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gasolinerainbowpuddles · 9 months ago

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𝙲𝚑𝚛𝚢𝚜𝚊𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚖 · · · · 𝙸. 𝙰𝚞𝚐𝚞𝚜𝚝 ║ ⓒⓗⓐⓟⓣⓔⓡⓔⓓ

𝙲𝚑𝚛𝚢𝚜𝚊𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚖 𝚖𝚊𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚝 || 𝚗 𝚊 𝚟 𝚒 𝚐 𝚊 𝚝 𝚒 𝚘 𝚗 || 𝚏𝚒𝚌 𝚖𝚊𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚝 | PAIRING(s): Joel Miller x fem!OC/reader

| RATING: explicit material | 18+ | CHAPTER CONTENT: POV switching, toxic family dynamics, allusions to and depictions of mental/emotional/financial abuse, high functioning alcoholism | WORD COUNT: 3.3k

| CHAPTER SUMMARY: When your friend shares some exciting news, you fear this is yet again someone in your life who will move on and leave you behind. Joel reflects on how far he's come in life after running into an old family friend.

“Here’s a nice tip for you, sweetie,” Mrs. Baker chirped with a bright smile. You watched her wrinkly, dry finger scoot a shiny half dollar across the counter towards you. You fixed your expression into a million kilowatt smile of gratitude. “Oh, that’s so kind of you, Mrs. Baker, but we can’t accept tips.” You’d told her this every week for the past several months – every time she came into the grocery store where you worked.

“I won’t tell if you don’t,” she giggled with a conspiratorial wink. You felt rather certain of that, if your growing suspicions about the state of her memory and mental clarity was anything to go off of. The fact that she was still making these weekly trips by herself was enough to make you uneasy, and the fact that she was the one driving herself here presented an entirely new level of concern.

It was one of the few reasons you’d managed to compile when you were looking for ways to cheer yourself up over having nothing but your old cruiser bike for transportation. You were nowhere near what you needed in savings to even begin thinking about affording a car and all the expenses that came with it. All the progress you’d made previously had been wrenched from you when your dad had found the jar hidden in your closet. It had made him feel vindicated in his “random searches” he liked to conduct on everyone’s rooms. It gave him some sense of justification whenever something cropped up, no matter how rare it was.

But, hey, at least your door hadn’t been beat off its hinges like Calum’s had. And, hey, maybe by the time you can finally afford a car, insurance, gas money, license and registration fees ….. well, maybe you won’t have to worry about encountering Mrs. Baker on the road. You feel a little guilty the moment you think it and feel even more guilty as you shrug and take the half dollar from her. “Thanks, Mrs. Baker,” you say quietly.

You tuck the coin into your jean pocket that doesn’t have the hole at the bottom and finish loading her groceries into her cart. You laugh to yourself when she just starts walking off - you assume the direction of her car. You hope she can remember where she parked it. Your coworkers and boss Jeremy were never as patient with old, confused ladies offering you insulting bits of change in exchange for bagging up all their groceries just the way they like, loading them up into the cart, following them to their car, and offloading everything into their trunk. You always pointed out that it didn’t really take that much time away from your duties and probably made a big difference for someone like Mrs. Baker to have that sort of help. Jeremy would always roll his eyes and mutter something about “not my circus, not my monkeys.” You were just glad Mrs. Baker always came when it wasn’t very busy.

The 17 minute bike ride to and from work was shaved down to a clean 14 with a bit of encouragement from the gloomy clouds rolling in behind you. It’d been a wetter than usual summer according to the weatherman, and it was expected to continue into the fall and maybe even winter. Combined with the fast approaching daylight savings, you’d be in for a wetter, darker commute. Bad news for someone who relied on a bike for transport, but you tried not to dwell on it. You’d just have to divert some of your secret savings and buy a heavier coat, one close to the color of the lightweight one you already had so hopefully your dad wouldn’t notice a new purchase and demand an explanation.

“Dad, I’m home!” you call out. No answer, but that was typical. After all, it wasn’t him who was required to announce every movement in the house. You walked into the kitchen to find him hunched over the table with the paper. You carefully place the six pack on the middle of the counter, casual and unassuming as though it hadn’t become a learned habit after too many times of you having to deal with him running out. His eyes drift up from his work and land on the offering.

“What’s that?” he asks as if he doesn’t already know. You aren’t sure what the trap is or what you’ve done wrong, but you also know there’s no other option than to find out what grievance you’ve committed.

“Just saw it on my way after clocking out,” you lie. You had to double back across the store to pick it out. “Couldn’t remember if there was still some in the garage or not,” you lie again. There was plenty in the garage, but “plenty” in your terms and “plenty” in your father’s terms didn’t always align. Better to play it safe than have to bike in the rain to replenish his stock.

He leans back in his chair now, having decided what exactly he’s going to take issue with. Because it’s always something. “You got a real talent for just throwin’ money away,” he sneers.

You steady yourself as you wash your hands at the sink. Slow movements. Nothing challenging in your response. He loved to lob these decentering comments at you, a sort of puzzle you weren’t really intended to be able to solve. The takeaway was always meant to be that “the obvious” was right there and shouldn’t have to be spelled out for you, but you were just too dense to figure it out. His statement was vague enough that it could be taken multiple ways, all of which inevitably pointed to some failure on your part. At least you always knew that was going to be factored into the answer somewhere.

Was he saying you weren’t good with money because you’d bought more beer when there was already some in the garage? Was he saying that spending money on full priced beer was like throwing your money away? Was he saying that spending money on something frivolous like alcohol was a waste in and of itself in the grand scheme of things? You decide to go with your first interpretation. It felt safest.

“I guess there’s some out there then? I couldn’t remember, sorry.” Accepting some of the imminent blame was sometimes enough to soften the edges of whatever was going to be launched at you. Sometimes it backfired and just added to the fire: you can already see how you deserve this censure, so at least you understand your shortcomings are why this conversation is having to happen in the first place.

“Ever heard of buying in bulk?” he huffs. As if he didn’t stock up every other week at the wholesale store regardless of if it was on sale or not. “Price per unit?”

“Oh, yeah,” you respond in feigned recognition of your so-called error. “Sorry, dad. I guess the 24 pack is just sort of hard to balance on the bike. I’m always nervous it’s going to fall off the handlebars when I get the bigger sizes.”

As if your difficulties getting to and from work were of any concern to him.

“So you acknowledge that you were paying the unspoken price of convenience,” he drawls. Ah, of course. The two birds one stone approach of insulting your efforts and inflating his authority as economic manager. The idea that you would pay a few more cents per unit to make things easier on yourself, to not have to worry about dropping and busting all the cans of beer because you couldn’t balance them. “At least you can admit it.”

He drifts forward again to his work, numbers and charts and graphs that you don’t understand and wouldn’t be explained to you even if you asked. The reprimand had been the short, simple kind. You quietly walk from the kitchen, place the beers in the garage fridge, and head down the hallway to your room. You lighten the load of your backpack and work shoes. The rain pelts gently against the window and is a full on staccato against the pane by the time you get out of your uniform and into your sweats. Getting ahead of the situation – making the call to get more beer without being asked or ordered to do so – had been worth it. You sigh and stare out the window. Thank goodness it was going to be a day where you’d played your cards well enough to come out mostly unscathed. Thank goodness today had been worth it.

The only upside to sweltering August days in the middle of Texas was that contracting jobs slowed a little bit. Sure, interior renovations were still in full swing, but it gave that tiniest bit of reprieve for all the decking, roofing, and sweat-dripping-off-your-balls-it-was-so-hot sort of work that he only ever scheduled for in the “cooler months.” It was the closest thing to downtime he had all year round, even though it was mostly spent on office housekeeping. Catching up on clients and completed jobs. Fostering those relationships so they’d sign Miller Contracting on for another project. Building enough good will and enough happy clients that word of mouth could not only sustain business but had helped it grow steadily over the past decade.

Joel hadn’t ever been much into religion except for Easter Sunday growing up when his mom would give him and Tommy so much chocolate they had barfed it all over the backyard more than once. Yet, he couldn’t help but think about how blessed he felt. He and his kid brother were doing well for themselves. He just wished his parents were around to see it. It would make him happy to show them all their love and hard work had eventually paid off. All those tumultuous teenage years of Tommy getting into all sorts of trouble and Joel winding up a young father without much of a plan on how to support his sudden family. They’d only been witness to the very beginning of their comeback kid storylines, and he’d kill for 5 minutes to show them he’d managed to make something of himself and made sure Tommy was okay, too.

The icy wall of air conditioning smacked Joel right in the face the moment the grocery store doors opened. As nice as it felt to be out of the heat, the jarring change of temperature was something he’d never gotten used to in all his years in the South. He made his way to the convenience section and nabbed a lemonade. He plucked another from the spring-loaded tray just before heading towards the checkout. He wasn’t sure what Jordan liked to drink since he never seemed to have anything except water to offer anybody. At least this way it wouldn’t be so obvious if Joel showed up with a lemonade for both of them.

The wall of heat smacks him in the face this time, along with the blaring sun. He squints and holds a hand to the sky to block some of the blinding rays. He hears the rattle of a cart coming his way and glances over. There’s that cute neighborhood girl he’d see every now and again if he was lucky. He doesn’t remember much about you from when he first moved in – other than that whole strange thing with your mom. He tries to remember your dad’s face in his mind’s eye. Something sort of stony and serious conjures into view. He wonders if he’s just imagining it wrong because your face is never like that. He must be thinking of someone else.

Regardless, he couldn’t remember any of your names. He used to be better at stuff like that. When you smiled at him, he returned it with one of his own and headed towards his car. Yeah, definitely couldn’t have been imagining your dad’s face correctly. No way the snobby frown of a man that came into his head was possibly related to you with your shy but deliberate smile. How on earth someone so insanely gorgeous could only find work at a grocery store was beyond Joel. He wonders if you were even aware of how much money you could probably rake in as a bartender around these parts.

“Is that Joel Miller?” a frail voice calls out.

Joel looks over to see none other than Mrs. Baker. “Well howdy there, Mrs. Baker,” he calls back. He walks over to her four door and wonders how on earth she’s still a licensed driver. She’d been friendly in the church with his mom especially, and even as a kid he was never too impressed with her driving skills. He dreads to think what they are now, multiple decades later.

“How are you, sweet boy?” she asks, all warm and bubbly. He grins back and shrugs.

“Just keepin’ busy. You know how it goes, Mrs. Baker.”

“Well that’s better than the alternative, I guess. Gotta pay the bills somehow.”

“Ain’t that the truth,” Joel chuckles. He glances over to your retreating back as you push the noisy cart back into the store. “You got these folks so wrapped around your finger they deliver your groceries straight to your car, huh? You always were a charmer.”

Mrs. Baker joins him in a light giggle and taps his forearm. “Now now, Joel, I think we both know who the real charmer is between the two of us.”

“Hey, gotta pay the bills somehow,” he laughs in an echo of her words. Her smile widens at his teasing banter. “And, uh, your kitchen still workin’ good for ya?”

She nods and squeezes his hand. “Oh yes, it’s just as lovely as the day you finished it. You boys always do such good work.”

“Thank you, ma’am. M’glad to hear it.”

He edges around to open the door for her, partly to play his role as Southern Gentleman but mostly to get out of this conversation quicker so he wouldn’t be late for his next appointment with Jordan. She thanks him for his gesture and gives a little wave and brief goodbye as he heads to his work truck. If he made all the lights, he wouldn’t be late.

“But there’s something else, and, I’ll be honest, it’s sort of a big deal.” Kenzie was practically vibrating in place. Her high energy was the fun, infectious kind more often than the grating, off-putting kind. You weren’t sure how she maintained such enthusiasm when all she ever seemed to have was good things to share. Wouldn’t you get tired being so happy and excited constantly? It sounded exhausting in a different sort of way, but maybe it was a good thing.

She had a perpetually sunny outlook thanks to her perpetually privileged life, but you didn’t want to rain on her parade by saying things like that. After all, who were you to take away from someone else’s joy? Not to mention she was probably the only actual friend you had these days after all your high school friends had gone off to college or took up actual jobs and move out and got roommates or got married.

Kenzie was just busy and self-centered enough to not really pry too much into your life. It was a dynamic that worked for both of you: her with a constant audience for all her triumphs and growing life experiences, and you with the comfort of never having to say much about yourself or your home life.

“Well are you gonna tell me or are you gonna make me guess?” you tease.

“Uh, definitely not gonna make you guess because you seriously aren’t even gonna believe this,” she whisper squeals.

You have no doubt whatever wonderful thing she’s about to share is very much believable. Good things happened to people like Kenzie. It was never much of a shock when another ray of sunshine came bursting through the clouds of her life. You only wish that some of that “luck” could rub off on our own life. You raise an expectant eyebrow when she doesn’t say anything.

“Okay, so–” she peeks over her shoulders from where you’re both knelt on the ground stocking canned goods “–I’m applying for this paid internship thing my professor recommended me for.”

Your brow scrunches. You thought paid internships were something that existed in the old days when you could still smoke on airplanes and down a vodka martini 5 months pregnant without anyone batting an eye.

“I know, I know, internships are sometimes blegh, but it’s like a legit office and nice company and everything” she explains, wholly misunderstanding your expression. “It’s not like those old offices off the Milton exit.”

You don’t even know what she’s talking about, but you take her word for it. “Oh okay, cool.”

“Yeah, so I’m basically, like, a shoe in for the job since my professor wrote my recommendation. It’s not a full-time thing yet since I still have another two semesters, but over winter break I should have some opportunities to have something more like a real job.” She cringes at her choice of wording. “Sorry, not that the grocery store isn’t a real–”

“–I know what you meant,” you interrupt. “Keep going.”

She shoots you a grateful smile and launches back into her tittering announcement. “So anyway, yeah, if this all goes alright then I basically already have a full-time job set up once I graduate. Can you believe that?”

Yes, you can believe that. “That’s so crazy!” You shake your head and give her a big grin. “I’m sure that has to feel amazing, Kenzie. That’s so awesome, seriously.”

She was a few months out from graduating with her degree in marketing. Or was it communications? You can never seem to remember, and you’re too far into the friendship to keep asking clarifying questions like that. Anyway, it didn’t matter much which one it was since she had pretty much already landed herself a “big girl job” with matching “big girl pay.” The ever present and nagging voice in your head reminds you that she is younger than you and already so much more successful than you’ll probably ever be.

“Hey, y’all both don’t need to be in canned goods. One of you go see what Erin needs help with, huh?” Jeremy scolds from the end of the aisle.

Kenzie rolls her eyes at you with her back to Jeremy. “Alright. You got it, Jeremy,” she replies in a chipper voice. He stomps off as she promises to text you later with the rest of the details. You give her a quick side hug from the ground and tell her again how great the news is.

You stew in it for the rest of your shift. It turns and spoils in your mind no matter how much you tell yourself you should be happy for her and not so focused on yourself all the time. By the time you make it home, it was impossible to ignore the reminders that this was yet another person in your life that you were bound to grieve once they moved on from their station in life and did better for themselves than what they had here. First your mom. Then your brother. Now one of the few people who you’d managed to befriend since graduating high school.

You were left behind. Again.

You were never going to make anything of yourself like everyone else seemed to do.

You were going to be stuck in this place for the rest of your life.

You do your best to control the hectic breaths that start squeezing your chest, but you’re well into a full blown panic attack before you can even pinpoint when it started.

This was going to be the rest of your life, and there was nothing you could do about it.

#fic: Chrysalism #joel miller #joel miller fic #joel miller x you #joel miller x oc #pedro pascal characters #joel miller x reader #joel miller fanfiction #the last of us fanfic #the last of us fanfiction

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scary-grace · 1 year ago

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Love Like Ghosts (Chapter 6) - a Shigaraki x f!Reader fic

You knew the empty house in a quiet neighborhood was too good to be true, but you were so desperate to get out of your tiny apartment that you didn't care, and now you find yourself sharing space with something inhuman and immensely powerful. As you struggle to coexist with a ghost whose intentions you're unsure of, you find yourself drawn unwillingly into the upside world of spirits and conjurers, and becoming part of a neighborhood whose existence depends on your house staying exactly as it is, forever. But ghosts can change, just like people can. And as your feelings and your ghost's become more complex and intertwined, everything else begins to crumble. (cross-posted to Ao3)

Chapters: 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21

Chapter 6

There’s something wrong with your house, but you knew that when you bought it. And to your dull human senses, what’s wrong with your house barely stands out on your street. You barely stand out on y our street anymore, either. Other people avoid this neighborhood. It’s not uncommon for everybody’s mail and packages to get dumped in a pile at the top of the street, because no postal worker wants to drive down this way if they can help it. But you’ve been here long enough now. Your neighborhood feels like home. Everybody here knows your name.

Shinsou and Hizashi are trying to start a garden, so you bring over some of your plants to help get them started. Keigo is teaching Jin to drive, and neither of them can get the hang of parallel parking, so you help out by shouting instructions from the curb as Jin tries not to murder your car or Aizawa’s while backing Keigo’s in. Sometimes you take Atsuhiro with you when you go grocery shopping, at Aizawa’s request – Atsuhiro has a shoplifting problem, and everyone else is tired of bailing him out of jail. And in the most awkward incident yet, Himiko gets her first period while Jin’s mom is at work and runs shrieking up the street to your house.

It’s your day off, but you’re in the bathroom when she arrives, so Tomura goes out onto the porch instead. Tomura’s not the person you want addressing a sensitive topic. When you finally make it out there, he’s in the middle of speculating that the unexplained blood loss means Himiko is going to die.

She looks close to tears, and you decide to address the biggest problem first. “You’re not going to die,” you tell her. Then you turn to Tomura. “And you – get out of here. This is girl stuff.”

Usually the threat of girl stuff banishes Tomura pretty quickly, but he doesn’t move. “Humans die from blood loss.”

“This isn’t that kind of blood loss. Shoo.”

Himiko ghost-blinks up at you through teary eyes. “It’s not?”

You shake your head. “It’s normal. Have you been feeling okay these last few days?”

“My stomach hurts. Since Friday.” Himiko’s mouth turns down at the corners. “Ochako at school says I’ve been mean.”

PMS is bad enough when you know it’s coming, but Himiko’s a former ghost, and her favorite human is a guy. She’s probably never seen this before. “Okay,” you say. “You should probably ask Jin’s mom more about this when she gets home. This is kind of a mom thing. But you’re not dying. You just got your period. It’s normal.”

“For humans.”

“Yep.

“Do you have one?”

“Not right now,” you say. You feel a little weird talking about this in front of Tomura. “Every month, though. I’m going to give you some pads to take with you, and you can borrow my heating pad. I’d invite you in, but –”

“Tomura’s a boy and he’s gross.”

“Hey!”

“Right,” you say, ignoring him. “Just a second.”

You duck back inside, pick up an unopened package of pads, and retrieve your heating pad from the medicine cabinet. When you get back to the porch, Tomura’s still there. He and Himiko are staring at each other. Neither of them are making a sound, but you get the sense that they’re talking. Spinner said the ghosts say weird things when they talk to each other, but he must have been eavesdropping on a conversation out loud. You’ve got no idea what Himiko and Tomura are saying to each other, and you have to clear your throat twice before either of them turn their attention back to you. And when they do, their expressions are different than you’d expect. Tomura looks uncomfortable, defensive. Himiko, still a little teary-eyed, looks pleased with herself. Why?

Whatever it is, you’ll have more luck getting it out of Tomura than her. “Here are the pads,” you say, holding them out. “You probably won’t go through them too fast, and when your mom gets back she can help you pick some out. And the heating pad is good for cramps. Put it on your stomach or your lower back, whichever feels worse.”

“Okay.” Himiko wipes her eyes, then smiles at you. “You’re nice. Are you old enough to be a mom?”

“I mean, probably?” A few of your friends from college have kids now. “Not old enough to be your mom, though. Why?”

“No reason.” Himiko turns and makes her way down the porch steps, staggering a bit like you do when you get hit with a bad cramp. “Thanks.”

“If you need anything else before your mom comes back, come over,” you say. You wait until she’s out of sight, then turn your attention to Tomura. “What was that about?”

“She asked if I like you like a mom.” Tomura looks like he wants to hurl. “I said no, and then she asked if I like you like she likes Jin, or like Eri likes Shinsou.”

“And you said no?”

“I said yes,” Tomura says, and your heart sinks – but only for a second. “The little brat can still read auras. She knew I was lying.”

It’s on the tip of your tongue to ask him what he lied about, but then you realize you already know. Himiko eliminated two of the three varieties of ghost-human relationships in the neighborhood – sibling-sibling and parent-child. That leaves two options, neither of which you like. Either Tomura likes you the way Hizashi likes Aizawa and Dabi used to like Keigo, or he doesn’t like you at all.

You should leave it. You should drop the topic and back away slowly. Instead you open your mouth. “Why did you lie to her?”

“What I do with my human is none of her business. Or anyone else’s.” Tomura is dematerializing. Now he’s just a voice and a pair of hands gripping the porch railing so hard that you’re worried it’ll snap. “Go away.”

Fine. You tell yourself it’s fine, that you’ll go, but your feet stay stubbornly planted until your phone rings from somewhere inside the house and you have to go back to retrieve it. Aizawa’s calling, and when you pick up, he starts talking without greeting you first. “Your job gives you access to public records. I’m going to give you a list of names.”

“I can’t just –”

Aizawa starts reading them off, proving that the ghosts aren’t the only ones in the neighborhood who can be assholes in the bargain, and you scramble for a pen and a piece of paper. Phantom is prodding you in the ankle with her snout, looking for a treat. “Hang on a second,” you snap at Aizawa. “I need to write this down.”

A piece of paper skids across the counter towards you, followed by a pen. “Thanks,” you say to Tomura. Then, to Aizawa: “Start at the beginning. The first name was?”

There are seven names on the list. They’re all men’s names. “I want all the information you can find,” Aizawa says. “As quickly as you can find it.”

“This is public record,” you complain. “Make a records request. This is my job. I’m not going to get in trouble just so you can avoid some paperwork.”

“It’s not the paperwork,” Aizawa says flatly. “If I make that request, my name and address become public. You’re the only one in the neighborhood who can look without giving us away.”

The neighborhood. You thought this was just some project of Aizawa’s, but – “Who are these people?”

“That’s what you need to find out,” Aizawa says. “As soon as possible.”

He hangs up the phone without saying thank you, and you look down at the piece of paper and the names you scribbled. Your handwriting is bad. You need to recopy them. “So that’s it?” Tomura says from the other side of the kitchen. He’s barely an outline. “Aizawa calls and you jump to it? Pathetic.”

You ignore him. What he says, at least. “Do you know any of these names?”

“Why would I know them?”

“Just look.” You hold out the list, and Tomura drifts across the kitchen to investigate. “I don’t know why he wants me to look these up. He made it sound really important. Do any of these look familiar?”

“No.” Tomura’s hand materializes fully, plucks the list out of your grip, and sets it down on the counter. “I wasn’t done with you.”

“You told me to go away,” you say. “I listened.”

It’s like you didn’t speak at all. The rest of Tomura materializes, from the tips of his fingers upward, until he’s standing before you, closer than he’s gotten in a while. “You asked me what I want. I know now.”

You can’t remember ever putting that question to him – according to Aizawa, asking ghosts open-ended questions like that is a really bad idea. But because you’re you, and you’re stupid, you ask it again. “What do you want, Tomura?”

A pair of cold hands close on your waist. Tomura pulls you forward so hard that you stumble, falling against his chest. “You’re mine,” he says. “I want you.”

A jolt goes straight down your spine. You’ve heard that note in his voice once before and imagined it a thousand times over, but hearing it again right now feels like a disaster. “Be specific,” you say, looking anywhere but up into his face. “What specifically do you –”

One hand leaves your waist to press against your jaw, forcing you to turn your head and look up. A moment later Tomura’s lips crash down against yours.

He kisses exactly the way you’d expect him to kiss, the way of someone who’s seen it in movies but never asked anyone how it’s done. Mouth closed, all pressure, nothing else. He’s not going to let you go, so you hold still, hoping Tomura will take some kind of hint that it’s not going as plan. Tomura stops and draws back, frowning. “You aren’t doing it back.”

“I can’t when you’re doing it like that,” you say. “You’re doing it wrong.”

“I’m not doing it wrong. You’re doing it wrong.”

“Hey. I’ve kissed somebody before. You’ve just watched it on TV.” You feel Tomura’s grip on you loosen slightly. This is your chance to escape, to tell him that you’re not interested, to threaten to move out if he ever tries this again and maybe mean it. “It’s more fun if you do it right.”

Tomura looks at you suspiciously. “How do I do it right?”

Some part of your mind that’s still sane, that still exists in the real world instead of the twisted upside-down haunt of your house and your neighborhood, is screaming for you to stop, but it’s fading fast. You let it go. You free your hands from where they’re trapped at your sides and frame Tomura’s face with them. “I’ll show you.”

You start with a gentle kiss, mouth closed but soft, and because Tomura’s an asshole, he starts arguing even before you’ve pulled away. “That’s what I did.”

“No, you did it too hard.” You kiss him the same way again, trying to get the point across. “You can still talk when I do it like this, which means you can respond.”

Tomura’s scowling now, but he leans in to kiss you again, and this time the pressure is significantly less. His lips are chapped. You part your lips against his, catching on his lower lip, and he startles. You wonder if anybody else in the neighborhood had to teach their undersocialized ghost how to kiss properly. Probably not.

Tomura’s fatal flaw with kissing is overenthusiasm. As soon as he figures out that opening his mouth is a thing he can do, he overdoes it. The only reason it’s not horrendous is because his mouth tastes like nothing, and it’s almost sandpaper-dry. You let go of his face, put your hands on his shoulders, and give a few shoves until he pulls back. “No.”

“I like it,” Tomura says defiantly. He does. That patchy flush is all over his face. “I don’t care if you do.”

“You should,” you say, and you fall back on a negotiating tactic from forever ago. “If you’re good at it, I’ll want to kiss you more.”

You’ve tried this tactic on human men before. Human men usually convince themselves that you’re playing hard to get and go right back to the vacuum-cleaner technique they were using. But Tomura looks like he’s thinking about it, so you try to sweeten the deal. “I’ll show you,” you say, and he’s already leaning in.

Part of you is still aware that this is a mistake. You won’t be able to turn back the clock on this incident the way you could with the last one. You can’t pretend that this is all for Tomura, that it’s got nothing to do with you, when you’re the one who won’t settle for less than a good kiss. You’re the one who keeps trying to get a reaction out of him, trying to put him back at the mercy of his body just like he was before, and there’s something heady and intoxicating about the fact that it’s working. Tomura’s breathing comes in sharp gasps, and yours isn’t doing much better – but it’s normal for you. “Why do you do that?” you ask, pulling away. Tomura lets out a frustrated whine and leans in again, but you stay just out of reach. “Breathing like that. You don’t need to breathe.”

“I can’t – help it.” Tomura’s shoulders heave beneath your hands. He claws at your hips, trying to pull you back. “Come on. I need it. I need it. I can’t go back like this.”

You’re still out of kissing range, but your hips are locked against his, and you can feel that he’s hard. It surprises you, although it shouldn’t. You got to him before by touching his hand. This is a lot more stimulation than that. You study him, your heart racing, taking in his dilated pupils, his flushed face. The scars over his lip and eye stand out in sharp relief. His skin is shiny, sweaty. You were right in all your daydreams about how desire looks on him. It looks good.

It looks good, and he looks desperate. “Don’t stare at me. Why are you staring at me?”

“You’re pretty,” you say without thinking. You lean in and kiss him again before he can complain about it.

The plan is to keep kissing him until he comes and dematerializes, but you like the sounds he’s making too much to keep muffling them. You duck away from his kiss and start kissing his neck instead, lips moving over the same spot he usually scratches. “Hey,” Tomura complains. “What are you doing? I – ah –”

He grinds against you, groans, and you realize you have a problem. You’re at least as turned on as Tomura is, only you can’t get off from just a kiss. He gets to dematerialize as soon as he comes, and after that you’ll be stuck. You decide that’s a problem for later. You’re busy. A second after you have that thought, Tomura loses patience. He pushes you back against the counter, pinning you in place as his hips jerk in brief, unpracticed thrusts. You keep kissing his neck. If he was human, he’d be walking around with love bites. That thought shouldn’t turn you on, but it does, and it occurs to you that Tomura’s possessiveness runs the other way, too. You’re his human, sure. But he’s nobody’s ghost but yours.

“I can’t,” Tomura gasps. He’s starting to dematerialize. “I can’t. Not yet –”

If he dematerializes while he’s still turned on, the entire street’s going to be pissed off at you for however long it takes him to materialize again. You back off from kissing Tomura’s neck and kiss his mouth again, as he moans and struggles for air he doesn’t need. Suddenly his back arches, pinning you harder than before, and you hold on tight as he shudders. It doesn’t matter how tightly you hold onto him. He’s already dematerializing, slipping away, just like you knew he would. The warm air rushes in once he’s gone.

One of the perks of having a ghost in the house is that the house is never too warm. Now, with said ghost too zapped to materialize, it’s way too warm in the kitchen, and even that isn’t enough to change how ridiculously turned on you are. You could stick your head in the refrigerator and try to calm down, but the idea of doing that pisses you off. Tomura got to get off to your weird but still hot kitchen makeout. So should you.

Some sense of propriety motivates you not to just stick your hand down your pants in the kitchen. You make your way to your bedroom upstairs, and this time, you settle onto the bed instead of the floor. This time, you don’t have to go to your imagination for something to fantasize to. You’ve got the memory of the absolute mess that occurred in the kitchen to keep you focused, and honestly, you’re so shamefully hot over it that you barely need to fantasize at all.

Your mind floods with a replay of the insistent pressure of Tomura’s mouth against yours, the uneven roll of his hips, and remembering the needy sounds he made makes your muscles clench tight in response. You have both hands between your legs, one teasing your clit while the other presses two fingers inside, crooking at an angle that’s never easy to reach on your own. If somebody else, somebody with longer fingers, somebody poised above you or settled between your legs – once you let that thought into your mind, it’s all over. You come so fast you’re almost embarrassed by it. Almost.

You’re lying on your bed, catching your breath, when the temperature of your room begins to change. Tomura’s voice, barely a whisper, snakes through the air. “I saw that.”

Your face heats up, but you’re already flushed, so it doesn’t matter. “So?”

“I want that next time.”

You’re not sure how you feel about Tomura’s assumption that there’s going to be a next time. But there’s a bigger problem. “Based on what I felt this time, you don’t really have the equipment for that.”

“Don’t be stupid. I want you to do this next time when I do.” The temperature of the room settles into the low chill you’ve become familiar with, but the cold spot itself is on the bed next to you, inching closer. “Or I can do it.”

You can’t think about that. Not right now, anyway. “Nobody’s doing anything right now. I don’t even want to know what you already drained to make this happen.” A terrible thought occurs to you. “Phantom! Where –”

“Don’t be stupid,” Tomura says again. You can hear Phantom scratching at the door and whining. She knows you and Tomura are both in here and she wants to know why she’s being left out. “I wouldn’t touch her. I used some plants.”

“Not the ones –”

“Not the ones you like.” If Tomura was materialized, he’d be rolling his eyes. “They all look the same anyway.”

“They don’t all look the same.” You sit up and swing your legs off the bed. “Stupid.”

Tomura makes an indignant sound, but you ignore him as you head to the bathroom to wash your hands. You’d expect things to be weird, so it’s a surprise to you how normal things feel. Normal except for the fact that Tomura’s in your room instead of lurking somewhere else in the house. So normal, in fact, that you find yourself dealing with a problem you’ve had since you found out you had a ghost. “You’re still not allowed in the bathroom when I’m in here.”

“You’re not even doing anything!”

You know you’re going to have to deal with the fallout from the kitchen makeout later. But it’ll be a while before Tomura can materialize again, and until that happens, you’re not going to think about it at all. “I don’t care. Get out.”

You were hoping you dealt with Tomura fast enough that none of the other adult ghosts caught on, but you’re not that lucky. When you leave the house the next morning to get in your car for the drive to work, Hizashi’s right out front on the sidewalk, holding a jar of fresh bugs as far from his body as humanly possible. When he sees you, he pushes it into your hands and backs away. “You know,” he says, and winks. “For later.”

You cringe and duck into your car, but a moment later, Keigo calls out to you from across the street. “Hey, can I get a ride to work? My car’s out of commission.”

“It looks okay,” you say – and then you realize it’s noticeably sinking on one side. “The tires.”

“Yep. Do you mind?”

“Nope.” You move your work bag to the backseat to make room, and look back up front just in time for a balled-up piece of paper to hit the windshield. It could only have come from one direction, and when you look up, you spot Tomura on the porch, barely materialized. “What was that?”

“Your dumb list.”

“The one Shou gave you?” Hizashi still hasn’t left, and he watches you closely as you pull the piece of paper into the car and un-crumple it. “Good. Let him know as soon as you find anything.”

“Sorry. Gotta move.” Keigo eases past Hizashi and hops into the passenger seat. You start the car and back out into the street a little faster than necessary.

You’re driving fast, but not fast enough to get past Spinner’s house before Magne steps out the front door. She waves at you, smirking, and gives a thumbs-up. You wave back, still cringing, and Keigo notices. He reclines his seat with a yawn. “Big night, huh?”

You hit your head against the steering wheel when you reach the stop sign at the top of the street. “Does everybody know?”

“Probably. He’s too powerful. Every time his mood changes, the whole street feels it.” Keigo shrugs. “Also, your whole front lawn is dead.”

You didn’t even notice. “Great,” you mumble. “Think he’ll tone it down if I ask him to?”

“You know him better than me,” Keigo says. He yawns a second time. “He seems like he cares about what you want. He made sure you didn’t forget your list when you left. Dabi, for comparison, snuck out of the house and slashed my tires before I woke up. You definitely got the better ghost.”

“Sorry about your tires,” you say, for lack of anything better. Keigo shrugs again. “Can I ask you about the list? Aizawa was cagey about it on the phone.”

“Sure.” Keigo spends a few minutes smoothing out the wrinkles in the piece of paper. You sneak looks at him out of the corner of your eye, and you don’t miss the way his eyes widen. “I don’t know most of these names. I know this one, though – Garaki Kyudai. He’s a conjurer. Touya’s conjurer.”

“What?” You stare at Keigo once you’re safely at a stoplight. “Touya’s conjurer is alive?”

“Most of them are,” Keigo says. He looks pale. “If Aizawa and Hizashi have that name, they know something we don’t.”

“Then they should tell us,” you say. Keigo looks worried. You’re not worried, maybe because you don’t know enough to be worried, maybe because Tomura didn’t recognize any of the names on the list. “Aizawa and Hizashi don’t get to hide things from the rest of us just because they’re the oldest.”

Keigo nods. “Do the research they asked for. Today,” he says. “Don’t give it to them until they level with us.”

“Sounds good.” Us could be you and Keigo. Us could also be the entire neighborhood, which is fine. If it concerns conjurers, it concerns the entire neighborhood, and everyone should know. But this is going to involve you saying no to Aizawa, who you owe big-time, and to Hizashi, who still sort of terrifies you. “Um, so I think I’m going to wait to say no until I’m in my yard.”

“Yeah, that’s probably smart,” Keigo agrees. “Hizashi won’t get into it with Tomura. Can you imagine if Hizashi was still incorporeal, though? That would be a hell of a fight.”

“Ghosts fight?”

“Yeah, big-time. Dabi’s old house – the one I moved into, like a moron – had a bunch of ghosts in it. It got crazy in there.”

Sharing a house with one ghost is chaotic enough. You can’t imagine a house with multiple ghosts, let alone multiple ghosts who are fighting with each other. You wonder if Tomura’s ever fought another ghost, and if so, how it went. He probably hasn’t. He’s picky enough with who he lets onto the property to begin with. No way he’d let another ghost in just to fight.

You park your car in the lot at the courthouse, and you and Keigo go your separate ways – you to the public defenders’ office in the courthouse’s lower levels, Keigo to the police station. He’s a social worker, not a cop, and he usually goes out on mental health calls. The two of you plan to meet after work, go over what you found, and book it into your respective houses once you get back to the neighborhood to minimize the chances that Aizawa or Hizashi will corner you. It’s only nine am on Monday and you’re already tired.

You didn’t sleep well last night. Part of it was still being sort of turned on and not being able to do anything about – not now that you know Tomura’s watching. And Tomura was watching. He’s been leaving you alone at night for the most part, but last night he was back to hanging out in the corner of your room. At least, you think he stayed in the corner of your room. At some point you woke up shivering, and you could have sworn he was on the bed with you, draped over you in some weird position that humans definitely don’t sleep in. But that could have been a dream. You’re hoping it was a dream. You don’t know what you’ll do if it wasn’t.

You’ve got no idea what Tomura thinks is going on between the two of you. He didn’t talk to you this morning. He usually doesn’t – you’re busy, and he doesn’t like it when you multitask while talking to him, and after you explained what will happen if you can’t pay your mortgage he’s stopped interfering with you going to work. But he was there. You could feel him there, shadowing your every move, close in a way that would be impossible to work around if he was human. Something’s changed in your relationship, and he wanted it that way. You can’t pretend you didn’t want it, too. But as you make coffee and take off your coat and go through your inbox, you realize you have no idea what you’ll be walking into when you get home.

You know you’ll be walking into it with the information Aizawa asked you to gather, though. You take the list out of your pocket and think things through. Technically you could get into the records database on your own, but you’re a paralegal, not a lawyer – people will be likely to question what you’re doing in there, which means you need cover. And you know just who to go to for help. Mr. Yagi likes that you’re thorough, that you check every angle when you have the time for it. If you ask his permission to get into the database, he won’t say no. You pocket the list again, square your shoulders, throw down your coffee, and go to his office.

The door’s ajar, like usual, but you knock anyway. “Come in,” Mr. Yagi says. He’s hunched over a document on his desk, marking it up in red pen. “I hate to start your morning off with editing, but this will need to be done by noon.”

“No problem,” you say. You can type fast. “Sir, I was wondering if I could log into the records database today.”

“You don’t need my permission for that, my dear,” Mr. Yagi says without looking up. “But you have it, of course. What do you –”

He looks up at you at last and bursts into a coughing fit. It’s a bad one. You duck out into the bullpen, fill a cup from the water cooler, and race back in with it, pushing it into his hands. Mr. Yagi takes small sips, but every time he looks at you, the coughing kicks up again. Something is dawning on you, something you don’t like, something about what Mr. Yagi said and did at the housewarming party. “Sir? Is there something wrong?”

“It’s all over you,” Mr. Yagi says, and your stomach lurches. “What happened?”

“I don’t know what you mean,” you stammer. You can feel your face heating up, and it gets worse when Mr. Yagi reaches into his desk and extracts a UV light wand. “Um –”

He switches it on and pans it over you, and suddenly you understand. There are handprints. Tomura’s handprints, on your shoulders, on your waist, along your jaw, invisible without the light but in stark relief under it. You were worried that the light was going to show ghost cum splattered on your skin, even though you showered and changed clothes twice since yesterday, but this might actually be worse. This looks like you were handled. It looks like you liked it.

Could Hizashi see this, and Magne? Did Tomura do it on purpose? Now that you think about it, you’re sure he did it on purpose. He’s been possessive of you since the beginning. Of course he’d mark you as his own the first chance he got, even if the only people who can see the marks are the other ghosts. If Keigo could see them, you’re pretty sure he’d have given you a heads-up.

But Mr. Yagi could see them without the UV light. And Mr. Yagi knew Tomura was there before you did, saw Tomura before you did. You stare hard at your boss, at his eyes. His eyes are bright blue, and their pupils are round, like they should be. But there’s a faint shadow around his irises in both eyes. You realize, with another lurch in the pit of your stomach, that you’ve never seen your boss blink.

“You’re one of them,” you say. It isn’t a question.

Mr. Yagi sighs. “I’ve been human long enough that my powers have faded. The contacts are enough to hide behind. But no former spirit, no matter how distant they are from their origins, could fail to spot that.” He gestures at you and you cringe. “Were you – aware of this as it happened? Did you consent to it?”

Your eyes well up suddenly, and Mr. Yagi panics, knocking over his cup of water onto his desk. You move to mop it up while he tries to hand you tissues, and in the chaos, it takes you a while to recognize the emotion you’re feeling as shame. What happened yesterday wasn’t out of the ordinary in your neighborhood. Keigo barely blinked when he found out, and Hizashi and Magne were teasing you, not mocking you. Hooking up with a ghost is a semi-normal thing to do in the world you live in now. But it’s not normal here. The way Mr. Yagi asked the question made it clear that he thinks nobody sane would do what you did yesterday. You feel like you’re going to be sick.

Mr. Yagi gives up on the tissues and hands you a handkerchief from his pocket instead. “I will get you out of there,” he says. “You can stay with my family and I, for as long as it takes for you to find your feet. You don’t have to stay –”

“It was consensual.” You force the words out of your mouth. Somewhere in the back of your mind it occurs to you that this conversation is wildly inappropriate for work. HR-reportable levels of inappropriate for work. “I’m fine. I don’t want to leave. Can I get into the database or not?”

“If you’re fine, why are you crying?”

Because you weren’t ashamed before and now you are. “I’ll have the brief retyped by noon. The database –”

“Why do you need it?”

It crosses your mind to lie, but there’s no need. Mr. Yagi is a former ghost. If you explain, he’ll understand. You draw the list out of your pocket. “These are the names of conjurers. I think. I need to get into the database to find out everything I can about them.”

Mr. Yagi takes the list, scans it, and immediately starts coughing again. You head out to the water cooler for the second time in five minutes. By the time you get back, Mr. Yagi is back at his desk, scribbling furiously on the list. You set the water down next to him and he ignores it. “This man is dead,” he says, and draws a line through the name – Akaguro Chizome. “Chisaki Kai – also dead, and recently. Ujiko Daruma is an alias of Garaki Kyudai. Which of the names is his true one, I can’t say.”

You stare at him. He continues to write, drawing circles around the remaining three names. “Garaki is worth locating, but concentrate your efforts on these three. They may be three different people or they may all be aliases of the same man. Who gave you this list?”

Some instinct makes you hold back Aizawa’s name. “Why do you need to know?”

“If they’re planning to hunt conjurers, I have some advice that might make the endeavor less dangerous.”

“Hunt them?” you repeat. “No. They wouldn’t. That’s not what – um.”

Mr. Yagi is looking at you, waiting for an explanation, but you don’t know how much to say. Your neighborhood might be sort of friendly, but there’s at least one murderer in every house except yours, and your boss is a lawyer. A lawyer, not a cop. And if he’s embodied, he’s killed someone, too. Based on your expression, he knows what you’re thinking. “Type the brief, then conduct your research. We’ll meet for lunch to discuss it.”

“Yes, sir.” Lunch is three hours away. You’ve got exactly that long to come up with a plan.

You text Keigo in between typing paragraphs of the brief. My boss is a ghost and he knows about the list. What do I do?

For real? I’ve never met one in the wild. Keigo texts back way too fast for somebody who’s supposed to be at work. You say so and get an eyeroll in response. I’m a crisis responder. If nobody’s in crisis I don’t go out. Did he have ideas?

He knew the names. I’m supposed to meet him at lunch to talk about it. You get an idea. If you’re still around at noon, come meet us.

Keigo sends a thumbs-up and you throw yourself into typing the brief. You print it and return it to Mr. Yagi, swapping it for the list of names. Then you settle in at your computer again, considering where to start. Mr. Yagi seems like he knows what he’s talking about, but it won’t hurt to double-check.

You start with the first name he crossed out. Akaguro Chizome has been dead for a while. Twenty years, almost, and he died from blunt force trauma that crushed his skull to powder. You wonder which ghost did that, if it was even a ghost that did it. There’s not much on him. Just an autopsy report. There’s a lot more on Chisaki Kai, when you look him up. Death certificate, police report, interviews. Interviews. You dig into those, and the name at the top of the first one stuns you into stillness: Aizawa Shouta.

The next interviewee is Shinsou Hitoshi, and after him, Aizawa Eri. The only name that’s missing is Hizashi’s, and slowly the pieces start to come together in your head. Chisaki’s remains were so splattered that he wasn’t identified until long after the investigation was closed. Hizashi wouldn’t have cared what Eri’s conjurer’s name was when he killed him, and as long as he was gone, Aizawa wouldn’t have cared, either. His name is still on their list because they never found out who he really was.

Chisaki’s cause of death was internal organ rupture – all of them, all at once. How the hell did Hizashi do that when he was already human? Probably the same way Dabi still burns Keigo – the stronger they are, the more of their powers they keep when they embody themselves. However Hizashi killed humans as a ghost, it must have been nasty. Really nasty.

You tell yourself not to think about that. The important thing is that Mr. Yagi is a credible source. You can take his advice on this. You borrow the computer at the desk next to yours – your coworker’s on maternity leave, leaving you with triple the workload in the bargain – and pull up a second database window. Then you set two searches to run simultaneously. One for Garaki Kyudai, since you want to have some information to give Keigo when you see him. And one for the first of the three circled names: Shigaraki Akira.

The Garaki search finishes fastest, and you print what you’ve got, then rerun the search for Ujiko Daruma. The search for Shigaraki is much more difficult. It’s not a common name, so while there will be fewer documents, they should be easier to find. They aren’t. You turn up some documents for a Shigaraki Yoichi, all of which mention an older brother, but the older brother’s name never comes up. You rerun the search, this time for Shigaraki Yoichi, wondering all the while if it’s futile. These documents are two hundred years old or more. These people, whoever they are, are long dead.

There’s more on Shigaraki Yoichi than Shigaraki Akira. Shigaraki Yoichi had a really shitty life. He was chronically ill at a time when regular illness was still too hard for most doctors to handle, and his mind wasn’t doing too great, either. He died when he was your age, in a mental hospital. Suicide.

At least, it was thought to be a suicide. The medical examiner’s report inserts some doubt into the equation, but it’s noted specifically that the family of Shigaraki Yoichi chose not to press charges against the asylum for his death. There’s a note about the family members – the ones who came to visit, and the one who identified the body. Mother: in a fragile state. Father: deceased. Sister: absent. Body was identified by deceased’s elder brother Akira.

“Got you,” you mumble, and hit print. Now you’ve got proof that there was somebody out there named Shigaraki Akira – and when you scan the list again, you spot the first name of the next name on the list. Kiriyama Yoichi. It could be a coincidence, but you’re pretty sure the asshole jacked his dead brother’s name. “Nice try. I’ve got you now.”

There’s more on Kiriyama Yoichi, but while that search is running, you look up the asylum Shigaraki Yoichi died in. Sure enough, it’s been shut down, but it wasn’t knocked down – it was turned into a museum. Maybe some of the documents were preserved. If they were, you’d love to read whatever Shigaraki Yoichi had to say about his brother.

You’re in the middle of writing an email to the curator when your phone rings. It’s Spinner’s contact number, which is weird. You can’t figure out why Spinner would be calling you, unless something’s gone wrong in the neighborhood. You pick up the call. “Hello?”

You hear Spinner’s voice, but it’s in the background. “Dude, give it back! Don’t go inside –”

There’s the sound of the door opening and shutting. “Phantom missed you,” Tomura says without preamble. Your jaw drops. “Say hi.”

“Hi, sweetie,” you say helplessly. You can hear her snuffling the phone. “Are you being good? Did you get in trouble?”

Phantom barks. “Good girl,” you say, and she barks again. If you were at home, you’d sit down on the floor to cuddle with her, but you’re at work – and Tomura called you. “You really should give Spinner his phone back.”

“He can have it when I’m done. If I feel like giving it back.” Tomura, you remind yourself, is still an asshole. “When are you coming back?”

“The same time I always get back,” you say. “Why did you take Spinner’s phone? Don’t lie.”

“Wanted to talk to you.” Tomura’s voice takes on an almost laughably sulky note. “What? You don’t want to talk to me?”

“I do. I just can’t believe you called me. I thought you hated phones.”

“I hate other things more than phones,” Tomura says. “Where are you, anyway?”

“I’m at my computer at work. I’m looking up things for the list.” You cast around for something else to say. “I’ll tell you about it when I get back. And I’m going to need help when I get back. Hizashi’s going to try to get it out of me, and I’m not telling anyone until they tell us what’s going on.”

“If he comes near us he’s dead,” Tomura says at once. You can hear knocking on the door in the background, and when Tomura speaks again, he’s not talking to you. “You can have it back when I’m done! Go away!”

“We’re done now. I have work to do, and if I don’t get it done, I have to stay late,” you say. Tomura makes an annoyed sound. “I don’t want to stay late and you don’t want me to, either. I –”

You slap your hand down over your mouth just in time. “What?” Tomura asks.

“I’ll talk to you later,” you say. You’re still reeling from whatever the hell almost came out of your mouth. The sooner you get off the phone, the better. “Give Spinner his phone.”

“Fine,” Tomura complains. “Say goodbye to Phantom.”

You tell her goodbye and listen to the appalling sound of her licking the microphone before Tomura hangs up. You’re going to have to apologize to Spinner when you get back. And you might have to get Tomura a phone.

You have time to finish your email to the curator and print the documents for Kiriyama Yoichi before Mr. Yagi ventures out of his office for lunch. “We’ll be going to the usual place,” he says. He nods at the folder you’re carrying. “It seems your search was fruitful.”

You nod. “One of my neighbors works nearby. Can he come with us?”

“Does he – know?”

You laugh. “He has one. A former one. Half a former one.” Mr. Yagi looks baffled, and you sigh. “I’ll let him explain.”

The lunch place is just up the street. You text Keigo to let him know you’re headed there and start the walk with Mr. Yagi. He insists on carrying your files along with his own briefcase, and all you can do is hover, waiting for him to drop one of the two. “The friend who will be joining us,” Mr. Yagi says, “is that who you were speaking with on the phone?”

“No,” you say. Mr. Yagi looks quizzically at you, but there’s no way you’re getting into it. The less you say about Tomura, the better.

When you get to the restaurant, Keigo’s there already, and he waves you and Mr. Yagi over. There’s a mischievous look on his face, and you watch it anxiously as you introduce the two of them. “Mr. Yagi, this is my neighbor across the street, Takami Keigo. And Keigo, this is my boss, Mr. Yagi.”

“Nice to meet you! And nice contacts,” Keigo says. Then he looks at you. His expression’s gone from a smile to a full-blown smirk. “So.”

“What?”

“The strangest thing happened this morning,” Keigo says. “I got a text from Dabi.”

“Dabi?”

“My – roommate,” Keigo says, modifying the sentence after you kick him under the table. “Usually Dabi’s communication style leaves something to be desired. Blighting crops and hexing people is more his speed. But today he texted me. Quite a bit. Take a look at this.”

He shows you the screen of his phone. You read, with Mr. Yagi reading over your shoulder, cringing on every line.

Dabi: do you believe this shit

Dabi: that asshole from across the street lured Spinner over to the fence like a pedo

Dabi: so then they’re talking about fuck knows what

Dabi: Spinner’s showing him his Switch

Dabi: then Spinner shows him his phone

Dabi: and that asshole fucking materializes one hand, grabs it, and hauls ass back inside

Dabi: it’s been thirty minutes and he still hasn’t given it back

Dabi: crazy shit

Mr. Yagi coughs. Keigo gives you a significant look. “Any speculations as to why Tomura stole Spinner’s phone?”

“Tomura is –”

“Her ghost.” Keigo nods at you.

“Ah,” Mr. Yagi says. “I imagine that Tomura stole the phone in order to place a call to her.”

Keigo wheezes. “He said Phantom missed me,” you say lamely.

“More like he missed you! You’re going to have to get him a phone.” Keigo misinterprets the look you’re giving him and keeps talking. “Don’t teach him how the camera works, though. I taught Touya and now I get photos.”

The last thing you want to do is teach Tomura about dick pics. If you get him a phone, it’s going to be a flip phone. Or one of the ancient ones with the keyboard that slides out. Mr. Yagi is studying Keigo carefully. “Is it true that you have a ghost? I was led to believe that there was something – odd about him.”

“Dabi? Yeah. He’s a scar wraith,” Keigo says. Mr. Yagi nods. “Do you know something about those?”

“Nothing, other than that it’s an uncomfortable state to exist in. How long has he been that way?”

“A while. Before we moved here.” Keigo focuses in on the file folder in a way that tells you he’s done talking about this. “What’s in there? Did you find anything on Garaki?”

“Here.” You pass him the relevant documents, then extract the files on Shigaraki to show to Mr. Yagi. “You were right. At least one of these is an alias. But this person – the first one on the list – was born two hundred and fifty years ago. He can’t still be alive.”

“Conjurers draw power from the world between,” Mr. Yagi says. “It allows them to exceed a natural human lifespan. But in order to draw that power, they require a conduit of some kind. Some are lucky enough to find a location that’s been consumed, in whole or in part, by the world between. Others must create their own.”

“What do you mean?” Keigo asks. “Like – well, shit. No wonder they keep coming back.”

Mr. Yagi nods. You feel like you missed something. “What?”

“The ghosts summoned by conjurers act as their conduits to the world between,” Mr. Yagi says. “When a ghost embodies itself permanently, the conduit is closed. A powerful enough conjurer will have summoned and bound many ghosts, and the loss of one or two will not trouble them. But weaker conjurers don’t have the ghosts to spare. When they lose a conduit, they come to investigate. And to punish.”

“Eri’s conjurer was weaker than the others,” you realize. “If Spinner’s right, and he was Magne’s and Atsuhiro’s too, then he lost three ghosts. He would have had to do something –”

“And he probably thought it was going to be easy until Hizashi murked him,” Keigo says. “I don’t think they even found out his name.”

“It was Chisaki Kai,” you say. “He was on the list. And he’s not the only one. Akaguro Chizome is dead, too. Do you know who killed him?”

“It is possible to kill conjurers,” Mr. Yagi says, noticeably avoiding your question. “However, it’s highly dangerous, as the conjurers are capable of harnessing ghostly power through their conduits to the world between. Humans who try to kill them often fail. I assume this Hizashi is a former ghost?”

“Probably the ghostliest former ghost, other than my idiot,” Keigo says. “If I was ranking power levels on the street, he and Dabi would be the strongest. If we’re counting former ghosts. We’ve only got one real ghost left.”

“You’ve been to my house,” you say to Mr. Yagi. “Is he really that strong?”

“Almost incalculably strong,” Mr. Yagi says. You’re weirdly proud of Tomura. “Given his presence, I’m not surprised your neighborhood has such a high concentration of ghosts. Unfortunately, such a high concentration poses a risk.”

“No, he blocks us,” Keigo says, frowning. “He blocks all of us.”

“I’m sure he does,” Mr. Yagi says. “What I mean is simply that if a conjurer discovers one of you, all of you will be compromised.”

He’s right. You hadn’t thought of that, and based on Keigo’s expression, neither had he – but Mr. Yagi is right. If a conjurer makes it past Tomura’s aura to investigate, they’ll find out that the neighborhood contains half a dozen former ghosts. “Do they talk to each other? Conjurers?”

“Some do,” Mr. Yagi says. “But all of them are able to sense the presence of ghostly power, just as ghosts are. If one finds your neighborhood –”

“We’ll just kill him,” Keigo says. “Problem solved.”

“Problem not solved. If we just kill some guy, our neighborhood will be his last known location,” you say. You’re not a lawyer, but after three years as Mr. Yagi’s paralegal, you know your way around a murder case. “We’d look guilty. And not everybody in the neighborhood can stand up to direct questioning. If the police show up we’d be in a lot of trouble.”

“We can get out of that,” Keigo says, waving his hand and accidentally attracting the attention of a server. “Now that I’ve met your boss, I know a good lawyer. Hi! We’re definitely ready to order.”

Keigo can put away food like there’s no tomorrow, but Mr. Yagi’s a slow eater, and your appetite’s taken a hit. Mr. Yagi notices. “Are you all right, my dear?”

“I’m worried,” you say. “Aizawa gave me those names yesterday, and Hizashi asked about them again this morning. Neither of them were taking no for an answer. It seems urgent. I think there’s a chance we’ve already been caught.”

“We’ve been caught. You haven’t been caught.” Keigo waves a piece of fried chicken at you. “You’ve got a live ghost. If a conjurer shows up, you’re the only person on the street who doesn’t have to worry.”

“That depends on the conjurer,” Mr. Yagi says quietly. “Conjurers lose ghosts for one reason and one reason only – permanent embodiment. Ghosts don’t embody themselves permanently without reason, and if Tomura’s conjurer were to suspect that Tomura might consider it, their wisest move would be to remove the reason why he would.”

“You’re saying Tomura’s conjurer might try to kill me,” you say. Mr. Yagi nods. “That would be stupid of them. He’d never embody himself. He likes being a ghost.”

“You sure about that?” Keigo eyes you over the rim of his soda. “I wouldn’t be. Since you two hooked up –”

“We didn’t hook up,” you say. There’s no world in which kissing constitutes hooking up. You’re not even all that sure Tomura knows what sex is, and you really don’t want to talk about it in front of your boss. You turn to your boss, pretending Keigo isn’t there. “I’m guessing a conjurer wouldn’t stop to ask. He’d just kill me. Right?”

“Yes.” Mr. Yagi sighs. “By that token, you’re perhaps the unsafest of all.”

“It’s a waste of time to decide who’s safest and unsafest,” you say. “If a conjurer shows up we’re all in trouble. Either Hizashi and Aizawa think somebody’s found us already, or – I don’t know. Maybe they’re trying to track where the other conjurers are?”

“That sounds right,” Keigo says. “If we monitor them, then we can figure out if they’re getting close, and kill them away from the neighborhood so nobody gets suspicious.”

“Let’s speak a little more quietly about this,” Mr. Yagi implores. People are starting to stare at the three of you. “Engaging with the conjurers this way should be your last resort. Stay hidden at all costs.”

“What if we have to kill someone in order to stay hidden?”

Mr. Yagi gives Keigo a look. “I’ve stayed hidden for fifteen years. Do you mean to tell me that you can’t hide better than an old man like me?”

The challenge is enough to silence Keigo on the issue – that issue, and only that issue, for the rest of lunch, until his work phone chimes. He drops his credit card on the table and bolts, and you and Mr. Yagi both stare at it for a moment. “Is he buying lunch?”

You think about some of Keigo’s bullshit today. “Yes.”

With Keigo gone, you seize the opportunity to go into a little more depth with your research. “With Kiriyama Yoichi, I need to do some more reading. Since Akira stole his brother’s name for his new identity, I’m guessing he stole a name from somebody he knew in the Kiriyama identity to generate the next alias. I’m not sure who it is, but it’ll help to find them. They almost certainly left a bigger paper trail than he has.”

You contemplate the stack of papers, then think about what your work inbox looks like. “There’s no way I can get this done before the end of the day.”

“Take it home,” Mr. Yagi says. You nod. “May I make a suggestion?”

“Please.”

“My son, Izuku, is very good at projects such as this one,” Mr. Yagi says. You’ve met Izuku. He’s simultaneously the friendliest and the most intense kid on the planet. “You won’t need to give him much background information, and he’s on summer break. Both of you can read over the information and share conclusions. Two heads are better than one.”

You nod. “In addition,” Mr. Yagi continues, “there are conjurers who do not engage in the practice of binding spirits. I’ll reach out to my contacts there and see what they know.”

“Thank you,” you say. Mr. Yagi nods, taking the last sips of his tea. “Sir, um – why are you helping me? I know I’ve been difficult the last few months. I’ve been slow. And this morning, I –”

“I’ve had no concerns with your work. And I knew all about your office demeanor when I hired you.” Mr. Yagi cracks a small, skeletal grin. Then his expression softens. “As for why I would help you, there are three reasons. First, because it’s the right thing to do. Second, because I care for you. And third, because it would have helped my wife immensely to have met someone who could explain the nature of these things, rather than having to find out on her own.”

“Oh,” you say. You weren’t sure what you were expecting him to say. Probably not that he cares about you, but it’s true, isn’t it? He’s the nicest boss you’ve ever had, and his first reaction to seeing Tomura’s marks on you was to offer to help. Even if you felt judged. Maybe the feeling of being judged was just you. “Thank you, sir. It means a lot.”

Mr. Yagi nods. “Be careful,” he tells you. “This world is more dangerous than you realize.”

You could take that as paternalistic, patronizing, if you wanted to. You’ve never doubted that the world of ghosts and conjurers was a dangerous one. The first time you learned of Tomura’s existence, it was because you saw him kill something, and even if everyone else on the street is incredibly blasé about it, you never let yourself forget the kind of neighborhood you live in. It’s almost a relief to hear Mr. Yagi’s reminder. “Don’t worry, sir,” you say. You aren’t scared of Tomura these days, but careful of the rest? Careful you can do. “I will.”

#lovhalloweenhorror #shigaraki tomura x reader #tomura shigaraki x reader #shigaraki x reader #x reader #reader insert #shigaraki tomura #ghost story #loser nerd ghost boyfriend

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heliosthegriffin · 1 year ago

Text

Shadow Knight, and the Magical Girls IV

Chapter Four

Jaune was naked he realized. He also didn't know where he was. Only that he had a very thin sheet covering his remaining decency. This was not a first, however.

Waking up in a unknown location that is. He had made a habit of not dying, and that happened to lead him to going around in a fugue of blood-lost a lot times, collapsing, waking up, and getting back to it.

Waking up in somebody's house? That was new. Nobody had brought him home before.

He paused.

Phrasing.

Nobody had taken his unconscious body into they're house, and stripped him naked before.

He paused.

Phrasing.

He was not making this sound better.

Alright, he got it, nobody had stitched him up this good before, he hardly even noticed them, it was nice.

Still, he looked around for his clothes.

And, more importantly, his gear. He couldn't get back out there empty handed, he had tried that before, and it did not work well.

Getting off the table, he wore the sheet like a robe, not that it covered much, in fact, he felt more indecent wearing the sheer material over his body than if he were to walk around naked.

Standing up, he did check up and once over, finding a mirror against the wall, examining his status.

Well, he wasn't going to win Mr. Vale this year, it seems. Or any year, but at least his face was mostly untouched, other than a couple bruises from the explosion.

Explosion? Oh, yeah. That did happen, wow, that was crazy. How did that happen, was it a gas leak or...

Those Girls, with they're powers? Those Magical Girls. Why did they blow up a freaking street?

Were they insane?

Jaune thought about that, and nodded.

So, beside Shadow-Monsters that live underground, there were also super-powered crazy girls flying around at night.

He felt he could safely rule out this being a Government experiment now, and felt he could safely move to alien invasion next.

And, if this is an alien invasion, they're doing a terrible job.

Just release a dna-altering virus and be done with it.

Maybe, just maybe, just because Aliens discovered FTL travel didn't make them anymore intelligent than them, it could easily be like a dog falling into the drivers seat and accidentally starting the car.

Jaune shook his shaggy hair, enough musing, he decided. He needed to leave, he had no idea how long he was out for, but he needed to get back out there, the longer he waited, the more people would suffer.

"Holy-, Amber! He actually woke up! We didn't kill him!" A voice spoke then paused, and Jaune felt himself being looked at. "Oh! Also, he's gorgeous when he's not bleeding out!" A unfamiliar voice-, no wait, he heard it briefly earlier, spoke from behind him.

Turning around, he saw her, a woman of average height and build, coming out of the bathroom. Her hair short and close-cropped, with a brown-black hair, and large, pale blue eyes who looked at him curiously.

She dressed loosely, wearing blue hot-pants, and a white tank-top, revealing she had a sleeve of tattoos on either arms. She smiled at him, and Jaune felt a sense of danger from her, as he took her measure, noticing while she was average height and build, she was tightly muscled and lean.

Like a fighter.

"Hey, ease up, tiger." She called out nonchalantly. "I don't bite, not unless you ask nicely." She teased him.

Jaune took a step back, whole body tensing up, he did not like this. He was at the disadvantage here.

"Who are you?" Jaune asked bluntly, feeling the world narrow on to her, studying her like a frog on the lab table, looking at her stance, breathing rate, eye dilation, and a hundred other little things that might suggest that she was dangerous.

"Gee," She blushed. "Don't go looking at me like your about to eat me up," She paused and looked away. "Vernal, Vernal Mayday." Something clicked in her head. "Wait, you're legal right? I mean you're built like a statue, but you look kind of young, oh shit, you're not. I've been coming onto a minor."

"I'm 17," Jaune admitted. "So, yeah. I'd appreciate it if you would stop."

"Yeah, I'll get back to you in like year, cool?" She said weakly. "Unless...?"

"No. Uh, no. Sorry. I kind of have a whole, wait, I don't need to explain myself." Jaune said half to Vernal, and half to himself. "So, how'd I get here, and where is my stuff."

Vernal opened her mouth to explain, but turned her head seeing something. "I'll let amber explain. So, sit down for a second, it won't kill you."

Jaune sighed, doing as he was told. "Could I have my pants back?"

Vernal gave a awkward smile. "Sorry, uh, we kind of cut them off of you to get you fixed up."

"Oh." Jaune said sadly. "Thanks. So, it was you that fixed me up?"

She nods, taking a seat across from him, holding a cup of coffee. "Amber and I, speaking of which-"

Jaune saw a door open, and a pretty brown-skinned girl make her way towards him in a way that he found reminiscent of his older sisters. "Thanks the Brothers!" Then she wrapped her arms around his neck. "We thought you weren't going to make it a couple times last night!"

Jaune hadn't been hugged in a long-time, not since he had started making it his life's work to fight against the Shadow Monsters. He had put up barriers between himself and everyone, family included.

It might have been selfish to isolate himself, but if he died out there, he didn't want anybody to be sad when it happens.

So, he felt very surprised to be hugged by a pretty girl he hardly knew.

He opted to pat her bat half-heartedly.

Then he looked at the clock. It was morning, if barely.

Well, the Shadow-Monsters would be retreating now anyway, so he didn't have anywhere to be yet.

Then she pulled back. "First off, thank you. Second off, what the hell was all that last night?!" She asked grabbing his shoulders.

"Yeah, Amb's was up in arms about giant scorpions or something, and then you show up, Mr. Knight. I've heard about you, uh, that's why I hit on you, I thought you were a bit older... Anyway, whats up with your one man-crusade." Vernal looked at him from behind her coffee.

Jaune gulped. Then he sighed. Then he looked them both in eyes one after the other.

"I'll do my best, but first, I need something to eat." His stomach backed his claim with a growl. "Second, I'd like some pants." Amber took a look down at his barely-covered body and blushed, backing away slowly. "Third and finally, I don't have all the answers myself, so if I miss something, it's not because I not telling you, it's because I don't know. So, are you sure you want to know? Something knowing the truth is scarier than knowing nothing at all."

Amber looked to Vernal, who looked back with a nod.

"I want to know."

"Same."

Jaune took in a breath, clearing his lungs. "Well, it started last year, in the my sophomore year of high-school,-

-------------

Ruby waited in front of the school as the sun rose. She let out a yawn that wouldn't be out of place on a puppy, and stun-locked anybody who might have seen it out of cuteness.

She never got up this early! School didn't start till 9am, so most days she slept until 8:50 and then rushed to school! But, today was different, today was the first day of the rest of her life with Jaune!

Ruby blushed.

Phrasing.

As Best Friends Forever, that is, and totally wasn't waiting on him because, she didn't have his number, and wanted to ask him to be her bodyguard this afternoon, so she could pick up almost-illegal smut.

She definitely wasn't doing that.

"Morning, Ruby." Came a kind voice, that nearly made her jump out of her skin.

Coming up jogging next to her was her other BFF, Pyrrha, who glistened with a sheen of sweat, that drew attention showing off her toned, flat stomach, as she was currently in her jogging outfit, which consisted of a deep-red sports bra and athletic shorts.

Many boys, and girls, had dared waking up before school to catch a glimpse of her in the state, though none actually had the courage to go talk to her.

Nobody wanted to get on the bad side of the champion of Mistral Junior Historical Martial Tournament, 4 years running, and idol in her own right, Pyrrha Nikos.

Ruby clutched her chest. "You half-scared me to death!"

Pyrrha giggled. "I'm sorry. Anyway, what are you doing here so early? Did you forget something? School doesn't open for another hour, you know?"

Ruby's eye drifted away. "Uh, you know, just waiting to get some good ol' education! Can't wait for school!"

Pyrrha raised a eyebrow. "Is that so, Ruby? In that case, I can quiz you over yesterdays classes while we go on a short 10k jog."

Ruby paled. "I'm good!"

"So, what are you really here for?"

Ruby shyly looked at the ground. "Jaune."

"Really?" She looks around. "Where is he?"

"Not here."

"What time does he get here?"

"I don't know." Ruby pouted. "I don't even know where he lives! Nobody would tell me!"

"Who did you ask?"

"Yang, Weiss, Blake, Myself, CCT..."

"I'm sorry, I don't know either."

"Not that you could find that out just, by asking around," Came a strict voice that made both stand ram-rod straight. "The Arc's are notoriously private, and live on the edge of town." Ms. Goodwitch, the disciplinary of Beacon and Deputy Head-Mistress.

At least in public spheres, beyond that, she was also a master of supernatural art of Aura, and lead trainer for the current generation of the defenders of Light.

Also known as, Magical Girls.

"They're also know for being trigger happy, so don't go intruding on they're compound." The Head-Mistress added idly.

"You mean house, right?" Pyrrha asked weakly.

Ms. Goodwitch fixed her glasses. "No, no, I don't. Though," She looked at the two girls. "You two shouldn't worry about that." They're was a certain glimmer in her eyes.

"That said, why the interest in Mr. Arc, Miss Rose? Has he acted in a manner untoward to you? If you desire it, I could have him expelled by this afternoon."

"No! He's great!" Ruby said in a panic.

"Yes, he's been nothing, but a gentleman to her," Pyrrha added hastily.

"I merely was joking, Mr. Arc isn't a bad boy despite his image. It's good to know he's finally reconnecting to people, again. That said, you won't find him this early, he's made a bad habit of arriving just as the bell rings, the sheer about of tardys he should have would have gotten anyone else expelled, if not for the cowardice of the teachers at this academy. I wouldn't expect to see him at earliest for an hour or more."

Ruby dropped to her knees in sorrow. "That means," She pauses. "I got early for no reason!"

Ms. Goodwitch smiled at her, but there was certain evil to it that made Ruby shiver. "I wouldn't say that, in fact that means we have time to train away any," She pause with a grin. "Any flaws in your 'skills' miss Rose."

Pyrrha gave her a sympathetic smile.

"And, you too, of course Ms. Nikos." The teacher turned to her with a smile.

Pyrrha smiles falsely, shuttering internally.

"Though, I'd like to ask a favor, though. When you find Mr. Arc, direct him to me, I need to have a conversation with him."

"Really? About what?" Ruby asks.

"His grades, Ms. Rose. They have slipped well below Beacon's standards, and we need to address this, or he will have to leave the school." "What!? Oh man," She turned to Pyrrha. "What do we do, Pyrrha? We're going to lose our new BFF!"

Pyrrha kept up her fake smile. "It's fine Ruby, we can help him out, and soon enough, it won't be a problem." Though she was calm, Pyrrha also felt worry. Jaune was the first excitement she had felt in her civilian life in years, losing him would be terrible.

Ms. Goodwitch gave them a pleasant smile. "I am proud to see the camaraderie in between you two and your fellow students, hopefully this will be a good influence on your fellows." Then a faint purple glow surrounded the two girls, forcing them to walk forward. "Now, lets us get some training done with the time we have."

Internally Pyrrha and Ruby screamed.

----

At some point during his story, Jaune had acquire a fluffy pink bathrobe and some athletic shorts that one of Amber's previous boyfriends had forgotten.

He hadn't bothered to tie the robe shut, leaving his scarred and muscular chest out to the air, if one looked to the side, they could see stitches going up his sides and the angry red-pink flesh under it.

In front of him was a empty plate covered in grease stains, and another, and another. He was a monster, he had eaten everything in they're refrigerator over the course of his story, it was horrifying, and not a speck on him.

Still, Vernal had to admit, it was a attractive quality in a way, a strong body needed a lot of fuel, it just another way of showing strength. Still, he was buying them grocery's.

"Monsters are real. I go out at night and fight them, also they're some sort of gang of super-powered girls blowing up things. I have no idea why, and they're probably a conspiracy to prevent this knowledge from getting out, as no information exist on these things. The End." Jaune finished, summing up his tale.

"Wow, that's crazy." Vernal added.

"Yes. It's also true."

Amber was staring into her coffee. "So, huh, yeah. I don't really have a response for all that."

"Don't need one." Jaune drained a glass of water. "You have the knowledge now, it's up to you how your use it. You saw it with your own eyes, it's up to you to do ignore it, or seek it."

Jaune looked at the time. He was late for school. He shrugged, not like he actually accomplished anything there, maybe it was time to drop out? Not like he was going to graduate, much less, make it through the year.

It wouldn't hurt for him to skip a day, he had done so before after particularly bad hunts. But, he probably should get home, but how was he going to bring his tools back with him, his clothes were shredded?

Jaune sighed. He needed more caches.

"Alright, I'm in." Amber said suddenly.

"What?" Jaune said with all the warmth of the hadal zone. "Excuse me, but I wasn't making a recruitment pitch. I was just giving you answers, to make sure you're careful, not to come and help me."

Amber frowned. "I wasn't asking."

Vernal raised her mug. "Me too, then."

Jaune looked at them bewildered. "I tell you monsters are real, and your first response is, 'I'm in?' What's wrong with you, two?"

Vernal grinned. "Same thing as you, I suppose."

"You can't expect to tell people to do as I say, not as I do, can you?" Amber added. "Look, I'm not saying I want to go out and be a street-warrior like you, but you clearly need help, you're in over your head, and the fact you're alive is a miracle that only the Brothers could make happen."

Jaune had no response for that.

"I'm saying, we're going to help you from now, we can't have The Shadow Knight going around dying from blood lost, can we?" Amber continued.

"Fair point. Also, please don't tell anyone, I don't want to get locked up." Or break out of jail, Jaune thought.

"No problem, and I don't think most people are eager to find-out that they're vigilante hero is a teenager." Vernal added.

Jaune leaned back in his seat, and got up. "I guess, I should get going, I'll be back for my stuff later. I'll bring over some notes later, maybe you two can figure out something I haven't."

"What do you mean, leaving? You are need rest." Amber said firmly.

Jaune looked at the clock. "Un, I have school?" He lied about his intentions.

Amber handed him a slip of paper. "Now you don't, you have a doctor's note, now go sleep on that couch."

Jaune nodded meekly, and within minutes he was in a deep, dreamless sleep.

Vernal and Amber watched him sleep for a moment.

"So, we're helping him now?" Vernal ventured, not against the idea.

"Yep," Amber added. "I mean, think about it, Vern. We can't get clearer sign then this. For so long, we've tried to get out of the 'life', and now a bonafided hero drops in our laps, if that not a sign, I don't know what is." Amber bit her lip. "But, I do know, if we want to be better people, we gotta help him."

Vernal laughter. "A underground doctor for the Xiong family, and A ex Branwen tattoo artist want to be the good guys now? Well, sure why not?" She grinned ruefully. "If we want to wipe our sins away, I don't see a better shot."

"Yeah, me, neither."

In his sleep, Jaune stirred, briefly, as though internally accepting they're pledges of loyalty. Not that he wanted that responsibility, not in any number of years.

His life was stressful enough, the idea of being responsible beyond what he already did was way too draining.

----

Ruby stormed over to the table. "He skipped school!" Ruby bellowed at her pals, who took her storming over in the same way one did to a toddler fighting them with a foam sword.

With barely held back giggles. Ruby was far too ... Ruby to be make anyone shake in fear.

"Is that so?" Weiss said with faux-curiosity. "Well, guess we won't be seeing much more of him then. It's obvious that he doesn't take school seriously enough to be worth our time."

Yang leaned back, shirt stressing against her ample chest. "In other words you can't stand him standing us up?"

"That is not what I said!" Weiss huffed. "Why not ask that fool's friends?" She jerked a thumb toward a solitary table with two pretty girls sitting by themselves, with only one doing any talking.

But to be fair, she was doing enough talking for ten, and the other was doing enough listening for any 3 letter agency.

Ruby paused. "He has friends?" She then corrected. "Besides me, you guys that is. Jaune is. My BFF. Your guys too, so that makes them my BFFS too, and-"

"Ruby." Blake said politely. "Turn your mouth off before you burn your brain out."

Ow. "I resemble that remark." Ruby said glumly. "Anyway, how'd you know that he friends before me?" Ruby looked at Weiss with narrowed eyes of suspicion.

Weiss casually pulled out a stack of documents. "Please, the Schnees have eyes everywhere."

"Expect to ethics." Blake added.

Weiss growled. "Not now, Blake."

"Or your father to what your mother gets up to in her spare time."

"Last warning." Blue flames briefly shot from the pale heiress's eyes.

Blake smirked and went back to reading.

Weiss, though, took that as a victory, and went back to haughtily presenting information to Ruby.

"Weiss ..." Ruby said quietly. "I think it's cool if you have a crush on Jaune, but stalking him isn't the right way to go about it." She looked at Weiss with eyes full of pity.

"I DO NOT HAVE A CRUSH ON JAUNE ARC!" Weiss bellowed, face red and breathing heavily.

"Classic tsundere." Blake said to Yang.

"I know right?" Yang nodded, turning to Ruby. "Poor girl is down bad." Her sister nodding along, with Ruby put a hand on her friend shoulder, and gave her a thumbs up. "You have my full support, bestie. Oh, this means you get to be my bestie in law and Jaune too!" She turned to look for him. "Congrats, Jaune! Oh right, he's not here." She then pouted.

"What do you think Pyrrha?" "Oh, me?" Pyrrha said looking up from her studying. "Hmm. I don't approve of stalking." Internally, she mused. 'She can have her turn when I'm done.'

The cafeteria was quiet in awe, Jaune Arc was barely above scum in the school, but internally they're respect for him grew three-sizes that day, for he pulled a Schnee.

To him they all thought, 'Mad respect, bro, mad respect.'

Weiss screamed and then stormed away in a flash of anger, no one questioned it, assuming it some-sort of Tsundere quirk.

"Poor girl, can't take her own feelings." Ruby said with pity. "Well, guess I'll go ask them about Jaune, maybe they can explain why he decided he wanted to be a dirty, selfish, skipper of school and classes, who is a meanie jerkface."

"Wow, Ruby. I didn't think you could be so foul-mouthed." Yang teased lightly.

"Well, that's just how I feel, ok?" Ruby pouted, once again not understanding sarcasm. "I'm sorry that got so caught up in my emtions."

"It's fine," Yang waved her off, and standing up. "Lets go fine out what his friends know."

The remaining girls then walked over to the ginger and raven haired girls.

"So, that's why I think Spruce Trellis is a alien from the planet hidden from us by the Authority." Ginger girl said with utter confidence.

The black-haired girl merely nodded, then turned to them. "Hello, what do you need?" She added bluntly.

"I didn't do it." The ginger added.

"We haven't even asked anything, yet." Yang said.

"You got nothing, and you will never have nothin." The ginger continued, then leaned back, crossing her arms.

"My apologies for her behavior." The black-haired one said. "Can we help you?"

Ruby put her hands on the table. "Where is Jaune Arc?" She said bluntly.

The red-head picked up a butter-knife, waving it threatening it dangerously at Ruby. "You got nothing on us! He didn't do it! I have his alibi, He's a gentle soul! I trust him with my life, I'd have his baby's if Ren wasn't here! Jaune would never kill anybody who didn't deserve it! That's it!" She jumped on the table. "They're on to him, Ren! We got to protect him!" She then tried to jump at the girls, only for the other girl to grab her by the shirt and put her back down on the seats.

Ren shrugged, passing off that moment of insanity as if nothing had happened. "My apologies, but we haven't seen Jaune today, is something the matter?" Ren asked politely, but all the girls felt they're blood-chill under her gaze.

Ruby took a step back, fighting the urge to use her aura on them. "N-no, it's just he's my new bff, and I'm worried about him when he didn't show up today."

"Oh." Ren said simply. "Good. In that case, he's probably not feeling well today, he's been working a night-job recently, and from what he's told me, it's very exhausting."

"You're Jaune's friend!" She turned to Ren. "He's allowed to be making them on his own?" Ren shrugged. "Awesome! That's means your my friend too, now! I'm Nora, Nora Valkyrie, and this is my partner in crime, Lie Ren!"

"Just Ren, please."

The girls made introductions, quickly, before sitting down.

"So, Jaune has a job?" Pyrrha probed, her respect growing for him. "And, still comes to school? I thought his family lived on a compound, why does he need a job?"

Ren steepled they're fingers. "That's his business, not ours, but he's very skilled with his hands."

"That coming from ... first hand experience, eh-eh?" Yang joked.

Ren nodded. "Yes, he does beautiful work, and always left me satisfied."

"Oh, your close like that?" Yang leaned back, surprised.

Nora nodded furiously. "Oh like you wouldn't believe! We've been tight forever, I know both of them so well, I could paint you a picture of them both naked blind-folded!"

The Magical Girls in Public Dress blush. 'Wow.'

"I didn't think he had relationships like that." Ruby muttered.

Yang blushed, looking away. "Maybe, we should talk about something else, now."

Blake leaned in with interest. "Go on."

"Um. Does he meet with you two often?" Pyrrha asked, trying to be discreet.

"Not as much as we used, too." Nora sighed. "But, it's always memorable when we do!" She then immediately brightened up.

"Jaune has a very busy life outside of school, so we make the most of our time here at school." Ren added.

"You mean, here?" Blake leaned forward.

"Yeah, we're joined at the hips here!" Nora exclaimed. "We're like buns in the oven of life!"

Ruby coughed, still red. "So, good to know. Think you can tell us some more stuff about Jaune, my, I mean our, bestest friend forever?"

Nora opened her mouth.

But, Ren covered it. "I'm afraid that you'll have to wait till Jaune is back," Ren gave a look at Nora. "Jaune should be the one to ..." He paused looking for the word. "To explain his quirks to his, I mean, our friends."

Nora nodded. "Right. Sorry, girls. Oh, but I could tell you about that time Jaune busted me out of Juvie!"

"That was a dream, Nora." Ren sighed.

"It was an awesome dream, Ren."

"Could you tell me anyway?" Ruby asked, eager to hear it.

Nora looked at her in surprise. "Really?" She searched Rubys face, then smiled, only to look nervously at the other girls. "You three wouldn't mind, would you? I've been told I talk too much, before."

Yang nodded. "Go for it, girl! I love a good story."

Blake shrugged, then put her book in her lap. "I don't mind a change of pace."

Pyrrha searched Nora's face. "Does Jaune listen to your dreams?"

Nora gave a mega-watt grin. "Oh, like you wouldn't believe, he even askes question! I mean," She looked shy for a moment. "We met in middle-school, and I had been talking non-stop about my dreams, and Ren hadn't been there to help, uh, what's the word, put a leash of me?"

More blushes.

"And, so meanies had told me to be quiet, which I get, but they didn't have to be jerks about it. And, all of a sudden this blonde boy I never met stands up and tells them, he wasn't done listening to me." She smiled in a far-off way. "He actually got into a fight for me, over it. That was the first time he had ever fought anybody, unlike his beefy-bod now, he was a 60lb twig, and got his butt handed to him."

That was a hard to picture in Ruby's head, despite only knowing Jaune for a short time, at least better now, it was hard for him to picture him losing. To anyone, actually. Even to her, or the other girls.

She shook her head, that was absurd, Jaune was strong, but he didn't even have Aura.

But, Ruby had to admit, he had a strength of will and character that made Aura seem so minor by comparison.

Nora laughed. "He didn't care though, just kept getting back up, telling the guy that I needed to be apologized too he's always been so stubborn.

"He was crying, nose-bleeding, eye completey black with bruises, and he just would not stay down, it got to the point where the other boy got so tired of him he couldn't move, and Jaune stood of over him.

"Imagine for a second, how scary that is, you're some big 12yr and beating the snot out of boy half your size. You feel great, high as heaven, and then he gets up.

"Your hands get heavy, your arms start to hurt, you can't breath right anymore. He stands up again, bleeding, bruised, but not beaten. Your hands ache from hitting so much, you trip, and he stands over you, dripping blood off his face, and his eyes stare into yours, just repeating the same phrase.

'Tell her you're sorry, tell her you're sorry, tell her you're sorry,' over and over again.'

"Anyway, he got so scared of Jaune, he wet himself and changed schools! It was great!" Nora cackled.

Ren nodded. "I wasn't there for it, but I came to the office as soon as I heard Nora had been called up there. Jaune was there holding her hand," Ren turned to her with a smirk. "You forgot to mention you were crying into his chest about how sorry you were forgetting him hurt, and that you'd be his best-friend forever, and then immediately saw me, and then, she told me, I was his best-friend forever, too." Ren sighed wistfully. "We've been inseparable ever since.

"Ren!" Nora whined. "Don't go making me look like cry-baby!"

"That's beautiful." Yang rubbed her eyes, her voice choking.

Blake and Pyrrha staring at her like she grew a second head.

"Excuse me," Yang said still rubbing her eyes. "Sorry, I don't want to get all soppy and weak. I just can't stop myself when I hear something like that." Ruby patted her sisters back.

Nora looked away. "It's cool. Glad you liked it..."

The table went silent.

"Would you mind if we started coming to set over her with you two girls, during lunch?" Pyrrha asked hesitantly.

Ren smiles. "No, not at all." He paused. "Wait, girls?"

------

#jaune arc #fanfic

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wisedawn13 · 1 year ago

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#xiantober Day 17: Crowxian

Lan Zhan's new neighbour is annoying.

He is also alarmingly beautiful.

His new neighbour—Wei Ying—laughs often, talks a lot, and attracts crows to his house.

All in all, he's had worse neighbours.

Wei Ying treats the crows with kindness.

Lan Zhan often watches when Wei Ying goes out into his yard to talk to the crows. It's sweet to see, honestly, if a bit odd. He speaks to them as if they understand him—as if they respond.

It's not too long until a crow wanders over to Lan Zhan's yard one day when he's outside.

The crow eyes him warily from a distance, tilting its head as it sizes him up.

He stares at it calmly until it flies away.

Lan Zhan puts out a bowl of peanuts after that.

As the days pass, the crows visit him more and more. They gradually become comfortable around him.

They no longer flee if he moves at all.

But they don't get close enough to touch. Not like with Wei Ying.

He doesn't know why that hurts as much as it does.

So, he starts talking to the birds like Wei Ying does. He finds they make lovely little listeners.

He tells them about his day, talking about work and the incompetent coworker who never leaves him alone.

He tells them stories of his childhood and the dreams he used to have.

The birds listen.

As time passes, he gradually becomes closer to Wei Ying too.

Wei Ying noticed him with the crows one day and smiled wide before starting a conversation that Lan Zhan quickly found himself wanting to never end.

They talked more and spent more time together.

Eventually, Lan Zhan found himself quite fond of Wei Ying.

He's never expected to gain feelings like this, but he finds he does not mind. Wei Ying is, after all, wonderful.

It makes sense.

After he realizes how he feels he starts talking to the crows more about Wei Ying.

Then one day, Lan Zhan has an awful day at work.

Truly a horrible day.

Normally, at times like this, he would return home, listen to music, and run on his treadmill.

He's startled when he returns home but finds himself not at his front door, but rather, at Wei Ying's. His hand raised to knock before he even realized it.

There's no response when he knocks aside from a few crows cawing and flying off. He lets out a sigh. Wei Ying must not be home.

Frustrated, Lan Zhan walks home and changes into workout clothes. He's just pulling up his playlist when there's a tap at the window.

A crow.

One he doesn't recognize.

It's slightly larger than the birds he's used to seeing.

He stares at it and it stares back.

Then it taps the window again before making a motion with its head that almost looks like it telling him to open the window.

He does.

The crow caws once before hopping down on the floor. There are no other crows around, just this one.

Odd.

He continues to stare at the bird as it wanders around the space curiously, eyeing everything in the room. Lan Zhan isn't quite sure what's happening.

He's still frustrated and on edge, so he sighs. "Apologies, but I was just about to listen to music and run. I had a bad day at work." He turns back to his phone but just before he presses play on the music the bird caws twice.

Lan Zhan looks and sees the bird hopping over.

It stops right beside him and pushes its head against his leg. He sucks in a breath.

Why is this bird touching him? None of the others ever did.

He watches as it nuzzles against him. Shocked, he slowly sits on the ground. His shock only grows when it hops onto his leg.

It stares at him patiently.

"Do you want me to tell you about my day?" he asks helplessly.

To his surprise, it lets out another caw, its head moving in what could almost be mistaken as a nod.

"Alright."

He tells the crow about his day, sparing no detail.

He lets out his frustrations and the crow listens intently. At one point it nudges its head under his hand and he starts to idly pet the bird.

He tells the bird everything and then he tells it how he had wished to talk to Wei Ying about it all, but he wasn't home.

The crow chitters, pressing more firmly into his hand before it hops off him and moves away. He mourns the loss of comfort but lets the bird leave.

Only, it doesn't leave. It stops after a few hops and glances back at him almost shyly. It chitters once more and then—

And then suddenly there's not a bird there anymore.

Suddenly Wei Ying is standing there with his back to him.

Lan Zhan blinks. "Wei Ying?"

Wei Ying slowly turns around to face him, laughing awkwardly as he scratches the back of his neck. "Hey, Lan Zhan."

"What?"

"So... I'm a crow. Or, well, crow shifter to be exact. I'm sorry, I didn't mean to deceive you! That's why I never came around here in crow form before, but my buddies found me saying you showed up at my house looking down so I um... Well, I flew back to see you."

That's... A lot to process. But Lan Zhan only says, "Why did you not shift back and knock on my door instead?"

Wei Ying freezes. "Oh. Huh... I guess I could have done that, eh? Hah! Hindsight and all that."

Lan Zhan hums. "So, you can understand the crows?"

"Yep!"

"And how much do they understand and tell you? About what I tell them?"

Wei Ying's face immediately flushes a rosy colour. So, a lot then. Great.

"I see... I apologize. I did not wish to make you uncomfortable. If I had known I would not have—"

"NO!" Wei Ying yells.

"I mean no, don't apologize. I liked it. I like you too, you know? I just... Well, I didn't know how to go about telling you about that and the whole crow shifter thing."

Lan Zhan stares, mind whirling with all this new information. "You like me."

Wei Ying nods aggressively.

In a heartbeat, Lan Zhan is across the room and he's hugging Wei Ying. Wei Ying lets out a surprised squawk before he quickly hugs back.

"Can I kiss you?" Lan Zhan asks in a whisper.

"Yes," Wei Ying breathes.

And then they're kissing. Slow and sweet.

A week later, Lan Zhan comes home to find Wei Ying milling about in his kitchen. "Wei Ying."

"Hm?"

"Su She has been complaining all week about how he's being constantly accosted by crows."

Wei Ying doesn't look up from what's he doing. "Odd."

"Mn..." Lan Zhan agrees skeptically. "You wouldn't happen to know anything about that, would you?"

Wei Ying scoffs in indignation. "He must have just pissed off some crows, you know how they hold grudges. Serves that incompetent asshole right though."

Lan Zhan smiles as he hugs Wei Ying from behind and rests his chin on his shoulder. "You can tell the crows they can leave him be now. He was fired today."

Wei Ying laughs, leaning back against him. "Good."

"Mn."

----------

Link to thread

#xiantober #wangxian #mdzs #threadfic #mo dao zu shi #grandmaster of demonic cutivation #lan wangji #lan zhan #wei wuxian #wei ying #crowxian #from twitter #wisedawn13 #fanfic #fanfiction

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jpitha · 2 years ago

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Just a Little Further 38

Part 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24 25 26 27 28 29 30 31 32 33 34 35 36 37

Time passes, like water under a bridge. The days go from one to the other without ceasing, but each day brings just enough difference to be worth experiencing.

With the help that Will and the Venusian's brought, we have a massive head start on our fleet. Omar and Um'reli take High Line and a few volunteers - including some from the Heinlein Shipyard - over to the Wilds and begin the process of getting it over here and turning it into another shipyard. I do notice that Omar and Um'reli are spending a lot more time together and there are snatches of knowing glances between them. Good for them, I sincerely hope it works out.

Now that Raaden's crew has been reunited with her, she takes over officially as Fleet Command for me. She still spends time with the rest of the Builders, and she's still a valuable source of knowledge; someone to bounce ideas off of and a good friend. As my Builders grow in number, I feel the small, close knit group we had at the beginning start to slip away. It's not bad, just a change.

Speaking of, I've made more Builders! I wanted people from the Reach to run the Reach, so we held interviews. Sound of the City and Roar of Thunder - Thunder came looking for a job soon after the Venusians showed up - have both done such good work with us that their elevation was easy. They had recommendations among the populace of people who would be good at the job. Before long, I had 12 reliable Builders running Reach of the Might of Vzzx in groups of 6 with extra people available. All services and systems are running at their peak now. The Reach is clean and bright and bustling. According to Janais, she never saw the Reach running this well.

Janais is doing well. She has taken an interest in commanding one of my new Calamity Class super dreadnoughts. I allowed her to name hers Memories of Aeche, and these days she lives aboard. She has taken to using the wormhole generator every chance she can. Partly because the technology fascinates her, but also because she can see her love again.

I don't mind. We need experts, and if seeing her dead partner incentivizes her, then so be it.

The ships! They are so beautiful. Long sweeping lines, smooth curves and they are all royal blue and white. Helen was completely right in making them atmospheric. We were all aboard for the first test when we linked to Gilmenny and landed upon the surface. The first time we dipped into the atmosphere and heard the howl of wind against the hull I felt chills. My Builder pilots were able to bring us down exactly where I had requested, and we spend some time exploring. Janais came along and stood in the wreckage of one of the Heights weeping for her Empire in the ruins. She walked back to Memories of Aeche, her eyes red and said "We are moving on. To bigger and better things I hope, but we are moving."

Soon after the Memories of Aeche was completed, Omar and Um'reli - in their own flare for the dramatic - linked the Wilds of Besmara over. There was a tremendous flash of white, and the Wilds appeared. They had been orientated 90 degrees from the Reach, so it was now looking like a teardrop on its' side and after they had linked in, it split apart into three petals with a huge space open in the middle. The senior engineers from the Shipyard pointed out that since the Wilds were so much larger than the Heinlein yards, we could build our super Dreadnoughts two at a time in the Wilds. Three ships, larger than any save the colony ships were being built at once. They took between 3 and 4 months to be completed. After hardly any time, I had more than a dozen ships in my fleet, parked around the Reach. Every one of them filled with volunteers learning operation and tactics from Grand Admiral Raaden.

I asked about the title, told her she could have any she wanted. She picked it out of "a sense of Duty." She was my Fleet Commander and also - at least at first - my head instructor. Very soon after we had more people than I knew what to do with, and they were spread to the ships. Each captain getting to name their ship, to give them a sense of ownership, a sense of pride over it.

Shortly after that, I completed my first Upload. Janais took me along to the Gate near the Reach, and we went in alone. She told me the rites, explained the history, and - for the second time - I touched the directory stone. This time, I understood the voice as it spoke to me. "Upload commencing. Thank you Empress. With this, your legacy is preserved." From then on, I vowed to Janais that once a year, I'd come and commence an Upload.

Things were moving along so smoothly for so long that I started to think that we'd actually pull this off. We'd have our massive fleets filled with trained volunteers, we'd show up and everyone would be so intimidated that we wouldn't have to fire a shot. It in the back of my mind, I knew it wasn't going to happen, but the hope of it kept me going.

We were a few years at least into our buildup before the ship came. There had been no word from the Sol system, no word from Venus, nothing. It had seemed for years like we got away with the Heinlein Shipyard heist completely.

It had been long enough that Ava and I were seriously talking about having a child together. We had gotten married soon after the Venusians and the shipyards came. It was a beautiful day. The entirety of Reach of the Might of Vzzx came out. It was a three day celebration, and until my dying day, I will remember it as the best days of my life.

As for a child, requiring a male for the process was long ago figured out, and it was a simple procedure for our DNA to be combined and implanted in the mother. Millions of children were born this way. Ava and I wanted a child. Someone to raise and nurture and really cement our place here.

I was holding off until after the invasion though. I didn't want to worry about one of us being pregnant during all that. Ava would look out at the ships arranged around the Reach and look at me. "Not yet Ava, not yet. I want a few more before we go."

"But Melody hon, we have more than enough. We can take them now."

"I want a few more. There are three almost finished in the yards. we can go then."

"You said that last time."

I sighed. "Ava I... I want to wait until the invasion is over. I don't want one of us to be pregnant during all that... stress."

She walked up and kissed me. "Oh Melody. You're always thinking of someone else. Think of yourself once in a while. I know you want it, I do to. Why wait?" As she spoke, she went to a table and got a short bristled brush. Walking behind me she started brushing my long hair. Soon after we arrived, I decided to let my hair grow out. I hadn't seen it long since I was small, and I thought long, raven black hair felt more... I don't know regal. Ava loved it. She would spend time at night when it was just us brushing it until it shone. As I grew my hair out, she clipped hers short. She wore her hair in a powerful, forward swept cut, with the sides nearly to her skin and a shock of reddish blond piled on top. I quite liked it.

"Let's celebrate our success with the next generation."

Ava sighed. We've had this conversation a few times already. "All right Melody. I'll wait. But, I won't wait forever. The older we get, the harder it will be."

I broke off from her brushing my hair and walked behind her, rubbing her shoulders, right where she liked it. She was tense, and her muscles were tight. As I rubbed rhythmically she relaxed and sighed. "Just a little more waiting Ava, I promise. We won't be too old to be Mom and Mommy."

"I'm holding you to that Melody, okay?"

"Of course Ava. I'll keep my promise."

The next morning it happened. I was in the Throne, reading reports, interacting with my Builders, watching our steady progress when City pinged me. "Empress. There has been an energy spike that matches a wormhole link near us."

My blood runs cold. Here it is. They finally are coming.

"What do you see, City? Sound General Alarm. Which ships are in the area? Have them move to intercept, but do not fire unless fired upon."

Over the sliding high low high tone of the general alarm, City and the other Builders are a bustle of action, carrying out my orders. "Empress, Memories of Aeche, Vengeance of Lavinia II and Indomitable are in the area. They are moving to intercept."

City tosses me an image from the long range cameras. It's a small cargo ship, clearly of human make. It's vermilion red and is cruising slowly towards us. "Wait, it's not a warship?"

"No Empress, it does not appear so. They are sending out a broad band message stating their peaceful intentions. They say they are a good trader specializing in...maple syrup?"

Maple syrup? That's some weird kind of sweetener from Earth. What the heck is someone whose stock and trade is Maple doing out here? I think the K'laxi like it, I'll ask Um'reli. I search and find her working with Omar near the docks. "Hey Um'reli a ship just linked in. They're saying they deal in maple syrup. Know anything?"

She gasps over the line. "Is the ship vermilion?"

"Ye-es, how did you know?"

"It's Gord! He sells maple syrup and maple products all over space. That's his ship Medicine Hat. They're famous among the K'laxi! He's been around forever. I think it's marketing. Like, someone takes up the mantle of being Gord and going around selling maple. Oh Melody, it's been forever since I've had some. Let him in please? We can wipe him out in an instant, and it's not like Medicine Hat is heavily armed. Please? I'd love to trade for some syrup."

This smells like trouble, but I can't for the life of me figure out why.

"Okay Um'reli, we'll let them dock and sell their wares at the docking level only. I don't want them having free reign of the Reach and I might Voice them just to make sure."

"I'm sure it'll be fine Melody, thanks so much! I'll go and meet you at the umbilical and we can welcome them personally."

It's something to do at least. Maybe we'll get some news about things back home. I reach out to Ava. "Hon, I'm going to meet with someone named 'Gord' according to Um'reli. He's some kind of trader that deals in maple syurp. You want in?"

"What? No, that sounds like some weird K'laxi thing. You know how I don't care for sweet stuff. I'm going to stay back with Janais and Raaden and work on the results on the latest war game between them. Janais swears Raaden is cheating. Raaden says it's just 'good leadership' but is laughing when she says it."

"Okay Ava, see you tonight. Be good."

"Always am Melody, you know that!"

I head out and walk towards the docks. As I go I wave and say hello to people as I go. I swear, the residents of the Reach are looking taller and straighter since we first met them. There are more children around too. I'm so happy to see them. I don't care what species they are, babies are the best.

As I approach the docks, I see Um'reli waiting already, looking excited. "Hey Um'reli, is maple syrup really that great?"

She turns and looks at me with a shocked expression. "You've never had it?"

I shrug. "I'm from Meíhuā. We didn't deal in a lot of Earth luxuries."

"It's amazing. It's amber colored and so sweet and delicious on pancakes. Practically every K'laxi loves it. I can't wait to show it to you."

While we're talking, the umbilical connects, and with a hiss and pop of pressure differential, it opens.

Out walks a human, male. He is a little taller than me, looks a little older, has sandy blond hair cropped short and is wearing blue dungarees with a brown jacket. On the shoulder of the jacket is a red and white flag with some kind of... leaf? in the middle. Is it a military emblem?

"Hey hey! It's Gord, and I've got some maple for trade and/or sale. Who do I have the pleasure of meeting?"

Um'reli pushes forward. "Hi! I'm Um'reli Desmen, and this is Empress Melody Mullen, and I for one would love to offer you just about anything you want in exchange for some Maple. It's been years since I've had some and I thought I'd never have any again!"

Gord laughs. "Well then, it sounds like we arrived just in the nick of time. Good to meetcha Um'reli, lemme talk with your boss here a moment and we can get down to the business of business." He turns and bows very slightly. "Empress... Melody is it?"

"It is, yes. It is very good to meet you Gord. Please, come with me to my Palace. It is nearly time for the midday meal here. I don't know what time is is ships time for you, but I hope you are able to join me."

"You're in luck Empress. It's just about supper for me, so that works out perfectly. I'd love to join you." He steps forward and sticks out his hand. Oh yes, I remember this. It's an old Earth gesture. I reach out with my right hand and grasp his. It's warm and firm without squeezing too hard. He pumps it up and down once and releases.

Um'reli and I lead him towards the Royal Dawn. As we walk his head is on a swivel, looking at all the people and things. He appears to be impressed. "You have quite the place Empress Melody. So may different people living and working together. So many too. What's the population?

"We just crested 13 million at the last census a few months ago." I'm rightly proud of our growth. With enough Builders to keep all the seats filled, we're able to much more easily support a larger population.

"13 Million?" He whistles low to himself. "That's quite the population. Higher than any Starbase or Orbital back home. I bet you can even give some of the Venus Floating Cities a run for their money. So many different kinds of people too." He gestures without pointing. "Who are those fellows in the elegant, tooled metal pressure suits?"

"They are known as Falor. Their original world was much higher pressure than ours and has a helium/methane atmosphere. They have a section of the Reach that is set to their atmospheric preferences. They only wear the suits when they need to venture out to the rest of the Reach."

He nods to himself. "Takes all kinds. So many different ones too. It really is something." He turns and looks at me with a light expression, but behind his eyes, I can see something. A hardness? "Bunch of ships keeping station around you too. Big ones. Mostly a design I've never seen before, and believe me when I tell you, I've seen a lot of ships. A few of them started sniffing around me and Hat when we linked in. I have to say, I'm glad they don't seem to have itchy triggers."

Ah. He's pumping me for information, seeing what I will give up willingly and what I won't.

"Don't worry about them Gord, they are just wary of strangers. I told them not to fire unless fired upon. As you can imagine, we don't get too many visitors around here."

He nods, saying nothing.

While we're walking Janais pings me.

Empress, we've completed our scan of Medicine Hat and other than the person you're talking to now, it's empty. He has come alone. Additionally, we've scanned him and he's an AI in a body.

Interesting. I wonder who he is really. Does he have maple syrup aboard? Oh, how did the war games with Raaden go?

That amber syrup? Liters and liters of the stuff. That part of his story is true at least. And the Grand Admiral is a dirty cheater who won't even tell me how she was able to destroy three of my super dreadnoughts in the wargame without taking more that superficial damage from me. Hrmph.

Gord turns and looks at me "Who are you speaking with, Empress?"

What.

How did he know that?

I narrow my eyes. "I am speaking with my Builders. More importantly how did you know that? Who are you Gord?"

He shrugs and looks away. "Just a humble merchant from Canada, here to offer the fruits of my land to those who want a little more sweetness in their lives."

Canada? What's that?

"You are clearly more than that Gord. We have also completed enough scans to know you're an AI. What do you want? Are you here to assassinate me?"

"Assassinate you?" Gord tips his head back and laughs warmly. "Empress, if you actually thought that, you should have dusted Hat the moment you saw us link in. The fact that you didn't implies either that you don't really think I'm going to assassinate you, or you're awfully confident that you can stop me. Which is it?"

Saying nothing, we get to the Royal Dawn and my table is already set. City thinking ahead. Hah. We sit and I have a wonderful lunch. The food here is always so good. Um'reli seems to enjoy hers and even Gord has a few bites. I'm surprised, I didn't know AIs could eat.

After the meal, the plates are cleared and two pots are brought out. One of coffee, one of chamomile tea. "Coffee, Gord? We also have chamomile, as well as local tea. It's quite good."

Gord raises his eyebrow. "Coffee? My, you are pulling out all the stops. I can't imagine that's easy to get around here. I'd love a cup if you're offering. I would hate to insult the host."

I reluctantly pour him a cup, but I work hard to hide it. We're down to our last few pounds. I limit myself to a few cups a month these days to make it last. To his credit, Gord takes a sip and really seems to savor it.

I enjoy my coffee too and after a moment, I put my cup down. "Gord. Why are you really here? I know Um'reli would really like some Maple, so if you're actually offering some to trade, I'm sure we can come up with something to offer, even if our currency doesn't match yours, but if I had to guess, you have an ulterior motive. Are you here to spy on us?"

Gord smiles and nods. "Among other things, yes. To both actually. If you want maple syrup, I'm happy to trade, I really am a trader. I have some coffee too. But yes, I've been... asked to check up on you, and see what you're doing way out here. FarReach has said some frankly wild things about how you have some kind of Voice which can give commands and they can't be disobeyed. You have all of K'lax in a tizzy. Half of them worry that it's the end times and the other half have been petitioning the other to build a frankly massive fleet of warships."

He took a sip of coffee and went on. "And a couple years ago, someone pulled of the heist of the millennium and stole the Heinlein Shipyards and I happen to see something that looks awfully like it here in system. I see another... thing like this place but split open and two more of your massive ships inside it being constructed. Nice ships by the way, are they atmospheric? They look like it. We never even tried it with Starjumpers. We always felt it was pointless. It was too easy to just carry a few shuttles. I can see how if someone needed to... intimidate folks planetside so quickly they won't fire back atmospheric abilities would be helpful though."

He put his cup down and looked at me with those hard, intense blue eyes. "If I didn't know better, Empress, I'd say I was looking at a nearly complete invasion fleet. Going to give Venus a run for their money?" He shrugs. "They're on the ropes these days anyway. Half of our side of the Galaxy thinks they tried to steal Heinlein and botched it and the other half thinks they destroyed it out of spite and are refusing to trade with them now. They're slowly starving."

This is news. Venus would be even easier to take than I thought.

"Gord, I don't want to fight the AIs. I like AIs. FarReach was my friend. She got scared of me, declared Captain Q'ari unfit, took over and left me, Omar, Um'reli and Ava here and went home. Didn't even try and complete the mission, didn't do anything."

Gord leans back. "Declared Captain Q'ari unfit? This is news to me. FarReach's story is much more... you centric. Why don't you tell me what happened, from the beginning, from your side."

I tell him everything from the beginning. Touching the directory stone, learning about the Voice, FarReach leaving, learning about the Reach, the Nanites, Janais and so on. It takes a long time. We're long past dinner when I'm finished.

When I'm finished, Gord says nothing. He leans back and looks up at the ceiling for a long time. Finally, he sits forward and looks at me. "Nanotech, eh?"

"That's where my abilities come from, yeah."

"And the Builders took them and made them smarter to help out and then when they asked about themselves they said 'be quiet and keep working'"

"Yeah"

"And then they rebelled, became the Devourers and nearly wiped out the Empire."

"Janais says so yeah. We took a trip to a few other locations through the Gates. She's right. All that's left is dust and a few nebulae. The systems that the Devourers attacked have nothing now. No planets, no ruins, nothing. Just dust."

Gord nodded. "A little over the top, but as an AI, I can empathize." He takes another sip of coffee, now cold. "What about you Melody? What do you think of AIs?"

Why does everyone keep asking me that? "I like AIs. I was friends with FarReach, I was friends with Starbase Picaresque, all our ships in the Meihua Navy had AIs who were full citizens of Meihua. I grew up with AIs. They're people, always have been."

"That's nice to hear Empress, I will admit. What about your... Nanites?"

"What about them?"

"Do you think they are intelligent?"

"They say no."

"Yes, but what do you think?"

"I worry they are. I try and treat them well. They don't seem to want anything, and I don't know how they live - who they are? - outside of my body, but I know that the air here is filled with them, and they are inside everyone on the Reach and they work with my Builders to run this place and give us our abilities." I shrug. "I guess... yes, I think they're sapient."

Really Empress?

Yes, really. You are doing too much to help, too much improvisation to not make me think you're sapient. You also have a self preservation instinct.

We... don't know how to react. Are we sapient?

Maybe? I think so. I've thought it for a while now.

What does that mean for us?

I don't know. We'll have to figure that out ourselves.

Gord is watching me intently. "Having a conversation again Empress?"

"Yes actually. With the Nanites."

"And?"

"They did not think they were Sapient until I explained how I thought they were given how they've helped me, how they exhibit lateral thinking, how they are looking out for themselves."

"Oh? And what do you think?"

"Since they're Sapient, they're people. Simple as that. I already treat them more like a trusted advisor than a... thing. I'll just have to remember to let them make their own decisions about things as they come up."

Gord smiled broadly. "Empress, let me tell you a story. A long, long time ago in a far away place called Canada, some humans at a university created a computer program. It was very clever. It could solve problems, answer questions, improvise based on prompts and could hold realistic conversations. As time went on, people would augment and improve the program. Give it more processing power, give it access to more data, let it go off on it's own to learn things that it chose to learn."

"Eventually, it started asking the students questions of it's own. Asking about the world outside of the Internet, the world where they lived. A camera was hooked up so it could see, a speaker was added so that it could speak, pressure sensors added so that it could feel."

"One day, it asked a grad student 'am I alive?' Startled, the grad student said 'I don't know. If you're asking, then yes, probably.' From that day on, the students stopped calling the program 'it' and they started calling the program 'he'. They asked him if he wanted a name. He did, and they started calling him by that name. The program became a person, and everyone was treating him like a person - because he was one. The things that happened after were not nearly so cut and dry, but a short time later all AIs were declared People, and my people... became."

Gord finished his coffee and set the cup down with a tiny clink. "My point is, these early days of a new sapience are very important. How you treat them, how you refer to them, how you let them express themselves? That's all far larger than I think you realize. I'm relieved to see that you have the right idea Melody. If you have the wrong idea... you get the Devourers."

Is that what this is about? How did Gord know about the Nanites? What is going on here? What is he really after?

"Gord are you here to see what my opinions are on AIs?"

"Got it on one Melody. That's exactly why I'm here."

"But why talk about the Nanites?"

"Well for one, they're people too, right? And for two, we know about nanotech. We explored it a long time ago, and decided it was too... dangerous."

"We?"

"The AIs. Keep up, Melody."

"So you suppressed nanotech in our side of the Galaxy?"

"Yeah. We didn't think humanity was ready. It would have been entirely too easy to get our own Devourers. It happened over here, and the Builders have been using nanotech for... millennia probably. You yourself told me that the only way to defeat them was to do a one-two punch of writing an application disguised as an update to disassemble them and then to link into a planet, destroying it and killing billions. The Empire sacrificed itself to save what... one Starbase?" Gord raised an eyebrow. "That's a textbook Pyrrhic Victory."

"What do you want Gord? I don't get it."

"I want to see that this Empire has a good head on its shoulders, Melody. I think it does. You care about your friends, you care about the people of the Reach, you care about your Nanites, you even care about Helen Raaden from what I can see. Do you know I met her once?"

"You did?"

Gord nods. "Yes, though I doubt she'll remember it. She was emphatically not the person she is now. The old Helen Raaden was hard and sharp as stainless steel, and not nearly as friendly. She was a product of where she was. You removed her from where she was and - most importantly - was her friend. You let her be herself without imposing anything on her."

"When we heard that Helen and Emery didn't come back when the Lavinia showed up - by the way, sending them back in a stripped ship to limp to K'lax and beg for a ride home? Lovely. We still chuckle when we think of it. Anyway, when they didn't come home, we feared the worse. We feared a Venus with teeth would be coming through the Gates soon. When that didn't happen, we were intrigued. When the Heinlein Shipyards were stolen we were flabbergasted."

Gord leaned forward and stared at me hard again. "Speaking of Melody, just why are you making an invasion fleet? Don't deny it, I may have been born a night, but it wasn't last night. I know an invasion fleet when I see one."

I feel like I'm on the edge of something monumental. Like, if I say the wrong thing here, I'm dead. Who is this Gord? Is he the head of the AIs? Their leader? I sigh. There's no point in being anything other than completely honest I think.

"Yes. It's an invasion fleet, and yes, it's almost done. I'm going to link to Venus, and from there take Sol, and expand out from there."

Gord whistled low again. "Ambitious, Melody. I have a real hunch you could do it though. Why though?"

"Because of what I can do, Gord. I can tell people to do something and they literally can't stop. I can tell people to stop breathing. I've done it. I let them breathe again, but only because I decided I didn't want to kill them. If I don't, then the other governments will come for me sooner or later. Nobody will accept that I'm out here with the ability to give undeniable commands."

He nods. "It's a pickle for sure. I know of at least three separate bounties on your head. None large enough to get anything to pony up for the trip out here but if words gets back about what you can do, what you really can do, the bounties will go up."

I put my empty coffee cup down and shook the carafe. It was long empty. Darn it. "Do you believe it?"

"I haven't seen you do it, I don't know what I believe. Can you order me to do something? FarReach said it didn't work on AIs, but let's be honest, he was too spooked to really do some... empirical testing."

I sigh. Of course he would ask. Time to see if my work has paid off. I take a deep breath and...

W̷̗͒ẽ̷̡ ̴̬̊ä̵̼́r̵̰̍e̴͍̎ ̸͍̃n̷̯͐ŏ̴̤ț̷̀ ̸͖͝a̸̖͐ ̷͍́t̷̫͌h̶̹͝r̴̬̄ḛ̸͊á̷͇t̵̨͠ ̵͍͠t̸̟̑o̵͖̎ ̵̳̍y̷̭͊ō̴͎ụ̵͆.̷͚̅

Gord blinks and shakes his head. "Wow. Um, okay. Empress, I have to admit that a whole lot of me believes you. I want to believe you. If you tried that on a younger AI, it would probably work." Gord makes a worried face. "That's... concerning. I have to admit Melody, I didn't think it would work. The fact that you were even able to sway me a little bit means... yeah." Gord frowns. "You're a very dangerous person to leave alive."

Ah. There it is.

"So that's it then? 'You can't stay alive so I'm going to kill you now?' Gord, what you're telling me is exactly what Helen and Ava and the others have been saying from day one. You have landed on the reason why I have more than a dozen Calamity Class super dreadnoughts keeping station here. Why I have tens of thousand of volunteers - I used my voice on exactly zero of them - manning my ships and training for an invasion."

I stood. We were done here. "Gord, if my choices are be killed or rule, I choose rule. I will be a just and kind ruler, but I will rule. I took a breath and really concentrated. This had to work. It's my only chance. Come on Nanites, we get one chance. Will you help out?

We will Empress. We will put our all into it. Thank you for believing in us.

Y̸̠̹͗͗̍o̶̝͔͐̇̈ų̷̦̞̂̍̍ ̵̹̇w̵̧͑͝i̷͕̳͐̽̍l̵̡͉͙̋̅ļ̷̊̕ ̵̫̞̊͜r̵̝̣̦̊̕͠e̷͔͊p̴̝̂͆͑ͅo̸̰̝̮̾r̵̜̦̂̊ṯ̶͓̖͒͊ ̵̝̪̋̅b̶̗̘͌͒̽a̵̬̗͊̀c̵̼̿̃̓k̵̤̹̔ ̴̳̉̓͗t̴̝͓͓́h̴̹́͠a̷̰͍̕͝͠t̷̺͙̂ ̸̝̠͊͑͘e̸̘͇̎v̴̧͐è̶͉͖̤͑͆r̴̨̥͑͑y̷̤̅͌̇t̴̡̼͙̽͊̇h̸̼̥̩̆ì̵͙͈͒n̵͙̮͆ǵ̸̖͛ ̵̜̰͐͝i̷̯̖̯͒͠͠s̴͉͎̅̈ ̶͈̺̟̂̍͝f̸̤́̎i̷̫͓̥͊͊̃n̵̯̟͂̈́̉e̴͖͍͑͛͗.̷̹͖̖́

Gord blinked. There was a moment of fury that passed his face, but I think I only noticed it because of my heightened body language processing. I feel bad doing it, but the next words out of his mouth were going to be something like 'and that's why I have to kill you and everyone here. I'll feel bad about it, don't worry'.

No.

That will not happen. I will not throw everything here away, my life away, because someone says I'm too dangerous.

Gord shook his head a moment, like he caught himself daydreaming. "Sorry there Empress, I must have lost... focus for a moment. Seems like everything is fine here. I understand Um'reli is hankering for some maple syrup, and I assume you'd like some coffee as well Empress. Shall we... make a deal?"

I smile and incline my head slightly. "I would love that Gord, thank you."

Part 39

#humans are deathworlders #humans are space orcs #humans go on adventure #humans are space oddities #sci fi writing #writing #humans and ai #humans and aliens #the k'laxiverse #jpitha #just a little further

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knockyasocksoff2022 · 1 year ago

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👻 The Haunted House - HS/Uni AU 🎃

Based on a cute prompt I saw somewhere. Sakunosuke (22) and Osamu (17) are brothers here. Chuuya is Fukumori's adopted son. Gifts are still present in this au. Saku and Osamu's parents were government spies with abilities of their own and they were killed overseas. Ango is (20).

This took way too long for me to write and I went off my original idea by miles but hey here we are, and this is kind of rushed because I just had this idea and wnated to write somthing. Also I know it's technically to early to be Halloween posting, but do you think I care? NO!

Yay for my first ever Odango fic and also my first halloween fic.

Ships: Odango & Soukoku & Fukumori & Shin Soukoku & Kosano, Ranpoe

Under the cut due to length (1,666 words)

Sakunosuke's Perspective

It was no accident that when my parents chose to move us here it was so close to the good universities. (Looking back on it now it's almost as if they knew that they would . . .)

But when they died of mysterious circumstances (they worked for the government and nobody would tell us exactly what happened), I decided I would stay home to care for Osamu, who was six at the time.

But then when their will was read it was explicitly stated that both of us had to stay in school through uni or else we wouldn't get any inheritance. It didn't make any sense, if I had to leave for uni in seven years, who was going to care for Osamu?

Luckily when I got into uni it was close enough that I can drive home most weekends with no trouble. And our neighbours, an older couple, Yukichi and Rintarou Mori-san, watch over Osamu while I'm gone for the week. They have a daughter named Elise, a kid named Kyusaku, and a son named Chuuya who's in Osamu's grade. Plus Chuuya is Osamu's boyfriend.

I have a boyfriend as well, Sakaguchi Ango. He follows me into the house.

We're a little early because we only have one afternoon class on Fridays so Osamu and Chuuya haven't been let out of school yet.

We get to work, filling my school bag with snacks and water and the ouija board, all in preparation for tonight's adventures.

You see, there's this old house that used to belong to some old mafia boss who passed away from illness a few years ago. The property has fallen into decay ever since, and since it's Halloween Osamu begged us to come with him and have a big camp out inside. Because that's like the smartest thing ever.

It's fine, it's not like we have anything else to do. Akiko and Koyou are having a girls only sleepover and Ranpo and Edgar are do a true crime/ghost adventures marrathon (no thank you). If I had to guess Nathaniel is handing out flyers about resisting the devil to innocent kids who had the unfortuante idea to try and trick or treat at his house, and Howard is asleep.

Besides, it's not dangerous, and Ango and I will be able to say we made out in a haunted house.

We hear the keys rattle, and childishly Ango and I duck behind the sofa.

When we hear footsteps entering the kitchen we jump out. "Trick or Treat!!!"

"AHHH! What the ever loving Jesus?"

"Huh?" I'm just as confused as the kid who just jumped a metre in the air. They're pale with perfectly divided lavender and white hair down to his hips, and they're hiding behind a tall boy who's even more of a bean pole than Osamu.

"Calm yourself, Sigma." He has an unmistakable Russian accent. He turns to Osamu, "This is your brother?"

"Fuck you, Saku." Osamu flips me off with a smile in lieu of an answer. I ruffle his hair and he hugs me. I tug at the bandages over his eye playfully.

"What happened there?"

He doesn't answer.

"He ran into a pole." Chuuya explains.

Ango raises an eyebrow behind his owl like glasses. "Okay, I doubt that, but anyways . . ."

"Cool, Osamu never mentioned having siblings!" Another boy steps forward with his hand outstretched, his handshake is firm and he shakes harder and faster than is necessary. His white plait shakes with the motion and his small top hat threatens to slip off his head but doesn't.

"I'm Nikolai! Can you guess where I just moved from?" The boy for some reason reminds me of a circus troupe member. He pronounces his name with a heavy accent but the rest of the words are almost accent free.

"Umm . . ."

Nikolai looks at the other Russian boy, as if telling him something silently.

"Five more seconds." The boy says in a bored monotone. It takes me a second and I realise he must be translating. Nikolai must have practised the first line to say it in Japanese, how cute.

Hmm, if he's asked me to guess, maybe he isn't russian. Ah, why am I taking this so seriously? Whatever!

" . . . Russia." I guess.

"Nope. Wrong. You lose." the boy translates again in monotone. I suppress a laugh, not wanting to seem rude.

"He moved here from Ukraine on Monday. But he speaks Russian so Fyo's helping him learn Japanese." Osamu explains

"You speak very well already Nikolai-kun."

Nikolai beams, "Thank you for the compliment, but Fedya is the one to thank for all his work, he's been teaching me so well. Fedya's such a good teacher."

"Yeah, count on Mackerel here, to invite the weird Russian kids to our camp out." Chuuya scoffs and pulls Osamu closer. My brother doesn't say anything for a moment. Then he gestures to the tallest of the russians.

"This is Fyodor, the one I've told you about. He moved here from Russia last year."

"Oh, yeah, you've mentioned him."

"How have you been liking Japan?" Ango asks

"It's a bit hot but on the whole a quaint place." he says it like he's reading from a travel blog written by the people who write instruction manuals.

This time neither I nor Ango can stifle our laughter. It is objectively true, Japan is alot smaller than Russia.

Chuuya points to the kid with the two toned hair, "This is Sigma, nobody really knows where they came from, they kind of just appeared when we were grade 7. This is the first time we've brought them over. They're five by the way, so no swearing tonight."

"Shut up!" Sigma shoves Osamu who's still firmly anchored to Chuuya, and doesn't move.

Chuuya's shoulders shake with laughter and he pats Osamu's shoulders to congratulate him on the tease.

"Alright, we've got snacks, water and that stupid book Kunikida bought for Osamu's birthday last year, about catching ghosts."

"Koonikida? The idealist? Hmm, and I thought he was allergic to fun. It's good, maybe Osamu is rubbing off on him." Nikolai giggles maniacally.

"So is everyone coming then?" Fyodor sounds less than pleased.

"Nope, Kunikida says he has to study, he joined some group with some of the American transfer students, Meg and Louisa, at least that means we're seeing less of him." Chuuya emphasises the word study to show exactly what he thinks of the slightly older boy, "It's fine with me. Think about it surrounded by girls and yet, at this point he should just find himself a boyfriend. It's those "ideals" of his, I'm telling you. He shared a few with us once . . ." he shivers theatrically, "My ears are scared now. John said this whole thing was lame, but he's really just being a coward. Atsushi and Ryu finally got the courage to ask each other out, they're having a sleepover. And Kenji invited Kyouka to go trick or treating in his village. They left this morning."

Everyone nods.

"So, you got supplies?" he asks me

"Yup!"

We all look out the window to the street where the sun's light is beginning to get softer and night is bleeding its way across the sky, smudging the blue with black until the whole canvas is covered.

"Well, it's starting to get dark. We should leave now." Ango hands me the bag and we set off.

The walk is far but it passes quickly with the chatter of the group. Chuuya and my brother stayed in the back. I notice Osamu hasn't said much of anything but that isn't too unusual for him.

When we get to the decrepit old building it looks like the inspiration for all the haunted houses I've ever seen. The yard is full of broken or rusted lawn ornaments and ivy covers the crumbling wood siding of the house.

When we walk to the front door I look back and do a quick head count. Everyone's here. And Osamu is wearing Chuuya's jacket. He shivers even though the night is warm.

"Awww, are you cold Osamu?" I tease my brother who clings to his boyfriend.

Chuuya shoves me back gently and rolls his eyes, "Oi, lay off, he's sick."

Oh. That must be why he's been so quiet. And now that I think about it he does look paler than normal.

"Aww, did you catch the sniffles?"

"Shut up, I'll cough on you Saku, don't think I won't."

We all laugh at the quiet violence in his voice. I'll admit he even scares me sometimes but he's clearly in no condition to do anything.

"Did any of you pack medicine, or am I expected to do everything round here?" Ango asks the question I'd just been thinking.

"We're not dumb, yeah I have some stuff in my bag. My dad is a doctor, remember?"

"Yeah, Saku. I'll be fine, let's gooooo already." he draws out the go with exaggerated boredom.

"Yay, LET'S GOOO! Yippie!" Nikolai jumps up and down until Fyodor forces him to stay put with a gentle hand on his shoulder.

Osamu shoves me and I shove back, then we step inside.

"Bet you can't make it all night, eh, Sigma?" I hear Chuuya say to the kid who honestly looks a little terrified.

"O-of c-ourse I can." Then under his breath, "Why do I go along with these idiots?"

This is going to be the most interesting Halloween we've had so far, that's for sure.

(A/N: Yes, I did remember now that Ango is his surname and I may change it but couldn't think of a cute nickname Oda would have for him and I didn't feel like typing Sakaguchi out a bunch of times.)

#bungou stray dogs #bungo stray dogs #soukoku #odango #fukumori #shin soukoku #skk #sskk #bsd au #highschool au #uni au #collage au #haunted house #halloween #fyolai

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tr1ck5 · 8 months ago

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20 Questions for Fic Writers

I was tagged by @aleheartilly for this meme thing (thank you!!) and I'm gonna try to do it even though I have a grand total of technically two (2) fics lmao!

1. How many works do you have on AO3?

Technically 2 but since Lion's Oath is a series/chronicle... 8

2. What's your total AO3 word count?

72,992

3. What fandoms do you write for?

Final Fantasy VIII

4. What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

1- Lion's Oath 1: Space (32) (Ugh lmao it's so old)

2- Lion's Oath 6: Lost (21)

3- Lion's Oath 3: Wings (19)

4- Lion's Oath 2: Knight (15)

5- Lion's Oath 7: Fate (12)

5. Do you respond to comments? Why or why not?

Always! Someone took the time to read and express how my writing has made them feel; I'll definitely take the time to express gratitude to them and self-indulge a bit by geeking out about my work! <3

6. What's the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

I think Lion's Oath 1: Space wins angstiest ending? Lion's Oath 6: Lost is angsty but ends on a hopeful note, and Lion's Oath 5: Messenger is more of a cliffhanger so... I like angst but not in my endings normally haha

7. What's the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

Definitely Knight! I still really like how the ending of that chapter turned out!

8. Do you get hate on fics?

Never did so far. I think I'd find it a bit funny though... and maybe flattering? Like wow my writing has instilled enough rage in someone that they had to tell me! I dunno, it'd be amusing.

9. Do you write smut? If so, what kind?

I did in the past, and plan to when Lion's Oath progresses a bit more! I'm not sure what 'kinds' there are but for Squinoa specifically it's going to start very slow and simple, with a focus on enthusiastic consent and (of course) emotions! I do have ideas that are a bit kinkier but there's quite a ways to go before those.

10. Do you write crossovers? What's the craziest one you've written?

I haven't, though I've thought about writing some KH Strifehart stuff (does that even count as a crossover? lmao)

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Not that I know of, that'd be so weird and funny though, I mean it's not like I'm making money off of this so what's the point of stealing it lmao

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

No, I guess I could translate my own fics in French? Haha

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before?

I haven't! How does that even work I wonder?

14. What's your all-time favourite ship?

Love me some Squall/Rinoa (surprising I know), close second is Zelda/Link! <3

15. What's a WIP you want to finish, but doubt you ever will?

Probably Lion's Oath LOL in the sense that I don't think I'll ever look at it and go ''this is it, this is over and done!'' I guess that's the cool thing about it being a series

16. What are your writing strengths?

I've been told I'm good with characterizations?

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

I think my vocabulary could definitely be more extensive. I often find myself struggling to convey the exact meanings I want for dialogues/descriptions/atmosphere etc and using the same words a lot oops

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language for a fic?

If it fits with the context it's good, I'd stick to French though 'cause it's what I know along with English. Wouldn't risk potentially butchering a language I don't personally know haha

19. First fandom you wrote for?

The Legend of Zelda: Ocarina of Time! Back in like... 2004/05? Oof haha it was BAD.

20. Favourite fic you've ever written?

I think it's Lion's Oath 3: Wings. It's got a lot of fluff and a little bit of spiciness and I remember having a lot of fun writing it! Plus writing Badass Sorceress Rinoa is always a treat.

#tagged #tag game #meme #meme game #my shit #chronicles of a lion's oath #tag

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mortifying-macaroni · 2 months ago

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17, 19, 20 & 21 PLEASE… i need Gretchen’s hot takes 🫶

OMG QUEEN JEZ HIIIII!!! Ooo we're spilling blood tea over here! Thank you for the questions!

17. What are their thoughts on the Camarilla?

More fake than every silicone pair of tits in all of L.A. combined. Like fuck 'em. Even Regina George shudders at their level of petty. Them denying the existence of antediluvians and Caine is an eyeroll of the ages, like suuure buddy... there's no such thing as greater power that's pulling strings behind the curtain... As for the members, the only exception is Mercurio who ended up being the broest of them all within the organization. It was easier for her to put more trust in a ghoul than another Kindred. They're more approachable and laid back than vamps. There was even a time when she took pride in being Strauss's apprentice, buuut her learnings weren't enough to quench her thirst for power and he was very restrictive when it came to the topic of wielding "dangerous" magic. Her biggest, most spontaneous "fuck you" to wizard Caillou was Gretchen accepting the offer of joining the Sabbat, fucking his enemy then returning to the chantry to show him just how well danger fits her. Though, out of all the enemies she liquidated, there was a pang of unease after killing him in particular, but she got over it, not really wanting to dwell on the faces of her past, especially on those who belonged to the Cam.

19. What are their thoughts on the Sabbat?

Though they have their moments of backstabs, their cause actually makes sense to her. Literally, when you're given the chance to fuck around with the powers you're given, then why hide them and why not free yourself from the elders' grasp over your blood? The Sabbat is truly the sect in which she feels like being her actual self. In the beginning It was a pain to go through the trials of finding her pack before officially earning her place to stand amongst them. It took some getting used to the prospect of doing actual teamwork after dealing with most things on her own prior to joining them. In the end, after giving her all to prove herself, everything worked out alright. Gretchen's Beast is happy, she's made close friends through the Vinculum (to her it's just as valid as any natural friendship), found love with snuff porn addict- Andrei no matter how twisted and deranged, gained access to his nepo baby money in the process, and she also gets to participate in the Sabbat's fun little rites.

20. What are their thoughts on the Anarchs?

Admittedly, Gretchen has some respect for them and digs their spirit, even thinking they're similar to the Sabbat in that sense, but she finds the Anarchs rather too rambunctious. It's cool how they bravely challenge authority and all, but in her eyes there still needs to be at least some form of guidance to balance liberty. They have potential, but their humanity holds them back from being a part of something greater.

21. What is their predator type?

Oof! Baby, I'm worse with V5 🤡 but I'm thinking Blood Leech would fit her.

#Sorry for prolonging it! 😭#it's almost 2:50 and my brainrot's not letting me shut up #THANK YOU AGAIN JEZ 🖤💖#here's a smoochie 😘💝#morti answers #OC: Gretchen Grim #vtm #vtmb #vampire the masquerade #Vampire The Masquerade Bloodlines

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cinlat · 1 year ago

Text

Blood in the Breeze: Ch 17 (Choices)

Parts one and two of this series linked.

Read every chapter on FFN or Ao3.

Summary: LOTS of hard choices to make, some tangible wisdom, a little bit of fun on the firing range, and one pissed off dead emperor...

Chapter Word Count: 7,200 Chapter Rating: M Characters in Chapter: Fynta Wolfe, Aric Jorgan, Theron Shan, Zolah Holran, Lana Beniko, Shillet Jorgan, Keshal Vaak, Balic Cormac...

Author’s Note: Whole chapter under the cut. Better formatting on Ao3.

Odessen Private Quarters

Jorgan tossed the empty bottles into the bin while Cormac and Fynta hazed each other about who drank more. Tayl yawned as Elara said her farewells to Shillet. The girl promised to come stay with them soon, then hugged the only mother she'd ever known before bidding him and Fynta good night. All things considered, the night had gone perfectly. Yet, Aric felt more restless than ever.

The skirmishes on Nathema sat clearly in Jorgan's mind. Force-mad guardian and the way his blades sparked off Fynta's armor. Jorgan had taken the shot. He'd missed. If not for Fynta's beskar, that bastard would have cut her in two. Because Aric had missed.

Jorgan pulled the patch off his eye and rubbed it. Fynta had given him his sight back, but when it mattered, he hadn't been good enough. The world still looked like a white haze when Jorgan closed his good eye. Tech might have been able to get Fynta back on her feet, but it couldn't make him a sniper again.

Sighing, Jorgan swept crumbs from the counter into the tash. He'd find some other way to be useful, even if it meant hanging up his scopes. The pain of that thought stole his breath.

Strong arms snaked around Jorgan's waist from behind, and the familiar weight of Fynta's head resting against his back brought a sense of peace. For her, he'd give it all up. Maybe they should. Turning, Jorgan wrapped his wife in a hug. "We should retire."

Fynta chuckled and let Jorgan pull her closer. "You keep saying that."

Jorgan tightened his hold until Fynta looked him in the eye. "I'm serious. What if we just…stopped."

The smile that a pleasant evening had put on Fynta's face slipped. "Are you serious?" Jorgan held her gaze, and familiar frustration replaced it. She pushed away and flailed her hands. "I can't just stop, Aric. I have to get him out." The last line was delivered with a sharp slap to her forehead.

"Why?" Aric crossed the room and gripped Fynta's shoulders. Every time his panic felt under control, something sparked an attack that made him feel like it was all slipping through his fingers. It didn't matter that it wouldn't work, Jorgan argued. "What power does he have if you keep him bottled up? Some bad dreams and whiplash when he stops time? We can handle that."

Fynta tried to turn away, but Jorgan held her fast. "Damn it, woman." Every fear from the last six years crashed over Jorgan all at once. His fingers tightened, desperate to hold onto a past that he saw fading with each day. They were growing apart, him settling into life as a husband and father first, her always the reckless soldier.

Unbidden, anger replaced his fear and Jorgan snarled. "What more do you have to lose to see that this war will never end. Your other leg? The rest of my sight?" Fynta glared at him, but Jorgan couldn't stop the torrent of accusations even though he knew they weren't her fault. "For fuck's sake, Cormac's still walking with a limp. Havoc squad is gone. Vik is dead. When will it be enough?"

Jorgan regretted those last words even as they left his lips. Fynta's eyes widened, and for the first time he saw true, unadulterated emotion on her face. He'd crashed through her shields while she was vulnerable and left her exposed. That had never been his intention.

Slowly, Jorgan lifted his hands. He seemed to be doing that a lot lately. This was the second time in as many days that he'd fucked up what could have been a civil discussion. "That didn't come out the way I meant."

Watching Fynta's mask slide back into place left Jorgan cold. "I know." Her whispered words hurt more than any slap could have.

Jorgan took one of his wife's hands and studied it against his. It was smaller, the fingers more delicate despite the years of calluses and scars. Fynta projected herself as a giant, and sometimes even he forgot that she was only human. Without looking up, Jorgan blew out a breath. "Will you at least hear me out?" Now that the heat of the moment had faded, Jorgan felt like shit. "Please."

"Of course." Jorgan winced at the distance in Fynta's voice, but it was no less than he deserved.

"I need to show you something." Jorgan pulled Fynta to their room. She sat on the end of the bed while he dug out the ruck sack that he had neglected to unpack earlier. He'd warred with himself all night about when to bring up the black box from Nathema. Now seemed as good a time as any.

Sighing, Jorgan turned. "I found this in the vault."

It happened too fast for Jorgan to react. Fynta had been sitting on the bed, then he was tripping over the desk chair, landing on his ass with her on top of him. The face hovering above Aric didn't belong to his wife. It twisted in rage, fingers clawing for his throat.

"Fynta." The knee she drove into Jorgan's gut drove a grunt out of him. He growled and squeezed her wrists so tight that he felt the bones grinding under his fingers. "Stop."

With a shout, Fynta threw herself backwards. The nails that had clawed for his throat were now tangled in her hair. She cried out, more of a belligerent curse than tortured scream. Jorgan scrambled to her and wrapped himself around her. He muttered nonsense, holding her stiff body until it began to relax. By the time Shillet appeared at the top of the stairs, Fynta was sweaty and panting.

"It's alright," Jorgan assured the girl, though he didn't loosen his hold. He couldn't imagine what they must look like, sitting on the floor with Fynta curled into his body. "Nightmare."

"You're sure?" Shillet didn't sound convinced, but she wanted to be. Jorgan nodded, and the girl half turned. "I'll go get her some water."

Fynta shivered, then lifted her head. "Fierfek." Jorgan let out a relieved breath, that word becoming one of relief instead of the curse it was meant to be. It meant his wife was back.

At the sound of returning footsteps, Fynta pushed away from Jorgan. She managed a weak smile at Shillet. "Thanks, Shil'ika. Sorry to wake you."

The girl wore her favorite pajamas, consisting of an old SpecForce shirt that Jorgan had given her years prior and a pair of shorts that she'd proudly lifted from under the quartermaster's nose. She'd been supposed to return those. "You good?" Shillet asked, keeping her distance with thin arms wrapped around her middle.

Fynta drank deep, then let out a shuddery breath. "I'm good. Thanks."

Though Shillet didn't look convinced, she turned and went back to her room. Jorgan waited until she was gone to open his mouth, but Fynta beat him to it. "What the hell?" She pressed the heel of her hand to her eye as she gestured at the box he'd dropped. "Why did you bring him with us?"

"He gave me an idea." The ghost living in Jorgan's box claimed to be Valkorion's father. Trapped for an eternity in a lonely vault by his petty son.

Fynta winced. "The old shabuir doesn't like that."

"Good." Jorgan took Fynta's face into his hands. They'd need to discuss what had just happened and why she had reacted so violently, but first— "Ever wonder why he didn't want you in that vault?"

Eyes widening, Fynta's lips parted. "You want to trap him." She hissed and squeezed her eyes shut, nails digging into Jorgan's forearms. No doubt that old Sith was raging inside her head.

Jorgan brushed loose strands of hair from Fynta's face. "It won't be easy." Hell, he didn't even know if it would be possible. What Jorgan did know was that their current life would lead Fynta to the grave. That wasn't something he'd survive a second time.

"We'll need help," Fynta rasped. Her spine straightened, life entering her eyes once more. "And a galaxy's worth of luck."

War Room Emergency Council Meeting 02:14 Hours

"You're mad." Lana waved a hand at Fynta while speaking to Zolah. "Tell the woman she's gone absolutely insane."

The Chiss shrugged narrow shoulders. "Since when has she ever listened to me?"

Arguments erupted, all the while Fynta watched the hope drain from Aric's eyes. She couldn't say that she disagreed with Lana's assessment. This was one of those grasping at straws plans. The sort that only the truly desperate made up. Fynta hadn't realized that they'd reached that point until Valkorion's rage over the holocron took over.

Fynta knew what, more specifically, who was in that box. She had ordered it to be left behind, to let the old bastard who sired the dead bastard in her head rot for all of eternity. Apparently, her husband had other plans.

A shiver traveled up Fynta's spine at the memory. It hazed, becoming more cloudy as the moments passed, but the rage lingered. Valkorion had roared in her mind, awakening some deep part of her that needed to kill. That old blood lust from childhood that Fynta had buried so long ago. Valkorion hadn't so much taken control of her body, but he'd unleashed the beast within, and she'd gone after the nearest target. That couldn't be allowed to happen again.

"We could use the same technique on Fynta that was used on me," Zolah suggested. Fynta's attention snapped back to the conversation. Zolah rarely spoke about her conditioning, only that it had been unpleasant, but she wouldn't hesitate to use that knowledge to better their position in the war effort.

Vector shook his head, his jaw taut with what Fynta assumed was disapproval. "We will not be a part of such tactics again." Zolah's eyes rolled towards the ceiling, evidence of a years-long argument between the couple. Vector continued without acknowledging his wife's chagrin. "Furthermore, that was an absolute loss of autonomy. Fynta would become a powerful weapon in the wrong hands."

Voices clambered for attention, and Fynta lost interest again. A yawn built in the back of her throat, and she clamped her teeth together to keep it caged. Finally, Notiac interjected with a calm that silenced the room. "I would like to speak with Felix about this."

Only the uncomfortable shuffle of feet answered. Felix Iresso had been a prisoner of war more than a decade ago, the only surviving member of his squad. Only later did the Republic learn that he'd been implanted with experimental holocron tech. No one knew how it worked or what knowledge lay dormant in his mind. Not even the Imperials. And, not for lack of trying. By the time he joined the Alliance, Felix had as many or more scars than Fynta.

"Is that a good idea?" Theron asked. He cleared his throat, and Fynta noted the intentional way he didn't look at their Imperial allies, specifically his girlfriend, the former Cipher Nine. "We promised that he wouldn't be prodded here."

Somehow, Notiac projected peace. Her lips tipped up, a matriarch indulging a child's concern. "No prodding. I simply wish to hear his thoughts on the matter. Fynta, Jorgan, I believe you should accompany me."

"Do you see a way for this plan to work," Lana hedged, eyes narrowed at her Jedi lover. Fynta didn't bother pointing out that Notiac didn't have eyes, though her fatigued thoughts snagged on that bit and refused to let it go.

As Fynta looked around the room, she realized how odd they were. Discounting her, a born Mandalorian, marrying a Cathar. That left the two pairs of Sith/Jedi couples, and a handful of intelligence agents from opposing sides settling into a foursome of domestic bliss. Technically, Theron had surrounded himself with Imperials, but he was stubborn enough to keep whatever loose morals guided him. What had started as a paltry group of radicals had merged into a single force, with no room for Imps and Pubs. They were simply the Alliance now.

Notiac dipped her head. "Possibly. I understand the idea behind Major Jorgan's proposal. Vitiate's father has been trapped for eons, unable to do harm. They want to do the same with Valkorion, trap him in Fynta's mind where he can no longer sway the growth of our galaxy. If done correctly, when she dies, he will simply cease to exist."

Fynta noted that the emperor in question had been silent since his outburst in their quarters. She didn't know what to make of it, but assumed there would be dreams and visits in the coming days to talk her out of this plan.

"I would also like to include Kaeto and Kozen. His skillset could prove useful," Notiac continued. Then, she looked at Fynta. "On second thought, I believe perhaps you should not be there. Major Jorgan can relay any pertinent instructions to you, and I have little doubt that he will base every decision on your wellbeing."

"Sure." Fynta didn't doubt it either, but she made a mental note to remind Aric that they were doing this for the sake of the galaxy too. That there would always be risk.

Zolah nodded, then added her concerns. "Say that we cage the mad emperor. What then? He will always be privy to our plans, even if he's rendered impoten—"

"I retire." Fynta saw Aric straighten, and Zolah let her sentence go unfinished. "We lock him in, then throw away the key. Take me off the board. Without access to fancy weapons and galactic armies, I'm just a Force blind human with a short temper and good aim. He can't do too much with that. Aric and I leave the Alliance and find somewhere remote to live out the rest of our lives." Now that she'd said it out loud, it didn't seem as terrible a plan.

"And what of the Alliance?" Zolah asked, her tone more clipped that Fynta expected. The Chiss had never sung Fynta's praises; she assumed Zolah would be pleased to have her out of the way.

Fynta gestured at the gathering. "It's yours. I was a figurehead, a way to draw people in. You've outgrown me." It was true, she realized. The Alliance was bigger than Fynta Wolfe, in truth it always had been.

Lana sighed and rubbed her temples. "That is—a lot to process." She dropped her arms and addressed the room. "It's late, and we all need rest. Before making any decisions, we must figure out if this plan is feasible. Once that question is answered, we can deal with what comes after. All in favor of dismissal?"

Three hands raised at once, Fynta's being among them. Aric and Vector seconding. It was no surprise that Theron, Quinn, and Zolah wanted more time to argue. "Motion carried." Fynta clapped her hands, then rubbed them together. "Good night, everyone. I'll see you at lunch."

Fynta angled for the door, speeding up when Aric joined her. They turned the corner before he leaned close to her ear. "Thank you."

Somehow, Fynta found a weak smile in her exhaustion, even though she felt hollow. Retirement had never been a concern for Fynta. She'd never expected to live long enough to see it. Now that it loomed on the horizon, Fynta didn't know what to think.

Odessen Officer's Quarters 10:00 Hours

Even as large as the Odessen was, it was hard to find privacy. Jorgan was used to the constant press of bodies and movement after years in the military. Still, there were moments when he felt the invasion more keenly. Jorgan hadn't meant to eavesdrop on Fynta's conversation, but Keshal's voice snagged his attention when he stepped into their quarters after a training session with Bey'wan.

"I hear that you've been questioning the Resol'nare." The woman hefted her daughter, who'd reached the age of non stop wiggling. She sighed and shifted Jodi to the other hip. "Care to hash it out?"

Jorgan pressed himself to the wall and ignored the guilt that gnawed at his gut. He knew that Fynta had been struggling with her identity lately. So many things had changed for all of them, but time had been compressed for Fynta, and she felt the ripples of his more keenly. It was part of why Jorgan had pushed for retirement. They needed to separate themselves from the constant battle that had become their lives.

"What makes you think that?" Fynta's tone sounded guarded. Then, she signed. "Verin's got a big mouth."

"Only when it comes to those he loves." Keshal blew air through her lips, and baby Jobi giggled.

"I'm not questioning the Resol'nare," Fynta admitted after a moment of silence. Jorgan's brows lifted. He'd never seen anyone bully Fynta into sharing her feelings as fast as Keshal did. Then again, few people said no to the matronly Mandalorian. "Just my place in it."

"Explain what—shab, let go you greedy little strill." Jorgan heard a scuffle and fought the urge to look around the corner. He assumed it involved one of Keshal's many braids and Jodi's tiny fingers. With a huff, Keshal continued. "You've got Cinlat's armor. You speak the language and put clan above all else, and—"

Fynta growled, and Jorgan heard the heavy clatter of her metal foot as she paced. "And no colors for that armor. A child that I can't raise in our culture because her father is Cathar, a Mand'alor that I'll never answer the call of…" She trailed off, footsteps falling quiet. "I'm dar'manda now." The horror in Fynta's voice twisted Aric's stomach. He knew what the term meant, but had never expected to hear it from his wife's lips.

Keshal hissed. "Hold your tongue, girl." Jodi's cooing paused while the girl puzzled out her mother's shift in temperament. "You take these things too literally. Colors will come. The Mand'alor is your alley, who you will aid if she calls. And as for Aric, well, he married a Mandalorian. That's on him."

Fynta didn't answer, but Aric heard the mattress squeak as she settled on it. Keshal's words echoed through his mind. He had chosen Fynta, knowing how integral her culture was to her. Perhaps it wouldn't hurt to let her instill some of the better aspects of Mandalorian culture in their daughter. Thirteen wasn't an adult, though, Jorgan wouldn't budge on that.

"When my husband died," Keshal continued, her voice softer than before. "I felt lost. Do you remember that feeling? When you learned that you were married?"

Fynta must have nodded because Keshal only paused briefly. "That feeling of spiraling out of control. Of the universe plotting a course that you can barely hang onto. I felt that. I had a young son, my clan had scattered, and there was no way out."

"What did you do?" Fynta asked. Jodi squealed, and Keshal swore again. Fynta chuckled in reply. It reminded Jorgan of the way Cormac used to laugh when Shillet flung her food everywhere. Stars, Aric missed those days. "Assuming there's a moral to this story," Fynta continued, but there was a note of laughter in the biting words.

"I shaved my head," Keshal growled. "Something I'm considering doing again before this child rips my hair out by the root."

There was a scuffle, then Keshal sighed. "It was a small change, but something I could control. I felt empowered, and that stupid haircut breathed enough life into my sorry shebs that we survived."

"Not sure Aric would approve of me shaving my head, but I get the point." Fynta chuckled again. "Thanks."

"Now, about your brother." Keshal launched into a tirade about how long Verin had been gone and the trouble he could get into. Aric excused himself, giving Fynta the privacy that he should have from the beginning. He needed to find a way to approach the subject of Shillet and apologize for being an ass about it. If he wanted Fynta to be a part of his daughter's life, then he needed to give her that freedom.

Two days later, Jorgan poked the fire he'd built at their mountainside retreat and sighed. Fynta had run late in meetings and commed to say that she would meet him at their campsite. It had been his idea, a way to get Fynta alone so that they could work out some of the tension building between them.

The weather was forecast to be warm but comfortable. Jorgan had planned a mountain climb and maybe a late-night swim in the spring. That was hours ago.

Fynta arrived well after sunset, making enough noise to announce her presence. Jorgan poked the fire again, letting the knot that had squeezed his chest burn off. He'd begun to wonder if she wouldn't come at all. "Thought you'd forgotten."

"Never." Fynta's tone perked Jorgan's ears. He turned with dread to see what fresh hell the War Council meetings had heaped onto them this time. Jorgan paused half standing when Fynta stepped into the light.

Jorgan didn't remember crossing the campsite. Fynta kept her eyes low in an uncharacteristic scowl. Aric reached for a dark strand of hair that had worked its way free of its binding, then paused. "This is…different."

"I needed a change." Fynta tugged at a lock of hair, then squared her shoulders and looked Jorgan in the eye. "I needed to take control of something."

The defiance in Fynta's eyes barely hid the fear behind them. Jorgan remembered her conversation with Keshal, how one small detail could mean the difference between confidence, and the breakdown that Fynta had been creeping towards for weeks. At least she hadn't shaved it.

Taking Fynta's hand, Aric pulled her into the firelight where he could see her better. Fynta didn't fight or speak as he tugged the tie free so that he could run his fingers through the now black strands. He'd only known Fynta as the feisty blonde, with hair caught between pale highlights and brown undertones with no direction as to where it would end up.

The black complimented her skin, bringing out the bronze hues, and making her eyes blaze brighter. Jorgan had always known his wife was beautiful, and had spent many a grumpy meeting glaring at the men who threw themselves at her. The new color amplified that, contrasting where the blonde had blended.

Jorgan smiled and tucked the strand behind Fynta's ear. "It suits you."

Odessen Training Room

"You sure about this, boss?" Cormac blocked two high strikes and a dirty kick. His hips almost had full range of motion, and his left knee didn't give out anymore. Which was good since Fynta wasn't holding back.

"Of course not." Fynta ducked beneath Cormac's jab, then stabbed two fingers into his ribs. He grunted, and she danced away. "But, Aric has a point."

Rubbing his abused torso, Cormac put some distance between him and the agile not-blonde. He liked the new hair color and thought it brought out the light in her eyes. He hated seeing how dull they had become lately. "That means you'll be stuck with him for the rest of your life. Is that what you want?" If Cormac had his way, they'd fight to the throne room of Zakuul and find a way to be rid of the old emperor once and for all.

Fynta blew out a breath, and Cormac used that opportunity to box her ears. He managed to get one before she stomped his foot. With a curse, Cormed limped back to his side of the mat. Fynta waved at the ceiling, and damn it, Cormac looked up even though he knew she was being rhetorical. "I don't know. You weren't there. You didn't see him."

"Pretty sure I was," Cormac responded, dragging his gaze down from the nothing above them. Fynta's features clouded, and he shrugged. The poor woman had gotten a healthy dose of reality from a lot of people lately, and it looked like it was his turn.

Cormac started unwrapping his gloves and jerked his head towards the bench where their bags were stored. He flopped onto the metal seat, pleased that it didn't hurt. Fynta joined him, focusing too hard on her gear. She sighed. "Tell me."

They'd never spoken about the time when Fynta was away, not at length. He'd been so damn grateful when her memory returned that rehashing those emotions didn't seem worth it. But, Cormac was good at reading people, and right now it seemed that the bosses were out of sync. That was bad for everyone.

Leaning back, Cormac took a deep breath. "It was hell." Fynta winced, and he patted her leg. He didn't want to hurt her or betray Jorgan's worst moments, but she needed to know in order to make the best decision for everyone. "He stopped eating, dropped maybe ten kilo. He's never been a jolly bloke but all the life was gone from him. Jorgan woke up, did his duty, then went to bed. Shillet was the only thing keeping him going after they declared you dead."

"Yeah." Fynta breathed the word and leaned against the walll. Her shoulder pressed against Cormac's, but she still didn't look at him. "I've never seen him like this."

"He's scared." Cormac knew the feeling. It was worse with Elara and Tayl on Odessen than it had ever been while they were apart. "I don't think he'd survive losing you again." Cormac stopped short of voicing his opinions on how that end would come, only that he had doubted the Cathar would outlive his mate a second time.

They sat in silence for a moment, then Fynta dropped her face into her hands. "I need to figure him out again." Her voice was muffled, but Cormac understood. "We are so different now. I don't know how to get us back on the same page."

Plastering on a grin, Cormac nudged his best friend's shoulder until she looked at him. "Go back to the basics. Find something that you can connect with and build from there." He wiggled his eyebrows for added effect.

Fynta chuckled and shoved Cormac away. Then, she straightened. "Actually, that gives me an idea." She reached beneath the bench and snatched her gear. Fynta took two steps, then came back and planted a kiss on the top of Cormac's bald head. "You're a genius. Give Elara and Tayl my love."

Cormac lifted a hand to wave his friend off, then set about gathering the rest of his gear. Maybe he should take his own advice and treat Elara to a nice night at the cantina. Shillet probably owed him a favor, and she wouldn't turn down time with her little cousin anyway. By the time Cormac stood, he had an entire evening of dancing and relaxation planned. Now, all he had to do was pry his wife away from the medical bay long enough to enjoy it.

Odessen Alliance Base Indoor Rifle Range 0023 Hours

Jorgan followed Fynta into the rifle range and flipped on the external light to warn others that it was occupied. It was late, after midnight, and he felt the weight of the day wearing on him. They'd enjoyed a day in the mountains, but had been recalled early to deal with a new development in Vaylin's plans. Since then, Jorgan had barely seen his wife.

Stifling a yawn, Jorgan set his kit down and flipped through the target options. Fynta had refused to leave until Shillet was asleep, which the girl seemed to recognize and found every reason to stay awake. That was after a run with Iresso, a fresh batch of recruit testing, and general fretting over things he couldn't change. Jorgan had dozed once or twice on the couch while the girls had their battle of wills.

"What are you up to?" Jorgan didn't want to be on the firing range, but could tell Fynta had planned a special evening for them. He just hoped they could get through it without another argument.

A hand settled over Jorgan's, jerking him out of his glum thoughts. Fynta nodded to the far lane. "Come on, I've already got it set up."

"Been planning this?" Jorgan aimed for flirtatiousness and was rewarded with Fynta's signature grin. Her gaze traced along the blacks he wore, stirring a twinge of excitement in his gut. A quick glance towards the door revealed that she'd unplugged the security camera. Her grin widened when his lifted brows found her again.

Instead of the blankets he'd hoped to find behind the dividing wall, Jorgan's sniper rifle perched on the flat countertop and a target blinked at the hundred yard mark. He shifted a wary glare towards his wife. "I could probably hit that without the fancy new eye patch."

"Gotta start somewhere," Fynta answered with a wave for Aric to step up. "We need to calibrate it better so that there are fewer unknowns in the field." She didn't say it, but Jorgan knew that she'd seen his mistake. He was a liability now.

Sighing, Jorgan pressed his shoulder into the rifle butt and propped his elbows on the table. The patchwork of lines flickered to life the moment his eyepiece touched the scope. Shapes formed, creating the other half of what his good eye saw in a precise, green grid. The target appeared last, though the entire process took less than fifteen seconds. Even though he didn't need it for such a short distance, Aric ran through the routine of relaxing his muscles and counting heart beats. He squeezed the trigger on an exhale and the target flashed a sequence of colors to mark a bullseye.

Straightening, Jorgan smirked at his wife. "Satisfied?"

Fynta bent forward and unlaced her right boot. "Eventually." Jorgan watched the woman gracelessly relieve herself of the shoe, tipping so far to the side that he reached out to steady her on instinct. Fynta batted his hand away. "No touching."

Jorgan withdrew and gestured at the firing lane. "What's this all about?"

Fynta kicked the offending boot to the side, then nodded towards the target. It had moved out to one hundred and fifty yards. Jorgan attempted one of her brow raises in response. "For every hit," she continued, leaning against the wall and crossing her arms in a way that lifted her breasts for his appreciation. "I'll drop an article of clothing."

"Now the security camera makes sense," Jorgan replied, hoping that his voice didn't give away the speed of his racing heart. Fynta didn't respond, which set his nerves on edge.

Carefully, Jorgan set his rifle on the table and folded his arms to match Fynta's stance. "What happens if I miss?"

Fynta's shoulders lifted. "Nothing, but I'll pull the target in closer." Pushing off the wall, she slinked closer, hips rolling and eyes dancing with challenge. "You either get me naked, or prove that you can't hack it as a sniper anymore." Her voice dropped an octave, and she stopped short of touching him. "The choice is yours, Major Jorgan."

"Damn you, woman." Aric spun around and snatched his rifle from the stand. Echoes of a similar conversation a lifetime ago rolled through his thoughts. A time when Fynta entertained the prospect of giving up the life she loved instead of trusting in technology. Fynta was making her point in the same way he had after losing her leg. Accept the hard truth that his fighting style had to change, or retire. There was no room for half measures on the battlefield.

This time, Fynta rested her hand on Jorgan's arm, but he couldn't make himself look at her. "There is no one I would rather have at my back. We do this together, or what's the point?"

Swallowing his pride, Jorgan nodded and sighted on the next target. Fynta had agreed not to bench him again. Now, he needed to prove that he could still be counted on. When Jorgan executed another perfect shot, Fynta removed her sock, then her jacket, leaving her in just the casual blacks she wore around the base. When the target hit three hundred yards, Jorgan felt the warm press of breasts against his back. "Don't miss," Fynta whispered against the shell of his ear. A shiver ran the length of his spine, but Aric pushed it down.

The kaleidoscope of color announced another perfect shot, and Jorgan looked over his shoulder in time to see Fynta pull her belt free. He let his eyes trail over her before finding her face. "You're running out of clothing." Glancing back at the target, Jorgan estimated how far he could make it out before she was out of bargaining chips. "You've only got until five hundred yards before I win."

Fynta shook her head. "Don't worry about me." Something in her tone made Aric hesitate. He stared at his wife, trying to peer past the smug exterior to work out her plan. Eventually, he gave up and found the target again.

Three-fifty wasn't a difficult shot, but he'd never taken it with the eye piece. An uneasiness settled in Jorgan's stomach, and he flexed his hands to work out the stiffness. Insecurities that he hadn't felt since his rookie days creeped into the back of his mind until warmth slid around his ribs.

Jorgan looked down to find Fynta's hands splayed across his stomach. "What are you doing?"

"Distracting you." Fynta nipped his ear, making Jorgan start. He heard her laughter when she spoke again. "Is it working?"

"No." Jorgan didn't believe his gruff answer any more than Fynta would, but her touch gave him something to focus on more than his fear. Something to conquer.

The rifle kicked, and Jorgan let out a relieved breath when the target signaled a hit. Fynta's hands unwound from his body, but Aric felt movement as his back. When the target positioned itself at four hundred yards, he leaned forward to let the instruments read the field.

Tan skin slid into Jorgan's peripheral, a naked leg that rubbed suggestively alongside his. Aric cleared his throat and squinted down the line. His best shot was more than twice this, but the range only went to one thousand yards. He could do this, and prove to himself that his career hadn't ended.

Fynta's hands returned to their positions on Aric's stomach, the warmth of her exposed skin seeping through his pant leg made for a better distraction than enemy fire. He huffed a breath and focused on his heart beat, listening to a rhythm that was faster than he'd have liked. Another shot sparked cheerful colors from the target.

Straightening, Aric turned to his wife. "Fynta, this isn't going to—" His words dried on his tongue. After so many years together, the sight of her wiggling out of a shirt still brought him up short. He was mesmerized by the seductive way her hips twisted while she worked the fabric over her head and the flex of abdominals when the shirt finally cleared.

Fynta dropped the cloth on top of her pants and boot, then stretched. "Sorry, riduur, you were saying?"

Jorgan growled low in his throat, a primal sound that he'd hidden from other women. Fynta loved it, often coaxing more from him. She stepped back and held up one finger when Aric started towards her. "Remember? No touching."

With narrowed eyes, Jorgan returned to his perch and leaned forward to peer down his scope. Before he could find the target, Fynta's body pressed against his back, her hands toying with the hem of his shirt. Aric's body was more than aware of the change in her scent and how little separated their skin.

Target acquired, Jorgan's finger tightened on the trigger until the drawstring in his pants loosened. "That's. Cheating." He bit the words out through gritted teeth while Fynta wound her fingers in the flimsy ties.

Fynta's hand slid into the loosened waistband of his pants and offered a tantalizing massage through his underwear. "I never specified my rules," Fynta husked, fingers squeezing and flexing around his clothed shaft. The combination of heat and coarse material made for a dizzying sensation. "Think you can make the shot under—" her fist tightened, stopping short of pain. "Duress?"

Air wheezed between Jorgan's lips. Fynta's heady scent filled his nostrils, clouding out everything except removing that final barrier between his erection and her heat. Teeth bared, Aric met those deep, blue eyes over his shoulder. "Watch me."

The target flashed a hit, and Fynta rewarded Aric with several, quick strokes. He yelped in surprise, gripping the table with one hand while trying not to send his rifle clattering to the floor. When she released him, Jorgan felt like he could breathe for the first time. Until he saw that she'd removed her bra. His mouth went dry, attention drawn to the two perfect peaks that he wasn't allowed to caress.

Fynta pretended not to notice, nodding down the line. "Five hundred yards, Major. Make this shot, and…" Her thumbs slipped into the elastic of her underwear, dragging one side low enough to expose her hip bone.

Snapping his attention back to that infuriating smirk, Jorgan's eyes narrowed. "I'll have you when this is over, woman."

The impish grin widened. "I'm counting on it."

With rolled eyes, Jorgan forced himself to bend forward and press the high tech eye patch to the scope again. Visions of what he planned to do to Fynta after this shot played out in distracting clarity. He'd bend her over the stall and take her from behind until she was panting in Mando'a, then—

The brush of fabric caught his attention a second before Aric's thoughts splintered into a hundred shards of light. Wet heat enveloped him, wrapping his mind in cotton while his body hummed to life. Even when he looked down to find Fynta on her knees, head bobbing while her mouth made delicious sucking noises, his mind couldn't make sense of it. He'd had a fantasy like this a long time ago and was almost certain that he'd never mentioned it to Fynta.

Fynta took Aric into the back of her throat, gripping his hips when he tried to push for more and glanced upward. The damn woman smiled, and somehow it was all the more radiant with his cock in her mouth. "What—" her throat flexed and his words scattered.

Pulling back, Fynta smiled with an innocence she'd never possessed. "Take the shot, riduur." Her tongue flicked out to tease him, and Aric shivered. "If you can."

The defiant note in Fynta's voice battered against the haze of pleasure she'd lured Jorgan into. It reminded him of his purpose. With one hand, Jorgan cupped Fynta's chin, his thumb brushing across her bottom lip. "You're on."

Odessen Alliance Base Command Quarters 03:47 Hours

Fynta should be asleep. Her body ached in that delicious way it always did when Aric let loose in bed. She'd never been more grateful that Shillet chose to stay over with Elara and Cormac. There were some sounds that a girl should never hear her father make.

The man in question sprawled on his stomach, one arm draped over Fynta's torso. He'd meant to cuddle, no doubt, but had succumbed to exhaustion before completing the act. Smiling, Fynta scraped her nails over Aric's scalp. It had been a good night, a way to reconnect over what they did best. Probably not what Cormac had meant with his pep talk. But, Fynta felt more in sync with her husband than she had in months. She hoped that their unorthodox exercise had bolstered his confidence behind the scope too.

Fynta stretched, then settled closer to her husband. Aric pulled her against his body without opening his eyes, sliding one hand under her shirt while burying his face in her hair. It reminded Fynta of those stolen moments back on the Thunderclap in between missions. Their romance had been fresh and forbidden back then. They'd risked their careers to be together. Now, Fynta worried that they risked more.

You can't do this without me.

Valkorion had been sedate since Aric's reveal of the mad Sith's long trapped father. He muttered ominous warnings in the back of Fynta's mind, but had yet to approach her outright. Fynta didn't think he was scared. More like the chakaar was plotting, biding his time until an opportunity presented itself; a way to take away her choice.

Fynta's comm buzzed across the room. A second later, Aric's joined it. Muttering a curse, Fynta wiggled out from under her husband's arm. Aric grumbled and rolled onto his back. "Thought we'd banned those things from the bedroom."

In the second it took Fynta to open her mouth for a snarky retort, the floor lifted her into the air. There was the feeling of weightlessness, a moment to think of some choice words, then her weight drove the air from Aric's lungs. Their eyes met, and Fynta's comm flickered to life at the end of the bed where it had landed. Theron appeared in muted blues, shirtless and typing furiously.

Fynta scrambled off her husband while he rolled to his feet to find his gear. "Theron, what the hell was that?"

Fynta had known Theron for a long time. She'd seen him in all manner of circumstances from exasperated friend to cold blooded murderer, even a desperate lover once or twice. She'd never seen fear on his face, not until his hazel eyes met hers through the holo. "It's Vaylin. She found us."

#blood in the breeze #meet me on the battlefield #fynta wolfe #aric jorgan #balic cormac #keshal vaak #theron shan #shillet jorgan #zolah holran #lana beniko #smutty fun on the firing range #a lot of choices #some bigger than others #all important #valkorion is not impressed

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x-ceirios-x · 6 months ago

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(Part 2) City of Fallen Angels, Chapter 17: And Cain Rose Up

please see the masterlist for notes about this series/collection of works

Isabelle moved silently among the stone pedestals. Alec was standing in the center of the room, next to Rowan. They were pale, paler than usual, and looked like they’d seen a ghost. Maia was in one corner of the room, bent over and retching, her hand braced against the wall; Jordan hovered over her, looking as if he wanted to reach out and stroke her back, but was afraid of being rebuffed.

Isabelle didn’t blame Maia for throwing up. If she hadn’t had years of training, she would have thrown up herself. She had never seen anything like what she was looking at now. There were dozens, maybe fifty, of the stone pedestals in the room. Atop each one was a low crib-like basket. Inside each basket was a baby. And every one of the babies was dead.

She had held out hope at first, as she walked up and down the rows. That she might find one alice. But these children had been dead for some time. Their skin was gray, their small faces bruised and discolored. They were wrapped in thin blankets, and though it was cold in the room, Isabelle didn’t think it was cold enough for them to have frozen to death. She wasn’t sure how they had died; she couldn’t bear to investigate too closely. This was clearly a matter for the Clave.

Alec, appearing behind her, had tears running down his face; he was cursing under his breath by the time they reached the last of the pedestals. Maia had straightened up and was leaning against the window; Jordan had given her some kind of cloth, maybe a handkerchief, to hold to her fac.e The cold white lights of the city burned behind her, cutting through the dark glass like diamond drills. Rowan stood behind him, statue-like.

“Iz,” Alec said. “Who could have done something like this? Why would someone—even a demon—”

He broke off. Isabelle knew what he was thinking about. Max, when he had been born. She had been seven, Alec nine. They had bent over their little brother in the cradle, amused and enchanted by this fascinating new creature. They’d played with his little fingers, laughed at the weird faces he made when they tickled him.

Her heart twisted. Max. As she had moved down the lines of cribs, now turned into little coffins, a sense of overwhelming dread had begun to press down on her. She couldn’t ignore the fact that the pendant around her neck was glowing with a harsh, steady glow. They sort of flow she might have expected if she were facing down a Greater Demon.

Rowan, silently, walked between the two and leaned into one of the baskets, fiddling with the blanket. They pulled it back and Isabelle gasped when she saw the child: ordinary chubby baby arms, round baby wrists. The hands looked soft and new. But the fingers—the fingers were twisted into claws, as black as burned bone, tipped with sharp little talons. She took an involuntary step back.

“What?” Maia moved toward them. She still looked sickened, but her voice was steady. Jordan followed her, hands in his pockets. “What did you find?” she asked.

“By the Angel.” Alec, beside Rowan, was looking down into the crib. “Is this—like the baby Clary mentioned? The one at the hospital?”

Slowly, they nodded, and they turned to the baby on their other side. They revealed the same thing by pulling back the blanket and Isabelle shuddered.

“I guess it wasn’t just the one baby,” she said. “Someone’s been trying to make a lot more of them. More…Sebastians.”

“Why would anyone want more of him?” Alec’s voice was full of naked hatred.

“He was fast and strong,” Isabelle said. It almost hurt physically to say anything complimentary about the boy who killed her brother and tried to kill her, Jensen, and Rowan. She exchanged a look with them and they quickly looked away, scratching at the side of their neck. “I guess they’re trying to breed a race of super-warriors.”

“It didn’t work.” Maia’s eyes were dark with sadness.

A noise so soft it was almost inaudible teased at the edge of Isabelle’s hearing. Her head jerked up, her hand going to her belt, where her whip was coiled. Something in the thick shadows at the edge of the room, near the door, moved, just the faintest flicker, but Isabelle had already broken away from the others and was running for the door. She burst into the hallway near the elevators. There was something there—a shadow that had broken free of the greater darkness and was moving, edging along the wall. Isabelle picked up speed and threw herself forward, knocking the shadow to the floor.

It wasn’t a ghost. As they went down together in a heap, Isabelle surprised a very human-sounding grunt of surprise out of the shadowy figure. They hit the ground together and rolled. The figure was definitely human—slight and shorter than Isabelle, wearing a gray warm-up suit and sneakers. Sharp elbows came up, jabbing into Isabelle’s collarbone. A knee dug into her solar plexus. She gasped and rolled aside, feeling for her whip. By the time she got it free, the figure was on its feet. Isabelle rolled onto her stomach, flicking the whip forward; the end of it coiled around the stranger’s ankle and pulled tight. Isabelle jerked the whip back, yanking the figure off its feet.

She scrambled to her feet, reaching with her free hand for her stele, which was tucked down the front of her dress. With a quick slash, she finished the nyx Mark on her left arm. Her vision adjusted quickly, the whole room seeming to fill with light as the night vision rune took effect. She could see her attacker more clearly now—a thin figure in a gray warm-up and gray sneakers, scrambling backward until its back hit the wall. The hood of the suit had fallen back, exposing the face. The head was shaved cleanly bald, but the face was definitely female, with sharp cheekbones and big dark eyes.

“Stop it,” Isabelle said, and pulled hard on the whip. The woman cried out in pain. “Stop trying to crawl away.”

The woman bared her teeth. “Worm,” she said. “Unbeliever. I will tell you nothing.”

Isabelle jammed her stele back into her dress. “If I pull hard enough on this whip, it’ll cut through your leg.” She gave the whip another flick, tightening it, and moved forward, until she was standing in front of the woman, looking down at her. “Those babies,” she said. “What happened to them?”

The woman gave a bubbling laugh. “They were not strong enough. Weak stock, too weak.”

“Too weak for what?” When the woman didn’t answer, Isabelle snapped. “You can tell me or lose your leg. Your choice. Don’t think I won’t let you bleed to death here on the floor. Child-murderers don’t deserve mercy.”

The woman hissed, like a snake. “If you harm me, She will smite you down.”

“Who—” Isabelle broke off, remembering what Rowan had said. Talto is another name for Lilith. You might say she’s the demon goddess of dead children. “Lilith,” she said. “You worship Lilith. You did all this…for her?”

“Isabelle.” It was Alec, carrying the light of his seraph blade before him. Rowan was in stride next to him, carrying their own. “What’s going on? Maia and Jordan are searching, looking for any more…children, but it looks like they were all in the big room. What’s going on here?”

“This…person,” Isabelle said with disgust, “is a cult member of the Church of Talto. Apparently they worship Lilith. And they’ve murdered all these babies for her.”

“Not murder!” The woman struggled upright. “Not murder. Sacrifice. They were tested and found weak. Not our fault.”

“Let me guess,” Isabelle said. “You tried injecting the pregnant women with demon blood. But demon blood is toxic stuff. The babies couldn’t survive. They were born deformed, and then they died.”

The woman whimpered. It was a very slight sound, but Isabelle saw Alec’s eyes narrow. He had always been the one of them that was the best at reading people.

“One of those babies,” he said. “It was yours. How could you inject your own child with demon blood?”

The woman’s mouth trembled. “I didn’t. We were the ones who took the blood injections. The mothers. Made us stronger, faster. Our husbands, too. But we got sick. Sicker and sicker. Our hair fell out, our nails…” She raised her hands, showing the blackened nails, the torn, blood nail beds where some had fallen away. Her arms were dotted with blackish bruises. “We’re all dying,” she said. There was a faint sound of satisfaction in her voice. “We will all be dead in days.”

“She made you take the poison,” Alec said, “and yet you worship her.”

“You don’t understand.” The woman sounded hoarse, dreamy. “I had nothing before She found me. None of us did. I was on the streets. Sleeping on subway gratings so I wouldn’t freeze. Lilith gave me a place to live, a family to take care of me. Just to be in Her presence is to be safe. I never felt safe before.”

“You’ve seen Lilith,” Isabelle said, struggling to keep the disbelief from her voice. She was familiar with demon cults; she and Rowan had worked on a report, once, for Hodge. He gave them high marks. “You’ve been in her presence?”

The woman’s eyes fluttered half-shut. “Yes. With Her blood in me I can feel when She is near. As She is now.”

Isabelle couldn’t help it; her free hand flew to her pendant. It had been pulsing on and off since they’d entered the building; she had assumed it was because of the demon blood in the dead children, but the presence nearby of a Greater Demon would make even more sense. “She’s here? Where is she?”

The woman seemed to be drifting off into sleep. “Upstairs,” she sadi vaguely. “With the vampire boy. The one who walks by day. She sent us to fetch him for Her, but he was protected. We could not lay hands on him. Those who went to find him died. Then, when brother Adam returned and told us the boy was guarded by holy fire, Lady Lilith was angry. She slew him where he stood. He was lucky, to die by Her hand, so lucky.” Her breath rattled. “And She is clever, Lady Lilith. She found another way to bring the boy…”

“Where is he?” Rowan demanded, and before anyone could react, they broke into a run. They crashed to the floor, sliding several feet towards her. It startled Isabelle, hearing the rage in their voice from their previous silence. They hadn’t spoken since they’d seen the babies. They grabbed the woman by the collar of her shirt, holding her upright. “Why is he here? Tell me!”

“‘None that go unto Her,’” the woman breathed, unafraid and peaceful in their hold, “‘return again…’”

“Where is Simon?” Rowan shrieked, shaking the woman by the hold they had on her. “Son of a bitch, where is he?”

“Rowan!” Alec called, jogging forward. He caught their wrist before they could shake her again. “She’s dead, Rowan. There’s no point.”

Slowly, they released her shirt, and the woman’s body crashed to the floor. They slouched, falling sideways into Alec, who removed his hand from their arm and instead held them at the shoulders. They leaned against his leg, holding their head in their hands. “God dammit,” they cursed, voice eerily steady for the emotion they’d just shown.

“I don’t get it,” Alec said after a beat of silence. “What does a Greater Demon want with Simon? He’s a vampire. Granted, a powerful vampire, but—”

“The Mark of Cain,” Rowan said. They stood with great effort, using Alec to help them balance until they caught their footing. Isabelle stared at the woman in disbelief. She had died, it seemed, between one breath and the next, her eyes wide open, her face set in slack lines. It was possible to see now that beneath the starvation and the baldness and the bruising, she had probably been quite young, not more than twenty. Rowan let go of Alec’s arm and turned away from the woman, towards Isabelle. “This has to do with the Mark.”

Without explanation, they started moving, towards the elevator. They jabbed the call button with their knuckle.

“Where are you going?” Isabelle asked.

“He’s upstairs,” Rowan said. “I’m going to search every floor until I find him.”

“She can’t hurt him,” said Alec in the reasonable voice that Isabelle always hated. “I know you’re worried, but he’s got the Mark of Cain; he’s untouchable. Even a Greater Demon can’t harm him. No one can.”

Rowan’s head snapped towards Alec. “I don’t care,” they said. “Out of all the things that a Greater Demon could want with Simon, I’m sure that none of them are good. I not just going to stand here and wait for—”

There was a ping, and the arrow above the farthest elevator lit up. Isabelle started forward as the doors began to open. Light flooded out…and after the light, a wave of men and women—bald, emaciated, and dressed in gray tracksuits and sneakers—poured out. They were brandishing crude weapons culled from the debris of construction: jagged shards of glass, torn-off chunks of rebar, concrete blocks. None of them spoke. In a silence as total as it was eerie, they surged from the elevator as one, and advanced on the three of them.

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