#and there's so few ? spaces (many of which are behind mini pipes) that a good chunk of the time no one even hits a single one all game

[yoshifawful64]

i still really don't understand why mario party 4 is so popular with some people when it has by far the worst board design in the series (exculding 9 and 10, of course)

[modern-inheritance]

Modern Inheritance: Sleeping Arrangements/Hotel Pit Stop

(A/N: Some more traveling Eragon and Co. on their way to the Varden post Gil’ead. If it’s not apparent, the mad rush to the Varden mainly starts after ‘Judge You Not.’

There’s a lot of character interaction in this one, and I used it to build a little of the world, the relationships between characters, and dialogue rhythms. Again, this is an older MIC story , so I have changed a decent amount of the lore and tech levels, but I still enjoy this one. )

~~~

“Good evening, ma'am. Are there any rooms available?” Brom smiled at the desk attendant, ignoring her ill concealed disgust at the grime covering himself and the young men behind him. It wasn’t the finest hotel in the world, but it was still cleaner than a roadside motel and had a nice touch of class to it for their higher rates.

It was the only place that still had the vacancy sign on, so Brom had grudgingly agreed to see if they had a room that could accommodate them. Everyone needed a boost in morale, and a night in a bed and a hot shower would do the trick to lift their spirits. It was isolated enough that it would take a long time for any soldiers to reach them if anyone recognized them, and Saphira was well hidden in the small forest nearby. She could respond to any danger and was far enough away to be virtually undetectable.

The clerk sighed and clicked a few keys on the bulky computer in front of her. “It’s one-thirty-two Crowns for a two queen bedroom. Non-smoking.” She glared at the pipe poking out of Brom’s upper pocket. “Two hundred for cleaning fees if you smoke inside.”

“I understand. Do you have a room with a window, by any chance?”

“It’s ten extra Crowns.” The woman all but sneered at him.

Behind him Brom heard Eragon shift, obviously upset about the clerk’s clear plan of pocketing the extra money. Murtagh didn’t react, his eyes constantly scanning the room and marking exits. He surreptitiously tugged the strap holding his holstered rifle a little lower, uneasy in the open lobby.

Brom nodded calmly despite the extra charge. “We’ll take it. Do you have any roller beds so my boys don’t have to split sheet? The kid kicks like a horse.” Grumbling, the woman stood and pulled a folded up rolling cot, complete with a mattress and blankets, from the small room behind the desk. “Thank you.”

Brom traded payment for the keys, extra bedding and toiletries and bid the sour attendant a good night. Murtagh grabbed the cot and the trio moved into the elevator, squeezing to one side to fit the roller bed in along with their packs. As the doors slid shut and they began ascending, Eragon leaned over to Brom. “How’s Arya going to–”

“Shut up. Not here.” Murtagh hissed, keeping his eyes forward. When Eragon shot him an annoyed glare, the older boy subtly gestured to the small camera in the corner. It’s little red light was flashing.

The three exited the elevator in silence, quickly making their way to their room while checking as many exits as possible without arousing suspicion. Whenever he found a camera, Murtagh would point it out to Eragon and Brom as inconspicuously as he could. It would be best to keep out of the security tapes in case the soldiers came across the hotel after they left.

Upon finally reaching the room, Brom locked all the available bolts, chains and electronic locks he could as Murtagh unfolded the cot. Eragon checked the bathroom to make sure everything was in order, tested out the small A/C unit, then sat on the bed with a sigh.

“Now will you explain how Arya is going to get in here?” The boy asked, stretching tiredly. “Don’t tell me she’s going to stay out there with Saphira all night. She deserves a shower more than any of us.”

Murtagh snorted, muttering something along the lines of the elf desperately needing one instead of deserving it, and pushed the cot into the corner so he would have a clear line of sight of both the door and the window from the side. Brom gestured to the aforementioned window, which was parallel to the bed Eragon was sitting on, and grunted, “Open that.”

Perturbed, Eragon did as he was asked and opened the window fully, the metal frame bumping the outer wall. A humid breeze swept in, lending the room the scent of damp leaves and warm night air. The young Rider braced his hands on the sill and leaned out to breathe it in.

A soft series of scuffing noises were all the warning he had before Arya was suddenly staring him in the eyes, comfortably resting her chin on the sill as she crouched with her feet against the outer wall and sure fingers gripping the windowsill. “Well hello.”

Eragon jerked back, startled. They were on the fourth floor. “How the hell did you just–”

“Fun fact, Eragon. On average my species can jump at least ten feet in the air when we put some effort into it.” Eragon backed away from the window as the woman ‘hopped’ into a sitting position on the windowsill and then tumbled backwards into the room. “Don’t gape. I parkoured most of it. It’s forty bloody feet up, even we can’t do that.”

Brom tossed his bag on the bed closest to the door and started pulling off his coat. “Did anyone see you?”

Arya shook her head. “No. If they did, it was at a distance.”

“Good thing we had you switch clothes.” The old man grunted.

Before they had gotten within five leagues of the tiny roadside town, Brom had suggested the elf change out of her fatigues and into something a little less conspicuous.

Arya raised an eyebrow. “Yeah, great. I’ll just change back into blood covered prison clothes. I’ll be totally inconspicuous. Hell, I’ll look like a human, because changing pants definitely changes the shape of my fucking ears. I’m not going to risk appearance magic, not with that damn drug in me still.”

Murtagh scratched his stubbled chin, wanting to get back into civilization only long enough to start hating it again. “I might have an idea.” He stepped up and put his back to hers, careful not to lean his weight against her covered injuries. With a flat hand the young man compared their heights and nodded in confirmation when he found only a miniscule difference between them. “We’re pretty much the same height. I have some old jeans in my bag.”

Meanwhile, Eragon was furiously digging in his backpack, searching for the winter clothes he had first set out on their journey wearing. He didn’t want Murtagh being the only one to come up with something, not in front of Arya. Saphira snorted, teasing him quietly about it, but he ignored her and triumphantly pulled out what he had been looking for. “Here! This could at least cover your ears. It’s not perfect, but it’ll be good in a pinch.”

Arya took the offered article and examined it before chuckling, “Actually, this is an old trick we used to do with Varden when we went drinking. Ah, the benefits of beanies.” And she put it on, pulling the sides of the knit hat down to cover the most obvious marker of her race.

Dressed as she was, Arya looked almost no different from a human woman, if a bit on the angsty side. Dark loose jeans, grey hoodie, black shirt and a dark navy blue beanie tugged low over the tips of her pointed ears certainly gave her a brooding look, especially when leaning against the wall of a hotel and shooting glowering stares at anyone that even glanced at her. As long as no one got close enough to examine her facial structure, she would pass for human.

“Who wants to shower first?” Brom asked, already laying out a fresh shirt and a toothbrush on the bed. “Whoever does will be taking the laundry to the coin washer and gets to guard it once everyone is done.”

When Arya shook her head and Eragon just shrugged, Murtagh stepped up. “Ah, I don’t care. I’ll go first if you don’t want it, Brom.”

“All yours.” The old man gave him one of the extra mini toiletry kits he had bought. “Feel free to shave. There’s a razor in there, fuzz face.” Murtagh grunted, subconsciously passing a hand over his newly grown ragged stubble of a beard, and locked the door to the bathroom behind him. A few moments later the sound of the shower running drifted through the door.

Brom turned to Arya and tossed her the extra bedding he had picked up. “Here. Bandages. Better than nothing. You can use the comforter for padding the floor. If someone comes in to check it would be best if you’re at least out of easy sight.”

“Was planning on sleeping there anyway.” She grabbed the comforter and gestured to the gap between one of the beds and the wall. “Do you mind if take the space next to your bed, Eragon?”

“Yeah, sure, go ahead.” He smiled, happy that the elf had chosen to be closer to him than to Brom. “You can take some of the pillows too, I only need one.” She nodded her thanks and threw her makeshift bedding down, padding over it in oblong, looping circles to settle the lumps before adding one of the pillows. “So, um…you said you used beanies when you were with the Varden to go out drinking. Don’t they know you’re an elf? I mean, they have to, right? Why can’t you just go as is?”

Arya shrugged and sat next to him on the bed. Before answering, she unsheathed a mid-sized combat knife from the side of her boot and set about tearing the sheet Brom had given her into palm wide strips. “They know. And plenty of them are unsettled by us. It took a while to get used to the stares and the occasional…remark, I should say. When something is misunderstood, it is often feared, and going out for a drink in one of Farthen Dur’s crowded bars with our ears clearly on display could turn the atmosphere from fun to awkward in a hot second.” Finished with the sheet, the elf began rolling the makeshift bandages. “So, we started wearing beanies or hoodies to cover our ears. Everyone treated us as just another human unless we did something to tip them off, at which point we would leave.”

Eragon frowned. It bothered him that even the Varden had people who were not fond of other races. 'If they don’t trust elves, then what are they going to think of me and Saphira?’ He subconsciously reached his mind out to Saphira, brushing against her sleeping thoughts to reassure himself. When his mind was calm again and he had confirmed that she was safe, he asked, “Doesn’t it bother you, though? You’re helping them, and you’ve fought for them. Don’t they respect that? Haven’t you at least tried change their minds?”

Arya leveled her gaze with his. “Oh, I tried at first. It led to more trouble than good. Some people already have their minds made up, Eragon. Out of the entire Varden, only a small percentage openly expressed any issue with me and my guards, and I’m sure there are more who keep their thoughts to themselves.” She paused to tear the end of a partially rolled strip lengthwise a few inches with her teeth. “Besides, there are still people in the Varden who treated me as just another Vardenite. People have opinions. I can’t let it affect how I act. I fight for the Varden as a whole, and if it costs me a night of drowning myself in dwarvish vodka, I’m okay with that.”

“Don’t give the boy any ideas.” Brom chastised from his bed. He had found a current newspaper in one of the nightstand drawers and was scanning it for any information regarding the Varden, Urgals, Gil'ead, or Eragon and Saphira. “And no getting him drunk. Unless I’m there. Then, well…we’ll see.”

Arya waved him off. “I know, I know.”

The shower cut off. Moments later Murtagh emerged from the bathroom, tendrils of steam clinging to his body and trailing him as the door opened. “Alright, who’s next?” He was clean-shaven and wore a simple tshirt and a pair of basketball shorts, still rubbing his head of wild, damp hair with a small towel.

“You’re up, kid.” Arya clapped Eragon on the shoulder. He hopped up and grabbed a set of clothes that were decently clean and his portable music player before slipping inside the steam filled room and locking the door behind him. Seconds later the muffled chords of country music could be heard as the shower turned on.

Brom folded the paper in half and used it to swat Arya’s arm. “When are you going to take your turn? You definitely need it. And I’m putting that lightly.”

The elf chuckled. “Last. Trust me, I am going to destroy that shower. The closest I’ve gotten to being clean was splashing water on my face the last few days. It’s been well over six months since I actually showered.

"Fair point.”

Murtagh fell onto his roller bed with a contented sigh. “Now this is nice. Hot water, a place to clean our clothes, a locked door. And a bed!” He lifted his head slightly. “Do they have a radio? For such a price they should have at least put a telly in the room.”

“I doubt it plays anything but official news and propaganda.” Brom grunted, but still leaned over and hit the power button on the small radio clock that graced the bedside table. After a few garbled channels of static and scrolling through the entire range of signals, he finally found one that came in crystal clear.

“–nds the economic report. Here’s Karl Yorgisson with the day’s news.”

Brom snorted. “Told you.”

Arya waved him away from hitting the off switch. “Shush, I want to hear this.”

“Thanks, Jason.” Karl Yorgisson accepted the hand off. “Still no concrete news on the attack at the Gil'ead military base. Although it is confirmed by the base commander that the attack was carried out by Varden forces, it is unclear if any were captured after their defeat or if any escaped.

"We again advise that you keep your eyes peeled for any faces you have seen on watch boards. Remember, not only is there a sizable reward for information, there is also the pride that comes with defending your King and country from the insidious terrorists that lurk in our midst.

"In other news, we have a new addition to our team! Rebecca Jayasdaughter is to be joining us for her first broadcast on–”

Brom hit the switch when no other news concerning their activities was forthcoming. “Well, that’s good. They’re not willing to admit that we slipped past them. That means they can’t inform the general public about us or why they’re searching for us.”

“Attacked Gil'ead my arse.” Murtagh grumbled, eyes closed and arms folded behind his head. “I climbed in through the bloody garbage chute. Could have at least called it a hostile intrusion or sabotage. We don’t need the attention of being labeled dangerous attackers, period.”

“Saphira told me she ripped the entire roof off their state dining hall. They can’t cover up that amount of damage quick enough to pass it off as a single man stealth intrusion.” Arya pointed out. “Besides, they’ll blame it on an elvish raiding party sooner or later. They always do if the town is near Du Weldenvarden.”

Murtagh frowned, confused, yet still refused to open his tired eyes. “Wait…. You’re telling me that the reports of elvish raiding parties…?”

“Never happened?” The elf looked at him with genuine surprise and what appeared to be a touch of insult, aghast that he thought the stories were true. “Of course they never happened! We don’t send out random raiding parties! Glen, Fäolin and I were the only elves to leave the forest since my race retreated there.” She shook her head, shocked that he had actually believed the propaganda. “Honestly! It’s too risky to send little groups out like that to attack directly, what if one of our fighters were captured!”

The young man cracked open one eye and lifted his head to raise an eyebrow at Arya. “Oh? So, you were just visiting Gil'ead and managed to lock yourself in a cell? The men you were with just fell on their guns, is that it?”

“That is different.” Arya snarled. Brom glanced at her, mildly startled by her tone, then turned back to leafing through the phone book and wishing he had brought at least one of his prized lore tomes with him on this harebrained journey. “We weren’t attacking, we were in the fringes of Du Weldenvarden. Someone in the Varden betrayed us. That betrayal led to the death of my fyrn breoal. I’d prefer it if you didn’t make quips about it.”

“I apologize.” Murtagh dipped his head in her direction as best he could, his words truly sincere. Losing friends to the King was something he was very familiar with. “It was in bad taste.”

Arya rubbed her temples and braced her elbows on her knees, shoulders tense. “Apology accepted. I shouldn’t have snapped.”

Murtagh shrugged. “Eh. Natural response.” The room was quiet for a time, the only sound being the rustle of Brom now flipping through the holy book from the desk, the light patter of the shower, Eragon’s off key humming, and country music. Then, “What’s a frin br… fyrn bri….”

“Fyrn breoal. Means war family in the Ancient Language.” Brom answered gruffly. Despite the no smoking designation, he pulled his pipe from his discarded jacket and clamped it firmly in his teeth. “Elves who fight often use it to describe their battle buddies. Only the closest knit groups use the term.” He jerked his chin in Arya’s direction. “If I’m not mistaken, that is.”

The elf nodded, fiddling with one of the remaining bandages. She was weaving it over and between her fingers, trying to keep her hands busy. “Glen and Faölin were my fyrn darmthrelli, my war brothers. We fought for the Varden together for decades.”

“I’m sorry for your loss.”

Arya’s jaw tightened slightly. “Shit happens in war. We all lose people. We fight even harder in their memory.” She unwound the bandage and then looped the tail around her thumb again, beginning anew.

Murtagh mulled over the new words he had learned, again letting the atmosphere lapse into silence. It wasn’t exactly a comfortable one, a little too heavy to be called that, but it was easy enough to be called content. The three currently inhabiting the room were all comfortable with reflecting on their own thoughts without feeling the urge to shatter the silence. Murtagh respected that of Brom and Arya, and was glad that they, too, seemed to respect his quiet.

’Fyrn breoal. Tornac was my fyrn breoal, then. I guess he would be my war father. Too old to be a war brother.’ Murtagh’s heavy lidded eyes wandered the room. 'I wonder what he would have thought of all this. Eragon, Saphira, Brom and Arya. Agh, Bloody hell, he’d probably lash me silly for agreeing to go to the Varden and trusting strangers like this.’ The thought brought a sleepy grin to his face, and his eyes drifted closed.

“Oi. Don’t sleep yet. You have to do laundry.” Brom snapped when he saw the young man drifting off.

It didn’t even phase Murtagh, who just rolled onto his side and mumbled, “Then wake me up when it’s ready to be done.” and nuzzled his face deeper into his pillow.

It didn’t take long for his breathing to even out and his body to relax. Arya nudged the end of the bed with her foot and shook her head when Murtagh only mumbled and groggily waved her off.

“I can do the laundry. Should probably let the guy sleep.” She offered when Brom made an annoyed noise at the young man’s reaction.

“Can’t have you wandering around out there.” Brom shifted his pipe from one side of his mouth to the other. “If you run into someone who have any education from the army, it could get ugly fast.”

“So I’m pretty much useless at this point in time?” Arya asked dryly. “Dear me, I’m in a room where I can’t leave. Out of one jail and into another.”

“Don’t get all brooding on me, girl. Once your clothes are washed you can change out of Murtagh’s and maybe the angst will wear off.” The elf chuckled at that, and Brom flipped the holy book closed with a definitive snap. “Bloody hell, why is Eragon taking so long?”

The old man stood and went over to the bathroom door. He paused, glanced at Arya, and a bit of a mischievous glint came to his eyes. The elf raised an eyebrow. “Oh stars, I know that look. What are you planning?”

Brom only grinned and shoved his pipe into his pocket before raising his fist and banging on the door, yelling, “Eragon! What the HELL is taking so long?! You had better not be doing what I think you’re doing in there!”

There was the distinct sound of someone nearly falling on their ass in a wet shower and sputtered curses. “I’ll be done in a minute!”

“Cold water works wonders, boy! Hurry up!”

As Brom returned to his bed Arya swatted him on the arm. “He’s a teenage boy. He needs his alone time.” She, too, was trying to hold back laughter. “Better he do that in there than when he thinks we’re all asleep.”

“He should have thought of ’alone time’ before he left Carvahall.” Brom shot back, but was still grinning from ear to ear. “And trust me, you don’t get alone time with a bonded dragon in your mind.”

“Poor Saphira!”

The shower squeaked off and Eragon came out, his face and the tips of his tapering ears bright red. He was wearing a pair of long pajama pants and a loose t-shirt with the sleeves cut off.

“You could have just told me to hurry up.” The boy grumbled, shooting Brom a moody glare.

Brom nodded with a chuckle. “Aye, but then you wouldn’t have actually gotten out right when I asked.”

“Well, I wasn't–” His face went an even deeper shade of red when he realized Arya was still awake and watching him, bemused. “I wouldn’t do that with people in the next…. I just like hot showers, okay?” Pink blotches started appearing on his neck, collarbones and shoulders as he blushed furiously.

“Hey, I’m not saying anything.” Arya put her hands up. “What you do in the shower is none of my business.”

Brom grabbed his fresh clothes and brushed by the younger Rider. “You can sleep now, boy. No watches tonight. Put your dirty clothes next to Murtagh’s.”

Still red, Eragon placed his travel clothes next to the small pile Murtagh had made and sat on his bed. Arya was stretched out on the other side, leaning against the headboard, and was flipping through the holy book Brom had abandoned. She didn’t seem to be reading it, just turning the pages to give herself something to do.

“You alright with me here until Brom gets out? I can move to his bed if you want me to.” She asked as the Eragon wiggled underneath the tightly tucked sheets and blanket.

“No, it’s okay. I don’t mind.” He attempted to adjust the pile of pillows behind his head and, giving up, pulled one out and tossed it at Murtagh. The sleeping man grumbled, kicking the pillow off his legs, and raised a middle finger in Eragon’s general direction. “If you…um…if you don’t want to sleep on the floor we could…you know, split sheet.”

Eragon’s ears flared a deep maroon as Arya let out a soft laugh. “Thanks, but I need to be out of general sight if anyone comes in. People would wonder why three people checked in and suddenly a fourth person appeared. Bed blocks the view of my little hideout.” The Rider mumbled a ’good point’ and tried to ignore the glimmer of amusement in the elf’s dark eyes. “Is Saphira doing alright out there?”

“Yeah. She’s asleep.” Glad for the change in topic, Eragon busied himself with plugging his music player into the complimentary charger on the bedside table and wrapped his headphones around it carefully. “I think she’s a little glad for the time alone. She grew up in the woods near my farm after she hatched, and since we started traveling with Murtagh I think she’s been missing the solitude, not to mention a chance to sleep for a full night.”

A slight smile tilted the corners of Arya’s lips as she turned another page. “I think we’ve all earned a little rest.”

Eragon nodded in agreement, punctuated by a wide yawn. The hot shower had made him drowsy on top of being bone tired. Coupled with the soft pillows, warm blankets, Saphira’s sleeping thoughts and the safety of the walls around him, the boy found himself already drifting off. “Yeah.” He murmured, eyelids drooping closed. “G'night, Arya.”

“Good night, kid.”

As Eragon dropped off, the elf gently settled the holy book on the bed and slipped down onto her makeshift mattress to begin preparing for her own turn in the shower. She released her braid and combed out the snarls in her hair, wiped off what bits of blood and grime that she could with a scrap of shredded sheet, and put her dirty fatigues on the pile near Murtagh’s bed. When Brom stepped out, beard and mustache neatly clipped, he found Arya waiting quietly next to the door with the last package of toiletries and a fresh towel in her lap.

“Take as long as you want.” Brom grunted, jerking his head towards the shower and flinging out a few water droplets from his still damp hair. “I’m sending Murtagh to do laundry and then heading to sleep.”

“I’ll try not to destroy the entire hotel’s hot water supply.” Arya grinned wryly as she stood. “I’ll wake you if anything concerning happens.”

~~~

Arya shut off the water and watched the last dregs slide down the drain. It had taken ten minutes of soap, scrubbing and hot water to get the water flowing off her body to run lighter than dark grey. Another ten minutes saw it finally run clear, and five minutes under shockingly cold spray soothed the vicious burning in her healing wounds and scars. She shook herself and wrung out her hair as much as she could before stepping out and grabbing a towel.

A few brief minutes later she was again clothed in her borrowed jeans and her sports bra, and she stepped out of the bathroom. A quick check confirmed that Murtagh had not yet returned. He slipped inside just as the elf was tying off the last strip of bandage around her leg, the rest of the shredded sheet already wrapped around her torso.

“Heads up.” Murtagh grunted, tossing Arya her fatigues. She muttered her thanks, feeling the effects of the hot shower sinking in. “Good night, Arya.”

“'Night, Murtagh.” The young man hit the last light before tumbling onto his roller bed with the 'whumph’ of a relieved sigh. After a quick last look around the room to ensure everyone was accounted for, Arya followed suit.

No one dreamed. They just slept.

~~~

Eragon tore the covers off as a shrill alarm stabbed into his ears. For a confusing moment lights and sound blinded him. He threw his mind out to Saphira to see through her eyes, only to remember that she was a league away, hiding in the woods. He felt her wake and surge to her feet, his panic alarming her.

A swarm of curses in various languages assaulted him as he finally began to register his surroundings.

They were still in the hotel room, but the standard fire alarm on the wall was alive with flashing lights and mind shattering sound. To his right Brom was shoving the small pile of his clean clothes in his travel bag, swearing in a mildly familiar, old tribal dialect of the Spine. To Eragon’s left, Arya was already zipping Murtagh’s borrowed jacket up to cover the makeshift bandages on her torso, not even bothering with a shirt as she threw her fatigues onto her unzipped combat jacket. She zipped it, wrapped it up and clamped a spare blade harness strap around it before slinging the bundle across her back by the tied together sleeves and tore the window open. Eragon swore he heard her hissing choice words in the Ancient Language, but the intonation and inflections were markedly different.

Of all of them, Murtagh appeared to be the least disturbed by the noise. He sat lacing up his boots, already clothed in his travel gear, and his previously covered rifle was laid out on the bed within arms reach. As he picked the weapon up and chambered the first round Eragon realized the man was swearing in a steady monotone, never once reusing a word. When he seemed to run out of words in the common human language, he switched to what Eragon gathered was a dialect from his local hometown. His vocabulary was impressive to say the least.

“What the bloody hell is happening?” Eragon asked, snatching up his gear. He felt the distinct tickle of Saphira using his ears to hear the answer, her body tensing as she prepared to race to his aid.

Brom shoved the clip on the top of his bag together with a hurried snap. “From what I can gather, the desk clerk told her replacement about us and they checked the front tapes. They recognized at least one of us and they’re setting up the local garrison outside the doors as we speak.”

Murtagh’s muttered swearing filled the brief gap in conversation. “Faigh muin, deoghail am fallus bhàrr duine mharbh siadha tiadhan, cao–”

Eragon ignored him and haphazardly threw his clothing into his backpack, yanking on the zipper when it refused to close all the way. “What’s the alarm about then?” He checked that Zar'roc’s hilt and pommel were still wrapped, concealing the gem and shining grip, then strapped the blade on his hip.

“They’re trying to lure us to the emergency exit.” Brom growled. “Tell Saphira to keep out of sight unless absolutely necessary. We still have a chance get out of here without letting them see her.”

'There won’t be anything to see if I eat them all.’ The dragon hissed in response. Eragon’s jaw twinged as she snapped her teeth in frustration. 'I’ll decide when to be seen. Just hurry up. I can smell a reinforcement company approaching.’

Eragon relayed her message. The speed of Murtagh’s swearing increased while even Brom let out a particularly foul word. “How are we getting out?” The younger Rider asked. “We can’t go out and we can’t go up without having Saphira try to fly us out, and she can’t carry four people.”

“Theta Rescue.” Arya grabbed Eragon’s backpack before he could pick it up. “Or as I like to call it unofficially, 'The Reversed Cliché.’” She threw his bag out the window, ignoring his cry of confusion.

“Only if you’re up for it.” Brom threw his bag to her, and she repeated the process. Murtagh calmly handed his over with a polite nod and a swear that Arya must have recognized, for she snapped back at him with a word of her own. “It’s quite a drop, even for you. The added weight won’t help.”

“No alternative I can see. Unless you want to tie together bed sheets.” Her head cocked to the side. “They’re sweeping the floor below us.”

“Theta it is.” Brom set himself up behind the wall near the door. “Lightest first, heaviest last. Eragon, Murtagh, you both are going to do exactly as Arya says, when she says you do it. Order is Eragon, me, then you Murtagh.”

“Wait, what’s happening?” Eragon asked as Arya grabbed his arm and pulled him to the window. “What are you doing?”

Arya flashed him a grin that didn’t reach her now flinty eyes. “Don’t worry. All you have to do is trust me. And don’t wiggle.”

“Wigg–” Eragon was cut off as the elf ducked and suddenly swept him off his feet in a fireman’s carry. He only had time to spit out a quick “Oh Sweet Sara–” before Arya jumped out the window.

~~~

Half an hour later found the group galloping past the stand of trees where Saphira had hidden. The dragon leapt over their heads and snapped her wings out, startling the horses. 'On the road again, Little One?’ She asked, gaining altitude to circle above them.

'On the road again.’ Eragon affirmed, letting their thoughts mingle and intertwine in a way that the distance had previously made difficult. He felt her joy of flight and relief at being reunited, but also her displeasure. The close call had further confirmed her theory that he was a magnet for trouble. 'I’m going to hear about this later, aren’t I?’

The dragon chuffed, the odd sound resonating through their mental link. 'You’re just lucky Brom has a good head on his shoulders.’ With that she drove her wings down, shooting up another hundred feet. 'You will fly with me today.’

'Yes ma'am.’ Eragon smiled and Saphira crowed her jubilation to the sky.

Dust billowed from the horse’s hooves as they continued on their journey. It was good to be on the road again.

[eagehaunting]

Mystery March 2021 day 8: Home

I used today as an excuse to write out a little something on how Lewis took possession of the mansion! I hope you guys enjoy!

Lewis wasn’t sure how long he had been in this mansion. If he could focus enough to estimate, probably a few days, if worse came to worse, probably months.

And yet, he still hadn’t cleaned... Lewis turns a corner and takes in the long, dusty corridor. The many rickety doors stared back at him mockingly. The rugs hissed as they crunch under his shoes. The peeling wall paper threatened him with every step that he took.

“Lewis, what are you doing?” Comes a voice to his left, shocking Lewis out of his exhausted stupor and bringing him to look at the wall- more appropriately, the portrait. The woman with fine purple curls- Faust- stares back at him pointedly. “Well?”

“I... I wanted to get out of my room,” he admits, before his eyes wander to the mildew forming beside the portraits golden frame. “But now I remember why I didn’t want to come out.”

“Oh, don’t be like that. I know it seems difficult now, but it’ll become easier. I promise.”

His frown deepens, and Lewis sighs miserably while leaning against the wall across from her. “I know.. I just don’t think I’m ready.”

“Why’s that?”

“I haven’t gotten a hand on my powers. Not yet, ” Lewis admits, chewing on his lip. Faust rolls her eyes, but props her elbows on her frame. Even though she couldn’t poke her head out far enough, Lewis understood the sentiment.

“Lewis, look at me.” He drags his gaze to meet hers. Faust’s eyebrows soften, and she heaves a gentle sigh and leans out a bit more, letting her curls fall out and touch the dirtied ground. “Being dead is tough, trust me, I know. Being in your shoes is also hard, and I can’t imagine how much it’s hurting you to deal with what happened.” The almost condescending tone- something Lewis knew he was imagining - made him flinch, averting his gaze to the painted tree in Faust’s background. He almost regrets sharing all of his backstory with her, and if he knew she would have this tone most days, he would have kept his mouth shut.

“The house is ready to accept you, and so are all the occupants. We will stand behind you every step of the way.”

Lewis grimaces, but nods. There wasn’t a point in fighting her right now. He had a good feeling all of the other portrait ghosts would be on her side too. It only makes sense. Lewis did accept the role as the new owner... he just had to take control, let his power manifest.

Now if only it wasn’t so hard.

Clicking her tongue, Faust straightens up. “Worry not, Lewis. You don’t have to do it this instant, the moon is still out and clearly you aren’t in the right state of mind. Now...”

A distant familiar clacking of metal grew nearer. As two suits of armor step into the entrance of the hall, they cast Lewis a worried look. One that Lewis doesn’t return, instead opting to glare at the stained rug.

Faust continues, “I think it’s time for you to go back to sleep. We will figure your abilities out tomorrow.”

Lewis follows the guards up the steps, and then up another. The wall paper, bricks, and windows full of moonlight blurs together until it accumulates into one door. His door. Leading to the single highest room in the entire mansion.

The guards take their stand on either side of it, nodding to Lewis carefully and not waiting for him to nod back before stilling.

“Thank you, sir Clive, sir Ranveer.” Lewis murmurs, pushing open the door and stepping in.

The room is simple, despite the elegant state one may expect. An old, wooden bed frame, scratchy wool blankets and a silk top sheet. Light pink curtains that flutter in the open window. Lamps on either side of the bed that didn’t actually turn on.

His room, and yet far from it.

Pulling the blankets aside, Lewis crawls into the bed, nestling his face against the pillow and pretending like he couldn’t smell the light stench coming from it.

Tomorrow he will take hold of his power, and he will make this mansion his home.

His home, for him and all the spirits already residing within it.

Lewis’s eyes moisten as he falls into his ‘slumber’. Praying for no nightmares.

“Im going to take the lower path, why don’t you two take the other... don’t worry about me. I’ll be fine! I have Mystery.”

“Dont cling to Lewis too much Ar...”

The moss and slimy green walls reflected like a million eyes. All watching. All staring.

Even as Lewis peered up at his own hand, clutching his torch, knowing what was to happen... he wished more than anything that he could simply turn around.

His stomach drops, his blood runs cold. The sudden halt broke his fall, his spine bent oddly and digging behind his bellybutton.

Cold. Cold. Yet so hot.

Empty. Yet rushing. A river, but still. There was so much light at first, and then it was so dark. Growls, howls, screams of every kind...

Loneliness.

All he wanted... was for them to come back. Save him.

Of all the memories Lewis had to revisit, why did it always have to be this one?

There was still gaps, such as the moment when he hit the spike, and when he forced himself up. How he even did it, Lewis wasn’t sure, but he couldn’t focus on that when the gaping wounds in his chest filled with with and stung from the cold.

His legs still ached from the stillness and the fatigue, and from the exhaustion of being awake despite dying. He wobbled far, tracing his dead fingers along slimy walls and against currents of chittering laughs. Then the constant thought. A mantra. Over and over. Come back for me. Come back, please.

Wake him up from this bad dream.

If only he accepted that it wasn’t going to happen...

He didn’t know where he was going, nor how long he was going to walk, but Lewis didn’t stop until he was face to face with a tall metal gate that shined unlike the eyes in the walls.

The rusted lock doesn’t break, but Lewis pushes through like jelly.

The staircase was a nightmare. Transitioning from cave stone to proper granite the higher he ascended. All while the prickling sensation of being watched crept up his back and urged his weak and heavy body to move faster.

Lewis ‘wakes up’ up with a shallow gasp. Eyes wide, he pants. Slowly turning his head, a layer of sticky sweat clings to Lewis’s face. He wipes it away and peels back the blanket, crawling out of the bed as the lingers of his ‘dream’ fights to hold the forefront of his mind.

His friends... they still haven’t come back for him. The guards would have alerted him if they returned to the cave, and Lewis would have been rushing out the doors if he heard the familiar engine.

They weren’t here. Lewis isn’t sure why he kept expecting them to suddenly show up.

Pushing himself to move, Lewis hops into a float and drifts to the door. Figuring that he may as well show that he has a grasp on some of his new abilities, now he just needed to realize what his main skillset was.

The guards lead him down the flight of stairs, past the library, and the office, and to the largest room in the mansion.

The living room was filled with an air of elegance, even if covered in dust and mildew. Several portraits line the walls beside the mighty fireplace, and leading to it was two long couches and an even longer coffee table. Book cases sat in between the tall windows, and smaller spaces left unused seemed to act as their own mini lounge, with a smaller bookcase, chair, table, and lamp.

Lewis compared it to a community center before, but now it felt like a stage.

More guards file in behind Lewis, with Sir Clive and Ranveer taking their positions behind him. He could feel a heavy, although gentle pat on his back from Ranveer.

After that, the dozen or so smaller, formless and colorless ghosts fly in and take their seats on the cushions.

The fireplace before him seemed to smile at him. With its decorations acting as its wise and considering eyes.

A line of sweat slides down Lewis’s cheek. Now wasn’t the time for stage fright, but his legs lock up in their floating position. He inhaled slowly.

“Psst.”

Glancing over, Lewis catches the soft, affectionate smile on Faust’s face. She tilts her head. “You got this.”

Lewis balls his fists, ”Do I? I really didn’t expect everyone to gather for this...” he admits.

“We know.” The portrait of the priest, Father Zachariah, responds. He gives Lewis a stern look, reminding Lewis to stand straight. “We didn’t want this to be a private affair. If you are really taking over this mansion like you said you would, then we have to right to partake in your awakening.”

“Aw jeez, give the man a break, will ya?” Another portrait, Terri to wrestler reaches out and fists some of Zachariahs robe, glaring at him. “Can’t you see he’s nervous?” He then says, throwing out his hand in a grand gesture toward Lewis, who shrinks back slightly.

Tamaki, the attorney, rolls his eyes dramatically and pinches his brow. “Lewis, I can assure you this isn’t a judgment, quite the contrary. We knew that it would have been hard for you to do this on your own, so we are providing an ample amount of support throughout the activities. Do you understand?”

He nods, unsure how else to respond, although the exhaustion made Lewis want to join the spirits on the couch and take a long nap.

The two portraits of shadows, Haseeb and Ameena, also nod in tandem. “Yes, Lewis. Infact, since you enjoyed music, we wanted to bring out the excitement.... I hope you’re okay with that.”

“Speaking of which,” Faust pipes up, leaning out of her frame and narrowing her eyes at the spirits sat on the couch. “Weren’t you all supposed to grab your instruments? Where are they!”

The colorless ghosts jump and flash past Lewis in one synchronized movement, before rushing back just as quickly. Returning with old violins, cellos, flutes, clarinets, and trumpets. Two more lag behind, with a cymbals, and one final one dragging something heavy. He turns, eyes widening as a singular spirit drags a *piano* from a closet he didn’t remember being there.

”Hold on, I’ll help you.” he says before realizing he was moving, that is until he floats past to the other side of the piano and bracing itself underside. Only for the spirit to send him an anxious look.

Oh.. it’s probably too heavy for them to also lift. Lewis spots the mini orchestra and waves them over. ”We need more hands, come over here and help up.”

Abandoning their instruments, several more spirits rush and brace the other side, allowing the piano to be lifted and carried earlier.

“Yeah you deadbeats! Why do you need his command to get a move on?” Terri calls, anything but cruel however. Deadbeats... that’s an interesting term. Lewis faintly ponders as he sets the piano down, before going to retreat the stool.

At the same time, the living rooms doors open, and the puny skeletal gardener drags in the painter spirit.

“Rye! Thank you for fetching Elora.” Tamaki says.

“Oh eff off,” Rye responds, plopping down on one of the chairs and sinking down. “I was busy trying to save up my energy for tonight’s show. You want there to be flowers, right?”

Flowers?

“Yep, thats why the windows are open. Let’s wait until Lewis is prepared however.”

”N-no need to wait, I’m ready now,” Lewis squeaks out, clearing his throat as he turns and takes in the grumpy strawberry looking gardener.

Rye bobs their skull and spins away from him, “Fantastic.”

She raises her arms, and in a swift motion, glows the same ripe red color as her dress. All at once, the windows are swarmed with vines. Green foliage spilling in, connecting across the ceiling, draping and tangling amongst the curtains, and wrapping around the stone busts on the bookcases. It happened so fast that Lewis couldn’t react. Instead he gaps up at the magnificent display, watching as floral arrangements burst, forming meticulously designed patterns along the entire room.

When he finally tears his gaze away from the display, Lewis is met with calm, expectant smiles.

“Ready whenever you are, bucko.” Rye pats his arm and reclaims her seat, leaving him in the center of his imaginary stage.

Now, his anchor beats twice as fast, almost overwhelmed by all of the effort, all the eyes sim directly at him.

Pressing his finger tips together, Lewis wets his lips. Several heads tilt as they wait.

Clearing his throat, Lewis lowers his head,”... I’m sorry. What am I supposed to do first?”

Faust gasps lightly, the first to realize their crucial mistake. Ignoring Terri’s chiding, she clears her throat.

“Of course, Lewis, the first thing we need you to do, is concentrate on your internal thoughts. As you do, try to figure out which emotion or feeling is more prominent.”

A single note plays from the deadbeat sat at the piano, followed by the violin, and a growing hum from the others who hadn’t begun to playing. Lewis’s heart skips a beat, and he bites his lip as he closes his eyes. The piano continues, the notes floating through his mind and striking chords that were far from forgotten.

A new set of voices fill in the emptiness between notes, running alone side the piano and dancing along with the violin. A flute begins, and Lewis sharply inhales.

He loves music, he always has, it always made him want to dance. Grab the first person in arms length and pull them close, whether it be the waltz or a swing, it filled him with warm laughs that always spread across his face in a smile. A familiar tingle fills his arms, and Lewis is sure that he can feel Vivi in front of him, swaying as they listened to the music. The warmth grows as she fills his minds eye. Her soft scarf tangled in between them, how her skirt swirled and swished as she spun and dance, leaving him warm in the face and his chest full of bubbling warmth.

Warmth. He felt warm.

That certain warmth fills his hands, tingling at his finger tips and running along his scalp.

The room smelt faintly of decay and staleness, but a memory envelopes him, and Lewis is in his families kitchen. Dancing in place and singing at the top of his lungs with his sisters twirling around him. Cinnamon, garlic, sugars and herb fills his nostrils. The lavender and sweet floral in the air elevating the smells of their garden which he pranced through many times during the warm summer nights. The bonfires, the flare of heat from the oven, the thick humidity in a late evening as Lewis arm wrestles with his much scrawnier friend.

The warm spreads up his elbow and all along his back. Before Lewis knew it, the singing, the music grew loud, amplifying as more instruments add to the mix, and as his own voice joins them. A crash of the cymbals becomes the splash of the beach, and the laughter chittering along with it.

His heart races, and the warmth becomes hot and exhilarating as he recalls the endless nights of fondness. Of redness in his cheeks from drinking alongside his friends, on his tongue as he taste tests his fathers latest recipe, and the swell of pride upon seeing Cayennes first ballet recital.

Pride, love, happiness.

Spastic notes become fireworks. Blasting, rocketing, exploding across the night sky. It becomes the crash and crackle of buildings as he and his friends rush from burning buildings, away from spirits whose voice booms too loud. The warmth spreads to his legs, in the ache of running, carrying his friends over his shoulders in a desperate need to escape. As his heart burns in the terror of thinking they were hurt. In wanting to slam his fist into the fiends face for daring to threaten his loved ones.

The guards dance with him, metal clacking and sparking. Lights spot the area as Lewis shoots out his arms and pulls one in against his chest to spin in tandem, before releasing them in a dramatic flourish.

Anger, fear, the need to protect.

His friends, his family.

The loves of his life-

Lewis opens his eyes, and the passion fueling his movements die in an instant.

His hand glows, his arm flaring. A line of fire burns away from him, pink and flaming and just as excited as he was. Gasping, Lewis tears himself away, slipping and hitting the ground. The music screeches to a halt all at once. Everyone freezing.

“Lewis, are you okay?” Faust calls out, gripping her frame as if she were going to rip herself out of it. Concern warping her face, along with the other portraits, the ghosts, everyone.

“You were doing good!” Terri says, “don’t tell me you got cold feet!”

Tamaki nods in agreement, “it’s truly delightful to see you smile for once. I was worried we would never see it.”

Shoulders tense, Lewis’s eyebrows furrow.

That... was him?

Baffled, Lewis holds his hand in front of him, and sure enough his palm was glowing. He tenses the muscles, and he jumps as a small flame puffs out at him.

”I- wait, seriously? I did it?”

“Yes, you did. Marvelous work, Lewis.” Zachariah hums approvingly. The warmth- embarrassment and concern- floods his chest, before Lewis is smothered by smiling deadbeats swarming him in a hug. Curling around him and nuzzling their formless heads against his.

His legs twitch as Lewis rises, floating naturally instead of jumping this time, and becoming upright.

Everyone is smiling at him, faces warm and bright with delight. Warm with the same sentiment, that it was time to make this his home...

He knew it, they knew it, that had to be the entire point of everyone gathering. Not to help him, but to watch him accept them as his new family... leaving his old.

Leaving his family, and his friends...

Faust is the first to speak, eyes crinkling. “Are you ready?”

What about Vivi? Arthur? How is he going to be there for his sisters? How can he keep his friends safe if he can’t be there for them. He can’t abandon them. Because they won’t abandon him. They wouldn’t. They’re coming back for him.

”No. I’m not.”

The disappoint was clear by the stilted air. But no one argued with him. The deadbeats had sunk, their instruments hitting the ground in shock, before being lifted up and taken back to their proper places. The vines retreat and retract, and quietly, the spirits all left the living space. Even the first place seemed to grow cold, if that was even possible.

Lewis didn’t say anything to the portraits when he left the room and raced upstairs to his tower of solitude. The same thought racing through his head again and again.

They’re coming. They will.

Soon. Soon...

Soon...?

Feeling trapped and terribly homesick, Lewis crawls under his blankets. His eyes sting from moisture that shouldn’t accumulate in the sockets, but he wipes them away anyway. Pulling the blanket over his head, Lewis curls into a ball.

Why did it hurt so much reject them? Why did it hurt so much to hold off for so long?

What was he expecting? For Arthur and Vivi to pull up in their bright Orange van and pull him out of the bed, pull him into an embrace, and into the van. Whisk him away so he can embrace his mami and papi, kiss his sisters and tell them how much he missed them.

Why was he even holding out hope? They arent coming back! Why would they...

Arthur killed him... Lewis’s arms shake and he grips the blankets. Arthur shoved him off that fucking cliff with a smile on his face. He should be grateful for anyone to accept him into their family.

He wanted to slam his fist into his gut, to direct the pain from his aching chest. Lewis wanted his eyes to stop stinging.

But he couldn’t. Home was where they were, and he has been thrown away.

Lewis fell into a half sleep, living through the same memory of his death again and again. Watching as his nightmare loops with his life being torn from his grasp with a single push.

That one moment of inaction, the one second of trust. And now?

Lewis is dead.

The memory looped for a fifth time, with Lewis desperately searching for an escape from the grip of reality, when the universe finally gives him one.

An engine. It’s not loud, and it rattles lightly. Lewis pops awake, disoriented from the jarring switch from the cave to his bed, but he disregards it.

Tearing the blankets, an adrenaline thrashes through him. Warmth, heat, rocketing through him. It burns his soles as the impossible dangles right in front of him.

It can’t be, is it really them?

Are they here for him?

Lewis’s anchor skips a beat as he almost falls down the first set of steps. Before he hits the steps face first, his body vanishes in a burst of flame and reappears with a running start at the bottom. The halls wake up with the pound of his feet and his heart, and Lewis forgets that others lived on this decrepit mansion as he races to the main stairway, leading to the front door.

He expects specks of blue, yellow, and white to meet him there. For smiles to spread across their face as they run to swallow him in a hug.

Lewis freezes. Heart going still. Heat draining as he takes it in...

There’s four people, who he hardly recognizes, except for the role they were trying to play as they whisper amongst themselves.

”This place wasn’t here a few days ago.” “do you think it’s a trap?” “Do you think anyone’s here?”

Paranormal investigators...

They start to wander, poking at the busts and pushing open doors, unaware of Lewis staring at them.

It’s not them, his friends aren’t coming.

Now strangers are in ... in this mansion, disturbing the people who have been nothing but kind to Lewis.

The need to protect returns, strong and lashing as his fists ball up, tears stinging his eyes.

Teeth grinding, heat pools into his hands, and fire spits out like sparks of electricity. Finally grabbing the investigators attention as he stomps on the first step. The fire crackles, leaving a singed footprint in its place, but Lewis doesn’t care. Focusing on the bug eyed look of the four intruders who back away in mounting terror as the flames rise.

Breath coming out in hisses, Lewis growls. ”Get out.”

It was enough to send the four scrambling for the door, the engine roaring again as they undoubtedly piled in. Just in time for the suits of armor to clamber behind him, looking around in shock until they see him.

The furious gaze didn’t die upon seeing them. No. Except Lewis turns away from them and floats to the bottom step, theres a strain on his body that extinguishes the fire in his hands, but that didn’t matter.

Lewis rounds the corner, leaving a trail of smoking fire pits in his wake.

Until he’s stood in front of the fireplace, the hearth that he was instructed to simply light it to accept his place as the homes new owner and protector.

His first family protected him, but his loved ones ended his life. Now it’s his turn to ensure the safety of the only family he may have left.

Lewis’s arm wavers as he lifts it up, a ball of fire burning his palm and spitting in every which direction as he glares at the fireplace, whose glass doors open wide.

The flame shoots out, and upon making contact with the bricks and wood, the entire mansion lights up in a magical blast. Transforming peeling wallpaper to freshly striped, strewing chandeliers in every room it could fit, burning away the rot and leaving the floors warm and spotless.

Everything around him changed in an instant, but Lewis doesn’t see it.

His anchor hits the ground with a soft clink, hot to the touch and wet with tears.

[imjeralee]

Comfort in Despair: Chapter 18 - The Witch of Wedgehurst

Leon x F!Reader

Disclaimer: Do not own Pokemon

Summary:

Galar is rich in folklore and tales of the supernatural.

As a Pokemon Researcher who specialises in ghost types, this is a great opportunity for you to investigate and learn more about the paranormal.

Along the way, you meet Leon (in the most awkward way possible) who becomes embroiled in your adventures.

^ Basically this story is about ghosts :/

Rating: General/Teen

@marydragneell​ oh my goodness, I almost forgot to keep the tag list on my chapter updates. Sorry T_T

The Witch of Wedgehurst

...

...

["Oh please, say to me You'll let me be your man And please, say to me You'll let me hold your hand Now, let me hold your hand I want to hold your hand."

- I Want To Hold Your Hand, The Beatles]

…

…

In the laboratory, you are occupied with Leon’s flowers and Pokemon School is forgotten for now. You are keen to display them and intend to keep them for alive for as long as possible, and you grab a pair of scissors from Magnolia’s stationary tub and find a spare vase in the cupboard underneath the sink which you rinse out before you fill it with some water.

You’re not a professional at flower arranging in any manner whatsoever but you carefully unravel the cellophane and neatly take the flowers out one by one, placing them over the table until the bouquet rustles, and you suddenly hear a loud squeak.

“What was that?”

Looking up and around, the ghost pokemon haven’t seem to have noticed. Gengar and Runerigus are playing upstairs, shadow tag or something, whilst you have left Mimikyu on her own with pieces of blank paper and some felt-tip pens.

Perhaps you’d heard wrong.

With an inward shrug, you pull out another flower and the squeaking returns and it occurs to you it’s coming from within the bouquet so you gently pry some flowers apart and it’s then you see a tiny little yellow pokemon nestled within, blinking its massive, bright and wet eyes at you.

“Oh!” you exclaim, before you scoop the Sunkern out and hold it up in the base of your palms. “Oh my gosh, what are you doing here, little guy?”

It squeaks and jiggles up and down in your palm, shaking its two leaves happily.

“I wonder how long you were in there,” you murmur, before you gently place him over the surface of the table.

He ends up rolling around in a semi-circle and comes to a stop, lying on his back. Squeaking for you, he is unable to get up so you scoop him into your palms once more, inch a mug over and prop him up against the handle. He squeaks loudly with gratitude and you giggle.

“So cute…” you coo, as you reach over and pet him affectionately on the leaves. “You can stay right here with me.”

But he must be hungry and thirsty, you think, so you find Magnolia’s mini Phanpy watering can by one of the potted plants. It’s almost empty so you fill it in the sink and head over to your little Sunkern before you sprinkle some water over his leaves.

He blinks and looks up, then begins gulping some of the water and bounces up and down on the spot.

Pulling a seat out, you plop yourself down and pick up one of the flowers, snipping off an inch or so of the stem before you slip it into the awaiting vase.

The ghost pokemon eventually return to you, with Gengar slinking into one seat and Runerigus standing beside you and you smile at your pokemon as they gather around. Mimikyu pokes your arm with a claw and as you turn round, she's waving a piece of paper in the air; she wants to show you what she drew and you take the picture off her. It's a crude drawing of Mimikyu stabbing a Pikachu, complete with blood. Below, she has scribbled ‘Me Kill Pikachu’. You put the drawing down, then turn to Mimikyu who giggles and waves her tendrils around happily in the air.

“….I think I’m gonna keep an eye on you from now on,” you murmur but she merely snickers and climbs into a seat.

With a shadowy claw, she picks up a single flower before she's joined by Runerigus who copies her action, twirling the flower around in his fingers and Gengar does the same.

“Ohh, do you want to help me out?” you ask with a smile, and everyone nods. “Thank you, I would like that very much.”

The pokemon respond cheerfully and together, you work on preparing the bouquet which doesn't take long with your pokemon helping you. Mimikyu and Gengar pass you the flowers one by one and you snip the stems off carefully and pass it to Runerigus who slips it into the awaiting vase. You finish up in a few minutes or so, and Runerigus appears to have taken a liking to flower arrangement and his skills are impressive. He’s very careful and gentle with the flowers which you are grateful for and once the vase is full, you empty the packet of flower food supplied and pick the vase up.

“Now grow strong, my pretties,” you say with a cackle, and your pokemon join in, grinning and chortling by your side. “Alright, let’s go home.”

The pokemon cheer and Gengar leaps into your shadow whilst Mimikyu and Runerigus return to their capsules.

You want to display the vase in the house, somewhere in the conservatory where it can get as much sunlight as possible. Donning your jacket, you slip Sunkern into your pocket since he doesn't have a pokeball yet and when you ensure that he won't slip out, you smile as he squeaks and nestles himself into the small slot. He looks rather cosy and you proceed to switch off all the lights of the lab and inspect the space once more in case you forgot anything, then carefully scoop the vase up with one hand, close the door and lock it behind you.

As you pull the key out, a loud swoop penetrates the atmosphere along with an alarmed squeak from Sunkern; a dark shadow has appeared from literally out of nowhere and with claws out, it dives for your bouquet and proceeds to tear at the flowers before you can stop it.

The momentum knocks the vase out of your hands and it meets the concrete, shattering into various pieces.

"NOW!"

You're staring wordlessly at the mess on the ground and so you don't even notice the trio of youngsters who jump out from the bushes by the lab with a loud battle cry and their arms are full of little pebbles, which they promptly begin to toss at your direction.

"Witch!" they yell, "take this, you evil witch!!"

Their voices are so far away, your gaze transfixed on the destroyed bouquet at your feet.

Making no effort to avoid the stones, one sharp pebble in particular smacks you in the side of the head and the edge tears at your skin.

Gengar immediately emerges from your shadow on the door, his eyes glowing a furious red as he holds his arms out. The stones stop in mid-air, surrounded by a dark purple glow, before they go shooting the opposite direction and towards the kids. He is joined by Runerigus who leaves his capsule in a burst of light. He guards you, preventing any loose stones from hitting you; they smack into his large and rocky body instead though the pebbles are akin to a piece of cork being thrown against a brick wall, and he roars as loudly as he can at the children.

They wail and scream as Gengar pelts them in return with their own stones, and they spin on their heel to make a hasty retreat only to be met with Mimikyu.

"Pick on someone your own size!!" Mimikyu growls, before her ragdoll disguise splits into two, unleashing many shadowy tendrils to smack them on their rears as they scrabble away. Spearow follows them, who is promptly returned to its pokeball by one of the kids.

She attempts to chase after them but you say, "Mimikyu, stop."

"But-"

You shake your head and her ragdoll body pieces itself back together and she shuffles over to your side; you thank the pokemon for protecting you but the damage is done. Leon's flowers are ravaged and you gaze limply at the scattered pieces of the broken vase.

"...It's ruined," you mumble under your breath, before you emit a sigh and shake your head. "...I can't believe it."

You had them for less than fifteen minutes.

They were a gift to you.

From Leon.

Leon.

Frustration claws its way into your system along with an overwhelming urge to mourn, and the corner of your eyes become prickled with tears; you dab at them hastily and Gengar pats you on the head whilst Mimikyu and Runerigus rub your back. You thank your pokemon again and lower yourself to a crouch, picking up the broken pieces. They join in, helping you tidy up the glass and the flowers silently, before Runerigus finds an intact white flower which survived the onslaught and he nudges it for your taking.

"Oh...Thank you, Runi."

His eye creases slightly before he plops his large hand atop your head and you smile at him as you hold the flower gingerly in hands. You will protect this flower at all costs.

"He says...it's going to be okay," Mimikyu pipes up and you nod.

"Thanks Mimi. Thanks everyone. C'mon...Let's go," you murmur.

With your pokemon by your side, the walk back home is a long one.

...

Sonia's not home yet and Magnolia and Yamper are still sleeping. It's just you on your own as usual. It's a typical night you suppose (aside from the stoning), and after you carefully put the salvaged flower into another vase in the conservatory, you lift Sunkern out from your pocket and settle him into one of the larger potted plants where he can sit in the soil and hopefully soak up all the nutrients he needs to grow healthy and strong. Sunkern glances around his new home and squeaks happily at you before burrowing inside, closing his eyes.

He's out for the night so you head upstairs to take a shower. Gengar, Mimikyu and Runerigus remain in the lounge, watching you plod upstairs with your head low.

"Let’s find those kids and kill them, mi mi," Mimikyu growls, curling one claw into a tight fist.

Gengar and Runerigus throw each other concerned glances before Gengar floats up and into the air, shaking his head.

"Then let's curse them, mi."

Gengar pauses, partially tempted, but shakes his head once more.

Killing or cursing children is not the answer so he iterates that they should focus on cheering up their trainer.

He suggests they should call Leon, perhaps.

"Call Leon, mi?"

He nods, and Runerigus seems happy to go along with this plan too.

"Yes, let's do that, mi," Mimikyu replies, clapping two tendrils together, "Rotom?"

There is a brief silence until your phone comes hovering towards the lounge, having been summoned.

"Yo wazzzup, what'zzzz the - Bzzzrt!! What???"

Mimikyu envelopes Rotom with her tendrils and reels him in to sit in front of her, tapping at the screen with her claws, going through the phonebook and finding Leon's contact number. You only have five contacts so it didn't take long at all and she spots Leon's name and hastily presses the button. Rotom switches to phone mode and it rings for a few seconds. The ghost pokemon wait with baited breath as they huddle in front of your phone, watching the screen.

The screen flickers on before Leon abruptly appears.

"Hi - oh, what's this?" he utters, shocked by what he's seeing.

"Mi hello."

"Mimikyu?"

"Yes, it is mi, Mimikyu."

"What's wrong?" Leon asks, before he asks for your whereabouts. Are you okay? Has something happened? Arceus, are you in trouble???

"It's an emergency, mi mi, the flowers. She is in trouble, mi. Come to the house."

"I'll come over right now!" He exclaims without a second to spare; he promptly hangs up and Mimikyu giggles, clasping her tendrils together.

Her work here is done.

...

"I can't fight it anymore. I ran away from you once. I can't do it again. Oh, I don't know what's right any longer. You'll have to think for both of us, for all of us."

"All right, I will. Here's looking at you, kid."

"I wish I didn't love you so much."

Sappy, romantic music plays from the TV as you watch the couple on screen embrace tightly.

"They make it look so easy," you mumble as you sit slouched low on the sofa, grabbing a handful of chips from the bowl and shoving them into your mouth and crunching on them noisily whilst Gengar and Runerigus sit beside you, sipping their tea.

Then the doorbell rings and there's someone pounding on the front door.

Who could that possibly be, and at this hour?

Did Sonia forget her key again?

You stop stuffing your face and emit an exhausted 'mrrgfhhh', before you drag yourself up and off the couch, yelling, "Sonnie, you're lucky I'm home tonight!" as you shuffle over. Once you're at the door, you peer through the peephole and gasp when you see who it is. "No way!" you exclaim under your breath.

You hastily unlock the front door and throw it open, revealing that it is none other than a flustered-looking Leon who stands in full Champion gear on your doorstep.

For a second or so, you both blink at each other before spluttering out simultaneously:

"Leon?!" "Are you okay?"

You blink whilst his face goes red.

"I'm okay." "Mimikyu called me and said you were in trouble!"

"...Sorry."

"Um. Y-you go first."

Leon subjects you to a look from head to toe; here you are barefoot with a large bag of original-flavoured chips in one hand. No trouble here.

You cringe, hoping he didn't hear you yelling about Sonia.

"I-I'm fine, Leon, there's no emergency," you toss a glance to the lounge where your Rotom phone and the rest of the Pokemon wave and waggle their fingers and claws at you. "Wait. You said Mimikyu called you?"

He nods and notices the cut on your forehead.

You quickly piece two and two together and cringe again. ".....Oh god, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, Leon. It's a false alarm. I'll keep a closer eye on Mimikyu from now on. I'm fine. Really, I am."

He does not look entirely swayed so you nod vigorously to convince him.

"Um, do you want to come in?" you ask, holding the door open.

"Ah...I-I can't. The beauty pageant is tonight."

"Tonight?!"

"Yeah."

You blink cluelessly as you had absolutely no knowledge of this but you supposed it was due to your lack of interest in current affairs. However, Leon didn't mention it to you either and neither did anyone else; you can only presume no-one in your limited social circle is interested in the pageant and you're brought out of your reverie when Leon raises a hand to carefully brush away some hair from the side of your face and you freeze on the spot as his fingertips gently press against the small wound.

You wince under his touch and he murmurs, "What happened?"

"I got stoned. Literally," you grumble with a roll of your eyes.

"Mimikyu mentioned something about flowers."

Your face falls. "Oh. Right. Um....yeah, about that..." you give Leon an exasperated look and sigh, "...they're ruined."

You tell him about the kids.

Leon's expression softens before he pulls his hand away to wrap around your own. "I'm sorry. Let me make it up to you. Come with me."

"...Where?"

He chuckles. "My house."

And Leon smiles reassuringly at you and so you nod and grab your coat. Returning your pokemon into their capsules, you slip into your shoes and fling a glance to the staircase. Magnolia hasn't woken up so you quietly lock the door behind you and join Leon on the stony path. He gives you a warm smile and you return his smile with a fond one of your own, pulling the lapels of your coat tighter to yourself.

"So, how long do you have before they notice you're gone?"

"Half hour or so."

"Really?"

"Yes, they think I'm in my dressing room."

"Oh, Leon."

He's snooping out to see you; this isn't like him at all, but you can't help but feel happy.

"When Mimikyu called, I was so worried. I had to see you," he utters.

You pause slightly in mid-step, your heart fluttering for the umpteenth time; Leon responds with a sheepish smile.

As you meander further down the path with him, you sigh and throw your glimpse to the night sky. It's getting colder and Leon sticks close to you which you are grateful for as he provides some extra warmth to you just by being close.

Your footsteps echo one another and your shoulders nudge together. On several periods, you'll carefully slide your glance to his direction and you will see him smiling to himself. You like that about him, how he's always wearing a kind smile no matter what.

With that thought in mind, your cheeks warm up all over again and your fingers suddenly brush together as Leon steps a little closer to you than necessary and the sides of your palm briefly come into contact.

You stiffen somewhat yet you do not retreat from his action so your hands linger millimetres apart in some kind of limbo before Leon ultimately takes charge and uses his pinky finger to hook around yours and pull you in just a little closer to him. It's a careful and calculated movement on his part to test the waters but it's enough to make you blush.

As Leon glances at you from the corner of his eyes to gauge your reaction, you weave your pinky finger around his in return and for a while as you're walking along the linear path from Wedgehurst to Postwick, you wish this tender moment you are sharing with the Champion would never end, though you inwardly hope there would be more.

As though reading your thoughts, Leon decides to step it up a notch and slinks his ring finger around yours.

He's becoming bold for good reason, and you encourage him further by mimicking his action and looping your middle finger around his and this continues until the rest of your fingers entwine together and the two of you are holding hands very firmly.

Neither of you say a word nor do you look at one another but your heart pounds and he clears his throat silently. You dare to sneak a peek at him again to see what he's up to, and you see he's got this goofy smile plastered on his handsome face and his cheeks are tickled pink.

His hand is much bigger than yours and also a lot warmer and the base of his palm is rather callused, probably from long and hard years of training with his Pokemon. Initially nothing else happens until Leon gives your hand a squeeze and you respond by rubbing your thumb over his and this sets off a brief fondling session where he slides his thumb over the smooth skin of your knuckles and you shiver somewhat before you squeeze his hand playfully in return.

This enjoyable moment does unfortunately comes to an end when you arrive at Leon's house and as if on cue, the front door opens and Leon's mother pokes her head outside, glancing at the two of you in surprise.

"Leo!?" she exclaims, before she sees your joined hands and her eyes actively pop out of her sockets. "Oh my."

"Hi mum."

She giggles and holds the door wide open; ecstatic to see you both, she proceeds to usher you inside. "This is such a lovely surprise! Come in, come in, my dear!"

"Thank you very much."

She's not alone. Hop emerges from the lounge, clutching Wooloo in his arms. "Lee???"

"Hi Hop."

He shouts with joy, diving for his older brother, "What are you doing here???"

"Unfortunately I can't stay for long," Leon replies, chuckling.

The grandparents are missing but you imagine they're most likely fast asleep. Leon sheepishly explains to his family why he's brought you over but his mother says no reason or explanation is necessary and she's extremely glad to have you over and see you again; you will need to catch up later, she says. She's smiling widely at you and you're not sure what's quite going on.

"What in the name of Arceus happened to you, dear?" Leon's mum asks; she has noticed the nasty cut on the side of your head and your bandaged arm.

"Ah....it's nothing. Just an accident."

"Oh dear, let's get that looked at ASAP," she hastily steers you to the kitchen where she seats you in a random chair and Leon follows, settling himself into the chair beside yours whilst Hop lingers at the doorway with Wooloo. Leon's mum bustles around the kitchen, locating the first-aid kit from a cupboard near the sink which she brings over; immediately, Leon begins sifting for the appropriate supplies.

"Mum, I can take it from here," he says, fishing out a cotton swab, some ointment and a clean plaster.

Surprised, Leon's mum nods and nudges the kit further for his taking. Then she hastily makes a swift exit, grabbing Hop and Wooloo along the way.

"Whoa!!" Hop exclaims, but she goes 'sshhhh, they need to be alone!' and then it grows silent.

You watch their retreating backs whilst Leon reaches over and dabs at your cut with the cotton, sweeping ointment over the wound.

"Tell me if I hurt you," he murmurs.

"...M'kay."

You sit still in the chair with your back straight as much as possible, head tilted to the ceiling slightly so Leon can brush the small cut with the ointment. He applies the plaster over your skin once the task is completed, smoothing it down with his fingers.

"There we go."

"Thanks Leon."

He grins, leaning forwards in his seat to grab and squeeze your hand affectionately. "...You can call me 'Lee'."

A smile worms its way across your face as your gazes meet and you're both smiling at each other; however, the moment is short-lived when Leon catches glimpse of the clock behind you on the wall and his smile drops.

"I should go."

"Okay," you say, with a sulk.

He chuckles and releases your hand, rising to stand and adjusting his cap and you follow him out of the kitchen and into the landing; mum and Hop return, keen to know what's going on and what's up between the two of you and whatnot. He exchanges some brief words with his family before they share a quick embrace; he needs to return to Wyndon. The beauty pageant is beginning in forty minutes and his presence cannot be missed.

"I'll see you guys soon," he promises as he exits the house and steps into the front yard. Mum and Hop follow him out and so do you, watching as he releases Charizard from his capsule. The flame pokemon lands on the ground and spreads his wings, glancing at Leon expectantly.

"Bye Lee!" Hop shouts, waving fiercely as Leon climbs over Charizard's awaiting back.

"Be safe, dear."

"I will!" Leon yells with a wide grin; he waves to his mother and brother before his eyes lands on you and his grin widens. Your cheeks heat up and you wave as the flame pokemon manoeuvres himself into position, stamping his large and bulky hind legs over the ground as he prepares for lift off. Leon pats the side of his neck and the pokemon huffs loudly. "Charizard, let's go!"

Emitting a loud roar, Charizard flaps his wings and in one massive swoop, he takes off to the sky, disappearing in a blink.

Leon is gone.

You linger with his family outside before they decide to retreat into their warm and toasty house.

"Why don't stay here for the time being, my dear?" says Leon's mum, nudging her head towards the direction of the living room.

"Yeah!! Let's watch the beauty pageant together!" Hop exclaims, and you nod.

"Thank you. That would be nice."

"I'll get the popcorn!" Hop yells, and he rushes past you and into the kitchen.

“And I’ll get the camera,” says mum, before she dashes to one of the cupboards near the mantelpiece, pulling it wide open and lifting out an old-fashioned camcorder which she hastily switches on. "I always record all of Leo's programs or shows."

You join her as she plops herself down on one of the plushy couches and Hop returns into the living room with a large bowl of popcorn. He climbs over the settee with Wooloo and switches the TV on, passing the popcorn to you, and the TV, switched to the Galar main broadcasting channel, is now playing the Miss Galar Beauty Pageant theme song with the logo slapped over the screen. Checking the clock on the wall, you think Sonia might be home by now...no doubt, she'd be watching the pageant too.

"Have you watched the Miss Galar pageants before?" Hop asks, and you shake your head. "It's a blast! Lee's been a judge for five years now!"

"Oh, r-really?"

He nods. "Yeah, and some girls get really attached to him after that."

"Oh," you say again.

You're not really surprised.

"I swear, every year some floozy decides to latch onto our Leo and obsessively call him 'hers'." huffs Leon's mum, who shakes her head as she stuffs some popcorn into her mouth.

The show begins and it's an impressive display; the stage is alit with loud modern music and bright lights, accompanied with dancers and pokemon in funky costumes who parade around onstage and you watch as two men and a woman in evening outfits along with a Clefable appear at the very end of the extravagant opening, excitedly introducing themselves as the presenters of the program; it's taking place at Wyndon stadium and the pitch has been converted from Pokemon battle arena to a stage ripe for a pageant, with a massive T-shaped catwalk, tonnes of spotlights and various tables and chairs for the judges. It's a full audience, too.

The judges are introduced; looks like Leon made it in time because he's sitting at his designated table and waving to the crowd once the spotlight is on him. The audience cheers at wildly for him as he smiles and waves. He is impeccable as always.

With camcorder in hand, Leon's mum flicks her gaze to you and directs the camera to your direction to record your reaction whilst Hop points and hoots excitedly.

"There he is, there he is!!! Lee!!!"

"Thank you," Leon on TV says, and your heart thuds terribly when you see his grinning face on screen.

The remaining judges are introduced but you're too busy gawking at Leon to pay attention to the other judges and when the camera returns to the Champion, Hop exclaims and jumps up and down in his seat all over again.

The pageant begins, curtains rising, and the contestants step onto the stage; the judges are strategically seated so they can get a good view. The contenders consist of tall and beautiful young women dressed in swimsuits with ribbons looped around their bodies detailing where they're from. There's Miss Postwick, Miss Wedgehurst, Miss Turrfield and so on.

Each and every single contestant proudly stride past the judges and Leon, waving cheerfully to the crowd with massive smiles on their faces. These ladies are extremely fit and slender, with lean bodies and not a single blemish on their body. Their high heels are a ridiculous height yet they have no difficulty as they perform the rehearsed routine with the dancers and Pokemon behind them.

It's a long show.

You plough through two gruelling hours with Hop and Leon's mum, going through three or so bags of popcorn altogether as each and every single contestant go through several montages; they are interviewed and questioned, receive the opportunity to show off their dresses and swimsuits, demonstrate their unique talents, talk about their goals and visions for Galar and soon it's time for the results, beginning with third place.

"Are you ready folks? It's time to reveal who our third runner up is!" exclaims one of the presenters and you are all on the edge of your seats as you await the result.

A red throne has been carried to the middle of the catwalk where the winner will sit. After the short drumroll, Miss Spikemuth is called out and the audience goes wild. A pale-skinned young woman with long and flowy jet black hair stalks over to the three-tiered podium where a man in a tuxedo with a ribbon and tiara is waiting for her. The camera shifts to Leon and the judges who clap for her.

"Congratulations, Miss Spikemuth! Now......second runner up....is-!!!"

"I hope it's Miss Ballonlea," you utter. "Her talent was very impressive."

"Yes, that flute recital was very enchanting," says Leon's mum.

"I hope she wins too," says Hop.

"Miss Ballonlea!!!"

You, Leon's mum and Hop whoop, then you all exchange a high five.

Miss Ballonlea, a blonde-haired woman, joins Miss Spikemuth on the opposite of the podium whilst crying incessantly.

"And finally, ladies and gentlemen, the moment you've all been waiting for...WHO will be this year's Miss Galar????"

The drumroll intensifies.

And the living room is quiet until-

"Miss Postwick! Miss Postwick!" cheers Leon's mum, whilst you're secretly rooting for Miss Wedgehurst to win.

"Ladies and gentlemen, the winner of this year's Miss Galar Beauty Pageant IS.........."

The suspense is killing you all.

"....MISS HULBURY!!!!"

A small fraction of the crowd who hail from the city cheer wildly as an extremely attractive young woman steps forwards, clasping both hands over her mouth in shock. Confetti is tossed over her and a fanfare plays; Leon and the remaining judges move to stand, clapping as she glances around the stage, awestruck and numb. The unsuccessful contestants clap, though some look a little annoyed by the results.

"Give it up for Miss Hulbury!!! Congratulations, your city must be very proud of you!" the TV presenter roars wildly into the microphone and he beckons her to join the other two crowned contestants, though she briefly steps on the podium for a few seconds or so before all the winners leave.

They head for the red throne though Miss Hulbury seats herself down and soon, you see Leon leaving his seat and heading for the stage.

This is the first time you've watched a Miss Galar Beauty Pageant and you're not sure what he's doing, but a whole shebang of awards are presented to Miss Hulbury consisting of a glistening silver tiara, a silver sceptre with the symbol of Galar, a ribbon and a red velvet cape that...looks similar to Leon's????

The tiara is carefully fastened atop her head by the young man in a tux and she is handed the jewel-encrusted silver sceptre. The ribbon is also fixed around her torso and Leon arrives at her side as the cape is looped over her shoulders; she looks at him and smiles.

The newly crowned Miss Galar rises to stand and joins the Champion, who offers his arm to her.

As you watch the scene unfold, you lean forwards in your seat, your eyes glued to the screen. Hop and Leon's mum swerve their gazes to you.

Background music begins to play and Wyndon stadium is alit with cheering and applause.

"There she is, Miss Galar...there she is, your ideal....the dream of a million girls who are more than pretty can come true in Wyndon City ~ " one of the presenters begins to sing, joined with a Clefable, with his arm out as the beautiful young woman strolls down the catwalk with sceptre in hand and her arm looped around Leon's, her cape fluttering with his.

You gape as they stride to one side of the catwalk and back, and it feels like the walk of eternity until they return to the middle and Leon pulls his arm away gently so she can return to the throne; they shake hands and she reclaims her seat on the red velvet chair, smiling and waving for the camera.

She blows a kiss, and the screen fades to black.

....

Meanwhile.

It’s night-time.

She discovers she’s standing underneath an old and large, derelict tower for some reason, damp and cold.

There’s a single thought running through her mind right now and it is quite simple: I want to go home.

Home.

Where is home?

….Motostoke….Twenty three…Dorset… Road…

Where is she?

Glancing around, she has no recognition of where she is nor does she recognise her surroundings.

However, the loud crow of a bird pokemon along with a rather frantic and anxious yell of “Miss, are you okay?” grabs her attentions and she glances up to the dark sky to see a Corviknight taxi landing before her. The windscreen wipers are switched on, the rubber blades squeaking against the glass as they swipe away the heavy rain in hypnotic fashion.

The cabbie hops off the vehicle, heavy-duty boots crunching over the squelchy mud as he holds onto his woolly trapper hat which is threatening to blow away in the wind.

“Good heavens, Miss, a-are you alright?” he squawks in alarm as he looks at her from head to toe. Even Corviknight seems perturbed by her appearance, his red eyes widening thoroughly.

“....Home,” she merely says as she settles her limp gaze on the little man, “I want to go home.”

“Uh, Miss, I think I outta take you to the nearest hospital…”

“Home,” she says again, blinking through the raindrops that batter her bedraggled form and pelt her eyelashes. “I want to go home.”

“Okay, where do you live? I’ll give you a ride,” the cabbie replies and he dashes to his carriage, climbs the ladder and returns to his perch atop his large steed.

“Motostoke,” she says, “Twenty three…..Dorset Road…”

"Got it, hop in!"

The cabbie watches her slip inside the empty, awaiting carriage and close the door. She sits rigidly in the chair, staring limply ahead of her.

On the small control panel of the cab, he locks the door, grabs onto the reigns of Corviknight and instructs the large bird to take off to the skies despite the heavy rain. A thunderstorm is in the making and the wind is reported to be over eighty miles per hour but he is undaunted. The cabbie braves the fierce storm and avoids some dangerous-looking clouds; Corviknight, being a seasoned flier with over eighty thousand miles or so of experience, isn’t shaken by the random bouts of lightning and the loud, overhead boom of thunder as they traverse the miserable sky.

He’s not supposed to fly in these conditions, but it doesn’t help that he was trying to get out of the storm and the Wild Area as quickly as possible after depositing a customer near North Lake Miloch and happened to see a blood-stained girl on the ground looking rather lost and dazed near the ruins of the old Watchtower.

However, he can’t shake off the feeling that there is something wrong with her.

She’s drenched in blood, covered in bruises, donned in raggedy clothing…she’s clearly shocked and confused and needs help.

He should report this, and once Motostoke looms into view, he finds the address the girl had stated and presses down on a button that links to the intercom inside the cab.

“Miss? We’re here.”

Awaiting for a response, he is however, greeted with silence and the occasional crackling of static.

He shrugs inwardly and directs Corviknight to land in front of a two-storey detached house with red bricks and a white door and the cab lands safely on the ground, a low but steady grumble emitting from the earth upon arrival. Immobile, he unlocks the cabbie door, climbs off his steed and down the ladder whilst the bird stretches his wings and shakes himself, sending huge droplets of water into the air.

The cabbie goes up to the door of the cab, peers through the window and proceeds to gasp loudly.

The interior of the cab is empty.

He flings the door open and pokes his head inside.

“S-she’s gone?!!” he cries, before he tears off his goggles as though determined to ensure that his old eyes were not playing tricks on him.

Summoned by the commotion outside and a random Corviknight taxi, the front door to the house of twenty three Dorset Road opens and a middle-aged woman and a teenage girl with a Sylveon peek out.

“….Can we help you?” the woman asks.

The cabbie gawks at the woman and lass and points frantically at his own cab. “The girl!!! The passenger!!! She’s gone!!! She asked to be taken to Motostoke, twenty three Dorset Road!!! I swear she was inside and never got out, the doors are automatically locked and only I can unlock or lock and the door alarm never went off, I-“

The pair blink numbly as he babbles and flails uncontrollably over the missing hitchhiker.

“…A girl?” asks the woman, after he gives up on trying to explain and pants and groans heavily.

He nods and takes off his hat, fanning himself. “Yeah!!! She had dark hair and-and she was covered all over in blood, she was all bruised and battered all over!!!! Never mind. Forget it, I-I’m sorry to bother you, ma’am.”

Shaking his head, he wonders who will pay for the cabbie ride. Most likely, it will be deducted from his wages.

However, the woman promptly bursts into tears and rushes back inside the house. The muffled sound of a door slamming can be heard.

The cabbie gawks for a moment or so before the teenage girl with the Sylveon leaves the doorstep of her house and strides up to him.

“That was my sister,” she says, “you’re not the only one to bring her home. Thanks.”

“H-huh?”

The girl digs a hand into her pocket and pulls out her purse, pulling out some frayed notes which she plops into his hand. “This should cover the taxi fare.”

...

[weirdponytail]

Modern Inheritance: Sleeping Arrangements/Hotel Pit Stop

(A/N: Some more traveling Eragon and Co. on their way to the Varden post Gil’ead. If it’s not apparent, the mad rush to the Varden mainly starts after ‘Judge You Not.’

There’s a lot of character interaction in this one, and I used it to build a little of the world, the relationships between characters, and dialogue rhythms. Again, this is an older MIC story {most of the stories posted en masse today are my earlier stories that I’ve built upon}, so I have changed a bit of the lore and tech levels, but I still enjoy the story.)

~~~

"Good evening, ma'am. Are there any rooms available?" Brom smiled at the desk attendant, ignoring her ill concealed disgust at the grime covering himself and the young men behind him. It wasn't the finest hotel in the world, but it was still cleaner than a roadside motel and had a nice touch of class to it for their higher rates.

It was the only place that still had the vacancy sign on, so Brom had grudgingly agreed to see if they had a room that could accommodate them. Everyone needed a boost in morale, and a night in a bed and a hot shower would do the trick to lift their spirits. It was isolated enough that it would take a long time for any soldiers to reach them if anyone recognized them, and Saphira was well hidden in the small forest nearby. She could respond to any danger and was far enough away to be virtually undetectable.

The clerk sighed and clicked a few keys on the bulky computer in front of her. "It's one-thirty-two Crowns for a two queen bedroom. Non-smoking." She glared at the pipe poking out of Brom's upper pocket. "Two hundred for cleaning fees if you smoke inside."

"I understand. Do you have a room with a window, by any chance?"

"It's ten extra Crowns." The woman all but sneered at him.

Behind him Brom heard Eragon shift, obviously upset about the clerk's clear plan of pocketing the extra money. Murtagh didn't react, his eyes constantly scanning the room and marking exits. He surreptitiously tugged the strap holding his holstered rifle a little lower, uneasy in the open lobby.

Brom nodded calmly despite the extra charge. "We'll take it. Do you have any roller beds so my boys don't have to split sheet? The kid kicks like a horse." Grumbling, the woman stood and pulled a folded up rolling cot, complete with a mattress and blankets, from the small room behind the desk. "Thank you."

Brom traded payment for the keys, extra bedding and toiletries and bid the sour attendant a good night. Murtagh grabbed the cot and the trio moved into the elevator, squeezing to one side to fit the roller bed in along with their packs. As the doors slid shut and they began ascending, Eragon leaned over to Brom. "How's Arya going to–"

"Shut up. Not here." Murtagh hissed, keeping his eyes forward. When Eragon shot him an annoyed glare, the older boy subtly gestured to the small camera in the corner. It's little red light was flashing.

The three exited the elevator in silence, quickly making their way to their room while checking as many exits as possible without arousing suspicion. Whenever he found a camera, Murtagh would point it out to Eragon and Brom as inconspicuously as he could. It would be best to keep out of the security tapes in case the soldiers came across the hotel after they left.

Upon finally reaching the room, Brom locked all the available bolts, chains and electronic locks he could as Murtagh unfolded the cot. Eragon checked the bathroom to make sure everything was in order, tested out the small A/C unit, then sat on the bed with a sigh.

"Now will you explain how Arya is going to get in here?" The boy asked, stretching tiredly. "Don't tell me she's going to stay out there with Saphira all night. She deserves a shower more than any of us."

Murtagh snorted, muttering something along the lines of the elf desperately needing one instead of deserving it, and pushed the cot into the corner so he would have a clear line of sight of both the door and the window from the side. Brom gestured to the aforementioned window, which was parallel to the bed Eragon was sitting on, and grunted, "Open that."

Perturbed, Eragon did as he was asked and opened the window fully, the metal frame bumping the outer wall. A humid breeze swept in, lending the room the scent of damp leaves and warm night air. The young Rider braced his hands on the sill and leaned out to breathe it in.

A soft series of scuffing noises were all the warning he had before Arya was suddenly staring him in the eyes, comfortably resting her chin on the sill as she crouched with her feet against the outer wall and sure fingers gripping the windowsill. "Well hello."

Eragon jerked back, startled. They were on the fourth floor. "How the hell did you just–"

"Fun fact, Eragon. On average my species can jump at least ten feet in the air when we put some effort into it." Eragon backed away from the window as the woman 'hopped' into a sitting position on the windowsill and then tumbled backwards into the room. "Don't gape. I parkoured most of it. It's forty bloody feet up, even we can't do that."

Brom tossed his bag on the bed closest to the door and started pulling off his coat. "Did anyone see you?"

Arya shook her head. "No. If they did, it was at a distance."

"Good thing we had you switch clothes." The old man grunted.

Before they had gotten within five leagues of the tiny roadside town, Brom had suggested the elf change out of her fatigues and into something a little less conspicuous.

Arya raised an eyebrow. "Yeah, great. I'll just change back into blood covered prison clothes. I'll be totally inconspicuous. Hell, I'll look like a human, because changing pants definitely changes the shape of my fucking ears. I’m not going to risk appearance magic, not with that damn drug in me still."

Murtagh scratched his stubbled chin, wanting to get back into civilization only long enough to start hating it again. "I might have an idea." He stepped up and put his back to hers, careful not to lean his weight against her covered injuries. With a flat hand the young man compared their heights and nodded in confirmation when he found only a miniscule difference between them. "We're pretty much the same height. I have some old jeans in my bag."

Meanwhile, Eragon was furiously digging in his backpack, searching for the winter clothes he had first set out on their journey wearing. He didn't want Murtagh being the only one to come up with something, not in front of Arya. Saphira snorted, teasing him quietly about it, but he ignored her and triumphantly pulled out what he had been looking for. "Here! This could at least cover your ears. It's not perfect, but it'll be good in a pinch."

Arya took the offered article and examined it before chuckling, "Actually, this is an old trick we used to do with Varden when we went drinking. Ah, the benefits of beanies." And she put it on, pulling the sides of the knit hat down to cover the most obvious marker of her race.

Dressed as she was, Arya looked almost no different from a human woman, if a bit on the angsty side. Dark loose jeans, grey hoodie, black shirt and a dark navy blue beanie tugged low over the tips of her pointed ears certainly gave her a brooding look, especially when leaning against the wall of a hotel and shooting glowering stares at anyone that even glanced at her. As long as no one got close enough to examine her facial structure, she would pass for human.

"Who wants to shower first?" Brom asked, already laying out a fresh shirt and a toothbrush on the bed. "Whoever does will be taking the laundry to the coin washer and gets to guard it once everyone is done."

When Arya shook her head and Eragon just shrugged, Murtagh stepped up. "Ah, I don't care. I'll go first if you don't want it, Brom."

"All yours." The old man gave him one of the extra mini toiletry kits he had bought. "Feel free to shave. There's a razor in there, fuzz face." Murtagh grunted, subconsciously passing a hand over his newly grown ragged stubble of a beard, and locked the door to the bathroom behind him. A few moments later the sound of the shower running drifted through the door.

Brom turned to Arya and tossed her the extra bedding he had picked up. "Here. Bandages. Better than nothing. You can use the comforter for padding the floor. If someone comes in to check it would be best if you're at least out of easy sight."

"Was planning on sleeping there anyway." She grabbed the comforter and gestured to the gap between one of the beds and the wall. "Do you mind if take the space next to your bed, Eragon?"

"Yeah, sure, go ahead." He smiled, happy that the elf had chosen to be closer to him than to Brom. "You can take some of the pillows too, I only need one." She nodded her thanks and threw her makeshift bedding down, padding over it in oblong, looping circles to settle the lumps before adding one of the pillows. "So, um...you said you used beanies when you were with the Varden to go out drinking. Don't they know you're an elf? I mean, they have to, right? Why can't you just go as is?"

Arya shrugged and sat next to him on the bed. Before answering, she unsheathed a mid-sized combat knife from the side of her boot and set about tearing the sheet Brom had given her into palm wide strips. "They know. And plenty of them are unsettled by us. It took a while to get used to the stares and the occasional...remark, I should say. When something is misunderstood, it is often feared, and going out for a drink in one of Farthen Dur's crowded bars with our ears clearly on display could turn the atmosphere from fun to awkward in a hot second." Finished with the sheet, the elf began rolling the makeshift bandages. "So, we started wearing beanies or hoodies to cover our ears. Everyone treated us as just another human unless we did something to tip them off, at which point we would leave."

Eragon frowned. It bothered him that even the Varden had people who were not fond of other races. 'If they don't trust elves, then what are they going to think of me and Saphira?' He subconsciously reached his mind out to Saphira, brushing against her sleeping thoughts to reassure himself. When his mind was calm again and he had confirmed that she was safe, he asked, "Doesn't it bother you, though? You're helping them, and you've fought for them. Don't they respect that? Haven't you at least tried change their minds?"

Arya leveled her gaze with his. "Oh, I tried at first. It led to more trouble than good. Some people already have their minds made up, Eragon. Out of the entire Varden, only a small percentage openly expressed any issue with me and my guards, and I'm sure there are more who keep their thoughts to themselves." She paused to tear the end of a partially rolled strip lengthwise a few inches with her teeth. "Besides, there are still people in the Varden who treated me as just another Vardenite. People have opinions. I can't let it affect how I act. I fight for the Varden as a whole, and if it costs me a night of drowning myself in dwarvish vodka, I'm okay with that."

"Don't give the boy any ideas." Brom chastised from his bed. He had found a current newspaper in one of the nightstand drawers and was scanning it for any information regarding the Varden, Urgals, Gil'ead, or Eragon and Saphira. "And no getting him drunk. Unless I'm there. Then, well...we'll see."

Arya waved him off. "I know, I know."

The shower cut off. Moments later Murtagh emerged from the bathroom, tendrils of steam clinging to his body and trailing him as the door opened. "Alright, who's next?" He was clean-shaven and wore a simple tshirt and a pair of basketball shorts, still rubbing his head of wild, damp hair with a small towel.

"You're up, kid." Arya clapped Eragon on the shoulder. He hopped up and grabbed a set of clothes that were decently clean and his portable music player before slipping inside the steam filled room and locking the door behind him. Seconds later the muffled chords of country music could be heard as the shower turned on.

Brom folded the paper in half and used it to swat Arya's arm. "When are you going to take your turn? You definitely need it. And I'm putting that lightly."

The elf chuckled. "Last. Trust me, I am going to destroy that shower. The closest I've gotten to being clean was splashing water on my face the last few days. It's been well over six months since I actually showered.

"Fair point."

Murtagh fell onto his roller bed with a contented sigh. "Now this is nice. Hot water, a place to clean our clothes, a locked door. And a bed!" He lifted his head slightly. "Do they have a radio? For such a price they should have at least put a telly in the room."

"I doubt it plays anything but official news and propaganda." Brom grunted, but still leaned over and hit the power button on the small radio clock that graced the bedside table. After a few garbled channels of static and scrolling through the entire range of signals, he finally found one that came in crystal clear.

"–nds the economic report. Here's Karl Yorgisson with the day's news."

Brom snorted. "Told you."

Arya waved him away from hitting the off switch. "Shush, I want to hear this."

"Thanks, Jason." Karl Yorgisson accepted the hand off. "Still no concrete news on the attack at the Gil'ead military base. Although it is confirmed by the base commander that the attack was carried out by Varden forces, it is unclear if any were captured after their defeat or if any escaped.

"We again advise that you keep your eyes peeled for any faces you have seen on watch boards. Remember, not only is there a sizable reward for information, there is also the pride that comes with defending your King and country from the insidious terrorists that lurk in our midst.

"In other news, we have a new addition to our team! Rebecca Jayasdaughter is to be joining us for her first broadcast on–"

Brom hit the switch when no other news concerning their activities was forthcoming. "Well, that's good. They're not willing to admit that we slipped past them. That means they can't inform the general public about us or why they're searching for us."

"Attacked Gil'ead my arse." Murtagh grumbled, eyes closed and arms folded behind his head. "I climbed in through the bloody garbage chute. Could have at least called it a hostile intrusion or sabotage. We don't need the attention of being labeled dangerous attackers, period."

"Saphira told me she ripped the entire roof off their state dining hall. They can't cover up that amount of damage quick enough to pass it off as a single man stealth intrusion." Arya pointed out. "Besides, they'll blame it on an elvish raiding party sooner or later. They always do if the town is near Du Weldenvarden."

Murtagh frowned, confused, yet still refused to open his tired eyes. "Wait…. You're telling me that the reports of elvish raiding parties…?"

"Never happened?" The elf looked at him with genuine surprise and what appeared to be a touch of insult, aghast that he thought the stories were true. "Of course they never happened! We don't send out random raiding parties! Glen, Fäolin and I were the only elves to leave the forest since my race retreated there." She shook her head, shocked that he had actually believed the propaganda. "Honestly! It's too risky to send little groups out like that to attack directly, what if one of our fighters were captured!"

The young man cracked open one eye and lifted his head to raise an eyebrow at Arya. "Oh? So, you were just visiting Gil'ead and managed to lock yourself in a cell? The men you were with just fell on their guns, is that it?"

"That is different." Arya snarled. Brom glanced at her, mildly startled by her tone, then turned back to leafing through the phone book and wishing he had brought at least one of his prized lore tomes with him on this harebrained journey. "We weren't attacking, we were in the fringes of Du Weldenvarden. Someone in the Varden betrayed us. That betrayal led to the death of my fyrn breoal. I'd prefer it if you didn't make quips about it."

"I apologize." Murtagh dipped his head in her direction as best he could, his words truly sincere. Losing friends to the King was something he was very familiar with. "It was in bad taste."

Arya rubbed her temples and braced her elbows on her knees, shoulders tense. "Apology accepted. I shouldn't have snapped."

Murtagh shrugged. "Eh. Natural response." The room was quiet for a time, the only sound being the rustle of Brom now flipping through the holy book from the desk, the light patter of the shower, Eragon's off key humming, and country music. Then, "What's a frin br… fyrn bri…."

"Fyrn breoal. Means war family in the Ancient Language." Brom answered gruffly. Despite the no smoking designation, he pulled his pipe from his discarded jacket and clamped it firmly in his teeth. "Elves who fight often use it to describe their battle buddies. Only the closest knit groups use the term." He jerked his chin in Arya's direction. "If I'm not mistaken, that is."

The elf nodded, fiddling with one of the remaining bandages. She was weaving it over and between her fingers, trying to keep her hands busy. "Glen and Faölin were my fyrn darmthrelli, my war brothers. We fought for the Varden together for decades."

"I'm sorry for your loss."

Arya's jaw tightened slightly. "Shit happens in war. We all lose people. We fight even harder in their memory." She unwound the bandage and then looped the tail around her thumb again, beginning anew.

Murtagh mulled over the new words he had learned, again letting the atmosphere lapse into silence. It wasn't exactly a comfortable one, a little too heavy to be called that, but it was easy enough to be called content. The three currently inhabiting the room were all comfortable with reflecting on their own thoughts without feeling the urge to shatter the silence. Murtagh respected that of Brom and Arya, and was glad that they, too, seemed to respect his quiet.

'Fyrn breoal. Tornac was my fyrn breoal, then. I guess he would be my war father. Too old to be a war brother.' Murtagh's heavy lidded eyes wandered the room. 'I wonder what he would have thought of all this. Eragon, Saphira, Brom and Arya. Agh, Bloody hell, he'd probably lash me silly for agreeing to go to the Varden and trusting strangers like this.' The thought brought a sleepy grin to his face, and his eyes drifted closed.

"Oi. Don't sleep yet. You have to do laundry." Brom snapped when he saw the young man drifting off.

It didn't even phase Murtagh, who just rolled onto his side and mumbled, "Then wake me up when it's ready to be done." and nuzzled his face deeper into his pillow.

It didn't take long for his breathing to even out and his body to relax. Arya nudged the end of the bed with her foot and shook her head when Murtagh only mumbled and groggily waved her off.

"I can do the laundry. Should probably let the guy sleep." She offered when Brom made an annoyed noise at the young man's reaction.

"Can't have you wandering around out there." Brom shifted his pipe from one side of his mouth to the other. "If you run into someone who have any education from the army, it could get ugly fast."

"So I'm pretty much useless at this point in time?" Arya asked dryly. "Dear me, I'm in a room where I can't leave. Out of one jail and into another."

"Don't get all brooding on me, girl. Once your clothes are washed you can change out of Murtagh's and maybe the angst will wear off." The elf chuckled at that, and Brom flipped the holy book closed with a definitive snap. "Bloody hell, why is Eragon taking so long?"

The old man stood and went over to the bathroom door. He paused, glanced at Arya, and a bit of a mischievous glint came to his eyes. The elf raised an eyebrow. "Oh stars, I know that look. What are you planning?"

Brom only grinned and shoved his pipe into his pocket before raising his fist and banging on the door, yelling, "Eragon! What the HELL is taking so long?! You had better not be doing what I think you're doing in there!"

There was the distinct sound of someone nearly falling on their ass in a wet shower and sputtered curses. "I'll be done in a minute!"

"Cold water works wonders, boy! Hurry up!"

As Brom returned to his bed Arya swatted him on the arm. "He's a teenage boy. He needs his alone time." She, too, was trying to hold back laughter. "Better he do that in there than when he thinks we're all asleep."

"He should have thought of 'alone time' before he left Carvahall." Brom shot back, but was still grinning from ear to ear. "And trust me, you don't get alone time with a bonded dragon in your mind."

"Poor Saphira!"

The shower squeaked off and Eragon came out, his face and the tips of his tapering ears bright red. He was wearing a pair of long pajama pants and a loose t-shirt with the sleeves cut off.

"You could have just told me to hurry up." The boy grumbled, shooting Brom a moody glare.

Brom nodded with a chuckle. "Aye, but then you wouldn't have actually gotten out right when I asked."

"Well, I wasn't–" His face went an even deeper shade of red when he realized Arya was still awake and watching him, bemused. "I wouldn't do that with people in the next…. I just like hot showers, okay?" Pink blotches started appearing on his neck, collarbones and shoulders as he blushed furiously.

"Hey, I'm not saying anything." Arya put her hands up. "What you do in the shower is none of my business."

Brom grabbed his fresh clothes and brushed by the younger Rider. "You can sleep now, boy. No watches tonight. Put your dirty clothes next to Murtagh's."

Still red, Eragon placed his travel clothes next to the small pile Murtagh had made and sat on his bed. Arya was stretched out on the other side, leaning against the headboard, and was flipping through the holy book Brom had abandoned. She didn't seem to be reading it, just turning the pages to give herself something to do.

"You alright with me here until Brom gets out? I can move to his bed if you want me to." She asked as the Eragon wiggled underneath the tightly tucked sheets and blanket.

"No, it's okay. I don't mind." He attempted to adjust the pile of pillows behind his head and, giving up, pulled one out and tossed it at Murtagh. The sleeping man grumbled, kicking the pillow off his legs, and raised a middle finger in Eragon's general direction. "If you...um...if you don't want to sleep on the floor we could...you know, split sheet."

Eragon's ears flared a deep maroon as Arya let out a soft laugh. "Thanks, but I need to be out of general sight if anyone comes in. People would wonder why three people checked in and suddenly a fourth person appeared. Bed blocks the view of my little hideout." The Rider mumbled a 'good point' and tried to ignore the glimmer of amusement in the elf's dark eyes. "Is Saphira doing alright out there?"

"Yeah. She's asleep." Glad for the change in topic, Eragon busied himself with plugging his music player into the complimentary charger on the bedside table and wrapped his headphones around it carefully. "I think she's a little glad for the time alone. She grew up in the woods near my farm after she hatched, and since we started traveling with Murtagh I think she's been missing the solitude, not to mention a chance to sleep for a full night."

A slight smile tilted the corners of Arya's lips as she turned another page. "I think we've all earned a little rest."

Eragon nodded in agreement, punctuated by a wide yawn. The hot shower had made him drowsy on top of being bone tired. Coupled with the soft pillows, warm blankets, Saphira's sleeping thoughts and the safety of the walls around him, the boy found himself already drifting off. "Yeah." He murmured, eyelids drooping closed. "G'night, Arya."

"Good night, kid."

As Eragon dropped off, the elf gently settled the holy book on the bed and slipped down onto her makeshift mattress to begin preparing for her own turn in the shower. She released her braid and combed out the snarls in her hair, wiped off what bits of blood and grime that she could with a scrap of shredded sheet, and put her dirty fatigues on the pile near Murtagh's bed. When Brom stepped out, beard and mustache neatly clipped, he found Arya waiting quietly next to the door with the last package of toiletries and a fresh towel in her lap.

"Take as long as you want." Brom grunted, jerking his head towards the shower and flinging out a few water droplets from his still damp hair. "I'm sending Murtagh to do laundry and then heading to sleep."

"I'll try not to destroy the entire hotel's hot water supply." Arya grinned wryly as she stood. "I'll wake you if anything concerning happens."

~~~

Arya shut off the water and watched the last dregs slide down the drain. It had taken ten minutes of soap, scrubbing and hot water to get the water flowing off her body to run lighter than dark grey. Another ten minutes saw it finally run clear, and five minutes under shockingly cold spray soothed the vicious burning in her healing wounds and scars. She shook herself and wrung out her hair as much as she could before stepping out and grabbing a towel.

A few brief minutes later she was again clothed in her borrowed jeans and her sports bra, and she stepped out of the bathroom. A quick check confirmed that Murtagh had not yet returned. He slipped inside just as the elf was tying off the last strip of bandage around her leg, the rest of the shredded sheet already wrapped around her torso.

"Heads up." Murtagh grunted, tossing Arya her fatigues. She muttered her thanks, feeling the effects of the hot shower sinking in. "Good night, Arya."

"'Night, Murtagh." The young man hit the last light before tumbling onto his roller bed with the 'whumph' of a relieved sigh. After a quick last look around the room to ensure everyone was accounted for, Arya followed suit.

No one dreamed. They just slept.

~~~

Eragon tore the covers off as a shrill alarm stabbed into his ears. For a confusing moment lights and sound blinded him. He threw his mind out to Saphira to see through her eyes, only to remember that she was a league away, hiding in the woods. He felt her wake and surge to her feet, his panic alarming her.

A swarm of curses in various languages assaulted him as he finally began to register his surroundings.

They were still in the hotel room, but the standard fire alarm on the wall was alive with flashing lights and mind shattering sound. To his right Brom was shoving the small pile of his clean clothes in his travel bag, swearing in a mildly familiar, old tribal dialect of the Spine. To Eragon's left, Arya was already zipping Murtagh's borrowed jacket up to cover the makeshift bandages on her torso, not even bothering with a shirt as she threw her fatigues onto her unzipped combat jacket. She zipped it, wrapped it up and clamped a spare blade harness strap around it before slinging the bundle across her back by the tied together sleeves and tore the window open. Eragon swore he heard her hissing choice words in the Ancient Language, but the intonation and inflections were markedly different.

Of all of them, Murtagh appeared to be the least disturbed by the noise. He sat lacing up his boots, already clothed in his travel gear, and his previously covered rifle was laid out on the bed within arms reach. As he picked the weapon up and chambered the first round Eragon realized the man was swearing in a steady monotone, never once reusing a word. When he seemed to run out of words in the common human language, he switched to what Eragon gathered was a dialect from his local hometown. His vocabulary was impressive to say the least.

"What the bloody hell is happening?" Eragon asked, snatching up his gear. He felt the distinct tickle of Saphira using his ears to hear the answer, her body tensing as she prepared to race to his aid.

Brom shoved the clip on the top of his bag together with a hurried snap. "From what I can gather, the desk clerk told her replacement about us and they checked the front tapes. They recognized at least one of us and they're setting up the local garrison outside the doors as we speak."

Murtagh's muttered swearing filled the brief gap in conversation. "Faigh muin, deoghail am fallus bhàrr duine mharbh siadha tiadhan, cao–"

Eragon ignored him and haphazardly threw his clothing into his backpack, yanking on the zipper when it refused to close all the way. "What's the alarm about then?" He checked that Zar'roc's hilt and pommel were still wrapped, concealing the gem and shining grip, then strapped the blade on his hip.

"They're trying to lure us to the emergency exit." Brom growled. "Tell Saphira to keep out of sight unless absolutely necessary. We still have a chance get out of here without letting them see her."

'There won't be anything to see if I eat them all.' The dragon hissed in response. Eragon's jaw twinged as she snapped her teeth in frustration. 'I'll decide when to be seen. Just hurry up. I can smell a reinforcement company approaching.'

Eragon relayed her message. The speed of Murtagh's swearing increased while even Brom let out a particularly foul word. "How are we getting out?" The younger Rider asked. "We can't go out and we can't go up without having Saphira try to fly us out, and she can't carry four people."

"Theta Rescue." Arya grabbed Eragon's backpack before he could pick it up. "Or as I like to call it unofficially, 'The Reversed Cliché.'" She threw his bag out the window, ignoring his cry of confusion.

"Only if you're up for it." Brom threw his bag to her, and she repeated the process. Murtagh calmly handed his over with a polite nod and a swear that Arya must have recognized, for she snapped back at him with a word of her own. "It's quite a drop, even for you. The added weight won't help."

"No alternative I can see. Unless you want to tie together bed sheets." Her head cocked to the side. "They're sweeping the floor below us."

"Theta it is." Brom set himself up behind the wall near the door. "Lightest first, heaviest last. Eragon, Murtagh, you both are going to do exactly as Arya says, when she says you do it. Order is Eragon, me, then you Murtagh."

"Wait, what's happening?" Eragon asked as Arya grabbed his arm and pulled him to the window. "What are you doing?"

Arya flashed him a grin that didn't reach her now flinty eyes. "Don't worry. All you have to do is trust me. And don't wiggle."

"Wigg–" Eragon was cut off as the elf ducked and suddenly swept him off his feet in a fireman's carry. He only had time to spit out a quick "Oh Sweet Sara–" before Arya jumped out the window.

~~~

Half an hour later found the group galloping past the stand of trees where Saphira had hidden. The dragon leapt over their heads and snapped her wings out, startling the horses. 'On the road again, Little One?' She asked, gaining altitude to circle above them.

'On the road again.' Eragon affirmed, letting their thoughts mingle and intertwine in a way that the distance had previously made difficult. He felt her joy of flight and relief at being reunited, but also her displeasure. The close call had further confirmed her theory that he was a magnet for trouble. 'I'm going to hear about this later, aren't I?'

The dragon chuffed, the odd sound resonating through their mental link. 'You're just lucky Brom has a good head on his shoulders.' With that she drove her wings down, shooting up another hundred feet. 'You will fly with me today.'

'Yes ma'am.' Eragon smiled and Saphira crowed her jubilation to the sky.

Dust billowed from the horse's hooves as they continued on their journey. It was good to be on the road again.

[stefciastark]

Metal Arm ~ Webpril Day 7

A/N: Here is Part 1 of what will be a 2 part mini-story. Doombots threaten Manhattan, but with a significantly reduced team and some bad luck, things don't go so smoothly for Peter. It only briefly touches on the 'metal arm' prompt, but this is also inspired by a request from Hannah on AO3 to write a bit of 'post-battle injured Peter hides his injury and won't admit anything is wrong.' I'm really excited to write Part 2 tomorrow, had a lot of fun writing this first part!

~Read on AO3

~Read on FFN

Peter had never really been strangled, yet today it had happened not twice, not thrice, but it was bordering on his fourth time being on the receiving end of a chokehold. The Doombot cutting off his air circulation ended up being at the wrong place at the wrong time however, as three out of its four limbs were obliterated and sent to mecha-heaven. All except the one heavily bicep-ed metal arm that clung to his throat like shit to a shovel.

“Get. OFF,” he gritted through his teeth, tearing the appendage off of his throat and tossing what was now just a torso, head and forelimb onto the growing pile of Doom scrap metal.

He had to take a breather for a moment and remind himself that these were robots and not real people. Despite how convinced their A.Is were that they were in fact the real Doctor Doom, their suicide missions were nothing more than a result of malevolent - albeit skilled - programming.

“You good, kid?” The Ironman suit hovered a few feet away from Peter, appearing to dance slightly in the air as Peter’s brain started playing ‘catchup’ with oxygen. He felt himself nodding in response, muting his comms momentarily so that what was present of the Avengers wouldn’t hear his breathing; he was pretty sure the exhaust pipe on the old Vauxhall Cavalier his uncle used to own sounded healthier.

The team was small today; Thor was offworld, Bruce didn’t feel like having another near miss after almost levelling another city during an incident the week prior near Seattle, and Clint was - as Tony put it - too busy ‘playing house’ in the country. That left Tony, Peter, and Natasha Romanoff on the mission. Peter was unsure whether to call her Nat, Romanoff, or use her Black Widow alias, and instead anxiously settled for using none of the above and simply avoided using any moniker to address her whatsoever. It had worked out for him well so far.

While it was by no means a three person job, they would have to make do, and so far, they were making...something happen. The showdown had initially begun in Hell’s Kitchen and was progressively and concerningly migrating towards the Lower East Side. The closer the action got to the east side of Manhattan, the closer it got to Brooklyn, and the closer it got to Brooklyn, the more there was a chance of the threat moving to Queens, and Peter wanted to keep the rough and tumble away from his neck of the woods if he could. So far they had left in their wake twelve office buildings turned to rubble, eleven burst sewer pipes, and at least ten separate fires that he was pretty sure were still burning. All they needed now were nine civilian casualties and they were almost halfway to rewriting ‘The Twelve Days of Christmas’.

Tony didn’t have time to follow up with Peter’s uncharacteristic lack of a verbal response as two Doombots that had split from the herd attached themselves to the red and gold armour, their green capes combining with the suit to make a metallic caricature of a Christmas tree. Tony had a whole three seconds of warning before their self-destruct protocols were activated, and everything within a 300-foot radius erupted in a shower of rubble, flames, and smoke.

The suit - for the most part - diminished Tony’s impact with the building adjacent to the Tenement Museum. Peter didn’t quite have the luxury of inches-thick armour, and as he sailed diagonally across Delancey St through the glass window of Double Chicken Please, he made a personal vow to make them his new go-to fried chicken joint as a form of apology.

“Stark, was that you?” Nat (Peter decided that was the name he felt most comfortable with) queried over the comms, the distant sound of shots being fired and the purring motorcycle beneath her leaking into the background.

A stream of expletives from the man in question poured in through his suit’s speakers. Peter found it funny that if it were anyone but Tony in any other situation other than their current predicament, the frankly obscene amounts of swearing would be concerning.

“How many left on your end, Rushman?” There was a groan and the uncomfortably familiar sound of shifting rubble. “I think we’ve just about wrapped up here.”

Peter had been working on gently extricating himself from where he lay in a supine position behind the bar, struggling to hold onto consciousness through a haze of pain. The wall between Double Chicken Please and Subway had collapsed, half of it inconsiderately laying across his chest. He noted wryly that he didn’t expect himself to be battling unconsciousness behind a bar until he was at least twenty-one, yet here he was, five years too early.

A large bang went off from what sounded like only a block away, which was then followed by a moment of complete and utter stillness.

“I think our last guests just left the party,” offered as an explanation from Nat, finally breaking the silence.

“Don’t you hate it when you have company and they don’t even offer to help clean up? I am sickened by the youth of today.” Tony had managed to disentangle himself from what could now barely be called a building. The engineer was able to identify the date of manufacture on the most recent wave of Doombots - they were only three months old. “Speaking of, Spiderling, let’s get this cleaned up. I have a date with takeaway and my favourite sweatpants waiting for me at home.”

“Try not to wreck any more buildings while I’m gone, boys,” Nat said, immediately beginning her commute to the Avengers facility.

Natasha had become the face of the Avengers during the inevitable PR followups that seemed to accompany any and every brush with threat since the Chitauri attack on New York. She was level-headed and presented well, and so far had the least amount of tallies on the “PR Fuck-ups” chart that hung in the communal kitchen in place of a calendar. It was the team’s personal inside joke that S.H.I.E.L.D didn’t approve of, which of course made them double down their efforts if it meant ruffling Nick Fury’s feathers.

“Try not to wreck my public image, it’s what funds those luxury bath bombs you keep ordering,” Tony shot back, no venom in his teasing words.

Peter was otherwise occupied during his teammates’ little exchange. He had his arms arranged in an upside down tricep pushup position, palms pressing against the sizable concrete slab that occupied the space from his waist to his sternum. As he lifted the offending cement off of him, he very nearly dropped it back down as the air rushed out of his lungs. Something in his chest shifted sickeningly, followed by a stabbing pain that burned everything from his ribs to his airways. Failure never an option, he persevered, relieved when the hunk of wall finally slid gracelessly down the pile of debris.

He thought having a literal chunk of concrete off his chest would feel better.

“Pete?” His name was said with such a mixture of impatience, exhaustion, and concern that Peter found his nerves standing on red alert. This would be the first hour of many on cleanup duties

Taking a wavering breath, afraid to breathe too deeply, he steadied his voice and activated his comms. “Sure thing Mr Stark, on my way!”

Peter winced; he definitely overdid it on the enthusiasm. With every step he took his discomfort grew until the pain from his chest radiated down to his hips and he had to stop himself from hunching over and limping his way back to the Delancey St intersection. There were only two of them now, a whole lot of city to tidy up, and not a whole lot of time to spend fussing over what was probably just some deep tissue bruising. Plus, this was his first call to action since July, and it was now approaching the end of November.

Bracing himself for the amount of suckthe next few hours would entail, he gritted his teeth against the throbbing that rolled like waves from deep within his chest, and prepared to put on his best Oscar-worthy performance he’d titled: “I’m Fine - A Teenager’s Pledge”.

There was no way he was going to let Tony down.

A/N: There we have it! Things didn't go so smoothly for Peter, and I know he has superior healing and all but this poor boy needs some more safety built into his suit. Tomorrow will be the Part 2 fill for this mini-story, so check back in for the concluding part :) Thank you for all your continued support, kudos, and comments. Please feel free to send any fic requests into my Asks! Sending hugs to you all <3

[starr-fall-knight-rise]

Humans are Space Orcs “Behind Bars”

WARNING: VIEWER DISCRETION IS ADVISED.

Guys This is the beginning of an interesting new mini series that may deal with some pretty heavy stuff since it takes place in a human prison. If you think there is ANY chance you could be bothered or offended by the topics I might cover, than now is a good time not to read this. I am not going to go through and make a list of all the potential things you may not like, so I deffer to your own judgement of yourself to determine what is good for you.

Also another little side note, the way I portray law enforcement in this is in no way how I feel about them. I have close family member in law enforcement and respect the hell out of them, but the way I did it was done to serve the story, so just keep that in mind. 

For those of you who choose to read it, I hope it’s interesting :) 

“Gah, this place is a dump.” 

“Yeah, just be glad you can’t smell it.”

“Why is that?”

“Urine, lots and lots of urine.”

“Ah, lovely.” Krill muttered making his next movements very tender against the dark clattering metal as if he could avoid stepping in anything unsavory. Beside him, a rather scruffy human appeared from the shadows, “scruffy” with an overgrown haircut, five o-clock shadow, eyepatch and an army jacket that had seen better days.

Commander Vir blended in surprisingly well with the grungy understreets of noctropolis. The city was Less of a city, and more like a series of tunnels bridges and rickety buildings built on and into the side of a cavernous rift in the ground. Once upon a time, the Tesraki had begun serious mining operations on the border moon’s surface causing some serious scars in the landscape which was then filled with the teaming underground life that the most unsavory humans bring with them. 

Noctopolis was located on the furthest edge of the Milky Way galaxy, and seeing as the GA was based out of Andromeda, it was a very difficult moon to police. The UNSC had attempted to take over operations on the moon but had found only limited success considering their military had only been operating in space for the past few years. They didn’t have enough manpower to undergo such an operation, so the moon itself was left mostly unpoliced. Since then it had become home to the most unsavory of the Tesraki, the Drev, and the humans having enough economically or emotionally in common that they at least tolerated each other. 

What understanding they had of the border moon had begun with the banning of interspecies relationships almost a year past. Since Noctopolis wasn’t particularly well policed, may counter culture groups had made their home here. While many of them were decent people attempting a little privacy away from the eyes of the law, other less savory groups had taken an opportunity to stake their claim.

The streets about them were littered with trash and abandoned cardboard and metal scraps. Their greatest source of light leaked down from the lively redlight district above, not only called that because of what it offered, but because it actually did bost a series of bright neon lights that could be seen across the city.

“Wanna tell me why I’m here again. This is kind of a Sunny and Vir thing.”

Commander Vir propped himself casually up against a wall slouching inside his jacket collar turned up against the sour wind blowing up from the cavern vanishing into darkness below, “Sunny had to finish requisitioning our new weapons system, besides, i thought it was about time you and I hung out. We haven't done anything together as friends in a while.” 

“Ah yes, just how I prefer social bonding, Loitering through piss covered streets with an eyeless legless hobo.”

“Rude.” The human muttered glancing quickly around a corner.

Krill let the question drop instead moving onto the next topic of conversation, “Wanna tell me why we aren’t working with local law enforcement?”

The human dodged past a leaking pipe and the resulting black puddle, “Well there are a few reasons. If I plan on getting close to this drug ring, or even the suppliers, I can't have the smell of the feds one me, second is that the policing system here is only partially overseen by the UN, mostly they supply their own officers and their own laws. There are serious rumors about law enforcement corruption, but that can be expected considering the kind of people that hang out here. And then there is the issue of ease of access to fingerprinting and DNA systems. Mine have been temporarily removed from the system for this operation because the dealers tend to check before the sell, but if i was working with local law enforcement my identity might be leaked.”

Together they stepped onto one of the rickety bridges spanning the cavern. Krill tried not to look down into the gaping bottomless chasm spanning downwards into darkness tinted with the red haze cast from the neon reflection of the city.

“Why is this such a big deal anyway. Why waste you on a project like this.”

Commander Vir stepped off the edge of the bridge holding it steady for Krill as he followed.

“Because this guys are linked to the human hormone market.” Krill was a bit surprised. He had heard about the issue months ago. Certain species, the Tesraki and the Drev especially had neurotransmitter systems similar to that of a human, though somewhat dampened and were affected by the use of injected dopamine and adrenaline. On the street they had taken names like Dopie, Daddy, Addie, Joy Juice, and some other strange names. The biggest issue with the use of human chemicals as drugs is that even a single dose of the stuff could fry the circuits for any nonhuman taken in any sort of significant dose. In humans it occasionally meant sickness or even mental illness, but in aliens it could mean permanent flat affect or the inability to feel fear. The other issue was how the dealers got it, usually it involved kidnapping and harvesting the chemicals from humans, since many times the analogue drugs humans made for themselves didn't have an effect on aliens.

Krill shivered at the thought, and stepped through a tight alleyway just ahead of the Commander, who had to turn sideways to fit through the narrow space. He didn’t like fieldwork, at all, but having a human with you was one way to make you feel safe. The only creature that a human might not be able to fight off was a Drev, but even then there was still a possibility.

Together they cut across another street and towards their destination. They had managed to squeeze some information from the only informant still alive on the street, and that had been an address. At the back of the property they found a door padlocked shut though it had recently been cut.

Commander Vir held open the door and shoved inwards leading them into a long, dark hallway lined with debris. Krill stayed behind him as they made their way into the darkness jumping at every sound.

Ahead of him, the commander had removed an energy pistol from the band of his pants. Krill didn’t bother to point out to him, that it was difficult to believe he wasn’t law enforcement when he handled a weapon like that.

He held Krill back and then nudged one of the doors inward clearing the room with a quick sweep from corner to corner even stepping out to check behind the door. Krill peered in as the Commander grunted, “Just what we were looking for.”

Krill peered around his legs and then paused, “Uh….” The room was filled from floor to ceiling with strange glowing tanks of liquid a pale greenish in color. The ambient light gave the room a rather eerie glow. A glow that highlighted the strange instruments and free floating tubes with sinister intent. Nothing was currently in the tanks, but Krill shivered knowing what they would have held if they had been filled.

Human bodies.

The tanks cast much of the room into shadow, and Commander Vir took cover crouching behind one of the tank consoles. Krill followed him taking cover behind the human’s back. He didn't see what the man was so worried about there was one here. The human tilted his head listening intently scanning around the room. Krill was just beginning to speak when the man pushed him back hissing, “RUN!”

But before he could even take a step in another direction, he saw a flicker at the side of the room, and commander vir was lit up with at least ten points of green light all trained on his chest.

“GET ON THE GROUND.”

“PUT YOUR HANDS UP.”

“DROP THE GUN.”

“DON’T MOVE.”

Commander Vir reacted while Krill was still on the floor standing from behind his cover and stepping into the room. The Energy pistol clattered to the floor as he held his hands out to his sides.

“GET ON THE GROUND!”

Lights flashed all around them, and the room was illuminated by a painful burst of light and an eruption of movement. Men appeared from nowhere dressed in black tactical gear, faces and eyes completely obscured. Commander Vir was thrown face first onto the floor with at least three kneeling on his back.

Two came after Krill who squealed, to high pitched to be heard by the humans.

“GIVE US YOUR HAND!”

“GAH! Yes, yes just stop pulling and I will!. Shit…. I’m lying on it, let me up for a- OUCH!” From where he was being pinned to a wall, krill heard the ratcheting of handcuffs momentarily surprised not to hear the initiation of energy restraints.

“Shit, that's really tight…. Ahh… I can’t feel my hands.”

“STOP RESISTING.”

“I'M NOT RESISTING, I HAVE A PROSTHETIC AND YOUR STEPPING ON IT!”  That didn’t do him much good as Krill heard the sharp thud, crack of someone being hit over the head. Krill understood what the captain meant about NOT being policed by the UN. Krill had meat peace officers on earth before, and while they could act the same, they generally had reason be reasonable to them and they would probably be polite to you.

Commander Vir was dragged to his feet hands wrenched painfully behind his back and pinned against the wall as they searched him, “Anything on you gonna poke me or stick me.”

“No, no.”

“You got ID?”

Commander Vir paused, “I…. well no.” One of the other officers ran a scanning device over his body, but it beeped negative.

“No implants.” Krill cursed internally…. They should have thought about that when they temporarily cancelled his ID….

“No ID, you know that’s illegal, don’t you.” The one officer said, sticking his hand into another pocket.

“I can explain. I work WITH you guys I-”

“No badge, no ID ... and ah, what is this.” Krill felt his heart sink as he watched the man pull the Adrenaline and dopamine sample from the Commander’s pocket. He held it up in front of the Commander's face, “And what is this.”

“That…. Isn’t mine.” He said lamely

The man pulled down the front of his mask one eyebrow raised, “Ah not yours eh…. Let me guess these are your friends pants, and you’re just borrowing them. You had no idea they were there. Oh oh, I know, you were just delivering them for a friend you don’t know what they actually are.” He reached into another pocket, “Oh and what is this.” Commander Vir groaned and leaned his head against the wall.

The small baggie of white powder was held up before him, “What is this gonna be, Cocaine, Meth, Heroine. You been trading a little Addie for a fix.”

In fact they actually HAD traded the drugs for information, along with a tracking device. Humans can’t use dopamine and adrenaline like other species can, so they traded it for the classic stuff.

“You can test me, I’m not high, I’m not a drug addict, I am also not who you think I am.”

“And who are you?” 

“My name is Commander Adam Vir with the UNSC. I was sent here to HELP.”

They did not seem in any way convinced, “You have proof of that “Commander”. Look I saw the guy once, and he wasn’t half as fugly as you, also he was taller.”

Commander Vir yelped in indignation as they began patting him down for the second time, “Who you calling fugly you-” He bit his tongue, “I’m sorry OFFICER but I had my implants discontinued for this operation. Just look at me I’m missing an eye and a leg and im 6,2 just like the man you say I’m not, and I also let my hair grow out. GIve me five minutes on the phone and I’ll call my superiors for you.” 

“Uh huh, because they’d have the fleet commander down here crawling through the dirt after narcos and tweakers. This is the army officers sit behind their nice shiny desks and let other men die for them.” Commander Vir was pulled away from the wall, “What are you his junki cousin, a brother?”

“I told you who I am.”

“Someone check the bug, see if he has ID.”

Krill stiffened as a wand was run over him, “Nothing sir. That’s strange, usually don’t see their kind around here.”

“I get my phone call, don’t I.”

“What do you think this is the 2000s. The hormone crisis is a level 5 threat, and we are not obligated to provide you with anything.”

“I'm pretty sure I still get a lawyer.” 

Commander Vir was hauled to his feet and marched bodily towards the door, “Yeah but you'll have to get one flown in unless you want a Tesraki, and I wouldn't trust one of those bastards as far as I can throw them…. Uh disgusting little bats.”  Commander Vir seemed almost irked at the use of the slur. Humans had a habit of that, they had a slur for each of other species weather it be bug, beetle, bat, dino, or just the general use of the word freak.

They were dragged outside, and around to where the vehicles had been hidden. Commander tripped more than once over the cheap prosthetic he had used to augment his look, and every time he was dragged painfully back to his feet. Krill wasn’t treated much better though he only received one of the human officers. Krill were thrown in the back of a cruiser with bars and energy shields over the windows. Commander Vir was thrown against the front of the vehicle, “As of now, you'll be charged with the possession of illegal substance, intent to sell, failure to identify, unlawful possession of a firearm, and resisting arrest.”

“What! I didn’t resist, and I DID identify myself. It’s not my fault you won’t believe me.”

“Someone get a spit shield on him.”

“What, I.” He was pinned even more forcibly against the hood as a female officer secured, a GA issued muzzle over his face. They had developed those after realizing what human spit could do to certain species, and what the human voice could do to others. Once on, The officer flipped the dial, cutting off the Commander mid protest. 

Once done, he was thrown into the back with Krill gagged and restrained. Kril felt as if he was going to pass out, or just go right ahead and die. They had been captured by human authorities that even Commander Vir couldn’t talk down, and the ones that weren’t nearly as understanding as they were on earth. 

Things could only get worse.

[themenof--freeridge]

Witness (Part 3)

Pairing: Oscar Diaz x Female Reader

Summary: Reader witnessed Oscar’s first kill which solidified his fate as a Santo. Years later, they run into each other and Oscar immediately falls for the Reader, but the Reader remains extremely guarded and keeps her distance.

Requested?: From comments on previous post

Warnings:  None

A/N: This wasn’t planned to be a series, but a fewof you have requested it! Here’s Part Three; let me know if I should continue 😊

Part 1 Part 2

**Non-canon Storyline**

The weekend meant one main thing for adults: grocery shopping. Unfortunately for her, the weekends also meant busy stores and loud children. Nevertheless, she was running low on basic cooking spices and snacks.  

Y/N pushed the rickety grocery cart through the aisles, browsing at items she never bought and wondering how the workers kept up with the expiration dates of all the items in the store.  

Finally, she arrived at the snack aisle and parked her trolley directly opposite the family-sized bags of potato chips. She looked at the top shelf, where her favorite flavored chips were: salt and vinegar. She already knew she was too short to reach the top, but that didn’t stop her from doing mini-jumps to prove such to herself. After a few jumps and useless stretches, she was about to give up and move onto another snack.  

On her last stretch, an arm appeared from behind her, moving to comfortably grasp the bag above her. Immediately, Y/N took a step away and turned to see the individual.

With even quicker regret, she now stood facing the Santo, Oscar Diaz. Silently, he smirked and tossed the bag of chips into her trolley.

Meeting his eyes, she said, “T-thanks.”

The Santo nodded and replied, “No prob. Don’t be afraid to ask for help next time.”

Y/N nodded and resumed her spot behind the trolley, eager to leave the area.  

Before she could leave him completely, Oscar asked, “You really think my brother can do something with his life if he does well in school?”.

Y/N stopped and turn to respond. “As long as he wants to, he can. As long as there isn’t someone trying to keep him here, or get involved in questionable acts, he can definitely get out of this town and be someone.”

Oscar knew what she meant but didn’t appear to be bothered. “You mean as long as he isn’t a Santo?”

“I mean that as long as he has options, he can do anything.”

The smirk re-appeared and Oscar took a few steps closer to Y/N. “Don’t worry, teach. He won’t end up like me.”

“Are you sure?” Y/N asked, not avoiding his glaring eyes.

There was an eye-twitch at your words.  

“Cesar is a good kid; I would hate to have his efforts wasted just because of where he lives or who he’s related to.”

“Are you always so concerned about your students?”

“When I know their brother is a murderer, yes.”

Oscar seemed to loom over her, with flaring nostrils and seething eyes. If looks could kill, Y/N would be long gone. Once again, the Santo was silent.

Y/N took that as her chance to get away before the conversation got more heated. She offered a polite smile and pushed her trolley to another aisle. When he was out of sight, she let out a staggering breath, steadying herself.  

She wondered if she would ever be able to have a chat with him that didn’t involve have to get intense or uncomfortable. Her mind was so preoccupied with thoughts of him that she forgot basic items and miscounted her cash at the cashier. He really had a way of sticking in her mind, especially when she wanted nothing more to do with him.

--

The last chance to mentally prepare for the week ahead was Sunday evening. There was an outdoor movie showing being held by a local youth support group and almost everyone in the neighbourhood seemed to be heading to where it was being held.

Luckily for Y/N, the park where the event was happening was a brief, 15-minute walk from her place. Rather than stay cooped up indoors, Y/N changed into her most comfortable pair of jeans and packed bottled water, a sandwich, pepper spray and a pocket knife in her tote bag. Once her door was locked, she headed to the park.

The movie wasn’t set to start for another half hour or so, yet Y/N was still surprised to see the park almost entirely full of varying families and couples. Just one glance and she recognized many of her students lounging around sharing hearty laughs with their friends and families. Instead of taking a spot among the crowd, she opted to stay on the outskirts where it was much quieter but still within viewing space of the screen.

She sat on one of the park benches and took out her phone to pass the time.

Above her, the streetlight’s shine was interrupted, causing her to snap her head to see what or who was behind her. Much to her demise, that damn Santo stood too close for comfort.

“You should sit closer,” he said, skipping over basic social greetings. When she didn’t respond, he followed up with, “Maybe you should join me up front.”

At that, she replied, “I’m very content with where I am.”

Oscar smirked but motioned to sit next to her, much to her dismay. After a moment of silence passed between them, he piped up. “You said something about me being a murderer last time.” His eyes flicked to hold her gaze.  

Y/N did her best to not back down; she wanted him to see that she would not falter under his usually intense stare.  

“I was right, wasn’t I? You were the girl in that warehouse all those years ago.”

“Yeah, that was me.”

“And you decided to stay in Freeridge even after that, knowing that we could run into each other any day?”

She nodded.

“You know I could have just killed you when I realized who you were from that meeting in the school.”

She nodded once more.

“I could still do it.”

This time, she sighed and leaned closed towards him to whisper, “The worst type of threats are empty threats. Unless you’re going to actually kill me, then I suggest that we stay away from each other, hmm?”

Oscar’s nostrils flared; no one ever tried to overpower him in a conversation. Now, here was this girl that knew and remembered him and she had the upper hand. A part of him felt embarrassed but, an even larger part of him felt...aroused.

Y/N broke the gaze and reached in her bag, taking out the bottled water. She stared ahead of her now, watching the staff make the final touches to begin the film. All Oscar could do was stand up and join his troupe at the front of the crowd.  

Throughout the evening, he replayed their interaction, and by the end of the night, his favorite part was when her voice whispered and his pores raised at both her scent and her close presence.

She was at the forefront of his mind now and he looked forward to the week ahead, making it his mission to see her as often as possible.

[isthisthingeven0n]

missed opportunity : d.d

brief summary: you’re a popular british youtuber and attend vidcon where you meet the vlogsquad. however, one member is missing and becomes jealous he missed the chance to meet you.

word count: 1.7k requested: yes, by anonymous :) warnings: none that I’m aware of 

* masterlistin’ 

You couldn’t quite comprehend it all, even now as the plane began to descend. In your head, you thought this would be enough time to really come to terms with what was about to happen, but your anxiety surrounding it refused to cease.

“You feeling alright?” Turning your head, your manager slides his blind down and places his hand on yours. You give him a small nod as you rest back in the chair, pulling the blind back up.

Looking outside, you could already tell it was going to be vastly different from home. Here it looked warm, there wasn’t a misleading blue sky where warmth was going to be absent. It looked like something out of a movie, a story you couldn’t believe to be a part of.

Arriving at the hotel with your luggage, you watched through various Instagram stories, checked your mentions to see excited tweets about you finally visiting America. You smiled as you responded to a few tweets before you started filming the welcome pack from Vidcon. 

“I still can’t get over the fact I’m actually in the US.” You collapse down on the bed, looking over at your manager and best friend. 

They both share a look before smiling. “You’ve come a long way, girl.” Your best friend tells you as she collapses down beside you on your bed. “Do you know your schedule?” She asks and you nod.

In all honesty, you learnt your schedule as soon as it came out. Vidcon was an enormous event, and you hadn’t expected to be a big name at the event, but it turns out you were more popular than you could’ve anticipated. You saw your name amongst those you once watched and admired, the sorts that were classed as ‘big’ YouTubers. Seeing your name alongside theirs, it was a surreal feeling, to say the least. 

As you arrive at the venue, you hear someone call your name. You turn your head to smile and wave, only to be approached by a series of fans. You laugh lightly, taking photos and signing things for them before security steps in, escorting you away. “It was lovely to meet you all!” You call out to them as you glance back, seeing them all taking photos or filming you. 

“It might be best if you take the back routes, Miss Y/l/n.” The security guard tells you as you walk with him along with your friend and manager. “These kinda events get rowdy quickly. We want to ensure our guests and visitors remain safe at all times.” He explains and you nod, listening as he directs you backstage where a series of YouTubers will be.

“We’ll catch you later, Y/n.” Your friend tells you as she and your manager begin to wander off, having the freedom to explore, but also record for your vlog.

Taking a deep breath, you walk into the space with a smile on your face. As you look around, most people are already in conversation with one another. You knew most of the creators have been countless times, and many are already friends. 

You pull out your phone as you make your way over to the food and drink, immediately noticing some Yorkshire tea which you’ve been craving. “I guess you really do live up the stereotype.” You turn to see Carly standing beside you with a smile on her face.

A small laugh escapes your lips as you nod. “Well, jetlags getting me hard and tea is my saviour. I think I smuggled a few tea bags in my bra today just in case.” You joke with her (but also you were deadly serious) and she laughs along with you. “I’m Y/n, by the way.” 

“Carly, I love your content. We didn’t know you were coming until we saw you on the Instagram page last week.” She explains and you nod along, squeezing the tea bag before you pour milk into the cup. 

“Yeah, I had a crazy last-minute cancellation that would’ve crossed over when Vidcon was, but because of it here I am.” You tell her with a smile. “So you’re part of the vlogsquad right?” 

She nods and motions to the group of people spread out across one sofa. Most of them you recognise from various videos and social media, but amongst them, the main figure isn’t there. “Most of us are here, David couldn’t make it as he had other commitments.” 

You follow alongside Carly as she introduces you to a series of them, and you sit down with your tea. “Do you really drink like twelve cups of tea a day?” Scott asks you with a laugh.

“Erm, sometimes?” You reply with a smile. “Like if I’m really tired I will, but I’m one of those who will drink tea in the hottest of weathers which isn’t often in England but hey ho.” You sip at your tea, feeling the heat of the mug spreading across your face. 

“God, David will be so jealous he’s not here to meet you.” Jason pipes up and you raise an eyebrow to him, watching as everyone shoots him a look.

Shuffling in your seat, you lean forward. “And why would that be, Jason?” You question, watching as he half laughs realising he said something he clearly shouldn’t have. 

“He’s always wanted you to be in the vlog.” Jason states, only telling you half the truth behind it. 

“How long are you here for?” Kristen speaks up, diverting the conversation from potentially embarrassing David despite him not even being there. 

“Only for the event. I’ve got a flight straight back to London and then I’m off to Paris with Bumble.” You tell them and you can see the disappointment. “Why? Did you guys wanna film some stuff?” 

Everyone looks around, nodding in response to you. “We’ve all seen your videos and honestly you’re naturally funny. Plus you’re British.” Carly states and you shrug your shoulders.

“I mean, I haven’t got any plans between panels and my meet and greet?” You ask them and a few nod. 

Within an hour, you’ve become friends with a few members of the vlogsquad. You stay close with Carly and Erin who help guide you around the venue between panels. 

As the evening draws closer, your jetlag worsens. You continue filming for your vlog, and feature in various other ones all at once. “God I need a shot.” You comment under your breath, not thinking much of it when you hear Scott rise to his feet. 

“Okay, mini party in my hotel room.” He calls out, and a few cheers as your eyes widen. “You called it, Y/n.” He chuckles and you laugh lightly, unintentionally being the cause of a party with the vlogsquad. 

*

The majority of your weekend was spent hanging out and filming with the vlogsquad. It was a surprise you hadn’t anticipated, but you loved their energy. You could tell David was missing, especially as you watched Zane get ridiculously drunk and try to walk through walls. 

As you finished up at your last panel, you knew you would have to head back to pack your bags. You met up with your manager who kept his schedule close to hand. “Okay, last panel officially done. That gives us twelve hours until our flight back to rainy ol London.” He deeply sighs. You know he’s loved being in the sun, even if it’s for work, he can’t get enough. 

“Great.” You half-heartedly respond. 

“Everything okay?” He asks, stopping you in your tracks as you shrug. “Well, that obviously means no. Come on.”

“I just, I like it here a lot. The people are great. And the content I got, amazing.” You say with a light laugh, glancing back to see Scott talking with Jeff. 

“You’ll come back, Y/n.” Your manager reassures you as you nod, following him.

Scott turns his head, noticing you leave. “David really did miss out on this weekend.” He sighs and Jeff nods along. “The girl he likes finally in town, and he can’t even meet her.” 

“That’s some Shakespeare shit.” Jeff comments as they wander backstage as Scott prepares for his final performance of the weekend. 

*

Walking into David’s house, Carly, Erin and Jason hold up Starbucks with a cheer. They smile as they spot David spread out across the sofa, his brows knitted together as he stares at his laptop screen. “How was Chicago, Dave?” Erin asks as she passes David a drink which he gladly accepts.

He takes a sip before pulling a face, passing it back. “It was good. I saw some of your posts from Vidcon.” He speaks softly, not wanting to make it more obvious than it was. “I saw Y/n was there.” He trails off, looking up to see the three of them exchanging a knowing glance.

“Yeah, she was.” Jason comments. “You’d of really liked her.” He adds, making David sigh to himself. 

“She headed home already?” David questions, knowing the answer will already be yes much to his disappointment. 

Deep down he knew you were just another person in the same industry as him. But there was something about you, the quirks you had that left him in awe of you. He wished he could meet you, bring you into a video like most people. Yet, you’re over five thousand miles away. 

“She flew home this morning, probably still in the air.” Carly tells David softly, giving him a small smile. “But she did say she’d love to be in the vlog when she next visits.” 

David lifts his head up, cocking an eyebrow to Carly. “She said that?” He asks like an excited child, talking about his crush. 

“Yeah, she said she’s going to try come over next month I think she said?” Carly questions, looking to Erin who nods. 

“Yeah, next month.” Erin confirms and David smiles to himself. “You going to DM her?” 

Looking over his shoulder, David can feel his cheeks heating up. “I might.” He says coyly. It has been a long time since he’s been on the field, having a crush on someone since Liza. “Do you think she’ll reply?” 

Carly scoffs lightly, rolling her eyes. “David, of course, she will!” 

“Okay okay.” David holds his hands up defensively before he reaches for his phone and goes to twitter. 

Taking a deep breath, he begins to write you out a message and sending it before anyone else can see. “You sent it?” Jason questions, peering over.

“Yeah, I guess I’ll just wait ten hours til she replies,” David says with a laugh, trying to hide his excitement about finally messaging you, even if you don’t reply. 

[samwrights]

Plastic Flowers [ 2 ]

Chapter 2: Never Underestimate the Poor, Hungry, and Desperate.

Warnings: Language.

A few days had passed since Hitoko and Katsuki met for the first time. Good on her word, Hitoko Ohta’s bar, The Upside Down, had remained closed since that day. And though he would vehemently deny it all if ever asked, Bakugo had casually sauntered by several times a day just to see if the place was open. More often than not, he created excuses for nobody but himself to justify his desire to speak with his soulmate again. A deep rooted part of him wanted to just knock on the door and speak to her in private while she repaired the damages and every time Bakugo had finally gathered the courage to do so, he got a notification from his agency about a crime that he needed to attend to. Maybe it was for the better, he figured, since every time he walked by, Hitoko was drenched with sweat as she did all the heavy lifting by herself. By herself.

Bakugo never had time to dwell on why the mere thought of her being alone in that place made him uncomfortable. As of late, he had been caught up with some strange string of crap bank robberies. It seemed every time Katsuki arrived on the scene, the perpetrator escapes with the money despite multiple eye witness accounts from victims, bystanders, and even police. The criminal always just disappears with spoils in hand. What interested the blonde bomber the most was that, according to eyewitness accounts, each robber was different every time. It wasn’t a simple matter of a wig or a mask; the perpetrator was always female but varied in height, weight, eye color, even facial structure. The only common denominator was gender and, quite frankly, the case was beginning to get on Bakugo’s nerves.

Meanwhile, Hitoko has been working tirelessly for the last few days. The first thing that had to be done was to get the pipe that burst fixed and, with it being a rush order and same day service, it ended up costing a pretty penny to phone a plumber. Without any other assistance, Hitoko was rebuilding the wall that separated her bar from the customer space while she waited for her new espresso machine to be delivered. Initially, she hadn’t included the wall in her cost of damages, but even with the water running for just a few hours before she did an emergency shut off, the water ended up eroding the cheap, weak structure of the half walls that surrounded the espresso bar and mini fridge. Being closed for the last few days and having to order maintenance and replacement equipment, Hitoko was already out nearly twenty grand. Even thinking of her current financial situation grated at her nerves as she stood outside of the Upside Down on a break with a lit cigarette between her fingers.

“Little Kohta Ohta,” A deep voice rumbled nearby, making the woman in question look up towards approaching footsteps. “Heard what happened to your little shop. Fuckin’ heroes, am I right?” Hitoko turned to look to the familiar voice, an easily recognizable hooded figure coming towards her.

“Dabi.” Hitoko greeted quietly with a drawl as she exhaled a thin stream of smoke between her lips. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“I’m here too!” A shrill voice called out from behind the man, causing Kohta to smile in the slightest. Before even saying her name, the brunette was enveloped in a hug from Toga Himiko, the closest she had to a best friend. Dabi made the cut as well, though the two of them weren’t nearly as affectionate, which was to be expected from the cold man. “We heard what happened to the Upside Down and we wanted to make sure you were okay!”

“Wow that sure is nice of you guys.” Hitoko said suspiciously before flicking her cigarette out into the street and leading the other two back inside, locking the door behind her. “Not that I’m not happy to see you, but I have a sneaking suspicion there’s more to your visit than just to keep me company.” A throaty chuckle left Dabi’s lips as he nudged the hood off of his sweatshirt away, bringing his scarred face to the light.

“Exactly as Toga said. Rumor on the block is that Ground Zero destroyed half the place.” The two League villains took a look at the construction zone, a small grimace touching their lips as they noted how much work their dear friend was putting in, knowing she was doing it alone. Hitoko twitched at the name of the hero, piecing together that whomever Ground Zero was, must have been her soulmate. “Wanted to know if you wanted us to dispose of him for you, or if you finally decided to join the big leagues with us and do it yourself.” Dabi coaxed, dragging a long finger under the brunette woman's chin. Hitoko let out a sigh, pulling herself away from his touch and retreating behind the counter to pour each of them a glass as she wordlessly offered her friends a couple of beers. It was obvious to her they would be staying at least long enough for a drink.

“Dabi, you know I’m not into that shit.” Hitoko said when she returned to the other side of the counter, taking a sip of her own beer in her right hand while carrying the other two in her left. A thick lipped pout rested on Toga’s face as her best friend denied their off-handed proposal. The two of them came to visit a minimum of once a month to attempt to get the mannequin master to join the League of Villains. Every single time they offered the idea to her, she always responded with a firm shake of her head. While Hitoko had become friends with them on the account of them being regulars to the bar, they also seemed to have taken a genuine interest in her life; and her with theirs despite her constant rejection to the League. The two had come repeatedly to the Upside Down on account of their unknown mission, their friendship just a bonus, as Dabi would put it. Who knew villains actually formed friendships rather than simple alliances?

“Aw, but Kohta, you’d be such a good villain!” The blonde female whined. Hitoko only gave a shrug before knocking back the rest of her pilsner.

“I know, Toga. You tell me this every time you visit me but honestly I’m fine with what I’m doing.”

“Really? So you’re okay just being a petty criminal that controls fuckin’ dolls for your silly bank robberies?” Dabi asks with rich timbre, his turquoise eyes icy and thick with an idle threat as he held Hitoko’s gaze. Despite his intimidation tactic, the brunette just gave a wry smile that spoke volumes of her confidence.

“Of course I am, Dabi. I gotta pay for all my shit somehow, right?”

Another fucking bank robbery. That had to be at least four in the last two weeks, and Katsuki was slowly going mad. It just didn’t make any sense! And as much as he wanted to dedicate all of his time to his case, it wasn’t that simple for him. His left arm had been throbbing excruciatingly for the last two days, the white raised lettering slowly turning a deep crimson stroke by stroke, down to the last two letters as the bond remained unsettled. Throwing himself into work didn’t serve as a distraction anymore—if anything it was hindering him.

Once again, Bakugo reviewed tapes of the bank robberies in his agency office while he had a map laid out on his desk of all the banks and trusts that had been hit. All of them were in the downtown area, though there was no immediate pattern nor did their locations reveal a central operating point. The security footage only showed him the physical differences between the robbers which reiterated the only conclusion he had come to—these women were working for somebody. Whom though, Katsuki had no clue. But with one major bank left in the downtown area, he hoped his stakeout would crack the case and solve it shut so he could go back to dealing with his own personal issues.

It was broad daylight when Katsuki “Ground Zero” Bakugo once again stood outside the bank as additional security to four other police officers. For days on end, he had waited diligently for the day the serial robber would strike again. Every person that came in and out, he took a mental picture of their face and added them to an imaginary registry. He’d been outside for hours now, but he knew he would be here until the perpetrator revealed themselves. Justice would prevail, Katsuki firmly believed. Or at least, he was going to make damn sure it did.

A block over, Hitoko watched the security guards move about in an attempt to tighten any weak spots. They had been anticipating her arrival. Beneath her hood and glasses, she scanned how many police officers—four and one pro hero it seemed to be. This time around, Hitoko had to play her game very smart. She knew what the public knew; all females were considered suspects until further notice. It was the very reason she saved this bank for last; a bank just outside of a men’s suit shop. While Hitoko didn’t have as much practice controlling male mannequins, she certainly knew it wasn’t radically different; she just needed to nail the mannerisms.

Hitoko brought herself just a bit closer so that she was only half a block away to have better control over the six male mannequins under her quirk. As she felt her marionettes enter, she kept five near the door to occupy security while the last did the dirty work. Once her main man was at the counter, she felt the adrenaline pump in her veins and ignored the burning in her arms. Guns were pulled, orders were given, and screams filled the air—It was go time. The dummy was demanding every amount of accessible cash to stuff the leather suitcase.

The whole thing was a set up, Bakugo learned, as he went head to head with one of the robbers. It caught everyone, meaning the police officers and the pro himself, by surprise that it was not one or even two people, but six well dressed men—not women—this time around. It was drastically different than the last string of attacks, as they seemed to consist of one or potentially two women. Each member of the security team was occupied with an accomplice, while the one with the suitcase made his attempted escape. More shouting could be heard, this time from the commanding officer, to apprehend the one on the run. It was as if someone knew how many officers were there, as well as a pro hero. As if somebody knew they were anticipating female bank robbers. Somebody knew.

One police officer was gunned down from one of the assailants and honed in the the blonde Hero, making it two against Bakugo. They never seemed to be hurt, and it was pissing him off. No matter how many explosions he set off, where he sent a blast to their faces or punched them, there was never any sign of injury—no bleeding, no burning skin, nothing—on any of the criminals; they just kept getting back up and piled on top of him once again. “What the fuck?!” The hero Ground Zero snarled. Out of his peripherals, he noticed the primary criminal nearly through the threshold of the bank. “Shit!” He had to stop them, and fast, before they got away. He managed to knock the two mannequins off of him, but the one on the run was nowhere in sight. “God fucking dammit!” They had gotten away once again and, while his anger pulsed within him, Bakugo felt his arms burn with an incomparable fire. ‘Why now?!’ He griped internally, entirely unaware of their close proximity. Pissed was putting it mildly—Bakugo was livid, and he needed a fucking drink.

Meanwhile, the minute the mannequin on the run made his successful escape, Hitoko sauntered casually outside a nearby mom and pop flower shop as she awaited for her marionette to return to her. By now, it should have already followed the instructions to ditch the suitcase it had on hand. Her puppet was instructed to transfer the spoils into a backpack where she had kept post during the robbery, only just a block down from the bank, and deliver her the backpack. With the other five dolls from her quirk deactivated, Hitoko was able to create more distance between her and the bank as she only needed to focus on the one with her treasure. As she pretended to siphon through the various bouquets of flowers, the well-dressed faux man entered the flower shop with a fashionable black leather backpack with gold accents.

“Honey, you forgot your bag in the car again.” The dummy spoke to her, pretending to be a doting husband, making Hitoko grin. So far, so good—all was going according to plan. She feigned a laugh and went to peck the doll on the cheek.

“Oh, silly me. Thanks so much darling. I’ll see you after your meeting!” The brunette responded, pushing up her glasses that had fallen slightly astray on her nose. Her fake husband exited the flower shop before turning to the nearest alley, and once again became an inanimate object as Kohta deactivated her quirk. A simple department store mannequin for a men’s suit shop abandoned in a downtown alleyway. Hitoko pretended to look around the shop once again before grimacing and turning to leave.

“Oh, couldn’t find anything you like?” The elderly woman behind the counter asked, small wrinkly frown on her lips. Hitoko shook her head, returning the look with a more youthful pout of her lips.

“No, thank you, though. I was actually hoping to find some plastic flowers for my cafe.”

“Plastic? You mean fake flowers?” It was an odd request. What kind of person came into a flower shop just to find fake flowers? Such a strange woman, the elderly owner thought.

“Yeah. You can spray plastic flowers with any type of perfume and they don’t die. Much better for décor, especially for a coffee shop.” Was all Hitoko responded with before making her exit.

Such a strange woman indeed.

It was nice to finally have things go back to normal, Hitoko thought on a Tuesday night. The Upside Down was finally up and running again, and she was able to welcome back her awaiting regulars with hypothetical open arms. “Took ya a couple weeks to get back up! We missed ya, Kohta.” One of her typical Tuesday customers had said to her. With genuine warmth, Hitoko gave him a smile. This unnamed man was one of many that was happy to see the Upside Down up and running once again.

At a table in the far back corner sat Hitoko’s two best friends, Dabi and Toga, with hoods up and the bottom halves of their faces covered by black masks. If it wasn’t a normal thing to see the two of them dressed this way, looming in the corner and not speaking to anyone other than each other, the bar guests might have been alerted. But any time someone inquired about them or told Hitoko they had felt uncomfortable with their presence, she would simply laugh and tell them her friends were harmless. Harmless in the sense that Dabi and Toga would never to attempt to hurt her clientele, but her guests didn’t need to know that once they were out of the Upside Down, the customer was fair game. The Upside Down was a "safe house" in a brutal game of tag—a running inside joke between the three villains.

Well, pseudo-villain in Hitoko’s case.

Another week had passed, and the case of bank robberies had been left open, as Hitoko or any her mannequins had never been caught. Bakugo swore that this was the most frustrated he had ever been, as he usually did when he was angry or upset. What pissed him off even more that day was that when he finally apprehended two of the criminals, they just stopped moving. It would have been alright if it wasn’t literal—if the robbers hadn’t turned into department store mannequins almost instantaneously. It was unlike anything the agency or even the police had seen; there was no government quirk registered that did anything of the sort. What kind of fucking quirk does that?!

Even with time passing since that incident and discovery, Bakugo was still getting chewed out from his agency for not being able to catch the thugs. His stress was what prompted him to reach out to Eijiro, hoping his friend could distract him from the case. “I’ll meet you at the Upside Down then.” Red Riot’s choice in venue had proved to only strain Bakugo even further.

“Didn’t that chick say she never wanted to see us ever again?” The blonde bomber texted back, anxiously awaiting a reply as he drummed his fingers on the wooden desk in his office. That was another more recent development for Katsuki; his adrenaline and his anxiety levels had gone through the roof. And, while he was no stranger to lashing out at people, many of his close friends knew that he had grown from that behavior in the last ten years. To see it return, to see him screech and howl at nearly anything that moved, they all knew something was disturbing him.

“Dude, you’re soulmates. I’m sure you haven’t forgotten that.” Katsuki’s crimson eyes rolled even if Kirishima couldn’t see. Of course he fucking hadn’t—the fire in his arm wouldn’t let him forget his nameless soulmate. The fact that the two of them had met also wasn’t helping at all. If anything, it had only made matters worse considering Bakugo wanted to blame his lack of success in the bank robbery case on her. Realistically, he knew it wasn’t but, but in his own narcissistic mind, there was no logical reason he could have been bested by a faceless criminal. It was her fault, Katsuki rationalized, because she didn’t want to establish their soulmate bond. She had nothing to lose from being left unbonded, and she was only doing this to him because she knew Katsuki could lose everything. Of course it was this stupid woman's fault because, for whatever reason, she wanted to see him fail like she was. But even in his own head, it sounded stupid to blame her—he didn’t even know her name.

Despite his stubbornness, Bakugo found himself sitting at a high top table at the Upside Down in dark wash jeans and a white button up while waiting for Kirishima. The table was a recent addition, he noticed, realizing the table was where the massive mahogany pool table once stood. The small counter top space only held his arms and his phone face up. Even though Katsuki desperately needed a drink, he couldn’t bring himself to face the owner who stood behind the bar. He just didn’t want to get kicked out before Kirishima even got there, he thought to himself, attempting to rationalize and reason with himself once again. He sure as hell was never going to admit, even to himself, that he was afraid to just stand in front of his soulmate, let alone speak to her. What if his assumptions were right and she just wanted to see his Pro-Hero status get stripped? Or even worse, what if his assumptions were wrong, and she did want to bond? Either way, Katsuki's thoughts petrified him, though he would never say it out loud. The few that were close to Ground Zero knew he was the king of denial.

From behind the bar top, Hitoko continued talking to her regulars as she ignored the throbbing in her arm that started the moment the blonde bomber walked in. While holding her conversations with her bar top regulars, she noticed he refused to make eye contact with her and immediately bee-lined for a table out of her direct field of vision. The two bodies hidden in the corner that Hitoko had grown very accustomed to over the years made their way closer to the counter. Even with the masks covering the lower halves of their faces, she could easily see the dancing amusement in the eyes of Dabi and Toga. “Remember, Kohta, if you need a hand you let us know.” Dabi chimed with drips of sarcasm, recounting their previous conversation about Ground Zero. With carefully selected words, as he often did, Dabi masked his words with innocence as he tossed a blanket over his underlying threat. Toga let out her whimsical laughter.

“We’re gonna get going Kohta!” The blonde woman sang quite loudly. “Remember to give us a call! Love you!” In response, “Kohta” gave a shake of her head as she bid them farewell. Was that what her name was, Bakugo wondered. It didn’t...seem to fit her, was all he could think of. Kohta sounded strong and almost authoritative, but this woman before him seemed so dainty. Like she could break just from a fierce glare, but he recounted the night they had met. Kohta herself was full of fire and liquid steel when her anger had flared up. Everything about her didn't seem to add up, Katsuki observed as the brunette waved to her friends, maneuvering her way out from behind the bar and calling out towards the door to the back room.

“Jiroda, I’m gonna take a smoke break!” The brunette gave a quick shout before grabbing a crushed pack of cigarettes from beside her tip jar next to the beer taps and walking out with her friends. From the swinging door emerged a tall blonde woman, whom Katsuki presumed was ‘Jiroda’, another employee of the bar. And while his assumption was technically correct, he would never know that Jiroda, or any of the Upside Down’s employees, were simple manipulations of Hitoko’s quirk. Well, at least now he knew her name. Kohta, as the strange masked couple that had just left had called her. A name that he refused to believe held so much significance in his life. A name that had yet to physically leave his lips. A name he wanted to call out. He couldn’t help but wonder if she knew his name.

Outside of the Upside Down, Kohta lit her long menthol cigarette while standing in the alleyway between buildings with Toga and Dabi. The two villains finally pulled down their masks, revealing the smirks and wicked grins on their faces. “So what’s Ground Zero doing here again?” Toga asked with a hidden implication toning her question. Toga, ever the warrior of love and romanticism, wondered if her best friend had finally taken interest in a man, even if said man was a Pro-Hero. Maybe he was trying to court her, she hoped. Kohta’s happiness came second to only her own when it came to relationships. Especially knowing the amount of time the marionette mistress had spent in loneliness and solitude, some dedicated companionship for Kohta would make Toga feel much more at ease. In response, the owner of the bar just raised her eyebrow, exhaling smoke with an unamused look on her face.

“Who?”

“You know, the guy who smashed your pool table? The reason you had to go and rob all the banks downtown?” Dabi sneered lowly, though there was no actual malicious intent. The scarred, two-toned man, despite actually holding a form of endearment for the brunette female, constantly loved to goad her towards the lane of villainy. His main tactic was to remind her of her recurring crimes as well as previous ones, hoping to one day manipulate her into finally joining the League of Villains. Dabi loves Kohta—truly he does. It is the very reason he will not stop trying to shackle the woman into the League with him, so that he knows she will no longer suffer a path of solidarity. He doesn't want Hitoko Ohta, a runaway orphan, to continue her life without back up, to get tossed away into a different type of system when she was so much more than that. Dabi would not stop until she was completely under his protection.

“Dude, don’t just go around blurting that into the air.” Hitoko grit out as she smacked the male villain on the back. The man just laughed, rubbing at the brunette’s head, messing up her hair out of affection. Another roll of her diluted periwinkle orbs was given as the woman took another drag of her cigarette before brushing the cherry along the brick of her cafe. Hitoko tossed the butt onto the sidewalk, giving Toga and Dabi halfhearted hugs as she bid them farewell.

“I wonder if he’s actually come to see her, or if its just happenstance.” Toga asks Dabi as the two of them walk away from the Upside Down, pulling their face masks back over their features.

“Don’t matter if he did. All that matters is that his presence makes our job easier for us.”

Kohta entered the building once again, her presence asserting itself to the forefront of Bakugo’s mind. His arm felt as if it were repeatedly being dipped into lava, one feeling amongst many others he had been avoiding. The script that lonely decorated his left arm was almost completely red, only the last letter remaining white. An internal clock ticked in his mind every second of every day, wondering how much longer he had until his quirk vanished and he would be out of his career. Katsuki Bakugo, ever the optimist.

“Dude, you have to talk to her.” Eijiro verbally prodded the blonde man, pulling him from his internal conflict. A cross between a click of his tongue and a scoff left Katsuki’s lips as he took a swig of his beer.

“I don’t have to do anything.”

“Cut the crap, Bakugo.” Kirishima snapped, his jovial demeanor completely absent. More often than not, it was challenging to be friends with Katsuki. A part of being his friend, his best friend no less, Kirishima felt it was his responsibility to bring the blonde back to Earth when his head was so far up his own ass. Needless to say, Ground Zero needed a reality check and fast. Eijiro knew that his best friend’s days being a Pro-Hero were limited if he didn’t solidify his soulmate bond, that he would lose control or potentially lose his quirk all together. He knew that would kill him inside, and Kirishima couldn’t just idly sit by and let it happen. “Just go talk to her.”

“I don’t even know what her stupid name is.” Bakugo despised whatever emotion Kirishima was making him feel, in addition to the ones that were already muddling his mind. He felt small, even a bit belittled, from Red Riot’s sternness. As if suddenly, Katsuki didn’t know as much about the world as he thought he did. There was no word in his vocabulary that could properly convey what he felt in that moment. His pride, his nervousness, anxiety, fear—it was too much for him to swallow. All he could down at his moment was the alcohol in his hand.

“So ask her.”

“You know her, can’t you just tell me what her fucking name is?!” The minuscule spat between the two professional heroes had gone back and forth until both of their tall beer glasses were empty. Kirishima saw it as the perfect opportunity to get Katsuki to do his bidding, he just had to play it right. Which he hoped wouldn’t be as difficult as it could be, knowing Bakugo.

“Look, I gotta take a leak dude. You mind getting us the next round?” Before there could be a pause to cause another argument, the red haired man stood up abruptly from his bar stool and made his way towards the bathroom on the opposite side of the cafe closest to the door. Dammit, Bakugo thought. Even as academically brilliant as he was, he could still be manipulated and bested by such a dumb person, thanks to his lack of competence from his hazy mind. That's what he believed, anyway. Ground Zero, the king of denial, would never be able to admit that Kirishima was just right on these matters. Grumbling to himself, Katsuki shuffles towards the bar, coming face to face with his soulmate once again.

“Hey.”

Plastic Flowers Masterlist

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Thank you guys for checking out this story! I’ll be updating the chapters every Saturday! Chapter title taken from The Front Bottom’s song “The Plan (Fuck Jobs) off their album “Back On Top”.

Taglist:

@wwwwyamd​

[jeffery-lawrence-blog]

Air Conditioner Contractor Near me in Stanley Park Vancouver

Air Conditioner Contractor Near me in Stanley Park Vancouver

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Business Hours: Friday Open 24 hours Saturday Open 24 hours Sunday Open 24 hours Monday Open 24 hours Tuesday Open 24 hours Wednesday Open 24 hours Thursday Open 24 hours

7 Home Heating System Types

It can be hard to let go of your old heating system and commit to a new one you hardly know. If you have an aging unit that needs replacement, however, it can be exciting to see the variety of heating technologies available as replacement options. All of these systems come in different models and sizes to accommodate your home. Consult a professional HVAC company for more information on installing or replacing a new heating system.

1. Furnace (forced air distribution system)

With a furnace (usually powered with gas), air is forced through a series of ducts. This distributes heated, conditioned air throughout the home. While furnaces can heat the air with electricity, propane, or oil, most U.S. homes utilize natural gas.

Gas furnaces are the most popular type of heating system since the forced air distribution system (ductwork) can be used by your air conditioner during the summer months.

2. Boiler (Radiator distribution system)

Boilers are another common heating system. They send hot water or steam through pipes to provide heating. While this enables you to practice zoned heating and cooling, they are also significantly more expensive to install and cost more money to run.

The reason why furnaces and boilers are known as central heating systems are because the heat is generated in a central area of the home and then distributed throughout the house.

3. Heat Pump

Heat pumps can be used to both heat and cool the home. They use refrigerant and electricity to transfer heat rather than generating it directly like a gas furnace. As a result, they are often much more efficient than other types of heating systems. Unfortunately, they work best in moderate climates where temperatures rarely dip below freezing.

4. Hybrid Heating

Hybrid heating combines the energy efficiency of a heat pump with the power of a gas furnace. Most of the time, the heat pump will operate to heat and cool your home. It is only during extreme temperatures that the furnace kicks on.

And since you aren’t just relying on one system, you will reduce significant strain on both units, thus significantly reducing the need for repairs and replacements.

5. Ductless Mini-Splits

By getting rid of the need for lots of air ducts, mini-split units allow you to create separate HVAC zones, each with a separate thermostat. This is very helpful in larger homes and add-on areas that don’t have ductwork installed.

6. Radiant Heating

Radiant heating sends hot water or electric heat through special tubes located in the floor (and sometimes in the ceiling or walls). The heat can be generated by oil, gas, propane, or electricity.

While the radiant heating distribution system can last a long time, repairs can become very expensive if a problem arises. The lifespan of radiant heat is dependent on its heat source system.

Learn more about the different types of heating systems.

In addition to the type of heating system you install, learn what else should affect your decision-making.

7. Baseboard Heaters

Usually reserved as supplemental heating or heating in an add-on, baseboard heating can be an effective and affordable choice. You have two choices when it comes to baseboard heating: electric or hydronic. Speak with your HVAC contractor for more information on baseboard heaters.

https://www.servicechampions.net/blog/7-home-heating-system-types/

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Air Conditioner Contractor Near me in Stanley Park Vancouver

[clogged-drain-fix-blog]

AC Service Contractor my Area in Vancouver

AC Service Contractor my Area in Vancouver

The writer is making several great points on the subject of Master Heating Repair in general in this content just below.

HVAC in Vancouver

  Pioneer Plumbing has built a reputation of honesty with our long time returning customers. We’ve found that “doing the right thing” in all aspects of our company has brought us to where we are today, and will continue to guide us into the future. Don’t hesitate to call and ask us any plumbing, heating, ventilation, or gas related questions. Chances are if you have a tricky issue, we can solve it.

We have a few goals for our clients. One is to be available for you. It is very uncommon that when you call us we are unable to make it within the same day. We give our repeat customers priority service so if you’ve used us before and you have an emergency, we are going to do what we need to, to get someone there.

Two is to be upfront and honest. From our quotes to our service techs on site, we don’t like to beat around the bush. We will let you know our concerns, our recommendations, and our opinions on how we would handle each situation as if it were our own residence where the problem occurred. We won’t tell you the job is only a 2 hour repair when we have had situations where it turned into an all day repair.

Three is to stand behind our installations and repairs. With mechanical work, it is very common for jobs to get larger or go sideways as you get into them. If we give you a quote we will stand true to the price, if we complete a job for you and you are unhappy with the finished product, we will come back and make it right. In return, all we ask is that you communicate with our office respectfully and honestly so that we can make sure at the end of the day you are happy with our services!

So next time you have a plumbing, heating, cooling, or gas question, repair, or installation you would like quoted, give us a call! Were here to help.

Heating Repair And Regular Upkeep Tips

There are a few ways to maintain your furnace system. Odds are, during wintertime months your furnace runs all day trying to keep the home warm. furnace systems commonly run longer than needed, due to incorrect controls. When troubleshooting and improving the heating segment of your furnace system, there are several things to look at.

The Air Filter

This subject is what gets talked about probably the most in conversations about heating maintenance, but is usually disregarded. When there is a obstruction, you either run the risk of not disbursing heat effectively or perhaps igniting a fire.When the air conditioner filter becomes dirty air will not flow through either which means the unit must work overtime and will also mean a risk of fire. If the system is not circulating heat properly, it will be working harder. The fire concern is obviously self-explanatory. Neither scenario is good for the pocket book or your well-being..

Try The Blower

Look at your blower blades and clean them. If you find any build-up of dirt and dust, your fan will work overtime to blow the air out, and the furnace will be overexerting itself. This means the system is over taxed and costing extra money to run.

Fire Damper Function

Be sure to look at your fire damper for proper functioning. This will ensure that the risk of fire is minimal and the system will work more efficiently.

Look For Holes In The Flex Duct

It is feasible that your ducts have become impaired over the years for various reasons. If a duct has collapsed or become stopped up, your system will believe that the right temperature has been reached, which will be false. When this will happen the system works too much to do its job but is going to be unable to reach the desired tempurature.

Band Insulation

Insulation is often overlooked but is among the most prevalent reasons why an furnace system fails. Be sure to check the insulation and validate it has not become wobbly and caused gaps involving the ductwork and the outside. If this happens, your system will not reach optimum temperatures and will work overtime to attempt to accommodate.

Air Ducts Need To Be Sealed

See that your ductwork has not become detached from other sections. These detachments may cause spaces in the ventilation and cause a loss of heated air in your house, since it will be getting out through the holes.

Check For Leaks In The Return Air Inlets And Zone Dampers

Be certain to make sure return air intakes are dirt free and in good shape or your system will be unbalanced. Check out the zone dampers to see if they are in the right place. During the year we may change the position of the damper for many reasons (i.e. getting into a tight space or making room for storage). Check to notice that the dampers are in the correct position too.

If that is a tad too much to handle by yourself, we suggest you hire an area plumbing contractor certified for furnace and heating repair. You will find a number of heating contractors around you who can take care of all of this quite competently. For optimum results you can set up annual maintenance for furnace and your heating people will call every year to take care of it.

https://www.google.com/maps?cid=16109373416364653742 https://vancouver-plumber.business.site/

https://www.pioneerplumbing.com/

Pioneer Plumbing & Heating Inc

626 Kingsway, Vancouver BC, V5T 3K4 Phone: (604) 872-4946

Business Hours: Sunday Open 24 hours Monday Open 24 hours Tuesday Open 24 hours Wednesday Open 24 hours Thursday Open 24 hours Friday Open 24 hours Saturday Open 24 hours

7 Home Heating System Types

It can be hard to let go of your old heating system and commit to a new one you hardly know. If you have an aging unit that needs replacement, however, it can be exciting to see the variety of heating technologies available as replacement options. All of these systems come in different models and sizes to accommodate your home. Consult a professional HVAC company for more information on installing or replacing a new heating system.

1. Furnace (forced air distribution system)

With a furnace (usually powered with gas), air is forced through a series of ducts. This distributes heated, conditioned air throughout the home. While furnaces can heat the air with electricity, propane, or oil, most U.S. homes utilize natural gas.

Gas furnaces are the most popular type of heating system since the forced air distribution system (ductwork) can be used by your air conditioner during the summer months.

2. Boiler (Radiator distribution system)

Boilers are another common heating system. They send hot water or steam through pipes to provide heating. While this enables you to practice zoned heating and cooling, they are also significantly more expensive to install and cost more money to run.

The reason why furnaces and boilers are known as central heating systems are because the heat is generated in a central area of the home and then distributed throughout the house.

3. Heat Pump

Heat pumps can be used to both heat and cool the home. They use refrigerant and electricity to transfer heat rather than generating it directly like a gas furnace. As a result, they are often much more efficient than other types of heating systems. Unfortunately, they work best in moderate climates where temperatures rarely dip below freezing.

4. Hybrid Heating

Hybrid heating combines the energy efficiency of a heat pump with the power of a gas furnace. Most of the time, the heat pump will operate to heat and cool your home. It is only during extreme temperatures that the furnace kicks on.

And since you aren’t just relying on one system, you will reduce significant strain on both units, thus significantly reducing the need for repairs and replacements.

5. Ductless Mini-Splits

By getting rid of the need for lots of air ducts, mini-split units allow you to create separate HVAC zones, each with a separate thermostat. This is very helpful in larger homes and add-on areas that don’t have ductwork installed.

6. Radiant Heating

Radiant heating sends hot water or electric heat through special tubes located in the floor (and sometimes in the ceiling or walls). The heat can be generated by oil, gas, propane, or electricity.

While the radiant heating distribution system can last a long time, repairs can become very expensive if a problem arises. The lifespan of radiant heat is dependent on its heat source system.

Learn more about the different types of heating systems.

In addition to the type of heating system you install, learn what else should affect your decision-making.

7. Baseboard Heaters

Usually reserved as supplemental heating or heating in an add-on, baseboard heating can be an effective and affordable choice. You have two choices when it comes to baseboard heating: electric or hydronic. Speak with your HVAC contractor for more information on baseboard heaters.

https://www.servicechampions.net/blog/7-home-heating-system-types/

Do you appreciate more info about Home Ac Maintenance? Give feedback down below. We would be glad to know your suggestions about this blog post. We hope to see you back again before long. Sharing is good. Helping others is fun. We take joy in your readership.

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AC Service Contractor my Area in Vancouver

[virmillion]

Ibytm - T minus 50 seconds

Masterpost - Previous Chapter - Next Chapter - ao3

Words: 1,638

Logan clutches the laser shooter close to his chest, walking as fast as his feet will allow without full-on running to the safety of a blind spot around the corner (running is against the rules). The red pipes of light beaming from his chest do nothing to calm his nerves, which are more frazzled now than they’ve ever been. Worse even than the time a rumor floated around the fifth floor that Mx. Oatmeal was auditioning candidates to be launched into space to check on the jellyfish. (And in case you were wondering, yes, their last name really is Oatmeal. Please hold your shock.) And if his heart leaps into his throat with enough force to knock him of his breath when his foot catches on a loose seam, well, that’s nobody’s business but his own, isn’t it?

He whips himself around the corner and holds his breath, watching the black reflective wall betray the positions of his pursuers. Their shining blue lights bounce with each of their impossibly quiet footfalls as they swing a hard right turn. One turn too early.

Logan exhales as softly as he can manage, pressing the barrel of his shooter to his ribcage to prevent an inhale too deep, too loud. He releases it, one inch at a time, as his heart rate reluctantly slows. Well, as much as it can slow, given the nerve shakedown he’s putting it through by playing laser tag. Why did he let Virgil talk him into this?

Because it was the soonest you’d be able to see each other again in person, his brain unhelpfully supplies. Logan shakes off the thought, daring another glance around the corner. So thorough is his relief at the empty space that he almost doesn’t notice the swarm of faint blue light advancing from the far end of his hall. His heart finds that familiar place around his tonsils once more.

Clutching the scope to his eye, Logan scurries down the corridor and keeps his eyes peeled for an inconspicuous hiding place, but to no avail. Only one way to go—the last fork at the end of the hall. For all the black lights bouncing around in his skull, he’s surprised he hasn’t been completely blinded yet.

He hesitates at the split, torn between retreading the same ground or making a break for the red base, smack dab in the heart of blue territory. Left or right? Familiarity or safety?

The sound of footsteps hammers to his left. Easily five people, maybe more. Not long behind their broadcasted presence is a herd of blue lights, rattling like so many rain clouds along the walls.

He banks a sharp right.

He ventures down the hall on the balls of his feet, uncertain which way to face. If I continue forward, he reasons, I’ll see anyone coming. If I face backward, he counters, I’ll know how much distance I’ve got on those other blues. But I already know they’re there, and I don’t know who’s in the direction I’m heading. If I face forward, though, the other blues might snipe me from behind. So might someone in front of me. Or the people behind me might drop off, and I’ll be evading for no reason, and maybe even putting myself more at risk.

This thought process continues for some time.

He finds himself settling on a weird half-pivot style, spinning back and forth to scope out all directions, rather than, y’know, picking a direction and sticking with it. By the time he reaches the end of the hall, he almost feels optimistic about his chances of not losing any points for his team. This unearned confidence comes mere moments before he rams into someone with the slopes of his shoulder blades.

Logan lets out a yelp, tossing his weapon in the air and scrambling to point it as he whips around to defend himself—or figure out whether he can escape. He hasn’t decided yet.

The gun just about leaps out of his hands again as he locks eyes with Virgil. Where Logan wields an awkwardly large rifle, clunky in his untrained hands, Virgil spins two mini shooters around his thumbs. He likened them to the Splatoon 2 dualies, but Logan wouldn’t know—he’s never played. Supposedly, Virgil’s next mission following this escapade is to be correcting that lifelong mistake.

Virgil, it might interest you to know, is not on the red team. That is, he’s on the blue team. Against Logan. Sorry, might’ve forgotten to mention that.

The correct thing for Logan to do in this situation would be to tag Virgil’s gear with his hand sensors, or just laser the guy point blank. Virgil is much better at thinking on his feet than Logan. Of course, Logan has the detriment of never having played laser tag before, while Virgil apparently has years of experience under his belt, but that’s beside the point.

Aiming his dualies square at Logan’s chest sensor, Virgil cocks his head to the side and levels a grin at him. Overconfident, certainly, but with good reason.

Logan laughs uncomfortably. “What a tangled web, am I right?” His voice cracks on the last word.

“Said the fly to the spider,” Virgil retorts. Luckily for him—or not, as the case may be—Logan is spared from having to come up with a clever remark by the sound of frantic feet. For the briefest of moments, he’s reminded of the ‘...Daddy?’ ‘Do I look like—’ vine, but he shakes it off when he sees the kid rushing up to greet him. His chest glows a proud red to match Logan’s as he barrels closer, evading what looks like a distant swarm of blue fireflies. The rest of Virgil’s team, no doubt.

The next few things happen in very rapid succession, much too fast for Logan to keep up with. It goes something like this: The kid trips over his (probably untied) shoes, crashes into Virgil’s back, and saves himself with a somersault before continuing past Logan, evidently unimpeded. To the best of your ability, do try to keep up, because that in itself was only one event, the fallout of which Logan would never have predicted. At least, not outside of a cheesy romance movie. Virgil pinwheels his arms from the kid’s collision, his eyes waffling between the duealies he doesn’t want to drop and the balance he doesn’t want to lose. At the former, he succeeds expertly. At the latter, he fails spectacularly. Logan, in an understandable display of his inexperience, tosses his gun to the side and thrusts his arms out—to steady Virgil, to save himself, he isn’t sure. His answer doesn’t delay long.

Virgil releases the faintest of yelps—almost like when you accidentally step on a puppy’s foot—as he falls forward. He spreads his arms out to avoid literally punching Logan in the face as his momentum knocks both of them to the ground. It doesn’t really register in Logan’s mind what, exactly, just happened, until his heart decides to start beating again. An ache is rapidly forming along the side of his spine, but he ignores it in favor of wondering just how compromising their position looks.

Each of Virgil’s hands—both of which are still holding their respective dualies—are planted on either side of Logan’s head, his bent elbows keeping their faces mere inches apart. Where Logan’s feet drew up to his thighs in an attempt to curl in on himself, their progress is blocked by Virgil’s legs—one knee pressed to the ground between Logan’s, and the side of his other shoe planted firmly against the outside of Logan’s leg. Logan forces himself to draw a real breath, pleading with his brain to depart from its currently wayward train. It sprints in circles like a child thrown from one of those playground merry-go-rounds, whipping in incomprehensible circles without a care for what Logan would rather be doing—which is literally anything else, mind you. The messiness of this metaphor should offer some inkling as to how hard Logan is working to keep up with his current situation.

Oh my god, is he going to kiss me, is that what this is, I’ve always seen it in movies but never expected it in real life, oh my god, he’s going to kiss me, oh my god, what do I do, oh my god, oh my god, oh my —

Well, you probably get the picture by now. Also some concerns about whether Virgil will take the opportunity to get a point for his team, whether Logan should try to do the same, all that fun stuff.

Logan’s eyes must widen, or maybe his lips part, or something else in his expression betrays the whirlwind of thoughts in his head, because Virgil’s cheeks suddenly turn bright pink, and Logan is pretty sure it isn’t the reflection of the lights on his vest. Well, maybe the lights are helping a little bit, but Virgil’s face certainly wasn’t that red when they first bumped into each other tonight. Logan swallows around a lump in his throat as Virgil freezes, which is at once both better and worse than when he was, you know, existing like a normal human bent over his friend on the opposing team of a laser tag game. What else would be the next most reasonable thing for Virgil to do but jump to his feet, knocking Logan’s gun farther away in the process?

Logan glances behind himself as he props his weight on an elbow, but the kid on his team is long gone. Beyond Virgil, the swarm of blue is still steadily advancing. Virgil spins his dualies around his fingers once more before running to join them.

After he levels a laser shot square at Logan’s chest, of course.

[kelsmister]

Phoenix Fan Fusion 2019 -- Artist Alley Review May 23-26 2019 *Thursday - Sunday* ==Opinions expressed are completely my own, and from my own record. If your experience differed, then good for you. This is how the event unfolded for me. You are more than welcome to write your own review, and even allowed to vend at this event. Keep in mind my opinions are again, of my own accord.== Once again I decided to brave the desert sun and venture out of my comfortable air conditioned room to sell my various wares in the hopes of making a decent buck. After my hard drive crashed two weeks ago I had high hopes this event could at least cover part of those expenses. Oh boy, did this show do a 180 and nose dive into the deep end of the pool without bracing for impact. Where to start? I’ve been doing PCC (as it was formerly known as before the lawsuit involving San Diego vs some weird event in Colorado), for about 6 ish years now. Maybe closer to 10 by now. Point is, I’ve seen this show go from great things to downright lousy. This year was one of the lousier ones. For those who don’t know, or plum forgot, around 2 years back a man brought in real weapons, real bullet proof armor, and had threatened the life of one of the guests at the con. Idiot posted said exploits online where his one and only online chum alerted authorities and he was swiftly apprehended before he could do such vile acts. The next day the con had to crack down hard on security, as the city pressured them to not have one of those ‘mass shootings’ happen in THEIR city. (Hey I don’t want to be shot at either!) The whole scramble to get metal detectors and REAL security personnel (not just teen volunteers) took it’s toll as lines stretched for hours around the buildings in 110+ sweltering heat. Some passed out, others drenched in sweat, it was bad. Many vowed never to return, as last year did show a slight decrease in attendance. However the damage was already done. Last year the increased costs for security left the con with empty wallets and almost zero budget, they fell seriously into the red nearly going bankrupt because of it. So this year they revamped everything by cutting corners wherever they could. First thing- entry points restricted to just 3. I believe the prior year it was 5, so right there it’s not as many personnel you need to hire, or rather pay the company to hire. Secondly, they moved registration back inside the building, so saving on rental tents and such. Third, they really cut corners with the artist alley. They added more artists. Pipe and drape were scraped. Tables were now side by side, no gaps no 2 feet of spacing between you and your neighbors. Now everyone resided in 8 table deep rectangles with taped down walkways behind everyone to ‘allow entry/exit’ for the middle tables with mini pipe and drape at the ends to block out the attendees. Did I mention more artists? Seriously, they squeezed in so many that the aisles did not match up with the vendor aisles. Row 900 was actually row 1000 in artist alley. This confused several attendees walking by who would look up to see a huge banner saying one thing but the ground saying another. Our once nicely printed up table signs, which use to hang off of the pipe and drape backings were now lazily stapled to the front of tables, which fell off rather easily fyi. The rectangle of selling for each cluster of artists left many to just push their now brought from home photo backdrops to the very edge of their space, some not caring at all and just going over these 1.5 feet of ‘walkway’. Many tri-pod legs stuck out, I myself kicked a few out of frustration and even had to yell at a neighbor behind me who somehow thought the double lines were ‘his’ space. Again, no one ever came by and demanded the space be free. If pipe and drape were used instead it wouldn’t have been an issue. But being right up against each neighbor was infuriating to say the least. You couldn’t hang anything on the sides of your display for fear people would think it was your neighbor’s work. Without the pipe and drape the sea of artists looked horrid. Random photo backdrops as far as the eye could see. Some looked good, but others yuck. For those who don’t have backdrops it looked just like a big yard sale. And a lot, and I mean A LOT of tables were left empty. At cons it’s common for a few people not to show up, emergencies happen, but heck even my neighbor didn’t show allowing me to stretch out onto his space (free of charge kind of nice). Besides this they never did closing announcements. You got one at 5 minutes till but nothing else. Not saying every con does this, but at a show this big, and a hall this grand, you have to warn the public. “Hey guys 1 hour until the vendor hall closes!” “Not to alarm you all but the hall closes in 30 minutes!” “Better make those last minute purchases, hall is closing in 10 minutes. Please start making your way to the exit!” Nope, none of this. Also, randomly, on Saturday around noon someone got a hold of the overhead PA system and started blaring music. It was so loud we all were covering our ears. After song number two started to play I rushed over to the exhibit hall manager booth where I kid you not an ARMY of angry vendors were ready to lynch someone. Eventually the music cut off and we all cheered, but never heard how that happened. Maybe a blu-tooth thing?

Security. Oh boy. They had MAJOR problems. This was supposedly the same company hired the prior year, but man they didn’t act like it. Prior year everything ran smoothly, never a problem, but this year it felt like rookies-r-us training camp or something. Day 0 I overheard one of them, as they searched me ask another “Uh.. what do I do again?” Not exactly encouraging to hear. I get not all of them can be trained veterans of this, but most acted like day 1 newbies. Each day their ‘allowed/not allowed’ list changed. Sometimes they allowed bottled water, other days nope toss it. Luckily being a vendor they allowed me all the bottles of soda and water and snacks, but I heard the rumors. Some said they had to toss their sealed Gatorade or sandwiches in bags. And sometimes I was allowed in any entry point, the last two days they forced me to the one furthest away. Again, you guys can’t change the rules EVERY. SINGLE. DAY. Pick something stick with it. Heck on one day, I think Friday, I got in the specialty line but the staff pointed me to general and said it “would be quicker”. Ok whatever. So I hoped over, nope. It wasn’t. Guys in front of me reeked of BO, and this was at 9am, and of course had bags in a bag in a bag. So searching took FOREVER. As I’m waiting for my turn a supervisor approaches me and points to the other line saying “Madam vendors are supposed to go through the specialty line-” I cut her off “YES I know, YOUR employee sent me HERE. I’m not hopping lines, I’m staying here. Go yell at her.” She tried to make me go but gave up after a bit.  Never had this problem before. Makes me wonder what this company did to suddenly get a bunch of rookies working for them who haven’t got a clue. OH. With the weird ness too, some days they made me open the money box and shuffle through it, other days nope didn’t care! AGAIN IT WASN’T CONSISTENT. NOT ONE BIT. Bathrooms. Another disgusting beast. This convention center has multiple bathrooms, I’m thankful for that, but the one closest to me oh boy, it was busy almost every hour. It reeked by the end of day one and never lost that lovely wretched odor of feces, urine, and chlorine. Did I forget to mention that cleaning staff, fed up with doing their one job of cleaning, almost went on strike during this? They complained to the con saying the bathrooms were too hard to maintain during this crazy event, and had threatened to just up and close the downstairs restrooms as a consequence. Con luckily put their foot down, but it did explain why at one point I saw the barrier up around the bathroom while the cleaning crew gave me the stank eye as I had to walk further down to whiz. So, the take away, if you didn’t bother to read my lovely little rant. PROS: - 8 foot table - 3 badges per table - Largest show in AZ - Easy to get into (application wise) - Big attendance numbers - Several hotels near by - Easy walk from light-rail (public transit)

CONS: - Table cost over $300 (for inline) - Table cost varying $300-500+ (endcaps higher) - Security and flip flop rules - No ‘cheap’ food alternatives - No food trucks, only con center food court - Strict food ban (cannot bring in whole pizzas) - No free parking - Booth space reduced - Pipe and drape gone (possible cost in future) - TONS more artists now - Guests not best draws - Crowded but not a lot of buyers - Huge homeless problem (it is downtown) - Ticket scalpers, you have been warned - Aisles narrowed - Tables side by side (no exits for some)

[ignitingwriting]

Igniting Writing ‘Explore’ Contest 2019, Submission by Vince from Lake Erie Ink

Some good news to share with you all - we have our first entry for the Igniting Writing 'Explore’ creative writing contest, in collaboration with Fighting Words, Young Writers Project and Lake Erie Ink! Our first submission was sent in by Vince, from Lake Erie Ink, and it’s a great read, capturing the rebellious streak of bored teenagers and a supernatural twist! Have a read for yourself below:

Exploration was a godsend to the kids of Mountain Brook Street. Due to the amount of space around them deemed ‘private property’ there weren’t many places for people to hang out. Often times the kids on the street found creative ways to get around the rules or odd places to chill.

A lot of the families on Mountain Brook Street had their kids grow up there and then all leave. It was a very move-in-then-move-out kind of place. Despite that stigma, there was a small cast of families that never quite got the memo. One of these families was the Beckers. Thomas and Julie Becker had bought the house when they were newlyweds and despite having three kids of varying ages they hadn’t ever thought of moving out. Their youngest child, Richie, was definitely the most adventurous of the group. He was the youngest of the three, at 15. His two brothers, Randall and Donnie, were 21 and 30 respectively, so they were already out of his life at a young age. This meant that family visits and reunions were an absolute drag for him. On one hand he got to see his siblings, but on the other, he’d get scolded by old people he barely knew for trespassing, cheating, or whatever he’d done that week.

It was July 18th and his three cousins and two uncles were coming to town. He despised them and it’d been the sixth time this year that they decided to come ‘visit’ for a week. They all knew the real reason why they came over so often, but no one wanted to argue about it. Money was thin these days and, likewise, so was Richie’s patience about this whole ordeal. Summer vacation was an evil that he would never wish on anyone (other than his cousins, of course). He was alone to do anything his free will granted and he wasn’t happy about that. Richie longed for a chance to do mischievous things with others. He just hoped high school was going to be the haven for chaos that he’d always dreamt of. All his previous friends were one-off jerks who lived in the city and until this summer he never realized what it was like to not have people around. Luckily for him, there were a few younger neighbourhood kids that he could hang out with. One of which was always open for causing a ruse.

Gregory Palm was the perfect mixture of true neutral and chaotic evil. He lived with his parents, four siblings, three cats and a canary. Richie never really saw him as more than an acquaintance, but it was evident the feeling was not double-sided. Gregory trusted Richie with his deepest regrets and despite being a year younger was very trustworthy himself.

Today was a reckoning day for sure. Today was the day that Richie was going to do the impossible. He was going to ditch a family reunion. Gregory had told him about this place he found while wandering a few weeks prior, that was right between the steel mill and the salt mine (and processing plant) that had plagued them their whole lives. For a while ‘Private’ and ‘Property’ were the only two words he knew how to read besides the omnipresent ‘yes’, ‘no’ and ‘because’. It was just one of those things the kids of Mountain Brook Street grew up with.

Richie set off on his expedition early that morning. It was about 8:30am and the guests were due to arrive in about an hour. He yelled, “I’m going to Gregory’s house, see you later, bye!” very quickly towards the direction of his parents’ room as he stormed down the staircase to the front door. He practically leapt out of the house and slammed the door behind him. This was the beginning of a very long day. He made his voyage down the sidewalk to Gregory’s abode. It was definitely what people would classify as a fixer-upper, but it still managed to be menacing in its own way. Before even stepping foot into the yard he heard the somewhat loud voice of his friend. Gregory hung out the second floor window, dressed in a flannel and a vacation-esque floral t-shirt. He was waving down at Richie, who seemed to be shocked by the level of incompetence he was witnessing.

“Gregory, what are you doing up there? Aren’t you scared of falling? You could get hurt!”

“Shut up!”

After he gave his response Gregory pushed the window closed and ran downstairs faster than what seemed possible. He swung the door open and skidded to a halt in front of Richie. He was breathing heavily, hands on his knees.

“I told you, dude, I do a lot of things I don’t really think about first.”

“Seems about right!” Richie laughed.

“I didn’t ask for a response from the peanut gallery, did I?”

“Ugh, can it! Where is this crazy forest tunnel thing you were talking so much about?”

“Oh, yeah! Um, follow me!”

The walk was pretty long by any 14-15 year old’s standards, so there were frequent stops for water and jokes until they finally arrived at about 9:45am. Amongst the clouds of factory gas and industrial flower gardens there was a hole in the ground. It wasn’t an uncommon sight in the built-up areas between the many manufacturing plants, but something seemed to draw Richie closer.

“So, this is what you were so crazy about?”

“Yeah, I can assure you I didn't just bring you out here to any old hole!”

“Oh? What’s so special about this hole, then?”

“Look at this!”

Gregory took Richie by the arm and pulled him forward to look down.

“A staircase, Gregory?”

“Yeah, pretty cool, right?”

“I wonder what’s down –”

He was cut off by Gregory yelling, “Not it!” out loud and pulling his hand away from his friend’s arm.

Richie sighed. “So, you’re asking me to go down this suspicious spiral staircase in the middle of the woods between two big factories... by myself.”

“When you put it that way, it makes me seem like a jerk, ouch!”

“Well right now I don’t think that’s far off from the truth!”

Richie crossed his arms and turned around.

“Fine, fine, take this –” Gregory took off his bag, rummaging through the top portion and pulling out a Swiss Army knife on a keychain with pepper spray and a mini flashlight. “If you see anyone super crazy down there, you’ve got a weapon! I’ll stand up here and keep watch; I think our parents might be looking for us. I may or may not have told them I was hanging out with Tommy from over on Redwood Drive.”

“Gregory Marvin Palm, you lied to your entire household about where you were going? They have phones, you know!” This terrified Richie, although it did not cause him to leave this crazy place so soon.

He sighed, turning back around and releasing his arms from their criss-crossed position. Richie stepped on to the first step of the spiral staircase and smiled. “If I don’t make it out alive, put it on record that I told ya so.”

Gregory nervously laughed, as the other boy walked slowly down the descending pipe into the earth below.

It seemed to go on forever, down into the dark depths. Despite only being lit by the keychain flashlight, Richie could tell that the place was rather clean for what he would assume to be a sewer. He reached the bottom and walked down the long corridor extending from the final landing. There was an old-fashioned wooden door held together by metal and century old nails. He brought himself forward to grasp the doorknob and turned it. On the other side of the door, there was a huge open room, with slits in the ceiling, like water vents for rain. The walls and floor were decorated with flowers, fruits and vegetables of all kinds. It was a marvellous cacophony of darkness and life. Richie was comforted by the familiar smells, which brought him closer to the greenery.

All of a sudden, the door behind Richie slammed and he heard a ringing noise in his head. He had the Swiss Army knife in one hand and the rest of the keychain in the other. The ringing died down and he started hearing a shaky, strained voice. It wasn’t loud, yet he could still hear it. Panicked, he ran for the other door in the room that he hadn’t seen when he walked in. It was open, so he figured there was a way out somehow. The voice went in and out in his head. It sounded like a test recording of some kind. As he walked cautiously to the door, he yelled, “Gregory, this isn’t funny! Is this why you wanted me to come down here? To lock me in? You’re sick y’know!”

The voice shuddered before responding. “Who?”

Richie stepped into the second room, pulling the door open completely. There was a huge machine against the right wall, with someone in a black cloak standing in front of it. Richie was petrified with fear, which caused him to stand there blankly. The person in the cloak turned, showing his skull-like face. “Oh, I wasn’t expecting anyone! Hey! I’m not too sure what’s going on, but you seem a little worried, how about we sit down?”

Before Richie could say anything, he was sat down at a table across from this crazy skeleton-esque man. The guy was so goofy, that he couldn’t help but laugh in almost terror from being so scared before. This was of course terrifying, but not to the extent he was preparing himself for.

“Oh – um, well, before you say anything, I should probably get off my chest that I am completely and utterly deaf. I cannot understand, or lip read, but! That machine in there is for telepathy! I can hear and speak to you through brain waves! Pretty cool, right? By the way, I’m Death! Death himself!” Death stuck out his hand for a shake.

Richie obliged, shaking his hand. He went to open his mouth, before realizing that he can’t just speak out loud. Once they stopped their handshake, he started to try to speak telepathically.

“So, you’re Death himself?”

“Yeah, pretty sure I am!”

“Why do you, like, live down here with plants? Don’t you kill things?”

“Ouch! Um, not exactly. Death is at the end of life, so honestly, my job is to nurture and care until they’re too weak to support themselves anymore.”

“Weird. Why are you deaf?”

“Why? Do you ever ask someone why they have cancer? Why do they have a pet? I mean, come on!”

“So you’re not going to tell me.”

Death sighs. “Hearing is just a foresight that I cannot ever truly obtain in this mortal form. What you see now is much like a hologram of who I really am. I’m the new Death and unlike most before me I don't loathe Earth – I enjoy it. Much like people having to make sacrifices to be happy, I had to make a sacrifice.”

“Huh. I should probably get going. Gregory is probably freaking out right now –”

Richie went to stand, but Death got up before him and said, “Wait! Take this!” as he ran over to a potted plant with bright purple flowers. He walked back to Richie and handed it to him.

“You might not need this now, but here's a token of my thanks for visiting. Just remember that even if you know things are a certain way, you don’t have to take it as it is. There are a million things you can do in life and I hope that you do all that you want to before I see you again. Take care and goodbye!”

Richie woke up in a cold sweat, in an empty sewer, next to a potted plant and a staircase. No door in sight.

[canyoufeelitmrkrabsbruh]

Shika’s Guide To Selling at Conventions #1: Table Set Up

Sooooo, to take my mind off somethings that are bugging me and to give myself a break from drawing; I thought I might offer a bit of insight to those who want to sell at conventions or those who already do but, just might want to read a long ass post about artsy shit. This post in particular will be about your table set up and I’ll probably make another one on what type of things you should sell and where to get your stuff made and or/how to make them yourself, one on what the content of your merch should be, and basic convention etiquette. Coming from someone that has done plenty of research on conventions, is currently getting ready for the 2018 con circuit, and has sold things herself I have quite a bit to talk about.

Strap in kiddies, because I’m going to cover everything I can possibly think of when it comes to table set up.

PART 2: PRODUCTS AND HOW TO MAKE THEM/WHERE TO GET THEM DONE

Now the first thing I want to list is the things that you will need REGARDLESS of your table set up. These are things that everyone needs to have whether they have a grid display, pipe display, etc.

Tablecloth: At most conventions/fairs you’re going to be given a table that is 2′x6′. You can have just a cheap ass plastic tablecloth meant for one time use if you’re just testing the waters but, if you’re going to be selling multiple times a year or if you’re even just going to sell more in the future I recommend that you have something made of cloth. It doesn’t even have to be specifically a tablecloth. Mine is a tapestry that I’m using so whatever fits the table will be fine.

Paper For Keeping Count of Your Inventory: This is important to make sure you’re keeping track of what you have and what you’ve sold.

Pens and Markers

Sign(s) Listing Your Prices For Your Items: It’s annoying to keep having to ask the artist what the price of everything is so make sure everything is marked.

Money Box with Change

Scissors

Container for holding your merch including your prints and everything else

T-Shirt Bags: You can get a box of them at Office Max/Depot, or colored ones on Ebay. Your costumers will thank you for having them trust me.

Pocket Folder

Paracord: This is useful for hanging or tying your banner and so much more.

Invisible Tape

Banner

Card Reader: Not everyone has cash on them these days. I sure as hell don’t so, get one. I recommend Square personally.

Phone Stylus: Get a cheap one at Walmart so people can sign when they buy with a card.

Velcro

And now that, that is out of the way let’s get onto the actual table display. There are tons of ways to set up your table and you can look up pictures as reference but, I will be going over the 5 most common types that I have seen, the pros and cons of each, and the extra items you made need for each particular display. I’ll start at the cheapest and go up.

ABSOLUTELY NOTHING!

Price: $

Eyup, that’s right. You can get by with just having your stuff spread out on your table. This set up is good because it’s cheap and good for first timers and it’s also good if you’re only selling prints and/or maybe a few items. But, at the same time it may be tiresome for customers to have to look down at a table and it may look cluttered and unprofessional as well.

Pros: Cheap, Good for first timers or people on a budget, Good for those with minimal items to sell, Set up is very easy

Cons: Can look cluttered/unprofessional, Can be tiresome for customers to look down.

Extras You May Need: Portfolio/Page Protectors to Display Prints, Binder

PVC PIPING

Price: $

This is probably the one everyone is most familiar with. It’s a simple and cheap and does a great job of displaying many different prints. It’s starting to fade out in recent years as Photography Stands are getting more popular. It’s common for most beginners to use this but, that also may be a con because it can look a bit amateurish with those big white pipes showing. They are readily available at any hardware store and are pretty cheap. Most beginners (especially people in the mid 2000′s) would use clamps to hold the pipes up and tape the hell out of them but, I would recommend a setup like this. No matter how you set it up, the set up its self takes time so you’ll have to go in early to set up.

Pros: Cheap, Readily available, Can be customized to different heights and widths

Cons: Set up may take some time, a bit amateurish and unprofessional, can be a bit wobbly and unstable, Hard to transport to keep track of all of the pieces

Extras You May Need: Plastic Page Sleeves, Binder Clips/Binder Rings

WIRE GRID STORAGE CUBES

Price: $$

This is neck in neck with Photography Stands with the most current popular display method. It’s actually the one I use and its my favorite. It’s very easy to find; You can find it at Walmart, Bed Bath and Beyond, Target, and Kmart (which is where I got mine). You can even order the individual little grids online through certain stores. They come in both black and white. How much you spend will depend on whether you get a 4 cube set or a 6 cube set. I have a 6 cube set that I got at Kmart for $20 and it’s worked perfectly for me. The set up is easy but takes time (longer than the PVC pipes) so you’ll have to go in early to properly set up. My favorite thing with these is how customizable they are. You can do so many different looks with them.

Pros: Fairly inexpensive, Readily available, Customizable, Good for Products like Charms/Jewelry/Bookmarks because they can be hung, Easy to transport

Cons: Can be unstable based on how it’s set up, set up takes time

WIRE GRID PANELS

Price: $$$

This is one of the more rarer ones but, I still think it’s worth mentioning anyways. These work like the Storage Cubes but, on a larger scale. These will have to be placed on the floor unlike the rest and you need to buy more than one, which isn’t a big deal because they’re actually fairly cheap in a pack. They can be bought in different sizes but, because they are so big, heavy, and almost exclusively sold online shipping will probably bite you in the ass. Also set up will most likely be difficult without a helper. Also because of the fact that they are so big will give you plenty of space to display prints. The fact that they’re on the floor will free up you table space and give you more room to show other things.

Pros: Pretty affordable for their size, Very professional looking, Easy to hang things like Charms/Bookmarks/Jewelry from, Plenty of display space, Frees up table space

Cons: Hard to set up without help, Hard to transport, May make your booth space feel crowded with things behind you

Extras You May Need: Zipties

PHOTOGRAPHY STAND

Price: $$$$

This is tied with the Grid Cubes for the most popular option and it’s steadily growing as well. They’ll set you back about $80-$90 but, they have a lot of benefits. They are the easiest to set up. They have the concept of PVC pipes but are far easier to put together, are customizable with the height and width, and are much more sleeker and professional looking. They are perfect for anyone selling alot of prints and like the grid panels they free up table space. And also like the panels they can make the surrounding area feel closed in.

Pros: Very easy setup, Very professional looking, Plenty of Space for prints, Customizable height and width, Frees up table space, Easy Transport

Cons: Very expensive for a quality one, Mostly exclusive to online, Depending on the feet type it can be a tad bit unsturdy, Makes surrounding space feel cluttered

Extras You May Need: Plastic Page Sleeves, Binder Clips/Binder Rings

And those are only the 5 most popular set ups. I’ve seen people use other methods so do you research and pick and choose which one suits you best. And now unto how to display certain popular items. The prints are covered by the stand setup but, this is for the smaller things.

Buttons

Foam Core Board (Can be by it’s self or with a fabric covering like felt)

Jewelry Beading Box

Cork Board

Charms

Foam Core Board

Cork Board

Display Case

Stickers

Bowls (Good for individual stickers)

Foam Core Board (Good for sticker sheets)

Jewelry Beading Box

Jewelry

I would have to list alot but, unless you’re going to have them hanging if you have wire grid panels/storage cubes You’ll need a necklace stand, bracelet stand, ring holder, etc.

These are extras that completely optional but, I thought they would be nice to mention anyhow.

Peg Board With Pegs: These are great for displaying hanging things like Keychains,Charms Etc. They can even be used to display prints if you get them big enough.

Cloth Backdrop for Photography Stand: If you don’t want to put your prints in sleeves and then tape them together, You can attach them to a cloth backdrop.

Gift Card Display, Revolving or Stationary: These are great if you’re like me and you sell 4x6 Mini Prints.

Boxes: I often see these used to elevate certain products and show off certain things. They’re more often than not painted small wooden boxes flipped upside down with the merch placed on top.

Easel Stands: If you’re going to be using Foam Core Boards Or Cork Boards, you’ll need something to prop them up.

Business Cards and Business Card Holder: This may be a weird one to be optional, you’d think it would be up with the essential stuff but, not exactly. I personally prefer to keep businesses cards but, at a Con I went to this year there was alot of people that instead of many business cards they had one little sign with all of their social media (some even had a QR Code) that people would take a picture of.

Brads/Finishing Nails: Again if you’ll be using Foam Core or Cork Board for displays you’ll need something to have your product hang off. I personally prefer brads over finishing nails because they can come in different designs.

Hangers: If you’re selling t-shirts and you’re not going to have them on the table top, you can use hangers to display the t-shirts.