciously. She let Draal take his pick of the medicine supply before mutely holding out her least-aching hand and letting him deposit the rest there. The salves were already mixed, and were applied to her cuts and bruises; the herbs chewed and swallowed; the crystal…

She really didn’t want to stand up, so she laboriously scooted on her ass over to the side of the nest. Draal was at least sitting up, and she gestured to her dislocated elbow.

He was delicate, actually, and when the joint was back in place Alex firmly attached her little crystal to it, hoping that at least she’d be able to move the arm by morning. She moved back to the shaft of Heartstone light, and waited for the medicines to take hold.

Draal, having done everything he could for his wounds, had nothing better to do than sit and stare at the wall. He looked so lost, so empty of everything, that Alex couldn’t help the flare of pity.

“I am sorry about Kanijigar,” she said softly. Draal wiped a crust of blood from his upper lip and looked at his feet.

“I watched his fight with Bular,” Alexandra said quietly. “He did well, but he was losing. Too injured, out too late. The amulet led him to me. He told me I was the next Trollhunter, handed me the amulet, and stepped into the sunlight.”

Draal wasn’t going to cry, she knew. It wasn’t his thing, and she didn’t think he was that close with his father anyway. Hero-worship was different than familial affection.

After a long time, Draal finally spoke.

“Why did he hand you the amulet,” he asked softly. “He would have died with it with him. It was his to the death, as it is now yours.” “He was brain-damaged,” said Alex absently, tonguing her sore teeth. Draals turned to her so fast that his neck cracked.

“I didn’t… not…that he was stupid. Half his head was sun-stained. He literally had taken damage to the brain, and that messes with your decision-making skills. I’m guessing that he also wasn’t much for mood swings?” Draal shook his head, the righteous anger on his face fading.

“Yeah. So. Sun-stained.”

Silence. Then:

“He’s missing an elbow.”

Alexandra dug through her bag and threw it at him.

“And part of his hand.” “I don’t know where that is,” Alexandra said. “He came to me damaged.”

Draal glared at her with daggers in his eyes, and she ignored him. She’d beaten his ass in a fight; he didn’t scare her anymore.

“You’re not staying here, you know.” Draal looked at her from beneath his heavy brows, like some kicked puppy with big yellow eyes, although one was crusted with blood. He had a surprisingly boyish face when he stopped snarling. Alexandra worried at a split in her lip.

“You can stay for a day or so, at least until you’re healed enough to not collapse and die in a sewer somewhere.”

Apparently that was permission enough for him to fall backward onto the nest. Alexandra exhaled heavily. She sat in the light of the Heartstone for a good while after that, feeling the faint pulse it made course through the aches and cracks in her body, before she painfully stood up and walked to the nest, elbowing Draal in the face until he made room for her. She lay wedged between his armpit and the wall, her damaged leg hanging off of the side, and used the back of his shoulder as a pillow.

“Don’t fucking touch my cats,” she murmured, just as she felt him falling asleep. He huffed in annoyance, but stayed quiet.

“If you roll over on me I’m turning you to stone.” “Good night, Trollhunter.”

Alexandra closed her eyes.

Asshole.

  A/N: I fucking lied. AAARRRGGHH and Alex’s big clusterfuck will happen next chapter. I fucking swear. I’m going to go crazy if I don’t do that scene.

There’s no way that Jim could have picked up Blinky during that time-stop episode unless he’d used the armor’s power-up function, because Blinky’s fucking huge in comparison and he’s made of damn living stone.

I love how Draal was so popular and well-liked, and then they were screaming ‘end him, end him’ when he was at Jim’s mercy, and when he got beaten in the duel all of his former fans were throwing shit and insults at him – not a single one stuck by him. Vendel was the only person who seemed horrified that he was going to get killed. Shows how many real friends Draal had in Trollmarket, as opposed to mere followers and groupies. Popularity can be brutal, and for the son of the ‘very best’ Trollhunter it would have been even more so. I remember something from a Pratchett book that was like, ‘the crowd that applauds at your coronation is the same one that cheers your execution’.

Part of the fight is ranting from the dogfight I had to help break up yesterday. One dog had the other by the ear and the other bit her leg to pieces. It was the first dogfight I’ve been up-close and personal in.

I hc that the Changelings we see are the ones who survived, ie the ones that were fast and ruthless enough to avoid being eaten by Gumm-Gumms and being killed by their fellow Changelings, in competition. Just because Alex was raised a Quaker doesn’t mean she’d forgotten being raised a dirty-fighting opportunity killer – just that she’d capable of choosing when to use which teachings.

I spent like five minutes just listening to people talking in Welsh, it was the trippiest thing ever. I have no idea. I have no idea.

I have no idea if the trolls bleed. We saw Draal get cut and he only had some sort of shiny crystal-stuff inside the cut, and Nomura and Bular both got cut without blood. But kid’s shows and movies seem to avoid blood for some reason; when Jim got his ass kicked by Nomura and the goblins he had red cuts, but no blood. Trolls breathe, definitely have similar digestive systems, have bits that need to be covered up, so I’m going to say they bleed, too.

Alex’s mother’s words were adapted from this: https://quakerlexicon.wordpress.com/2010/01/14/all-of-life-is-a-sacrament/

The term ‘sun-stained’ is from the @decepticonfetti fic Burning Bridges, which you can read on AO3 here.

[deruste]

chapter 1 Raffite

This world although well-traveled veils many secrets. This is the tale of how they came bursting out at once.

Prologue

Once there was a glorious city that ruled over all humanity with unmatched cruelty and undeniable sovereignty. But one day either by the will of a god or the agency of slaves, it disappeared, leaving nothing behind. Humanity didn’t even remember them after they gained dominance of the earth. Now forces that have been festering and heaving are on the prowl for the prize they covet over all others. It starts with a single reptilian man standing in a dense forest in North America, waiting impatiently for his comrades.  

“Come on? The day of all days to be late." I said pacing around in circles in this damned forest. I stop and take a good look around me to see that it’s just an endless maze of trees all around me, densely packed in leaves and bushes as I stood in a rather small clearing." I've spent two weeks disguised in a human city just to be stood up by those bastards. WHISH.!!! A swirling mass of light was flickering into existence, "finally, I've been waiting for hours for you damned fools."

"Oh I’m Terrible sorry, a doorway through space and reality takes time and meticulous planning to chart out."

“Ah, Kuren I see you still have your staff in your own nonexistent rectum!” I remarked back to him. The being I just screamed obscenities at was my oldest friend, an etheric being named Kuren. His voice was coming from a series of tiny orbs of purple light. He reformed from his head downward in a blinding gleam. Kuren was a being made of pure arcane energy that stood around my height, 6ft tall. The uniform he was wearing was a basic cloth two piece set with the bottom half being like that of a skirt. Word of advice; don’t ever say that to any Sage or you be lucky not to be turned to cinders. He was carrying the aforementioned staff along with a collection of books, under his left shoulder written in strange languages.

“What books do you have under your arm and what strange languages are they written in?" I inquired.

“Let’s see, that one is Arabic, this one is Hebrew, this is Persian and this one is a tablet in Mesopotamian also this is a Babylon scroll,” he said as He picked up one from another giving a brief explanation for each civilization. “Most of these civilizations are dead now and the ones that took their places are subpar or laughable at best.”

“Why did you waste time reading on them and not ON SPYING ON THOSE PEOPLE?” He just stood there and faced with the aura of condescension around him.

“I did spend time "spying" on the region. One, it's in tremendous disrepair. Second, most of these languages are still around. Third, the people are somewhat easily swayed to kill the person right next to them. It won't be too hard to take over a region that is tearing itself apart." His points while valid are said in an arrogant and debasing way that made several of my scaled veins nearly pop.  

"So we don't have to worry about anything from them?" I asked him.

"Very little, we should spend more of our focus on other regions but there are one or two places that can be of use... It’s strange I’ve read several texts that say there are magical beings in abundance yet... I barely found a speck of evidence of their existence or any sign the humans use magic.”

“It’s of little consequences if these texts you read are true. I want tactical information and lists of valuable resources found in the regions, not freaking history lessons." To argue with Kuren is second nature to me. I shouldn’t be mad over this, most sages focus more on learning than actual fighting and he is arguably the most well-read sage in Albadon.

"The region aside for some opportune sea trade routes has little to offer besides this resource called oil that runs most of the machines the human have. Though from what I gather the continent below has almost as much instability as it does riches." He took a quick look back at some bushes." Are you sure this place is secure? BY THE GO-!"

          His question was cut short by the clumsiness of a new recruit, Typhon the draconic. Typhon appeared to have tripped from a newly formed portal. "I think you didn't use the runes correctly. Typhon, Remember the runes are very powerful and are very easy to miss use, you were lucky not to be sent to a frozen wasteland"

          “oooooh!, Just help me up I think his staff nearly went through my chest” Typhon grunted out as I gave him a hand. I and Typhon had little things in common besides the fact that we are both lizard-like beings, though while I have more slim and rounded features he has more bulk, jagged scales, and a spike on his body. Like most of his kind, he has horns emanating from the sides of his cheeks in an arch that made them resemble tusks while the rest of his head was surrounded by jagged scales resembling a helmet emanating from his forehead.  We had different paths in life but both ended up in the military; I was a member of a guild of shamans and users of natural magic and his only talent lies in conjuring weapons with a high proficiency in using them. He was drafted along with many others of his kind though unlike most draconic he seemed … displeased of the prospect of being in the field.

          “How were the so-called south-Americas? From what I have been hearing in the northern counterpart the land should be a fertile haven?” I remarked. 

          “Dark murky swamps filled to the brim with disease and cannibal natives in the deepest parts of it from what I gleamed. A few of the Nations are very rich but there is civil unrest. They are dependent on other countries for military resources. If we choose them as our first target it should be an easy enough conquest. ” As Typhon told me about the continent’s strange alpacas, Kuren was trying to un-flatten himself as a new portal appeared right next to him.

"Oh great maybe I'll be flattened by another buffoon," Kuren groaned as he started to inflate his arms and legs.

"Oh shut up, you light up stick figure maybe I will be gracious and squeeze out some of the last bits of your pride.” They both stared each other down, or as well as Kuren can do as his deflated upper body was only being held up by his staff.

“If you’re done yammering for a moment, it appears our last two members have arrived” We turned our gazes at the portal which was now glowing bloodshot red, pouring out tiny orbs of light that started to pack together into a small insect shape and an immense bipedal shape.

“Ah, I see the bug and the living statue has finally arrived.” Smirked Kuren at least I believe so, it’s hard to tell since he doesn’t have a mouth. At least his torso and body were in the right place at this point.

“That place borderlines beautiful and horribly unpleasant no matter how many times I think about it,” Duran remarked as he was finally done reforming.

“You must be Duran, The last minute addition to the scouting party,” I estimated as they finally were in their physical forms. The larger of the two was Duran, a Natum; from what I have learned from Typhon he was a smith and enchanter specializing in weapons, he also was Typhon’s boss in a blacksmith shop. He was 7 ft tall with almost enough bulk to make the toughest draconic blush. He was basically a sentient stone statue with immense strength and expertise with magical items. The other was someone I knew very well. Nexum is a priest from the augers guild and a dear friend of mine. He was about 5ft tall with the resemblance of a mantis wearing chain mail armor covering most of his body. He had two sets of arms and eyes which glowed bright amber with piercing red pupils.

"How did my rings do in the field?" Duran said holding out his hand gesturing for us to give him the illusionary rings he provided us to disguise ourselves. The rings were part of several enchanted items he brought for us; he also made a staff for me and Kuren and even made swords for Typhon and Nexum.

"For the most part they worked well except for the occasional quirks and a near malfunction once," Typhon said removing the ring and putting it in Duran's hand.

"I didn't have much use for it, I used my own magic for my disguise" Kuren picked out his golden ring and dropped in Duran's hand.

"My ring seemed jumpy in crowds and tight spaces," I said

"Mine also reacted like Raffite's but even more so in crowds." Nexum toke off a ring from his bladed fingers.

"Really, My seemed to work fine in ... in what was that place called?" He said dumbfounded on the name of the continent he was on.

"And Raffite complained about MY work." It amazed me how a being of pure energy can put so much sarcasm into one word, I was also thinking about if choking him might be possible.

"I believe the place it's called Asia, Duran," I said as I borrowed a human act of burying one's face in one's hands in times of disappointment. “Enough of this let’s take seats and discuss what we learned from our espionage missions” I laid down my hand on the ground focusing some of my magic into the soil. The ground reacted and seats of turf and roots were formed around a slab of stone. “Ahhh, it feels good to use my talents again, the land here is ripe and is eager to take in my magic.”

“Enough of your plant fetish, let get this over with this. We have to give a report to the generals by twilight.” Nexum snapped as he sunk into a seat at the far right in-between Kuren and Duran. I took a seat next to Typhon at the far left. We shared all the information we could spare from our respected regions. Duran Shared his dismay of Asia, which if anyone only heard from his words would only think of images of desolate grasslands and overcrowded cities with sprinkles of disease ridden forests.

Nexum seemed to have a relative ‘good time’ in the peninsula of Europe which he describes as a collection of failing empires and lack-luster city-states, he estimates that they will turn against each other if given the chance. Kuren shared more about this ‘mid-east’ saying that it’s very weak and has many militants. He said that our prime targets there should be a small nation called Jerusalem and a city called Mecca.

“May I ask why should the generals devote forces to crush these small cities?” Nexum asked.

“The centers of the two main religions of the humans reside in the area, demolishing them would be a greatly symbolic victory for us especially if we were to repurpose them into army command centers.”

Kuren always was one to rush toward ‘harsh’ tactics. Demoralizing the enemy combatants was smart, though.

“He has a point but I remind you all the generals and the council already decided to attack whichever nation possesses the most threatening to our invasion,” I said. I started to talk about North America, the region I was deployed in and how I’ve already found a target primed for attack.

“These United States have the largest navy, air force, and army out of all the nations. It also claims that it’s the world's police which safe to say will make the other nations much easier to pillage and colonize if we conquer them first.” Most nodded to my report in agreement except for Nexum.

“Raffite not questioning your authority or your work but have you heard about a weapon called the atomic bomb?” I took a good look at Nexum as I racked my mind for the answer.

“Ah, yes the nuclear bombs and missiles. I've already sent a message to the council about them and they said that they already have a plan for them” To be honest, I was shocked when I heard that the humans had such a powerful weapon at their disposal. I was even more surprised when I learned they had thousands of them. But the most shocking part was the council of Albadon was not shocked by the news and actually was in high spirits when they told me that they won’t even have the chance to use them against us. “The council said they only want us to worry about our assignment to find the place to start the invasion. They also said they want a show of force.” All of them seem to be in agreement about the proposal even Nexum was in agreement but it was not surprising, we all knew if one wants a long life you don’t anger the council.

"So if we have reached a decision I have some messenger stones we can send to the council" Duran Picked out some black stones out from a red satchel he had over his left shoulder. They were very smooth and were inscribed with many symbols. "hmm" Duran turned his head back all the way at a bush that was rustling as we all face to glare at it.

"Batano!" Kuren outstretched his arm and a purple light swirled from it and instantly wrapped around the bush.

"mmafam daf afagf." Two humans fell to the ground, bound and gagged by a hard-light construct over their arms, legs, and mouth.

"What in Dolus is this Raffite? you reptilian FOOL. You were supposed to choose a safe area to discuss our missions and instead, you made us vulnerable. Typhon follows me we should see if there are more "snoops"." Nexum and Typhon ran past the bush and over our new captives into the deep forest.

"Interesting, I didn't know humans could be that pale." Kuren took slow steps towards the captives. The gagged humans were both female and as I understand were not children but not adults. That human concept has always befuddled me, you either a child or an adult not some self-important other. One had light dirt skin and the other had quite paler skin both with long hair, while one had unnatural red hair and the other dark hair.

"Stay away from them Kuren, they can still serve a purpose besides I heard the stories of your experiments." Duran pointed his sharp stone finger accusatory to Kuren as he was a foot away from the captives.

“Trust me when I say I won't harm them ... Too much" He held out his hand and it lit a flame of a greenish tone with both of the humans trying to wiggle away from him.

"He's right Kuren they can be used as a bargaining chip if there are more of them, besides they are barely full-grown." Kuren sighed and backed away from them as I stationed myself between them.

"Very well, but don't complain to me when these two try to put a dagger in both of your throats." I don't know why I stopped him from doing whatever he wished to them. I did think they were harmless; they were probably just some lost hikers who saw the light from the portals. While I give support to the invasion I don't condone intentional civilian causality, especial of fledgling humans.

“Did you learn their language Raffite?" Duran asked walking closer to me and the humans.

"Yes I did, I didn't practically trust the translation spell Kuren showed me. Some of the humans thought I talked weirdly when I used it so I started to learn one of their languages, English I believe."

“I tried but ...they literally had over hundreds of languages so I just used the spell. How can one race of creatures be so fragmented among themselves is beyond me." He bellowed

“I’ll tell you as soon as I understand why they don’t just have one kingdom and why they come in a variety of colors," I affirmed.

“Really, how Strange?” He turned his gaze to the two humans. “So can you talk to them?" He ventured.

"Nothing ventured, nothing accomplished. Besides English is the prominent language here." I held my hands over the darker one's mouth as Duran held them up against a tree. "She dal!" The enchanted binding around her face was gone and they began to take big breaths. I took a deep breath and did my best to remember what words to use. “Who are you and what is your purpose here?"

"WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU?" The sudden burst of brash anger nearly startled Duran who seemed dumbfounded by what she was saying and nearly choked the both of them as they were restrained by his arm against the tree.

"What did she say?" He said frankly switching focus to me and her

"She doesn't know what we are and you don't need to choke them they aren't going anywhere." Duran stopped moving his head and stopped restraining the humans and turned to me. “What’s wrong?”

"So are you." Out of nowhere, a fist came crashing into my face knocking me into two trees. BOOM Kuren from a safe distance launched a fireball at Duran.

"Should have known you were trouble, your thoughts were too vivid and intellectual to be Duran's. Katan!" A fury of fireballs came towards my assailant’s direction but he managed to circle around them.

"Just surrender I promise I can advocate for you amnesty," Duran said.

"What did you do to Duran?!" As Kuren was distracting him I got back on my feet and put both of my arms on the ground.

"Teyim!" A mass of vines was moving to the two captives but as it happens I noticed something else. A moving black spot heading towards the two humans and stopping right above their heads.

"Run towards my voice and book it." Called a voice from the spot, it appeared to be talking in English because the dark girl nodded in reply. A hand popped out of the hole that looked like a worn down leather glove with pitch black claws imitating purple light over the captives. They started to run away but my vines caught up with them and ensnared them to the ground. Swink Swink Swink A trio of daggers came at me and struck my hands and left shoulder breaking my concentration freeing the girls from my snares. A purple light circled them which slowly made them disappear.

"By Anilius." I gritted trough my teeth as it seemed the daggers were pushing themselves further into my body.

"EVERYONE STAND DOWN AND DON’T MOVE OR THE HUMAN WHELPS GET A SWORD IN THEIR NECKS!" Nexum and Typhon appear out of nowhere with both a dark skinned male and another one with tanned skin. The fake Duran and clawed hand stopped dead in their tracks at the sight of them. Nexum slowly walked towards me as Typhon had two short swords on the necks of the two young males and Kuren had a giant ball of green fire aimed at the doppelganger. The two young females were standing next to a tree next to the black spot as Nexum walked towards me.

"Tul li!" Nexum had two of his four hands over my wounds which slowly dissipated in their golden glow. The daggers that were digging into me have turned to dust.

“LOOK OUT!” I pushed Nexum out of the way of a large fist nearly smash him to bits.

“You asked for it.” Typhon took the two short swords and was poised at their neck but the impostor seemed UN-fazed by it. Bwaa the figure was now behind Typhon who lay below him stricken down by a metallic elbow to the back of the neck. He started to flash all around us knocking out Nexum leaving only me and Kuren.

I stood back to back to Kuren slowly circling around to avoid an ambush. “Fine mess you led us all to Raffite, marvelous accomplishment.  Maybe you will lead us to their biggest military compound for a nice chat.” He gave a round of applause as the dark spot move precariously closer to us. “Pardon me” Kuren gave a sign of two fingers pointed at approaching spot.

“No, pardon me, good sir.” The assailant had driven a sword trough Kuren sucking him into a gem inside the hilt. I took a step back and pulled out my staff and directed the surrounding plants to my will in ensnaring him firmly in the ground.

“Sho don!” The vines started to grow brightly and emitting large amounts of heat till it finally burst into a roaring flame with a faint silhouette inside. It was about as big as Duran but it looked like it had… fur? As I got a closer look as the flames died down the figure true form was revealed.  The figure had strange attire, adorned with symbols and looked to be made out of leather meshed with the cloth. But I stood with my gaze glued to the fact I and my squad had our proverbial asses handed to us by a …. Wolf-man.

“Well, this constitutes major force.” A split second afterward his knee found a comfortable home smashed against my rib cage. As I lay on the cold ground barely conscious, I heard Shouting and arguments as my vision became skewed and darkened I had no fear for my own well-being but that of my fellow squad mates as I drifted out of the waking world.