#backup pinned post section

[aemiron-main-backup]

Creelarke Posts

Creelarke And The Tunnel Scene (x)

Creelarke and Wormholes and The Other Side (Of The Tunnel) (x)

“Who’s Scott?” and Who’s Alice Gilbert? (x)

The Gayest Saturday Morning Cartoon Episode Ever: Scott’s Hank the Ranger Figure, Creelarke, and Tiamat (x)

Creelarke and the Lost Boys of Montauk (x) 

Puzzle Tales: I Was Right About Tiamat (x)

Hungry One (x)

Scott Moved Houses (x)

Scott and Rainbows (x)

The Randy Havens AMA, Scott’s Secretive Backstory and Scott Understanding What It’s Like To Lose A Friend (x)

Scott’s Plaid Funeral Scarf Has the Same Colours as Henry’s Plaid Moving-In Shirt (x)

Scott and The Hivemind and The Party Getting DND lore Wrong (But The Writers Doing It On Purpose) (x)

Scott Clarke and the Elder Brain (x)

Creelarke and The Hand Reach (x)

The Yellow And Black Plaid Shirt And Yet Another “Blonde Haired Kid And Black Haired Kid” Pairing (x)

The Neck Touch (x)

The Mike And Troy Gymnasium Scene And Why The Hell Are There So Many Pairs Of Kids That Look Like Scott And Henry And Why Do Two Of The Dark Haired Kids Keep Being Positioned On Top Of Scott? (x)

Scott Clarke Is Everywhere (Featuring The Beige Coat) (x)

Why Are There So Many Lab Extras That Resemble Scott Clarke? (x)

“Peter” Might Be Scott In An Alternate Timeline (x)

The Photo On Scott’s Shelf (x)

The Creels’ Broken Swing and Creelarke (x)

Creelarke and The Black Cat on the First Shadow Loading Screen (x)

Creelarke Analysis: Star Trek and Clarke’s Disease (x)

Where Are You From, Exactly? (x) 

Scott Clarke, Creelarke, The Thing, The Defibrillator, Sensory Tanks and Nina: Why The Hell Is Scott Connected To Everything All The Time? (x)

See You On Monday: Creelarke and Edward and Timelines (x)

Initial Post About Creelarke and Beauty And The Beast (x)

Creelarke, Camp, and Wet Hot American Summer (x)

Scott Clarke and Wrong Numbers and Scott And Henry’s Ten O Clock Lines (x)

Creelarke Analysis: Creelarke and Art (x)

Why Are There Os Many Lab Extras That Look Like Scott AND Why Was Alexei (A Russian Scientist) Referred To As A “Russian Scott Clarke”? (x)

The Brain, The Lost Brother, Creelarke and The ST2 Unused Episode Titles (x)

The Curious Case of Scott Clarke: Why Was Scott Being So Uncharacteristically Snippy During That S2 Classroom Scene? (x)

[are-you-judd-enough]

last updated: 26/Oct/2024

Submissions open: see below the cut.

Submitting a map, best practice; a masterpost

I thought I'd make a styleguide and masterpost for how to submit a map!

On backups: First things first, take a video of the result as a backup. Load the code, skip to the end, see the funny cephalopods dance and hold in the screen capture button. If an update ruins your code, this backup will live on until you delete it. I take the video right away instead of watching a replay and take the screens from that video recording where I can pause and scrub for the frame I want.

1st preference: I love receiving your codes; I'll do all the work for you! Please also make a backup via video capture because updates kill your match codes (learned this the hard way). You can go to the terminal in the lobby and save a game to recieve its code!

The splatoon font is utterly incomprehensible, so please make a backup screenshot of the code; if you typo and then play too many matches, you can lose the code and with it the map. this happens more than you think and it's sad to not be able to feature your map!

On codes: Codes can be generated from any of your last 50 matches, "no-contests" included, and remain available until a patch breaks continuity. Once you have a code, it's saved and you can play as much as you want right away, play 60 more matches and your code persists! Patches can take us by surprise, however, so please prepare a backup.

Second preference; If you're the kind of person who wants to submit screenshots, remember that you need to submit two!

The "question" image should be a clean image of the map, before it is obscured by the handsome judges. This one is easy to grab because the map is displayed for about 3 seconds. This should not be the mid-match map.

The "answer" image should be after the splash of the colliding ink, but before the banner drops. This can be a little tricky to pin down unless you're taking the capture from a video capture. This is very difficult to grab from a twitter video because you cannot pause the video without the video controls being overlayed, but easy on switch where you can track, pause and save the frame as a screenshot.

For Splatfests, if you want to include the vicory or defeat message becasue it's a multiplier battle, feel free to keep it included.

Some advice: Lil Judd and I like to curate interesting and close maps, especially ones that have you scratching your head: to this end, please also submit interesting losses too, noone is thinking less of you for it, we are not @squids-posting-their-ws. It's no fun if you can guess the answer, just because it's a submitted map.

Finally; A video capture (hold in the screenshot button) of the results screen is also a valid option. You can upload the video somewhere manually, such as to youtube. It is no longer possible to upload directly to twitter from your switch so you'll either need to read the information from your SD card, download your video, or by connecting to your switch.

It helps out if you trim your clip: best practice is to have the clip start at the black screen before the map is shown, and end after the banner has come down, but before the players are displayed.

Asks and messages are open! If your messages are open, too, I'll let you know when I've queued your map so long as I have the spoons (as in, when your map enters the hopper, I have a lot of maps and am not sure when it will be seen, but it will be!). To be able to post properly, the blog can't accept submissions via the tumblr submission section; strange, I know.

I make a note of your blog name, for credit purposes, when I queue the map, so if you change your blog name between submission and posting, I might have diffculty crediting you.

[tacoma-narrows]

Tac's OC Ref Masterpost!

Heya everybody! I'm not sure where the thought for this came from but I wanted to make a post that just has all of my OCs' refs in it in case anyone ever needs to find them and doesn't wanna ask me for them (which ur always welcome to do btw!) or doesn't wanna go digging through their Toyhouse galleries. This will be linked in my pinned post as well, so if you ever need to find it again, it'll be there! Every character will have their Toyhouse page linked below their ref, so you'll have easy access to more in-depth info and more gallery images if needed!

All the refs are below the read more since this is going to be a really long post, so be prepared for that if you take a look lol. It's organized the same way as my Toyhouse, with sonas first, then primary, secondary and tertiary OCs (basically categorized by how much I use them and how much development they have). I'll put a little bit of information about each character and whenever I make a new ref for a character, I'll swap out the old version with the new one here!

Also feel free to ask me anything abt any of my characters ever!! I adore talking abt them <333

SONAS

(These guys are ordered by how much I use them/how representative of me they are)

Shep (Toyhouse Link)

My main sona and most complete representation of myself out of all my characters!

22 y/o asexual biromantic German Shepherd

Boyfriends with PBnJ

Lead vocalist/guitarist for Let's Get Back!

PBnJ (Toyhouse Link)

Secondary sona

Usually goes by just PB

Also Ace/Biro, Golden Retriever

Boyfriends with Shep

Bassist and backup vocalist for Let's Get Back!

Starburst (Toyhouse Link)

Main comfort sona, personal favorite OC <33

Kinsona based on Jenny from Wayside, who's my biggest comfort character!

Do not draw her without her outfit!! Also please only draw her anthro!

Second tallest of my anthro characters, slighter taller than Shep, not as tall as Wilkołak

Very friendly, adventurous and always looking to live life to the fullest!

Spatter (Toyhouse Link)

Pokesona

Move set: Dragon Pulse, Earthquake, Rain Dance and Protect. Feel free to draw him using any of these!

Has roughly equal number of purple and green splatter markings

Very squishy, loves giving/receiving hugs

Vostok (Toyhouse Link)

Main Dragon/WoF-sona

My oldest OC, I've had him since February of 2017

May look intimidating but rlly just a big soft guy

Blue and purple scales make chevron shapes (not zigzags, not checkerboards, not stripes, etc.)

PRIMARY OCS

(Characters from here going forward are listed alphabetically per section)

Agouti (Toyhouse Link)

RainWing

Relatively quiet and shy until you get to know her

Lesbian, girlfriends with Rhazz

Can feel the emotions of others very strongly (for better or worse)

Doppler (Toyhouse Link)

SeaWing/RainWing hybrid (75% Sea/25% Rain)

Weather forecaster with his wings and scales that show weather radar

Makes up a weather watching/storm chasing team with Sundial and ThunderSnow

Boyfriend of Sundial

Radar can show any kind of weather (rain/thunderstorms, hurricanes, snow storms, tornadoes, etc.)

Eejanaika (Toyhouse Link)

SkyWing/RainWing hybrid

Name pronounced Edge-a-NYE-ka

Goes by Eej as a nickname

Has issues with anxiety and self-confidence

Demisexual, girlfriend of ThunderSnow

Has a short right horn, RainWing frill spines with no membrane, a double-pointed nose spike and is missing every other spine along her back as a result of being a hybrid

Name and design based on the old color scheme for the Eejanaika roller coaster at Fuji-Q Highland in Japan

Firecracker (Toyhouse Link)

Jack Russell Terrier

Small but full of energy!

Loves 4th of July themed snacks and baked goods (his personal fav are Star Spangled Ding Dongs haha)

Friends with Starburst over their shared energetic lifestyle and red white and blue color solidarity :]

Isaac (Toyhouse Link)

Celestdog - Australian Shepherd

Nonbinary Asexual

Quiet and reserved, generally prefers to do their own thing

Very smart, loves trivia facts

Sibling to Moxie and the rest of the Celestdog family

Kwaro (Toyhouse Link)

SilkWing

Gay, boyfriends with Rutabaga (owned by @/macaronichewtoyz)

Likes to sing, but is self-conscious about singing in front of others

Generally softspoken

Kinda velvety soft rather than full scales

Luau (Toyhouse Link)

Major comfort OC

Very chill, laid back attitude

Good friends with PB and Shep

Occasionally guest vocalist for Let's Get Back! and often runs the lights/effects for their shows

Always has a flower in her hair, but can be any flower!

Girlfriends with Seabreeze

Moxie (Toyhouse Link)

Celestdog - Siberian Husky

Another major comfort OC

Loves to have fun, can play a little rough sometimes but always means well

A bit bigger and more stocky than Isaac

Sister to Isaac and the rest of the Celestdog family

Pebble (Toyhouse Link)

Small and fluffy with long, silky fur

Husky/Samoyed mix

Hates getting his fur dirty

Smallest of my feral dog OCs

Pumpernickel (Toyhouse Link)

Twin brother to Rye

Drummer and backup vocalist for Let's Get Back!

Easygoing and relaxed

Enjoys being outside at night

Rhazz (Toyhouse Link)

Huge comfort OC

Design and personality based around the Roaring Twenties

Super energetic and affectionate

Lesbian, girlfriends with Agouti

Stage performance partners with Foxtrot

Has a necklace, two hoop earrings on her left ear, a ring on her left horn and a feathered headdress (all are not optional when drawing her!)

Rye (Toyhouse Link)

Twin to Pumpernickel

A bit more rambunctious than his twin

Likes to strut around thinking he's cool stuff when he's really just kind of a dork

Keyboardist, backup guitarist and backup vocalist for Let's Get Back!

Seabreeze (Toyhouse Link)

Lively surfer girl

Girlfriends with Luau

Good friends with Starburst as well, as both are pretty adventurous

Always has her lucky seashell necklace

Wilkołak (Toyhouse Link)

Big scary (or at least he tries to be scary) transgender wolf guy

Name can be pronounced either Veel-koak or Will-ko-Lack (His name means Werewolf in Polish)

Tallest of my anthro OCs

Has hydrokinetic powers and his blue markings glow when he uses them

Used to be a WoF Fantribe OC named Galeforce before I redesigned him lol

SECONDARY OCS

Arroyo (Toyhouse Link)

SandWIng

Sometimes acts as an older brother figure to Rhazz

Higher-up at a gold mine in the desert

Ruff is stylized to look like messy hair

Foxtrot (Toyhouse Link)

NightWing/SilkWing hybrid

Stage performer, performance partners with Rhazz

Loves showtunes music

Feel free to simplify his design if needed lmao

Magma (Toyhouse Link)

Biggest of any of my dragon characters

Veteran of some war (he never specifically says which)

Has a scar on his tail

Adoptive older brother to Sunrise

Fits the "cool uncle who brings the kids awesome gifts at their birthdays and holidays" role

Sundial (Toyhouse Link)

IceWing/RainWing hybrid

Girlfriend of Doppler

Makes up a weather watching/storm chasing team with Doppler and ThunderSnow

Wings show what the sky outside looks like at any given time (day/night, clear/rain/snow, etc. - think like a Minecraft clock lol)

ThunderSnow (Toyhouse Link)

IceWing/SkyWing hybrid

Wavy spines are a hybrid side effect

Wings are meant to look like a blizzard, icicles and lightning, all meant to tie back to his name

Storm chaser, works with Doppler and Sundial

Boyfriend of Eejanaika

Wanderlust (Toyhouse Link)

SilkWing

Owns a safari tour business in Pantala

Sometimes wears a pith helmet at an angle as part of her tours :]

Probably has an Australian accent lol

Her catchphrase/business tagline is "Everybody needs a little more wonder in their lives!"

TERTIARY OCS

Cenote (Toyhouse Link)

PackWing (WoF Fantribe)

Name is pronounced Seh-noh-Tay)

Lives in the forest and has a lot of knowledge about herbs and plants and stuff

Spends so much time in the woods that the smell tends to follow him wherever he goes

Markings and stuff can be simplified if needed lol

Chernobyl (Toyhouse Link)

NightWing/SandWing hybrid

Used to be the king of a fantribe I had made called FissionWings, which is why he has his floaty crown

Orange stripe along his flank is highly radioactive

The spots on his wings flicker with little sparks of radiation

Generally cold and stoic, usually keeps to himself

South (Toyhouse Link)

Melanistic IceWing

Named to contrast all of the IceWing OCs named North lmao

Youngest/smallest of all my dragon OCs

Very innocent and happy since he's still pretty young

Love to play with his friends

StrangeEvidence (Toyhouse Link)

NightWing with weak future seeing powers

Based on the terrible Science Channel show of the same name [I have no shame]

Tries to interpret his visions but goes like, way overboard and sounds ridiculous in the process

When they turn out to be something totally mundane, he's just like  "alright, so that's what that's about. Hm, neat" and walks away

These last two are doubled up due to Tumblr's 30 image per post limit </3

Sunrise (Toyhouse Link)

Also fairly young, but older than South (like what would be tween age in humans)

Kind of a ditz and lacks any kind of inhibition, which sometimes gets her into trouble

Adoptive younger sister to Magma, who often helps her out of the trouble she gets herself into

Tōhoku (Toyhouse Link)

SeaWing/SandWing hybrid

Lives by the beach

Loves to cook and owns a snack shack by the ocean

Very chill, would probably host a surfing contest

[jeanjauthor]

ok not about writing but i saw your comment on the amber pins post and i was wondering, what are your top 3 favorite fun facts? i’d appreciate any knowledge you care to share ^-^

Oh good lord, just 3??

The problem with me is that I'm a terminal research junkie, a perpetual student, a collector of information hopefully will some day be useful in a story (or possibly in real life)...so I know so much random shht...

Okay, first fun fact:

David Canterbury (one of the more well-known figures in the survival & bushcrafting worlds in social media, youtube etc) constantly talks about the 5 Cs of Survival: Cutting tool (knife, axe, etc), Combustion device (ferrorod, bic lighter, whatever), Cordage (rope, thread, etc; paracord is often suggested because you can break it down from a sturdy rope to many fine fibers, though Canterbury also recommends bank line, lightly tarred twined rope or cords that can sorta do the same thing), Cover (clothing being your first & foremost form of shelter against the elements, followed by tarp, tent, etc), and Container (canteen for holding water, metal cup or pot for boiling it, etc).

He also talks about an additional 5 Cs (for a total of 10 Cs) of survival tools: Candling device (flashlight, candle, oil lamp, etc, so you can see at night), Compass (literally, a way to determine magnetic north and to determine degrees in a circle so that you know where you're going and where you've been), Cloth sail needle (also called a Canvas needle, a strong sturdy needle with a largish eye you can put thread through, or even improvised cordage made from plant materials, etc, which tends to be way thicker than the usual thread), Cotton kerchief (useful for turning into a makeshift sling or tourniquet, as bandaging material, as a filtering device to get coarse materials and sediment out of water, and in a pinch, tinder material for lighting a fire), and Cargo tape (duct or duck tape, which can be used in the usual ways of sealing things, but can also be used to make a waterproof bag, and can be burned as a form of fire starter).

(If you're interested in the 10 Cs, this article covers them, too: https://blog.ucogear.com/the-10-cs-with-dave-canterbury/ )

But did you know there are additional Cs of advanced survival?

Cartography would be maps and navigation skills, but it can also includes things like astronomy for gauging latitude & longitude, and how to use landmarks to navigate terrain. (aka "You'll see a huge black oak, bigger than anything, at the fork in the road, so you'll want to take the left-hand path if it's daylight because the way is rough, but if it's nighttime or bad visibility, take the right-hand path, but it'll take you about five miles longer to reach your destination, since that goes arount the mountain...") GPS and Google Maps, Life 360, etc, are great if you can get cellphone reception, but sometimes even a satellite phone cannot get a signal out...and if your cellphone gets destroyed or the battery dies, you'll need a backup plan.

Care covers things like medicines. If you have to take medication daily, always have 2-5 days' worth of extra meds on you when you go hiking. It also covers a first aid kit, tick removal equipment, and more, but even so much as a simple bar of soap in a waterproof container, or a bottle of hand sanitizer, can save your life, because you will want to clean any scratches to prevent infection (which has killed more soldiers throughout history than combat itself ever has). (Plus the hand sanitizer can act as a flame extender when starting a fire.) Mostly, though, I want folks to remember that if you take medication, you need to have an extra supply on hand when you go hiking or camping or on a long trip, just in case you injure yourself and can't get back home again quickly. (Also carry your prescription information! Most prescription documentation from pharmacies have a summary section similar to the lable on the bottle that you can snip out and stick into your wallet; if you run out, get rescued, and need to be checked out by the nearest clinic or hospital, it's good to have this information instantly on hand!)

Courage is one of the least acknowledged yet most important aspects of survival. Thankfully, courage is something everyone can carry with them, even if they've been stripped buck-nekkid. The will to survive has been the deciding factor more than once in whether or not a person makes it out alive. Courage helps you get past the fears of your situation to find the strength and the wits to survive. You can find your strength and determination when focusing on your own survival, or you can find it when you think of your loved ones and not wanting them to suffer, or you can draw comfort and energy from both sources. Fear saps energy, and despair drains it away into a sense of hopelessness. Your mentality of courage will help you to search for what you need, and help give you the strength to do what must be done.

Contentment is another intangible survival skill. This one is even more subtle, because it means letting go of expectations of higher comfort levels & better conditions. If you have a tarp to keep you dry in a rainstorm, don't whine about how you don't have an RV to hide in, or worse, a 5-star hotel. You're going to make yourself miserable and feel hopelessness & despair if you're constantly comparing what you don't have to your current conditions and whining about it. If you've got the first 5 Cs, you've got a tarp and cordage to set it up to keep the rain off you, a campfire to keep you warm, a container to boil water to keep you from getting dehydrated (and also warm you up from the inside), and a cutting tool to keep the wood going and to defend yourself against attacks. You're alive, and you're going to get out of this fine. Contentment is acknowledging you could be suffering but are not, and allowing yourself to be happy with the fact you have shelter, heat, water, etc. If you don't release your expectations of a higher level of comfort, you're going to waste your remaining energy, and you'll be too stressed out to rest.

Composure is another intangible skill. Are you the sort who panics in an emergency? Nothing to be ashamed about because lots of people do that, but the big difference lies in practicing in advance what to do, and how to do it, and how to think about it. Bystanders leap into action to save a toddler about to toddle off the sidewalk and into traffic because they've run it through their mind that "If X happens, I will do Y to fix it." Having a game plan, a pre-hike mindset, will help you stay calm in an emergency, which will allow you to conserve your energy, figure out what to do, and do it. You can have a nervous breakdown afterward when there is time & the luxury to do so, but in the moment, practice until you can think and act during an emergency. You can be an absolute mess and still be courageous. You can find contentment in a survival situation...but usually only after the scary bits are over and done with. First you gotta get through those scary bits. Composure--keeping a cool head, forcing yourself to think your way through your options quickly & realistically--will help you to survive.

There are other Cs as well, but those are the main ones off the top of my head...and yes, I have weird tastes in fun facts. Speaking of which!

Second fun fact:

There are over 20,000 edible plants around the world. We only really cultivate about 100 of them in earnest (and 20 of them provide 90% of our plant-based calories), but there is so much more that we could be eating, it's amazing!

Did you know that maple seeds are edible? Yes, you have to remove the husk-and-wing part, but the seeds themselves are edible! And do you know how many leafy greens we aren't consuming? Carrot greens, beet greens, radish greens, chock full of micronutrients and vitamins, trace minerals and the like. Acorns used to be a huge part of the human diet. They need to have the bitter tannins leached out of them (a tedious step that manufacturers didn't want to bother with on an industrial scale until somewhat recently), but they're also full of nutrition as well as carbs and fats.

Common weeds in the cracks of sidewalk can also be eaten, like the vaguely pineapple-looking "fuzzy" wild chamomile, juicy purslane, or even clover, with edible leaves and roots (which can be eaten raw like beansprouts being cleaned, but really should be cooked low & slow to convert their inulin into more digestible sugars). Clover roots were considered a huge springtime feasting delicacy by the indigenous Coastal Salish peoples of Washington & British Columbia, which they would dig up and pile up in huge mounds, then put them into roasting pits with hot rocks to bake all day.

Corollary: Food forest savannahs are a sustainable permaculture way to get a wide variety of foods growing in healthy harmony in a modest space. Monoculture is great for mass production of food, but it isn't sustainable because it robs the soil of vital micronutrients, and wrecks the local ecology. Standard fertilization techniques really only restores half a dozen or so macronutrients (phosphorus, nitrogen, etc) in monoculture fields, but creating a system of narrow grassy fields (to grow grains, etc) between beds of trees, bushes, and groundcover plants allows leaf litter from the trees to fall on the field and restore some nutrients. Grazing your livestock in those grassy alleyways allows their dung to be deposited where scarab beetles and other forces of nature compost and redistribute that biomatter into the soil.

The bushes and trees growing on the margins have access to more sunlight overall (heavy forest canopies don't exactly allow enough sunlight to reach down for good growing health for the shorter plants), and companion planting helps restore the soil naturally--clover and beans for fixing nitrogen into the soil, for example. Adding in species that flower at different times of the year helps support a healthy pollinator population. Perennials such as fruit & nut trees and berry bushes can remain, but annuals or biennials (leeks, garlic, and other plants that take 2 years to mature & seed) can be cycled in and out every few years...

You can grow enough of these things to be commercially viable as a farm, but you don't have to have the acreage of a farm to benefit. An apartment balcony would be fine, or even a table in front of a sun-facing window would work. You can grow a variety of things in pots and planters. And if you have a house with a yard, you can replace your non-food plants with a variety of species that will help you and your family (and neighbors!) have healthier diets and healthier lives. (If you have an HOA and it blocks this sort of thing, attend the meetings, get on the board, and work to change the highly restrictive rules to allow food gardens.) Work with your neighbors in educating them on the many benefits and beauties of food forest style landscaping.

(Fun bonus side-fact: Dandelions have such long, strong tap-roots because they are trying to draw calcium up to the surface from the depths of the soil...so if you have a lot of dandelions in your garden, consider investing in a bag of bonemeal, etc, because it means your soil is calcium-deficient!)

Fun Fact #3:

You can be best friends with someone you've never even met. *waves at the entire internet and its many ways to connect with people around the world* BFF status is not dependent on physically meeting a person.

I have 3 BFFs. One of them I met in school and lives just a couple miles away at most. One of them I met in school and she lives almost halfway around the world from me. One of them I've met online, lives on the far side of the continent, and I may never ever see her in person (q.q for not being able to share hugs in person), but each of us supports the other through hard times as well as good ones.

Fun Fact #4:

(an extra one just for funsies...)

Humans have been humaning for tens of thousands of years. The grafitti scrawled on the walls of Pompeii & Herculaneum is very very similar in content to the grafitti scrawled on the restroom walls of the AFK Tavern a dozen miles from where I currently live.

The first signs of civilization wasn't agriculture or writing or even domesticating wolves. It belongs to a skeleton from tens of thousands of years ago where the person lived with a badly broken leg for over ten years afterward (as judged by the post-break healing done by the bones) before finally passing away. That injury was so bad, someone had to help take care of them for all ten of those years just so they could survive, and that means humans have been caring about other humans for a very long time.

And Ea-Nasir. Oh, how we tumblrites love Ea-Nasir! Not for his craptastic quality copper ingots! We condemn Ea-Nasir for his craptastically poor quality copper! No, we love Ea-Nasir because someone complained about his craptastic-quality crummy copper...a very human thing to do...and because he kept the clay tablet of that complaint as a proud piece of correspondence. Also a very human thing to do. (...And quite possibly for ancient arson, since the clay tablets in his house were baked because his house caught on fire...which could have been an accident, but which also could have been not so much an accident...because he had several other complaint tablets as well!) This one complaint tablet and the fact its recipient proudly kept it is so very human.

Compassion, complaints, and correspondence showcasing cultural attitudes. Humans have been humaning very undeniably for tens of thousands of years.

For us writers, this means that though we may have to watch which words and phrases we use...we can still confidently write someone from Ancient Babylon and have them act in believably human ways.

[animal-video-analysis]

Let's practice analyzing an animal video!

In this video, we see a chimpanzee carrying a young white tiger in a pool and handing it off to a lady, whom the chimpanzee then guides to the edge of the pool. The captions read: “He was worried about the tiger, he gave him to me, & guided us to [safety]”. 

This video has a few key parts. Where is this being taken? What interaction are we watching? Why are these two animals together? 

The first thing that you should do is check the comments and go to the source! The comments already warn about animal mishandling, but we want to see for ourselves if we can. Clicking on the source takes us to a TikTok account, which then links to a wildlife safari experience’s website. This shows lots of pictures and videos of different animals that would not normally interact in the wild, and especially not with humans, including a variety of large carnivores and other animals that can present a real danger to humans and each other. The organization states that its mission is conservation education, and a number of the animals are described as rescued, but moving to the ‘Tiger Tales’ section of their site shows an interesting rebuttal to the filming done there by the ‘Tiger King’ crew, as well as other articles revealing disapproval from the Humane Society of the United States. They also knock the American Zoological Association (AZA) for furthering a disagreeable ‘ideology’, but the AZA is one of the most trustworthy animal welfare organizations that you can find, as it informs animal care in accredited zoos around the US. You can read there that the institution breeds tigers without the intention of releasing them into the wild, but claims to be a genetic backup for wild tigers and raising awareness for conservation. A quick search of white tigers - which we see in the video - shows that they are severely inbred. Reviewing their website further shows that they allow anyone to sign up and get their hands on baby animals of endangered species, which is not safe for guests or for the animals. There are a lot of reasons to distrust this organization. 

Back to the video - the biggest thing about the setting (besides that it’s not a natural setting for either animal) is that this is a swimming pool, which is probably chlorinated. Searching about chlorine and animals shows that chlorine may be safe, unless the individual is particularly sensitive to it, and depending on how long the animal is in the pool (which we can’t tell here). Additionally, chimpanzees and tigers should not be interacting. We know that, according to good practices of animal welfare as illustrated in the infographic post, a responsible rehabilitation center or other facility should keep these animals separate and emulate life in the wild as best they can, with official (AZA) approved habitats. The animal should normally have limited contact with humans, particularly if it was born in captivity and not already socialized (mishandled) by an exotic pet owner. (Exotic pets that have been rescued may need continued social enrichment in order to stay happy - but should not have gotten like this in the first place). 

Overall, because of what we found on the source website, we feel that this video should be avoided, and potentially reported if you feel like making a case against it on the grounds of animal abuse. The organization that sponsors this video is extremely questionable at best, shows evidence of animal abuse (a white tiger cub is enough to confirm that, let alone putting those two animals together - and in a chlorinated pool, no less). 

This video was shared for educational purposes and to add a comment that others can find so that they can learn more - we are considering the educational benefit as outweighing the single-reblog engagement cost.

For a comic on how to analyze animal videos, check out pinned!

(via)

[sanstropfremir]

apologies if someone's already asked this but... favorite taemin stylings and sets/stages?

i've had fave songs but not fave styles and sets!!!! thank you anon this is great.

- ok my top stage is probably the advice inkigayo one take stage, because 1) the full loverboy styling and also the backup dancers have impeccable outfits too, 2) i loooooove the neoclassical set (the fact that main sculptures are laocoön and his sons, where the story in virgil is that he is punished by being attacked by snakes for attempting to expose the trojan horse as a ruse) and the THRONE!!! also the inverted triangle!! has a bunch of different meanings, including: the alchemical symbol for water (fluid and formless, also in the projections) and the symbol for femininity, the symbol of the father, son, and the holy ghost (christianity), and 3) the choreography of advice is the only choreo of taemin's that was conceived post covid and thus it's meant for specifically for the accompanying camerawork, which you can really see in the various ways that it gets filmed.

- my other all time fave styling is this outfit from the ngda beyond live:

which also included a burned jacket and an eyepatch, which he used to perform criminal, idea, guess who/sexuality, heaven, and door.

- another fave styling is the danger stage from shinee world 2014 at tokyo dome, with the giant blue fur coat and shirtless leather jacket and the giant cross and the revolver. peak solo taemin image change bullshit and i love it.

- tbh i love most of the styling from advice but the white cropped sweatsuit look really did make me lose braincells. like the chunky earrings and the harness and the bobby pins and mascara tear tracks and the pseudo sports bra it all lives rent free in my empty skull

- just. all the styling from criminal and ngda in general. obvs love the dark virgin mary getup and the chainmail and also the gucci suit with the chainsaw, but the lava suit and the hell set from the 2020 kbs song festival..........MWAH. and the royal blue satin hanbok from the king taemin mama 2020 stage....................with the cape.............. i also do like the set here as well, very inspired choice to go with this tron style hyper neon hanok/palace and pair it with more traditional fabrics and embroidery.

- i also find the original move styling ideologically very fascinating, partially because everyone kinda just....forgot about it? it's been eclipsed by all the newer versions that he's done where his general styling has shifted much more towards the 'feminine' end of the spectrum, but the original stages are a very interesting deconstruction of traditional western masculine silhouettes with emphasis on a particularly 'masculine' feature: muscular arms. most of the looks are sleeveless muscle shirts or graphic tshirts, but interestingly also a very skinny fit double breasted pinstripe suit, which is huge symbol of post-war and post-modern masculinity in western fashion. you can see this continuing deconstruction with other tracks on the move album; like with stone heart, where he's got this strange and kind of incredible sweatervest/suspenders/ultra high waisted trouser combo for the offsick concert, which is very clearly an appropriation of classic 'scholarly'/academic type fashion.

- as far as sets go, really all i want to talk about is how taemin puts sooo much thought into his stages (like the actual physical stages) for his tours. he's so interested in providing these very unique experiences in terms of stage technology which is not something a lot of artists think about. like for his first solo concert at nippon budokan he did a concert entirely in the round, which is pretty much unheard of for a stadium show. there's also the double hydraulic lifts from xtm, everything that was happening for t1001101 (the slanted stage, the lighting rigs), and then for the ngda beyond live, a redux of the slanted stage that also was separated into three different hydralic sections and drone camera integration (dream maker studios posted the dronecam version of heaven so you can see some of the stage in action). there's so much tech that goes into his performances that i really wanted to talk about that a bit, because i'm a nerd and stadium stage design is sometimes sooooooo boring. taemin really makes the effort to step up his game not only personally, but in everything around him as well.

[ts4-poses]

New MASTERLIST WITH FILTER

Some of you have noticed that I posted yesterday a new masterlist. Unfortunatley I deleted by accident the new masterlist. Luckily I had a half-done backup. Oh Llama! So I did the rework and added even more tags. 

Currently, this blog experiences some massive changes and improvements, as most of you have noticed already. The TAG system did improve. As a result of the current changes, a new overhaul has been done. As of today, you will get a brand-new MASTERLIST with a filter system. Yep, you heard it.

Our lovely tags will remain as they are, but they have been reorganized, and a bunch of existing ones has been added. Some spelling errors are fixed. The list did explode with the number of new tags. It was time to change something. 🤨

The good news is: Masterlist is now way bigger and split into several categories and alphabetical order. Bad news? Well, the old layout is gone. Bye-bye, old masterlist, you served well, but we don’t need you anymore. 😆

The new filter helps to get a better overview of the tags we have. Took nearly two (now almost four) days to restructure and organize that babe. But it looks much better now. Promise! So here are the changes: 😏

Top: News/Updates, little Tutorial, a Help-Corner, Trigger Warning, and stuff you can find pose-related and beside poses on this blog.

Basics: Age & Gender, Amount, Position, Traits, and Type.

Actions: Activities and Actions. What else, right?

Accessories: The wonderful little thingies we need almost always to tell cool realistic stories.

Objects: All kinds of stuff and more stuff... you know the drill.

Sim’s Life: Everything that a Sim wants or needs in their life. Like Events & Socializing, Friends (NEW) Unbelievable, right? Not any more! Here you will find more categorized poses like Gestures, Life Stages, Location, Love, Music, Pets, Profession/Career, Transportation, and so on.

Genres: Historical Stuff, Supernatural Stuff, and whatever will come up in the future and has its own genre. This is the place to go.

Seasonal: Seasons? Holidays? Weather? Kinda, yeah! You get me, right?

Specials: Topics that don’t fit in any other category. Check out the poses for your potential general Simedits or Lookbook or whatever. Traits show up here as well, dope, huh?

Themed: Has been restructured and fulfills a new purpose. You look for Poses regarding Beauty & Care? Smokin’ fly! Yeah, I see you! Healthcare, anyone? Fame & Media? VIP, eh? Wedding? Yes, please! Foods? I knew your sim were hungry. Pregnancy? Uh, a little one is on the way?  Law & Order? Well, it can't be wrong to lock up those bad guys, right? You see where this is going?

Creators: Here you can explore who has changed their Simblr Names or if creators did retire, but most of their content is still available and more...

Trigger Warning: Link to the Trigger Info page. Just to make sure you will see that it is linked.

NSFW: The last section is the corner for ADULT CONTENT to be used at your own risk, and it requires you to read first the Trigger Warning Info if you dislike such topics.

A few tags have now a skull  ☠️. That means this tag can contain some NSFW-related content due to its nature of having multiple meanings or it serves multiple purposes. In this case, you need to see for yourself if you want/need to block those tags, too.

More topics for the ‘THEME’ section can be added in the future. If you have a suggestion, comment below. Maybe it will be added. 😉

Drop a note and tell if you like the new list with the new system.

This post will stay for 24 hours pinned before I will pin the previous Trigger Warning Post Info again.

Stay safe and sound. Happy Pose Findings! 😌

26th. April 2021

[the-mercurial-star-o-vesper]

TEN OUTTA TEN 1010

Welp, its happened. I’m into No Straight Roads, and the boys with the K-Bop in their step has got me hooked.

So I’m gonna celebrate (for the moment) with lots of gathered info I’ve found, seen, or heard speculated, regarding the Top Boy Band of Vinyl City... 1010. [Possible OCs to come later]

Some of this stuff might be common knowledge, some is already on the wiki, but hey, no shame in having a consolidated list.

But for now...

The Names of 1010 were deciphered by out of universe fans. They are Rin (White), Haym (Yellow), Eloni (Green), Purlhew (Blue) and Zimelu (Red).

An old placeholder model for 1010 had Black Hair and different tron lines.

1010 in binary is... literally just 10.

Eloni does not get fan letters; He’s the “Funny Band member”, and Funny Band Members don’t get fan letters.

1010 wears Sailor uniforms (The US Navy would call them Dress Blues, so think... Popeye. But no hat.) In fact, their flying limo is a god damn Tron-lined Battleship. Even the Cannons dance to the music.

They’re a parody on K-Bop bands or Boy Bands to the West. And while they’re listed as Funky, they’re technically Synthpop. (Haha, Synth)

In the background of their fight, when the Battleship Limo stops for pictures, you can see that there is a set of pictures of 1010. Rin the White has a Fuschia or Purple Background, while all the others have a background matching their aesthetic colors.

1010 have common powers... ... Firing Lasors. ... Levitation (Or small time Flight; as they rush to the side to meet the Cameras) ... “Taking to the Sky”, or just really powerful jumping. ... Being powered by Cheers. ... There’s a reason I left Shield off in a moment.

1010 are both outrageously tall (Mayday only comes to their waist when they stand up properly), and outrageously heavy (did you hear them walk backward in their intro cutscene? How heavy are these guys!?)

It could whatever kind of AI they have, but they are waaaay insynch, almost preemptively. Perhaps 1010 are directly linked to each other?

In most of their appearances outside of battle, they all have the same colored eyes as their aesthetic colors. But in Battle, they all have White eyes. Mind that in their Show Stopper picture, they’re back to having their aesthetic eyes again. Take that as you will.

1010 has associated attacks, when you’re in the Phase facing the Factory and Neon J. ... Yellow has Missiles or Splash Damage explosions. No literally, the yellow droid is the missle. ... Green has Bombs. HIS HAIR IS A BOMB. ... Red has Saws. He-He literally uses Red Droid as the Saw. ... Blue has some sort of Staffs or Whirlwind strike. They are staffs made of Purl-Hew. ... Because of his Picture’s Purple Background, White’s likely isn’t an attack but is, in fact, the Shields that occured early in the battle. Which is probably why they’re never deployed, because how the hell can you make a shield out of Rin Bots.

It was pointed out in one of the many Youtube Comment Sections that 1010′s hairstyles match their respective attacks in some form or fashion. ... Zimelu’s Mohawk indicates his associated Saws. ... Haym’s hair looks like a missile. ... Eloni’s hair looks line a Grenade Pin. ... Purlhew’s flat top hair could indicate the fact that he’s literally used as a Staff End. So basically he’s Blue. That’s his attack. [Hah] ... Rin’s the sexy one. Look, for a Band of Robots with fancy hairdos and attacks, he’s not considered remarkable.

As they are a parody of Boy Bands across the World, they may follow the boy band “archtypes” ... Rin is the Leader, and the Heartthrob (He doesn’t have a weird hairstyle, and he does the most flirting / talking; as well as the most promoted) ... Eloni, as already established, is the Funny Guy, or the Comedian. ... Purl-Hew is the Cool Guy, (consider his Sunglasses) ... Zimelu is the Bad Boy (Mohawk, his ANGRY EYES AARGH) ... Haym’s is apparently considered a Pompadour. Maybe he is also a Bad Boy? Consider his name, he may be the Smart Guy. ... There is no known “Shy Guy” or “Cute Guy (Technically, the Second Heartthrob, but isn’t a threat to first Heartthrob’s position). So, go forth and create.

Fun Consideration on my part. Since Names can have meaning in No Straight Roads and meaning in personal names... ... Rin is a japanese name, and boy can it mean a lot of stuff depending on the Kanji (Some of the meanings are “Dignified” “Compassion” “Cold”). He’s probably coolly impassionate off stage. ... Purl-Hew is apparently a pun on Pearl Hue (cos I guess blue Pearls). Perhaps he likes puns. ... Zimelu is an ooold fortress in Lativa apparently. Perhaps he has a warish personality. Or I guess knows very Niche military history. (Perhaps, in-universe, it was the name of a base Neon J served at?) ... Haym is the name shared by a few people, but in the themes of music, its probably Nicola Francesco Haym (Italian Poet, Opera Librettist, Composer, Manager, Editor and Numismatist (That’s uh, a guy who studies Currency)). Perhaps our Haym is quite the Nerd. ... the name Eloni means Lofty. Which can me “Of Imposing Height” (They all are), “Noble or Exalted Nature” (Possibly?) “Proud, Aloof or Self-Important” (They all are that too, yes), or in regard to Lofty Wool “Thick and Resilient” (I mean, if you look at those thighs-- Ahem). So basically Eloni’s name defines all the group... Wow, poor fella. No wonder he’s the Comedian, he’d have to pull anything to get noticed (when its not about his hair) [THE DUDE DABS]

If Battledroids all have background memories to be more efficient in combat... Does 1010 have backup memories from Neon J?

Metro Division shows other kinds of Robots, and the progression of 1010′s Mark Models (1 looks like your typical Sailor, 2 looks a bit like our 1010 but more droid, jointed and blocky, and our 1010 is currently mark 3... There are 4 known Types of Droid, so a 4th Mark may be on the way)

Neon J, Manager and Creator, is a Vetren of Vinyl City’s Navy (It only has a Navy); and his District is literally a Theme Park mashed with a Ship Yard.

Neon is the 10th element of the Periodic Table, and J is the 10th letter. Dude loves his 10s.

Considering how he replaces the bots in battle, or even outright uses them as weapons... Perhaps his “Troops” are not the Bot bodies, but the AI possibly hosted inside? 1010 has more personality out of battle after all, and Neon is seen fervently protecting 1010 when their eyes share their hair color. (As their eyes are only white in battle...) Hm, mayhaps the HC is, that when their Eyes have color, the AI is truely present.

Neon is a Cyborg, note that his body appears to be the same kind of droid as 1010′s, with a Radar head. His brain is apparently in his radar, and as we saw post-battle, that head was smashed to hell. Perhaps the reason he was reminiscing so much and though that BBJ was really after him, was because of some serious onset head or brain trauma.

Apparently, Vinyl City has or has had Border Wars. This could be a reference to the Korean DMZ Conflicts (As 1010 does distinctly include Korean K-Pop, and South Korean men do have to serve 2 years in the military forces by law), but there have been hundreds of different Border Wars throughout the world. [ I wonder what war Vinyl City was in. Perhaps against the Artist Capital of the World, Canvas City ] [ Oh take me down to the Canvas City, where the grass is green and the pics are pretty--]

Neon’s passion is Dancing.

Neon J and DJ Subatomic Supernova do seem to be in a lot of pictures together. No wonder everybody ships them.

Neon J used to make toys, as seen by the collectibles you can get. Done by hand too. Though if each toy found is a stage in his life... I wonder who the doll with the violin is.

Think maybe Neon J has direct control over 1010? I mean they share the same voice, they have a passion for poses and dancing, he does directly command them...

Are Cyborg parts cheap? Or was Neon J someone important enough in the Vinyl City Navy to actually become a cyborg? Military doesn’t do expensive prosthetic surgeries for random grunts without reason.

Okay, regarding what the Azkar faction is. Its probably suppose to be Askar. Azkar is a type of Islamic Prayer. Askar is actually Arabic for Army. So it’d be The “Army Faction” (which makes more sense for a nation city-state that only has a Navy)

The place he called “Kewan” is not a real world place. Its either Persian for “Saturn” (What, is he... Is he a SAILOR SCOUT!?) or Kurdish for Mountains (He does mention mountains).

Possibly more as information arises.

[portals-to-a-new-world]

Black Dresses and Back Alleys

(Butcher gif credit goes to @urban-trek-thru-middle-earth, and the edit is mine. Don’t ask why the gif is running so fast I couldn’t get it any slower. Open to suggestions lmao)

Who?: Billy Butcher x Reader

What?: Inspired by this post by @becs-bunker (thank you once again for letting me borrow the idea, love). Undercover in a night club to seduce a Vought scientist, with Butcher as your backup. What could go wrong? 

Word Count: 2.6k

Warnings: Does Butcher even need a language tag at this point? Smut. Portals? Writing smut? Why, it’s unheard of!!! Nah y’all know me this is smutty af. Specific warnings: Jealous!Butcher, Hints of Dom/sub, Public(ish) Smut, Fingering.

A/n: Hello everyone! Quick shout outs to @becs-bunker for the inspiration, and as always the illustrious @bakerstreethound for being a literal actual angel in human form, whom I thank every higher power for. I love ya. Also, shoutout to Sandmann on AO3 for helping out with some plot and general editing. You rock my dear. I wrote this with the dress in the picture above in mind, but feel free to read it as what ever sleeveless short dress you want :)

Going undercover in a night club to seduce some asshole scientist from Vought was not your ideal Saturday night. The mark was a new promotion in Vought and was more than happy to run his mouth once you got a few drinks in him. Bragging seemed to be his favorite thing to do, other than grinding like a 17-year-old boy at his first prom. It did provide a source of entertainment, though. Butcher had come as your backup, and never left your field of view for more than a minute. More than once you'd caught sight of Butcher scowling in your direction as the mark pulled you in close to whisper in your ear, or when his hand dropped a little too low while you were dancing. It finally came to a head, though, when the man led you over to a small VIP section and pulled you into his lap. You giggled and played along, trying to steer the conversation towards what he was working on for Vought. Turning all of your focus to getting him to tell you about the mysterious Compound V, you nearly jumped out of your skin when Butcher's voice cut through the noise.

"(Y/n)! Come ‘ere. I need to talk to ya." You jumped and turned to see Butcher stood just outside the ropes, glaring at the man, and his gaze sending ice through your veins. The idiot scientist didn't seem intimidated; however, he just scoffed and pulled you further into his lap.

"Sorry, mate," He said, making a terrible impression of Butcher's accent. "She's busy," You giggled and placed a hand on the man's chest, trying to salvage the situation, but you knew it was naught when you looked back over at Butcher. He was pulling what you called his 'death smirk,' and god only knew what he was planning. You recovered your composure and leaned in to speak into the mark's ear.

"I'll just be a minute." Your voice dripped with honey sweetness, but when you stood to walk away his hand shot out and grabbed your wrist.

“And how do I know you will come back, sweetcheeks?” You cringed internally but offered him a sweet smile before leaning down to kiss him quickly. Seemingly satisfied, thank god he’s too drunk to press the matter, you turned and let your hips sway as you walked towards Butcher. As you approached, Butcher turned and started into the crowd.

Surely he's not pulling me out?

You hesitated at the ropes, causing him to turn back, and you could just barely hear his growl above the music.

"Now." You suppressed the outrage at his demand and turned back to shoot the scientist a wink. It took all of your focus not to storm off after Butcher, and you only grew angrier as he led you towards a back door. You didn't even flinch as he slammed the door open.

"What in the actual fuck is wrong with you? I nearly had him!" You exclaimed once the door shut. He didn't bother turning to look back at you as you moved to catch up with him.

"Yeah, nearly had his tongue down your throat, didn't ya?" He mumbled, clearly thinking you wouldn't hear. You reached out and grabbed his arm to stop him.

"Answer me. Why the fuck did you pull me out?" He glared at you for a moment before replying.

"He wasn't gonna tell us anything we didn't already know." He said.

Liar

You scoffed and darted around in front of him when he tried to walk away. "Don't bullshit me, Butcher. I've known you for too fucking long-"

"I didn't like the way he had his hands all over you, alright?!" You stopped in place, too stunned to believe it. Suddenly everything clicked into place.

.

"So the plan is to pick him up from this club on Saturday. He's there every weekend, so we know we'll definitely be able to grab him there. Then we bring him back here and-" Hughie cut MM off.

"Oh, don't tell me we're planning to kill him too," Hughie said, dragging a hand down his face. Butcher started to speak up, but you spoke first before he could give his little speech about whatever it takes.

"Why don't I go in?" Everyone turned to look at you. You shrugged and moved forward. "You said it's a night club, right? I'll go in undercover and get it out of him my way,"

"You mean fuck it out of him." Butcher scoffed, and you gave him a side-eye before continuing. 

"It's easier that way too, he'll be too drunk to remember talking, and Vought won't be looking for the 6 stooges who kidnapped their new scientist." 

"No." Butcher spat out. You turned to look at him in confusion. He avoided your gaze and looked back up at MM. "You, me, and Frenchie will wait for him and-"

"Butcher, if she's willing to go then-"

"I said no. It's too risky."

"And since when do you give a fuck?" You demanded. He finally turned to look at you, and you raised an eyebrow in challenge. 

"You want to get yourself killed, fine. But I'm coming with you so I can wave at 'cha when Vought swoops in and drags you away."

.

Billy Butcher was jealous. So many thoughts rushed through your mind at once, and you shook your head to clear them before replying.

"And what gives you the right to pull me out when the mark gets a little handsy?" You demanded. The glare he sent you had you backing away until you were trapped between him and the wall.

"I protect what's mine." His voice was low and held a dark edge that sent chills down your spine.

"You don't own me, Butcher." The words had barely left your lips before he was slamming you back against the wall.

"No?" He asked, his face barely an inch from your own. You inhaled sharply as his hand yanked your skirt up, and he stroked two long fingers along your already dampening core. Another gasp escaped you as he leaned down to suck at your neck. "This cunt isn't mine? Sure did seem like it was the other night." You moaned as he pulled the fabric aside, circling your clit for a few moments. "That's a right shame." He growled against your ear, a finger just barely slipping inside you before he was suddenly gone, taking a step back to smirk as you whined and fell back against the wall.

"You don't get to pull this shit right now." You said, adjusting your skirt. "If you wanted me all to yourself, you should have fucking said so when you showed up at my door, begging me to help you and the boys. I told you then, no attachments. You fucked me over once already that first go around." Suddenly he was right back in front of you, tilting your head to look up at him.

"Better late than never, eh?" He growled, moving to kiss you, but he stopped right before your lips touched, waiting for you to make the final move. And, oh, how you wanted to. You'd fallen for him practically the moment you'd met him, and he'd known it. You didn't find out until too late that he could never have any affection for you. By then, he'd been fucking Susan behind your back, and you finally realized precisely the type of person he was. You'd convinced yourself after the team disbanded that you were over it, over him. Hell, even when he showed up at your door, you still almost kicked him out. And yet here you both were, after years of denial, scant inches apart, with him admitting he was jealous. Butcher pulled back slightly and tilted his head as he glared at you. "Cmon. Just admit it. Say you're mine." You glared back at him, anger and lust still pulsing through your veins. Finally, you groaned in frustration and reached up to pull him back in.

"Fuck you." You said and slammed into his lips in a harsh kiss. He matched your pace, pressing his body against you. You could feel him growing harder as you met again and again in rough and bruising kisses. A growl sounded deep in his chest as you tugged sharply on his hair. He pinned your wrists over your head with one hand before the other once again found its way beneath your skirt. You gasped and squirmed as he pulled the dress up before yanking your lacy thong down your legs. "Butcher-" He cut you off once again by slamming two fingers deep inside you, barely giving you any time to adjust before he was pumping them in and out at a brutal pace. You tugged against his hold on your wrists, trying to muffle the sounds escaping you, but he held firm and just moved to bite and suck at your neck, ignoring your pleas.

"How about I fuck you right here in this alleyway?" He growled in your ear. You whined as his thumb pressed hard against your clit. "Let the whole fucking world hear you moan for me," He continued his onslaught, driving you closer and closer to climax. Right as you were on the edge, he pulled away, leaving only his hand pinning your wrists. You bit your lip to stop from crying out and tried to focus back in. After a moment or two, you began to laugh breathlessly. "What the fuck's so funny?" He demanded.

"You say you own me, but who's the one begging to fuck me in an alleyway cause they got a little jealous when someone else played with their toy?" You said, relishing in the way his eyes flashed. Your laughter was stopped dead, though, as he leaned back in to resume sucking at your neck. You gasped as his hand slid into the top of your dress, palming your breast roughly.

"We need each other, luv." He pinched and rolled your nipple between his fingers and moved to give other the same attention as you continued to squirm. He chuckled as you stepped around awkwardly, your movements hampered by your thong still caught around your knees. "Having problems there?" You carefully dropped your head back against the wall and groaned.

"For fucks sake Butcher if you're gonna do something get on with it." You huffed. He pulled back to look at you, smug grin out in full force.

"Why? If you're not desperate for me, you can just run inside to your little twat and let him satisfy you. Ey?" He pulled your breasts free from your dress as he spoke, and you didn't have time to think before his lips were closing around a hardening peak. You moaned and arched your back into him, and he palmed and kneaded the other before switching sides.

"Butcher for the love of all that is holy-" He pulled off you, leaving his hand in place as he spoke.

"You want me to fuck you?" He smirked.

"Either that or let me go find someone who will," You yelped as he groped you hard. "FuCk! Please! I-" You screwed your eyes shut. "I need you." He finally released your wrists and slammed back into your lips. You reached down to step out of your thong, intending to just throw it somewhere, but he grabbed it from your hand and stuck it in his coat. Too far gone to care, you pulled him back in, fumbling with his pants' fastenings. Finally, you pulled his throbbing cock free, and he groaned as you gave him a few strokes. "Whose cock is this, Butch?" You said mockingly. He glared at you and pulled your hand off before reaching into his back pocket and pulling out a foil packet. He tore it open and rolled the condom on quickly before grabbing your ass and lifting you up. You wrapped your legs around him instinctively and hissed as he brushed against you.

"Whose cunt am I about to destroy?" He snarked as he moved to where the wall was taking most of your weight, freeing his hand to guide himself into you. You whined and clung to his shoulders as he filled and stretched you inch by delicious inch. Before he could move, the sound of the door slamming open had you scrambling in panic. Butcher only pushed further into you, moving in close enough to cover your exposed body with his coat as a whimper escaped you.

"(Y/fake/n)?" It was the scientist, and Butcher let out a huff at the sound of his voice. You willed the man to just go away, but his voice only drew nearer. "Hey, Brit! You scare my pussy away?"

Ah shit

Butcher made a noise akin to an animalistic growl and pulled his hips back, so only the tip remained inside you. He locked eyes with you, and you shook your head at him, but it was no use as he called over his shoulder.

"Sorry, mate," Butcher said. He slammed his hips back forward, drawing a desperate gasp from your lips. "She's busy." Your eyes slammed shut in mortification, and you could feel your cheeks heating up. Butcher smirked against your neck as his plan worked, the man cussing him out but finally leaving. As you heard the door open and close, you considered smacking the smug bastard. Right as you opened your mouth to speak though Butcher repeated his action, drawing another cry from you.

"B-butcher-" You whimpered, and he tsked before slamming into you three more times, making you claw at his shoulders and cry out.

"Nowhere near loud enough, love." He dropped his head to your neck, biting and sucking marks as he gripped your ass tighter and pounded you into the wall. "I want to hear you scream." Your fingers continued to dig into his shoulders as each thrust drove you higher and higher. "Fuck." He swore and began to pick up his pace. You gasped and whimpered incoherent syllables mixed with pleading his name as a fire started to form in your core. 

He may be a madman, but every move of his hips, every touch of his fingers, and kiss from his lips seemed to be perfectly thought out to drive you to the brink of insanity. Someone could have walked right up to the two of you, and you doubt you would have cared, too consumed with the pleasure zapping through every cell of your body like lightning. Only he had this effect on you. Only he could convince you to give in to him with barely any effort at all. Yes, Billy Butcher was crazy, but not a single part of you cared as the spark in your core ignited, and you muffled your scream in his shoulder. Butcher groaned as you clenched around him, and doubled his efforts, panting hard as you begged him to let you have a moment to recover. It was pointless though, already the coil was beginning to tighten again, and this time when you came, your whole body shook, and it took all of his strength to keep you both from falling as you squeezed his own orgasm from him. He quickly slid out of you and stood you on your feet as you both gasped for air, the aftershocks jolting you into whimpering. You eventually managed to regain your brain function, quickly fixing your dress and hair before holding your hand out towards Butcher. "What?" He asked, raising an eyebrow. You rolled your eyes and huffed.

"You know what. Give me my panties." You said indignantly. He tilted his head and grinned at you. "Ugh. Perv." His grin turned predatory as he turned to walk towards his car, reaching in his jacket to pull them out and dangle them off a finger.

"You're not gonna need them tonight, luv."

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Tags (as always if you’d like to be removed or if I forgot you feel free to yell at me. If you’d like to be added, click here):

@bakerstreethound @bookscoffeeandracoons @becs-bunker​ @lt-trick​ @billybutchersbabe @emily-strange @below-average-fangirl @brideofedoras @nora-hewlett​ @im-like-reallythirsty​ @fairytale07 @waaaaaaitwhat @rayray1463 @mblaqgi

[forgottenyear]

[tw:  rape, child abuse, and suicide – almost every warning from the pinned post applies to this one text]

[I write this because I want a solid foundation from which to work. This post is not a comprehensive reference but is intended to be a general chronology of pertinent facts as nearly as I understand them. Going forward, I intend to edit this text as needed.]

[This is relatively long, overtopping 2700 words.]

1. Facts from before the forgotten years.

A. This child was neglected and abused.

The eldest sibling has self-harm scars on their hands to this day. The next-younger sibling spent time in a youth correctional facility and eventually died of natural causes that can only have been hastened by addiction. The middle sibling left the country as an exchange student and has only briefly visited since. This child was next-to-youngest and appears to have been assigned the role of scapegoat. The youngest was the only child who was never a part of the first wave of children and was always shielded by the mother.

There was a section of two-by-four that hung from a leather loop in the kitchen and had “be good or else” burnt into it (it was only a “paddle” and was used only when our behavior called for it, I was strongly reminded when I brought it up in a conversation with a family member).

Whatever the sacred mythology of the family may claim, the family was not healthy.

The memories are unclear, but this child was sexually assaulted on the playground by older students, in the fourth grade. This child was the only one punished.

This child spent most of sixth grade in the school therapist’s office. (The school therapist was not a thing until this child. The school therapist’s credentials, as we later learned, were a degree in mechanical engineering. It was a very different time.)

This child was held back in sixth grade. The school therapist recommended placement in a school for the gifted, so the parents had this child sent to a different public school in another town, and away from the school therapist, instead. (There was no money, so the story goes, but the middle sibling went to Europe shortly after.)

This child was nearly reported as potentially anorexic in middle school and had to talk their way out of a thing that would have brought severe punishments at home.

This child made their first suicide attempt in high school. (It was more a test of the waters.)

After being held back yet again in their junior year, this child dropped out with an agreement that they would take and pass the GED test.

At some point in childhood, an extant list was written, naming and describing five identities, although we did not become aware of DID until much later.

B. The boy’s life failed.

The boy moved in with his girlfriend. They engaged to be married after they both graduated from university.

The boy worked an assembly line job to pay for the fiancée to attend school, with the agreement that the fiancée would reciprocate after graduation. The job was slow death and aggravated an already dangerous case of depression.

The fiancée met a guy at school and they both felt she could do better than an uneducated laborer for a husband. Within weeks of her graduation, she broke the engagement and moved in with her new boyfriend.

The boy was first hospitalized, for suicidal thoughts, shortly after. While he was in the hospital, the ex-fiancée and her new boyfriend returned to the apartment to take everything of value. When the boy was released, the apartment had no furniture but a single chair (all furniture was originally given by the boy’s family).

C. The boy’s life failed, still.

The boy was released with no diagnosis and no follow-up services. Less than one week later, he cleaned the apartment, baked a cake, put on some music, and attempted suicide. The attempt failed but the boy did not have a backup plan. (The body has lingering health issues from this attempt.)

The boy was sent to a different hospital, and then directly on to the state hospital (which was ordered closed years before and is back in the news at the time of this writing, after now having been closed for years, for the many unmarked graves that were recently uncovered). The hospital was its own form of trauma. The boy was hospitalized with diagnoses of Depression, General Anxiety, Avoidant PD, and Gender Identity Confusion, for a full two months before release. The hospital intended never to release him or to dump him without follow-up services, but this was over-ruled when the contract for the “rented” doctor ended and a new doctor was brought in.

There is a high likelihood of medical abuse with sexual overtones involved at this last hospital. The only facts I have for this are the reactions of workers and therapists who read the record, shortly after. They were horrified by what they read and did say so often, but without explaining why. I have only the few bits of memory from creepy encounters with the doctor in question.

--

2. Facts from the forgotten years.

A. The girl’s life emerged.

[This part backwardly overlaps parts of the previous section.]

The boy discovered the Internet through his fiancée’s school account. (This is very foggy, since the boy continued to have an account well after the fiancée graduated and was no longer a student. I think the system, I am not sure if it was the boy or the girl, made friends at the school, but this is strictly an assumption in the place of actual facts. The boy was unofficially involved in bringing internet to public schools for the state, through a friendship with the person charged with the task, but this does not appear to be directly related. (It is rather unsettling just to stumble over this memory by chance.)) The Internet was a novel creature at the time, and so assumptions need to be tempered accordingly. The boy often had to explain what the Internet was and had to justify why he believed the people he talked with online were actual, living people. (We used IRC, way before it became synonymous with porn and whatnot – which has been oddly echoed with tumblr. The school was the only way to connect to the Internet at that time, because even AOL did not go online until years later.)

Angela found freedom of expression through the Internet. Angela found friends through the Internet. Angela began travelling to what we would eventually think of as her city, to visit her friends. Angela first began presenting in public in her city.

[Projecting backward still, the fiancée first encouraged Angela. The fiancée helped Angela to assemble her first wardrobe and whatnot. But the fiancée also pushed Angela into dressing and would then have what appears to have been angry sex with her.]

B. The slumber party.

[Back to the timeline.]

Angela was abandoning their responsibilities in his city. Rent money was spent on clothing and such, and on travel to her city.

From the last trip to her city (I only assume it was then), I have an unsteady memory of an argument, if you can call it that, over finances.

Angela was going to a slumber party with friends, but the group was also going out to a “friendly” bar. I have no memory of all that was planned, but the party was intended to last two nights.

I have the impression that Angela hoped to meet a partner-to-be at the bar.

The bar was a disappointment. The gay server was cruel toward the perverts he was forced to serve. There was no knight in shining armor waiting to rescue Angela so they would live happily ever after.

Angela was fending off advances from a guy who had been invited to the slumber party.

The last not-necessarily traumatic memory I have is of Angela crying after seeing an obviously-happy-in-love lesbian couple at another table.

Pre-C. An assumption with accompanying facts.

Assumption: There is sufficient cause to believe that Angela was drugged at the bar, before the slumber party returned to the apartment.

Facts: The guy was not from that city (or even that side of that state) and did not already know the bar or the bargoers, other than those from the party and from online conversations. This kind of drug was not sold in that bar from a machine, as far as I know, like cigarettes were. The rape cannot merely have been a crime of opportunity for both perpetrators and had to have been planned/prepared for in advance by at least one. Even if Angela was not the chosen target before the bar, she was already in the pool.

C. The rape.

I have only fragments of memory from that night, not that I have much more than fragments from the years surrounding the party.

There is one detached memory of a moment during the rape. The body is on its knees on the bathroom floor of the apartment. The guy mentioned before was in front and someone else was behind.

The next detached memory is of cleaning the bathroom floor with Angela’s clothes. (This is more painful than the previous, because she was no longer treated as human internally.)

The final detached memory is of sitting on the kitchen floor of the apartment at the party, while everyone else was camped out in the other room. [The body was no longer welcomed at the party because Angela had caused the rape.] The body was uncomfortably sitting as close to the apartment door as possible and sitting next to the kitchen waste basket. The body was dressed in travelling/boy clothes. The body was leaking into the clothes. The next bus was not until daylight.

There is significant physical pain in the final memory. For the obvious reasons, but also because this body has an allergy that male bodies usually do not – seminal fluid hypersensitivity. Through unprotected sex, the rapists put the equivalent of a slow-burning acid into this body.

D. The aftermath.

I assume that this memory follows, chronologically, but this is not necessarily the case.

There is a disembodied memory of waking in the hospital after a suicide attempt.

E. Displaced memories.

At some point during the forgotten years, someone was staying in a homeless shelter and eating at a soup kitchen. The apartment was the same throughout, so this memory will not fit into even a loosely plausible chronology.

The memory is of quietly crying in a cot specially placed at the edge of the women’s section of the shelter, just outside the office door. There is also a memory of being afraid while eating in the soup kitchen.

There are memories of friends from that time.

There is a happy memory of listening to music (in the apartment) while getting dressed to go out for coffee with friends. This memory must have preceded the rape because one of the friends was a little too intensely interested in them, in a way that I could not endure today. The friend was not dangerous and truly cared for them, and even protected them at least once (I cannot bring the memory up, but there is a memory of being grateful for this act).

There is also a memory of walking a friend’s boyfriend to his home from a bar, but we were too drunk to find our way. The friend later accused us of sleeping with the boyfriend while he had his back turned to sleep with another guy. This memory also must precede the rape because of the alcohol involved (I have had an inexplicable fear of alcohol for as long as I remember, and long before it was finally explicable).

There are other memories that cannot have happened before the rape, but also cannot have happened after. (The word, “memory,” is a little treacherous. I do not remember what the memories are, at the moment.)

F. Replaced Memories.

I recently reconnected a memory that challenges the assumed timeline as written above.

Angela bought an expensive coat in the boy’s city. It was an important part of her wardrobe, and she would go nowhere without it, in winter.

Since it was icy in places during the walk to the bar on the night of the party in her city, it was clearly winter. Given the bulk of her coat, coupled with its absence from the memories of sitting by the apartment door, the purchase could not have been made before the party.

This means that Angela persisted after the party.

--

3. Facts from the amnesia years.

A. I existed.

Take everything you just read and forget it. It never happened. At least, not until after the amnesia collapsed (until the very end of this numbered section).

My earliest memory is a blurry mix of going to school, going out with my current partner, and of digging out from under years of poor financial management. [To head off potential confusion, I present as a man and my partner is a woman.]

I worked with people with disabilities. I mostly did computer/clerical adaptations and one-on-one trainings. I eventually stopped going to school when my work became more demanding. (The school has been there for a few hundred years, but the job opportunity was for a limited time only.)

I knew that something was not right, but whenever I would pry too deeply into how it was not right, I would forget and something very interesting would take its place. I had way too many hobbies – I now suspect this is because of all the times I pried too deeply.

I had a life that was free of an unpleasant history, all but the unsourced reverberations that is.

B. Fall from grace.

Casting no stones, my partner has issues. I assume I was attracted to them because they have abusive tendencies. I will not guess why they were attracted to me in what must have been the dwindling days of Angela and the previous system, but their close friends have commented that my partner demonstrates an attraction to women, particularly openly lesbian women, even while denying this attraction.

Things got very bad between us ten years ago, and I planned a rapid escape by moving in with a friend.

The friend I intended to move in with died unexpectedly. My hope for an easy escape also died.

Soon after, the cafe at the campus where I worked changed cooking oil. Following two consecutive illnesses after eating at the cafe, I learned about the change and that a small percentage of people are allergic to the new cooking oil.

My reaction was like that of eating a slow-burning acid. This reaction followed the food as it passed through my system.

I then wrote a story about a trans-woman I once knew or heard about, who was raped by “friends” at a slumber party. A long-time friend read the story and asked questions.

This is when the amnesia collapsed, to my perception.

--

4. Facts about the post-amnesia period

A. Another aftermath.

I was hospitalized for less than a week. The final diagnosis was Double Depression, PTSD, and C-PTSD. And some form of amnesia that I cannot remember the name of (no, seriously – I also had to add this later, after I finally remembered – I have repeatedly said that this is bad storytelling). [Dissociative Amnesia - it was in the pinned post when I first wrote this.]

The intake was confusing because the interviewer demanded to know where I had been treated since the last hospitalization, almost two decades before. I had not been treated, other than occasional visits with my therapist.

What I now know of the previous hospitalizations is that we were given up for dead. The (more recent) intake interviewer had enough trouble dealing with the fact that I was still alive, but to be given no explanation for why I was alive was unacceptable. He was convinced that I had been treated in another part of the country, but that I was trying to hide this for legal or financial reasons.

Had I not been seeing my therapist off and on over the intervening years, I would have had no professional medical alibi.

Given the memory of waking in the hospital after the suicide attempt that I think followed the rape, I cannot explain why I am still alive. I am entirely with the intake interviewer on that point. Even just the memory of waking in the hospital is unsafe (although I appear to talk about it all the time, the bonehead that I am).

All I have, by way of explanation, is that I have just now been hit with a distracting curiosity for rewiring the controller board for a printer. It is not overpowering, but merely distracting. I set the project aside because I was not that into it. Until just now.

It can only be a guess, but I assume I am alive because I forgot to kill myself.

B. Today.

Working with my therapist (who was an actual doctor of psychology, and had no experience with mechanical engineering, to my knowledge), I have learned that there were at least five parts to the previous system, that one of the original parts is still present, and that I am apparently the fusion of the other four.

I appear to be chasing my tail since my therapist retired, and I cannot be sure about before. Between the comings and goings of amnesia and denial, I do not recognize commensurate progress for my effort.

My therapist knew the previous system (although he had not recognized them for a system until later – he may have felt guilt over missing the clues and saw me for free for a few years at the end, when I was without insurance or ability to pay). He worked with me at the end of the forgotten years, through the amnesia years, and until his retirement.

I could look for a new therapist, but I need to focus my effort first. I cannot expect anyone to have twenty years of experience with me alone (I can barely claim that I have the same).

C. Because it is not complicated enough already.

I have chronic silent migraines. They are not painful, but I am visually impaired because of them. The migraines are spreading and taking out other brain functions on the way. My proprioception is iffy now, so I have poor balance and intermittent issues with fine motor control. I tend to walk into things a lot.

[wanderinginksplot]

Clone Trooper Rambles

Part journal, part creative writing, fully weird. Also, this one is really long. Other rambles can be found here.

Bad Dream

“Hey, are you okay?” Echo asked gently, stepping a bit faster to walk beside me.

“Yeah, of course,” I told him with a smile. “Why do you ask?”

“You haven’t spoken in an hour and a half,” Trapper answered for Echo, walking on his other side. 

“Oh.” I thought about it for a moment. “I think I’m just tired. I didn’t sleep very well last night.”

“You don’t say,” Crosshair said sourly. “I thought you made a habit of waking up gasping at three in the morning.”

“It was an unusually vivid dream,” I admitted, embarrassed for a reason I couldn’t quite pin down.

“Do you remember any of it?” Echo asked, stepping over a rough section of ground.

“Not much, but there was one thing…” I shivered, but cut myself off with a laugh. “It’s probably nothing.”

“What is?” Crosshair sounded less than thrilled to be asking, but all of the troopers eyed me expectantly. 

I frowned, scrubbing tiredly at my face. “Uh… I remember someone laughing.”

“Laughing?” Trapper repeated. “That doesn’t sound so bad.”

“You wouldn’t think so,” I agreed slowly. “And then this guy told me, ‘He’s looking for you. He’s going to find you. You can’t hide from him.’ That sort of thing.”

“Who can’t you hide from?” Echo’s posture had straightened slightly. 

I shook my head. “Probably no one. I was reading something mysterious before I went to sleep and that probably caused it.”

“You look… scared,” Trapper observed hesitantly. “Are you sure you have no idea who the guy was talking about? Or who the guy was?”

“It could be- Well, not really, though. The guy talking was…” I thought back, trying to capture the wispy strands of the dream even as it was slipping away as half-remembered dreams tend to do. Like a camera flash, I could see the face of the man who had been warning me. 

I didn’t know him, not that I could remember, but he was certainly dead. Not only that, but his mouth had been strange, almost like it had been cut.

“Miss me, sweets?” a voice whispered in my ear.

I jumped, hard. I couldn’t help it. 

“What is it?” Echo asked urgently.

I was already absorbed in studying the immediate area. “Hang on, I need to concentrate,” I muttered absently.

Metaphysics are hard to explain. In this particular case, it was like scanning everything around me, but not visually. I was looking for a general sense of something, a trace rather than a person. It took quite a bit of focus, but the adrenaline was working in my favor.

“We need to call Captain Rex,” Trapper said decisively.

“I’ll do it,” Crosshair instantly agreed, lifting his comlink to his mouth even as he eyed the area with suspicion.

Dimly, I recognized that the three troopers had all put their helmets on, and both Echo and Crosshair had lowered their rangefinders. Each man held at least one blaster, scanning the area with their eyes at least as hard as I was doing with whatever metaphysical nonsense I could manage.

When Rex joined us, he did so at a brisk walk, dual blasters drawn and rangefinder down. Clearly, Crosshair had managed to brief him on the situation. What he knew of it, anyway.

“What’s going on?” Rex asked, clearly tense.

“We were talking about the dream she had last night,” Echo told him. “She jumped like she had been shot and she hasn’t said much or moved at all since.”

Rex was standing directly in front of me a moment later. “Can you hear me?”

“Yeah, I can,” I told him distantly. “Hang on…”

“We need to move somewhere more protected than this,” Rex told the troopers, seeming to recognize that I was absorbed in something else. “Send out an all-call, put all troopers on alert.”

“For what?” Crosshair asked.

“There’s a threat,” Rex answered grimly. “I don’t know what it is yet, but I can feel it.”

I finished scanning the area and nodded. “Let’s get somewhere a little more private. There are some things I probably should tell you.”

Rex had already started moving by the time I finished speaking, the contingent of guards traveling with us as we walked. “I’m going to have Cody, Wolffe, Fox, Boss, and Hunter meet us. They’ll need to be briefed on the situation as well.”

In a very short amount of time, we were all hidden away in a semi-secluded area. Everyone wore their helmets, but I could feel the expectant looks and took a deep breath before I got started. 

“I’ve told you guys that you aren’t the first group of characters who shows up for me. Almost every story I’ve written has been with a character talking in my ear. Well, there was one… he wasn’t… uh, he wasn’t good for me, I guess you’d say. He’s called the Joker.”

No one moved, so I kept talking. “I was writing a one-shot about him and it went pretty smoothly. He’s insane, but he can be charming when he wants to be. When it gives him an advantage. Well, I wrote it and posted it and there was a good response. People wanted more and he agreed to help me write more of the story.”

“That’s where things went bad,” I said, dropping my gaze to the ground. It was easier than looking anyone in the face when I admitted my own stupidity. “He was always around, saying and doing the most twisted things. The more I wrote for him, the more I started to think like him. I don’t have much experience with insanity - other than the whole character thing - but I think I was getting close to something bad happening to my mind.”

“The worst part is, I can’t even blame him,” I laughed as I said it, but it wasn’t a happy sound. “I knew who he was and that he thinks it’s fun to make people go as crazy as he is. I knew better, but I got caught up in writing a good story. It was more my fault than his.”

“When I figured out what was happening, I ended the story,” I finished. “There were supposed to be five more chapters or so, but I couldn’t keep writing for him. I was scared of losing myself. I ended the story and shut him out. It was hard, probably the hardest thing I’ve ever done, but the worst part is that it didn’t entirely… work. He still pops up every now and then.”

“Pops up,” Rex repeated tonelessly.

“Yeah,”I agreed. “He just comes in, torments me for a while, tries to break my mind, and leaves when I can force him away. It has happened three or four times in the past few years. I just need to know when he’s coming so I can be ready. The dream may have been a sign that he’ll be here soon. Don’t worry, though - I’ll handle him. You guys just lay low for a week or two and I’ll get him out as soon as I can.”

“We aren’t going to do that,” Cody said slowly, glancing around at the other commanding officers. “We’re here. We may be able to put a stop to this guy once and for all.”

“You can’t do that,” I told him flatly. “I don’t think any of you guys can be killed in your current state. If I do something that harms someone badly enough that they die - not that I do that on purpose - they just forget what they’ve done here and come back with no memory. They just start over.”

“We can give him something else to focus on, then,” Boss offered.

“Blaster bolts can be pretty distracting,” Wolffe agreed menacingly.

“He’ll try to kill you,” I warned them. “I can’t take the risk that anyone will get hurt.”

“You just said we can’t be hurt,” Hunter reminded.

I had to stop for a moment. That was an excellent point and a flaw in my logic that I hadn’t previously considered. “Maybe you guys can hurt each other since you’re in a different plane? If he’s on the same plane, he could hurt you.”

“But then we’d be able to hurt him,” Rex said. “And there are a lot more of us than there are of him.”

“Let us help you,” Cody requested gently. I shot him a look, reminded that he had served with Obi-Wan Kenobi for most of the war. “Please.”

“I… I can’t ask all of you to take this risk,” I said eventually.

“What if we made it a volunteer effort?” Fox asked. “Only men who understand the risks and agree to continue guard duty will watch for him.”

“That might work,” I agreed, disgruntled by the neat way that had worked out.

“Good,” Rex said. “Tell me everything about the Joker, I’ll brief the men about him, and build a list of volunteers. For now, I’m assigning at least one man from each battalion to guard you. Today is considered high-risk. If you see anything suspicious, tell them and we’ll send backup to your location.”

Less than two hours later, Rex cheerfully reported that every trooper had volunteered to stay on guard duty, even fully understanding the risks. My arguments that they couldn’t fully understand fell on deaf ears and I resigned myself to having extra guards for the foreseeable future. 

The only question was: who would end up guarding who?

---

A/N - So fun fact: this is a true story. I wrote a Joker/OC story called Safety Dance and ended up having to rush an ending because I was uncomfortable with the way it was making me think. I still get deeply uncomfortable when I see pictures of Jared Leto’s Joker and Safety Dance is, to date, the only story I will never consider writing a sequel for. 

Previous | Next | Masterlist 

[one-winged-whump]

Keeping Track

heyyy i never post writing, but I wanted to write a section where I retconned a character getting an injury and I really liked it, so I thought it would post it here!!

also yes this is in first person, and no i will not apologize for it <3

Warnings: pet whump, collars, fear, branding, manhandling, dehumanization, creepy whumper, torture

Word count: 2187

I cracked open my eyes and sat up as I heard the doors to the office click open. To my utter lack of surprise, Sisko was strolling into the room, much too chipper for the time of day. My face formed a snarl and the smaller feathers on my wings puffed in disgust as he passed me, and I had to resist the urge to reach out and knock his legs out from under him. The fine chain leash around my neck jangled as I turned my head to follow him with my gaze.

Unfortunately, he reached his desk unscathed and sat down with his mug of coffee to begin booting his computer up. As it did, he swiveled his chair around to face me, watching me with intense, appraising eyes. I scowled at him, hoping that looks would kill for once. But he didn’t chide me contemptuously like usual, just studied me like I was a particularly fascinating bug on a window sill.

When his login screen popped up, Sisko finally set his coffee down and turned to his computer, the faintest smile on his lips.

I huffed indignantly. We’d only been here a week and I was ready to tear this man limb from limb every moment of the day. Hopefully I’d get a chance soon. Then I could get the key to this stupid collar with its weird tech and go find the boys. Then we could all get out of here together and go home. It was a wildly outlandish plan, but I was willing to take any chance I could for an escape. I’d had enough of being treated like an animal, thank you very much.

The clacking from Sisko’s computer slowly brought me out of my own thoughts and I inwardly groaned. Why the hell was his keyboard so damn loud? Who even likes loud, clicky keyboards like that?

“You know, bird,” Sisko said suddenly, making me start. “You and your companions aren’t the only animals I own.” I wanted to scowl at him again, but that made me pause. Other animals?

“I have the more exotic ones like you tucked away in a room together. They’re quite impressive, honestly.” He chuckled, still not looking away from his screen. He continued casually, like he was talking to a friend instead of me, a bird girl chained to the ground.

“Everyone who sees them insists so. But you all are just that much more special.” He pulled away from his computer, rolling his chair backwards and turning to face me pointedly. “You’re the only ones of your kind.”

I glowered. Was he trying to say something that would upset me? If he was, this wasn’t it. I knew we were the only people like this, and it honestly didn’t bother me. It was everyone else who seemed to have some kind of problem with us.

“Yes, truly rare,” Sisko mumbled, seemingly to himself. Then his eyes fell on me again. He crossed his ankle over his knee and propped his head up with one elbow on his desk. “I feel like I need to make sure everyone knows that I own you now.” His smile, which had started out as a smug little smirk, was quickly turning into the excited grin of a child in a toy store. A shiver ran over my skin, but I kept my angry facade.

Sisko paused for a lingering moment before speaking again. “While I own rare and lovely animals, I also own cattle. Did you know that, bird?” I blinked in surprise. It made sense, I guessed, but somehow, it was impossible to imagine Sisko in his sharp, sleek suits overseeing fields of huge, smelly cows.

“Mostly for meat. I like to know where my food comes from, start to finish,” he clarified, and I rolled my eyes, folding my arms over my chest. Maybe if I pretended to be uninterested enough, he would just go back to ignoring me.

“And ‘start to finish’ means keeping constant track of all of this cattle,” he continued, prattling on and on. “Knowing the cows from the steer from the heifers from the springers. Knowing which ones have had their vaccines, which ones are sick.” He leaned back in his chair, crossing his legs the other way. “It’s all very important to know.” I sighed loudly and dramatically, slumping myself against the bookcase behind me. If this bothered him, he didn’t show it. Just kept that same unsettling grin.

“There are several ways to keep and identify cows from one another. An ear tag, of course, given at birth.” Sisko flicked his earlobe with a finger. “The easiest method, in my opinion, but they can fall off. So we must also have a backup method of keeping track of them.” I yawned exaggeratedly, hoping to annoy him into shutting the hell up. Why in the world was he telling me about his cattle, of all things?

“One of the alternate options is a tattoo on the inside of the ear,” Sisko explained, biting his bottom lip to try to contain his excited smile. “But it’s so hard to get them to stand still long enough to make it clear enough to read. Which leaves us with the other option.” He sat up, weaving his fingers together excitedly, eyes glittering. It made me extremely uneasy. I could feel some of my smaller feathers begin to puff up anxiously.

“Freeze branding is more popular these days, but I honestly prefer a good, old fashioned hot-fire brand, myself,” he said. “It might not be quite as good as freeze branding, but I would say it’s much more effective for...behavioral problems.” Sisko could no longer contain his feral grin, and I felt my heart seize in my chest suddenly. Shit. Fuck.

“I think they should just about be ready,” he said with mirth and I paled, head spinning. There was no way even he was batshit enough to do this to me. It had to just be some kind of horrible scare tactic, like stories parents tell their children to frighten them into obeying.

But sure enough, not fifteen seconds later, there was a knock at the door. My mouth went dry as Sisko called in a sing-songy voice “Enter!”

Three men entered the room wearing thick cloth gloves. I recognized them as some of the goons that had kidnapped us all in the first place. In their gloved hands, they carried a bucket with wash cloths hanging over the side, a blow torch, and a metal rod. The rod was a few inches longer than my arm, with a curved metal handle on one end, and a pattern I couldn’t make out in the other. My blood froze in my veins.

“So lovely to see you gentlemen again,” Sisko cooed to the men. “You may start whenever you’re ready.” I hoped, nay, expected at least one of them to grow a conscience and say “Hey, what we’re about to do is wrong!” But consciences seemed in short supply around here.

I scrambled to try to get away, but my collar and leash kept me securely fastened and unable to get more than a couple feet away. The men approached slowly, then one jumped on top of me, shoving me onto my back with enough force to snap my head against the marble flooring.

As I tried to blink the stars from my vision, hands gripped me from all sides and rotated me so now I was laying on my stomach.

“Oh, excellent choice,” Sisko purred from his desk. “I think that’s the perfect place for it.” I tried to at least get on my hands and knees, get just a touch of leverage to shake the bastards off, but there was a heavy weight on my legs, and my hands were bound together under my body. When the hell had that happened?

I heard the soft zrrip of a zip tie fastening and realized that my feet were also bound now. In a panic, I flapped my wings, hoping that if they couldn’t help me to my feet, they could at least disorientate the men.

But a shock of pain ran up my right wing as one of them smacked it down and slammed his boot down on it. I definitely would have cried out if I could have. Instead, I let out a gasping grunt.

My left wing was still free, but I stopped moving it when I slammed it harshly into the bookshelf in an attempt to hit one of the men. As soon as I paused, the man I’d tried to cuff with it stepped on top of my wing, putting his entire weight on it.

I was panting hard, trying so hard not to start crying and also trying to keep myself from absolutely losing it. With the two men on my wings, everything from the waist up was effectively pinned to the ground. When I moved my legs, the last man laid a threatening foot on it, so I stopped. I couldn’t deal with him breaking one or both of my legs. Not right now.

So I just had to lay immobile while the men above me flicked on the blow torch and began heating the long metal rod. The iron brand.

The wait was horrible. The only sound in the room was the loud wrooooosshhhh of the flame and my own breath coming in shallow gasps. Flat on my stomach, I couldn’t see what the men were doing. I could see the floor, part of the bookshelf, and a sliver of blue sky outside the window. I couldn’t even see Sisko, though I was sure his face still held that disgusting manic grin.

After what felt like hours, the blow torch snapped off, and I froze. Oh, no. The man on my left wing shifted, and I felt the bottom of my shirt being pulled up to my wings, exposing my lower back. Oh, god! My entire body was rigid, tense with dreadful anticipation. Please, god, someone help me! Please, I-

The most searing pain I’d ever felt shot through me. I screamed a mostly soundless guttural scream that hurt on the way out, but not nearly at the level of my lower back. I tried to squirm away for even the most minuscule relief of the more than white hot pain, but I felt boots on my neck, my shoulders, anything that could still move.

Tears were freely flowing down my face as my hands clawed at my stomach underneath me, as if I could reach through it and grab the pain away.

A foul smell reached my nose and I realized that was me. Sour and charred and sickening. That was my skin I could hear sizzling and blistering. I let out another hoarse, gasping wail from my gut and slammed my head into the marble floor, trying to stop the pain somehow.

I was breathing so hard that it felt like my entire body was jerking with spasms, which made the burning hot pain worse, which continued to make my breath come out in labored pants. On and on and on in a worsening circle. My head swam and my vision dimmed at the edges. Was I blacking out? I hoped I would, because that would be the only reprieve I could get from the unbearable, agonizing pain.

Finally, after what felt like hours, the pressure lifted from the small of my back, but the rush of cold air stung nearly as bad and I inhaled sharply as a new flood of tears spilled from my eyes. The wound pulsed with every beat of my unnaturally fast heart rate, and it made me sick to my stomach, like I might throw up. I was sweating and shivering all over, hiccuping with barely-controlled wheezing gasps for breath. Even the tips of my flight feathers were trembling.

I felt a touch near the wound and I would have jerked away if I’d had the energy, but I couldn’t. The thought of that metal touching me again was almost too much, but luckily the touch was much softer than white hot metal. It took several moments of flinching pain for me to realize that one of the men was smearing a salve on the brand wound. Probably something to keep the infection away, hopefully some kind of numbing agent. Either way, every time the cloth met my back, it was a painful jolt to my nervous system.

I closed my eyes and put my forehead against the cold marble, shuddering softly and shaking with sobs, but not wholly because of the pain. I was branded now. Like fucking chattel. A permanent mark, a reminder.

Someone grabbed a fist full of my hair, yanking my head up to face them. I pried my eyes open to see Sisko’s smug, unbothered face grinning back at me.

“Don’t worry. It looks lovely,” he told me. Then, his smile broadened as he said, “And now everyone knows you’re mine, bird.”

[subasekabang]

One Blank Concrete Wall, Primed

Title: One Blank Concrete Wall, Primed Rating: T/PG-13 for swearing and bloodless violence Word Count: 13,700 Pairings/Characters: No ships/Genfic. Neku, Joshua, Hanekoma as main characters. Appearances by most everyone else from TWEWY including Beat, Rhyme, Shiki, the reapers Warnings: brief mentions of past trauma/death (some of the Reapers discuss why they died), angelic/eldritch body horror (no blood or gore), imprisonment Summary: Neku’s in college now, and other than passing through Shibuya’s subway station to get to other parts of the city, he doesn’t really stop by much anymore. But when he gets a serious case of artist’s block before a gallery show, he decided to go back to his old stomping grounds to get inspired. Partner: @soundofez​ and @songsummoner​ Author’s Note: This was a fun, super weird piece. I also did some art for it on top of my partner’s work; all the art from me and my partners will appear in the correct parts of the fic on my AO3 link, which will go up Oct. 2. I’ll link in reply to this post with it when that’s up so you can see some really weird stuff (my own art is included below, though!!). Special thanks to Fez for designing college-age Neku’s clothes.

Also, Neku fights (and apologizes to) a building.

Enjoy!

XXX

Neku sighed. Squinting, he rolled up the blinds on his studio apartment a little, taking in the view. One window, the Skytree. The other, he could glimpse the top part of Sensouji’s pagoda. Asakusa was no Shibuya, but it had lots of car free pathways, quirky art stalls, and lots of tourists to draw. And it was a heck of a lot cheaper than living in Ueno.

He could walk to campus in about half an hour on a good day or take the subway just one stop to Tokyo University of the Arts on a bad one. It was convenient and, while a touristy area, surprisingly quiet.

Too quiet today, though. Neku fired up his tablet, pinging his friends. They always called everyone in a big group chat, though there was no obligation to answer.

“Sup, Phones?” Beat grinned into the camera, a giggle heard in the background.

“Beat, are you ever going to actually use his name?”

“I am though!” Best objected. “Neku’s tag is a pair of headphones. It’s practically his name at this point.”

“You’re not going to win on a technicality,” Rhyme chirped, turning the camera so she was in frame. “We’re between takes, anyway. What’s up, Neku?”

“Shit, did I interrupt a shoot?” Neku hovered over the hang-up button.

“I just said we were on break!” Rhyme reiterated, flailing her hands in front of her. “But Beat is shooting with your deck!”

His friend, who had only grown more muscular with the past five years, hefted up his skateboard, showing off the art of a flying squirrel on the undercarriage. “It’s still the sickest one I’ve got. You’d better have another one in the wings when it gets decommissaried, yo!”

“Decommissioned.”

“Whatever.”

“It’s not whatever, Beat,” another voice popped in, the newcomer’s eyebrow quirked in a hint of static as the visual flickered on.

“Sup, Shiki!” Beat said, waving wildly.

“Meet me for drinks when you’re done shooting? I can hop on the subway. It’s only a stop.”

“How’d you know where we are?”

“Beat, you always skate in Ikebukuro,” Shiki said matter-of-factly. “And I’m at school, so I’m only a stop away from you.”

“Oh. Right. Sometimes I wish we kept our mind reading powers,” Beat said with a pout.

“Noooooo thank you,” Shiki said with a grin. “Anyway, what’s all this about? I’ve got ten minutes ‘til my Fashion Sales class.”

Neku scratched the back of his neck, looking sheepishly at the camera. “I… er. Kinda needed some advice. I’ve got a gallery class where my one assignment is supposed to take the whole semester and I’m a bit stuck. I need to hand my draft proposition in by the end of next week.”

“What’s the topic?” Rhyme asked.

“That’s the thing. The art—even the medium—is up to me. Every fine art track has to take this thing. So, it doesn’t need to be painting, but I have to secure a space and create a work to match it. Like, get permission to paint a building, or something like that. Private or public property, just no vandalism. Street paste or yarn bombing is OK in public spaces. Basically, as long as it’s non-destructive; otherwise we need permission from the owner.”

“So, you need to scout out a place and make something that compliments it?” Rhyme asked.

“Yeah. And we can work together if we want. I don’t know my classmates well enough to know if our styles clash though.”

“Sounds tough.”

“That’s why it’s my whole assignment.”

Beat frowned. “I’ve got a good sponsorship going with Wild Boar. Could see if you could tag one of their shops.”

“Maybe,” Neku said. “But I want to step out of my comfort zone a little if I can. It’s a good backup.”

Shiki bit her lip. “Maybe you just need a little inspiration.”

“Little is an understatement.”

“What about that tag mural in Shibuya? Would that be fair game?”

The chat went silent. That wall in question was public property. It was absolutely not game—not for this assignment at least.

“Why?” Neku almost whispered, hoarse. “Why’d you even bring it up?”

“Because it’s been five years, Neku, and you haven’t gone back. CAT did what you’ve been assigned; he was a street artist who also did all these kinds of hired art too.”

“Hanekoma’s gone,” Neku reminded her. “I stopped trying. The shop was destroyed. If he ever came back, he’s not in Shibuya.”

“Then… ignore my bad idea,” Shiki said, not meeting eyes with the camera. “Sorry I brought it up.”

“No! No,” Neku reassured her, forcefully, then quiet, as if he were a deflating balloon. “Sorry if I snapped.”

“You didn’t snap,” Rhyme offered, before changing the subject. “I’ll think on it though; there’s gotta be some struggling coffee shop that could use some art, or something. Anyway… we need to get back to work, now.”

“And I have class. Neku, let’s chat tonight, after dinner? I can swing by your place. We can go get conveyor belt sushi over by Nakamise.”

“That… sounds pretty good, actually. Yeah. Let’s.”

“Later, alligator!” Rhyme said, chipper.

“Yeah! Later!” Shiki added.

“Let’s bounce!” Beat snuck in as Rhyme ended the call.

Neku was left alone to his thoughts.

Shibuya.

He and his friends romped through the city almost every weekend after they were all brought back—at least at first. Eventually exams took over for Shiki and Neku, both hell-bent on getting in Bunka Fashion College and Tokyo Arts respectively. Beat slowly got more and more skate sponsorships with Rhyme as his videographer, making her new dream to shoot the world’s best skater: her brother.

Neku closed his eyes, imagining the gleaming, ad-drenched skyscrapers, a far cry from the view from his apartment window.

Maybe.

Maybe it was time to finally go back; maybe Shiki wasn’t wrong. It was his old stomping grounds, his old home. And it was only a few hundred yens’ ride away.

Neku pinched his forearm once to ground himself, grabbed his wallet and a scarf (courtesy of Shiki’s weaving class, in a sturdy textured purple crepe) and headed out the door.

Xxx

Neku’s palm touched plaster and concrete. Slowly, he slid his hand along the wall, breathing out an exhale. Even in his high school years, when his friends would regularly bum around Shibuya after school and on weekends, he avoided the mural. It wasn’t that he stopped liking it; just… He felt he didn’t need it anymore. He had plenty of CAT’s art to keep him company, from the pins in his pocket to the billboards throughout the city.

Maybe he was young and naïve back then, but looking at the faded piece, partially obscured by other, less impressive tags… well, it didn’t seem very impressive anymore.

“‘Course it isn’t, you brain-dead binomial,” a familiar voice sneered from behind him. Neku whipped around to see Sho Minamimoto, cat whiskers and all, grinning with fanged teeth.

Sho put up his hands as a peace offering, sensing Neku’s hackles rising. “I’m not attacking the living; don’t get your panties in a bunch. I’d really rather not get divided by zero. Again.”

Neku relaxed his shoulders a little but said nothing.

“You’re a leaky faucet, you single-digit integer,” Sho explained, as he pointed to a vending machine, sending a pair of CC Lemon bottles flying out of it and at the two of them. He leaned against the mural, back to it, sliding down to sit and sighing with his drink. “I miss CAT, too, you know. Been the square-root of 25 years since anyone’s seen a new piece of his. Some of the reapers actually thought it might’ve been you.”

Neku laughed, wiping tears from his eyes. “Me?” he asked, plopping down next to his former enemy, accepting the citrus-flavored peace offering. “I was fifteen. And CAT had been active way before I was born.”

“Thought it was a title, you dumb fractal. Like Pope or Emperor.”

“Expert street artists are called Kings and Queens, you know.”

“And dead ones are Angels,” Sho added with a sage nod. “Trying to one-up a Reaper on art is like trying to find the cube root of i.”

Neku stared down at his soft drink, thinking of Hanekoma. The title suited him in more ways than one, thanks to a little packet he’d found in Mr. H’s shop back when he and Beat snuck in to see if there was anything they could save. Since Hanekoma was CAT, there had been a pretty strong likelihood some of his art was still in the ruined café, but sadly there wasn’t any evidence in there at all. Neku saw faded marks where canvases and an easel had once been stacked in a curious empty back room; someone had beaten them to clearing it out.

Sho pulled Neku out of his thoughts eventually, after one intrepid skater ate pavement attempting to grind the Cyco Records railing.

“What’s eating you, pain-in-my-vector? Well, former.”

“You don’t hold a grudge?” Neku asked curiously.

“It’s a long afterlife. Grudges are useless.”

The two sat in silence for a while, watching the skaters try their new decks outside the Wild Boar at the midpoint of the T section.

“You gonna ask me why I’m here?”

“I know why you’re here,” Sho replied testily, tapping his temple. “Was waiting to see if you’d give me the proof out of your mouth.”

“Right. Mind reading.”

“I can’t see every piece of the equation; that’s not how it works and you know it. But I can solve for x and fill in the blanks.”

Neku sighed. “What can you see?”

“That you’re stuck on a hard problem and you’ve been staring at your homework too long.”

“And by problem you mean—”

“I can’t tell—just some big project is eating you up. At least it’s not Higashizawa. That hectopascal can eat a man whole. I’ve seen it.” Minamimoto slung back his drink. “So, what’s eating you?”

“I mean, other than you being alive again?” Neku asked, eyebrow raised.

“Still dead as I was last you saw me.”

“Last I saw you, you were crushed under a vending machine.”

“Eh, I’ve had worse days.” Minamimoto shrugged. “That infinite asshole of a Composer fixed me back up and sent me right back to work. Now stop stalling, you obtuse angle. Out with it.”

“Artist’s block,” Neku admitted sheepishly. “I’ve got a big project coming up and I just can’t think of the right thing to do.”

Sho laughed, his head flung back and whole body shaking with the action. “Artist’s block, you dithering digit. You don’t think we Reapers never deal with that shit? At least for you, it’s not fatal.”

“F-fatal?” Neku asked, almost dropping his bottle.

“We run on Imagination,” Sho said, chucking his emptied-out drink with force, sending it flying halfway down the alley into a recycling bin attached to a vending machine. “No Imagination, no power. No power long enough and poof, divide by zero. Crunch. Drop a vending machine on me? I’ll walk it off. Go too long without making something…”

Sho went uncharacteristically quiet, running his fingers through a hole in his jeans.

“So, what do you do when you’re stuck?” Neku finally asked.

“I raid the trash. Something always finds its way to me.” Sho pulled a loose thread and threw it to the wind. “I don’t just mean the garbage; I mean the rest of us. Talkin’ it out’s helped. I used to think I didn’t need anybody else. But then I got subtracted out so many times by you ‘n Prisspants, well. Don’t want to admit it but dividing up the work’s helped solve the harder equations.”

Neku smiled, offering a hand. “I can leave you my number if you ever want to talk shop.”

Sho blinked twice, confused. “You’d… help me? I was an irrational digit.”

“So? I was an asshole teenager. I pass through often enough. It’s not much trouble, especially if you’re feeding me,” Neku admitted, shaking his now empty bottle. “You try keeping on weight on a college art student’s budget.”

“Yeah, all right,” Sho said, standing up, swiping Neku’s empty bottle to shove in one of his myriad pockets. “A balanced equation—I dig it. I’m using this in my next piece,” he added, tapping the bottle with a hollow thud. “Thanks… Neku.”

Before Neku had a chance to even realize it was the first time Sho called him by name, the Reaper had vanished back to the Underground, out of Neku’s reach.

Xxx

Neku stood at the mural a few minutes longer, rolling the plastic bottle cap in his fingers. If Sho was alive, well, less dead, then Joshua was still haunting Shibuya from somewhere—Hanekoma, too.

So why was the mural so worn out? Had Mr. H run out of new inspiration himself? Neku sighed, no more ready to tackle the assignment as he hoofed it back to the station, tossing the bottle-cap into the recycling as he passed.

The CC Lemon Sho had expertly pitched was mysteriously absent from the top of the pile.

“If Sho went dumpster diving to make recycled friendship bracelets, I think I’ll actually bust a rib laughing,” Neku muttered to himself.

“Honestly? I wouldn’t be surprised.”

Neku whipped his head around to see a Reaper in a basic hoodie. A faceless grunt, one of at least tens, if not hundreds, patrolling the city. No visible wings, so at least Neku could remind himself he hadn’t gone sliding into the UG. Just another Reaper coming up to the RG for air. Or to pester him.

Or both.

“Do I know you?” Neku asked, eyeing the teenage-looking apparition in oversized clothing.

The boy huffed. “The Reaper Review remembers you.”

Neku laughed and relaxed a little. “At least you’re not the Reaper who made me show up in all Mus Rattus to break their barrier. Or the other one who made me get them a chili dog.”

“When you’re a minor officer, you’re allowed to send Players on wild goose chases,” the Reaper said with a shrug. “I’m just happy I was allowed to block mine with trivia. I hate fighting.”

“You and me both,” Neku grumbled.

The reaper tipped his hood back slightly, enough to show Neku his ethereal looking eyes. “I overheard you had artist’s block. Er, sorry. Didn’t mean to pry. It’s the worst.”

“Great. Is my mind safe from any of you?” Neku groaned, though it wasn’t in anger. He couldn’t complain. Hearing the livings’ thoughts just happened when you were dead.

“Actually, I was guarding the mural and overheard your chat with the Lieutenant.”

“Oof. Minamimoto got a demotion?”

“He seems happier in the field, anyway,” the Reaper replied with a shrug. “More time for his sculptures and harassing players.”

Neku looked at the Reaper curiously. “Sho mentioned you all do art. Have to keep your Imagination up.”

“That’s… not entirely true. I mean yeah, gotta keep the creative juices going or we stop existing. But it doesn’t have to be through art. Cooking, dance, whatever goes. When I’m stuck, I usually learn from another Reaper. Gives me some perspective.”

Neku’s smile widened. “You’re right, you know. I need to broaden my horizons. What do you do?”

“Me? Uh… I design puzzles. The player traps and stuff.”

“Ugh,” Neku groaned.

“You paint, right? I remember seeing some of your tags under the Miyashita Park underpass a few years ago. You’re pretty good. Maybe… try heading over near Shibu-Q? The Reapers that dance usually practice that way—sidewalk is wide enough. Loosen up with some life drawing or something.”

Neku smiled. “I have to do an installation project, but you know what? That’s not a terrible idea. Thanks.” He looked to the corner where Shibu-Q stood and then back at his nameless friend, but the Reaper was already gone.

Xxx

Neku didn’t know what he was expecting to find outside Shibu-Q, but a pair of Harrier Reapers doing acrobatic dancing was not it. Neku smirked as he watched the reaper woman with electric purple lipstick—Uzuki, if he remembered correctly—pirouetting before using her friend as a vaulting block to spin up and over his back.

The two continued their routine, the man—Kariya, Neku remembered after a few embarrassed moments of mental fumbling—seeming lazy and unmoving but carefully and precisely supporting his partner’s flashy moves. The two continued for another ten minutes or so, then each held out a hat for change.

Neku patted himself down for his wallet before dumping three 500-yen coins in Uzuki’s hat as it passed around. She glared at him a moment, then pushed the coins back in his face.

“Not taking money from you,” she snipped. “I already owe you enough. Shoo.”

Kariya looked over his shoulder at Neku, momentarily confused. After all, the two of them hadn’t aged a day while Neku was now a lanky, slightly scruffy young adult. Realization crossed the Reaper’s features slowly, eventually tugging his mouth into a half grin. Kariya offered Neku a backwards half-salute and went back to waving his hat around for change.

Eventually the crowd dispersed. Kariya loped over to Neku and Uzuki, clapping Neku on the shoulder. “Hey, kiddo. You’re as tall as I am now. Good on you. How’s life treating you?”

Neku couldn’t help but laugh at the double meaning behind the words. “Busy. College.”

“You know, I wondered when I would stop seeing you run around the RG so much over here.”

“Never mind me,” Neku said, sloughing off Kariya’s friendly gesture and looking at the two of them. “How are you holding up?”

“How do you think?” Uzuki spat. “There weren’t many powerful Reapers left after that mess—at least for a while. So, some ass went and got themselves promoted to Conductor.”

Kariya looked down at his feet, blush going all the way across his face. “It’s not like I asked for it; I wasn’t given a choice. At least I negotiated that I could do things my way. Uzuki’s my GM.”

Neku frowned. “So… then you know the Composer.”

Kariya’s eyes went uncharacteristically fierce. “That’s on a need to know basis and—”

“Read my mind then,” Neku countered. “There’s something I do need to know.”

Neku closed his eyes and thought of Joshua. What he really wanted was to talk to Mr. Hanekoma, but the only way he was going to be able to do that would be going to Joshua first.

Kariya whistled low. “Okay. Fine. Kid, come here a sec.”

“Kariya, come on. Why are you even telling this kid anything? He’s alive. And—”

“He knows about Josh, Uzuki, I’m not giving him anything new. Just… maybe pointing him in the right direction.”

Uzuki pushed a loose strand of burgundy hair from her eyes. “Fiiiiine, whatever. You’re the boss.”

“You’ve seen him?” Neku asked quietly.

“’Course I have. He’s my boss,” Kariya said with a sigh. “Though he only comes to speak if he feels like it. I’ve caught him sulking over past the Miyashita Park underpass though. No clue why. Out there is just a bunch of sporting goods stores and Josh and physical activity mix like oil and vinegar. Hope that helps. What do you need him for, anyway? You’re alive.”

“It’s not him I’m even looking for,” Neku admitted. “I want him to tell me what happened to an old friend.”

Kariya relaxed a bit. “If said old friend has anything to do with the UG, might as well ask me.”

“I’m looking for CAT.”

Kariya frowned, scratching the back of his head in contemplation. “CAT was a Reaper? He— or she, I guess— stopped doing anything new after I became Conductor. Yeah. You’d have to speak to Josh. That’s before my time and below my pay grade.”

“Thanks anyway, Kariya,” Neku said, genuinely appreciative. “It’s better than nothing.”

“Anytime. I hope you find what you’re looking for.”

Neku closed his eyes a moment, sighing quietly. “Hope so too,” he muttered, opening them to an empty sidewalk.

Xxx

Neku headed eastbound towards Cat Street, passing Stride on the left. Gone were the Tin Pin banners, long since replaced with whatever new plastic toy battling fad that had taken hold of the local kids.

“You know, I heard a commotion from some of the older guard that a carrot was running around Udagawa.”

Neku had whiplash. Poised behind him with a cigarette loosely held in between his middle and ring finger was a face Neku couldn’t believe he was seeing.

“Seven?” Neku asked incredulously. He reached out his hand for the bleach-blonde, swaggering musician’s to find it cold as ice. Neku frowned. “Smoking kills, you know.”

777 played with the cigarette between his fingers. “How d’you think I died?” He gave a cocky grin. “Actually, I fell off a roof rigging an abandoned warehouse party. This is why you do safety checks. Tenho still gives me grief about it.”

Neku smiled weakly. “That bites.”

“The dust? Oof. Yeah. But hey, all three of us went down at once. The party scattered and when we showed up to play a new set a few weeks later nobody realized we weren’t exactly alive. They probably thought we broke a bone or two at worst and hid to lick our wounds—not cracked our skulls on the sidewalk.” Neku winced. “Er, sorry, Orange. Didn’t mean to dredge up anything bad on your end. Just odd, seeing you back.”

“Looking for someone,” Neku admitted. “The owner of the café that used to be on Cat Street.”

“Hanekoma? Stopped in there for coffee sometimes. Bit odd. His shop didn’t have the Player decal, yet he definitely served stiffs. Reapers as customers is one thing—we can go to the RG—but… hell. What do I know?”

Neku flocked his eyes up and down the street. Not that it mattered; Reapers could be in the UG right next to him and he wouldn’t know. “Yeah, he could see the dead.”

“ESPer or something?” Seven asked, blowing out a smoke ring that looked like a bat. Now he was just showing off.

“Something like that.”

“Well, fat lot that did him. Shop’s been MIA ever since I got recommissioned—maybe earlier. All I remember is, I had a double shot espresso there the night before that gig you helped me with, got blown up like two weeks later, and when I’m back to my good old dead self, the shop looks like it got exploded too. What the hell went on in this city that week?”

“War,” Neku said grimly.

“And you won, didn’t you?” Seven elbowed him in the shoulder. “You’d be one of my types now if you hadn’t.”

“Yeah, I did,” Neku said, throat dry. “Thanks for the chat.”

“You come to our next gig, you hear? You’ve gotta be old enough to drink now. VIP for you ‘n the cute chick you were with. Or, uh, anyone else. Don’t know if asking her would be awkward. She made it out, didn’t she? Please say yes.”

Neku smiled. “She did, and we’re still friends. I’ll ask. She won’t look like how you’re expecting though.”

“Neither do you, not-so-short stack. Now get outta here. I’m gonna finish my drag and get back to setup before Beej screams me out. Later.” Seven snapped his fingers and the cigarette exploded in a puff of blue fiery smoke. “Open invite, Orange, just tell the bouncer ‘golden bat’ at the door.”

Xxx

Neku inhaled. He knew past here was Cadoi, then Miyashita.

Then Cat Street.

Neku passed a small spot under the park underpass where Beat and Rhyme’s flowers had once been placed, leaving behind a tiny finger skateboard. Beat would probably punch him; Rhyme would find it hilarious. He did it to honor his once dead friend. Some kid would probably see it, and abscond with it, and play with it till it broke. Beat’s skateboard, in the hands of some kid passing by—it was fitting.

Neku let his memory walk him the rest of the way to WildKat. It stood as it had since the incident: a broken front window, a door barely hanging on its hinges. How it remained like this almost half a decade without developer intervention was shocking, honestly. Or maybe not, if divine intervention was involved.

Neku inhaled and took a step forward.

Again.

Again.

He carefully swung the door, afraid the whole thing would come off the frame in his hands. It squeaked something awful but hung by a thread.

The inside was worse. Neku should have brought one of his paint masks with him. The place was a fire trap of chipped plaster, dust, and mold. An old safe in the back corner was open on its hinges. The only things that looked clean were the sink, two sealed jars of whole coffee beans, and a single drip carafe, the rest of the row shattered beyond recognition.

Neku’s sketchbook and a mechanical pencil set still sat atop the dust-crusted counter. He’d left them there when he and Beat had returned— the only time Neku stepped foot in the shop when he was alive—to check on the shop.

To check on its owner.

Leaving the sketchbook behind seemed fitting. It was half full of random crap, and half empty, nothing but open promises in the end.

Maybe Neku didn’t need Hanekoma, or CAT, or the old shop. Carefully, he made his way around a splintered bar stool, sidestepped a broken glass pitcher, and hauled himself up on the only stool left in sittable condition.

Reverently, he opened the book. He almost laughed at his fifteen-year-old self’s sketches. The first three pages were ideas for tags around the city. He actually cringed at one.

Then a page of Shiki—a quick sketch, half likely from stolen glances and half from memory, because it was her as herself on the left, and as Eri on the right.

Ideas for Beat’s skateboards.

Architecture sketches

An entire six pages of circles and cubes, shaded with hatching or a blending stump.

Neku turned to the next page.

In handwriting that wasn’t his, scrawled in large block print…

TURN AROUND, DEAR.

Xxx

Neku screamed. It wasn’t one of fear, but frustration. “You slimy, little—” he shrieked, as he spun around in the stool expecting to see a smarmy, fifteen-year-old-looking blonde, if the agelessness of the other UG residents was anything to go by.

Instead, a softly frowning man in his mid-thirties stood behind him.

With blonde fly-away hair.

And strange purple eyes.

And a blue-purple button down with white accents and charcoal slacks.

Neku bit his lower lip, holding back a fury he hadn’t had in years.

“You.”

“I come in peace,” Joshua offered, hands up defensively, glowing slightly. “I wrote that years ago. Now I kind of regret it.” Neku relaxed a little. Joshua would be dramatic enough to do that and scare him when he entered the shop, wouldn’t he?

“Only kind of, though,” Joshua added, pulling a broken chair from the rubble, fixing it with a shake and sitting down beside Neku. “It’s still Imprinted. I’m not in the RG. The note left a bit of me in it. You see it, you see me, too.”

“You been tailing me all day, too?”

“I felt you in the city, but no. Only when I got a text about it.”

Kariya. Of course.

“Your conductor rat me out?”

“He did say you were looking for me. So, might have imprinted on you a bit to push you here.”

“You could have come and—”

“—said hello? No, actually, I can’t. I’m on probation. Can’t enter the RG for a decade. Not the biggest deal for me, mind, but… humans don’t live near as long as things like I do. I needed you to come to me. Glad that thing still works.” He tapped the notebook, his hand clipping through a page or two like he wasn’t all there.

Neku exhaled. “I trust you, you know. Still don’t forgive you, but I do trust you.”

“I know. I appreciate you said it aloud, but I know.”

“You look better when your clothes actually fit.”

“Is that supposed to be a compliment or an insult?”

“Yes.”

“You’ve gotten better at keeping up with me,” Joshua said with a bit of a grin.

“You’ve slowed down in your age, you old fart.”

“Old? Fart?” Joshua pouted, and where there had been a well-put-together adult sat a petulant teenager in the same attire, now oversized to the point of baggy. He looked as the Reapers did—unaged.

“At least now you fit in with the rest of your underlings,” Neku huffed.

Joshua frowned. “I wish I did, honestly.” Quietly, he stared off, past Neku to the empty kitchen.

“Miss him too?”

“More than you,” Joshua shot back.

“Didn’t have many friends?”

“Comes with the job.”

Neku rolled a pencil between his fingers. He’d caught the proverbial tail and didn’t know what to do with it. Joshua was here and clearly knew just as much as Neku did about his former idol’s whereabouts. They sat in silence as Joshua’s likely million-yen watch ticked away.

“Well?”

“Well what?” Neku replied flatly.

“You’re no fun, Neku,” Joshua needled. “Fine. Look, Sanae liked you, more than just the fact that you were my Proxy. Hell, I’m surprised he helped you at all, knowing what you represented in my Game. You were the bad guy.”

Joshua slunk in the only-until-recently broken bar seat, kicking at a shattered tile with an awfully expensive sneaker. When he couldn’t quite reach, his form shifted back to that of an adult, flinging the chipped tile aside like a petulant child. “Neku, I need you.”

“Like you needed me to destroy Shibuya.”

Joshua exhaled, wisps of golden hair fluttering as he stared at anything but Neku. “I’ve been trying to find Hanekoma for years. Every moment I’m not here keeping the city together, I’m traveling to find him. You wouldn’t understand, but I need you to get a lock on him.”

“You’re dimension hopping.”

Joshua sat straight up, his too-long legs hitting the café bar as he did so. “Fuck,” he hissed, rubbing at his knee. “Too tall for my own good. But how? How could you even know that?”

Neku pointed to the safe at the back corner of the café, still just as ajar as he left it when he found the key pin with Beat back in the game. “Mr. H. left me a book of notes: on the game, on angels, all of it.” Neku scrolled through his phone. “I used to keep it on me, thinking it would help me somehow, someday. Eventually, I just scanned it all.”

“Gimme,” Joshua demanded, and the phone was in his hands. Neku watched in awe at the Composer’s speed reading. “I know he kept notes for the Angels, but this wasn’t for them—it was for you. Where’s the real deal?”

“My apartment.”

“Address. Specific location. I’m talking ‘fourth floor, third bedroom, under the red futon next to my stack of- ‘”

Neku cut him off quickly, rattling off his exact address and where he hid the book. Joshua held out a free hand, and in a moment, it materialized with the softest of thunks, pages fluttering in Joshua’s fingertips. “Be glad I’m on good terms with the Composer of Taito Ward,” Joshua admonished, pointing with the small hand-bound journal. “Otherwise I would have sent you home to go get it yourself.”

“What, are you going to track down Hanekoma with this?”

“No, of course not,” Joshua snorted, standing upright, shaking himself once to completely dissipate any plaster shavings or broken chips from his clothing.

“You are.”

Xxx

Neku watched in awe as Joshua’s back bloomed with light, a pair of massive swan-like silver-white wings settling on his back, iridescent with hints of lavender as he shook them loose. Before Neku could think, Hanekoma’s journal was thrust into his hands, and Joshua had him in a position he’d later call The Little Spoon of Death. With a jerk backwards, the two fell through and landed precisely where they’d been before, except the shop was in clean, working order, jazz playing on the radio, and a familiar voice humming tunelessly along with the guitar.

“Heya, Josh. Back so soon?”

Neku blinked and almost cried when he saw the man behind the counter. “H-Hanekoma?!? Mr. H?”

“One of,” Hanekoma said with a shrug. “Not the one you’re looking for though.”

Neku tried to surge forward to give the man (angel?) a hug but was held firmly in place by Joshua’s murderous grip around his waist. “Let go,” Neku whined through gritted teeth.

“Not a good idea, Boss,” Hanekoma chided. “You don’t want to get stuck in the wrong place.”

Neku let himself slacken. “I can get stuck?”

“Sure as the rain ruining my day,” Hanekoma agreed. “When you’re in the right place, you’ll know.”

“Can you help?”

“Can I? Sure. Will I? No. He’s a hellion. You’re never going to find him anyway.”

“Isn’t he another you?”

“You wouldn’t say the same thing if you met you from this world,” Joshua said, exasperated. “I wonder why the book sent us here.”

“This is where you hid after Minamimoto tried to erase you, isn’t it?” Neku asked. He flipped through the journal. “He hid somewhere high to wait for you. Because he thought this Hanekoma would turn him into the Angel Police or something.”

“I did,” Hanekoma said proudly. “Can’t have me ruining my good name.”

“Fuck off,” Neku spat at the barista. “You’re not Hanekoma.”

“I’m the part of Hanekoma that actually follows our rules.”

Joshua squeezed Neku tighter. “Hold on and keep thinking of that.”

“What—whyyyyyyyyyy?!” Neku screamed as sound escaped him. The whole universe lurched underneath as Joshua resumed pinging around between alternate realities, barely stopping to breathe.

“Focus!” Joshua ordered him through the din of dizzying WildKat cafes, Shibuya skylines, and for a brief moment, possibly the cold depths of space.

“THERE IS NOTHING TO FOCUS ON YOU DAFT ZOMBIE!” Neku shouted back, feeling his insides out and outsides in before the two bounced off a massive plate of glass and went rolling out to nowhere. Joshua pulled his wings around them, breaking the fall as they bounced a few times to the sounds of shattering glass.

They stilled. Neku could hear his own breathing and feel his heart jumping in his chest. Disquietingly, Joshua had neither breath nor a heartbeat, his torso flat against Neku’s back without any noticeable sign of life. Neku quietly filed that part under “disgusting, do not remind” and wiggled a little to loosen Joshua’s grip on his midsection.

“Hang on,” Joshua hissed out. “Easy does it.”

“That was easy?”

“You should see hard,” Joshua said, smirking as he raised an eyebrow. “And it might surprise you but… I think we’re here.”

Joshua rocked on the shoulders of his wings, pushing them both upright and parting a crack for them to see from.

The world consisted of a single, stained-glass building in a shattered-glass sky. The ground crunched with hardened paint beneath them.

“Somewhere high, following the rules… and nothing to focus on. Neku, sometimes, only sometimes, am I reminded of your genius.”

“I am in elbow-to-face range,” Neku reminded him.

“Yes, dear, and you’d best stay that way unless you want to swallow glass,” Joshua pointed out. “I’m too concerned about flying through that with a passenger, let alone someone alive, so we’re going to walk in tandem to the entrance and pray there’s no tricks along the way.”

Neku wanted to argue he wasn’t much for prayer but being cocooned in angel wings wasn’t doing him any favors in that department.

“Well at least I’m getting the inspiration I was looking for,” Neku muttered as he marveled through the tiniest of openings in between Joshua’s feathers. They both shuddered as pellets of colored glass dogged them like rain, Neku grimacing with each step.

“I think that is this world’s rain,” Joshua said aloud. “What? You’re thinking too loud. Either shut up or I’ll nitpick your thoughts. Last you want to do is swallow glass talking out loud, anyway.”

They walked in silence for what felt like eternity, roughly matching steps so their wing-cocoon tank didn’t topple. Peppered by the shards of rain, Neku was slowly getting a better view of the world outside his feathered umbrella.

The tower reminded him of Pork City, though it stretched upwards through molten clouds that burned red hot like liquid glass being worked at a forge. The whole thing was stained glass of infinite color—giant, angular panes crossed and reinforced by black, wrought iron-like supports, with sharp points sticking out at odd angles from the structure. 

“I think so too,” Joshua agreed with Neku’s wandering thoughts. “That’s Pork City, all right—made from Reaper wings. It looks like a gorgeous prison. A prison all the same, though,” he added, sighing.

Soon enough, the entrance loomed overhead, its maw of black webbing haphazardly stuffed with angular pastel glass. The tinkle of the rain bounced off the overhang as Joshua ever-so-slowly folded his wings behind him.

“I think you’re safe, for now,” he said, with the authoritativeness betraying his true age. “I promise, I’m not going to let you die here—you’re still holding Sanae’s book.”

“Because that’s all you care about,” Neku grumbled, to Joshua’s pout. “Oh, come off. I’m going to make up for all the teasing you did to me. Now let’s hope there’s an elevator in there or you’ll be flying us up the stairs.”

Xxx

“Lights are on; nobody’s home,” Joshua said, looking around as the two shuffled inside. “Okay, I’m letting go.”

“You’re what!” Neku shrieked, breathing heavy as Joshua smirked, unhooking his hands from around Neku’s waist. “Didn’t that other Hanekoma say it was a bad idea?”

“Oh, it’s a cataclysmically terrible idea. You’ll be trapped here forever now.”

“Joshua–I—you’re pulling my leg, aren’t you?”

“I mean, of course. I’m an ass, but nobody’s that heartless.”

“You murdered me. Twice.”

“I also brought you back to life, so no complaints,” Joshua snipped back. “Now, what have we here?”

Neku sighed, reminded of exactly how aggravating the little god could be. He looked around the entry foyer. The walls inside the building were a blinding white, almost piercing in their contrast to the stained glass on the outer walls of the monstrous tower. “I think this thing is alive,” Neku muttered.

“It’s not,” Joshua said, almost too quickly. “Or, rather, it’s as alive as Sanae or I am.”

“So it’s, what, an angel?”

Joshua kneeled down to touch the floor, a soft white abalone with a pearlescent sheen. “Yes. And we just entered the mouth.” Neku shuddered. “Oh, it’s not really that big a deal, Neku,” Joshua said, standing up and tsk-ing him with a finger. “This building is no more going to digest you than a wooden one; though I’m sure you’ve seen trees grow around and consume cars and houses.”

“Not helping,” Neku grumbled. “Hey, I’m not sure if it’s the retina damage, but are the walls bleeding paint?”

Joshua tucked his massive wings up high on his back, where they still trailed behind him like a couture dress, and shimmy-hopped over to the interior wall. “Oh, it’s probably retina damage,” he said cheerily, “you’re looking at pure light after all. But you’re not wrong.” Joshua swiped his hand along the wall, coming off it with a smear of mustard yellow acrylic paint. He blew on it, drying it immediately, and peeled it off like a face mask. “Must be the elevator hidden in the wall and… here we go.”

With a squelching sound like wrenching a tooth out of its socket—Neku wondering with a shudder that if that actually was a tooth—Joshua dislodged the panel, revealing a plush, red-velvet-lined elevator speckled with flecks of paint.

“If that’s a tongue, I’m out of here,” Neku complained.

“It’s not a tongue,” Josh said with a suspicious grin, stuffing himself inside with his wings still exposed. Neku shuffled and squeezed in, a massive feather poking him in the backside. The doors closed. “It’s the esophagus, Neku.”

Xxx

“Can’t you put those away?” Neku asked, after what felt like an eternity of being smothered by a giant chicken.

Joshua sighed, looking more serious than Neku was ever used to. “Yes, but I won’t.”

Neku expected him to elaborate, but Joshua merely went silent, hands out and open and feathers fluffed up.

Quickly, Neku understood why. It started quietly, a ping and a plop and a hiss, and became louder and more intense with each passing second. A few moments later, Neku was positive he wasn’t hearing things; it sounded like rain pouring from a gutter except… the rain was a stream of fire-engine red and the gutter was the walls of the elevator. The liquid pooled in the velvet flooring like blood matting the fur on a wounded, furry animal.

“Neku, move in before I make you.”

He didn’t need to be told twice as Joshua threw his wings up around them again, reaching a hand out of the fluffy shield to pull the emergency stop on the elevator panel. Neku didn’t even realize how fast they’d been ascending until they screeched to a halt.

“The walls are bleeding.”

“Paint,” Joshua replied. “It’s just paint.”

“You also said the building was an angel,” Neku reminded him testily. “What’s to say that this isn’t—”

“Angel blood melts like acid,” Joshua replied flatly. Neku didn’t know if he were telling the truth or not, but the soles of his shoes, now caked in it, weren’t dissolving.

Joshua pulled him close, wrapping his left arm around his shoulders and left wing over that like a shield. Neku couldn’t see anything but white, but he felt a jolt of exertion and heard Joshua swear low.

“Neku, dear, stay close and don’t scream.”

In the time it took him to blink, the Joshua that Neku was familiar with vanished. Every pore of the elevator was leaking paint in gushes now; thankfully blues and greens and hot pinks, to put Neku slightly more at ease, balanced evenly with the remainder of the free space taken up by living, swirling paint.

Noise.

One giant one.

It was silent and snake-like, and it dug its claws into the elevator door, wrenching it open without a sound save the rushing air.

The elevator had stopped between two floors, and the Noise slipped out the bottom to slide down to the floor below.

Move, it demanded of him. Drowning in paint doesn’t belong in your obituary.

Neku more or less knew the beast had been Joshua, but the voice in his head finally cemented it.

“I’ll break my legs.”

“I’ll catch you.”

Neku didn’t even register the response said aloud, slipping down the paint-soaked velvet and landing in a nest of color-streaked feathers.

“See?”

“I’m drenched,” Neku grumped, and then realized he wasn’t. His and Joshua’s clothes were pristine again, though the wild streaks of paint still covered Neku’s arms and Joshua’s feathers.

“Not getting rid of it all. I don’t know if the building is trying to attack us and I’d rather we still smell like it.”

“You think?” Neku asked sarcastically. He looked around the room. Paint had pooled in oil-slick puddles on the floor and was leaking out cracks in the walls. Neku heard dripping from overhead, looking up to see globs of color slowly plopping from the ceiling. The acrylic paint’s own drying-to-plastic properties were likely the only thing preventing a flood of multicolored rain on them.

Carefully, Neku hot-footed around the deepest puddles and made his way to the stained glass on the perimeter.

“We are really high up,” he breathed out, looking at the world below.

Joshua fluttered, and landed gracefully next to him. “We are. Care not to break the glass.”

“I’m not that—”

“—without me,” Joshua continued, barreling for the window, grabbing Neku as he shattered an entire pane.

For a moment, time stood still, not that it mattered much in this place to begin with. The triangular pastel shards exploded out with them on the side of the building and Neku swore he heard it scream. The shards from the broken window floated around them, glittering against the glass rain pelting them from above. Joshua pulled Neku in tighter, wings curled.

“Duck.” That was Neku’s only warning as Joshua opened his wings to propel them up against the pellets of crystalline rain before hurling himself sideways, crashing into another exterior wall.

“Human bodies are too frail,” Joshua tsk’ed at him once they finished rolling in a 20 centimeters deep pool of paint. With a hand wave, Neku found himself as clean as he could be, and free of scratches.

Paint sluiced down from their entry hole, likely streaking the outside of the building as the room began to drain. Neku shook the stars from his eyes as Joshua flicked his fingers across his button-down shirt, sending the liquid colors away as he did so.

His wings were still streaked with neon.

The room had no stairs, no elevator shaft, from what Neku could see. It was just glass around the outside and a concrete floor and ceiling. Scattered about the room were pillars and flat concrete pieces, some wall-to-ceiling, but most about half height—like an art gallery.

The entire room, save the glass, was completely covered in art.

Graffiti.

Classical.

Renaissance.

Ukiyo-e

Cubist.

It was one step short of being an eyesore. And as the paint drained out, pouring down the exterior side of the building, Neku could see the floor, too, covered with incredible works of art. He felt almost embarrassed when he moved his foot, leaving behind a hot-pink footprint on impressionist lilies.

“They’re just copies,” Joshua said sternly, looking around. “Technically precise, but nothing original except in how it’s all mashed together.”

Neku nodded. “I just stepped in Monet.”

“Well, a good copy. Poor Sanae. Stay on your guard, Neku; he’s up here somewhere. And he’s probably not going to look like what you’re used to.”

“Like how you were a dragon?” Neku asked.

“His street art handle isn’t CAT for nothing.”

“I’m assuming it’s not a housecat, then,” Neku hissed back, suddenly concerned. Both of them winced on hearing a howl.

Quiet, Joshua ordered inside his head. And stay behind me.

Neku nodded and the two wove their way through the gallery, following the sound of growls and irritated hisses. Joshua slowly peeled around a corner, motioning for Neku to follow.

A great graffiti-winged panther that Neku could only assume was Mr. Hanekoma glared back through acid-paint eyes.

Xxx

Joshua shoved Neku roughly aside, striding confidently to the massive graffiti beast.

“Hello, old friend,” Joshua said, tired and aged himself.

The creature screamed. The concrete half-wall Neku had been cowering behind exploded into fragments of color and shrapnel.

The beast froze, sniffed. It took one step, then another, leaning its gargantuan head over the broken divider to look down at Neku.

Neku had never been terrified before. Even in the Game, he’d had periods when he was scared, adrenaline coursing through him like the drug it was. But this abject fear to witness a man he trusted—who he might even consider a friend—be reduced to a mindless abomination drooling tempera paint overhead was sobering.

The beast opened its maw wide. Joshua jumped to his side in a flash, throwing up a wing to protect him.

Hanekoma tilted his head a little, reminiscent of a puppy. “Ne….ku?”

Xxx

Neku and Joshua watched over the next…however long it took. Hanekoma paced, occasionally knocking over a bucket of paint or, in one case, slamming into one of the concrete half-wall dividers with his flank as his graffiti form jittered and convulsed.

He’s coming back around, Joshua hissed in Neku’s head. At this point, we just need to wait.

Neku nodded. Joshua still held a wing up and an iron grip on the other’s arm and waist, but it was with good reason. Hanekoma screamed again, rupturing the concrete and Neku’s eardrums. For a few moments, Neku saw nothing but static, before the searing pain faded.

“—Sanae, Sanae, come back to us,” Joshua pleaded in croaking whispers as Neku’s hearing returned. “Please. Your attacks are only hurting him, see? I just had to completely repair his eardrums.”

The cat-beast howled again, knocking Neku utterly unconscious this time.

Xxx

Neku came to on the floor of the gallery, slowly taking stock of the room around him through hazy peripheral vision. Most of the dividers were at least punched through, if not entirely destroyed. A cold hand covered most of his forward vision, however.

“Neku, can you hear me?” Hanekoma’s gruff voice was twanged with concern.

“He should; I fixed his eardrums twice in one eternity,” Joshua grumped.

“Mister….H?” Neku croaked.

“J, make him some water.”

Slowly, a sturdy arm pulled Neku to sitting, leaning his body back into something warm, but lacking breath and a pulse. It was too broad to be Joshua, confirmed when the other hand slipped away to take an offered bowl of water.

Hanekoma was in human form again. Human-ish, at least.

“Drink, kiddo.”

“I’m twenty,” Neku protested before coughing up a little blood, realizing that was the first full sentence out of his mouth to the former barista.

“Hey, all humans are kids to me,” Hanekoma laughed. “J, he needs his throat patched up too.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Joshua whined, leaning forward to place three fingers against Neku’s neck. Immediately, Neku felt a wave of calm wash over, and his throat felt clear. “Now drink, before I whip you up an IV. I can patch you up, but I’m not magically refilling you with lost fluids. I don’t have the brainspace right now for that.”

Neku slowly downed the water, leaning heavily into Hanekoma. “I don’t have the brainspace to brain for at least a week.”

“I don’t think any of us do,” Hanekoma added. “I’m not even sure how I’m back to any kind of sanity as it is.”

Joshua rolled his eyes and refilled the water bowl with a gesture. “Enough of you was sane enough to be worried.”

“You brought a living human as bait, J! Of course I was worried.”

“It worked.”

“That doesn’t make it—” Hanekoma hissed, squeezing Neku’s shoulders a little too hard.

“I missed you,” Neku cut in. “It looked like all of Shibuya did, even though they never knew who you were.”

“Of course they knew,” Hanekoma said gently. “I was the local barista, ready with a good cup ‘o joe. I was the artist that painted the town red.”

“All the Reapers I spoke to had nothing but praise for you,” Neku continued. “I ran all over the city today finding that out.”

Neku felt the single loud thump of a heartbeat from the ethereal body keeping him upright. “Really now?”

“None of them knew you had a connection to the game either,” Neku continued, getting a second wind. “They just praised CAT’s art and WildKat’s coffee.”

“Hmph.”

“Won’t you come back, Sanae?” Joshua asked, a pleading smile on his lips. “It’s been too long.”

“I wish I could, J.”

“What do you mean you wish? You’re an Angel, for Someone’s sake!”

“Er, about that,” Hanekoma said, scratching the back of his head. “I’m… well. I’m not not an angel, I guess. But this is my punishment.”

“You’re definitely under supervision,” Joshua said testily. “Your warden was more annoying than anything else.”

“I take offense to that,” Hanekoma’s voice reverberated through all three of them.

Joshua nearly growled. “You know, you could have skipped the theatrics. If you wanted us gone, you could have Erased us, or just booted us out.”

Neku blinked the last of the daze away. “Hold on. I’m missing something here.”

“Remember how we passed a million billion WildKats and Sanaes and Shibuyas trying to find this place?” Joshua grumbled. “And how Sanae knew what we were doing? Angels have a singular hive mind. Mostly. I’m not actually an Angel, mind you—sort of just a hatchling, an infant. But he’s a real-deal Higher Plane beastie.”

Neku frowned, putting up a finger, lost in thought. Hanekoma went to speak, only for Joshua to shush him.

“Neku’s smart enough to put the pieces together. Give him a moment.”

“I gave him at least a concussion, if not brain damage, J.”

“Which I fixed.”

“The building.” Neku’s face sharpened into a frown.

Joshua and Hanekoma turned their heads to Neku, now sitting upright unassisted as he bopped his finger to his own internal music, slotting what he knew in place. “You said the building was an angel. This building, this whole thing, is this dimension’s Mr. H. All of the other yous are mad at you, aren’t they?”

Hanekoma nodded, exhaling a sigh. “I’m… sort of still an angel. But they cut me off from the Hive and took my inspiration. I can’t leave until I have them back.”

“I’m going to have a word with Management.” Joshua hoisted himself off the shrapnel-pocked floor, stomping a foot. “Elevator, if you please.”

“J, you’re crazy.”

“Aware. So?”

The three heard a ding as a concrete cube rose from the floor, the elevator with it. It opened with a smooth motion, the door already fixed but the interior still caked in paint.

“Am I the hostage negotiator, or can all of us go?” Joshua asked the elevator, irritated, arms crossed and wing-feathers fluffed in annoyance. In response, the elevator ballooned sideways, expanding the interior to accommodate three adults and one massive pair of wings.

“All right,” Joshua sighed out. “Everybody in.”

Xxx

The elevator hummed pleasantly and dinged, opening back up to the pearly-white entryway. The large front doors—triangular shards of crisscrossing stained glass—were blocked off by an aggressive black chain and padlock. A gleaming solid front desk sat at the entryway with a bored Hanekoma flipping lazily through a completely blank magazine. He shot them a grin; Neku noticed he was missing a tooth.

“Ah, hello. Thanks for giving me one heck of a sore throat, J.”

“Can it. I’m busting him out,” Joshua snapped, straight to the point.

Hanekoma put down the magazine, all high-gloss and solid-white pages. “Oh? How?”

Joshua pointed at the door, the chain and lock melting like acid under his gaze. “The front door, how else? Unless you want a few more teeth popped out.”

“That isn’t what I meant, J,” Hanekoma-behind-the-counter said simply. “Your me isn’t an angel right now. You take him out of here and he’s a mortal. I give him a few decades, tops. Stay and he’ll pay his price eventually; won’t you, you sorry excuse for a me?”

Joshua’s Sanae wrung his hands. “I’ll head back up. I did say you didn’t need to come for me, J.”

“If you leave before your sentence is up… you’re mortal?” Joshua asked, his voice cracking a little.

“Yeah, sorry Boss. I’ll take the long way ‘round.”

Neku frowned, scratching at some dried paint on his cheek. “Hang on. What is his sentence exactly? Josh, you said yours was being banned from the RG, but nothing stopped you from letting me see the UG.”

Joshua broke out into a nasty grin. “Ohhhhhhhh Neku, dear. I need to have you get brain damage more often.”

“No,” Neku interjected flatly.

“Aw, it was only a temporary inconvenience. Anyway, Sanae—either of you—what is his exact punishment from the Higher Plane? I want the full contract.”

The glass world’s Sanae slid him the blank magazine. “They were pretty thorough.”

Xxx

When Neku turned his back on the front desk, a couch, two chairs, and a coffee table, all in different shades of blinding alabaster, existed under the overhang just to the side of the entryway. The tinkle of stained-glass-shard rain peppered the overhang roof and a rainbow of garish light streaked in between the storm clouds outside. Joshua lifted his wings, draped them over the back of the sofa, and got to reading.

The only sounds were the tinkling of the rain, Joshua’s ever-ticking watch, and the occasional turn of a page.

Neku tapped his fingers on his jeans. “Can I do anything?”

“No,” muttered Joshua, half in thought flipping through the plain pages.

“Haven’t you done enough?” asked the bored warden, slouching at his desk.

“I could… clean the elevator,” Neku offered, trying to figure out something to do. He was definitely caught in some sort of celestial war, played out in miniature. Everything was over his head right now as he looked sideways to the glass-world Hanekoma. He looked the same as all the others—rolled-up button down, slacks, waistcoat, watch, sandals, sunglasses, messy hair—though he did seem a bit more… shiny, like light was reflecting off of him. Neku didn’t want to consider what it meant for him to both be standing at the front counter as well as being the entire building.

“You’d do that?” the glass angel questioned, confused.

“Why wouldn’t I? I’m just standing here. And it’s partially my fault that happened. More so if it’s hurting you.”

“Angels aren’t people, Neku,” he replied, handing him a bucket of soapy water from nowhere. “We don’t feel pain.”

“You’re clearly in pain,” Neku shot back in a whisper after Joshua rustled the magazine loudly, clearing his throat in a way reminding Neku to not disturb him. “Let me help.”

“Help, huh?” The glass Hanekoma smiled, the missing tooth returning to its space after a moment of static. “That’s a new thought.”

“Nobody’s ever helped you before?” Neku asked, concerned, as the elevator dinged and opened. He walked to it, both Sanaes following. One handed the other another bucket, then made one for himself. The three went inside and Neku took to the floor, carefully washing down the carpeting. The door slid closed and the three worked in silence.

“Not me, no,” the glass one admitted. “Not most of us. Angels don’t interact with your kind, or they really aren’t supposed to. I think some of us are jealous of the us from your world.” Another beat of silence. “I know I am.”

“Then why don’t you leave?” Neku asked.

“The other mes would make me a traitor, same as that one.” He jabbed his thumb at his duplicate. “In all honesty, I think it’s better than wasting away with only our own thoughts for company. All of us know it too—only that one said the quiet part out loud. There’s a small and finite number of angels, but an infinite number of each of us. One broken hive is a massive blow to the higher plane—kind of contradictory when you realize we run on Imagination. Think about it for five seconds and—”

“It doesn’t make sense,” Neku cut in, satisfied with the state of the floor, moving on to an aggressive teal spot on the wall. “If you run on Imagination but you’re made up as a ton of fragments that all have to think alike, any dissent and your own self turns on you. Seems a bit counterintuitive to have it that way.”

“The only possible outcome is to break apart from within,” Hanekoma agreed, but Neku wasn’t sure which one of them said it. Inside the elevator, the glass one didn’t have the odd shine he’d had in the foyer. At this point, he wasn’t sure it mattered.

Xxx

Neku and both Hanekoma exited the elevator, Joshua still pouring over the magazine. “They really did try and close every possible loophole,” he muttered. “I can’t see a way out… shy of killing you,” he added, looking up at the two angels. “And now I can’t even tell you apart.”

One of them smiled. “Neku just opened one up for you.”

“Oh?”

“Clause 16b.2.”

“Yes, ‘should the warden be unfit for service, Hanekoma is to serve the remainder of the sentence under a new warden.’ I was going to kill you and claim myself warden.”

“There’s no way the Higher Power would allow that. He’d just be transferred,” the other one said. Joshua raised an eyebrow to the first one—his Hanekoma. He slid his eyes between the two of them and the glass one scratched the back of his neck.

“Sit. I’ll get us something to drink.”

Neku shrugged and practically threw himself into one of the chairs, sighing as he sank into it. It was soft and warm and the light pinging of the rain overhead was lulling him to sleep.

“Stay awake,” Hanekoma ordered, pinching his elbow. “You started going see-through when you passed out last time—it’s what jolted me to consciousness. You aren’t coming all this way just for me to see you fade to nothing, Neku.”

Neku jolted upright, just as a steaming cup of coffee was placed in his hands. “I’ll make sure that doesn’t happen,” the glass Hanekoma said, determined. A third settee appeared between the other two; their captor-slash-host sat in it, placing a tray of coffee, tea, and snacks on the table between them. “And anyway, I’m unfit to be Hanekoma’s warden now. The Higher Plane may come for me soon. Though, soon here could be eons off. I know my time doesn’t run at the same pace as most of the other dimensions; that’s why I was picked to watch him. Joshua, they would never accept you under probation, but… Neku—you seem to be a favorite of upper management. Transferring to you shouldn’t be a problem. Hand him the contract, J.”

Neku blinked a bit of the daze from his eyes, downing the beverage. It felt like more than mere coffee, a solid glass of liquid courage, emboldening him.

Joshua hesitated, but passed the blank, glossy magazine sideways to Neku. He then stared down at the tray of offered snacks and carefully picked out a chessboard cookie, frowning at it, before biting the head off the knight’s horse.

Words swirled on the paper in Neku’s peripheral vision before he could see them straight off. “Can I get a translation?” he asked meekly, looking at the mess of block print before him.

“Did I not write it in Japanese?” Glass-Hanekoma asked.

“That’s not what I meant,” Neku sulked. “I can’t read lawyer.”

Joshua craned his neck sideways. “It’s a transferal of ownership contract. Standard language, except… hm. Neku, would you want to be an angel?”

Neku scrunched up his face. “Seeing what you deal with? No. I have enough trouble with artist’s block as it is. I’d rather it not be fatal.”

“Take out paragraphs eight and twenty, then.”

“Wait, this would have…”

“Made you one of us, yeah,” Joshua cut Neku off. “It does mean that if Hanekoma didn’t finish his sentence before you died, he would be mortal; so some sort of transferal clause needs to be added.”

Hanekoma snatched up the magazine, flicking it. “Consider it done. Sign and get out of here before I’m taken away too.” He grinned slyly. “Maybe I can keep the domino chain going. Wouldn’t the upper management just love that?”

Neku flicked his eyes to Joshua. “I still trust you, Josh. How’s it look?”

“We can take him with us. You’re his warden ‘til you die or his sentence is done, then you can renegotiate angelhood if you want.”

“But… what is his sentence?” Neku asked, looking between the now indistinguishable Hanekoma.

“I have to re-earn my Imagination: the human way.”

“No magic?”

“Some magic. About as much as Josh has. Which is a lot compared to you. Very little compared to before. And none at all when I’m not near my warden… though I’m not sure how near near is.”

“Don’t worry about that,” the second Hanekoma said, squeezing the first’s shoulder. “I’ve given you a little extra juice on your way. I’m sure they’ll take mine from me anyway. It’s enough to manifest your wings again, at least. Now get out of here, before there’s bigger problems. All of us is already tattling.”

“Bunch of assholes,” Hanekoma hissed under his breath.

“We both were, too. Well, me at least. Think you were always the black sheep. Now, sign and get.”

Joshua plucked a pen from nowhere, handing it to Neku who turned to the angelic twins. “You trust me?”

“With your life,” both Hanekoma said with a nod.

Neku signed with a flick of his wrist, the pull of slumber taking him again. He could barely hear Hanekoma and Joshua shout something as they hauled him upright at the torso.

With a jerk that felt like someone had tied a rope around his waist and then yanked on it from behind, Neku blinked his eyes open to Hanekoma’s shop, as destroyed as it was when they’d left it. He gasped for breath, completely winded and woozy, the world spinning around him until he succumbed, sliding out of Hanekoma and Joshua’s shared grip to bounce on the cracked tile floor.

Xxx

Hanekoma frowned, flapping feathered wings he forgot he’d missed. “J, you know you can’t throw yourself around the mortals—not like that. Not even to someone like him.” Carefully, Hanekoma pulled Neku out of the rubble, flinging his body over a shoulder. “Be glad he’s just passed out. If he stayed a moment longer in that dimension, he would have been gone. You could have killed him or worse.”

“But I didn’t,” Joshua insisted. “I needed him.”

“Did he know the risks?” Hanekoma asked roughly, finally free to yell at his former boss-and-ward without Neku overhearing. “He didn’t. You never told him.”

“You said in your notes that I’d be a strain on him. He had to know what that meant.”

“There’s a difference in knowing what your toned-down presence would do over a week versus what the full force of your power would do to him in a few hours,” Hanekoma chided. “He may have known the former, but you certainly didn’t tell him the latter.”

“What’s your point?” Joshua asked, watching Hanekoma shift Neku’s unconscious form into a more comfortable carry.

“My point is, stop breaking things, J. Stop treating everything like a broken bone that’s healing the wrong way. Not everything has to be shattered even more to fix it.”

“You were imprisoned by the Angels! All for trying to protect this city!” Joshua protested.

“I would have finished my sentence eventually,” Sanae countered in a calm and even tone. “I may have been in that place for eons, but it was—what? Three years here, maybe?”

“Five,” Joshua whimpered with a pout.

Hanekoma’s eyes flicked up and down Joshua, seemingly searching for something. “I’m putting Neku down in a room and warding it. He needs to recoup.”

Hanekoma turned on his heel to the shop backrooms, leaving Joshua standing confused in the mound of rubble.

Xxx

Whatever Hanekoma was doing, he was taking his sweet time. But Joshua heeded the barista’s words and waited, rolling his shoulders and slowly ratcheting his own wings back into the ether. Bored, he made himself a broom from Imagination and began idly sweeping up the chipped plaster and shattered tile. Eventually, Hanekoma returned to the shop portion of the building, eyeing Joshua.

“Physical labor? That’s a first.”

“I… I feel,” Joshua said, stopping to roll the broom handle in his fingertips. “I feel responsible.”

Hanekoma lowered his shades, peering over them. “Responsible. Who are you and what have you done with J?”

“I grew up, Sanae. Someone had to. You weren’t here. I have a new Conductor and Producer now.”

“What, so I’m outta a job?”

“I’m not kicking you out,” Joshua said, almost pleading. “You just don’t have any obligations. Other than your sentence, I guess.”

“With Neku as my warden,” Hanekoma sighed out. “You didn’t need to plan a jailbreak, J. You’ve waited longer than five years for things before. It’s hardly an eye-blink to people like us.”

Joshua slunk to the floor, defeated and boneless as he slid down the broom handle. A small cloud of debris puffed up around him as he went.

“Drama queen,” Hanekoma tsk’ed as he joined his former colleague on the floor, nesting his wings around himself. “I can’t say this isn’t nice though. Missed ya, J. Being honest, I don’t remember much at all from that place, anyway. Could’ve been a long time there before I became myself again without your little stunt.”

Joshua didn’t answer.

They sat in silence a few moments, then Hanekoma choked back a cry as his coworker—his friend—grabbed him from behind, wrapping his arms around him just under his wings. Hanekoma flapped them in surprise as Joshua buried his head in the down.

Angel and Reaper wings were their Soul; one didn’t just touch them—not without explicit permission. To touch someone’s wings meant someone else could feel what they did. Feel their joy, their disgust, their pain, or all at once.

Hanekoma didn’t pull away. He could hear—just barely, but it was there—Joshua sobbing silently into his back. Joshua was, for the first time in his so-called-life, showing Hanekoma a vulnerability he didn’t know the other even possessed. Slowly, the barista relaxed both sets of shoulders, taking on more and more of Joshua’s weight until his Composer was literally leaning on him as much as metaphorically.

Seconds ticked away from Joshua’s Pegasso crystal-quartz watch, which turned to minutes, then a solid half hour. Slowly, Hanekoma felt the weight lift.

“You let me,” Joshua said, a bit hoarse, patting the down where wing phased through clothes.

“You needed it, J. Pain shared is pain halved. I was happy to listen.”

“You didn’t want to be saved,” Joshua said sharply. “Forgive me for feeling like you were ungrateful. But… you weren’t. You were protecting me from the angels and a sentence like yours. You were a fall guy.”

“Yes,” Hanekoma said slowly. “I didn’t want you to suffer, too. Not being visible to the RG is hardly a penalty compared to what I have.”

“Pain shared is pain halved,” Joshua threw back at him, wiping snot off his face. If he’d been in his teenage form, he would have looked like just another kid. But Joshua was an ugly crier, and as an adult, he just looked silly—more so with a few errant feathers from Hanekoma’s back stuck to his dripping snot and hair.

“Wash up—the backroom sink works,” Hanekoma insisted, flapping his wings a few times to get rid of any other loose feathers. “I need to do some tidying, anyway.”

Joshua reverently ran his fingers through the shoulder of Hanekoma’s left wing. “Clean the shop all you want; you know all about me and dirt. But leave this part to me.”

Xxx

“I kinda expected more, Sanae.” Joshua leaned in the doorframe, pristine as her always presented himself to the public.

“I’m not exactly going to waste my magic, Boss.” Hanekoma went back to wiping down the countertops with a wet rag. The only change Joshua could see was all the broken furniture piled in a corner, with the floor debris in an equally uncoordinated pile.

“The human way?” Joshua asked with a smirk.

“If I’m not your Producer, I need a little art project to keep me busy.”

“Wouldn’t really call fixing a coffee shop art,” Joshua scoffed.

“It’s not not art, though,” Hanekoma countered, flinging the wet rag on a shoulder and smiling at the dented, but still functional, kettle on the burner, whistling away. “Tea?”

“Mm,” Joshua hummed with a nod. “Also, Neku’s phone was ringing nonstop.” He pulled his own from a pocket. “Oh. It’s past ten PM. Someone’s probably been wondering what happened to him. Least it’s still the same day we left.” Joshua cracked a small smile. “Gone for a week and the mortals think you’re dead or something.”

Hanekoma threw the rag square in Joshua’s face, storming past him to go retrieve the offending cell phone.

Xxx

Hanekoma sat on one of the two useable stools, Joshua behind him on the other, sipping tea from one hand while using the other to pull out stuck feathers. The barista unlocked Neku’s phone, scrolling through twenty missed calls. “Shiki. That’s a name I haven’t heard in a while.”

“You planning to call?”

“I should. Neku’s probably going to need a day or more to recuperate. And then you’re going to call his mother and let her know he’s sick with a fever.”

“Can’t. RG people can’t perceive me for another few years, remember? Phone calls included.” He grinned toothily. “You’ll just have to clean up the mess for me.”

Hanekoma sighed, stretching out his wings a little so Joshua could pull out all the powder down stuck from his eons of not taking care of himself, and pressed a familiar name in the missed calls history. “Hello? Shiki?”

“Oh my god, is this the police? Where’s Neku?”

“Shiki,” Hanekoma smiled a little, glad for a familiar voice. “It’s… Hanekoma Sanae—the café shop owner on Cat Street.”

Hanekoma waited patiently as Shiki processed what that meant. “If Neku is dead, I’m wringing a long line of necks. Joshua’s first; something tells me this is his fault.”

Joshua laughed hard enough to slam forward into the angel’s back; Sanae shot him a glare. “Neku is alive, but he’s taken a massive hit of Imagination. He’s probably going to sleep a day or two.”

“But he’s alive.”

“Alive and in no pain, with no injury. Mortals just can’t handle being around a city Composer too long.” Hanekoma glared over his shoulder at a snickering young-looking man in a lilac button down.

“I’m coming over there,” Shiki insisted. “And Joshua better be ready to take a knee to the balls.”

“Unfortunately, you won’t be able to see or hear him, but hang on,” Hanekoma said, pushing back on the deadweight behind him with his wings. “I’m putting you on speaker. Feel free to yell at him—I already have.”

Hanekoma clicked to speakerphone, maximizing the volume and holding the phone out behind him.

“Go ahead, Shiki. He can hear you.”

Shiki took in a deep breath, expelling a gasp of colorfully laced expletives so pointed Joshua’s hair began to catch fire. The moment she was out of breath, she slammed the end-call button with enough force that Joshua’s wings twitched, even within their aether.

“Josh, you’d better be out of my shop before she gets here or you’re going to be in deep shit.”

“I didn’t realize someone who played the Game before could deal that much splash damage,” Joshua complained, patting out the embers on the edges of his loose curls.

“You were human once yourself, J. Now bolt before she sets all of you on fire.”

“Good night to you too,” Joshua grumped, crossing his arms as he slid off the seat, leaving Hanekoma’s wings in a worse looking state than when he’d started. He saluted awkwardly to the sighing barista, disappearing out into the night.

Xxx

“How are you holding up, kiddo?”

Neku rubbed the crust out of his eyes. “What year is it?”

“Same one you were in before this mess.” Hanekoma smiled. “You slept away three days, though. I impersonated you on the phone to your mom and college—hope that’s alright.”

“So it’s…”

“Monday night. Six PM. Josh’s going to stay away from you for a while.”

“That why I feel like shit?”

“Mhmm. You want me to bring you in some food?”

“Bathroom,” Neku complained.

“Think mine still works.”

“You think?”

“Neku, I’m not human. I’ve never needed it.”

Xxx

“So now what?” Neku bit into his burger; nothing Hanekoma made, but then again, his kitchen was mostly still in shambles.

“I guess I rebuild. Maybe I take some art classes at community college.”

“Then I’m helping.”

“No, you’re-”

Neku glared up from his dinner. “That’s not up for debate. I’m your prison warden, remember? I help and in return, you let me paint in here.”

Hanekoma laughed. “You don’t even need to ask permission for that.”

“Oh, so I can tag every wall, floor, and ceiling in this bombed out husk of a deserted island?”

The barista frowned, leaning forward on the counter. “That didn’t get me any closer to having any inspiration, you know.”

“And I think that’s a lie,” Neku replied, crossing his arms. “Josh didn’t see it either. Maybe the individual components were copies, but that space you made in that other place was like nothing I’d ever seen before. Incredible doesn’t even begin to describe it. Nothing we do is truly unique anyway; we’re always working off the backs of those who came before us. It’s what voice we add to that conversation that makes our art what it is and… I should really be following my own advice. Hang on. I’m making a few calls, and you’re not stopping me.”

Neku pulled out his phone and rolled through his contacts list. “Hey, Sho. I’ve got a destroyed café here ripe for a giant-ass chandelier. You in?”

“Neku,” the other end of the line sounded annoyed. “I don’t do electrical.”

“So? You do the sculpture; I’ll get someone else to wire.”

“It’s going to be made of trash.”

“Why do you think I called your ass? Take notes; here’s the address.”

Xxx

“I haven’t done heavy lifting in… forever,” Hanekoma said, wiping actual sweat off his brow. It was a weird feeling, being sort-of human, but he couldn’t say he didn’t like it. The past six weeks had been a whirlwind with Neku in charge, directing a steady stream of ethereal beings— self included— into a massive renovation of his shop. The place was an explosion of color and life, an irony in real time to contrast the lack of both on the owner.

“Quit complaining,” Uzuki demanded, hauling the other end of the new bar counter. “If I can get Kariya to lift your tables in, you can help with your own damn high-top.”

“The one you danced on,” Hanekoma said with a grin, looking down at the hot purple and neon orange footprints crisscrossing the acrylic-sealed bar counter. The two had tangoed across a plank, then encased it for eternity in enough two-stage resin that it would never fade—Neku was particularly proud of that collaboration. Uzuki pushed the shop door with her shoulder, so both of them could bring the counter inside.

“—and you don’t need to hold that ladder, Neku.”

“I don’t want you falling,” Neku snapped back, looking up at the Reaper wiring in the shop’s new light fixture. It looked like a vending machine had exploded on the ceiling, and Hanekoma loved it.

“Neku, I can fly,” Triple Seven replied, waving a pair of wire strippers. He was flapping his wings to show those off as well, not that Neku could see them from the RG.

“My masterpiece can’t,” Sho grumbled from the corner, looking on in a mix of horror and awe as Seven worked his stage rigging magic to get the recycled-bottle chandelier hooked into the building’s wiring.

“Look, it’s way easier for me to do this if I’m not trying to balance,” Seven sighed out. “Sho, get up here and hold it in place, so I can finish. Neku, go help do something that doesn’t involve a ceiling or frying yourself on open electricals.”

Sho sighed, stood up, and vanished back into the UG, flapping up to hold the sculpture as Seven jumped off the ladder. Neku winced, unable to see either of them.

“If you can hear me, I’m going to check on Shiki and her friends making chair cushions.” Sho rattled the ladder with his foot, and Neku smiled. “Hey, Mr. H, your shop’s haunted.”

“I’d be more worried if it wasn’t.”

Xxx

“So?” Hanekoma slid a ceramic cup down the acrylic to Neku. “Get your grade back yet?”

“Semester ends in January, Mr. H; it’s gonna be a while yet. How about your magic?”

“While this helped, no. It’ll be a while yet for me too. Can’t complain about the décor, though.”

Hanekoma and Neku grinned, taking in the space. Except for one section of wall painted with chalkboard paint for patrons to go wild doodling on, every square inch of the shop was covered in art altogether dizzying and explosively contrast in design.

“Opens tomorrow, right? My teacher is coming around again to see it.”

“Soft open today though.”

“Sign said closed,” Neku pointed out with his teaspoon.

“Maybe for the living.”

“Ah, a few reapers pass by?” Neku asked with a smile. “Hey, make a bet with you.”

“What?”

“How many days the shop’s open before a paying customer draws a dick on your wall.”

“Zero.”

Neku looked sideways as a handful of change bounced across the counter, Sho coming into view. He downed his already half-drunk coffee and loped to the chalkboard to vandalize it. Neku flicked his eyes at the empty tables and chairs, a massive grin breaking out on his face as every single one was filled in with a Reaper, raising glasses in toast.

“We all needed someplace to stay,” Hanekoma said on the room’s behalf. “Thanks for giving us a home. It’s still pretty broken and lopsided, but I promise we’ll keep the lights on.”

“Mr. H, this was already your home.”

He shook his head. “No, Neku. It was only a shop.”

“If its home, does that mean the drinks are free?” A few reapers turned to the furthest corner of the room—Joshua grinned, sitting backwards in his chair.

“J, what did I say about coming ‘round when Neku’s here?” Hanekoma scolded.

“…Don’t?”

“Short bursts only, lest you want to clean up the exploding brains on the wall.”

Neku shrugged. “It’ll probably add to the ambiance.”

[justanotherpersonsuniverse]

Paladin Rose (An Other Magic AU Substory written by CartoonAddict564 from the comment section)

Part 1 (Faerie Arc)

(This is a hodgepodge of all of the story comments for the Paladin Rose Substory from the There’s More Magic Out There fic, the commenter gave me permission to post it on tumblr, but please do check the original comments out, there’s a lot of funny shit I left out)

Mr. Lavaillant: Rose, sit down. We have something very important to tell you. Mrs. Lavaillant: You know how we've been patrolling the city with our Detect Magic abilities to find evil monsters? We found one... and you know her. Rose: *pales* Mrs. Lavaillant: It's your classmate Sabrina. We've determined she's actually a fey spirit, brought by evil Sidhe--fairy lords--to replace the real Sabrina. Rose: *slightly relieved that they still don't know about Juleka* Oh! Uh, that sounds bad. Why don't you let me deal with her? *wondering if maybe they can hide her for a few days until her parents move on* Mr. Lavaillant: No, dear. You see, if it were just a matter of catching and killing this changeling, we're sure you could handle it. But this is a much more difficult job. Mrs. Lavaillant: It's not enough to kill the fake Sabrina. We need to rescue the real one. To do that, we'll have to force them to take the false Sabrina back. Rose: Uh... what do you mean? Mr. Lavaillant: Fey are incapable of taking a gift without giving something of equal value in exchange. That's why they leave one of their own behind when they abduct humans; they literally can't take a child without giving up a child of their own in order to make the trade equal. But it works both ways. If we compel them to accept our 'gift' of the changeling Sabrina, the fey will be forced to return the real one to us. Mrs. Lavaillant: There's a fey hill a few miles outside of town. We'll bring the false Sabrina there, summon the Sidhe lords, and fight them with our holy powers until they yield and agree to retake the changeling. Then they will be compelled to recover the human Sabrina from wherever she is and bring her here. Rose: And, um, how are you going to get Sabrina to the hill? Mr. Lavaillant: We talked with Roger Raincomprix--who was so excited that he might be getting his real, genuine daughter back that he almost cried on the phone--and he's going to help us. We gave him a special herb which he'll mix into her food; any fey that eats it will fall asleep for at least twelve hours. We'll just pick her up, meet with a few of our paladin friends, and then all head out to the fey hill. Mrs. Lavaillant: Just think, dear, in only a few hours that evil monster who stole the real Sabrina from us will be banished to the fey world, never again to threaten decent people like us! *beat* Anyways, that's where your father and I are going tonight. We'll see you in the morning. *The Lavaillant parents leave; 30 seconds pass* Rose: (Already putting on her armor and sword, and also calling Juleka on the phone): HEY JULES GET THE GANG TOGETHER WE HAVE TO STOP MY CRAZY PARENTS

---

Juleka: ...so that's what's happening. Luka did a scrying spell and found that Sabrina's already missing from her home, so we need to get to the fairy hill first and stop the paladins. We can meet up with Rose at this rest stop and-- Alya: Um. Do we actually know Rose will help us? Juleka: Of course. She helped us sabotage all those other things her parents did. Alya: Yeah, she helped us with some pranks. That doesn't mean she'll help us fight her parents. I mean, if Chloe wolfs-out and tries to bite them, do you really think Rose will just let it happen? Alix: Alya has a point. Rose was raised her whole life to think Sabrina and the rest of us are evil. She might have been willing to rebel when the stakes were low, but actually fighting for 'evil' in front of her parents and everyone? Publicly betraying them? I don't know if she'll do that. For all we know this whole thing is a set up from her parents. Maybe they got her to lure us out of town, away from anyone they don't want watching a paladin vs monster fight, and get us to a place where they have lots of backup from their crazy zealot friends to help them kill us? Chloe: Or worse. What if Rose was a plant from the beginning? They figured out there was magic around because of all the Miraculous stuff and Hawkmoth, so they send in their daughter, have her act nice so we tell her all about us, and then use that knowledge to kill us? Juleka: But... she said she'd help us. She promised! I mean, she swore she loved me even though I'm a vampire, and... Juleka, thinking to herself: What if I was just a little side fling for her? What if I was just her opportunity to be a rebel, or what if she really was a plant from the beginning? Now that the chips are down, what if she fight for what she really believes, which is that I'm a monster and so are my friends? Juleka: ...well, either way, we have to rescue Sabrina. So let's go and hope Rose is loyal to us. Juleka, thinking to herself: And if she's not, maybe I'll just let the paladins cut off my head

——

Then commotion came to a halt as the bushes rustled. The changeling girl looked up with fear as she saw a familiar green.

The figure quietly exited out of the woods. Her hair was longer, untamed, but despite the roots and dirt curling around her skin, and the dark green coat fluttering around her shoulders. She still had a feeling of humanness.

Sabrina met her own face.

The fey adopted child looked at Sabrina, then her eyes moved to an ecstatic Roger, then the Lavillants, and the finally she sees the Mystery gang.

However she says nothing, only continuing to slowly move forward. The grass followed after her trail, and the large group saw eyes from the forest, staring curiously at them.

“Come and take the true fey child home and bring me back my daughter!” Roger commanded, but was met with silence. Only the quiet brushing of wind against the tall grass, the city bumbling quietly so far away,

Sabrina held her breath- and after what felt like years.. the Human girl spoke-

“Wow, this is really fucked” She said evenly, she gave a Sabrina a soft pat on the back.

They all blinked with surprise at her bluntness as she looked to the rest of them

“I’ve lived with the fey for more than fifteen years, I give not even two shits about the human world or my human family.” She said “I am more fae than human, and there is no benefit for me nor this Sabrina that is worth trading.”

Roger and the lavillant’s jaws dropped- and a look of disbelief, shock, and elation slowly grew on Sabrina’s face. The stolen child smiled softly at her, teeth too sharp, eyes too bright, and hair too red. Their species didn’t match but they knew who was human and who was not.

The Once Huma Sabrina slowly walked backwards into the woods, giving a small curt bow “You all owe me for stealing my time” She says, a mischievous smile curling on her lips as wild magic rushed by them, a chill going down each of their spines. She gave Roger a quiet look before shrugging his heart broken expression off. “Bye fuckers” she said-

-And then disapeared into the darkness.

For a moment, complete and utter silence filled the hillside.

Then Chloe leaned in very close to the others and begin to whisper. "Listen up," she hissed. "I've seen most of these assholes at my father's political rallies--these guys are from half the prominent families in Paris--and I know how they think. They--"

"How can you tell?" hissed Alya. "They're all wearing armor!"

"The heraldry," Chloe growled. She gestured at the paladins, whose armor was emblazoned with various crests and sigils. "I've seen those pictures on the rings, the lapel pins, the shitty handkerchiefs in their pockets. No reason the knights would have them if they weren't the same people. Now shut up and let me talk." She took a breath. "One possibility is they realize how much of an idiot they've been and they slink off home. But that almost never happens."

"So what's the other possibility?" whispered Juleka.

"They blame whoever's nearby and isn't them for screwing things up. Then they double down and attack us, so they can try again once they get rid of 'the problem.'" Chloe's face was tight. "And if they do that, we have to be ready."

Then Roger seemed to shake himself. He looked around wildly before his eyes settled on the mystery gang. "There!" he yelled. "They messed this up! We would have been able to get my daughter back if not for them!"

"Get them!" roared Mr. Lavaillant. "For God and the Light!"

"And restrain her!" Mrs. Lavaillant swept her sword at the still-woozy changeling Sabrina. The redhead squeaked and tried to take a step, but the magic herb was still in her system and she couldn't do much more than shuffle a few paces before staggering to a halt. Mrs. Lavaillant went on: "We have to keep her here, and we have to keep her alive! We'll kill the other monsters, summon the Sidhe again, and this time we forcethem--with cold steel, if necessary--to take the changeling and leave the real Sabrina here!"

Roger looked pained. "But if my daughter doesn't want to come home--"

"Of course she wants to come home," said Mrs. Lavaillant in the stern, unyielding voice of a fanatic who would rather die than consider the possibility of being wrong. "In her heart, that's the only things she wants. You can't trust what she's saying now, because the fey confused her. But I assure you, it's nothing we can't handle."

"We have, after all, done this before," added Mr. Lavaillant as two other paladins dragged the unsteady Sabrina down with chains and staked her to ground previously cleared of all grass and shrubs in order to stop her from drawing on her powers to escape. "Your daughter won't be the first human we rescue from the fey. Nor the first one whom the fey brainwashed into wanting to stay among them."

"But you don't have to worry," said Mrs. Lavaillant, her tone now something that would have been compassionate if it hadn't had the bright, sharp edge of bloodlust to it. "We will see that your daughter has the best of care. Therapy for as many months as she needs it, and if necessary, something more extreme. We do have facilities just for that purpose."

Roger's face had somehow gone even paler. "You mean that room in the Catacombs you showed me. The one with the manacles."

"Yes, that one, if necessary," said Mr. Lavaillant in an almost gentle tone. "I won't lie to you; your daughter may require strenuous, ah, correction. The fey are masters at ensnaring humans; no doubt they have spent her life teaching her unholy powers, cultivating her cruelty and teaching her to apply it towards humans and animals who aren't strong enough to resist her, doing all they could to ensure she would never want to return to the Light and the human world. As a result it may take several months to break through this cold shell the fey formed around your daughter's soul and make her understand once more that the human world is the right and proper place for her--and within that world, the sturdy home built by her loving father. It may take techniques which others, who do not know the whole story, would find brutal. But rest assured. She will come back to you, in both body and soul, in the end."

Mrs. Lavaillant took a step towards the mystery gang, as did several of the paladins. Rose, Juleka noted, was still being restrained by one of the larger knights, from back when she'd tried to stop the ritual and been overwhelmed. That meant Rose was on the monsters' side, didn't it? The paladins wouldn't have restrained her if she had chosen her family and had just been trying to lure them here? Unless, of course, this was just a trap, unless Rose was their ace in the hole who would only betray Juleka at the last minute, because of course she would, Juleka was just a blood drinking vampire living in the shadows and it wasn't like anyone as amazing and lovely as Rose could *really* love her, was it?

Juleka tried to push those thoughts aside as the paladins advanced. "So what do we do?" she asked, knowing the answer.

Chloe had already shifted, as had Alya. Luka had already brought up his hands to cast the most powerful hexes he knew; as Juleka watched, Alix did the same. "We fight," the pink-haired girl growled. "And we save our friend."

——

(And of course...)

Juleka let out a roar of pure rage as she jumped on top of Mrs. Lavaillant, throwing her off of Chloe. The silver crucifix went tumbling away as Mrs. Lavaillant fell to the side and Chloe's shriek of agony, along with the sizzle of burning flesh and fur, ended. The werewolf roared, and Juleka turned to her--

Only for Rose's mom to grab her and roll over, so that she was on top and Juleka was being pressed into the ground. Juleka drew on her vampire strength as she fought back, but the armored knight still managed to hold her down--though Juleka could hear her labored breath and sense the pounding of her blood, and knew that Mrs. Lavaillant wasn't nearly as much stronger than her as the knight wanted to let on. But it didn't matter; as long as she was armored than Juleka couldn't really do much to her.

Ok, she thought. Then I deal with the armor.

Juleka abruptly swung her arms out, no longer pushing away at the knight, and Mrs. Lavaillant almost fell on top of her before taking advantage and slamming a fist into her ribcage. Juleka heard something break but tried to ignore it as she forced her hands to the side of Mrs. Lavaillant's helmet, then pulled with all her might. The older woman understood just a second too late and tried to block, but Juleka had already heaved, and--drawing on all her vampire strength--managed to rip the helmet clean off the armor, leaving herself staring at Mrs. Lavaillant's exposed face, head, and neck.

The older woman's face twisted into an expression of rage. "Scum," she hissed. "It's not enough for you to stalk the night and drink the blood of innocents, is it? Now you interfere to trap a human child with the fey--and for no reason!"

"The human Sabrina is happy where she is!" gasped Juleka. "And you were trying to abduct and banish my friend back to some world she's never known! She doesn't deserve that!"

"She's a monster!"

Juleka shook her head, trying and failing to shove Mrs. Lavaillant off her. "No, she's not! She's a good person! She helps people when they have trouble in school, and when I was sick she let me copy her notes, and I know sometimes she goes to people's gardens and helps them to bloom better, and--"

Mrs. Lavaillant reached behind her back and pulled a short, sharp dagger from a concealed compartment of her armor. 

"She is a monster whose only purpose here is to ensnare and corrupt humans!" She thrust forwards, but Juleka just barely managed to grab her hand and stop it. Then, seeing an opportunity, she reached up with her other hand and snaked it around Mrs. Lavaillant's head before pulling inwards. The older woman yelled but couldn't stop her head and neck from being shoved down, right in range of Juleka's fangs--just as the tip of her dagger touched Juleka's chest, directly over her heart.

For a second the two froze, each having the other at her mercy, neither able to act.

And then they heard footsteps and both twisted their heads just enough to see...

..Rose.

She had gotten away, Juleka realized. She had escaped from the big paladin, and now she was here, wearing shining armor and holding a holy sword. But she wasn't moving. "Juleka," she whispered as her gaze swept between then. "Mom. Please... please don't..."

"Help me, dear!" Mrs. Lavaillant yelled. "Help me slay the vampire and save the real Sabrina!"

"Rose," whispered Juleka, in a voice that was almost begging. "Rose, please. Help me."

The young paladin looked between the two, almost shaking.

"Please, Rose, you said you love me," said Juleka in too fast of a voice. "And I--I know sometimes I'm creepy, and I'm a monster, and I'm not anywhere near as pretty or smart or anything as you, but I don't want to die. I don't deserve to die here. Please don't let her kill me."

"Rose!" yelled Mrs. Lavaillant. "Don't listen to her! She's a vampire, you know hurting people is what they do! It's her nature! It doesn't matter if she says she's good, or even if she truly believes it! Sooner or later, she won't be able to deny her nature and she'll kill people!" Her voice dropped. "We showed you pictures, Rose. Pictures of whole families, whole villages drained dry by vampires. You can stop the next tragedy, but you have to be strong! Do what you know is right!"

"Rose!" cried out Juleka, straining at Mrs. Lavaillant. "Rose please! Please!"

Slowly, as if in a trance, Rose raised her sword up and...

...she dropped it. She fell to her knees and began to sob.“I-I can’t.. I cant help you both.. I can’t.. I don’t know what to do..” She sputtered through her words “Mom I love Juleka more than anything.. I’ve loved her longer than I’ve known her she was a vampire.. b-but I cant kill anyone I can’t do this..”

Juleka was silent, still frozen as she watched the love of her life cry— but Ms Lavillant still didn’t move, and neither did she.They didn’t know what to do.So Juleka moved first. She let her head rest on the ground, leaving her body exposed as she left her perfect spot near Ms Lavillant’s exposed throat. She looked past her, staring up at the stars. Who knew this would be the perfect place to see such beauty. Juleka had never seen so many before. She drowned herself in the sounds of Rose’s sobs as Ms Lavillant didn’t move a muscle, in fact, maybe she got closer. “Then I’ll make the choice for you Rose..” She murmured, looking back to Ms Lavillant’s face “Kill me then. The monsters still win either way- metaphorically I guess.”

Looking to the side, Alya was clutching Sabrina in her arms as they mounted on top of Chloe’s wolf turned body, Alix was screaming obscenities at everything while Luka kept them away, still she laid, underneath the woman’s body, far far away.

“Come on..” She hissed through her teeth, staring up at Ms Lavillant as she felt the end of the woman’s blade meet the but centimeters away from her skin. She couldn’t hear Rose’s sobs anymore from the pounding in her ears “..I know you won’t.”

Distantly, softly, she heard the paladin speak.

"I know what you're trying to do," Mrs. Lavaillant said, and now there was an edge to her voice. It was almost, but not quite, fear. "You know you can't beat me. Your scheme to corrupt my daughter failed. Now you're trying to corrupt me. You think if you act innocent, helpless, that I'll spare you. That I'll let you go free to kill again."

Juleka said nothing.

"I've hunted hundreds of you monsters," went on Lavaillant, and now Juleka knew what it was she was hearing in the old fanatic's voice. It was uncertainty. Perhaps even doubt. "I've seen what you do to humans. I've seen how you treat us. As your prey, your food, your slaves! I know that none of you are innocent!"

She was scared, Juleka realized. Scared that she might have made mistakes. Scared to think, for the first time, that maybe some of the monsters she'd murdered hadn't deserved it. After all, she'd raised her daughter to be a zealot for the cause, and once upon a time--before meeting Juleka, before learning that half her classmates were technically inhuman--Rose had truly believed that monsters were nothing more than a bunch of creatures who spent their time planning to eat, enslave, or torment humans. Juleka knew this because Rose had confessed it to her, assuring her all the while that if Juleka hated her because of the things she'd used to believe, she would understand.

(Of course, Juleka knew Rose wasn't responsible for being indoctrinated. And even beyond that, she would never hate Rose. She could never hate Rose. She would sooner die than hate Rose...)

But while Rose had believed those things, she had changed. She'd come to see that those anti-monster views were themselves wrong and evil. And Rose was no dummy; Juleka was acutely aware that Rose was smarter than her in so many ways, and surely her own mother knew how bright the girl was. So if Rose--who had seen all the evidence presented by the paladins, who had been raised since birth to know that monsters were evil, who had cheered on her mother and father as they went on hunts to track down all manner of 'evil' monsters--now rejected those views, maybe that was because those views were wrong.

Maybe some monsters didn't deserve to be killed.

And maybe Mr. and Mrs. Lavaillant had killed some of those monsters who didn't deserve to be killed.

"You're wrong," whispered Juleka. "Some of us are innocent. And I think you know that, Mrs. Lavailllant."

The woman froze as the words hit home, and for a second Juleka allowed herself to hope that it was over. That the woman would stop.

But then Mrs. Lavaillant hissed, in a voice almost frantic with the struggle to push away doubt, "No. You did something to Rose, you bewitched her, you ensnared her. It doesn't matter! I have a holy duty to put an end to your evil!" The point of her dagger began to push at Juleka's battered body. "Even if you corrupted my daughter, I will cure her, and--"

"No," said Juleka. "I didn't corrupt her. I would rather die."

"Anyone can say that," growled Mrs. Lavaillant. Now the dagger was piercing Juleka's body; it would slide into her heart in a second or two. "But you're a monster. You might say you rather die than corrupt her, but--"

"What is it," Juleka asked, "That you think I'm doing?"

Mrs. Lavaillant met her gaze, and Juleka could tell the exact moment she understood.

Juleka and Mrs. Lavaillant had both begged Rose to take their side in good conscience. Rose had refused, saying she would never kill either of them, not under any circumstances. That was her decision, and Juleka would accept it. But what if she didn't? If Juleka hammed it up, screaming in pain and yelling that Rose would help her if she truly loved her, maybe Rose would change her mind. Maybe she could pressure Rose into attacking or killing her mother just to keep Juleka alive. It would break Rose in body and spirit, it would leave the girl a battered wreck who would never again know happiness, but if Juleka were willing to do that--to corrupt Rose to save her own life--she could certainly try.

But she wouldn't. Because she loved Rose, and if the price of keeping Rose sane and whole was dying, Juleka would pay it.

And Mrs. Lavaillant knew that, Juleka could tell. Rose's mother knew, in that moment, that Juleka cared for her daughter more than she herself did. Because after all, if Mrs. Lavaillant were the one on the ground and Juleka were about to kill her? Mrs. Lavaillant would say anything she could think of to force her daughter to kill Juleka. To sacrifice her daughter's sanity to keep herself alive. No, not quite. To keep her crusade alive.

Something seemed to break behind Mrs. Lavaillant's eyes, and Juleka knew that the woman would never be able to think of herself without drowning in self-loathing and hate.

But that wouldn't save her, so Juleka again leaned back and waited for the crazy woman on top of her to act. The knife wriggled deeper, towards her heart, and--

"HOLD PERSON!"

Mrs. Lavaillant's body suddenly went perfectly still as a strange light, so holy it felt like it was burning at Juleka's eyes, enveloped it.

Juleka froze, unbelieving. That voice had sounded like Rose, but it couldn't be. Luka had been keeping track as they got to the hill and saw Rose trying to resist the other paladins. Rose had used up all of her magic. And even if Rose had truly kept one spell in reserve, why wait until now? Why not cast it when Juleka had first asked for help?

Slowly, gingerly, she carefully lifted the immobilized paladin off of her, wincing as the blade withdrew from her chest. Then she turned, and gasped.

Rose had, indeed, cast the spell. She was down on the ground, with one hand extended, still glowing with bright holy magic. But that hand... it was pinned to the ground, Juleka saw, by Rose's dagger. Which she was holding with her other hand.

And then she couldn't help but think back to that lecture Jalil had given the mystery gang on holy magic, the one Alix had insisted he give back when they'd first learned Rose's secret, and when the ever-wary Chloe had insisted they learn how to fight paladins just in case.

"Paladins are so zealous," Jalil said as he leaned back in his chair, "That they'll even sacrifice their own flesh and blood if needed to defeat their targets. In fact, some very devout paladins have what's called a 'Spirit Cast' ability. Sort of a 'cast from hit points' mechanic for real life. By injuring themselves, they can draw from their own life force to cast a spell they wouldn't otherwise have the magic to cast. Of course, then they die sooner, but hey, if that means killing Count Chocula or whoever they're fighting this week, they don't mind." He shut the book. "Crazy, huh?"

"Rose, no," whispered Juleka as the girl stiffened and then gave a hacking cough which sprayed drops of blood on the grass. But then Rose seemed to steel herself, withdrew her dagger from her hand, and then walked to them. She helped Juleka up. "Rose..." Juleka whispered. "You shouldn't--"

"It's done," said Rose in a tiny voice.

"But how much of your life...?"

Rose shrugged and then spoke in a voice which attempted to sound disinterested but failed to hide her horror. "Hard to tell, but... I'm young, it's not a very big spell... not too much. Maybe."

Maybe wasn't good enough, and Juleka was already thinking of how she would threaten Jalil into telling her how they could reverse the effects. Maybe there was some kind of spirit transfusion? Juleka had eternal life, if there was some way to give some to Rose... well, besides the obvious and unacceptable method of turning her...

Then she heard Rose looking at her mother. "I love you," she whispered. "I'm so sorry. But I... I'm not coming home, Mom. And if you attack my friends again, if you attack anyone else who doesn't deserve it, I'll help them." She touched her free hand to the horrible wound in her other hand. "The exact same way I did this time. With Spirit Cast. So if you love me... leave us alone."

And that was that. She moved to Juleka's side, and the two began heading away into the darkness.

——

The others were gone, but that didn't surprise or upset Juleka. By all appearances she had looked trapped, and if anyone had stayed to save her, that person could have gotten killed too. They'd all agreed going in not to risk the whole party for one of them--that none of them would want the guilt of knowing the others had gotten killed in a doomed rescue attempt--and Juleka was glad they'd agreed.

But that didn't mean they hadn't left something for her. Juleka soon noticed the paper charm pinned to a tree, and the note on it. "Attach to door," she read. "I think there's a cabin about half a mile that way. Come on, Rose."

Rose followed, silently, and Juleka draped an arm over the girl. Her broken rib and other wounds still hurt--that stupid spell Mr. Lavaillant had cast which prevented her vampire regeneration still hadn't worn off, apparently--but she could walk, and that was all that mattered. More than he could say, anyways; last she'd seen of him, Chloe had snapped his lower leg in her jaws.

They reached the cabin. Juleka slapped Alix's portal charm on the door, then smashed it open, and they walked right through to Alix's house. "We're here," said Juleka, removing the charm and shutting the door behind them. "Rose, you--"

And then Rose burst into wailing tears as she fell into Juleka's arms.

Juleka froze for a moment. But then she gently sat down with Rose and held her while she cried.

When Juleka came back to herself, she wasn't sure how much time had passed.

She was still lying on the couch in the Kubdel family's comfortable, homey living room, and Rose Lavaillant was still next to her, embracing Juleka so tightly that not even Nora Cesaire could have pried them apart. Of course, Juleka was hugging Rose just as tightly herself. After the night they'd had, Juleka decided, they deserved hugs.

Someone had draped a warm, thick blanket over them and tucked pillows under their heads. Juleka sniffed the pillows and blanket, and her eyes widened slightly as she detected a hint of Chloe's perfume. So the werewolf was the one who had seen them and bustled over to tuck them in, she thought. That was somehow fitting.

From the kitchen came the familiar smell of molokhia, that Egyptian stew Alix and Jalil were always eating which was said to have been the favored food of the Pharaohs and which Jalil claimed boosted his 'vast magical prowess to even greater heights.' The smell was hours old; whoever had fixed dinner had already eaten and left without disturbing the girls. 

But there were two large bowls of the stew on the coffee table next to the couch, and affixed to the rim of each bowl was a little paper charm which Juleka knew would magically keep the meals hot and fresh for as long as needed until the girls woke. Besides the bowls were a few pages written in Alya's neat script, presumably any important information the girls had missed while they were unconscious. And surrounding the couch and table were Luka's wards, of such complexity and power it must have taken him over an hour to craft them, but which would keep the two safe from almost any conceivable hostile force which might want to smash in and hurt them.

The vampire let the faintest of smiles touch her lips. It was good to have friends.

"Juleka?" she heard. She looked down to see Rose lifting her head a little. "You're still here." She sounded relieved. Like she'd really been worried Juleka would have abandoned her after seeing the true monstrosity of her parents.

"I'll always be here," said Juleka, and now it was her that was starting to cry. "For as long as you want me."

"Oh, Juleka!" Rose squeezed her. "I am so, so sorry..."

Juleka shook her head. "No," she whispered. "Rose, you have nothing to be sorry for. You're not responsible for what your parents did."

Rose shook her head sadly. "I thought... when I heard what they were going to do to Sabrina, that was the first thing I thought. That when I told you, then you'd know how evil my whole family was, and you'd hate us..."

"I could never hate you," insisted Juleka, the words rough with emotion. "Rose, you went against your family to save Sabrina... and me, when your mother knocked me down. Even though I don't deserve it. I--"

"Don't say that!" said Rose, and Juleka jolted, because she hadn't thought the exhausted girl had so much strength and force in her. "Don't ever say that! Juleka, you are beautiful and precious and perfect, and you deserve anything I can give you!" She squeezed the goth tighter. "And you're not creepy or dumb or those other things you said during the fight either. You're wonderful, Juleka."

Juleka couldn't explain why, but the words were warmer and more soothing than the thick blanket on top of them. "I... thank you, Rose."

Rose wriggled a bit so that she could lift her head and meet Juleka's eyes. "But I wasn't just apologizing for my parents," she said. "I was kind of a jerk when I first told you about me, I know..."

-

Juleka strained futilely against the thick vines and cursed whatever demonic thought had convinced her to bring Rose to the distant corner of the Bois de Vincennes park just to confess her love. Everything had gone perfectly--the picnicking, the swimming, the birdwatching--but right when Juleka had been about to say the magic words, the forest sprite had popped up and began ranting about being disturbed. And now they were both being strung up by vines while the sprite talked about eating them.

"I'll start with the tall one," the sprite giggled as she hauled a thick cooking pot out of the ground. "And then the blond one for dessert! Hee! Trespassers make the best meal!"

"Rose, shut your eyes," whispered Juleka. If she used her vampire strength she might be able to break free and--

But then she heard Rose say, in a bright, powerful voice that radiated even more confidence than usual, "No, Juleka. I can do this."

And then, to her astonishment, she heard Rose yell "Smite evil!"

And the sprite...

Was smited.

A bright light burst from nowhere, hot enough to burn at Juleka, and the sprite went tumbling away. Then Rose was ripping free of the vines and taking some kind of sigil out of her pocket. "Summon sword!" she called, and a gigantic sword that vibrated with holy energy appeared in her hand. "Bind spirit!" Magical chains of light appeared around the sprite's limbs. "You will never harm another innocent human, fiend!"

"No!" the sprite pleaded as she thrashed. "Please, holy paladin, I didn't know!"

Rose kept approaching the sprite, sword point aimed squarely at her nose. A sharp, thick root suddenly sprang up towards Rose, tip sharp and glistening with what had to be poison, but Rose easily chopped it off with a single sweep of her sword. "Please!" the sprite yelled. "Mercy, o paladin!"

Juleka was gaping as Rose reached the monster and seemed to hesitate. "I will not kill you," she said at last. "I... I don't like killing."

"Oh, thank you! Thank you!" the sprite yelled.

"But I will banish you back to your realm. No more will you lie in wait to eat humans." Rose sketched some kind of sigil in the ground with her holy sword, then chanted something in Latin. That bizarre, hot light flashed again, and then the spirit was gone, teleported back to the fairy world.

The vines surrounding Juleka unraveled and the vampire dropped to the ground. "Rose," she managed. "What are..."

But she trailed off, because the blond had turned and was smiling brightly. "Juleka! You're okay! Yay!" And then she was flinging aside her sword to hug the goth.

Normally, Rose felt warm to Juleka. But now everything felt cold.

Distantly she heard Rose telling her everything: that the Lavaillants were a family of paladins tracing all the way back to Ancient Rome, that she'd been trained since birth to fight evil monsters, that she wasn't supposed to tell anyone but she was happy Juleka had found out because she hated keeping secrets from her best friend, and so on. And at the end she'd said something which had chilled Juleka to the core.

"Don't worry about this ever happening again," she had said sweetly. "I'll protect you. I'll smite any monsters that get anywhere near our class."

-

"You didn't know any better," Juleka insisted. "You thought all monsters were evil. Your parents filled your head with that garbage. Even then, you made a point of never killing anything! And as soon as you learned otherwise you changed your mind."

"But--"

"No buts!" insisted Juleka. "Rose. I judged you worse than you judged me. I was terrified you'd learn the truth and that you'd hate me, want to kill me for being an unholy monster." She sighed. "I was a real idiot when you learned about me."

—

"Stupid fucking sentimonster!" Juleka shouted in rage. "Go away already!"

But the sentimonster, a sort of zombie-bear like thing half again as tall as Juleka, didn't go away. And Ladybug and Chat Noir were off fighting an Akuma; they probably didn't even know about the sentimonster that had gotten split off and stuck in the school. Which meant that it was up to an already-exasperated Juleka to keep it away from her classmates.

"Help!" Alya pleaded as she limped away; the monster had twisted her ankle. "Help, it--"

Juleka saw the bear rear up and slash Alya, claws raking bloody lines across the journalist's back, and something in the vampire snapped.

She rocketed forwards, using all her vampire strength and speed to slam into the bear and drive it back despite its massive size. Then she began pounding and biting at it, aware her eyes were red and her fangs were showing but not caring about anything besides shutting down yet another of that idiot Hawkmoth's attempts to traumatize the city into surrender. "Die!" yelled Juleka as she punched the sentimonster so hard one of its arms flew off. It staggered backwards into a classroom window, head bonking on the glass. "Die already!"

And then it did. Juleka dealt it a massive hit that knocked off its head, and it crumbled. Juleka was left standing there, red eyes flashing, fangs out...

And she slowly realized that Rose was on the other side of the glass window. Rose, who had been so happy recently because now she had someone to talk to about her weird paladin training, all the hours of sword practice, and armor-polishing, and chanting rituals. Rose, who hadn't seemed to notice the twinges of fear Juleka suffered every time she thought Rose might learn of her monstrous nature. Sweet Rose, whom Juleka wanted only to love her even if their natures made it impossible.

Rose, who was now gaping at her.

"No," whispered Juleka. "No, no, no..."

A wave of ladybugs swept over them. The damage the Sentimonster created was gone. But Rose was still staring, and Juleka was still vampiric.

The goth turned and fled even as Rose called out behind her.

-

"It wasn't your fault," whispered Rose. "I'd said I fought monsters. It was my fault you were scared."

"Then you being scared of me, of vampires, wasn't yours," said Juleka. "It was your parents. And, okay, maybe me looking a little... feral... when you saw me that time."

Rose giggled at that, and Juleka somehow felt herself laughing too. Despite everything, they were alive, they were together, and they were in love. That was worth some joy.

"I guess we must have looked pretty silly when we met after that sentimonster," Rose said at last. "In the street."

Juleka nodded. She'd fled from school that day and taken roads at random, not knowing where to go or if Rose would be there. Unknown to her, Rose had been doing the same, horrified not at having revealed her identity to a vampire, but of having given Juleka reason to fear her. They'd run into each other, almost literally, on the bank of the Seine. And Juleka had prepared to flee again--until Rose had dropped down and begged forgiveness for the horrible things she'd said about hunting monsters. "I know you're not evil, Juleka," she had said. "I'm so sorry. Please forgive me. Please don't hate me."

And Juleka had made herself approach. "Hate?" she'd whispered. "I couldn't hate you. Even if you stabbed me I couldn't hate you. I thought you'd be scared of me now."

"I can't," Rose had said. "I know you too well. Whatever my parents say. You... you're not evil."

And so they'd talked, for a long time, slowly opening up... but Juleka hadn't been able to hide that cold little nugget of fear. That this was a paladin trap, or worse, pity, a few scraps of affection for a monster that didn't really merit them but was just so pathetic, so wretched, that Rose couldn't help but engage in a little emotional charity. Rose, Juleka now knew, had felt similarly towards Juleka's love for her, wondering how it was the vampire could love the paladin who had grown up hating all magical creatures. They'd been terrified, each hoping that the other loved her despite their inherent natures, and each fearing it wouldn't be the case.

In the weeks that followed they'd cautiously extended their alliance, slowly growing more comfortable with each other. Juleka had already told the mystery gang of Rose's secret hobby; when she told them that she was friends with Rose again, they'd reacted with varying degrees of astonishment, ranging from Luka's mild warning to let him know if she needed help or support, to Chloe swearing that she'd be ready to wolf out and eat Rose's face off if Rose did anything wrong. Rose had even helped Juleka foil a couple of her parents' plans to hurt magical creatures who didn't deserve it. And then there was that final call, Rose's tear-laden voice explaining what was about to happen to Sabrina, swearing she hadn't known, preemptively apologizing in case they didn't believe her, and begging for help in saving their friend...

"I love you," said Rose, interrupting Juleka's reverie. "You're smart, and sensitive, and pretty, and an amazing friend... I mean, you fought an army of paladins to save Sabrina and me. And more than that you trusted me." Juleka could feel the tears pooling in Rose's eyes and spilling down onto her shirt. "Once I knew what my parents were doing I wasn't sure if you'd ever trust me again. Most people wouldn't. They'd have abandoned me just in case I was on their side, to be safe. But you knew my heart... and you risked your life to save me. So don't call yourself monstrous or stupid or anything like that again, Juleka! You're not any of those things!"

Juleka was taken aback, and to her own surprise she found that she was starting to believe Rose. Maybe her mistakes, her fears... maybe if Rose thought they were insignificant, if they weren't really her, then maybe they truly didn't matter. "Okay," she said at last. "But on one condition."

"What?"

"You don't blame yourself for your mistakes either," said Juleka. "Rose, you abandoned your family, the people who raised you, to save my life. You sacrificed everything you ever had for me. You literally cut out some of your own life force to save me, a person you'd been taught your whole life was only fit to be destroyed... and you did it out of love." She gently stroked a few strands of hair off of Rose's cheek. "And that's on top of how you're kind to everyone, you cheer everyone up, you work so hard on everything you put your mind to... and you're the most beautiful girl in the world. So don't you ever, ever think I could hate you. There's too much good in you, Rose." She cuddled her girlfriend closer. "Deal?"

"Deal," said Rose.

The two fell silent again. Eventually, Juleka knew, they'd have to get up and figure out their next steps. Rose would need to live somewhere, and Juleka probably wouldn't be able to go home until the paladins were known to no longer be a threat--she couldn't risk them storming the boat and attacking her mother. They'd also have to figure out what to do with poor Sabrina, the changeling one--the one they knew and cared about--who surely couldn't go home to her father now.

But for the moment, that didn't matter.

It was enough to just savor each other's love.

[justheretobreakthings]

Can I request some Kidge friendship for the hc card? Either Pidge for "trapped" where she's pinned under a collapsed structure, Keith notices she's not checking in and comes to find her. Or Keith for "excluded", after Shiro disappears the others have been (not deliberately, just oblivious) leaving him out because none of them know him as well as Shiro did, and Pidge is the one to finally notice how exhausted and lonely he is? Either (or both) of those ideas would be awesome to see written 😊

These are both excellent and I’ve got my creative juices flowing for both of them! I’ve got the first prompt finished now, so I’ll go ahead and post the “Trapped” fill here, and get another post up for the other prompt later once I’ve got it written. Hope you enjoy!

PinnedCentral Characters: Pidge, KeithGenres: Friendship, WhumpWord Count: 2,938Written for the “Trapped” space for the @voltronbingo Hurt/Comfort cardRead on AO3

“Pidge? Pidge, do you read?”

The voice was quiet, distant, as it rang tinny and sharpthrough the helmet’s speakers, and even in the relative silence around her itwas difficult to hear. Pidge wondered why that was. She hadn’t adjusted thevolume setting, had she? At least, she couldn’t remember having done so.

Although, if she had done it in the last few minutes… shewas having trouble remembering those as well. She had to take a moment toconcentrate, pull at her memory. They had been on a mission, that was it. AGalra outpost on a planet Voltron was working to liberate. And they’d split upto go after different targets.

Pidge had been breaking into a supply reserve, sheremembered, when… yes, she’d been spotted. Then been able to hack into theoutpost’s internal network and get the sentry bots off their backs, but thatdidn’t take care of the sentient guards. Luckily even after the guard hastilydemanded backup before attacking, she still hadn’t had to fight off manyguards. The others at the outpost must have been preoccupied, what with Lanceand Hunk raiding the central hangar, Keith going after the armory, and Shirosabotaging the comms hub. The team splitting up had really spread the outpostthin.

Of course, it still hadn’t been an easy fight, especially onher own, and with the guards’ oversized weaponry and the supply reserve beingas structurally unsound as it had been…

Ah. That probably explained where she was now.

With a colossal effort she pried her eyes open and squintedat the world around her. She could see the starry sky peeking in throughremains of the walls and ceiling in the corner of the reserve at the edge ofher vision, the steel ceiling beams that had been holding the structure inplace now blasted apart and wrenched at angles, while railings and a steelstairway that had previously graced the wall now lay crashed to the floor.

She didn’t see or hear any movement, nothing from any of theguards she’d been fighting before. They must have been taken down as well whentheir weaponry had brought this section of the building crashing down aroundthem. Fucking idiots.

Deciding that she should probably get up and rejoin thefight, Pidge started to pull her elbow in to hoist herself up and get back tostanding, only to immediately find herself stymied by two factors. One was thewave of dizziness that crashed over her when she tried to lift herself up. Shehadn’t noticed the throbbing in her skull before now, but suddenly it was thereand powerful and trying very hard to be the only thing on her mind.

The second was the fact that she realized she couldn’t, physically,lift herself up. As she tried to pull her right arm underneath her to leverherself, she discovered there was no space for it. Something was pinning herdown to the floor, and she was stuck on her side, her right arm awkwardlysplayed out beside her, the rest of her pressed to the ground by whatever itwas on top of her. One of her legs seemed to have a little wiggle room, but theother she couldn’t quiet feel, and a sharp pulse of pain came shooting all theway up to her hip when she tried moving it.

She sighed and shut her eyes as she waited for the ache toabate. Great. Just fan-fucking-tastic. She was stuck here – she couldn’t getwhatever was on top of her to budge in the slightest – and it looked probablethat her leg was broken. The least she could say on the bright side was thatshe hadn’t been crushed completely; she probably would have been if she hadn’tbeen wearing her armor. She would have shuddered at the thought if she had beenable to move.

Speaking of her armor, she still wasn’t sure what was goingon with her helmet. The voices from her speakers were still barely audible asshe heard them talking over each other. “Hunk, cover me, I’m gonna – ”“Pidge?” “They’re firing from your eight o’clock, watch it – ” “Pidge, do youcopy?”

“Yeah,” Pidge grunted. “I copy. I think I’m – ”

“Pidge, come in.”

She was pretty sure the voice was Keith’s. Leave it to himnot to listen, she thought as she let out a frustrated breath through her nose.“I said, I copy. But I think I’m down for the count so – ”

“Shiro, Pidge isn’t responding.”

“I know, I know, we’ll have to – ”

“Lance, on your right!”

What the –

With a tight frown, Pidge opened her eyes again, and noticedfor the first time that, although her vision was blurred on the edges, it wasotherwise completely unobstructed. No readouts, no crosshairs, no helmetinterior on the border of her sights.

She tilted her head back, fighting off the dizziness themovement brought, to see her helmet sitting a couple of feet away from her onthe ground. Oh. Well, that explained why the voices from the speakers were soquiet. And why the mic wasn’t picking up her voice.

And why her head felt like someone like someone had droppeda car on it.

Pidge groaned and let her head lay flat again, since it wasswimming too much for her to do anything else for longer than she absolutelyhad to. The voices from the helmet kept up, but she was losing focus, and ithad been a strain to hear them in the first place. So she let the sound of aback-and-forth between Shiro and Keith become a buzz in the background as shefelt herself drifting off.

That is, she drifted until a new noise made its way into themix. Her eyes shot open at the muffled, rhythmic thumps. They were echoing inthe remains of the building, so it was hard to tell where they were comingfrom, or how close they were. But she could at least identify what they were: footsteps.

She held her breath, mentally cursing her luck. She hadtaken care of the other guards at the reserve, and with the building wrecked asit was, she had figured her job was over for the time being. The other paladinsshould have been keeping the rest of the outpost too busy to want to comesnooping around in the wreckage. But apparently someone else was on their way,and Pidge was certainly in no shape to fight.

She could only hope that whoever had arrived didn’t noticeher presence, but that hope was dashed when she realized that the other paladins’voices were still coming out through her helmet. They were quiet, yes, but ifsomeone was searching thoroughly for intruders, they might still be able tonotice the sound. And Pidge recalled it being mentioned before that Galra havekeener senses than humans, including their hearing ability, so that was anotherpoint against her.

Desperately she stretched her arm out as far as it couldreach. If she could just get to her helmet so she could turn off the volume ofthe comm… but she discovered to her dismay that the helmet was just out ofreach of her fingertips. And the footsteps were getting louder.

Her heartbeat fluttered as the steps approached, and shebrought her arm back in to reach for her bayard. The weapon was pressed to theground by her hip where it was holstered, but when she hovered her hand nearbyand concentrated hard, the bayard found its way into her hand of its ownaccord.

Just in time, too, as the moment she felt the weight of thebayard in her hand, a shadow fell over her. Pidge blinked upward to see thelooming figure of a Galra soldier, in one of the outpost’s guard uniforms, agun held two-handed across his chest. The moment his yellow eyes locked ontohers, the Galra grinned.

“Thought I’d find some– ” he began, but was interrupted whenhe took a hunk of metal to the face as Pidge’s bayard shot out at him. Normallyshe tried to aim for limbs, but with where the guard was standing and wherePidge was pinned, it was awfully difficult to aim for anything besides theface. Fortunately, this seemed to work out, since she could hear somethingshatter and the guard let out a howl of pain.

She retracted the bayard, then shot it out again. The Galraducked away this time, but that gave the bayard the opportunity to boomerangback wrap around his arm. Pidge gritted her teeth and pulled at the bayard evenas she let a bolt of electricity out, sizzling as it traveled up the bayard’swire and into the guard. He cried out as he seized up with the force of theelectricity, crashing to the ground.

The shock died out, and the wire started to unravel for herto retract the bayard once more, but she was surprised when it was suddenlyhalted. The guard panting on the ground had grabbed hold of the wire, and wastugging it back with all his might. Pidge growled and sent another shockwavethrough, but, despite the obvious pain that washed over the guard’s face, heheld fast and yanked again. One tug, two – on the third tug he put all theweight he possessed behind it, and to her horror Pidge found the grip of herbayard ripped out of her grasp.

The guard clambered slowly to his feet, and Pidge could feelher pulse racing. She was unarmed now, she was pinned, and the guard wasreaching down to pick up the firearm that had fallen to the ground momentsbefore.

God, she was fucked.

The guard heaved out panting breaths as he took up hisweapon, turning back to Pidge with fury written all over his face. He liftedthe gun, and Pidge’s eyes flew shut as she anticipated the inevitable blast.

The inevitable blast that didn’t come.

Instead, the guard yelled out again amidst a sudden crash,and Pidge chanced a peek. Where the guard had been standing there was now aflurry of red and white, and as she watched, Keith brought his sword down onthe guard over and over, fast as she had ever seen him do it.

Keith didn’t slow until the guard was completely down forthe count. Pidge was pretty sure the guard wasn’t dead, just unconscious. Shewould have been perfectly cool with either.

Keith panted as he got his bearings, sheathing his bayardand turning to Pidge, meeting her gaze where she lay pinned on the ground. “You– you weren’t answering on the comms,” he said simply through his huffingbreaths.

“Yeah,” Pidge replied. “Yeah, I wasn’t. Did, uh, did Shirosend you to check on me, or…?”

Keith shook his head. “No, I just – I was, um, I thought youwere – you – you weren’t answering… on the comms…”

Pidge stared up at him. “Wait, you – you were worried?”

“Well, um – ”

“What about the armory? Did you finish up there?”

Keith shrugged. “I wasn’t sure there’d be time.”

“Oh.” There was silence between the two of them, save forKeith’s breaths that were gradually returning to their normal volume and pace.Keith had been worried. Worried enough to have abandoned his part of themission to check up on her. That didn’t quite seem like Keith. Hunk, he wouldbe the type to fret over a teammate that much. Shiro was protective over all ofthe paladins. Lance was caring and, as a bonus, really loved being a hero.Keith, though, the one who would shoot off on missions on his own, lone wolfKeith?

Although, the more she thought about it… Keith separatingfrom the group was never to leave the others, any one of them, behind or indanger. When he went Leeroy Jenkinsing into a fight, the danger was all on him.Pidge had always put it down to stubborn single-mindedness, and she was prettycertain the others saw it the same way. But she had never considered the factthat when he did this, he was leaving his teammates safer than himself.

Maybe him leaving his part of the mission to check on hershouldn’t be so surprising after all.

“Hey, Keith?” she said.

“Yeah?”

“Thanks. For taking down that guy. And for, you know –worrying.”

“Oh. Um, right. You’re welcome.”

Keith stance stiffened and he didn’t meet her gaze, andPidge started to roll her eyes, only to abandon the effort when doing sobrought that goddamn dizziness back. “Hey,” she said. “Could you, uh – would youmind helping out with one more thing?”

“What?”

Pidge lifted her arm to gesture toward the collapsedstructure on top of her. “Could you see if you can move this? I’m kinda stuck.”

“Oh. Sure.” Keith hurried over and looked at the rubble. “It’s– it’s mainly one beam that’s got you stuck,” he said after a once-over. “I’ll,uh, I’ll see if I can…”

He left Pidge’s line of sight as he positioned himself totry and move the beam out of the way. For a moment nothing seemed to happen,then, there was the very slightest movement in the beam. Pidge wouldn’t have noticedit at all if it hadn’t budged her leg, jostling it ever so slightly, but justenough that it sent pain pulsing up and down the limb. Her breath caught andshe let out a groan of pain.

Immediately Keith was back at her side, staring down at herwith wide, concerned eyes. “Sorry!” he said. “Did that – did that hurt?”

“No, Keith,” Pidge grunted. “That was obviously a moan ofpleasure.” Keith’s eyes widened further and his face started to redden. “Oh mygod, Keith, that was a joke,” Pidge said hastily. “Yes, it fucking hurt, Ithink my leg’s busted.”

“Oh.”

“But keep going.”

“But – ”

“Yeah, it’s gonna hurt, but I gotta get unstuck, right? Sogo ahead, keep lifting. I’ll power through.”

Keith bit his lip and glanced toward Pidge’s leg, then ranhis eyes along the length of the beam. Pidge could practically see gears in hishead turning, although to what end she didn’t know. “I – I think I can get itoff quick. It’ll hurt but – ”

“Hey, if it gets me off the ground, I’m game. Go ahead andrip off the band-aid.”

“Okay,” Keith said with a nod. He ducked away and pried thegun from the incapacitated guard’s hands, then turned back toward Pidge.

“Uh, Keith?” she said cautiously. “I don’t think you cankill the beam.”

“That’s not what I’m doing,” Keith said, lifting the gun,turning and angling it upward.

“Keith, what are you – ?”

Her ears rang as the gun blasted, and another crashresounded. Pidge’s vision went white as agony suddenly surged through her leg,but it started to fade as quickly as it had begun in the first place. Shepanted as she focused her eyes again, and noticed a lightness over her bodythat hadn’t been there before. The beam, as she could see once her visionreturned, was about a foot above her now, no longer pinning her to the ground.

She felt hands under her arms, dragging her away from thewreckage. She grunted in pain at the movement to her leg, and Keith mutteredapologies into her ear as he brought her away.

“You’re, uh, you’re probably not up for walking, huh?” heasked.

“Not really.”

“All right.” He let out a breath and squatted down next toher. “Guess we’re piggy-backing it then?”

Pidge blinked up at him. “Wait, you sure? You’re okay withthat?”

“Yeah, why wouldn’t I be?”

“… No reason,” Pidge replied. “Yeah, let’s piggy-back.”

She hooked her arms over Keith’s shoulders and let him get herinto position before he slowly stood, bringing his hands up to grip her arms.Pidge had to bite her lip at first as her leg knocked against Keith, but Keithseemed to have noticed, and stepped carefully as possible to keep the leg frombumping around.

“So,” she said as they started walking. “What did you do toget that beam out of the way?”

“Well, um,” Keith started slowly. “Well, the beam was long,and some of that walkway and staircase stuff was still up, pretty much rightabove you, and, uh, it looked heavy, and – and you see that crate there underthe beam that’s up at an angle? It looked like a, uh… what do you call themiddle part of a teeter-totter?”

“The fulcrum?”

“Yeah, that. So, um, so I thought, if I blasted some of thatrailway down and it landed over on the other end of the beam, then maybe itcould – ”

“Keith,” Pidge interrupted. “Did you just save me… using physics?”

“Um, I guess?” Keith said. “I mean, I know some stuff. Andit’s not like I can’t hear it when you and Hunk talk physics.”

“Sure, but, do you actually, like, listen?”

“Yeah? Why?”

Pidge squeezed her arms tighter around Keith. “Nothing, noreason. And, um, thanks again. For your help.”

“It’s no problem.”

“I mean, you didn’t get to finished up at the armory, didyou?”

“Nah, but, well – ” Pidge could hear the shrug in his voiceeven if he didn’t actually lift his shoulder, what with Pidge currentlydangling from them. “This was more important.”

“Yeah. Yeah, it really was.”

[spinach-productions]

Miami Vices (TF2), part 2/2

Wordcount: 12,726

Summary:

“Our contact in Miami wants to speak with someone from the organization.  Spy, that’s where you come in.”

“Naturally,” Spy says neutrally.

“Aaand,” Miss Pauling draws out the word, “He specifically asked to speak with a real person, not a mask.”

“Ah,” Spy says less neutrally.

“Which is where you come in.”  She beams at Scout, whose face is anything but neutral.  “Spy might need backup and you’re the only one who’s already seen him without a mask.”

In which Scout and Spy take an involuntary cross-country road trip.  Includes bad clothing and unexpected family bonding.

Warnings: cannon-typical violence, internalized homophobia, personal headcannon about ScoutMa.

part 1

Notes:

I have so many feelings about this, guys.  Should I make a different post for my feelings about this?  Maybe.

-

They drive for slightly less than two hours and reach Mikhail’s park by mid-afternoon. It’s a small area in a well-to-do neighborhood, idyllically green and tropical with a stunning view of the ocean. Places where nothing dark or shady could ever happen, which of course means they happen all the time. Spy counts no less than three loitering pairs of individuals engaged in some sort of covert operations.

A man in a trenchcoat is sitting alone on bench. Spy recognizes his curly blond hair and boyish face.

“Hey, uh.” Scout continues to fidget with the knife as he leans against the car. The plan is for him to stand guard while Spy conducts business.

“Put that away during work,” Spy says.

Scout pockets it, still looking at his own hands. “Once this is done, maybe we could… get lunch? I think I saw a hot dog stand back there--”

“No hot dogs,” Spy says reflexively. “But,” he continues when Scout looks away, “I suppose it’s been a while since I indulged in food that could kill me. We could search for some facsimile of poutine.”

“Is that a food?” Scout asks cautiously.

“It is fried potatoes with cheese and gravy.”

Scout lights up. He somehow does it with his entire body. “Yeah, that sounds good.”

Something like fondness wriggles in Spy’s gut. He squashes it and turns on his heel towards the man on the bench, surrounded by palm trees and well manicured grass.

“Mikhail,” Spy says cordially.

He is older than the man from ten years ago, but Spy supposes time has it's way with them all. His blond hair is speckled with grey and his face has a few more lines, but his eyes and smile still hold the charm Spy remembers. Mikhail smiles warmly and says an old name. “Still afraid to show the world your beautiful face?”

“Something like that.” Spy takes a seat next to him on the bench. “Are you well?”

“Something like that,” Mikhail says playfully. “You appear to be doing well yourself,” he says with a nod to the car.

Spy makes a face. “A coworker.”

“Available, then?”

Spy huffs out a laugh. “He is not to your tastes.”

“I suppose you would know,” Mikhail says. He leans back against the bench and looks skyward. “I have information for your company.”

“I believe that’s why I am here,” Spy replies.

Mikhail hums. “I wish I could put this off a little longer. It would be nice to catch up.”

“There is time,” Spy says. He glances around, but the park is still as idyllic as the moment he sat down. There is nothing to justify the sudden, creeping feeling that something is wrong.

“Hmm, there isn’t.” Mikhail smiles warmly. “Do you know what your company does? The kind of havoc it brings on this town?”

Spy cocks an eyebrow. “I understand it sells bread.”

“They say they disseminate bread to fellow subsidiaries,” Mikhail says agreeably, “But did you ever look into what kind of bread? It begins as regular whole-wheat, but over time evolves into some a hulking, ravenous monstrosity. Have you seen it, solnyshka ? Towering, hungry bread erupting from buildings to devour everything in its path.”

“Ah.”

“Ah indeed.”

The breeze ruffles through the park.

“I do hope you’ll understand,” Mikhail says. A gun has materialized in his hand, aimed at Spy’s mid-section. “I need to know what those things are, and how to stop them.”

“You know I will not talk,” Spy says evenly.

“I am well aware. I am only here to hold you in place.”

Someone yells. Spy’s head snaps in the direction of the noise. Sure enough, three large men are trying to wrestle Scout away from their car, which appears to be smoking, and into one of three identical black vehicles. One man is cradling his hand, another has Scout’s arms twisted behind his back, and the third shoving something between Scout’s teeth to keep him from biting again. Scout manages to throw his weight back and kick out, but the third man catches his legs and lifts him off the ground.

“Please understand, this isn’t personal,” Mikhail says, laying a hand on Spy’s cheek. He runs his hand up Spy’s face to his head, brushing back the hood and carding his fingers through Spy’s short hair. “You used to keep your hair long. The mask has taken so much from you.”

Across the parking lot, Scout’s eyes widen. The men use his momentary distraction to dump him into the trunk and slam the lid.

“You don’t usually worry about coworkers,” Mikhail says mildly, “Who is that?”

The car engine starts. They’re going to torture Scout for information he does not have, and when they realize he knows nothing and is worth nothing to RED, they’re going to kill him. Spy feels an uncharacteristic tremor move through his limbs and has the irrational thought that they won’t get the chance to eat dangerously unhealthy food together. The thought is surprisingly upsetting.

In one well-practiced motion, he pulls a knife from the hood lying against his shoulders and buries it between the bones of Mikhail’s wrist. Mikhail yells in shocked pain, and Spy plucks the gun free as his muscles spasm. Later, he’ll remember that Mikhail always carried as many guns as Spy carried knives and wonder why he let him go; presently, he sprints to the smoldering car, yanks the door open, and jams the key home. The various indicators tell him the secondary boosters have been sabotaged, but the men seem to have (somehow, thankfully) missed the primary engine in their search. It jumps to life and he peels out of the parking lot after the intimidating Russian cars.

Spy can’t risk ramming the wrong car, so he weaves in and out of traffic and follows the line of cars onto the highway. Each car seems to have three passengers: two extremely muscled men and an extremely muscled woman dressed in identical black suits. The cars split apart into three separate lanes; Spy glances at an overhead road sign as it zips by. Apparently a series of off-ramps will be coming up in twenty miles. He’s certain each car will take different exit, giving him a one-in-three chance of finding Scout if he can’t identify the correct car. Spy swears under his breath and stomps on the accelerator.

The car on his right rolls down the backseat window and an agent slots a machine gun into a door-mounted holder. Spy doesn’t bother rolling down his own window before aiming Mikhail’s gun and pulling the trigger three times in succession. In the same moment, the backseat agent squeezes off a spray of shots, peppering the RED car with some kind of small ammunition. The agent takes a shot to the shoulder and Spy feels the impact of a bullet somewhere in his thigh. He can’t feel the pain now, but it will certainly require medical attention later. The cars veer apart, but Spy keeps firing until something in the Russian car begins to smoke. It begins to decelerate towards the shoulder, and Spy can drop back behind a civilian car for cover.

Something in his own car’s underbelly begins to make a rapid knocking noise, but the car is still moving so it will have to wait.

As he slides behind the cover car, one of the two remaining vehicles begins to weave in its lane. It nearly jerks over the yellow line, corrects course, then breaks abruptly, leaving smoking tire marks on the road. A civilian car lays on the horn, then swerves aside when the passenger door bursts open and an agent is ejected from the cabin. Spy speeds up to keep pace with the bucking car just as a woman’s head crashes through the driver’s side window, followed closely by her body flying out the open passenger door. Cars behind them skid and lurch to avoid the agents on the road, but Spy focuses on the driver’s seat where Scout is struggling with the final agent. He’s got both legs twisted into the passenger seat where he appears to be trying to kick him head-first out the door.

He’s shouting something. Spy can’t hear him over the roaring wind and sounds of wheels on the asphalt, but he’s sure it’s absolutely vulgar.

“Scout,” he yells across their broken windows and several feet of tarmac, “Are you alright?”

“Do I look fuckin’ alright?!” Scout shouts back. He’s repeatedly stomping heel into the man’s face while somehow still keeping the car on track.

“It’s hard to tell with you,” Spy admits.

“Hard to tell with me?! It’s hard to tell with you , you--” The wind whips away his words, but Spy knows the look on his face. It pairs with disgust and betrayal he’d shown when Mikhail ran his fingers through Spy’s hair in the park.

Before Scout can respond further, a hand grabs his face and shoves his head out the broken window. Scout grapples with the agent, but the man grabs his shoulders and pins him to the door. One of them hits the handle and it flies open, stretching Scout precariously between the chassis and door.

If he isn’t killed on impact with the road at a hundred and twenty miles an hour, one of the unwitting civilian cars will surely finish the job. Spy reaches across the passenger’s seat and jerks his own door open.

“Scout,” he shouts, “ Jump! ”

The agent has a death grip on Scout’s shirt. Scout glances over to judge the distance, then pulls Spy’s ballisong from his pocket. He flips it open and slams it into the agent’s forearm; the agent screams and snatches his hand back, allowing Scout to throw his weight against the door to swing it fully open. At the height of its arc, he braces against the frame and launches himself across the gap.

Spy already has an arm out. Scout’s momentum slams the door shut and he clutches Spy’s arm with both hands, using it to slither through the broken window into the passenger-side foot space.

“Holy shit,” he breathes.

Spy takes unsteady aim and shoots in the driver’s direction until the car begins to veer off the road. If the man isn’t dead, he is at least incapacitated enough to drop pursuit.

Now that Scout has returned to the car, Spy’s leg reminds him of its injury at full volume. “Can you drive?”

Surprisingly, Scout assesses the situation with some degree of success. He stretches across the gearshift to the pedals. “You steer, I got this.”

-

They rocket along, dodging and weaving until they can sneak onto a tiny off-ramp, leaving the last functional Russian car to speed ahead in search of them. Despite this success, the car continues making clunking noises until the engine cuts out two miles later. They pull over onto a relatively even patch of dirt shoulder, then tumble out of the car in a disorganized pile of limbs and blood.

“Do you know what you’re doing?” Spy asks as he eases himself to the ground. An exposed stretch of hot Florida road isn’t an ideal place for injury assessment, but it will have to do.

Scout has already popped the hood. His shirt is in tatters, but being kidnapped by Russian spies and jumping through a broken window doesn’t seem to have caused more than superficial lacerations and a few bruises. “Chill, Spy, I got this,” he snaps.

Spy raises an eyebrow. Scout’s emotional capacity is usually as nuanced as his extremely short attention span, but he’s been dwelling on something since their meeting with Mikhail. “Are you still upset that I had a life before returning to your mother?”

“Fuck you,” Scout spits, jamming the hood-prop into place with unnecessary force.

Spy sneers. “I see. And if that wasn’t uncomfortable enough, to find out I spend that time with a man , well. No wonder you’re disgusted.”

“You’ve got no fuckin’ idea,” Scout mutters as he starts examining under the hood.

“No no, I understand perfectly well.” Spy extracts a knife from his sock garter and begins cutting his pant leg. “You are like every other bigot I’ve had the misfortune to know.”

“First: shut up. Second: fuck off.”

Maybe it’s the waning adrenaline making him shaky and confrontational, but Spy does not want to fuck off about this. “It makes sense, I suppose. Finding out your father had a perfectly normal life with a man --”’

“I thought all you wanted was for me to be quiet-- what the fuck , ” Scout yanks something loose from the car’s guts and examines it in the sun. “You kept a knife in the engine? Were you trying to kill us?!”

“As it turns out, it would have been no great loss.” Spy turns his attention to his own leg. The bullet seems to have gone cleanly through his vastus lateralis muscle, which is the best he can hope for given the circumstances. He begins shredding his lower pant leg into strips.

Scout snarls and hurls the knife. It sticks into the ground a short foot from Spy’s hand.

“ Watch it, ” Spy growls.

“I thought you dying wouldn’t a been a big deal?”

Scout’s Boston accent thickens when he’s angry, just like Minnie’s. “Your mother will be so disappointed to learn you don’t approve of me,” he jabs.

“You don’t--” Scout wrestles violently with some piece of machinery, “Fuckin’--” He loses his grip on the part and screams in frustration, “ You don’t get it!”

“Oh, this should be good,” Spy sneers, “Go ahead and enlighten me, then. Tell me why you, a grown man, are shrieking like a child at the prospect of two men together.”

Scout glares, then returns to staring at the car’s stubborn mechanics. “Fuck you so many fuckin’ times. Fine. Fine. You got a right to know why this is the worst thing that’s ever happened to me, seeing as it’s all your fault.”

Spy winds the makeshift bandages around the bullet hole. “Truly, I am all ears,” he says sarcastically.

“I didn’t have anything normal growin’ up,” Scout says as he tries to twist some cap or another, “Because I didn’t have a dad. You know that part.”

Spy rolls his eyes and doesn’t rise to the bait.

“Well, I want a big-ass family one day. A dozen kids piled into one huge fuckin’ house, all happy and.” He hiccups and wipes sweat from his forehead. “And I got to RED team and I like Miss Pauling, you know, like like-like, and I thought finally, I can have those kids without--”

Spy belated starts to wonder if something is wrong.

Scout’s fingers skitter on the cap. “Without worrying, because I could finally give them normal because I’m finally normal,” he hiccups again, “But if it’s genetic then I can never--”

“Scout?”

“I’ll never be--”

He doesn’t have hiccups, he’s gasping for air. Scout is having a panic attack.

“Scout breathe. ”

He doesn’t seem to hear him. He’s hunched over the car on shaking arms, both hands braced on the hot metal chassis even though it must be burning his palms and he isn’t breathing properly, just making small hiccuping noises as he fights for control.

In what he’ll later consider his first fatherly act, Spy lunges forward, ignoring the spike of pain up his leg, and socks Scout straight across the face. They both reel back and lose balance, toppling onto the asphalt road. Scout, shocked out of his panic, takes a great, heaving breath and starts swearing a blue streak he could only have learned at his mother’s knee.

Spy’s leg tells him this was a bad idea. He grits his teeth hard enough to make his jaw creek, but he does not agree. “Are you still breathing?”

“Fuck you,” Scout gasps.

“Good.” He drags himself up onto his elbows by sheer force of will. “You must keep breathing because I can’t reach you to do that again.”

Scout is glaring at him through wet eyes as he cradles his cheek. “You punched me in the face.”

“You’re welcome.” Spy lets his head hang low as he catches his own breath. “I will only say this one time so listen very closely. There is nothing wrong with me, and there is nothing wrong with you . Understand?”

Apparently he will have to repeat himself because Scout rolls to face away from him with a mumbled “you don’t know anything ”. Spy drags himself forward, reaches around Scout’s torso to grab the front of his shirt, and jerks him onto his back.

“You listen to me you little pest. You have many, many things to be ashamed of. You are irritating, and stupid, and have somehow reached the age of twenty-seven without learning that all doors handles are labeled with push or pull . I have seen your laundry habits and they are revolting. I don’t know how you carry half of my genes because not a day goes by where I don’t look upon you with both horror and mortal embarrassment. I cannot even begin to count the things you should be ashamed of but this is not one of them. ”

Scout stares at Spy’s face. His lungs are still hitching, but he’s breathing and that’s what matters.

Spy holds his breath for a count of three, then lets it slowly back out. He gently takes Scout’s chin in hand. “Let me see.”

“Fuck you,” Scout mumbles, but doesn’t resist when Spy turns his head to assess the damage.

His cheek is already red and starting to swell. There will be an impressive bruise by morning, but the skin is unbroken and his jaw bones seem fine. “You’re alright. I don’t have any ice or I would have used it on myself.”

“I’m telling Ma you punched me in the face,” Scout says petulantly.

“I’ll tell her you swore at me,” Spy counters, “We’ll both be killed.”

Scout barks out a laugh, wincing as it pulls his facial muscles. “Yeah. Fuck you’ve got a mean right hook.”

“So I’ve been told.”

They lie panting on the hot tarmac. Spy is in immeasurable pain, yet he feels… good? Satisfied, like this is the first thing he’s done right in a long time. He wonders if this is how parental feels.

“Think you could teach me that?” Scout asks.

Spy rolls onto his back and forces himself to sit upright. “Let’s get out of here, then I’ll consider teaching you how to punch.”

This is, of course, when Spy registers the rumbling approach of a car engine. He leans into the road to confirm: a large black car is driving up the road toward them. Scout follows his line of sight and begins to swear.

“Scout—”

Scout is already pulling Spy’s arm over his shoulder. “Nope.”

“Scout, listen to me—”

“No.”

“ Scout. They will be here any moment, the car is not working and I cannot run. You need to—”

“Need to what? ” Scout gestures to the road surrounding scrubland. “There's nowhere to hide, and I can't outrun a car! And, even if I could do something, I ain’t leaving you here to get killed.”

“Get under the car,” Spy finishes lamely. “I can distract them while you figure out what to do.”

“I said I ain’t—”

A black car pulls over behind theirs.

“I will find a way out of this,” Spy whispers, “It will be alright.”

“You're such a fuckin' liar,” Scout hisses back.

Spy squeezes his shoulder. “ Go. ”

Scout finally skirts around the side of the car when the Russian doors pop open. Spy takes a breath to sit up and compose himself, carefully opening a knife in each sleeve as two heavy sets of footsteps crunch across the gravel.

One of the hulking agents says something. Spy’s Russian isn’t fluent, but he picks out enough to know these people aren’t pleased about the car chase and dead coworkers.

“Lady,” he says cordially, “Gentleman. Weren’t there three of you?”

“And two of you,” the man replies. “It seems our missing comrades will have to find each other.”

Spy subtly shifts his weight off his injured leg. “Is there something I can do for you?”

“Oh yes,” the woman says, cracking her knuckles with a grin. Her partner pulls a pistol from his pocket and levels it at Spy’s head.

“Small man,” he calls loudly, “If you run, I kill your friend.”

“We are hardly friends,” Spy mutters.

The man thumbs back the safety. “You have until three. One.”

“You are wasting your time. He went for help and will be miles away by now--”

“Two--”

Somewhere behind them, glass shatters. The woman jerks toward the sound, but the man does not so much as flinch.

“Ah,” the woman says, pulling an identical pistol from her own jacket, “There you are.”

She disappears from view, followed by the sound of several feet scuffling across dirt and broken glass. Someone yells, then gurgles; someone punches someone else hard enough to activate their gag reflex. The struggle ends, and one set of footsteps return.

Scout is dumped on the ground next to Spy. His front is covered in Russian arterial spray, and he immediately curls around his injured stomach and begins to wretch. Both agents step back to avoid the resulting stomach contents.

“Petrov is dead,” the woman says. She annoyed, rather than upset, about this turn of events. Apparently these agents are consummate professionals.

“Unfortunate,” the man replies, passing the woman his gun. “Put the body in this car and set it on fire.”

“ Don’t burn my stuff, ” Scout wheezes.

Spy rolls his eyes. “I will buy you a dozen new baseball bats if we survive this.”

“You will not,” the man says cheerfully.

Under the woman’s watchful aim, he moves Scout’s arms behind his back and cuffs them together. He does the same thing to Spy, then escorts him to the Russian car trunk with surprising care while his associate relocates “Petrov’s” body. Scout, who has apparently earned considerably rougher treatment, is unceremoniously dropped in next to him.

“We will be driving for the next few hours,” the man says, “Please be patient. Thank you for your cooperation.”

He slams the lid closed.

The trunk would be spacious enough for two grown men to lie head-to-toe in relative comfort if it weren’t also occupied by several large boxes. Spy is forced to hunch his knees up and curl his torso forward toward Scout’s chest. He can just make out Scout’s silhouette in the light filtering in from a gap in the tail light.

Scout groans.

“If you throw up on me, you will not live long enough to be tortured,” Spy says. He rolls his shoulders and bumps an arm against the trunk lid.

“You’re freakin’ welcome,” Scout replies.

“Oh yes, thank you so very much for getting me locked in a trunk with you. Stop squirming, there isn’t enough room.”

As usual, Scout completely ignores him and continues to fidget. “What are you complaining about? I saved your life.”

The car begins to cough. Spy holds a momentary hope that the engine was damaged during the chase, but it, too, ignores him and turns over. The wheels rolls along the gravel, then along the smoother asphalt as they drive back onto the road. “You had a chance to get away. One had to watch me, you could have taken them out individually.”

“After they killed you, right?”

“I am incapacitated and the car will not work. One of us getting out was the best case scenario, and since ‘incapacitated’ means ‘unable to run from Russian hit men’, it was meant to be you .” Spy grunts as Scout headbutts his chest. “Would you stop moving?”

“Hold on a sec.”

“There are no more seconds to hold on to!” Spy sighs heavily. “I was prepared to die for you, you imbecile.”

“Whoa. Seriously?”

“Yes, seriously.” Spy attempts to find a more comfortable position for his shoulders. He fails miserably, just as he seems to have failed at so many things. “Your mother wants us to be a family. Until recently I thought it was impossible, and now that I would like to try, we are out of time.”

“You…?” Scout clears his throat in a way that doesn’t actually cover his cracking voice. “I thought you hated me.”

“I cannot honestly say that I like you, but no, I do not hate you.”

The tires grind against the uneven road. Spy wonders how much can be said in the handful of hours they have left.

“I don’t hate you either,” Scout says quietly.

Spy smiles humorlessly. “It’s amazing how easy it is to be honest at the end of one’s life.”

Scout clears his throat again. “Yeah, no. I don’t like that.”

There’s a click, and a moment later something smacks Spy hard enough to jerk his head to the side. “ Merde! ” He swears, more surprised than hurt.

“Whoops. Where’s your hands, asshole? We’re bustin’ out of here.”

“Did you just slap me? ” Spy asks incredulously.

“Nah, I turned upside-down when you weren’t looking and kicked you in the face. Of course I slapped you, you freakin’ drama queen.” Scout starts patting down Spy’s shoulders. “Calm the fuck down.”

“ I am calm!”

“Make peace with your maker in silence,” someone yells from the cabin.

They freeze. Spy takes a deep breath to center himself as Scout cautiously continues the search for his hands. “I am calm. Please explain.”

Scout jingles something. Spy can just make out his grin in the murky darkness. “Got the keys.”

“I see.” Deep breaths, in and out. “And where did you get them?”

“The lady’s pocket, when she was carrying me back to the car.” Scout finally locates Spy’s bound hands and shoves something into the locking mechanism, twisting it about until the cuffs pop open. “Couldn’t have got them if I’d run.”

Spy rubs his wrists where the handcuffs bit in. “No, I suppose you couldn’t have,” he replies. “Does this plan of yours have further details?”

“Yep,” Scout says, army-crawling into the mess of boxes. “Get the keys, get dumped in the trunk, use the keys to get free. Then--” He makes a triumphant noise and shoves an assortment of things into Spy’s chest. “Use the stuff I stashed before killing the Rooski to get in some batting and shooting practice.”

Spy examines the things he’s holding. It’s Scout’s scattergun which, upon inspection, comes fully loaded and with almost a dozen rounds of ammunition. He has no idea how Scout managed to hide all this in the time between Spy’s capture and killing the Russian agent. For once, he doesn’t care to question it.

“I got into the car through the backseat armrest last time,” Scout says, draping his bat over his shoulder. “You up for it?”

It’s a challenge. Trapped in a Russian car trunk in the middle of the god-forsaken state of Florida with his occasionally clever son, Spy grins and cracks the shotgun’s chamber back into place. “I could be persuaded.”

-

It takes a full week to drive their newly acquired car way back to base. Spy limps to Miss Pauling’s office under his own power because he’ll be damned before he shows weakness in front of his own team.

“Did it go well?” Miss Pauling asks during debriefing. Both her eyebrows have crept up her forehead as she takes them in their grungey clothing and motley collection of injuries.

“Yes,” Spy replies.

“We escaped and are still alive,” Scout says with a wide grin.

“Mikhail betrayed us,” Spy elaborates, “Apparently he is upset with RED setting monsters on his organization.”

Miss Pauling jots something down on her clipboard. “The Administrator thought that might be the case. Thank you for looking into it.” She eyes their assorted injuries. “Do you require medical attention?”

“Nothing more than a moment with the medigun,” Spy says quickly. They’d robbed a pharmacy on the way home for supplies to stabilize Spy’s leg, and after learning about the energy drink experiments, Spy finds himself strangely opposed to leaving Scout in Medic’s dubious care. Will wonders never cease?

“Alright then. You can submit your reports tomorrow, go ahead and turn in.”

Spy gives his thanks and leaves so Scout can kiss Miss Pauling’s cheek in goodbye. “What on Earth does she see in you,” he asks as they hobble towards the residential hall.

“Dunno,” Scout says good-naturedly. “Also fuck you.”

Spy thinks of his own relationship with Scout’s mother. To be honest, he doesn’t know what such a beautiful and terrifying woman sees in him either. The only explanation is that he passed on some kind of charm and luck to the next generation. The thought is warming. “Fuck you too,” he replies fondly.

-

Epilogue:

Spy stakes out an armchair at the common room table early the next morning, supplying himself a full cup of coffee and the extended edition of the morning paper for cover. Sniper’s schedule on their days off can be unpredictable --Spy has known his to rise with the sun, but has also known him to sleep until noon and stay up until the next sunrise-- and he doesn’t want to miss him.

Sure enough, Sniper makes his appearance an hour later. He’s wearing a long-sleeved shirt and ratty jeans (two of the few casual clothing items he owns) and, for some unfathomable reason, his dirty hat and outdated sunglasses. Spy has only seen him take them off in sleep and death. He perhaps thinks it makes him look professional, which says something grievous about the man’s sense of style.

Sniper wanders into the kitchen and pulls a jar of something Australian down from the shelves. Spy surreptitiously watches him rummage through the fridge, presumably looking for bread to put in the toaster, then fill the coffee pot Spy purposefully left empty. He chooses the bland, American blend when the clearly superior European style roast is right next to it on the shelf. Poor taste in weapons, poor taste in clothes, poor taste in coffee; Sniper is a conglomerate of bad decisions piled into the shape of a man with a hat. No wonder Scout is so thoroughly charmed.

The door slams open, causing Sniper to fumble the coffee container and spill half the grounds into the sink. Good riddance.

“Yo Spy,” Scout calls, jogging across the room as Sniper swears about the coffee on his ‘last good jumper’.

“...good morning,” Spy says.

Scout slings himself into an adjacent chair. “Guess what I got in the mail.”

“I do not care.”

Scout extracts a few papers from his pocket. They are wrinkled from storage in his disgusting pants, but still creased into the distinct tri-fold of something sent in an envelope. “You’ll never guess.”

Spy fixes Scout with his least impressed stare and takes a long, deliberate sip of his coffee. “A letter,” he says at length.

“Jackass,” Scout says affably. “Yeah, a letter. It’s from your gay Russian buddy.”

Spy feels his eyebrows creep upwards. “What does he want?”

“He says he wants to tell me embarrassing stories about when you guys were together.”

“What? ”

Scout jerks the papers back before Spy can grab them. “ Dear Scout ,” he reads, “ I write in the hopes of introducing myself, since there was no opportunity to do so at our last meeting. I hope you’ll excuse my lack of manners --ooo, there’s a semicolon here, fuckin’ fancy-- as I’d been sent to kill you and couldn’t risk letting down the appearance of professionalism.”

Spy reaches over the side table for the letter. Scout braces a foot against the floor and tips his armchair sideways to keep them out of reach.

“ In the name of the good relations I’d like to build between us, I will hazard a guess: if I know your ‘coworker’, and I like to think I do, he will not have given any details about his life. Twenty-seven years is a long time to go with no information about one’s ‘coworker’.”

“Stop that,” Spy snaps, shoving Scout’s foot out from under him. The chair over-balances and thumps to the floor; Scout somehow bounces to his feet and dances just out of Spy’s increasingly desperate reach.

“For instance, ” Scout continues mercilessly, jogging backwards as Spy storms toward him, “You probably don’t know that he has a terrible snore. It can be heard down the hall with the door closed. He takes great pains to silence himself, lest any bunkmates learn of this terrible secret.”

“Scout,” Spy hisses in warning.

“And that he has a tattoo on his lower back --holy shit, Spy, you got a tramp stamp?! -- from overestimating his alcohol tolerance during a mission. Charmingly, it’s in the shape of a--”

Finally giving up the pretense of composure, Spy tackles his son into the couch. They grapple violently for the letter (growing up with seven brothers seems to have made Scout prone to biting) until Spy manages to twist Scout’s arm behind his back and forcibly pry the papers out of his hand.

“You will not speak of this,” Spy says, “Nor will you answer it--”

“Already did,” Scout says with a grin.

Spy makes a noise of disgust and shoves Scout’s head between the cushions. It muffles Scout’s laughter but, infuriatingly, doesn’t stop it.

“S’not a bad thing,” says Sniper, who naturally chooses this moment to re-materialize from the kitchen to lean against the common room wall with his stupid ‘#1 Sniper’ mug in hand. “You okay there, kiddo?”

Scout says something about not being able to breathe

“You’re fine,” Spy snaps, “And you will not speak of this either, bushman.”

Sniper remains unaffected. “I’m serious. You were never gonna tell him anything, right?”

“Of course not.”

“Now you’ve got something to talk about, and a few embarrassing stories are a good start to being a better dad.”

Scout makes a long series of outraged noises. Spy catches “oh my god” and “what the fuck” and “does he fuckin’ know?” and “why am I the last person to know about this?!” before Scout finally passes out from the oxygen deprivation.

“You’re gonna kill him,” Sniper says off-handedly.

“He’s fine,” Spy says again, “Explain yourself.”

He shrugs. “Meant what I said. You owe your kid something for running off. He can get to know you and have a laugh at the same time.”

Spy considers this. This certainly isn’t what he would have chosen, but Sniper has a point. “You suggest I allow an internationally known assassin to correspond with my son . In the hopes that it will bring us together?”

Sniper takes a long drink from his mug. It’s the same gesture Spy used earlier. Spy knows it, and he’s certain Sniper knows he knows.

“I don’t like you,” Spy says.

“Don’t care,” Sniper replies between sips, “Wanna tell me why you were watching me?”

Spy finally releases his grip on the back of Scout’s head and pulls him out of the couch. Once he’s sure Scout is still alive, he turns back to the conversation. “I was trying to understand what Scout sees in you.”

Sniper raises an eyebrow.

“I did not find anything worth understanding, but he seems to enjoy your company for some reason. Perhaps that is enough.” Spy straightens his tie. “Do try to be less of a bad influence, hmm?”

“I’m not a--”

“Make sure he does not die,” he says, straightening his tie. “ Au revoir , bushman; au bientot , Scout.”

“Bye,” Scout replies woozily.

Spy takes his leave as Sniper props Scout into a sitting position. The door closes on Sniper informing Scout that’s he’s fine, Scout mumbling something about hearing that a lot lately.

The door closes behind him. Spy lights a cigarette from his case, breathes in the smoke, and lets it slowly hiss back out. There is no fighting today. Perhaps he will pay the good doctor a visit to discuss his ‘energy drink’ experiments.