#durable it was just made to get the job done and they couldn’t repeat it but um

[trollbreak]

Junie and fishys old friends do u kno

[zorilleerrant]

It’s quick, actually, getting set up. Jason has the feeling they’re taking pity on him because of how exhausted Damian looks. It’s not really exhaustion, not in the way they mean it, if Jason’s going to get technical about it, although it is pretty exhausting to be on edge all day, looking around corners for hidden spies and saboteurs, worried someone’s come to kill you like they always said someone would. Especially for a kid.

He doesn’t want to explain. Jason doesn’t want to explain the whole deal with Bruce, and he doesn’t want to tell anyone else the whole deal with Damian, and at least he doesn’t have to go over the whole deal about himself because the names on their IDs were always fake in the first place. (He needs to make sure he memorizes that name. He needs to remind Damian to memorize his.) At least they say he’s old enough to handle alcohol. Better a job at night, if he has any choice about it, considering how fast he needs one. They made that clear enough when they set him up here.

Damian relaxes when the door clicks closed, when Jason slides the bolt into place, even though he knows better than to think a simple building’s enough to keep them safe. The workmanship looks solid enough to keep out draft and rain, at least. Cramped, but clean and sweetly scented, a TV on the dresser. Two beds. Bathroom, with supplies. It’s like a hotel room. It might be a hotel room, originally.

“Where are we, baba?” Damian asks. He dutifully unpacked all of his belongings alongside Jason, silent while they worked, but now that they’re done, he can’t help but demand more explanations. He’s a kid. Jason remembers what he was like as a kid, mostly. It’s hard for them to just. Let things go.

“Home, for now,” Jason says, wearily. Batman can read body language with the best of them, and it’s more exhausting keeping everything relaxed, open, slightly too slow than it ever was staying poised for battle day in day out. It would’ve been okay if it had just been Jason, probably. Some homeless guy goes missing, it doesn’t matter how familiar he looks, even Batman lets it go eventually. Not with Damian tagging along, though. Now he’s invested. “We’re going to stay here until we find somewhere more permanent.”

“You said we’d stay in a safehouse,” Damian argues. He ducks his head after, that slight blush casting his cheeks in maroon, and stares at the floor. Jason wishes he wouldn’t. Jason’s only yelled at him twice, and both times since they started running, but it’s enough. Would he just go to sleep? If Jason said, right now, would he just listen and go to sleep?

“Plans change,” Jason says. Repeating the words tastes all the more bitter because he can’t tell whose advice he’s using. Probably everyone’s. Probably Jason’s the only person in the world who ever assumed he could just. Go home. And be fine.

Damian arranges the covers on his bed, but Jason can see the hesitation well before he starts speaking again. “How long will we be here, then?” He doesn’t look at Jason when he asks. He probably doesn’t expect an answer.

“I don’t know, kiddo,” Jason says. He doesn’t tug at his hair. That’ll just make the white streak worse. He has to set up school for Damian, right off, and public school probably isn’t going to cut it anymore, not with Bruce involved. Jason planned to send Damian to the same school he went to, a cozy, durable brick building, with old metal tables you couldn’t break no matter how hard you tried. They were good, there. They weren’t good teachers, but they were good people. And Damian needs to make friends. “I’ll see once I get a job.”

The job’s the second thing, up in priority now that they can’t access any accounts without raising suspicions, and he only has so much cash on him. Then the weapons. Costume, vehicle, supplies. Then he can see about taking back the skyline.

Not that he can do have the shit he planned, not if the Bat is watching him. Whatever. He wanted a quiet life for Damian, anyway, didn’t he? Let him be a kid, not a soldier. Let him playfight, not. Not everything everyone was doing back home. There. Back there, where he still has to return, if he has a hope of dragging any of the other kids away.

“I’m given to believe there aren’t that many job opportunities for someone with your particular skillset,” Damian says, with a sigh, rifling through his pajamas until he finds a pair suited to his taste, printed with, to Jason’s relief, dinosaurs. “Unless you think you can just write nasty motherfucker on your resume and be done with it.”

“Plenty of jobs for nasty motherfuckers in Gotham,” Jason says, ruffling Damian’s hair and shoving him in the direction of the bathroom. “Anyway, you’re eight, I’m not taking your bullshit advice on my resume. Go brush your teeth.” But it does make him wonder what educational credentials he has. He should’ve taken the time to fake them himself, even if it was faster to work over randoms unconnected to the League. He’d hate to be found out by his search history, after all. But he doesn’t know what they did and didn’t include.

He hopes the Bat isn’t watching him close enough to see him fake things up from here. He can use security measures all he wants; at some point he has to connect to a database.

Maybe he can enroll in university. Like, for real. That wouldn’t be so bad, would it?

Still. High school transcripts – hell, it may be easier to go in person, “help” them out finding the file when it doesn’t show up. Print it off for himself. Maybe even say hi to some old teachers who, like as not, actually remember him.

Kind of shitty education he was supposed to grow up with, there’s probably not much to be suspicious he doesn’t know, anyway.

“I know a lot about resumes,” Damian says, sleepily, crawling into bed and pulling the blanket up tight around his chin. “It’s part of infiltrating a company, you know. Didn’t you claim you could infiltrate a company?” Jason fluffs the pillow for him as Damian turns almost sideways looking for a soft spot.

“Got to look legitimate, pipsqueak, there’s a big bad Bat watching us in case we step one toe out of line.” Jason regrets it as soon as he says it. Damian’s eyes open again, and he scrutinizes Jason, trying to figure out what that tone is. When he does puzzle it out, Jason hopes Damian will let him know, too.

“So Bruce Wayne is dangerous after all,” Damian says, smugly, and then snuggles all the way into his pillow. Stretches. Tucks his hands under his chin with an angelic smile that has Jason checking the windows and door again, no matter how much they won’t hold against real determination. “Will you read me a story?”

Jason turns the table lamp on, the rest of them off. Glides his fingers along the spines of Damian’s book collection, an ad hoc assortment of favorite adventure novels he could throw together without anyone getting nervous. “Sure, buddy. What are you in the mood for?”

Prompt:

It’s not that Jason forgot, per se.

But between smuggling a toddler out of the League of Assassins, trekking halfway across the world, and finding a suitable hiding place that’s also child friendly… well, it kind of slipped his mind that he’s supposed to be… dead.

Something that comes back to bite him in the ass when he takes Dami out for some ice cream and just so happens to run into non other than Brucie-fucking-Wayne

[dadolorian]

Kiss of life

A/N: I had a little idea of Dins first kiss being from CPR and i ran with it. Baby is not in danger , gender neutral reader (but i tend to expand this story and reader will be referred to as female in future chapters) , no use on Y/N. Two lines were inspired by  @dindjarinsleftvambrace​ comment on my original post about this. Yo, this is NOT medically accurate.

Title: Kiss of life Fandom: The Mandalorian. Ship: Din Djarin x GN!reader Warning: Canon typical violence, near death experience, first kiss. Soft!Din Angsty with a happy ending. Medical inaccuracies.  Summary: Din is shot with a tranquilizer that leaves his body complete parallelized. He relies on reader to keep him alive until the drug wears off and later realizes he had just had his first kiss. Word count: - Almost 4K

Being left alone on the crest, with the baby was usually a nerve wracking time, wondering when, or if your companion, the Mandalorian, would return. With only the little green bean and basic odd jobs to distract yourself with, you often felt yourself drifting towards those unsavory thoughts, fears of what would happen to the two of you should he not return. And not just that, how would you cope without him around anymore?  In such a short time you had grown so ... attached to the stoic warrior. You convinced yourself it was a fleeting crush, that it would pass in time, but each time you watched that shield of his chip away as he interacted with the little green bean your heart just melted. Said little green bean seemed to be able to sense your fears, the Mandalorian, Mando, had told you early into your time together that he had these...abilities. So when you fretted about your fate, pacing around the ship like a mad person, the little guy picked up on your distress, fretting and fussing as much as you did,  you made a habit to distract yourself from those thoughts as much as possible. 

However, on this particular expedition of his, Mando arrived back surprisingly early. You were attempting to patch up one of his extra flight suits, he had received a rather nasty gash in his arm on his previous venture, resulting in the sizable hole in the fabric, you had offered to fix it just as something to busy yourself with when he left. Sitting on the floor, needle in hand, you laughed softly as the child attempted to snuggle up into the material for a cuddle when you heard muffled blaster fire creep closer and closer to the crest. You were on your feet, blaster in hand before you had even fully registered the noise. Mando had insisted on teaching you how to shoot, you acted on pure instinct, however that did not stop your arm from trembling, having never actually needed his training so far. With one foot you gently ushered the child behind you who was now just as fully alert as you were, clinging to your boot anxiously. The blaster fire was now alarmingly close, right outside the hull, you prayed it was nothing to do with Mando, that it was two people completely unrelated to your small, weird little family that you had come to adore, that their fight would pass you by. Your fears were confirmed when the cargo bay door started to open, lowering the ramp and exposing you and the child to whatever danger awaited. The familiar Mandalorian, your Mandalorian, came into view, you could barely make out his shape against the dark sky outside, but immediately you could tell something was off. He was usually so strong and in control, man handling quarries into the ship with little effort, they often put up a fight, if they were alive, sure, but never had you seen Mando be chased inside by a quarry. He staggered in, his body heaving with effort just to stay upright as he haphazardly fired back at the quarry who returned fire but only managed to hit the durable Beskar, bouncing the blaster beam around the hull for a second or two, making you jump. You could barely see the commotion, just their rough silhouettes against the faint moonlight ,the poor lighting of the ship and outside night sky leaving the blaster fire as your only source of light to really see by.  You had not even fully taken in the scene before you shot, somehow able to stop the trembling of your arm and fire just as Mando had taught you, with no hesitation. It was a clean shot, right into the quarries chest, he hadn’t even had the time to notice you were in the ship before he was dead, you watched as he collapsed onto the ramp the same time Mando collapsed onto the floor of the hull. You rushed forward, kicking the quarry off the ramp and closing the door, not wanting anyone sneaking up on you as you rushed back to Mando, checking him for injuries, but unable to find any.    “M-Mando what's wrong?” you asked, voice trembling as you tried to assess just what caused him to collapse. 

“T-tranq dart,” he rasped, struggling for breath. 

A tranq dart could be dealt with at least. “Oh, okay, we… we can deal with that,” you said, calming your nervous breaths. “N-no,” he said, clawing at his chest plate, fighting to remove it. “Dif-different kind of tranq. Shu-shuts down everything.” He struggled for breath, wet and heavy as if he was drowning. “Lungs...Heart, can’t keep them go-going on my own...Need a...a life sup-support unit.” You felt your face drain as you processed that information. “O-okay, well where is it?” you asked, trying hard not to let the rising panic overtake you. “Don’t-don’t have one,” he gasped harshly, the drug already starting to shut his systems down. “W-what do I do then?” your voice trembled and hand shook as you struggled to think of a place to put them. “N-nothing sweet one,” he rasped, gloved hand moving to cup your cheek shakily, thumb stroking soft patterns against your skin, an affectionate gesture he had never done before. “Ju-just get the kid somewhere safe...That’s all I ask.”    You shook your head in defiance, tears welling in your eyes. “No, don’t be stupid Mando, there must be something i can do?” He shook his own head weakly, arm collapsing by his side. “C-CPR?” you suggested feebly, desperate for something to try. His helmet shook again, “Not without removing my helmet...And it could take...hours...for it to leave my system. Keeping me going that long...impossible” His helmet began to list lazily to the side and once again you found yourself moving before you had even registered what was happening. You finished off removing his chest plate and grabbed a scrap of material you had been using to repair his other suit, you placed the kid into his shared bunk with Mando and locked him in, not wanting him to become too distressed by Mando’s state, he cooed at you worriedly as you sealed the door shut, you were quick but by the time you returned to Mando’s side his gasps for air were weak wheezes. “I’m not going to let your creed get you killed Mando,” you said with shaky determination in your voice as you tied the scrap around your eyes, blinding yourself. Feeling around you found the edge of his helmet and pulled it off carefully, you felt him weakly grab your wrist and try to stop you. “I’m not going to break your creed Mando...But i’m not letting you die either” you said, shaking his grip off of you and placing the helmet down by his side. “I know how to do this.” You tilted his head back to clear his airway, interlocked your fingers and began thirty compression's on his chest, followed by pinching his nose, placing your lips on his and giving him two, strong breaths. You were supposed to watch his chest rise and fall with each breath, but with your current lack of visibility you had to go on blind faith that it was working. Another thirty compression's, another two breaths, another thirty compression's, another two breaths. Again, and again, and again, over and over.  You lost count at how many, and how much time had passed, Minutes? Hours? There was no way to tell, and with how Mando described the drug working, you had no idea if it even was working.  For all you knew Mando’s life had drained from him shortly after you started. It was a thought you did not want to entertain. The hull was eerily silent apart from your continuous counting, counting out each individual compression repeatedly. You weren’t sure at what point you had to give up, when do you call it quits? What if he’s alive thanks to your efforts and has to watch as you give up on him, unable to move and tell you it’s working? Trapped inside a body he has no control over. The idea of letting him down like that, imagining the fear he would feel if you just stopped kept you going. Even as your arms began to burn and your head began to swim. The effort it took to keep going exhausted you. You couldn’t loose him, you couldn’t. You didn’t want to be alone in the universe again. You couldn't stop the tears that escaped your blindfold, they rolled down your face and dripped onto Mando as you repeated another thirty compression's. Nor could you stop the choked sob that wracked your body. You clumsily wiped your face on your shoulder, not wanting Mando to experience a snotty, tear soaked mess when you moved for the next kiss of life. “Come on Mando” you pleaded, as you moved between compression's and breaths, pleading to him , the maker, anyone that this far fetched idea would work. “Don’t do this to me, Please” A soft coo beside you distracted you for just a moment. “K-kid?” you asked the dark space around you, cursing for a moment as you lost count of your compression's but continued without falter. He cooed again, you could hear the fear in his little voice. “I-it’s okay, it’s going to be okay,” you reassured him but you didn’t sound all too convincing. You felt the little one brush up beside you. “N-no kid, it’s best if you go away,” you said, pausing to give Mando another two breaths. “You shouldn’t have to watch this.” Another thirty compression's. Soft grunting beside you alerted you to the fact the kid was doing something, you weren’t sure what, but out of respect for Mando you refused to take off the blindfold to check. Whatever he was doing was not stopping you from your task. He moved beside you again, gently collapsing to the floor, you would have been more concerned if you didn’t hear the soft snores that followed. You shook your head, thankful that the little one would not be a distraction now that he had freed himself.

Thirty compressions. Two breaths. 

Thirty compressions. Two breaths. 

Thirty compressions. Two breaths. 

Thirty compressions. Two breaths. 

Thirty compressions-  A hand grabbed your wrist, startling you. “M-Mando,” you sighed, letting out a shaky breath and relief flooding your body. You put your ear close to his mouth to listen, and could hear his weak breaths, your fingers found his neck underneath his cowl and found a weak pulse. Weak, but alive. “Thank the Maker,” you sobbed, collapsing back onto the ground, the pain of what felt like hours of compression's creeping throughout your body. Dizzy, sore, dry lips, Maker you just wanted to sleep now.  You heaved a few breaths, with the breathing you had been doing for Mando, it felt like your own lungs were starved of oxygen. But you weren’t done yet, sure, he had a pulse, and could breathe on his own, but he was still struggling. You got up on two shaky legs, taking the blindfold off once your back was turned to him, you made your way over to the med kit, rummaging around tiredly until you found what you were after, the oxygen mask. You donned the blindfold again and made your way back over to him carefully, testing your footsteps with extra caution as to make sure not to step on a napping green child. You slipped the mask on him as best you could blinded and lay down on the hull floor, listening carefully to Mando’s weak, uneven breaths. 

The next thing you knew the silent hull was shaking slightly. You sat up, confused as your tired mind took in your surroundings. Your blindfold was gone, and you were in Mando’s bunk, a thin blanket thrown over you and a sleeping child nestled in his hammock above you. The shaking of the ship and hum of the engines told you you were in flight. Groggy, you shuffled out of the small bunk, maker, you barely fit in that thing how the hell did Mando? You looked around the hull, noting that Mando and his helmet were nowhere to be seen, the medkit was packed away, and even your abandoned sewing project had been packed away neatly. Just how long were you asleep if he had recovered enough to do all that and move you? You climbed the ladder to the cockpit, making sure to knock on the door, just in case Mando was sans helmet, a little courtesy you did each time the door was closed as to respect his creed. The door opened and there he sat, in the pilot’s chair as if everything was normal. “Thank the maker that worked,” you groaned tiredly, moving to collapse in one of the free seats. As tired as you still were, after what happened you didn’t want to leave him alone just yet. Not for his sake, for yours. His head barely turned to acknowledge you entering. He was distracting himself, you noted, keeping himself busy. Your short time together you had already begun to notice a few things about him, even though you knew little to nothing about flying, you could tell when he was fiddling with controls in order to look busy, he tended to do that when he was avoiding something, or when something was bothering him. You watched for a while, waiting for him to say something, there was tension in the air but it wasn’t coming from you. It poured off of him in waves. Patiently you waited, but with each passing second the tension grew, and Mando became more agitated . It was a ridiculous amount of time of him pretending to do stuff before you broke the silence. “Are you upset that I didn't listen to you?” you asked, unable to think of any other reason your Mandalorian was so tense. He paused for a moment. “I’m not upset at you,” he said. “Then why are you so on edge? “Im not,” he snapped, but there was little bite to his words. “Mando, I know you well enough by now.” He continued to play with console buttons. You could practically feel his mind turning as he tried to explain himself, to think of the words he wanted to say. “Are you upset I didn't give you your warrior's death?” you guessed. “Maker no,” he sighed. “I’m not upset at you. In fact...I’m grateful, to you and the kid, I'd be dead without you two and you would’ve been stranded.” What did the kid do? You thought to yourself watching him for a moment flip a few more useless switches. “Then tell me what’s bothering you. Please Mando,” you pleaded softly, encouraging him to open up to you. He was usually so closed off, to you and the kid, but recently you had begun to notice little steps, mainly with the kid, but a few small things with you too. He’d peel away that stoic outer shell for just a moment, and you could see the soft, gentle man underneath for the smallest of glimpses. They were rare, those moments, but you anticipated each one excitedly, noting as they increased in frequency.  Occasionally he would slip up and call you “sweet one’, instead of using your name, he never acknowledged the nickname, and you feared if you brought it up the endearment would stop. You often found a hand would travel to the small of your back as you walked beside him on supply runs, or how he began to speak to you more, rather than the short one or two word answers you would get when you first joined his crew. Those little things showed your growing bond. That you were no longer just crew mates, you were becoming fast friends. But, as close as you were becoming, you wouldn’t push him to talk if he wasn’t ready to. You sighed, as he continued to feign tasks, standing up to give him space. “I’ve never been kissed before,” his voice halted you. You turned in the door frame to look at him dumbly. “Like...Never never?” you asked lamely, a little shocked. It made sense, you supposed. He couldn’t take his helmet off around other people, but you weren’t blind. There were plenty of other people besides you who wanted the Beskar-clad warrior and you struggled to believe he lacked for willing partners. But life and creed got in the way you guessed, keeping him from forming enough of a connection with someone he could trust enough to take his helmet off for. “Never,” he confirmed, still fiddling with switches. He was still bothered. “That’s nothing to be ashamed of.” you said softly, wanting to comfort him, he froze.  “I’m sure one day you’ll trust someone enough to give your first kiss to.” He cocked his head slightly, pondering what you said. “W-wait..So that doesn’t count as my first kiss?” he asked. You scoffed a little, leaning against the door frame and stuffed your hands into your pockets. “Well, I guess it is called the kiss of life,” you shrugged. “So if you want that to be your first kiss,” you huffed a little amused. “But your first kiss should be something a little more...consensual. You didn’t exactly get much of a choice in the matter. Something you actually participate in and want to do.” He pondered your words again. “And if I want to do it again? And...participate this time?” he asked hesitantly, turning his head slightly to peek out the edge of his visor. Your face heated up at the implication, of actually kissing him. “T-then...all you have to do is ask Mando,” you said trying to keep your voice even and play it cool. He stared at you from the corner of his visor for a moment, you tried not to squirm as he held your gaze. He stood up and hesitantly closed the gap between the two of you, stopping within an arms reach of you.  “C-can I...No, can you kiss me properly this time?” he asked. “J-just me?” you asked, confused. He nodded slowly, gazing down at you, gently stroking your hair. “Show me what a real kiss is like...Please?” he asked. “W-well, since you asked me so nicely,” you huffed again, trying to sound confident but cringing at the way your voice cracked. He pulled out the scrap of fabric you had used earlier, cocking his head for silent permission to tie it on. You nodded, trying to hide your growing smile as the world became dark around you. You heard him shuffle around, the metallic clank of his helmet being placed down and heard his voice unmodulated. You loved hearing it without a filter, it was a rare treat. “I-is it normal to be nervous?” he asked anxiously, without the modulator it was much easier to hear the emotion in his voice. You could hear his nerves. “Yes, and don’t worry, I'm nervous too,” you smiled. “But..you’ve done this before right?” he asked. “Yeah, but sharing a first kiss with someone is always as nerve wracking as it is exciting,” you say, carefully reaching up to find his face in the dark. It never occurred to you to map out his face while giving him CPR, you respected him too much to take advantage of the situation, and him like that. But now that he had willingly taken his helmet off around you, and wanted to share a real kiss with you, you were willing to be a little selfish and explore his face a little now. His lips, which you had spent hours previously mashing your own against, you finally took note of and realized how soft they were, his bottom lip had a nice curve to it you tried to imagine in your head, the nose you had pinched, you realized was quite prominent, he probably had a very handsome profile, especially with the strong brow you felt. Facial hair, which you had felt during CPR but never took considerable note of  was patchy around his jaw, leading to a thin stache above his lip, you pictured the features as best you could in your head, trying to decide if he was dark haired or not. You imagined he did, a rich black or brown. Speaking of hair, your hand traveled to the back of his neck, gently grasping at soft curls. He gasped slightly and you giggled, pondering if the poor man probably suffered with some bad helmet hair at times. With another gentle tug of his hair you pulled him down to your level, brushing your nose against his. You could hear his breath hitch and you smiled wide. “You trust me, right Mando?” you asked in a whisper. You felt him nod before he realized you couldn’t see him. “Y-yes,” he whispered back, swallowing nervously. “Yeah? Good,” you said before bridging the small gap between your lips, devouring his lips with your own. His lips were just as soft as you had felt with your fingers. He whimpered slightly, hands coming to rest on your hips, gripping the material of your pants tightly and hesitantly pulling you closer to him. It was awkward, he was so uncertain that your noses and foreheads kept bumping together but neither of you cared enough to break the kiss, his breath huffed against your cheek and lips as he tried to figure out how to control his breathing. You lead and he followed, resting your free hand on his shoulder to anchor yourself as you cautiously deepened the kiss, letting your tongue trace over his lips, testing to see if he liked it. He moaned and you smiled into the kiss, getting drunk off of his little reactions as you gently coaxed his tongue to dance against yours. He whimpered and moaned with each pass of your tongue or gentle pull of his hair. You were happy to continue the clumsy kiss for as long as he would allow, but he broke away from you first, panting softly. “That was...wow,” he huffed, you could hear the smile in his voice, causing you to smile wider. “I hope that did your first kiss justice,” you teased playfully, feeling a surge of confidence for having made the feared Mandalorian a panting, whimpering mess from just a kiss. Your heart warmed at his soft chuckle. “B-better than I imagined it would be,” he admitted. You laughed softly. “Well, for a first time kisser you’re not too bad,” you teased again. “Not too bad?” he asked, amusement and challenge in his voice. “What does that mean?” “Room for improvement,” you shrugged, goading him. “You just need a little more practice.” “Is that an offer?” “Only if you want it to be.” You hummed happily as he grabbed your hips again, pulling you towards him and devouring your lips with his own. You were happy to practice with him anytime. 

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[letsbenditlikebennett]

Too Much || Ariana & Chloe

TIMING: Current PARTIES: @chloeinbetween & @letsbenditlikebennett SUMMARY: Ariana checks in on Chloe and they have a bit of a disagreement.  CONTENT:  Lydia plot CW, gun use mentions, domestic abuse mentions, sibling death mentioned

More time than she would have liked had come and gone since they got everyone out of Lydia’s home albeit not everyone made it out alive. Ariana had meant to check in sooner, but life had been more hectic than she would have liked and she wasn’t even sure Chloe would stay. Her only memories made here were those in Lydia’s prison of a home which were decidedly not pleasant ones. Since she had decided to stay, Ariana knew she could still help and make sure she gets properly acquainted with the town. She walked up to Chloe’s new place with gingerbread cookies in hand and a little hand drawn map in her bag to give Chloe a good run down of the town and where to avoid. She knocked on the door and waved when it opened. “Hey,” she said with a small smile, “Cookies as pr- expected? Not sure that works any better, but hey, cookies!” 

 Chloe had braided her hair so that it sat over her shoulder, tickling her collar bone. Agatha’s place was nice, and when she was at the office the peace and space it offered was a treasure. Lydia’s home had always been too perfect, their living areas impersonal and without trinkets. Whereas Agatha’s felt like a home should, like Agatha herself. Even the couch was soft and comfortable. It wasn’t permanent, but it felt safe, and after four years of sleeping in the same room with other people, being someplace completely by herself felt… wiggy. Which sucked, Chloe could admit to herself, but it was also true. Her foot bounced as she waited for Ariana to arrive, and still startled at the knock on the door. Her first instinct, still, was to hide to avoid the burning retribution of a fae promise broken, but Chloe forced herself to unlock her knees and stand up, walking over to the door and swinging it open. “Hey. Cookies sounds great. Come on in.” She hoped Ariana couldn’t hear her nervous heart trying to escape her chest. 

 Ariana was coming far too familiar with the fact there was no true fix for grief or trauma. Not only was it so different for everyone, but they were also both things that had to be felt through. Subdued with whatever little scrap of solace or hope you could find. It left her all too lost on how to help Chloe in moving forward. Being out of that horror house was a step in the right direction, but she was not naive enough to think it could all be that simple. She could hear the way Chloe’s heart rattled nervously in her chest as she came inside. “Thanks,” she said with a small smile as she walked in. This place was much cozier than Lydia’s home that felt all too cold in all it’s luxury, or maybe that was just because she knew how cold a woman Lydia was. She set the cookies down on the coffee table and gestured for Chloe to try one before fishing a map out of her bag. “So, I made this for you. It’s a little map of town with big red X’s over all the sketchy places… given like half those sketchy places are mime places.” She cracked a smile toward the end. Somehow the mimes managed to be scary and comical all in one. 

 Chloe stepped back stiltedly, revealed her nerves as she gave Ariana a wide berth to pass her by. There were two pictures of Ariana in her mind. There was the blue haired girl under the trees whose dimples sometimes caught the moonlight, flitting around with bats in her hands. That was the image that Sammy had painted for her. Then, there was the other, the monster with fangs and a horrifying maw, that had bitten awfully into Sammy’s thigh. Had done something so visceral to him that sweet, soft Sammy had become frightening to Lydia. Werewolf. Fundamentally dangerous. Chloe couldn’t quite shake that thought, nor make it align with the tiny, young girl in front of her. “You made-” Chloe cut herself off, clutching the back of a chair with a tight grip before lowering herself into it, taking one of the cookies and nibbling at the edge. “That’s… very thoughtful.” Chloe said. There were so many red lines on the sheet of paper. “Mime places, huh? That’s not a phrase you hear everywhere.”

 The day at Lydia’s, Chloe had said her name in a questioning way. It made Ariana wonder how much Sammy had been able to tell her. What harsh words Lydia had likely said about her. She had the feeling Chloe didn’t hold too much stock in Lydia’s opinion. Or maybe she did. Sammy had before he died. The thought made her stomach turn and she opted out of having one of the cookies for now. “For sure,” she said easily, “There’s been a lot of trial and error on that, but I’m pretty durable.” She laughed a bit at the mime part. Somehow, the mimes managed to be a more chilling aspect of the town, especially since they’d even tainted the town’s soccer ball supply. Or football as Kaden would downright insist. “Didn’t you know? White Crest has the most mime per capita of any town in the world.” Her faux enthusiasm faded and she added, “But trust me, I know. I’ve lived a lot of places and most of them don’t have mime establishments.” She looked around the place. It had that distinctly home-y vibe to it. She could see a coffee mug on the counter that had likely been used earlier that day. She was pretty sure she spotted some games on the shelves, too. “How are you adjusting though? It seems nice here,” she asked more seriously now. 

 Chloe looked over the map, her chest squeezing. Sammy should have had this. Sammy had nearly had this. If he’d crept out and stayed out until he was something Lydia had been forced to respect, maybe. If he’d been more careful, if she’d been less cunning. Chloe looked at Ariana without being able to hide how wary she was, wondering if whatever change he’d been offered would really be better. “I keep hearing about that. People talk about their mime hatred online. If I didn’t know- well, it would be pretty funny, if it really was just regular humans dressed up and doing work as regular mimes. Just not… whatever these mimes are.” Chloe shuddered, imagining mimes as just another type of fae, perhaps even more dangerous in their trickery because they never spoke and only listened, so would hear more of the mistakes she knew they could use. “I’m… adjusting. It’s… it’s hard, remembering that I can make choices. Staying with Agatha has been good while I find my feet a little. She’s very… understanding, and very kind.” She looked around, squeezing her hands into her thighs as if that might hide the trembling. 

 Despite the fact she’d experienced a fair amount of pain, Ariana couldn’t even begin to imagine what Chloe was going through. Just that one instance of her free will being taken from her had been damaging and left her filled with dread. That had to be so much worse for Chloe and she wished she could take it all away. But that wasn’t how pain or trauma worked and she hated how easily she could understand that. Focusing on mimes was easier even if they were frightening in their own way. “It would be much funnier if they were just people who were way too enthusiastic about their craft. Since they’re not, better to avoid them… or anything black and white. The soccer balls at the rec center once turned into a bunch of those mini mime monsters which was a big old yikes.” She leaned into the back of the couch and listened as Chloe spoke. All of this sounded incredibly difficult, but she was glad she had a safe place now. “It must be. If it helps to talk about it you can. I know I go back and forth on whether talking feels helpful, but like-- Here if you ever want to and all. I’m glad Agatha has been good. It definitely seems cozy here.” 

 “The soccer balls did what?” Chloe repeated faintly, sitting down by the kitchen table. She traced her finger over the most dangerous zones on the map, watching her fingers tremble. Today, her joints were painful and stiff, it would hurt to hold a pencil to add anything more. When Ariana spoke, Chloe nodded, but when she answered only spoke about Agatha. How could she tell Ariana that the young werewolf made her as nervous as anything else, that the tremors in her hands were because she kept thinking about the bloody stains on Sammy’s clothes even before Lydia had killed him? “It is cosy. I’ve been looking at a couple places so that I don’t overstay my welcome, and because I currently sleep in her office, and I’ve seen some potential places too. Next step is just working out the income, but turns out the unemployment rate around town is very small. People keep going missing, apparently, so there are a decent number of vacancies,.”

 “There’s a mime monster that hangs outside of Yours, Mime, and Ours. I’ve avoided it, but the soccer balls turned into like, mini versions of that. Melted into the same black goo. Wouldn’t recommend,” Ariana said with a shudder. With Lydia gone, the mimes had returned to their rightful place as the most unnerving thing in town. She noticed the slight tremor in Chloe’s hands and frowned for a moment. She wondered how much Sammy had told Chloe about her. Or if maybe Lydia had painted her to be this frightening thing. She shifted and looked around the room. “It is,” she said easily now, “I kind of lucked out with the pricing on my place, but I’m sure there’s other affordable options with… well, vacancies like the jobs. Were you looking for a certain type of job?” It wasn’t what she really wanted to ask. There were so many questions, but she knew how difficult it was for Sammy. The lighting outage in her building and the conversations they had through Blanche were indication enough of that. She bit her tongue and opted to listen instead. Maybe she’d open the floor for questions or whatever it was normal people did, but she still felt so unsure of how to help Chloe. She couldn’t help but wish Sammy was there with them. His awkward rambles to fill the quiet were much preferred to her own inner turmoil around the way things shook out. 

 “A mime m-” Chloe gulped, trying not to envision the paler version of herself that had wrapped her striped fingers around Chloe’s neck, promising an easier escape than the one she’d been granted. “Um, okay. Avoid the mime zones. I won’t forget!” She said, folding up the map to go into her purse, so that she wouldn’t have to look at it any longer. 

 “Yeah, I think I’ll find somewhere soon enough. I have some savings that did okay after not being touched for several years, which I guess is a plus in the being kidnapped column, I kind of feel like I’m intruding.” Chloe could feel herself rambling a little, talking too fast and too high for her lungs. She forced herself to lean back in her chair and take a deep breath, but could not imagine it made her look more relaxed.

 “I- I don’t know. I used to teach elementary students music, but… that has lost its appeal in pretty much every possible way. Even if it hadn’t…. I’m not exactly a desirable hire for working around kids, even in this town. But there are lots of possible jobs, so just applying as they make sense to apply to.” She wrung her hands, idly tracing over the ridges of her swollen knuckles. “What… What do you do? Are you a college student or something like that?”

 It was only natural for the mime stuff to make Chloe uneasy. Hell, most days it made Ariana uneasy and she had a lot more going her way when it came to self-defense. Even so, they were creepy fuckers and she would rather not deal with them if possible. “Good, glad I don’t have to convince you to stay away from them. Some people think it’s a joke.” She let out a nervous laugh. This all still felt strange and being around Chloe brought up some guilty feelings she wasn’t quite sure how to process, so she shook them off. 

 She made herself a bit more comfortable on the couch and listened as Chloe spoke. The small benefit definitely didn’t outweigh the trauma or what she’d been through, but it was good to know she had that small thing going for her. “That’s a good thing to have. Probably one of very few pluses, but you know, still glad it’s there to help you get back on your feet. And I’m sure Detective Keen wouldn’t have offered if she minded. People can be… surprising like that sometimes. My apartment also has a pull out couch if you ever wanted to crash, too. My girlfriend and Sammy’s ghost are both there a lot so uh, full house and all, but you know.” 

 “That makes sense. I can’t imagine there’s much joy left in the whole music thing… which fucking sucks, but it’s kind of one of those things that is what it is. There’s definitely always a lot of job openings so I’m sure you’ll find something soon enough.” Part of all those openings was how often people went “missing”, but it seemed a little bleak to say considering how bleak both of their lives had been. She found herself holding one of the pillows on the couch a little tighter as she tried to shake away that thought. “Trade school student, actually, but I coach kids’ soccer and I have an Etsy shop for my woodworking so I keep pretty busy. Managed to find a steal of an apartment, too.” 

 Chloe smiled with her lips closed, tugging at the fraying end of her sleeve end. “Detective Keen is a good woman,” Chloe agreed quietly, and opened her mouth to politely refuse the teenager’s offer when Ariana mentioned Sammy. Her mouth clicked shut, stunned, even as Ariana kept talking. Chloe knew better than most that young adults responded terribly to dire circumstances, and that this kind of black humour was to be expected but… Chloe had watched Sammy’s brains spatter the walls like goddamn confetti. His ghost wasn’t here, it was haunting the back of her eyelids every time she blinked. He shared the scope of her nightmares in equal measure with Anneliese and Todd and everyone else who had died in that palace if horrors. 

 She nodded along to whatever Ariana said, barely taking it in. She could barely hear it over the ringing in her ears, the grief rising in her chest like a tidal wave. It was as if the conversation had continued without Ariana waiting for Chloe to laugh at her joke, like she’d just slipped it into her conversation like a quiet barb. Maybe she hadn’t even noticed how much Chloe was revealing. “An etsy shop? That’s cool,” Chloe echoed emptily. She squared her jaw. “You shouldn’t joke about Sammy like that.”

 Ariana could feel Chloe disconnecting from the moment as she spoke. Maybe mentioning Sammy had been a bad idea, but his ghost was still hanging around, a fact she needed to speak to Blanche about. While she had regularly visited him for rooftop chats, it had to still feel isolating that he couldn’t respond with one of his signature rambles. It dawned on her how she’d give just about anything to hear one of them again. “Yeah, it’s pretty cool,” she said as she fumbled with her hands, not sure how to address the last part of that. “I wasn’t joking,” she stated albeit somewhat nervously, “My best friend and neighbor is a medium. We’re uh… well, we’re trying to help him move on. Find peace and all that. A little easier said than done considering. I know he’s relieved you’re out of there though.” 

 “Don’t,” Chloe insisted, Ariana’s flat suddenly shrinking around her. The softly decorated walls no longer felt inviting but suffocating, like the curtains might themselves wrap themselves around her throught. “Don’t,” Chloe insisted again. “I know you knew him and that he mattered to you, but you don’t just get to assign feelings to him. He’s dead, Ariana, you can’t just pretend he’s hanging around here like this. You don’t-” A lump in her throat promised to choke her, so Chloe stopped talking, looking at her swollen knuckles.  “This isn’t healthy, Ariana. I think you should probably leave for now.”

“Okay,” Ariana said quietly as she decided against pushing this. Part of her felt frustrated, she hoped maybe helping Chloe would help Sammy move on, but ghosts were too hard to believe in a world filled with fae and werewolves. She didn’t have the energy for this fight, the energy to push that this wasn’t just grief. It’s not like she was seeing Todd or Celeste, not that she saw Sammy, but she trusted Blanche did and there was no way she could have known about him otherwise. “That’s not what I’m-” She started to defend herself before slumping her shoulders and simply nodding. “Yeah, I should go. Just- I don’t know, let me know if you need anything.” And she walked away somehow feeling even more lost than when she arrived. Was it too much to hope that for once her efforts to help would actually be helpful?

[ladylynse]

Chapter 13 [FF | AO3] of Whirlwind (SQ fic): Jake should be used to ominous predictions by now. Randy should know better than to blindly follow McFist. Adrien should think twice before sneaking away. And Danny should’ve expected something like this when he got that phone call.

Previous | Timeline post

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7:50 PM

Jake couldn’t see Danny as he winged around to the building where Hawk Moth stood with Susan, but he had a feeling he knew Danny’s plan: namely, get Nino out of danger. Specifically, do that by phasing him out of Susan’s claws. Randy—who was clinging to the edge of the roof and barely showing more than his eyes and fingertips—looked ready to jump into action the moment that happened, and Jake knew he should be, too, but….

This situation wasn’t just his fault.

It was the fault of the World Dragons in general.

If they’d ever found a replacement for the French Dragon or at least done a better job of checking up on France, this might not have happened.

Which meant it was Jake’s responsibility not just to diffuse this particular situation and deal with the fallout but also to, well, see what he could do about Hawk Moth so that he didn’t keep doing this in Paris.

Jake hovered in the air for a moment, knowing he’d been spotted, but despite the telling flick of her eyes, his mother didn’t call any attention to him. He wasn’t entirely sure if that was good or bad; she still recognized him, right? Was she ignoring him on purpose? She had to know he couldn’t let this slide. Between her letting everyone in the city—and, let’s face it, beyond—know that dragons exist and this Hawk Moth guy misusing magical artefacts, there was no way he couldn’t get involved.

Jake took a deep breath, folded his wings, and let fire burn away his scales. He landed on the roof with very human feet, rolling with the impact and rising from a crouch as Hawk Moth turned. Jake gave him a wide berth, ignoring Hawk Moth in favour of his mom. He edged around to keep her in sight, though he knew better than to turn his back on an enemy. “Mom,” he whispered, “don’t do this. Please.”

He saw Hawk Moth’s triumphant smile out of the corner of his eye. “So. This is your son, one of the city’s great protectors.”

Susan said nothing, though she held Jake’s gaze.

“You’re better than this,” Jake said when he noticed Hawk Moth open his mouth again. “You know what I’m fighting for. You know why I fight for it. You have to know this is wrong. Just step back and think about it for a moment, like you always taught me to do. This isn’t you. Please.”

“Dracona,” Hawk Moth said sharply. “Tell me what else I should know about your son.”

What else he should know.

That meant he already knew something.

That she’d already told him something.

How much?

“What? What did you tell him? Why did you tell him anything?”

For a few heartbeats, Jake was sure his mom wasn’t going to answer—him or Hawk Moth. He hoped she was ignoring his questions because they were ridiculous and she’d never tell someone like him anything important, whatever he demanded. He hoped he’d managed to get through to her when it came to Hawk Moth, too. She was still looking at him, and he was familiar enough with reading dragon expressions to see determination settle on her face. It gave him hope—until she opened her mouth and said, “I made a deal. I’ve realized that I have to fulfill it.”

“You don’t!”

“Fighting doesn’t work.” She sounded more resigned than she looked, which was weird, but whatever. “I’ve tried. I can’t.”

Jake wanted to wipe the smug expression off Hawk Moth’s face, but Danny was right. If Randy’s book did mean that he could talk his mom down, he had to try—and if he could do that without giving Hawk Moth any more information about the magical world, dragons included, then all the better. “You can, I swear,” Jake insisted. “You just said you’ve fought it before. You can do it again. And you know what it’s like to try to fight off mind control; G would’ve trained you, I know he would’ve. You can’t give up now, yo. You have to keep trying. You can do this!” She turned back to Hawk Moth, and he called again, “Please! I’m sorry about earlier! I’m sorry about everything. Just don’t do this. You know it’s not right!”

Susan ignored him, instead answering Hawk Moth’s question as if they hadn’t let him have his say at all. “My son is foolish, and he is brave.”

“Mom, just stop, okay?”

“He is young, and he is skilled.”

“Don’t tell him everything. You can’t.” If he didn’t think he’d lose against her in a straight up attack, he’d do it. Nino’s magic suit looked more durable than Randy’s and seemed to protect him from a lot; it should protect him from being crushed underfoot or impaled by a stray claw. Trouble was, Susan was still the bigger dragon, and even if she didn’t have as much practice as Jake when it came to being a dragon and moving around, that inexperience hadn’t shown up so far. Besides, she knew way more theory than he did, and if she didn’t have any trouble applying it….

Attacking her now would just make him more vulnerable.

And attacking Hawk Moth was likely to invite a retaliatory attack from her, and he didn’t particularly want that in either form. Randy was not enough back up for that. So where the heck was Danny?

“He makes mistakes, many of them, but he always tries his best to do what is right.”

Jake shifted on his feet. He hadn’t expected a glowing review, exactly, but he hadn’t thought his mom would put it quite like that. He could guess why Hawk Moth might ask—if he’d identified Jake as a protector of the NYC, if not the magical world, then he knew Jake was here to fight him—but he still didn’t know why Susan had answered.

For that matter, he didn’t know why neither of them had just attacked; he was a lot more vulnerable in this form, and Hawk Moth at least had no idea how quickly he could change…unless his mom had already passed on that bit of information.

A subtle movement caught Jake’s eye, and he tracked it in time to see the tips of Nino’s ears slide downwards and disappear through the roof.

Strangely, Susan said nothing about it, even though Jake knew she must have noticed. He turned to get a better view of Hawk Moth, but he didn’t seem to notice, either. He was still staring at Jake. Maybe this hadn’t been a bad plan, after all, even if Nino had gotten who was a suitable distraction completely wrong.

“He also possesses a greater magic than yours,” Susan said quietly, “because the magic you use is borrowed and not your own.”

Hawk Moth scowled and looked back at her. “My magic will be greater than either of you can imagine once I have the Miraculous I seek. Give me Chat Noir’s.”

“Gonna have a hard time with that,” Randy called, drawing everyone’s attention. He was sitting on the edge of the roof now; Jake hadn’t even noticed him climb up. Maybe he’d still been underestimating Randy’s Ninja skills, despite having ample evidence of exactly how good Randy could be. “I mean, you kinda gotta have something to give it in the first place.”

“What?” roared Hawk Moth. He spun back to Dracona, and Jake had to look twice at the cane in his hand to confirm that, yes, it had hidden a sword, and now Hawk Moth had discarded its sheath. “You let him escape?”

“I brought you his ring, as you asked. It’s hardly my fault you didn’t take it when you had the chance.” She tilted her head towards Jake and added, “I’ve also told you about our local hero. Consider our contract fulfilled.”

“The Miraculous is not in my hands!”

“But I did bring it to you,” she repeated, “and—”

Hawk Moth lunged.

Despite how focused he’d been on Susan, he came at Jake. Jake scrambled back and somehow tripped over his own feet. He handed hard on his bottom and breathed a spout of fire in Hawk Moth’s direction to encourage him to keep his distance, but Jake realized a split second later that that hadn’t been necessary. Jake had a brief glimpse of Randy’s scarf wrapping around Hawk Moth’s torso and forcing him to a stop before one of Susan’s wings spread out between them as protection.

“Get his Miraculous!”

Jake turned as he climbed to his feet and saw Nino already back on the roof, racing towards Hawk Moth. Susan dropped her wing, looking like she was preparing to breath her own fire instead, and Jake saw Hawk Moth snarl and twist back towards Randy. He raised his sword and severed the scarf in one quick swipe.

Randy let out a cry as the fabric fell, and Hawk Moth froze even as he turned his blade on Nino.

That’s where Danny was, then.

“It’s his brooch,” Nino explained as he started unravelling the layers of scarf that covered Hawk Moth’s chest. He had to duck around the sword but didn’t seem overly bothered by the inconvenience; Hawk Moth’s arm had frozen mid-swing, partially blocking his chest, and his sword was still held in a tight grip, judging by how it didn’t even tremble. “If we can get it, then we can stop everything right now, and—” He broke off.

Jake didn’t need to walk closer to see what the problem was—even he was sure the Miraculous wasn’t supposed to be glowing that bright green colour—but he reached Nino only a few steps ahead of Randy. On closer inspection, the situation looked worse, with cracks of bright purple spiderwebbing across the entire brooch that grew wider as Jake watched.

“Um. You probably don’t wanna touch that,” Randy said. “It looks like it’s about to explode. Can those things explode?”

“I didn’t think so,” Nino said, but he sounded as confident as he looked—which, when he was chewing on his lip and staring at the brooch instead of reaching for it, told Jake all he needed to know.

Jake felt a hand on his arm, and he turned back to see the familiar face of his mother. “I don’t know if I��m free of him,” she said quietly. “You need to end this now, before—”

Purple light exploded.

Jake stumbled forward, hearing multiple grunts behind him and more than one body hitting the rooftop.

As he hadn’t been looking directly at the Miraculous, he wasn’t blinded like the others undoubtedly were. Still, he was too stunned to react as Hawk Moth’s sword flashed towards Susan, slicing away her necklace—and into her flesh. He heard her scream. He heard himself scream as he scrambled forward to try to catch her.

There was so much blood.

There shouldn’t be this much blood.

Red smoke clouded his vision, but at that point, it didn’t matter; Jake couldn’t see through his tears anyway.

7:53 PM

McFist thought he had a plan. Rotwood claimed that it was more his plan than McFist’s. Haley just had a budding headache and a growing, panicked worry in her chest that wouldn’t go away without more information.

The plan, as it was, wasn’t very good. It required a lot of luck, which in Haley’s experience tended to go sour; a healthy dose of lies, which sounded terribly unbelievable to her ears; and the remaining supply of Ninja Cold Balls, which McFist had picked out with unnerving accuracy. “How long would a pop-up skating rink even last?” Haley asked, interrupting whatever Rotwood and McFist were arguing about.

“Ninja ice lasts longer than regular ice,” McFist said. “Magic. Figured you knew.”

“Right.”

“So we’ll expand on the patch you started. It’ll still be there. We’ll call it a teaser if anyone asks. People like sneak peeks.”

There was absolutely no way this would work.

“Little bit of fashion, little bit of skating. It’ll sell. People eat this stuff up all the time.”

Rotwood sniffed. “And when people call your bluff, I will tell them the real reason for all of this—don’t look at me like that; I respect the deals I make, so of course I do not mean the real real reason. I will insist it is the work of magical creatures and use the fight of the Ninja and the dragon as my proof.”

“At which point I remind people that the best advertising is the viral kind, and people believe me instead of him. Everyone loves a good show.”

There was no nice way to tell them this wouldn’t work, was there? “I’m not sure—”

“You can even come out and pretend to be a ninja if you like. Really sell it. You any good at skating?”

She was better at the violin. “I don’t even have skates.”

McFist shrugged. “No one else will, either. You ever wear an expensive pair of shoes meant for indoors? Those things have no grip. It’ll be fine.”

It wouldn’t be. Not on its own. Maybe she’d get lucky and think of what else they could do to supplement it once they got going, though. Haley glanced at Rotwood. “You’re really okay with your name being dragged through the mud again for making false claims?”

“I will hardly be the only one reporting on this magical creature sighting. Besides, I can always try to prove the existence of the magical world again later. A visit the Magus Bazaar—or whatever you will do for me instead of that—is worth more than an attempt to get people to see the truth when I know you are already working against me.” Rotwood spread his hands. “Think of it as me hedging my bets. I have more chance of success in the future, when you and your brother are not aware of my actions.”

Haley had no idea how Jake put up with Rotwood in school every day. She sincerely hoped Rotwood would find another job by the time she went to Millard Fillmore, at least if he didn’t change his tune. It was hard to admire his perseverance when she knew how much his success would cost the magical world.

Maybe Jake should just try to sit him down and strike a long-term bargain with him. Rotwood might not be so set on exposing the magical world if he finally understood what that exposure would mean. She doubted he’d be happy to consistently work to protect the magical world, but he might agree to keep silent about it—and keep his personal rivals away from it—in exchange for more information. From what Jake had told her, he was working off a lot more fiction than fact.

Heck, if Randy could come up with something better to offer McFist, he might think twice about working with the Sorcerer, too. She was less certain on that front, of course, but McFist seemed to be in it only for his reward. Dealing with a rogue sorcerer technically fell under the purview of the dragons, too, so Randy would be perfectly within his rights to ask for help. It just seemed to her like there might be a better way to do this, since McFist and Rotwood were acting more reasonable than she’d expected.

And a lot more helpful, too.

It was different with Nino. He didn’t know Hawk Moth’s identity, and from what she’d seen and heard, Hawk Moth wasn’t someone that could be easily talked down. He had an agenda, and he’d see it through no matter who got hurt in the process. That made him someone they needed to take down, not someone they might be able to negotiate with.

But if Jake didn’t defeat him now, he’d have to play politics himself to get help to Nino. It would be a lot easier if he didn’t have to go through the Dragon Council to get permission for something like that, if he and the others could just make some agreement and do it all under the table. Gramps might not wholly approve, but he wouldn’t disapprove, not if Jake was doing the right thing, and Fu would be more than willing to help. She could cover for him if he ever had business elsewhere, with Trixie and Spud for backup if they were still around, and—

“I’ll keep these throwing balls in case they come in handy later,” McFist said as he started to pocket everything that wasn’t a Ninja Cold Ball. “You start making the rink, and Rotwood and I will seed rumours.”

“What if this doesn’t work?” Haley asked. “What if no one believes us? What if they see through it?”

McFist jerked his thumb towards Rotwood. “So you’re saying people might believe him? I was getting the impression that he was a bit of a Cassandra type myself.”

“That’s not the worst comparison you could have made,” Rotwood muttered.

“No, but…. What’s our backup plan?”

“What was your backup plan?”

She bit her lip. “I trusted that I’d come up with something that would work if it came to that.”

McFist snorted. “Yeah, well, my backup plan is the simple fact that if you act like you know what’s going on and you’re good at selling it, people will believe you, even if it’s outrageous. I mean, my company cleans up the messes our own robots make, and we’re commended for it. It’s all about having good PR. I may not be good at inventing things to get the results I want, but I am good at handling the public. You follow through on your end of the deal, and I’ll make sure they don’t turn on you.”

7:54 PM

“Randy said he can help,” Danny said as he pulled Jake away from Susan. “Let him. He’ll help your mom. You and I need to catch that akuma. Nino’s going after Hawk Moth. He grabbed one of Randy’s smoke bombs and escaped. We’re lucky it wasn’t one of those bee balls.”

Jake didn’t respond.

He might not even be listening.

He wasn’t fighting in Danny’s grip anymore, not even when Randy bent over Susan and held his hands over her to do some Ninja thing. Jake was just dead weight, conscious but not home, which was not what Danny needed right now. It wasn’t what any of them needed, Susan included.

Danny formed a handful of ice cubes and dumped them down the back of Jake’s shirt.

The reaction was thankfully immediate, with Jake jerking away from him. “Yo, that is not cool, man!”

“Actually, it’s ice cold, which is why I did it.”

Jake turned to glare at Danny, but his anger was short-lived; Danny could see new tears forming in his eyes. He started to turn back to his mom, but Danny caught his arm. “Hey. We need to deal with the akuma. You’re the American Dragon. This is part of that.”

“I don’t care about the stupid akuma.”

“You will if it multiplies and you’re dealing with a whole lotta people who can turn into dragons. Let’s go.”

“Mom—”

“Randy is helping her,” Danny repeated. “Let him. Help from your friends, remember?”

“That’s not—”

“We need to go before we lose the akuma entirely,” Danny interrupted. He was two seconds away from leaving Jake behind and just going to look for it on its own, even if he didn’t know what he’d do if he caught it, but Jake had better night vision than he did.

Jake took a shuddering breath and ground out, “Fine,” before transforming without another word.

Danny flew up to join him in the air, deciding Jake didn’t care about the other details right now. With any luck, Nino would catch Hawk Moth. That would make dealing with the akuma easier. Maybe. They needed something to go their way for once.

Danny knew better than to ask if Jake had spotted it yet, so he just hovered and waited as Jake looked and listened. When he picked a direction and started flying, Danny followed. He didn’t see anything that look remotely like a butterfly, but he trusted Jake.

After about a minute of flying with no butterfly in sight, he started to question that. They weren’t flying that slowly. The butterfly shouldn’t have been this far in front of them. “Are you sure we’re going the right way?” Danny ventured. “I mean, I can always scout behind us if you’re not.”

“The last one we saw was flying in this direction,” Jake said. “I think it was going for higher ground.”

“This is a city of skyscrapers. Isn’t everywhere higher ground?”

“You know what I mean.”

He didn’t, but Danny didn’t bother pressing the point. There was a more important question to ask. “What makes you think this one is going to the same place the last one was?”

“I…don’t, really. But it makes sense.”

Danny tried to figure out what he could say to that that wouldn’t sound completely insensitive when he knew Jake was preoccupied with worry about his mom. The truth of it was, it didn’t make sense, at least not to Danny, and he really wasn’t keen on the idea of them not splitting up to look for this thing if Jake wasn’t sure.

“I think it’s like those zombie ants.”

Danny blinked. “What?” He couldn’t have heard that right.

“You know. Those zombie ants. That get infected with that fungus. It, like, takes over their mind and makes them go to higher ground to die and then it spreads. This might be like that.”

“Okay, one, how have I never heard about this before if it’s real, and two, pretty sure the magical butterflies aren’t infected with a fungus.”

“I didn’t say they were! Just that it would make sense with the higher ground thing.”

Danny groaned. “I don’t suppose you know if Spud found that thermos?”

“I’m not even sure if he’s looking for it. He’s doing something that he thinks will help.”

“With what?”

“I dunno. Everything, maybe. I trust him. He and Trix have my back.”

It would be a little hypocritical to argue against the whole ‘trust your friends and let them help you’ bit now, but it was hard. Jake might be clutching at straws because it was better to do that than to think about what he’d left behind. Danny really had no idea what Randy could do, but he’d sounded confident, so Danny hadn’t asked.

Maybe he should’ve; it would’ve made this conversation easier to navigate.

“Look, this akuma is as important as Hawk Moth right now. Pretty sure it won’t go away when he drops the mask, so we need to figure out how to contain it. Would Spud and Trixie know of anything that would help? Are they following a hunch?”

Jake didn’t answer.

Perfect.

Danny followed him in silence, debating the merits of breaking off to check any other direction and then deciding that if Nino wasn’t successful in catching Hawk Moth, it wouldn’t be in their best interest to leave Jake alone in this mood.

“I’m sorry,” Danny said when the silence started to stretch. “I know this sucks. I know you’re worried about your mom, and what the Dragon Council is going to do when they find out about this, and—”

“Two o’clock, maybe thirty degrees up,” Jake interrupted, altering his course.

Danny blinked, and in his moment of hesitation, Jake let out a plume of fire that lit up and then completely engulfed a butterfly.

It didn’t immediately incinerate, like Danny had expected. It bubbled, roiling magic boiling across wings that fluttered frantically to stay aloft. When the flame died, all Danny could see was the afterimage seared green and white into his eyes.

“You wanna catch it?”

“It’s still alive?” Danny asked, looking around as his vision started to go back to normal. “I don’t—” He broke off. The white butterfly wings stood out more clearly against the sky than the purple ones had, and he caught the butterfly in his hands with surprisingly little effort—or maybe it just felt that way after everything else.

It was hard to believe he’d been in Amity Park for lunch.

Of course, coming from Amity Park and having the experiences that he did, he wasn’t about to assume that the colour change of the butterfly (or, frankly, its survival) was a fluke. Chances were good Nino could explain what had happened, but Danny just hoped it was a good thing. If they’d just released the magic and now didn’t have something concrete to chase after, he didn’t know how they were going to gather it all back up. Well, maybe Pandora could tweak her box if he borrowed it, but—

“I was trying to kill it,” Jake admitted as Danny stopped to hover across from him. The butterfly’s wings beat against Danny’s closed fingers, but he couldn’t lead the way back to Nino and (hopefully) answers. He’d already gotten turned around, and he wasn’t sure where they were. “I just…. I dunno. I wanted this problem gone. I should’ve known it wouldn’t work. The last one survived, too.”

“What? Really?” Danny hadn’t thought much about the first butterfly, but in retrospect, he supposed it must’ve survived if Nino was right about Hawk Moth recalling it. Maybe this was the same butterfly? He glanced down at his hands. Maybe Jake had had the same thought. He didn’t typically go for straight up destroying stuff, but if the butterflies were the only way Hawk Moth could release his magic….

“Just don’t let go of it,” Jake said, as if Danny had had any intentions otherwise. He flew back faster than they’d flown out, likely because he wasn’t trying to track a butterfly this time, but Danny easily kept pace.

He didn’t try to force a conversation, though. It was obvious enough Jake still wasn’t in the mood to talk, and Danny’s dismal attempts earlier made it clear that he didn’t know what to say.

Hopefully, by the time they got back to Randy, they’d get some good news for a change.

(see more fics | next)

[secondwintersoldier]

tw: parental death, manipulation, heavy on the abuse/dv, murder, lots of BAD THINGS!!! IC PORTION; BASICS —

CHARACTER NAME/ALIAS: Richard James “RJ” Boyle / Winter Solider (II)

FACECLAIM: Noah Centineo

AFFILIATIONS: HYDRA, The Task Force

AGE (physical age as well, if different): 21. He was injected with the super soldier serum shortly after his 21st birthday, and so RJ will remain physically 21 until his death.

SPECIES (human, metahuman, alien, etc): Complicated. RJ started out entirely human, though he has been permanently altered by the serum, making him a meta human.

IS YOUR CHARACTER’S IDENTITY SECRET OR PUBLIC? Secret, for the time being.

IF SECRET, OR YOUR CHARACTER IS A CIVILIAN, DO THEY HAVE A CIVILIAN OCCUPATION?: He’s fully controlled by the ISA

DOES YOUR CHARACTER LIVE IN THE MOUSEHOLE? IF SO, WHAT ARE THEIR DUTIES? No

DESCRIBE SIX TRAITS (3 positive, 3 negative) YOUR CHARACTER HAS AND HOW THESE AFFECT THEM:

+ CHARISMATIC: RJ hasn’t lost his charisma, even with all of the brainwashing, conditioning and abuse. Prior to HYDRA, RJ was a goofy kid and some of that still remains. He’s an assassin that will talk your ear off while actively trying to kill you, boyish smile and all. RJ is, overall, horribly under socialized and takes every and any opportunity he can get to chat and be social.

+ QUICK-THINKING: RJ is always one step ahead, always ready, always waiting. He’s quick on his feet and isn’t easily frustrated or swayed when shit inevitably hits the fan and things veer off plan. He usually has back-up plans to his back-up plans, but he’s excellent at thinking on the fly as well. He’s resourceful and has been trained to use whatever is available to him, and has a good eye for these types of things.

+ PATIENT: RJ will lay in wait for however long is needed of him. He spent years in a HYDRA facility staring at a wall to pass the time, and so it is safe to say that he could literally wait to watch paint dry. This certainly aids him when it comes to missions and field work. RJ’s able to put in the leg work, do the recon required for his missions without jumping in too soon. He’s trained to wait for the perfect, most opportune moment, and he’s quite good at it.

- OBSESSIVE: RJ has tunnel vision when it comes to...most everything. He fixates and he is unable to see the bigger picture. When RJ is on task, it’s hard for him to think of anything else other than the steps that will get him to the end result. He isn’t easily side-tracked, which could be considered beneficial, but RJ’s tunnel-visioned to the point of absolute obsession. He won’t sleep, won’t eat, won’t do anything else until the task has been completed.

- UNSTABLE: After everything he has been through, ‘unstable’ is an absolute understatement. RJ is unpredictable, prone to violent tendencies, and his moods come and go like the wind. He’s impossible to predict and has little to no handle on his emotions and the actions that follow.

- DESPERATE: RJ, above all else, wants to belong. He will do whatever it takes to please the hand that feeds him in hopes that he might receive praise or love in return. He’s never been worthy, according to Mr. Colt, and RJ has run out of ideas of how to please his handler and superiors. He’s done everything they asked, and will continue to do so. They say jump, and he asks how high.

POWERS AND/OR ABILITIES: RJ is a master assassin. With this comes the general expertise in a vast assortment of weaponry and hand-to-hand combat. His training has been very thorough, and it is safe to say RJ excels at every challenge thrown his way. RJ is a master tactician and strategist, and speaks a wide assortment of languages. Due to being injected with the super soldier formula, RJ was gifted enhanced strength/durability/speed/agility/reflexes/healing and also (in theory) an extended lifespan.

WEAKNESSES: RJ is a puppet, and his handler holds the strings. For the most part, RJ has not required “activation”” as he goes on his missions quite willingly, though the threat is there if needed. His identity has been stripped from him, and all that he’s known for years is the Winter Solider. He does not remember a time before HYDRA with only fleeting memories passing as dreams from his childhood. RJ is unstable and is prone to episodes of becoming unhinged where he exhibits extreme violence and lack of restraint. There’s a sense of desperation to him, an instinctual need to be loved by the hand that feeds him, though to be honest the best RJ has gotten is kicked while being fed from the floor. In a sense, he’s very naive for the fact that his social skills are greatly lacking and he’s desperate for any sort of affection or love that he’ll take what he can get.

IC PORTION; DETAILS —

WHAT BROUGHT YOUR CHARACTER TO SOKOVIA? The ISA. RJ doesn’t quite know where he was before Sokovia - he was kept indoors mostly, and the windows of every car he was transported in were dark.

DID THEY SIGN THE ACCORDS? WHY OR WHY NOT? No, simply for the fact that he wasn’t asked. He’d do anything asked of him by his handler, so this is a possibility in the future.

PROVIDE 3-5 HEADCANONS RELATED TO YOUR CHARACTER:

RJ loved any and all media he was able to get his hands on during his time in HYDRA, the majority of which were old and classic movies. He watched the variety he was able to keep in his room to the point of memorization, and old/black-and-white movies are his comfort.

That being said, a big bulk of how RJ learned how to socialize at all comes from these movies. His only interaction for over a decade was with HYDRA agents and Colt, and so most of his knowledge of how socialization works was gathered from the same ten movies he watched on repeat.

RJ has a sweet tooth that he has little to no control over. This could be due to the fact that he was vastly food insecure for the entirety of his adolescence, but RJ will eat an entire pan of brownies all to himself in just a matter of minutes.

Sleep is evasive to RJ and has been since his training began, though it has gotten much worse since he was injected with the super soldier serum. He survives on just a few hours a night, and that’s enough to keep him functioning.

RJ keeps a journal, and it details his training from the time he began at HYDRA up until the present. It’s elaborate, spares no details, and is helpful for him to try to keep his head on straight.

RJ’s activation sequence has never been used, though he has been conditioned with one. It is: crimson, wistful, thirteen, current, snarl, eclipse, seven, anguish, twenty-one, voyage.

CHARACTER BIO —

tw: parental death, manipulation, heavy on the abuse/dv, murder

In truth, RJ remembered nothing before HYDRA. He did  not even know what “RJ” stands for. That was likely their intention, and they were successful. His file, inaccessible to him and under highly restricted access, would detail the following:

Richard James Boyle was born on Christmas Eve in the year 1999 in Woodbridge, New Jersey. His father was a conman, an outright criminal in his own right but he was good at what he did. His mother was sickly and his father couldn’t make ends meet, and so Richard Sr. turned to bigger crime in an attempt to keep his family afloat. Six bank heists in two years, and then he was caught and sent to prison when RJ was still a baby. His mother made do, they survived best they could until they couldn’t anymore. She passed away when RJ was five, and his memories of her even before HYDRA were fleeting. He dreamed of her sometimes, even still, but he could never remember her face.

Foster homes were the name of the game for the rest of his childhood.. Nothing was consistent, it felt as though as soon as he got settled he was packing up his belongings in a big black trash bag and being shipped off to the next one. This happened for several years, until his tenth year. The final family he was with sold RJ over to HYDRA for the cash, and with that RJ Boyle ceased to exist in the world he was used to and his training began.

He was handed over to Colt, who was RJ’s handler and responsible for both raising and training RJ. He was raised in a HYDRA facility, in a room that could be described as something one would see in a prison or a hospital, with Mr. Colt coming and going. The brainwashing began almost immediately, as Colt and his superiors wanted to ensure that their new asset was fully under their thumb.

RJ was the newest addition to the Winter Soldier program, an initiative that had  been long since abandoned. The history that followed was painful at best, and absolutely formative. Mr. Colt could be described as cruel, manipulative and abusive. RJ was not fed consistently, often beaten and tormented, and was taught that love and affection would be something that he would have to earn. RJ was told he showed potential, was gifted with talent and it was his duty to use that talent and potential. RJ was told that any worthwhile person would not waste their potential, would grab it by the horns and take it, and only then would he have value. His early trainings and missions were sloppy, and RJ was punished severely for this. He didn’t like killing, wasn’t particularly good at it, but that would change soon. He found it was easier not to think about it, treat it like any other job, and that was when things began to turn around.

His education was limited, certainly not formal, and only included what HYDRA and Mr. Colt thought would benefit their long term goals. So much of his training revolved around the Winter Soldier, whom RJ was taken in to emulate. RJ spent hours on end studying all the footage there was on Bucky Barnes, the original Winter Soldier, and reading every single file HYDRA had on the man. Over time, he could dictate the files from memory alone and could replicate the Winter Soldier's fighting style. Better yet, he knew his weaknesses, and his real mission became clear: to defeat the Winter Soldier. On top of this, RJ was shown the files of every other vigilante that HYDRA had at their disposal: he studied and studied and studied, and then practiced what he had learned.

He was seventeen when HYDRA began to fall, and RJ was shuffled around more often than not, moving from base to base as the organization struggled to stay hidden and alive. RJ’s training would continue, and he began to exceed expectations. He won every spar, he could assemble and disassemble every weapon handed to him with his eyes closed before using the weapon in question in record time. He was damn near undefeatable in the field, and finally he felt worthy. Mr. Colt disagreed.

On Christmas Day in 2020, RJ was given the super soldier serum after eleven years of training. He had been preparing for this for years, had studied and worked harder than he thought he ever could, and he finally proved worthy to the program. RJ was better than before - faster, stronger, more resilient, enhanced in every way. He was put through a myriad of tests, several field missions, to put his skills to the test and RJ aced every single one of them. One better, he did not require the hypnosis in place to force his hand and went on his missions willingly.He was no longer sloppy - he was clean, precise and deadly.

He was shipped off to Sokovia in February of 2021 with instructions that he would be working for the ISA’s Task Force. He was an agent, and would be at their disposal. Mr. Colt would not be coming with him, something that RJ was unsure of how to feel about as he had been the hand to feed him all these years. He would have a new handler, an unknown, and RJ didn’t like those. After all, it was his job to be prepared and stay one step ahead.

But it was nice to have a little more freedom. RJ Boyle was instructed to immerse himself in Matchak, to gain intel, to get comfortable with the lay of the land. The Winter Soldier would be needed soon, and it was RJ’s job to be sure he was ready.

WRITING SAMPLE —

EXTRAS —

Myers Briggs: ENTJ Hogwarts House: Hufflepuff Zodiac: Capricorn Sin: Envy

[illfoandillfie]

“#god his fucking arms... #imagine handcuffing him #tying him to the bed and watching his muscles flex as he tried to wriggle out” you genius! Or even knowing that if he really wanted to, he could get out, but he doesn’t use his full strength bc he wants (needs) you to be in control. Maybe even... like biting on the vein a little bit...👀👀👀 (@queenmylovely)

lauren oh my god here i am trying to write soft 70s boyfriend rog and you gotta go and send me absolutely feral for ben…rude…i love you.

anyway here’s a little something. Wrote part of it at like 7 in the morning and then the rest at midnight so I hope it makes sense lmao (under a cut cause its nearly 2k and also smut)

Thehandcuffs had been a gift, intended for you to wear. The pink fluff around themto keep you comfortable while Ben had you locked in position, playing outwhichever evil scheme he’d decided you’d both enjoy most. Your friend, evercheeky, caught one glimpse of Ben’s toned chest and overheard one tipsy joke youmade about being pushed to your knees and decided you’d get some use out ofthem. They weren’t the best handcuffs ever, cheap and flimsy, but they did thejob well enough. Perhaps not the job your friend had been hinting at but howwas she to know Ben was the one who preferred being tied up. One day you’d haveto upgrade, find something a little larger and a little more durable. Ben hadcome close to snapping the chain once or twice and the day was bound to comewhen he’d succeed. Until then though, they’d suffice.

Bencertainly enjoyed them, probably more than you did which was saying somethingconsidering seeing Ben restrained was one of your favourite sights in theworld. It was the vision that swam to the forefront of your mind when you wokeup one morning, Ben’s side of the bed empty and cold. There was a note on yourbedside table explaining he’d gone to the gym and you couldn’t help but thinkyou wouldn’t have to wake up alone if you kept him chained to the bed. It wastempting to stay in the cozy covers and follow the thought to its naturalconclusion, but instead you managed to talk yourself into getting up and goingthrough your morning routine.

Benwalked through the door an hour or so later, wearing a tank top with SunsOut Guns Out emblazoned on the front and a grin at the sight of you. It wasa fitting choice of shirt, his muscles bulging as he pulled you into a hug.

“Morningbabe,” he said, wrapping his arms tightly around you and dropping a kiss toyour shoulder.You squealed as you felt the damp from his sweat stained shirt transfer to yourown, “Benny you’re all sweaty,” you half whined, trying to wriggle free.

“That’swhat happens when you spend all morning lifting weights,” he mumbled into yourneck, squeezing you tighter, “glad you’re up now though. You have any idea howhard it was to drag myself out of bed knowing you were still there in yourskimpy little PJs?”

Youlaughed and pried his fingers from you so you could move back a little, “me andmy skimpy PJs missed you this morning,”

“Didyou now?”

“Bigtime,” you dragged a finger along his shoulder and down his arm, following themuscles that had been worked out that morning.

“Well…‘m here now and…”

“Andwhat Bub?”

“Andif you cuffed me to the bed I wouldn’t be able to leave again,”

“Greatminds think alike,” you said through a grin.

Itdidn’t take long for Ben to strip to his underwear and lie down, arms above hishead, so practiced at getting into position. You straddled his stomach,clicking the cuffs into place.

“AllGood?”

“Mmhmm,”

“Nottoo tight?”

“Onlya little tight, just the normal amount.”

Youdouble checked the slightly too small cuffs were properly secured before youshuffled back, deliberately grinding against his crotch just to hear his sharpbreath.  

“Tease,”he muttered when you came to a stop again.

“Ihaven’t even begun to tease, Benny,” you pulled your own shirt off, adding itto the pile of clothes Ben had left in the middle of the floor, leaning down toquickly kiss him before you pushed yourself from his hips and took off the restof your clothes too.

Ben’sfingers twitched as you reclaimed your place on his lap, the chain of thehandcuffs rattling slightly with the movement. You rewarded him by rolling yourhips, feeling the smooth material of his underwear sliding against your folds.

“Fuck,”he said softly, realization of what you were planning dawning on him as youcontinued to grind against him, able to feel him getting harder beneath you.

Itdidn’t take long for you to find the perfect rhythm, the perfect angle, yourclit dragging against his hardened cock over his underwear. Soft whines werefalling from Ben’s lips, his arms tensing and relaxing and tensing againwhenever you varied the pressure with which you pressed down onto him. Your ownbreaths were coming in pants, small moans escaping between them.

“GodI’m close,” Ben suddenly said, squeezing his eyes shut and pressing his headback against the pillow. A vein stuck out in his neck and you shivered at thesight.

Youstopped your movements, “Already? Jesus Benny, for a big strong boy you don’thave much will power do you?”

“Ido,”

“AllI’ve done is hump you and you’re whinging about being close. And I’m nowherenear done with you yet.”

“Y/N,please,”

“Youknow the rules.”

“Iknow,” he panted, trying to calm himself down enough, “I don’t cum until youdo,”

“Good.Now show me you have enough will power to not cum in your pants. I’m going tocount to five and then I’m going to keep going whether you think you’re readyor not. And you’re going to hold it.”

Benjust nodded, eyes still closed as he fought to relax.  

Youcounted down out loud, watching Ben closely. His lips moved though no soundcame out, as if he were speaking to himself, and his arms were tense in therestraints. But when you reached one and began to find your rhythm againhe didn’t complain.

“Goodboy,” you purred, leaning down to trail your lips over his chest. A thin sheenof sweat already clung to him, left over from his morning workout as well aswhat you’d been putting him though, salty on your tongue as you dragged yourmouth towards his neck.

“Christ,”he whimpered, voice breaking a little when you sucked at his pulse point,making you laugh.

Slowly,you moved your mouth across to his shoulder. Another love bite, another soft whine.You could feel his muscles move, his arms flexing in the restraints as youfollowed a vein with your tongue. Ben swore, hips bucking up towards you, whenyou sunk your teeth into the skin around the vein, sucking until you were surethere’d be a mark. You pulled back for a second, watching to see if he’d make aproper effort to break loose, whether this would be the day he’d actuallyachieve it. He didn’t and it wasn’t.

“Maybeyou do have some willpower after all,”

“Y-yes,”he stuttered, “why?”

“You’rebeing very good trying so hard not to tug on the cuffs too much. I know youcould get out if you wanted.”

“Idon- don’t want to,”

Yougave him a reprieve, pausing your grinding as you captured his lips in a bruisingkiss. He kissed you back, needily, trying to follow your lips when you brokeaway.

“Howclose are you?”

“S-sofucking close,”

“Thinkyou could hold on a little longer if I was riding you?”

Hisbreath hitched, “Not sure. But I’ll try to hold it, promise.”

“Loveyou,” you whispered against his lips, sinking into another kiss before you backedoff to pull his undies down, a large wet patch decorating the front where you’dbeen rubbing yourself.

Onanother day you might have teased him even longer, made him beg as you wrappedyour hand or your lips around him, but it seemed unfair to keep him waiting. Asit was, he hissed when you did take hold of his cock, lining him up with yourentrance. You paused for a second but he didn’t even have the chance to ask youto hurry up before you were sinking down on him, slowly, letting yourselfadjust. You kissed him as you began to ride him, bracing your hands on hisshoulders to give yourself a little more support and control. He bucked hiships up, pushing his cock deeper and making you gasp against his lips.

“S-sorry,”

Youshook your head, “Do it again,”

Hesmiled and did as you asked, repeating the movement.

“FuckBen,” you panted against his lips, trying to match him thrust for thrust.  

Hisbrows were knitted together with the effort of holding back his orgasm, a beadof sweat rolling down the side of his face. You weren’t kissing any longer,though you remained close enough to, rough breaths mingling in the spacebetween, both of you too concerned with your impending orgasm to worry aboutwhat your lips were doing.

“Pleasete-tell me you’re clos-se,” he said, gritting his teeth as he desperately triedto follow your rule.

Youjust nodded, curling your fingers around one of his biceps as you shimmied yourother hand between you, towards your clit. It only took a few firm circlesuntil you were cumming, squeezing his arm and crying out.

“CanI?” he gasped as you rode your orgasm out, tightening around his cock, almostmaking him break.  

“Godyes, cum for me Ben,”

Itwas all he needed to hear, letting go before you’d even finished talking.

Yourhand was still on his bicep, fingertips digging into him, and you felt themuscles flex again as he coated your walls, pretty moans dripping from his lipsto be swallowed by you.

Youcollapsed against his chest, small shockwaves still making you twitch as you felthis racing heart and every heavy breath he took.

“Hey,babe?”

“Yeah?”“Can you uncuff me?”

“Shit,yeah, sorry,” you carefully pushed yourself up and let him slip from you,wincing slightly with the sensitivity, once again resting against his stomachwhile you fiddled with the clasps of the cuffs, “does it hurt?”

“No,nothing like that. Just, if you’re going to lie on me like that I’d like to beable to cuddle you back, y’know.”

“Goshyou’re cute,”

“Ihave been told that before,”

Youtook one of his hands before he could wrap them around you, and then the other,checking his wrist for any potential broken skin, but aside from a few smallindents that disappeared as you rubbed the area there were no marks.

“Toldyou it was fine,”

“Iknow, but I wanted to make sure,”

“Nowwho’s the cute one?”

Youlaughed as he did what he’d been wanting to do almost since the moment you’dfirst cuffed him, pulling you down into his arms, “Still you.”

“Agree to disagreethen,” he said softly, loosening his arms just enough to let you shuffle into acomfortable position before he wrapped you up again. His skin felt hot and stickywith sweat, but you didn’t even consider changing position. For one thing, youcouldn’t imagine you were in a much better state, and for another, being heldby him, surrounded by his soft skin and firm muscles, felt too nice. No one cuddledas well as Ben did. You decided that losing him to the gym a few times a weekwas a small price to pay for such a comfort.

[creative-type]

wake from death (and return to life) chapter iii

AO3 Previous AN: Hey, it’s chapter 3! I fully admit that to fiddling with the mechanics of Betty’s DF in this chapter, but it’s my fic so I get to do what I want

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Kuina woke up sore and confused, alone in a room she did not recognize. Her clothes were stiff with dried salt and blood, and when she jerked up in a panic she discovered the bunk above her by bashing her head into the wooden slats.

“Ow....”

Slowly her eyes adjusted to the dim light, and memories of the previous day trickled in. Kuina groped for her sword, letting out a small sigh of relief when she felt that it was by her side, her bag tucked between her pillow and the wall.

Did ships have walls? Other than her voyage from Shimotsuki Village to Loguetown, she didn’t have much experience sailing. It had always seemed like too great a risk when everything she needed could be found within the city.

Kuina snorted as she sat up, careful to mind her head. Her past self would be appalled to know all the stupid things she’d done in the last twenty-four hours.

There was nothing for it now but to move forward. Kuina brought her bag into her lap and began surveying the damage. There was the beginnings of a hole near one of the seams that Kuina didn’t trust, and the thick material was still damp and heavy with seawater. When she opened the flap, Kuina couldn’t stop a small noise of dismay from escaping her throat. Nothing inside had been waterproofed, and her tumble down the cliff had smashed the bento Ipponmatsu lovingly prepared into pieces, smearing bits of rice and god knew what else over the inside of her pack. The clothes could be washed and the bag repaired, but her money—so carefully horded after years of bounty hunting—was a soggy mess of paper and ink that threatened to disintegrate in her hands.  

The loss of the money didn’t bother her. At least, not much. There was always a need for bounty hunters, and pirates in the Grand Line tended to be worth more than those in the East Blue. No, what Kuina found more distressing was the implication of failure. She had spent the better part of nine years dreaming of the day she would escape the East Blue. She’d planned and schemed, imagining what it would be like to reunite with Zoro at last, only for it to all fall to pieces the moment he made it to Loguetown.

The shattered expectations were like a kick in the teeth, and now she was at the mercy of a bunch of terrorists, at least one of whom wanted to kill her. It wasn’t fair, and Kuina felt herself getting angry all over again. She welcomed it. Anger was better than having to think about the fact she’d thrown away every protection her father had given her for nothing.

She wouldn’t let her guard down again.

Taking a deep breath, Kuina hurried to get ready as best she could. She was acutely aware that she stank and probably looked like a hobo, but a quick survey of her quarters didn’t reveal anything that could help her in that regard. She settled for brushing the salt out of her hair and changing into a pair of clothes that didn’t have any bloodstains, As she moved Kuina took an inventory of aches and pains, and was pleasantly surprised that other than a little soreness and a gimpy ankle she was unharmed.

She’d cleaned and oiled her sword before allowing herself to sleep, but Kuina inspected it again anyway. A fresh scar gashed across the black lacquered scabbard, but the night’s escapades hadn’t damaged the sword itself. There was a quiet elegance to the katana her father had given her. It was a blade that didn’t feel the need to draw attention to itself, from the plain, straight hamon, to the simple black handle, to the unremarkable round guard devoid of engravings. There was nothing about Kuina’s sword that stood out as exceptional, but to hold it was to know true craftsmanship. It was shorter and lighter than Wado Ichimonji without sacrificing durability. There weren’t many swords who would have survived being stabbed into a cliffside without shattering. Hers hadn’t even dulled.

Kuina gave a few experimental swings, blade cutting through the air noiselessly and steel singing in her hands. Satisfied that it was in good condition, she hung the sword at her hip, feeling more at ease despite the less-than-ideal circumstances she found herself in.

With her katana taken care of, Kuina looked around her surroundings for the first time. There were beds all around her, enough for at least two dozen people, but the Revolutionary Army was nowhere to be seen. Kuina frowned, senses sharpening with her alertness. There was a slight sway underfoot, but the sea wasn’t as rough as what she’d expect from the Grand Line. She could hear people outside the cabin and the pounding of feet above her, but their voices were too muffled and far away. Kuina skulked to the door and tested the handle—unlocked. Confusion deepening, she left the cabin, only to come once again to an abrupt stop.

A giant of a woman was sitting outside her doorway, eyes closed and arms wrapped protectively around the biggest crossbow Kuina had ever seen. A bolt was loaded into the chamber, one meaty hand laying too close to the trigger for comfort.

Kuina hadn’t made any noise, but the woman blinked awake. With a yawn, she looked up at Kuina, eyes unreadable behind thick glasses.

“Good morning,” Kuina said.

The woman nodded in response and clambered to her feet. She was as tall as Dragon and nearly as broad, built as solid as an oak tree. Thick shocks of short brown hair spiked in all directions, looking like it hadn’t been combed in weeks and giving her head the look of an unkempt hedgehog. The wildness of her hair seemed at odds with the rest of her face, a square jawline, narrow nose, and thin lips lending her a severe, humorless expression.

“Are you going to shoot me?” Kuina asked cautiously.

“Only if I have to,” she said, her voice too soft for someone so large. She beckoned Kuina to follow as she headed down the corridor. “This way. You slept through breakfast, but I’m sure we can find something for you to eat.”

Nonplussed, Kuina followed. “Who are you?”

“Lyudmila Kuznetsova.”

Kuina waited for her to elaborate, and when she didn’t, asked, “You’re a part of the Revolution?”

Without turning around, she said in that too-soft voice. “We all are, but you. We took you because Dragon asked and nothing else, so do not presume to think you are privy to our secrets.”

As if Kuina wanted their secrets. People...Revolutionaries...stopped at the sight of them, many wearing masks or with their faces covered in bandanas or cloth wraps. Kuina could hear them whisper before they even got out of earshot.

She squared her jaw and kept her hand near her katana, refusing to be cowed. “Fair enough. Have we made it to the Grand Line yet? I know the entrance is near Loguetown, but I didn’t feel us ride up a crazy mountain so…”

A ghost of a small passed over Lyudmila’s features, gone almost before Kuina had to register its existence. “We are not going to the Grand Line.”

“What.”

“You join a Revolutionary ship, you run on the Revolution’s timeline.” Lyudmila stopped to pound at a thick wooden door. “Elizabeth!”

After a few seconds of silence the door flew open, revealing a five foot bundle of wrath and irritability in the shape of a woman wearing thick rubber gloves and a backward baseball cap. “What is it, I’m busy!”

Lyudmila gestured to Kuina. “Guest needs food.”

“Guest can kiss my ass!”

Elizabeth’s attempt to slam the door shot were foiled by Lyudmila stretching out one thick arm, effortlessly arresting the door’s momentum. The smell of something sulfuric wafted into the hallway.

“Guest needs food,” she repeated.

“Then take her to the galley. I’m busy.”

“I don’t need anything to eat,” Kuina said. “When is this ship going to the Grand Line?”

“See, she doesn’t even want food. Now go away and—” Elizabeth was cut off by a sharp popping noise, like someone had set off a firecracker in the room behind her. With a strangled yelp, she rushed back towards the smell of sulfur, which was getting stronger by the second. Unperturbed, Lyudmila went in after her, with Kuina sneaking in close behind.

The room looked to be a converted storage closet, crammed with shelves of strange bottles full of mysterious liquids and dominated by a solid oak table that had been bolted to the floor. The source of the odor seemed to come from there, where a large beaker of bubbling fluid was threatening to boil over into an electric burner that for some reason had been wired to half a dozen potatoes.

Elizabeth quickly cut power to the burner, waving her hands to disperse the fumes. She gave Lyudmila a look that could have peeled paint.

“If that’s how you cook potatoes, I don’t want any,” Kuina deadpanned. She smiled innocently as Elizabeth turned the full force of her glare on her.

“I see the Revolution’s recruited another meatshield,” she said acidly. “Probably spent too much time learning how to wave around pointy metal sticks to ever go to school, or you might have known it’s a battery. Idiot.”

Kuina’s grin sharpened. “Didn’t grow potatoes back home, my teacher used lemons instead.” She leaned forward conspiratorially. “You’d think Revolutionary agents would know how to recognize a joke since you joined up with one, but I guess that’s my fault for not lowering my standards. Idiot.”

Sighing softly, Lyudmila set her crossbow on the table and stepped between them. Clasping one hand on Elizabeth’s shoulder and another on Kuina’s, she forced both of them to take a step back. “Enough. Elizabeth, you are assistant cook. It is your job to make sure our guest is fed. And you—” A coldness passed over her, even as her expression remained perfectly neutral, “—would do well to keep your mouth shut.”    

Her grip on Kuina’s shoulder was like iron. There was no indication that it took any effort for her to hold her in place. Part of Kuina wanted to push her just a little bit farther, just to see how far that strength went, but the sensible side of her knew better than to test the generosity of the Revolutionary Army. At least while Dragon was aboard.

“I just want to get to the Grand Line,” Kuina said.

Lyudmila loosened her hold, eyebrows rising over the rims of her glasses. “You have chosen a very odd way of doing so. Elizabeth?”

“Yeah, yeah, I’ll get the asshole her breakfast. Just give me a sec.”

Kuina decided it would be better to wait outside the strange room full of exploding liquids and potatoes, and a few minutes later Elizabeth emerged to thrust two slices of toast into her hands. One side was burnt so badly to be charcoal, while the other was still cold. Kuina looked up at Lyudmila in silent question. The giantess only shrugged.

“I did not say she was a good cook.”

Xxx

“Okay, but seriously, when are we going to the Grand Line? Because if it’s going to be awhile I might as well get off at the next island and hitch a ride with someone else.”

They were above deck, waiting outside the captain’s quarters, but why, Kuina didn’t know. She was impatient and ill-tempered, but tried not to show it as she scanned her surroundings for potential enemies. In the daylight she could see that she’d lionized the ship the night before. Without the storm and the lightning it seemed like a perfectly average brigantine with a crew of about a hundred men. There were no signs betraying its true nature; it sailed under the flag of a merchant company and there were no cannons on deck to draw suspicion.

There were a surprising amount of women, maybe a quarter of the crew in total. Some, like Lyudmila, carried weapons, and all looked to be competent sailors. Kuina couldn’t recall a single ship passing through Loguetown with so many women aboard, pirate or otherwise. Even the marines base, despite their relentless recruiting efforts, couldn’t boast so many, and they had a Tashigi as their second-in-command.

Kuina didn’t know what to think of that, so she pushed the thought aside. The gender ratio among the Revolutionary Army wasn’t her concern.

“Why do you wish to go?” Lyudmila asked.

Kuina’s grip on her sword tightened. “You have your secrets, I have mine.”

Lyudmila inclined her head. “Fair enough.”

The two of them fell into a comfortable silence, and Kuina felt a knot in her stomach loosen, grateful that Lyudmila didn’t pry or seem suspicious of her intentions. There was a steadying presence about Lyudmila, like an anchor during a storm, that made it easier to bear the uncertainty of not knowing what was going to happen next.

They had waited for about five minutes when a figure descended from the crow’s nest and bounded toward them like a bullet. It was yet another woman, taller than average but nowhere near Lyudmila’s hulking height, with a willowy build and crow-black hair pulled into a braid that fell halfway down her back. She grinned mischievously, white teeth flashing against coppery brown skin. “The stowaway lives!”

“I’m not a stowaway,” Kuina said.

“Eh, close enough. Name’s Darareaksmey, but most call me Dara. It’s a pleasure to meet you at last. Although I guess technically we met last night,” She clasped her hands together and gave an irreverent bow.

“We met?” Kuina said.

“Kinda sorta—you were asleep by the time my watch ended. Did you know you snore?” Dara looked up at Lyudmila. “So what’s the verdict? Does she get to stay, or is someone going to have to throw her overboard?”

The door to the captain’s quarters opened before Kuina had a chance to voice her indignant protest. Dragon stepped out onto deck, along with Betty and another woman Kuina didn’t recognize.

“Dara, if you’re going to eavesdrop, you better learn how to do it quietly,” the woman Kuina didn’t know said. “Now scat. If you have time to loiter, you have time to work.”

Dara stuck out her lower lip. “But, Boss! I want to know what happens—”

“I said scat.”

Still pouting, Dara slunk away with the unrepentant mulishness of a cat that’d just been scolded for clawing up the furniture. Betty smirked, a look of fond exasperation on her face. “I bet that one gives you grief.”

“Not as much as I suspect this one will,” the woman retorted, jerking a thumb in Kuina’s direction. “Are you sure you can’t take her?”

“You know that’s impossible.”

“Only until you reach the Grand Line,” Dragon said soothingly. “Then she must decide where the wind will carry her.”

The woman narrowed her eyes at Kuina, her hand resting on the elaborate hilt of the rapier she wore at her side. Kuina had always wondered how people could fight with a sword like that. It looked like it would hold up in a real fight about as well as a toothpick against a machete. “I don’t like it.”

“It’s a week at best,” Betty said.

A week. They were going to delay her entrance to the Grand Line by a week. Under any other circumstances Kuina would have been ecstatic to be so close after so many years, but she’d just been at the entrance the night before. She should be there now, not however long it took for the Revolution to tire of dragging her around for the hell of it.

“Don’t I get any say in this?” Kuina asked.

“You got your say when you demanded for Dragon to take you in the first place,” Betty said. She gestured to the woman beside her. “Kuina, meet Aria de Gris. She will be the captain of the ship that will take you to the Grand Line. Aria, this is Kuina.”

The two women regarded each other warily. Aria was stockily built and carried herself with feline grace. There was a sharpness to her features, which were more handsome than beautiful, that was accentuated by a jagged scar on the left side of her face that ran from temple to jaw. Her hair was kept shorter than even Kuina’s, with garish streaks of purple in her otherwise dark hair.

Like many experienced sailors, she was weatherbeaten in a way that made it difficult to tell if she was thirty-five or fifty, and she wore a heavily-embroidered doublet and black breeches that she tucked into scuffed, knee-high boots. A long jacket hung from her shoulders, empty sleeves rustling in the breeze.

Kuina narrowed her eyes. Only marines wore their jackets like that.

“I appreciate the offer, but when I asked to go with you I was working under the assumption you’d be headed directly for the Grand Line,” Kuina said. “Now that I know that’s not the case, I think it would be better for everyone involved if you guys just drop me off at the next island, and I’ll find my own way.”

“And you would think wrong,” Betty said.

“Look, I’m trying to be reasonable here,” Kuina snapped. “It’s clear you don’t like me, and I sure as hell don’t like you, so why can’t we just part amicably and call it a day? It’s not like I’m going to be able to narc after what happened at Loguetown. The marines don’t cut deals with people who attack their junior officers, even if the info’s good. I don’t plan on ending up in prison.”

Aria snorted before reaching into her breast pocket for a cigarette and a lighter. “There’s no planned stop till we get to our destination, and I doubt you want to hang around a war zone. Not many ships headed to the Grand Line there.”

“War zone?” Kuina echoed.

“This is an army, kid, not a pleasure cruise. So put on your big girl panties and let Mila show you the ropes. On this ship, if you don’t work, you don’t eat.”

“You trust me to do work for the Revolutionary Army?” Kuina asked.

“Nope, but I already told Mila to put a bolt between your eyes at the first sign of trouble, and I do trust her. So I guess it’s up to you how this charade plays out.”

Kuina’s eyes flickered up at Lyudmila, and wondered if she was as fast as she was strong. She suppressed a grimace and forced her hand away from her sword. As much as she didn’t like it, she couldn’t deny that it was her own fault she was on this ship. With her money nothing more than a soggy lump of paper, it was only fair that Kuina earn her keep.

Dragon nodded approvingly. “Listen to Betty and Aria, and when you arrive at the Grand Line make your choice. I can’t guarantee your safety otherwise.”

“You make it sound like you’re not going to be around,” Kuina said. Dragon didn’t respond, but his silence said plenty. A quick glance was enough to show that Betty was no happier about their arrangement than she had been the night before, and Kuina didn’t want to find out how she’d act when her big boss wasn’t around. “Where are you going?”  

There was a delicate pause, broken by an unladylike snicker. Aria hid her face by taking another drag from her cigarette, but couldn’t stop her shoulders from shaking with surprised laughter.

“It’s the Grand Line, isn’t it?” Kuina said. “You get to go to the Grand Line while I’m stuck sailing in the opposite direction.”

“Yes.”

Kuina bit back a caustic remark. She didn’t know what game he was playing, but whatever it was, she wouldn’t let him win. A swordsman paid their debts, and as twisted as the deal was, the Revolutionary Army had promised her a way into the Grand Line.

And if they tried to renege on their promise, then, well, she could pay that back, too.

“Fine. You’ll have my blade for a week and no more. What kind of war are we walking into, anyway? Has the Revolution taken over some backwater island, or are you going after the Government directly?”

“Oh, you won’t be doing any fighting,” Betty said.

“Why not?” Kuina asked. “I’ve already proven my skill, and I don’t have much choice but to do what you say. I won’t go after civilians, but I’m pretty sure any marine who knows who I am is going to attack me on sight anyway.”

“I’ll show you why.”

Betty reached behind her and pulled out a small flag from somewhere on her person. Where, exactly, Kuina would never know, because the volumes of her skirt didn’t appear to have pockets, and the only other articles of clothing she was wearing was an unbuttoned jacket and tie. It was the most uncomfortable ensemble Kuina had ever seen, but before she could make a smart remark Betty had waved the flag in front of her.

Kuina saw the black lettering on a scarlet background, a stylized dragon standing proudly between the R and the A, showing for all the world to see who exactly who the Revolutionary Army fought for. Kuina tensed, bending down into a ready stance, but Betty didn’t seem to be attacking.

“What the…?”

Sudden, naked fear pierced past Kuina’s defenses. Her stance wobbled, cold sweat beading at her forehead and heart pounding in her chest. The echo of cold, mocking laughter reverberated in her mind, memories half-forgotten painted anew, rejoining the terror and powerlessness she felt when she had been unable to break Dragon’s hold. The bruise on her wrist throbbed where he had grabbed her, the acute awareness that her blade had failed to even touch him leaving a dread heaviness in her gut.

This is what happens when you do business with the Revolution.

Kuina wanted to puke. She wanted to run, to throw herself into the sea, because to be in the same space as the Revolutionary Army was to court death and pain. It didn’t matter how altruistic they seemed, they were the enemy. An enemy that was much stronger than she.

“Devil Fruit?” Kuina spat between clenched teeth. “That’s playing dirty.”

“A flag properly wielded inspires those who fight for it. But for those that don’t, it brings nothing but terror,” Betty said. “And put your sword away before someone gets hurt.”

Kuina looked down at her hands. She didn’t even remember drawing her blade. Her hands shook so badly she doubted she could swing it, although at that moment there was nothing she wanted more than to cut the smug look off of Betty’s face.

“I’m surprised she can even hold it,” Aria said thoughtfully.

“A trapped animal bites hardest,” Betty said. She raised an eyebrow at Dragon. “Are you sure about this?”

Dragon turned back to the captain’s quarters, cloak billowing behind him. “Until the Grand Line.”

He shut the door behind him, leaving Kuina alone with the three other women. Lyudmila patted her bracingly on the back, the force of the blow almost making her stumble. “Welcome aboard.”

Kuina didn’t trust herself to speak. Despite the tremor in her hands she managed to sheathe her blade cleanly. Swallowing hard, she gathered a modicum of her composure before glaring balefully at Betty. The Revolutionary remained unmoved.

“Dragon seems to think you have potential, but I can’t help but wonder why someone who was nearly cut in half by the World Government would hold such resentment for the people fighting against it.”

Without waiting for Kuina to respond, she and Aria rejoined Dragon. Once the door shut behind them Kuina looked up at Lyudmila. Between shaking breaths she said, “Just so you know, I’m not going to let myself get shot.”

Her expression was impassive as stone. “Then I ask that you do not give me reason to do so, because I will not miss.”

.

.

.

[lloaegalacticnews-blog]

A001.2758.4.3

Program records

...

Subject threat level red.

Monitoring of last connection released.

...

Displaying feed from 04.3.0941:53

She sits staring at the body; hands covered to her elbows in blood. Shame. Another failure. But that's why you start on the most stubborn. Information becomes easier to attain the more the actual targets come to understand your methods. Anticipation. So often it's something to be savored. But for these people... Well. There are more kinds of anticipation than one. And she does so love working in front of a crowd. The brother next. Then the child. A few screams and one with information would come forward. Strange energy starts forming around her vision. Black and white interlaced together building with a roar that drowns out all other sound. No! She wasn't done yet. She has to finish the job- Lord Apsu is no longer forgiving of failure. It burns around her- paralyzing. This can't be happening, after all the power she worked so hard for, all her plans! Soon her world is completely enveloped with broken images and a repeating static. Her vision is black. Is she dead? She believes her eyes are open. There IS nothing; no body, no depth or width. The world consists of a single line. . . Error. Error. Error. A voice. “Can you hear me? You may know me as 'The Lady of Fate.' I've been trying to find a way to break this program for ages. I need you to stay calm. This is not going to be your best day. Hold on.” The Lady of Fate? That stuck up pseudo goddess? Oh that absolute b- The line changes. Command accepted. … … … Loading Ejection script. … … … Waste collection deployed. “Shit. Uh. S-stay calm, and pray. Not to me, damn it! OK, OK. OK. OK... I can do this.. OK- You're going to need to not be uh, not be detected as waste... uh... if you could flop around a bit that'd be great. I'll see if Bes can pick you up.” The voice fades and there's a gurgling around her that she can feel more than hear. The blackness recedes suddenly as two giant rays of light intersect on the location with blinding radiance. There is a hollow metallic echoing and without warning... one of the beds flips to it's full upright position. There's an brief yelp as catheters and IV's hooked to up to their bodies go taut and snap. There's an insect like tapping growing closer and louder. A total of four impacts to the ground nearby, they groan and shift, and cough. The spot lights shift to focus on the new position, one of them looks up barely able to see against the glare. In the distance more bodies come down. Red flashing in the darkness beyond the light, a loud klaxon raised. They're all female. One tries to speak but the words come out as more of a series of vowels. They look toward the noise, and their questions are lost in the raising clamor of the metallic- TIKTIKTAK TIKTIKTAK scraaaape. Coming closer. There are running steps from the other direction, with a steady chant of, "Not good, not good, not good!" broken only occasionally by a wheeze, and grating cough. A short, VERY ugly man, missing an eye he doesn't bother to cover with a patch, breaks into the light dragging a flat hover cart. He makes shushing noises as he approaches the ladies. “I'm Bes, I'm here to grab ya, and possibly save ya too.” He wheezes a laugh. They didn't get it. It's hard to be a letcher in an age of enlightenment. He clears his throat again and starts putting the women on the bed of the cart. Bes notices a series of glowing red eyes breaking the blackness beyond the circle of light. No, not good at all. He hates dying. They never clone his face right. The little man rushes, and puts the last woman on the hovering sleigh with very little delicacy and yelps as a large concave blade twice as tall as he is slams into the ground between him and the hover cart. It draws across the ground raising a shower of sparks catching him and drawing him toward it's unseen maw. He sub-vocalizes to Fate “Waste disposal seems to agree with you. Can't be a piece of trash these days in peace.” Fate replies. “Are you going to be alright? I'm bringing the ship around.” Bes lets out his wheezing laugh- “No, but I've got a blank on the ship, and I left my UDD on the cart with the girls.” Fate starts “I can't-" an abrupt pause, then a sigh. "I can believe you're that stupid. Never mind.” She sounds done. When this is over she'll probably ask for a transfer again. Bes knows the sleigh will keep them moving toward the outer wall. And that Fate will be able to track his UDD. He focuses on not getting forced into the incinerator array of the waste disposal unit. It's not used to things that dodge, so it's no real trouble for him to- The scrapping blade takes off part of his calf and most of his foot, and spins him rapidly onto his back. He orders his LifeNet program to constrict the vessels and stop letting his nerves transmit pain. He is rolled as it comes down again. He idn't have any weapons that would make a dent in the thing, so he did the only logical thing when confronted with a waste disposal unit. He made a mess. Bes wasn't strong, or fast. He didn't have charm, or good teeth. But he loved pranks. Sometimes pranks could be useful. He'd been intending on painting the cyrotubes and filling the empty one with expanding foam. It would look like the girls had exploded while in stasis, and Fate being so predictable, would open the first in line. The red expanding foam would come in contact with the air, it would super accelerate and he could come in all surprise that he had caught her “red handed.” But. He really didn't enjoy dying. He took the tight little package from his belt. The blade fell again and he activated the foam deployment system. He stood up rolled the package toward the Unit. At first it was rather unimpressive; it let out a quick pop of smoke and red goo. He was suddenly glad he hadn't shouted “Aha!” or something, as if he'd won already. Maybe it needed more propellant to distribute faster? He tried to stand and fell after a single step. Right. No toes. The blade came down. No more pain? He never knew when last memories stopped and life in the blank began... the sudden screeching scrape of the blade across the metal flooring made him open his eyes. It actually went for the foam? But it was a tiny mess it had never spread out. “Come on!” he cried. “I rate higher than a smear! Why I-” He never got to finish the thought. The package hit the furnace gorge, and the rapid oxidization he planned went a little overboard. The explosion set warning displays from his LifeNet in his vision. A few dozen lacerations, about a pound of shrapnel, and burns. Lots of burns. This didn't make sense! He'd made it from all inflammable ingredients! He rolled over, and sub-vocalized a very unenthusiastic whine “Caaaaarry me?” Fate didn't reply. Or maybe he was deaf. Probably deaf. He snapped his fingers a few times. Definitely deaf. Well... looked like he was going to disappoint everyone again. He was coming back alive. --- It took nearly ten minutes to get back to the ship with his half foot. He ended up using a piece of the waste disposal unit as a crutch. He kept vocalizing that he was coming, since he couldn't hear a reply. He was nearly to the ramlock entry before his hearing started coming back. He climbed up into the ship with an unsteady wheeze. Fate had the ship disembark once the airlock was sealed, and started retracting the ram. A screeching of metal on metal, and the ground lurched followed by a hollow pomf. Bes came further into the room obviously sweating looking rather pleased with himself. He sat to take the weight off his sore... everything. Fate was making an entrance. She came in dramatically- she'd done some make up he was sure. She had short blonde hair, almost white, cut to end at her jawline and to follow the line of it. She wore her captains uniform; a durable jumpsuit of blue and grey. "We're calculating for the final acceleration. You did well Bes, but we lost three of the other teams. We only managed to claim a dozen with these four." She turned her eyes toward the sleigh. "I know you have questions. I'm Vala. You may call me Fate. And you're on a ship." She touched the UDD on her wrist and the sleigh set down. Turned off power; another moment and the pressure was gone. She'd turned off gravity. "We need to do some physical therapy, but for now this will let you move and talk without pain. I know you're curious, Let me cover one thing before you ask. Your powers are gone. If you remember having any... magic. It doesn't exist here." Bes chimes up, "Yep! All the magic has been sucked out of the universe except in the bedroom." Fate shakes her head. "Not the time." Bes laughs that wheezing cough, but with delight in his eye he keeps on. "We just survived a suicide run, AND got our cargo here out safe. I almost died without making a pun! I couldn't live with myself if that happened!" Fate sighs. Bes stage whispers at the sleigh, "Someone should show her their 'somatic component'... make a little magic?" He waggles his eyebrows "Eh?" Fate ignores him. Pushing a few more buttons the group feels as though they're starting to fall, but it's toward the door. "I need to get started. You can ask your questions as we go." A flurry of questions from everyone tumble over each other. Fate gives a sad smile. "There's a lot that is different, The best way to put this... You've been trapped in an illusion. A realm with beings that treated you like pets, and claimed to be the source of all power. There, they were. Here there are no beings like that, no mystic powers like that. Everything can be explained and math and chemistry are the only magic formula." She takes a deep breath and resolve crystallizes in her eyes. "The big questions first." She looks at each woman in turn with their question. "Where you are is complicated, I'll come back to it. "As you look a little panicked; the rest of your body never existed. I'm guessing you were a race other than human in the program. We're all human here. "The program you came out of was a prison for your mind. Likely to use your bodies in experiment, to provide genetic material for them to continue growing, or keep you from leaving. We were hoping the last. That you might have some knowledge that would help us. That's why we pulled you out. "As for who's in charge here- a race of mechanical humans called the Advancers. The automated waste cleaner that you saw was one of theirs. "As I mentioned earlier, there is no magic. The cart repels on carefully controlled magnetic fields, and I did not speak into your minds. I spoke into a intercom; it copies my voice and carries it wherever we have designated it to a speaker." She pauses and lifts her the device on her wrist close to her mouth and speaks to it. "See?" She points to a spot on the ceiling with a hundred small holes in a circle. It does seem like her voice is coming from there but much more loudly than she spoke. "The Ship is metal because it needs to be tough. We are floating, just not on water. We're in the sky now, flying, beyond the blue. So high, the world you were on can't pull us toward it's personal 'down'. "My role here is is captain. This is the ship given to me, and Bes is kind of...” Bes looked up with a mischievous smile. She changed what she was going to say. “He's Bes. He's unconventional but will generally get any job you give him done. "Now: Where you are, and who is in charge of it? "You were on an unnamed world in the Ralif star system. That doesn't mean much to you... Imagine you looked up at the sky, and pointed to a star. Then followed the motion until it got bigger from a point of light, until it was a sun like ours. And you kept going until you found another earth, a planet, different from the one you left, but the same overall shape. And from there, the sun- the star you came from is just a pin prick of twinkling light. Hardly even visible on a night with no moon. The star you're flying past now is called Ralif. You were on the ninth of the planets that circle it. Like the moon goes across your own sky. That is WHERE you are. "As for who didn't make it- I don't know if they were friends of yours or completely unrelated. We don't know their names, hell- I don't even know your names. You made it out of a prison. Don't focus on what you can't change. It's done. And you can blame me. Hate me if you need to- but I do not regret it. “Who is in charge, are the race called the Advancers. They were human. However, they gave up their bodies for machines, and they cannibalize worlds for their resources. Grow children and trap their minds with programmed rules. So they live in our world, but they are little more than automatons listening to the older ones. This is why we came to get you, we are enemies of the Advancers. We believe they're spreading like a virus and it's only a matter of time before they consume the rest of humanity in their ways.” There is a heavy moment of silence. The woman with ancient green eyes and pale brown hair speaks first. "A flying ship. Well, that's new..." Closing her eyes, she seems to be making an effort to calm down. A few moments later she opens them again with a light of suspicion. "It seems...” she says slowly, “I will not know if what you say is true... yet. How do you want us to help? Where will you be taking us now?" Fate held up a hand. “Names first.” The green eyed woman speaks. “My name, is Ash.” A curvy blonde with sky blue eyes and almost luminescent pale skin picks up the questions immediately after. ““Nica...” Says the blonde slowly, in almost a whisper. She looks up and gains confidence in her voice. “Veronica Campbell, at your service.” She finishes with a slight nod. “And you want us to help you? What secrets could we hold if our minds were trapped in that machine? And as you say- everything we thought we knew is a lie, a fabrication.” Her voice grows softer, and she crosses her arms almost hugging herself, “How can we even begin to help? We know even less about ourselves than you do." Fate nods. “You come from a world of magic, where anything can be an illusion or not what it seems. It will take you time to understand. I don't expect you to take me at face value.” She turns from Ash to Nica “We got you out because we thought you might be original humans who went Advancer, perhaps scientists- or were trapped and being used.” She shrugs. But you notice her lips are pressed into a tight line before she speaks again. “We had no way of knowing what you would know until we got you out.” “Yes fine, I'm Seveiren.” Says the woman with hazel blue eyes and ink black hair. Impatient with a harsh expression that contrasts with her soft face. Fate continues from the original question then. “As for where we'll be taking you? That's up to you. Once we determine you're not holding something back, we can take you to another world. You can live free. Or... you can help us against the Advancers. Maybe get some of your friends still in the program out. Save more people from getting trapped like you were. Find out why they just had you sitting there living a fantasy!” The one with dark winter blue eyes and black hair speaks up for the first time “My name is Davriel.” She looks around and glares at Fate her eyes panicked. “So we're trapped here? We can't go back? We fight an unknown based on what you tell us, or lose any chance of seeing friends again? What kind of manipulative choice is that?” Fate lets out a deep breath. “It's only kind of choice I have to offer. Either you recognize that you were trapped, and we saved you- or we can't trust you at our back. And it's better to put you somewhere that isn't going to get us killed. Facts are, you are going to be a waste of resources in one way or another.” The dark eyed woman makes a muffled hopeless noise into her hands, and stays quiet. Finally, Seveiren looks up after listening to every one else. “Is there a way to learn your kind of magic?” Fate gives a sardonic half smile. “You could say that, if you have will to learn, there isn't anything you can't do here.” "Well, get on to rehabilitation. Then teach me. I don't want to be a useless extra expense." She replies. Ash speaks up has a stricken cast to her face. “I need to know more before I'll believe that was an illusion!” She puts her head in her hands “I had a family! A husband and child! That was real. It couldn't have been an illusion: I gave birth. I held her in my arms. Those feelings can not be fake!” Fate moves closer and puts a hand on Ash's shoulder “Ash? The people were real, the feelings were real. The world was fake. Your family likely is still in the simulation. You can still see them again if we win.” "Then as Seveiren says. Teach us. How can I help?" Fate nods. "We have a long trip ahead of us. I'm not going to lie to you; You're not strong enough right now to walk under your own power, let alone aid us. So you'll be going to one of our bases, with the other eight we rescued. You don't have to worry about long arduous training though." She gestures to the beds that look like they have glass closing tops. And doesn't seem to notice Bes rolling his eyes and mouthing along as she talks. "You'll be going to sleep, these are cryogenic stasis beds. When you wake up, you'll have your strength back. It will take time for you to relearn all you could do before. However, They will have registered UDS for each of you, paid in advance.  That will assist in learning some skills. Once we question you, you can decide if you want to help us or find your own way in the universe." She makes a gesture toward the sleeping pods. As they climb into their pods, Bes lets out a breath and has them named now. Not by their introductions. He knew the sort: Bimbo, Baggage, Trouble and Tears. Thank the gods for stasis. Davriel and Ash went to their beds right away, but Nica and Seveiren lingered. Seveiren watching Nica, and waiting impatiently. Nica with a faraway look in her eyes, gently moving her hands on the bed and mouth moving as if there's a word just out of reach. "Stasis?" She muses softly. “Sleep, heal, and learn..." She looks back over to Fate. "Are we learning your magic while we rest, or were you going to question us first?" Her voice strangely calm for someone being told they're about to be frozen. “You'll learn some while you rest. It does no good for you either way to be unable to open doors or find a bathroom.” Nica nods and goes in for the long sleep. "You dressed your words well, but you mean interrogation. After this part is done." Her face is uncompromising. Seveiren  crosses her arms, and stares into Fate. "Not in the sense you mean it. This is not your world. We have easier methods of extracting information. More reliable methods." "Divination is still a strong suit of yours?" Fate smirks. "Rest assured, you're not going to be tortured when you arrive, and it won't take an arm and a leg to be free." Seveiren pauses. Closes her eyes. Smiles. "You lied." Fate looks up sharply. "About what, exactly?" Her eyes gleaming with suspicion that someone from an illusory world would have background enough to claim she was a liar. "There is magic here. Under other names." She frowns. "Not what- he speaks of. That is a man, isn't it?" Her eyes question the remainder of Bes. Bes stirs. "Now that's not very nice..." Fate raises a hand. "There are things that are inexplicable. However, that is only because we don't know enough to figure them out. You will find no miraculous powers that set you above everyone else. There's none of that kind of magic here. I wasn't lying." "Forgive me if I don't take you at face value." Seveiren inwardly smiles, as though a long held private joke was mentioned. Then looks to steel herself as she stares at the chamber. "How long is our... journey?" "Three weeks ship time." "Time to learn what that means." "It means- for you, while you're traveling, three weeks will pass. To those not going our speed, between seven to ten times as much time will pass, depending on our course and unexpected gravity wells. it'll make more sense once you've slept and understand what relativity is." "One hundred and forty seven to two hundred and ten days doesn't seem very precise." She sighs. "And it's a lot to lose. Math and science first. Wake me up when we get there." After her tube closes, Bes clears his throat. "You can close yer mouth now." Fate stiffens and stalks out of the room.

[ruffsficstuffplace]

The Keeper of the Grove (Part 33)

At Weiss' insistence, Ruby carried her all the way back to her hammock for a nap.

“But you're still all muddy and sweaty!” Ruby said.

“Don't care, too tired,” Weiss muttered back.

She slept till the middle of the afternoon, woke up famished and sore. Thankfully, Penny was already back by that time, and her “Mender Protocols” included physical therapy.

“How long is this going to take?” Weiss asked as Penny helped turn her over face down in her hammock.

“No more than a few seconds at the worst!” Penny chirped.

Weiss frowned. “What exactly are you going to do?”

“Almost exactly like you humans do in your hospitals: irradiate you with specially charged magic, in this case for stimulating your sore muscle groups,” Penny explained as she held up her hands, already glowing with a lighter shade of the green energy that held them together.

“This isn't going to hurt, is it...?” Weiss asked.

“Possibly, but nothing worse than a tingle!” Penny said, said as she placed her hands on Weiss' back.

Weiss closed her eyes and preemptively cringed.

The energy in Penny's hands discharged, traveling up and down Weiss body like ripples on a pond. Her muscles did tingle, but not any different than what a vibrating massage module would do, and leaving a pleasant warmth afterward, too.

Weiss opened her eyes, blinking in surprise.

“On a scale of 1-10, how would you rate your pain?” Penny asked as she took her hands back.

“Zero!” Weiss asked as she climbed out of her hammock, completely free of soreness. “I feel completely fine!” she said as she stretched and moved about. “Better than fine, even!”

Penny smiled. “Response logged.”

Weiss stomach growled—loudly and angrily, from having missed both breakfast and lunch—and the two of them left for the kitchen. To Weiss' dismay, it'd have to be cookies and milk yet again as all the boar meat was reserved as a buffer for all the predators in the house.

“Where is everyone, anyway?” Weiss asked as they walked in the quiet halls.

“Busy with their duties, or otherwise enjoying themselves at the Bastion,” Penny replied as they entered the kitchen. “Fae generally prefer to spend their free time outside of their own homes and interacting with the community at large; even the most sedentary folks who prefer to spend their time indoors come out at least once a week, and attend most if not all major celebrations and events.

“It's just one of the many aspects of Fae culture you'll be learning about during your education!” she continued as she fetched a plate and went off to the cookie jar.

“My education?” Weiss asked as she headed to the fridge.

“Elder Goodwitch has recently authorized myself to be your tutor in all twelve years of basic education, and my protocols have been updated accordingly,” Penny said as she climbed the ladder. “I will be administering a test later, to properly design a curriculum for you.”

“Got it,” Weiss said as she opened the fridge to fetch the milk.

She noticed that Blake's tuna sashimi was right beside the jug, carefully encased in cling wrap, with a little sticky note on it. It had a crudely drawn picture of Weiss' face on it with a giant X over it. She scowled, and reached for it.

Her grandfather's voice echoed in her head, a line from one of his many video interviews: “Pissing someone off out of spite is about the worst investment you can make; very short-term gain for long-term pain.”

Her hand strayed back to the jug, Weiss pulled it out and shut the door. “She caught it, she can decide who gets it,” she thought to herself as she sat down at the table.

Weiss' life quickly settled into a routine:

Mornings, she'd do farm work, tending to her crops, hacking back a little bit more of the overgrowth to clear space for more plants in the future. She was careful not to exert herself too much as there would be more exercise in the afternoon—weight lifting, running, and even weapons training with all the many varieties of armaments the Fae produced.

Weiss dubiously held up a blade whose hilt could shoot out, connected by a razor wire and an automatic reel system. “How does someone even use this?” she asked, touching the wire and flinching as she cut herself almost immediately afterward.

“Very carefully!” Ruby replied. “If you're fast, have great reflexes, and get up high places easy like Blake, a Breakneck's a great weapon to use!”

“I'm going to regret this, but why's it called a Breakneck?”

“Because we use it a lot for catching fast prey like chickens,” Ruby replied. “You just piss them off with a repeater or a crossbow, run through some trees, tie the wire taught between them, and make them run straight into the wire. Run around so the weighted end loops around their neck, and pull the switch.”

She mimed tugging an invisible rope, and violently jerked her head to the side. “Violin! Roast chicken for everyone. Sometimes you can cut the head clean off and save a whole lot of prep-time!”

Weiss turned green and slowly put the Breakneck down. “I think I'll just leave this to Blake...”

After cooling down with the Fae's version of yoga and meditation, she'd spent the rest of the day studying with Penny. It was mostly focused on learning Actaeon and how Fae society worked, as math, economics, science, and so on were essentially the same as humans.

About the only thing she had a problem with was her learning materials:

“Are these children's books?” Weiss asked as she held up worn, much-loved physical copies of simple, colourful books—some of them with Ruby's name scrawled inside, most of them with her many ancestors'.

“They are,” Penny replied. “The Chroniclers recommended that we use these, as they are both designed to help total beginners learn the language, and contain simplified versions of a lot of the cultural concepts and history that you will be learning later.”

Weiss sighed. “Can't argue with that… what do we start with?”

“This one!” Penny said, holding up a book with the cartoon of a generic-looking Fae on it. “The title translates to 'I Am Fae,' though I recommend you read it all out loud in Actaeon to help you with you with your pronunciation.”

She opened it and laid it down before Weiss. “Now, repeat after me...”

<I am Fae.

<I am of Havalon, our Home.

<I am formed from Her Earth.

<I take breath from Her Air.

<I draw life from Her Water.

<I gain strength from Her Fire.

<I care for myself as Havalon cares for me.

<I care for the Other as I care for myself, for they are also of Havalon.

<I care for Havalon, for She is our Home.

<As Her Bounties feed us, so we feed Her.

<As Her Forests, Her Mountains, Her Seas become our cities, so our cities become Her Forests, Her Mountains, Her Seas.

<As we rise, so She rises with us.

<For I am Fae, of Havalon, our Home.>

They repeated it several times; Weiss struggled to speak it properly, as Actaeon sounded like animal growls and noises, not sounds that humans made normally, to say the least.

“So this is basically Fae religion?” Weiss asked as they took a break.

“It's actually much closer to a constitution or a guiding philosophy,” Penny replied. “Religion is a belief in a higher power or powers, and the effects of Avalon are very real and easily proven, no faith necessary.”

“How so?” Weiss asked.

Penny smiled. “That'd be for a much later lesson. For now, let's start with the basics...”

The days in-between training were followed by even more education, though this time in practical skills.

“Though most Fae tend to have one specialized role as their main career, it's not unusual for them to have a second job to complement the first or serve as a back-up, such as Watchers also working as Makers to maintain their own equipment and serve as insurance should they be crippled or otherwise rendered unfit for duty,” Penny explained. “Some even switch careers several times over the course of their lives, following personal interest or necessity.”

Ruby helped teach her how to maintain her tools, and construct a fence for her garden, using the wood and materials from the overgrowth she'd already cleared. With the help of the Codex and supplies permitting, Penny guided her in making common home remedies and useful products, like “multi-paste,” an incredibly powerful and sticky adhesive that had a nearly limitless amount of uses, from patching up walls, repairing clothes, and even serving as a durable temporary fix to a broken weapon until you could find a more permanent solution. And though Blake was unwilling to teach her how to sew and work leather, Qrow was teaching her how to cook and butcher meat, though Weiss had her reservations as he insisted on doing both only while he was sufficiently drunk.

“I'll have you know I do my best cooking while I'm wasted!” Qrow said as he reheated some stew over the stove, one hand on a wooden spoon, the other holding his flask of “jungle juice.” “Granted, I've also done my worst while I was wasted, but I hit more than I miss!”

Weiss groaned as she cut some carrots to throw in. “Qrow, we're both going to be handling sharp objects, fire, and things that might be both sharp and flammable, I'll learn a LOT better and faster if I know you'll be completely sober if something goes wrong! Or at least MOSTLY sober...”

Qrow groaned as he lifted the spoon out. “Princess, I have done way harder things in much more dangerous conditions while I was even more drunk than I usually am—I've got the footage from my Chronicle to prove it, too!”

“Good for you, but my point still stands!” Weiss said as she slid the carrots into the pot.

Qrow sighed. “Fine. But I decide what we cook, alright?”

“Deal.”

As it turned out, it would be sweet potato fries, as “Nothing tastes better when you're completely fucked up at 3 AM than some nice, greasy sweet potato fries!”

Weiss couldn't match Qrow in precision or knife work, but frying them was easy, and only some of them got burnt. No one really minded the extra crunch, though, especially Zwei who had been kept on hand in case everything went horribly, horribly wrong.

“Man, I really should have fried up some fish or grilled hamburgers for this, these are pretty good!” Qrow said as he ate them. “A lot cheaper than what the fast food joints around here charge, too.”

“Yeah, Weiss, looks like the farming life might really be for you after all!” Ruby said through the fistful of fries she had shoved into her mouth.

Weiss smiled. “Thanks,” she said as she picked up the last plate of fries.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Blake looking in from the doorway, her nose twitching, her expression conflicted.

Weiss frowned, a memory of the now long-gone sashimi and the sticky note flashing through her mind.

Then, her grandfather's voice echoed through her head again, the second part of that quote: “Extending the olive branch to someone you hate, though? Much better choice.”

She walked up to her. Blake looked ready to bolt, before Weiss held up her plate and smiled

Blake looked worriedly at her, caught between the delicious aroma of the sweet potato fries, and who was offering them. In the end, the allure of greasy, hot snacks won out and she carefully picked up one of the smaller wedges.

Blake nibbled on it daintily, her expression brightened. “Is good!” she said in Nivian, struggling with the words.

“Get 'em while they last!” Weiss said, inviting her in.

<Thanks,> Blake replied as she did, a smile on her face now too.

A week later, and thanks to Elder Goodwitch's surprisingly enthusiastic support for Weiss' gardening, she'd expanded her crops to include more vegetables like tomatoes, green peas, and even some herbs for medical and cooking purposes.

Unfortunately, the local wildlife had taken notice, and though insects were foiled easily enough by planting a protective row of pest control plants, the birds were still a problem. Ruby had built a very basic scarecrow out of wood and weeds, even drew an angry face on it, but the animals weren't the least bit fooled or intimidated.

“We need to make him look scarier!” Weiss said. “Do you have any clothes we could use?”

Ruby shook her head. “Sorry, Weiss, clothes are expensive here because we make them to last; we don't throw them away soon as they stop being fashionable, we just take them to a maker and have them changed up.”

Weiss sighed. “Do you have anything we can use, then?”

“I think we can use some of Zwei's old blankets, but I don't think the birds will be scared by this guy wearing a sheet,” Ruby said, gesturing at her skeletal creation.

“We're going to need to hire a maker for this, then...” Weiss said as she headed back inside, shooting a glare at the birds eying her crops from the trees.

Penny was sent to stand out and shoo the birds while Weiss and Ruby scavenged some materials, and began to search for a tailor they could hire on their limited budget.

As she headed back from the bathroom, Blake noticed the naked scarecrow outside, the pile of old blankets and popped buttons on the living room floor, and Ruby and Weiss busy with a comm-crystal, clearly looking through the magical version of the Job Board.

She quietly stole some of the them, and took them back to her room.

Later, Weiss closed her comm-crystal in frustration. “Ugh! This is impossible! Isn't there ANY maker willing to do a job on the cheap?”

“It's highly doubtful,” Penny said as she walked up. “A Makers' products are their living, their pride, and their reputation; if word gets around they did a lackluster job just to make a handful of easy Shinies, there will be serious monetary, societal, and personal costs.”

Weiss sighed. “Never have I thought I would ever regret someone putting quality over profit...” she stopped. “Wait, Penny, what are you doing here? Weren't you watching my crops?!” she asked as she scrambled up.

“I was, but Blake took care of that problem!” Penny smiled. “Look out the window.”

Weiss and Ruby did.

Standing guard over her crops was a scarecrow styled after Jacques Schnee, wearing a white jacket complete with buttons and a red handkerchief in the breast pocket, his arms stiffly held by his sides, his bushy eyebrows and mustache making him look very, very angry indeed.

It wasn't the finest craftsmanship, but it scared the birds, which was what mattered.

Weiss and Ruby turned away from the window as they heard the elevator coming back up.

Blake waved and smiled as she walked on past, her pouch full of sewing tools under her arm.

[wp-yahoo-style-1042-yahoopa-blog]

If you're a cat or dog owner, this top-rated Amazon tool is the best $25 you'll spend

We love our furry friends, but sometimes, pet hair can take over the home. (Photo: Getty Images)

We love our furry friends, but the struggle is real when it comes to pet hair taking over the home. De-fuzzing couches, pillows and beds can feel like an endless chore for pet owners, but the Chom Chom roller ($25) could be the game-changing solution you’ve been looking for.

The reusable (eco-friendly!) non-adhesive roller removes pet hair from any surface — and according to over 2,500 Amazon reviewers, it’s the best $25 you’ll spend.

It works by pulling those deeply embedded hairs from your clothes and upholstery and scraping them back into a chamber that can be emptied out after so you can repeat the process all over again. Since there’s zero need for batteries, sticky paper or refills of any sort, the tool is reusable for months and possibly even years.

“I have a German Shepherd dog that sheds like crazy and this product has been a lifesaver!!” raved one happy dog parent. “It works 1000x better than anything else I’ve used and I love that it is reusable, unlike lint rollers. I 100% recommend this product; it is well worth the price!”

Another explained: “This thing is like magic! I love that it’s not sticky and can be reused. It’s easy to empty (and clean when the occasion necessitates it), is durable, and picks up everything. I can de-fur my bed, the couch, even my clothes so much more thoroughly than I’ve been able to with [anything else]. I’ve even used this to clean small areas of carpet that have gotten dingy from cat hair — it’s amazing how much this roller picks up. Buy it. You won’t regret it. I recommend it to everyone with a pet that sheds, including the people I run into while walking my dog. Can’t say enough about it. Just put it in your cart and check out, it’s worth every penny.”

The Chom Chom roller in its original packaging. (Photo: Amazon)

How it works

“This is hands down the best, fastest pet hair removal tool I’ve ever used,” wrote a reviewer who also made a video tutorial. “It’s quite ingenious actually. The roller is actually more of a rocker, meaning it rocks and pivots back and forth as you ‘roll’ it over things, and by roll, it’s really more of a scraping action. As you push and pull the ChomChom, there are two sets of lint roller hairs that grab the fur and deposit it in the chamber (one set grabs the hair as you push, the other set grabs the hair as you pull). I LOVE how I can go over a lot of surface area before having to empty the chamber, like an entire couch, something that would’ve required three or four tape roller sheets or 10-15 mins of vacuuming.”

The same reviewer wrote that the only downside is that the surface you’re rolling has to be somewhat taut and the handle isn’t as comfortable as it could be. “Bottom line, get this ChomChom!” they wrote.

A closer look at the Chom Chom roller’s features. (Photo: Amazon)

It’s a time-saver — and ‘miraculous’

Forget spending hours using a vacuum, lint roller or adhesives only to be disappointed with the results. Users say the Chom Chom roller not only gets the job done — it’s also a time-saving miracle.

“I was using a vacuum and sticky tape and having a hard time doing a couch and love seat and it took over 30 minutes,” wrote a reviewer. “And it was aggravating. I didn’t look forward to the job. And we have 5 cats! I bought this thinking I’d regret it. Nope. Now I do the job easily in less than 10 minutes … I think I’ll get another in case they stop making it because I’ve never seen a product like this that actually does what it claims it does. No wonder there are so many positive reviews. They aren’t phony either. I found that out myself. If you struggle cleaning because of pets, just get one. You’ll be glad you did.”

Another happily surprised buyer explained: “I bought this miraculous contraption and my world has changed … It takes 2 minutes to quickly roll the sofa after the dog takes a nap there, instead of 45 minutes to vacuum. This is the best thing that Amazon has brought to my door all year! Absolutely recommend this to anyone with a pet. If you hate having pet hair on every surface, this will change your life. Seriously.”

It works better than vacuums

It’s a well-known fact that Fido isn’t a fan of the noisy vacuum — neither are humans. With the Chom Chom roller, you’ll get a quick and effective clean-up that rivals the bulky machine.

“This thing is amazing! It even got hair off of the carpet that our vacuum cleaner couldn’t get,” wrote one fan.

Added another: “Vacuuming worked alright, but it was not efficient and very loud. This product is so much more effective than the vacuum, with the added bonus of being virtually silent.”

One pet parent said it’s so good it can be used on carpets, too: “This product has saved my couch and my sanity … You don’t even have to vacuum up after you use it because the hair is all in there! It’s amazing. I’ve even used it on the carpet! The proof that it works is in the compartment, which is FULL after I do my whole couch.”

A closer look at the Chom Chom roller’s features. (Photo: Amazon)

It makes upholstered furniture ‘fresh’ again

Pet hair can have a dulling effect on fabrics and furniture, and this roller can make those feel new again, according to happy customers.

“I have a long hair German Shepherd aka ‘German Shedder’ and 2 cats so I live with animal fur … The Chom Chom is by far the best way to get rid of animal fur in my opinion,” wrote one buyer. “This thing is god-like, it makes fabric look so fresh, works perfectly on my suede couches and leaves that ‘soft suede’ look on them.”

Another wrote: “Works excellent on items like furniture and upholstery/car interior. Items like clothing or curtains need to be held down because of the rolling and back and forth motion of the Chom Chom. I think it would make an AMAZING gift to anyone with pets.”

“Holy grail for pet owners!!” wrote another enthusiastic fan. “I was amazed at just how much my new Chom Chom Roller was able to pick up from my upholstered furniture. It is able to pull those fine little hairs out from the fibers where they’ve managed to weave and take up residence … I didn’t even realize how dull the colors of the fabric had gotten due to all of the tiny hairs that had become a ‘part’ of the fabric, until after using this handy little device. The colors look vibrant and renewed! Love it!”

Bottom line: It’s the best $25 you’ll spend

“I was hesitant to purchase this product due to the price tag. $25 seemed like a bit much for a plastic tool,” admitted one user. “However, after the first use, I believe it was worth the money. This product has been a lifesaver. We have two dogs and a cat, who all shed like crazy. So, my couch is always covered in hair. It’s super easy to use and makes cleaning the couch a breeze. I would definitely recommend this product to anyone with indoor pets.”

Raved another: “It is the best $25 I’ve spent. Seriously, you cannot even tell we have pets in the house … And what I love about it — other than the fact it works better than an expensive pet hair vacuum — is that there is nothing to replace. Ever. So no more sticky rollers, rubber gloves, and multiple passes over the furniture with specially designed vacuum attachments!”

Shop the Chom Chom roller ($25) at Amazon.com.

The editors at Yahoo Lifestyle are committed to finding you the best products at the best prices. At times, we may receive a share from purchases made via links on this page.

Read More from Yahoo Lifestyle:

This interactive toy keeps dogs ‘entertained for hours’ and pet owners say it’s a ‘sanity saver’

Your litter box woes are over

10 things every new puppy needs, according to a dog trainer

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[ozsaill]

Preparing Totem for Coppercoat

  Coppercoat’s advantages in durability (=savings!) and environmental friendliness (=how we live!) have made me more excited about antifouling than I believed possible. As if to complete the picture, Totem’s shiny new metallic hull is dazzling in the Sonoran sun. Once sanded to activate the copper the hull will oxidize to rich shade verdigris, but for now it is stunning. Applying Coppercoat was an intense day of work, and an even bigger effort to prep. Researching our options confirmed how critical good prep is for this unique antifouling to be effective: here’s what we did, and why.

Jamie and Rudolpho tackling the bottom in June

   1. Stripped. Bottom paint and barrier coat were stripped to bare fiberglass last June, shortly after getting hauled in Puerto Peñasco. Totem didn’t have gelcoat left, the surprise that greeted us after blasting decades of accumulated bottom paint in Grenada. We painted on paint stripper, and scraped it off; not a perfect job of paint removal, with some visible bits in the valleys of Totem’s not-very-smooth hull, but sufficient for the summer. Boats with different substrates (e.g., gelcoat, metal hulls, etc.) get different prep.

2. Dried. From June until November, Totem’s wet hull dried out on the hard in the Sonora, Mexico. That’s Sonora, as in The Sonora Desert, where heat and low humidity provided an ideal climate to dry out during the summer months. Elsewhere (like the US east coast, or mainland Mexico, or further south) would have taken many months longer or required additional equipment (e.g. heating pads) or both.

Hull moisture meter readings were around 25% when we left. Eight blue-tape boxes were masked off to ensure repeat readings were in the same location; during our five months away, Cabrales Boatyard manager, Salvador Cabrales, would take periodic readings. He’d write the new measurement on the blue tape, then send a photo of it for us to see. Great peace of mind on progress while we were remote! The readings were at 6% to 7% at the end. During the drying period, the boatyard pressure washed the bottom to remove glycol, the sticky byproduct of a Polyester / Vinylester resin and a wet hull, that migrates to the surface as the hull dries.

Homeschool bonus: charting the readings over time

  Salvador updating measurement on the blue-tape reading area

Lower every time!

3. Stripped again. Totem’s bare hull was a rough surface, with flecks of paint remaining in the crevices. Brushing on paint stripper (we used Aquastrip) softened the remaining paint, which came off completely with a pressure washer.

    4. Sanded. The entire hull was sanded with 80 grit. After a full day of holding a vibrating sander mostly at or above shoulder height, Jamie hired a couple of guys from the yard crew to speed the job along and save his back.

These guys helped a lot, but Jamie’s basically been in pain at night for a few weeks. 

   5. Epoxied. If you’re at bare fiberglass, like Totem, the substrate (fiberglass) is porous and rough. After was wash and acetone wipe down, one coat of West system epoxy went on. When it was tacky, a second coat of West System with 410 micro-balloon filler to thicken the mix to work towards a smoother surface. Adding another layer of epoxy on top of a tacky prior coat is called hot coating: this creates a chemical bond between layers. The alternative is curing between coats and replying on roughing up the surface for a physical bond.

Mairen and Siobhan help mix up epoxy

  6 – 9. Cured, sanded, washed, then wiped with Acetone. Epoxy was given a few days curing time before sanding. Sanding the thickened epoxy coat greatly improved substrate smoothness. Washing the hull got rid of the dust, and wiping with Acetone prepped for the next layers of epoxy.

  Wiping on acetone. Every once in a while need to demonstrate that I am not just behind the camera! 

  10. Epoxied again. Several times actually: three coats of West System (two with 422 barrier coat additive) were applied to Totem’s hull bringing the total to five layers of epoxy, minus the 80 grit sanding.

Looking pretty shiny after all the West Systems was applied! Fashion by Goodwill of Phoenix.

  Siobhan uses a sharpie to mark rough spots that need more sanding; evening guard, Federico, looks on.

  11 – 14. Cured, sanded, washed, and wiped with Acetone…again. Very intimate with the surface area of Totem’s hull at this point.

Drying the hull after a last rinse before the barrier coat went on.

15. Barrier Coat. Three coats of Interlux Interprotect 2000 were applied over the West Systems. Interlux recommends five coats, but with five prior coats of West System (including two with barrier protection additive) we feel confident that the combined eight coats will serve.

16 – 18. For the third time: cured, sanded (lighter, much lighter), and wiped down– but this time, no acetone! The hull was dusted with rags instead to remove debris from sanding, and leave a surface primed for Coppercoat. For future Coppercoaters, we have done even better to gently pressure wash one or two days in advance.

Consumables list – I’m probably forgetting something:

gloves – decimated a box of 150, plus a half dozen heavy-duty pairs for paint stripper

80 grit disks – 175

320 grit disks – TBD

paint brushes – 4

3/8″ roller covers – 10 (Interlux Interprotect 2000)

1/8″ roller covers – 6 (West System epoxy)

Acetone – 3 gallons

blue tape – 1 big roll

rags – large bag of clean, lint-free rags

mixing sticks – 20

spreaders – 10

Aquastrip  – 5 gallons

West System – 4 gallons for 5 coats, plus 410 filler and 422 additive

Interprotect 2000 – 7 gallons for 3 coats

A note on safety equipment:

Toxic stuff is all over this project. One of the reasons we’re excited about Coppercoat is how environmentally friendly it is, compared to alternatives, but getting to that point is not – really, a lot of boat work is pretty nasty, and this prep is no exception. Take care of skin, eyes, and lungs!

My friend Kate Laird (Check out her expedition sails and homeschool expertise!) called out safety kit shortcomings in some pictures posted, and she’s right. We should be better about how we’re protecting ourselves, and I also seemed good at capturing moments when we weren’t! Here’s an equipment list to help with planning ahead, with products we like.

Kate- or is that Hamish? Or one of their teenage daughters? Working on the hull of their expedition vessel, Seal.

Respirator: Jamie and Kate both like this 3M 6200 half-mask. Bad luck was the straps on Jamie’s broke just before we started. You can get replacement straps and other parts – it’s one of the nice things about the respirator.

These reusable respirators have filters for particular matter (these pink ones) and VOC fumes (white ones here). Hot tip from Kate: keep the VOC filters in a ziploc bag to extend their useful life. They actually keep filtering away in there!

Jamie decided to try these disposable Moldex-Metric respirators this time. They were easy to source, lighter weight, and relatively comfortable. However, they’re really for “nuisance levels” organic vapors vs. fumes of OSHA PEL standards.

Skin protection: Tyvek jumpsuits are the standard, and they did get modeled around Totem, but the Goodwill in Phoenix turned out to be a good place for quick, affordable cover-up (50% off on Saturdays, and help from the Jollydogs crew picking things up for us!). We needed a few warm layers, anyway: we were NOT PREPARED for cool weather here in the late fall, and didn’t have clothes for it. Jamie’s happy: he hasn’t had a single day of gritty itchy boatyard yuck.

Eye protection: Jamie wears glasses but adds goggles over them when he’s worried about exposure. We picked up inexpensive eye protection in a hardware shop in Peñasco that worked fine for the girls. For more souped-up protection, this full-face respirator (3M 6700) Kate recommended is gold standard: big, single lens for easy viewing.

Further note on toxic junk, and being outside the US: I don’t know if there are any standards for the toxic waste produced in boatyards but the practices here mean we’re doing work that wouldn’t be handled the same way in the USA. Some things can be addressed by individual boaters, with some planning ahead. A shopvac using HVAC filters to capture and dispose of dust off sanders (Jamie’s got a bag on his that he’d empty regularly, and dispose – amazing how much of that stuff comes off – but no special filtering). You couldn’t just paint on stripper and pressure wash it off on a hardstand spot like we are, but set up for catchment and hazardous waste dispo…no, actually, you probably couldn’t because there’s probably not a hazardous waste facility. In the US, you’d stage the boat for this at a place where runoff is captured. For the most part, our lives are an incredibly light footprint environmentally: every once in a while, they’re really not.

Totem has 12 coats of epoxy right now. TWELVE. OK, so some got sanded off in the process, but even if we lost a couple of coats – it’s a long way from the bare fiberglass that peeked out when we blasted at Grenada Marine last year.

Coppercoat application: next post.

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[nydiaglockner2-blog]

Tips To Enhance Your Joy

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[lightnovelfreedotcom-blog]

Chapter 10 Light Novel Alter World

The altar melee was a piece of cake. With the regularity of a grinder, my pet kept working on whatever gnolls happened to be around. At a certain point, his health dropped to 90% only to restore gradually back to his signature 100%. The Head Shaman, the local mini boss, cast a bit of rather useless magic, clouding my bear in blue smoke and piercing him with bolts of purple lightning. The fire show came to an abrupt end when Teddy finished with the last defender and turned his attention to the shaman himself. After a dozen hits, another level 17 corpse lay sprawled on the floor. Ding! 15! Six levels in an hour and a half. Awesome. I frisked the corpses piled about and bent over the shaman, curious. A heavy bronze key and a little silver ring. I thought first that it was the quest key which opened one of the cages. It wasn't. Apparently, it opened the squeaky door that led to the dungeon's second level. The ring was a different story. Lore Ring Item Class: Uncommon Durability: 20/20 Effect: +3 to Intellect Nice. I tried it on, and the mana bar jumped up thirty percent. I glanced at the clock. Only three minutes left until the mobs respawned. I gave it some thought and decided to stay for a new mop-up. I had to admit I liked the ring so much I could use another dozen. I jumped up onto the altar and froze in the lotus pose, watching the show. Teddy won again, 9:0. The loot surprised me. No key this time. Either it didn't drop twice or it was rare loot to begin with. In the latter case, the key could be of some value so I could try to get some money back for it. The ring I did get, albeit different. Gold sapphire ring Item class: Common Durability: 20/20 Effect: none. Just a pretty trinket. I raised the ring up to my eyes. Nice one. I threw it into my bag adding it to a handful of other jewelry. I could sell it or give it to the girls I'd met—their numbers steadily growing, luckily for me as I was already itching for it. Especially because most females here looked like Barbies on steroids, covered with token amounts of lace, transparent silk and some jewelry. The sight of slim Elven maidens doing their corpse runs like some bikini beach joggers, was too much for any red-blooded male. Damn those art designers. A plague on both their houses. The sex question was more than resolvable here. You could give in to temptation in your own house or in somebody else's with the hostess' consent. Brothels were another answer to it. All in all, sexual activities in virtual reality were more than popular. Before the arrival of the FIVR, a quarter of all Internet traffic had been porn. Now imagine, instead of two-dimensional pics and dubious-quality videos, the ability to experience a more than real gratification with the most beautiful of all Internet girls. This was one of the cornerstones of the FIVR success. Sex, entertainment and adrenaline, multiplied by one's superiority complex, all in one unique product. Mind boggling. I shouldn't have thought about girls. I shook my head dispersing the unwanted images and had another swig of herbal tea sending my thanks to the Three Little Pigs' innkeeper. Then I turned the key in the heavy carved door. A wide staircase led down, lined with smoky torches. "Hummungus, come, pup. Be quiet." History repeated itself. Here, mobs were juicier, level 18 and above, growing stronger as we approached the third underground floor. After half an hour, I received a new message. Congratulations! You've received Achievement: Immortal. You've stayed alive for ten subsequent levels! Reward: +500 to Fame Fame Alert! Your Fame has exceeded 1000 points! You've reached Fame level 1: "People are talking about you". Friendly faction vendors might surprise you with lower prices. You will also gain access to some secret quests.

Re monster light novel

Not bad at all. My joy was slightly spoiled by the fact that all these achievements were cheats, to a point. Had it not been for my free Teddy ticket, I'd still be a nonentity. I made myself a solemn promise not to think too much of myself and to generally keep a low profile. After a few more minutes, the already level-19 me fought my way to a wide corridor leading to the floor's main hall. There I could fully appreciate the developers' sick sense of humor. The staircase down to the third floor was right opposite the gnolls' barracks. Whether it was AI trying to be funny or this was the basic layout, I didn't know; all I could see was that they were falling in on the drill ground in front of the barracks. A dozen and a half warriors, all my level, plus a level-22 Gnoll Chief and the floor's mini boss, a level 25 Gnoll General. The biggest problem was, they stood shoulder to shoulder. Any party that fought its way down here would have to deal with the entire gang. There simply was no other way. It didn't feel good. Seventeen mobs against a pet, however tough, and I couldn't even interfere for fear of pulling aggro onto myself. My current level was purely nominal: all my skills remained level 5. I was a walking bag with lots of available characteristic points and talents. I still had to get my three talent points from Grym for level 10. And I still had to choose specialization in order to unblock new skill tree branches. My last levels had brought me nine more points which I didn't really want to invest even if I had somewhere in which to invest them. I needed to get a bit of sleep first and think clearly. In other words, my pet was the only real force that counted. I was little more than a walking talking makiwara. I stepped a safe distance back, blessed my pet and, choosing the General as target, pressed 'Attack'. The Gnoll Overseer would be next. I wanted to minimize my pet's exposure to the strongest opponents. Even when still alive, Teddy hadn't been known for good self-preservation skills. He lunged at the opponent with all the enthusiasm of reckless courage. Immediately his life bar began to shrink. It took Hummungus twenty seconds and 15% hits to finally put the General to rest. The Chief took slightly less. And still the gnolls were too many. Way too many. They surrounded Teddy and started pounding his sides and back, nailing him with crits. Soon he had ten opponents and barely half life left. After another minute of melee, the ratio became seven to forty. Three to thirty. Two. One. Done. I breathed a sigh of relief. Good boy! I came over to the bloodied beast and patted his chewed ears. "Way to go, Hummungus. You made your daddy proud." I let Teddy regenerate. We had another three or four minutes before the gnolls respawned. He needed a bit of rest, and it wasn't a problem to mop up the hall again. The mobs would respawn one by one, in the reverse order of their death. Teddy risked virtually nothing against singles. I checked the corpses again collecting the booty. About a gold piece's worth of cash, half a dozen bracelets and a couple Soul Stones. Loot was getting more interesting here, with a variety of steel weapons, armor and chainmail. All had decent defense parameters albeit without any extras. Unfortunately, I had to leave it all lying on the ground: my modest strength didn't allow me to lug around hefty objects. As Murphy's law would have it, I might not be capable of even lifting some of the more promising loot ahead. Talking of the devil. The Gnoll General dropped a sheer treasure: a massive key, a red bracelet of the type I hadn't seen before, and a pair of heavy chainmail gauntlets. I ran a check: Red Bracelet. Serves to identify gnoll elite. Item class: Common Durability: 25/25 Weight: 0.24 lb. Effect: +5 to Armor, +1 to Strength Excellent. I slid the bracelet onto my wrist. If I got another one, I'd wear it on my other arm for some added strength and a bit of armor. Waste not, want not. No point in selling it even, at least until I found an adequate substitute. I weighed the gauntlets in my hand. Chainmail Gauntlets. Crafter unknown. Item Class: Uncommon Durability: 45/45 Weight: 3.3 lb. Effect: +12 to Armor, +3 to Strength Great item. Had to be worth at least ten or twelve gold. In the bag it went. Good job Necros couldn't wear heavy armor, otherwise I'd have to choose whether to sell or keep them. My inner greedy pig stirred happily. Things were looking up. The questions of finding a roof over my head and some daily bread in the shape of a potful of meat and potatoes had ceased to hang over me like some sword of Damocles. Now everything I earned on top I could invest in gear and character growth. Good job, too, considering I'd spent my first day busting my ass, and all I had to show for it had been barely enough for a bed and a meal. "What the &ç@$!" yelled the gnoll who'd respawned first, only an arm's length from me. His heavy saber swooshed over my head. I ducked behind the bear's back just in time. The warrior tried to get to me again. I barely avoided a stab to the face. The pet stepped in and pulled aggro onto himself with a couple of expert hits. Whew. I crawled into a relatively safe corner, waited five seconds and began draining the mob's life. So stupid of me. I'd nearly got myself killed, too busy examining the trophies. By the end of the melee, I calmed down a bit and made a mental note to be more careful in the future. I ended up with level 20 and a lovely pair of hammered steel greaves, with +15 to armor and +4 to strength modifier. Looked like the General only dropped heavy armor. Not my thing. Worth picking up, anyway, even if only to sell it. Pointless hanging about much longer. I still had the dungeon's lower floor to do. Both loot and experience were better there. I allowed the pet a few minutes to regen and walked down the stairs. Here, the rooms didn't resemble dungeons any more. It looked more like a second-rate mansion house. A few bits of furniture stood against the tapestry-lined walls lit by large bowls of burning oil. Who'd have thought the place was that serious. Here, the gnoll warriors were replaced by guards, far more dangerous. Mainly I came across groups of three: two guards plus either a sergeant or a caster. The mobs' levels were predictably higher. The night was going to be anything but relaxed, our little outing quickly turning into an obstacle race. The bear was still capable of handling the trio without much trouble albeit losing one-third life. I really needed to know how to restore his health. Or rather, I was sure that Necros of my level had to have it somewhere but I stuck to my resolution not to fiddle with the stats during the marathon. Really, would I hole up in some dark corner and, brain-dead with fighting, try to solve single-handedly such crucial problems? Not a good idea. A mistake could cost me dearly. So I had to weasel our way out. Bit by bit I managed to use the Deadman's Hand to control one of the guards. In the meantime, Teddy dealt with one or two gnolls depending on how clean the pull was. Then he finished off the one I controlled. A quick meditation, and we moved another hundred feet, heading for the throne hall which housed the juiciest monsters and the sweetest loot. I was also quite worried about the absence of quest keys for the Drow cages. I had to keep going if only to locate the place or the mob who dropped them. In another hour and a half, I did level 24 and received another achievement, for staying alive for fifteen subsequent levels. Another thousand Fame points into the kitty. Then, quite unpredictably, a new message popped up: Congratulations! You've received Achievement: The Untouchable. Your enemies have failed to deal you damage for 5 subsequent levels! Reward: +500 to Fame Apparently, I'd done good. I hadn't made a single mistake. Luck had a lot to do with it, of course. Only they seemed to be sort of generous with their Fame points. If it continued like that, I was going to walk out of the dungeons to a red carpet reception. On we went. Corridors, rooms, halls, gnolls, gnolls and more gnolls. I was already sick to death of their dog chops. Was it my imagination or were they really emitting that canine stench? My eyes ached from the torch flames. Patches of light danced amid shadows and wisps of smoke that clung to the ceiling. My fatigue started to show. I found a safe room, parked Teddy and lay flat for ten minutes or so, relaxing with my eyes shut. Gradually, I felt better. I munched on a totally yummy sandwich washing it down with sweet tea, eternally grateful for the buffs. Teddy refused the food point blank but sniffed the tea with interest. Some funny zombies around... Then I checked my bag to see if I could get rid of a thing or two. The last couple of items had sent me into overload. Seven thousand copper were weighing me down but it would be stupid to leave them, right? Luckily, the third-floor mobs dropped silver. On the bottom of the bag, I discovered a whole mine of Soul Stones. I chose ten or so of the stronger ones and destroyed the rest which gave me a small bag of magic dust—a crafting ingredient meant for alchemists, blacksmiths and the like. That seemed like changing one bunch of trash for another, but it would be a shame to leave it, wouldn't it? By then, the pet had regenerated. I didn't feel that bad, either. Time to go. As it turned out, our safe room was only a few steps away from the throne hall, in some sort of auxiliary corridor. I had a good look around. A long room, brightly lit, with pairs of brutal-looking guards frozen statue-like by the columns that supported the vaulted ceiling. The throne stood against the far wall. On it sat the Gnoll King surrounded by his entourage. They weren't packed too close together. From where I stood I could just about pull two monsters at a time. So we got the show going. Between the two of us, we smoked three pairs of gnolls in less than five minutes. I kept casting Deadman's Hand, controlling one of the guards as Teddy dealt with his partner. My pet killed a mob in thirty seconds, and all that time I kept my target nailed to the ground as it cursed and tried to squirm itself free from the invisible bonds. Then we advanced a little to take over the mopped-up space. One last effort. We only had the King, the Priest and two of the officers left. The officers looked top class. Up to their balls in armor, with double swords on their backs, these level 28 beasts could put up a serious fight. And still I thought they wouldn't be a problem as long as I saved my pet enough life, for we didn't have enough time to meditate. And we still had the dungeon boss to take care of. I started the fight using the same tried and tested scheme by controlling the officer next to me. The mob struggled, helpless, and groaned as he drew his two swords. The second guard swung round and dashed for us. The King and the Priest remained seated, childishly ignoring the danger. This, of course, was only gaming convention. Gnolls' aggro zone didn't exceed seven or eight paces. Once outside it, you could dance and bare your ass in full view of the monster. Having said that, the higher your opponent's level, the more aggressive he became. Some mobs were so amazingly hostile they could sense an enemy miles away, sometimes from the other end of their location. The officers proved stronger than their lower-ranked buddies. They had more life and showered us with hits. Still, the eight-level difference was nothing to sniff at. After another minute plus a bag of nerves and twenty percent off the pet's life, two more corpses were added to the hall's interior design. We took a short break to regen and decide on our tactics. I had no idea about the King's abilities. No good taking the risk pulling aggro onto myself. Should I freeze the Priest so that the pet could attack the King? No good. The Priest was a caster himself. Even tied to a spot, he'd make mincemeat of me. So all I could do, really, was set Teddy on them, then play it by ear. I selected the Priest as target. His being a mage left him with less life. Also, I hoped that I just might disrupt his concentration and stop a couple spells. Just to make life a bit harder for him. Teddy, attack! The moment he crossed the aggro zone's invisible boundary, the King cast some ability that blew away a third of Teddy's life. Immediately, the King started reciting a long spell while the Priest pierced Teddy with a lightning bolt. The pet pounded him back. Twice the Priest failed to cast a new spell until finally he managed to send two curses, one after the other. Then it was my turn to open my eyes wide. The King summoned his pet, a zombie gnoll. Was he a Necro too? Or rather, judging by his heavy armor and the abilities he had, he had to be a Death Knight. I highlighted the zombie. Level 20, too low for a Nec. The King cast another curse and reached for his two-handed sword. For another fifteen seconds the fight could go either way. Then the Priest finally collapsed and we were on the rise. Teddy still had 40% life left when I joined in, casting one Life Absorption after another. Another minute of vigorous fencing, and the hall fell silent. The first couple of guards respawned about a hundred feet away from us. Still, we were relatively safe for a while. The pet needed time to regen, so I was going to do the next round on my own, mopping up the five mobs by the throne. The hall was big and crowded enough for us to pull a guard or two when we needed, as long as we kept an eye on the ticking clock. I crawled out of my corner and, stepping cautiously over the corpses, came up to the pet. He only had about 10% life left and looked it, too. I smoothed out his disheveled fur. "Go take some rest, Ted. Well done." I could use a break, too. My nerves were in shatters. Heaving a sigh of relief, I slumped onto the throne. Comfortable enough. Would be nice to haul it back to my Three Little Pigs room. "Great job, dude," a voice said right over my ear. I jumped. Bug's tiny outline appeared out of thin air. "You asshole!" He gave me a happy grin. "You've nearly scared the pants off me," I continued. 

Dungeon ni deai o motomeru no wa machigatte iru darou ka

"Where've you been, you son of a midget?" Bug sat down comfortably onto the slain King's corpse. "Been to town, sold up, raised sixteen gold, by the way. I can give you half if you want. It's only fair. Thought I'd go back. You think I didn't see you were permanently online? Got some grub on the go in case you're interested." So! The kid was smart, organized and quick to deliver. Cautious, too. And quite prepared to go half in the hope of more profits. Slick operator. "How did you get here through all the doors?" I asked him. Bug produced the bunch of lockpicks and clanged them in the air. "Took me half an hour to open the one on the first floor. The mechanism wasn't too difficult but honestly, I've never really bothered with the skill. The second one I must have gone through right after you. It stood open and all the barracks were empty. But I think I took a wrong turn, so at stealth speed it took me an hour to get out. When I came here you were up to your eyeballs in gnolls. I decided not to distract you." "You did right," I said as I kept replaying one particular thought in my mind. "You can keep the gold. I didn't want it to begin with. I have another offer for you. How would you like to earn a bit of money working as a wardrobe?" "What do you mean?" "Look. I fully intend to stay here for a while. There'll be loads of loot. If you took a dozen pieces of armor and the same in cold steel, that's it, you're in overload. We'll do it differently. We'll put you behind the throne, in this archway here. Then we'll be loading you with everything the gnolls drop. It doesn't matter if you can't move. What's important is that your bag can accommodate anything—this throne if necessary, as long as you don't exceed the 100 slots limit. Is that what your bag is—basic for 100 slots? So we'll stuff it solid. Otherwise, what's the point of going virtual?" The kid still wasn't getting it. Had I overestimated his talents? "And how do you want me to lug this throne back?" "Easy. You'll get a free ride to your spawn point. All you need to do is wait for the mobs to respawn. Then you remove stealth and off home you go. Three hours later, you go to the cemetery to find your grave. It'll be there for a week before it finally decays. In the meantime, you take the items to the store bit by bit. We'll go fifty-fifty, what d'ya think?" Instead of replying, Bug rose and stood in the archway trying to impersonate a wardrobe. He spread his arms wide as if opening the imaginary doors, then opened his mouth—apparently, signifying the top shelf—and mumbled, "All set. Load me up!"

[arcanakrp-blog]

KIM JOON – STRENGTH. AGENT 08.

                                                  [   FILE TYPE: CLASSIFIED   ]

//: LOADING PROFILE: KIM JOON ...

international age: 24 birthplace: seoul, south korea arcana: strength team number: six

//: LOADING MUTATION: FERAL MIND ...

application one: hunting intuition — Joon possesses an enhanced instinct/talent for hunting and tracking down prey people to capture and/or kill. In terms of missions, he is able to use this to track targets down if necessary, and it is also extremely helpful in noticing the behaviors, patterns, and weaknesses of targets.

application two: anger empowerment — Joon has the ability to gain strength from his anger. When he is angry, he becomes stronger, faster, and more durable than he would be otherwise. However, this is also his most dangerous state as he has very little control over it and is quickly overwhelmed causing him to enter an animistic state where he has no control over his actions

application three: enhanced instincts — He possesses stronger than normal instincts, primarily in terms of predatory instincts like in hunting and in battle, however, it can be applied to other areas of life on occasion. Joon is able to process situations differently, although not necessarily more logically, and instinctively choose the most successful move

overall strengths and weaknesses: — He has always been good in a fight, but with the addition of his enhanced instincts and strength he has become even better, as long as he can keep his cool. He’s able to quickly pinpoint weaknesses in opponents and use them to his advantage. He has also learned to rely more on his instincts in combat than pure logic and strategy, but he still struggles to trust himself entirely due to the unpredictability of his other abilities.

Joon’s strength is a blessing and a curse. Essentially, the stronger Joon becomes the less control he has. If he is able to keep his anger to a reasonable level is able to control himself and his strength, however, once he reaches a certain point, he is no longer able to control himself or his actions and is reduced to almost an animistic state. He is unable to differentiate between friend and foe and will instinctively attack anyone or anything that crosses his path. When in this state, he is an incredible force to be reckoned with, but he is also unpredictable, which makes it difficult to harness in missions. This is not a state he typically enters willingly and it is used as a means of maximum destruction as opposed to a mission that requires tact and subtlety. Entering this animalistic state is very draining and leaves Joon exhausted. This can last anywhere from hours to days depending on how long he was out of it. At the time, Joon is unable to control his thoughts or actions, however, when he has calmed down again, he is able to remember everything he did while out of control, for better or worse.

Despite being a one-man wrecking crew, Joon’s abilities have also made him a natural in reconnaissance. Before Joon gained a relative amount of control over his anger and was more of a liability on missions than an asset, he spent a fair amount of time honing his reconnaissance skills from the ARC. Hunting intuition and enhanced instincts pair together extremely well and make it very difficult for people to evade/hide from Joon. He’s able to physically track targets while also being able to remotely analyze movements and make reasonable predictions about what their next move may be, however, this is more difficult to do and is never an absolute guarantee since people can move unpredictably at times and their instincts could conflict with Joon’s, or as he says, they’re wrong

//: LOADING HISTORY ..

PRE-MUTATION

Joon was fairly neutral. He wasn’t particularly good or bad, smart or dumb, but that didn’t stop him from getting into trouble for the dumbest shit. He spent his high school years partying, getting into fights, and running from the cops for the most part quite successfully, but when it came time for him to grow the fuck up and get a life, he hadn’t exactly garnered the greatest reputation. Luckily, Joon was good with his hands and had spent his summers restoring an old car long forgotten in his grandfather’s garage which was just enough to land him a job as a mechanic. It paid enough to secure him a shitty studio apartment a few blocks away from the shop and still have enough left over to go out to grab a beer with his friends a couple times a week and not starve to death, so Joon couldn’t complain. Actually, he could complain and did very often about the shitty plumbing and being bored to tears changing oil all day, but he also didn’t care enough to try to change it, so he got over it.

Old habits die hard, sometimes not at all if you’re Joon, which is why he found himself smoking outside a bar while holding a cold beer to his eyebrow to prevent it from swelling when the meteor shower started. It was the burden of being the biggest guy in any given bar; someone always had something to prove and trying to fight Joon seemed to be the most common way to go about it. Unfortunately for them, Joon wasn’t one to discourage violence and shutting people down in the form of broken noses just so happened to be one of his favorite hobbies. He wasn’t usually one to start fights, but he did love to finish them. Stars were a rarity in Seoul with all the light pollution from the city and it was even rarer to see a meteor shower. For a moment, Joon wondered if he had been hit harder than originally thought, but once he was sure he wasn’t seeing things, he instantly began digging in his pockets for his phone to text his friends to come out and see. He didn’t even have a chance to unlock his screen before a flash of light filled the sky blinding him. It could have been seconds or minutes, he couldn’t tell, but by the time Joon’s eyes could focus again, he decided that the stars could go fuck themselves and went back inside without telling anyone about what he had just seen.

POST-MUTATION

Joon didn’t dream, and if he did, it wouldn’t be about driving off into the woods to find some meteor, which is probably why it felt like each and every detail of it was seared into his brain. He could feel the ground beneath his feet and the way his jacket sleeves caught on branches as he wove his way towards where some dream instinct told the meteor should have landed. When he woke up that morning, he could have sworn he could still smell the dirt and trees surrounding him, but the reality of waking up in his shitty studio apartment in Seoul told him he was losing his mind.

The change in Joon wasn’t immediate. It was a slow burn of splintered door jambs, a dented steering wheel, and countless coffee cups martyred against thin apartment walls. He blamed it on stress, work or whatever, until he couldn’t even pretend to lie to himself like that anymore. A dead end, 9 to 5 job can drain the life out of you, but he was pretty sure it didn’t do this. The smallest things would send a swell of rage red hot and alive through his veins until Joon’s entire body trembled and all he could hear was the sound of his blood rushing through his ears. Looking back, it was a miracle he kept it together for as long as he did, even if it was a bit pathetic by any other standards.

The first time he lost control it wasn’t as bad as it could have been, thankfully. By that time, he had already stopped hanging around crowded clubs in favor of small bars tucked away in alleys and back streets where he could safely keep human contact to a minimum. All it took was a look and Joon was seeing red. His brain seemed to shut off losing control of his body and any thoughts that didn’t involve destroying anything he could get his hands on. Unfortunately, he got his hands on pretty much everything by the time the police got there, but by then, he had managed to calm down enough to not want to tear them limb from limb, and for the first time in his life, Joon went them willingly. The entire fight, if you could even call it that, was stuck on repeat playing over and over again in his mind. He could remember the screams and the feeling of their bones snapping under his fists, in his palms, but worst of all, he could remember the terrifying satisfaction it all had brought him. Joon had never been weak, but he had never felt so strong in his entire life. He had also never felt so out of control or as helpless as he did in the back of that squad car. That was the moment Joon began realizing he had become a monster.

They tested him for every drug under the sun, it was the obvious explanation for what he had done, and when they came back negative no one was entirely positive what to make of it. Regardless, multiple instances extensive of property damage and assault were more than enough to put Joon away for a couple of months. He didn’t even last a week. Turns out everything about prison pisses Joon off in the worst way and news of an inmate cracking cement walls and fracturing steel doors because someone made eye contact with him in the cafeteria traveled fast in the right circles. The Collective came to collect him in a matter of days.

He went with them under the guise that he was being transferred to a higher security facility; not that it particularly mattered, no one was putting up a fight for Joon to stay after the chaos he had caused in only a couple days. They promised to help him learn to control himself. They called it his “ability” like it wasn’t the worst thing to ever happen to him, and they were ready when he flew across the table with clenched fists and fire in his eyes. They made their offer as if “no” had ever been an option for Joon, as if there was still a place for someone like him out in the world. He knew they all knew better than that, but at least they had the decency to pretend. The promise of a hefty paycheck didn’t hurt either.

Joon was one of the first of the Arcana to be found, subtlety wasn’t exactly a part of his skill set, but he was relieved to see he wasn’t the only one who had recently become a time bomb. He learned to cope, somewhat, with the cards he had been dealt in the following months and years and began to realize it wasn’t all bad. He eventually reached a point where he could be around people again without the fear of breaking at any second; he still teeters on the edge of disaster nearly every day, but he has become a bit better at managing it. Once he began to level out, Joon realized that his strength and rage weren’t all that he had gotten that day and began working on improving his other abilities with much more success