#he could be talking to your char or they could just be overhearing anything works!!

[hekates-corner]

The Apothecary Diaries | WN Translation | Arc 9 - Chapter 1

Hey there! Whether you found this on your own, or if you might've been redirected by a later chapter: Welcome.

For a number of reasons I ended up here. I play the wine-aunt that tells all that happens in the WN chapters, post light novel 9.

You can find a revised introduction in the Masterlist.

I relay everything from the chapters, to the best of my abilities, so be warned that all the spoilers are down below. If you'd like to get spoiled, but less? My dm's/asks are open!

Chapter 1

We re-enter the story with an explanation of it being spring - yet even in the carriage, the heat is more unbearable than in the capital at the hottest of times.. so, those that weren't in a carriage were suffering extra.

Like Chue said, as soon as they arrive they're summoned to be split into groups. One of the medical officers then explains that they'll split into three groups/groups of three before being stationed in the buildings. The confusion begins here, as they expected the groups from the ships to stay how they were.

Now it goes over to the middle ranks and Tianyu would end up with MaoMao and the quack. MaoMao agrees that she also thought he was/should be with Li/Lee.

We then get a whole paragraph about how the last name is so common that usually the people with it will just go by their first name - Lihaku is one such example.

As we already know, Tianyu/Tenyuu messed up a few times with a high ranking official that came to the medical room on the boat.bThe doctor that splits them into groups says that he can return to his original group.. if he behaves and Maomao takes silent note that the palast her and the quack are in has lower class people in it so despite them attending to more, it seemed easier.

The quack(?) then goes on to say that Tianyu should be fine with them, given that while he's bad at giving out meds, he's outstanding when it comes to surgery. Maomao mutters to herself "look at the quack.." but idk if anyone overhears it. At that point the quack's self doubt kicks in and he fidgets as he questions aloud if he can even teach Tianyu anything.

Tianyu says it's nice to meet the quack, then/while patting Maomao on the shoulder. Maomao responds with the usual “I look forward to working with you.”. She's already in front of the quack but the latter goes red in the face and shy and hides behind her xD Tianyu goes about the usual as well (calls the quack ojisan aka old man/uncle as well xD) and the quack can only shyly give back a “Ehm.. it's nice to meet you.”

I think it's the quack who then proceeds to say that while the location might change, the job of a doctor remains the same. Checking patients, that's it. If something happens, everyone has their subordinates and to contact them.

Maomao internally remarks that the person talking is an easygoing one - an understanding/easy to understand boss. She'd assumed they only picked people who could react flexibly despite a location change, but now she questions if they really have the atmosphere of people working in the field.

Tianyu then asks if they should move, he’s carrying his luggage and we get the info that the place where Maomao and the quack are meant to stay is Gyokuens villa. There’s mention of another major house that also appears to belong to Gyokuen (pls note that translators really struggle with the char names) and notes on how it shows how strong his power is that two of the three houses/palasts are his. The public office and main residence are even next to each other, with the annex being about a five minute walk away.

It then jumps to Maomao being in a room in the main residence. It’s a fancy one, a guest room that they decided to repurpose as medical room - in her eyes a tasteful room.

The palast is in the center of the town, yet it’s not as noisy as expected. Maomao mentions internally how it must be due to the size of it, as well as the walls and trees that block out the noise.

Outside of Maomao, the quack and Tianyu, there’s a messenger as well - the four were guided to their place by a local.

At long last, the quack says how it’s all exciting - “if his beard was still intact it would be swaying and dancing”. Despite being timid, the commotion of the town seems to get to him now.

Tianyu remains suspicious - while he does look around, it appears almost as if he’s judging it all instead of enjoying what he sees. Maomao ends up thinking to herself that he’s hard to grasp/understand.

The next paragraph is tougher to crack but the gist I got is that Maomao admits internally that she doesn’t know what he’s thinking. She can tell he has the personality type that would latch onto things he finds interesting and could imagine what his behavior would be like then but she can’t figure out what his interest is/could be.

There’s a “Hello?” coming from the door, Tianyu tilts his head and just as Maomao wonders what’s going on, she sees a familiar face. The other person seems to be of the same recognition impact mode.

“Long time no see” - Of course, it’s Rikuson.. who comes in, bowing respectfully. The tactician's former Lieutenant.

He’s still a good looking man, but he’s more tan than before (don’t shoot the messenger, it’s Maomaos mind and I can’t control it). His tan likely comes from the strong sunshine in the city. There are two people with him that appear to be holding documents.

Maomao & Tianyu reply with the same “long time no see” and Rikuson gives a “it’s been a while” back - the only one that gave a “who’s that” look was… the quack, of course.

Maomao wonders if Tianyu knows Rikuson.. and then kinda answers her own question by adding more filler. Tianyu is a medic student, but was already serving before her. The doctor's station is close to the military one, so it wouldn’t be surprising if they knew one another.

Maomao then glances at Tianyu, who despite saying hello doesn’t appear interested. The quack doesn’t know Rikuson so he’s shy as ever - given that they can’t just ignore him, Maomao admits defeat to the fact she has to do the talking.

She tells Rikuson that the quack is the head doctor/medical officer and she’s there to help him out and Rikusons like “head doctor?” while tilting his head as he looks at the quack.

Maomao, in her head, tries to remember the quacks name but it’s like.. not her forte. She almost forgot it again but then recalls it’s something along the lines of Guen.. and starts with a “Gu….” but just as she’s about to say it Tianyu steps up/in.

He says that the man is famous and Rikuson will understand if he says as little as that the man is a senior medical officer who’s been in the inner/rear palace for a long time. This whole thing goes back to the quack being a fake-out for Luomen/Maomaos adopted dad. Maomao was about to blow their cover but Rikuson takes the bait and is like “Oh, that guy” and kinda slaps one hand into the other.

For a moment Maomao’s confused, but then she understands what Tianyus intentions are and internally recalls that the quack is her old man's stand-in.

The next bit is another tougher one but I think it basically mentions mistreatment and that if Tianyu had the same idea as her then it would be better for Guen to be thought of as her old man rather than himself - ‘cause eunuch and all that.

Plus, she thinks that there’s no way Rikuson doesn’t know about the strategists uncle, Luomen, so Tianyus suggestive way of speaking making it clear that there’s only one medical officer in the inner/rear palace was fortunate.

Don’t ask me what that next line is supposed to be, however I look it up it’s her thinking that she doesn’t know where her eyes or ears are - I think it’s trying to say she’s confused or getting brain fog or something but like… I’m trying.

We then get a reminder that while this city is in the same country, it can be called foreign land. The two attendants Rikuson has with him are both from this town - so one has to be careful of what to say and what not to say.

Maomao then notices something, it could be Rikusons dirty clothes that we’ll come back to next chapter, but in short she ends up having nothing to say, while Tianyu doesn’t seem to have more to say either so she’s like “Rikuson-san seems busy, I’m sorry for taking up your time” aka a friendly just leave already.

Rikuson doesn’t take the bait and instead explains that he just returned from an outdoor trip. He also shares that he gets depressed if he stays in his office all the time, so every now and then he’ll go out.

Despite smiling, there was mud caked on the hem of his clothes - dried mud, though originally dark brown aka the fertile kind. Maomao wonders if he was out in the fields (throwback to locust/grasshopper mania).

We then get, you guessed it, more filler. It’s a dry city, with no puddles by the roadsides. Even if there were, it would likely be of a more whitish, nutritious color. The only place where fertile black mud would be found would be in irrigated fields. In that case, he would be on his way back from somewhere far and it would be better to think he’s not there by chance but that he purposefully came back when Maomao and the others arrived from Li/the capital.

Maomao (?) gives him a short “See you then. Your old boss will notice you if you talk too much”. It didn’t seem like Rikuson had more to say for now, but he was likely busy as well.. and Tianyu chuckles as he realizes who “the former boss” is.

While there are many things to think about, Maomao recalls the words of one of the doctors: Doctors just do a doctors work. And Apothecaries..? Well, they just do an apothecary's work.

| Chapter 2 & Masterlist

If you'd like to get notified when a new chapter drops, I'm open to sending a dm or tagging you - just let me know!

(please note that there are content differences between the web novel and light novel. I'm using the web novel, which isn't as polished as far as I've heard and doesn't have as much extra content)

[fin-ack]

Fin lifted his gaze to the other for a brief moment, turned his attention back to the sandwich in his grasp for a final bite before deciding to speak. “Listen.. I’m not saying this isn’t the best sub in the world because it’s pretty fuckin’ good, the perfect balance of meat, sauce and bread but I’m not sure its worth the attention you’re giving it” he chuckled, commenting on the fact that the other’s gaze had been fixated on the item in his hands for the past few minutes. “If you want a bite, you’ve got the wrong guy. I don’t share food”

[thunderbird-one-ai]

Compromised Chapter 3

Finally another chapter done after MONTHS of just starring at it. I’m hoping that Christmas will mean I can type a little more since I’ll be taking a break from university.  This chapter ends on another cliff hanger and I’m not sorry :P I’d like to say now. Kayo is not my wrong point POV wise so I apologise in advance if I’ve portrayed her so poorly.

Chapter 1 - Here

Part 1: Kayo

Kayo made no comment when John said those heart-stopping words to the team. ‘Thunderbird One is missing’. She shook her head, that couldn’t be true, this was Scott just cooling off. She’s known him for so long, getting away from his brothers for some time alone was rare for Scott, and with the argument, she overheard him have with Jeff meant he was probably just cooling off. She forced herself to believe that because the other alternative would be so much worse. But she was a practical woman. She knew that if Scott was distracted even for a second, he would have been jumped on. She thought of many scenarios in her head. Scott wasn’t a pushover; he could handle himself very well in a one on one fight. She hardly needed to teach him many moves since he had got the basics in the military long before they started training together. So the likely hood of Scott being overpowered by one prisoner was unlikely. John had also mentioned that three inmates were not accounted for still. Three verses one isn’t an easy challenge, but Scott’s training meant he might have been able to handle them. This still didn’t answer how Thunderbird One disappeared off Johns scans and hers for that matter.

“Thunderbird Shadow to Thunderbird Two,” Kayo said. “Thunderbird Two to Thunderbird Shadow, did you find anything?” Virgil replied. Kayo heard the worried tone in Virgil’s voice. She would no doubt hear it in every brother's voice, even Johns in this situation. He was remaining calm but Kayo wondered how long that calm deminer would last for. Virgil may not be as hot-headed as Scott, but his passion to protect his family burns just as brightly as Scott’s. She looked outside her cockpit noticing a small GDF post in the middle of nowhere. Probably just to make sure no stragglers got away. It would definitely be a place that Scott would land near. “Nothing yet, I’ve flown over the entire area with no sign of Scott or Thunderbird One. I see a small GDF post out here so I’m going to ask them some questions,” Kayo said through her comms. “FAB, keep up informed. I’ve gotta go tell dad,” Virgil said before Kayo heard him cut communications. That wasn’t going to be easy. Jeff had only been back six months and now one of his sons was already missing on a mission. A mission that coincidently included the possible break out of kayo’s uncle. The mention of The Hood made Kayo’s blood boil, another thought crossed her mind that John still hadn’t told them whether one of the inmates missing was The Hood or not. If this was true, she needed to be even more on guard. Kayo got Thunderbird Shadow to land nearby the GDF truck and jumped down on the ground below her. She walked up to the Guards not trusting a single one of them. “What does International Rescue want now? We’ve already said to the other one that we have this place secure,” One of the guards promptly said, causing Kayo to become concerned. “The other one?” Kayo replied. “Yeah, the tall one with the fast jet. Just waltz right up here with three guys. One passed out mind you. Said he was a high priority prisoner and took that one back to the prison whilst we hold the others for the appropriate transport to arrive,” Kayo took in every piece of information. Well, that was wrong, Thunderbird One had not returned to the prison otherwise she would have seen the silver bird fly straight past her. She kept her poker face shown, knowing if the GDF found out about a missing Thunderbird, they’d never hear the end of it. She walked back to Thunderbird Shadow, arm moving up to start a comm link with the others before something caught her eye. Kayo found herself running back and sliding under her jet, gliding her hands over charred patches of Earth. Thunderbird One was here. The distinct pattern in the ground matched Thunderbird One’s VTOL engines. Scott was right here along with his bird. The GDF said that he just left with one member but the other two were still here. Kayo found herself running again back to the GDF truck, ignoring the protests from the members, Kayo got in the back, looking to the two prisoners. Neither of them was The Hood and that only made her more concerned. “What did he promise you? Freedom?” Kayo said, looking at both of them, waiting for a reaction. She got one. “Funny, that’s what the other one said,” The smaller male replied, smiling. Kayo wished right there and then she could live up to her name and punch this guy into next week, but her mind was racing. They knew who she was talking about. She jumped out of the van and found herself once again running back to Thunderbird Shadow, ignoring the shouts from the GDF members behind her. She had to get to the others, her brother was in serious trouble. “Thunderbird Two, The Hood has Scott,”

Part 2: Jeff Jeff tapped his foot against the varnished floor impatiently. This wasn’t the first mission he’d been leading where Scott had been less than helpful in cooperating with. He was very much surprised at that his eldest son would answer back as much as he did. That never happened when International Rescue first started out, heck even when they were both military personnel, Scott would always follow what Jeff said. But that was over eight years ago. Eight years ago Scott never would have thought his own father would be lost in space. Jeff couldn’t begin to imagine what his eldest had gone through. Losing their mother was a hard blow to the family, then Jeff himself was blown into space. His eldest had to take on everything. As much as he saw the future in his boys he never thought International rescue would become like this. They all exceeded what Jeff thought possible but should have he expected any less. “I never thought that after all this, I would see my boy look so lost in his own chair,” Jeff jumped in his own seat and looked up to see a familiar face. “Mum, you got back here early. I thought you were with Lady Penelope all day,” “I was but I was informed that not all was well here on the island,” Sally said smiling softly, sitting down on the sofa obviously waiting for Jeff to finally speak up. Jeff gave a small smile back, of course, Lady Penelope would say something, no doubt she had Parker overhearing the entire conversation between Scott and himself. He also shouldn’t have been surprised that his mother would want to fly back after hearing that the family was in slight disarray. So far he had re-bonded with almost all his sons, Scott was the exception which Jeff was surprised about. They had argued a lot recently, not even his other sons knew about those arguments he doubted his mother did either. “I’ve become closer with all of them mum…all of them except Scott. I still feel like I’m millions of miles away in space when it comes to approaching him. I couldn’t be more proud of him for his achievements, for what he’s done in the years I was gone,” Jeff finally said, breaking the silence between them. “He took on everything Jeffery, almost got too much for him,” she let out a small huffed breath. “But he’s your eldest son, you taught him everything he needed to know about your company and International Rescue.” “But that doesn’t explain…this,” “For years I saw that boy struggle with many things. The most prominent one was that he felt he could have done better. Scott worked himself to exhaustion. We’re all grateful Virgil became the main paramedic to deal with your eldest because he took on so much. Took the pain, the sadness, the guilt from everyone else and hoarded it himself. Reminds me of a certain Tracy I knew when they were younger,” Jeff looked back over to his mother, who had a kind, warm smile waiting for him. Of course, Scott would take everything on his shoulders, even at his young age. But the guilt was something that took Jeff a little off guard. He felt like he should have the guilt. The guilt of leaving his family. The guilt of leaving his eldest son with five younger siblings. The guilt of never telling him Kayo’s origins. There was so much more Jeff should have told or shown to not only Scott but the rest of his sons. He was so overwhelmed by his own guilt he didn’t even consider Scott had his own. He remembered that dreaded day so clearly, it haunted his mind constantly even when asleep. The last day he spent on the planet before disappearing for eight years. He remembers telling his sons he’d be home for dinner. He remembered Scott following him to the hanger, stating his worry about the mission. Jeff remembers considering letting Scott join him as the backup pilot in case the place was too much to handle for Jeff alone. But that was out of the question. Jeff vowed to not let the Hood get close to his family, especially Scott not after what happened. Jeff sighed quickly. He’d already broken that vow. The Hood had done so much damage to the family, almost ripping it apart. But not anymore, Jeff was certain on that. He would need to talk with Scott properly after this mission was over and safely back home. Maybe even talk about some old demons they both shared. “Jeffery, Virgil’s trying to contact you,” Jeff looked over to the wall that mounted his sons' portraits, Virgil’s lit up, sending a projection of him onto the table. Jeff noticed straight away something was wrong. “Virgil? What’s happened?”

Part 3: Scott To say Scott hated The Hood was an understatement. That man, that monster, made Scott's blood boil with rage. But The Hood was also one of the very few people who could instil a rare horrible emotion as well, fear. The fear that The Hood could take everything away from him in a single second. He knew this fear, he’s already experienced it once before a little over ten years ago. Memories of betrayal and threats surfaced suddenly, catching Scott off guard, melting his poker face stance away. “Remembering old times Scott? I’m rather offended you forgot them. They were, of course, the most defining moments of your life,” The Hood looked down to him grinning. “Young and ambitious wanting to be better than your father,” No, Scott didn’t want to remember those times, those memories were locked away for a reason. He had to focus on the now not then. Focus on making sure The Hood never got to the jet he was asking about. Scott knew what The Hood wanted now. “The jet’s destroyed Hood. It’s gone,” Scott said quickly, not latching onto the words he had said previously. The Hood just burst into a sarcastic laugh. “Oh? You’re being serious? Don’t take me for a fool Scott. I know she’s still in one piece. After all, you wouldn’t have destroyed your precious first jet. She was too good to be destroyed. The perfect machine that couldn’t be matched in either Earth’s atmosphere or space. The speed and weaponry that couldn’t be countered. I would build it again myself if the parts weren’t so rare,” The Hood continued to smile. “You didn’t build it you ruined it!” Scott shouted before swallowing thickly, realising he’d just been baited, again. “Come now, Scott. Even you admitted to it being a beautiful machine, you were in your element whilst flying it. How you were so focused on proving your father wrong, proving him you were better. I wanted to prove that too, prove to the world that Scott Tracy could become so much more than Jeff Tracy,” “You manipulated me,” “I was trying to show you your true potential Scott and you threw it all away when you betrayed me,” “You betrayed us! My father trusted you. Worked with you and you…you tried to kill him,” The hood smacked his hands down on to the metal table, leaning over Scott. Scott looked up to him about to continue his sentence before noticing The Hoods expression. He tensed; Scott knew that look. It was a look he hadn’t seen in ten years. It was the look The Hood gave him all those years ago when he declared Scott had betrayed him and vowed that Scott would pay. There was that emotion again, fear. It seeped through his body relentlessly. He wouldn’t be overwhelmed again; he was stronger this time. “If you won’t tell me then I suppose I’ll have to find another Tracy to tell me the location,” “They don’t know anything about it!” Scott saw The Hoods expression change from angry to delight as he saw the realisation dawn on the criminals face. “You never told them, did you?” The Hood laughed. “You never told your brothers you worked with me,”

[girlofmanyfandoms]

A/n: Next chapter is out! This one has a lot of setting up of the future plot points, it’ll be fun if y’all can pinpoint it. If the next chapter takes too long, I’ll post more of “The Plot out of context,” if it’s wanted!

Key:

Tater - @a-lonely-tatertot

Lynn - @lesbilynnette

Gray - @silver-snow

Lilah - @tribblemakingalicorn

Cadence - me

Ivy - @imaramennoodle

Molly - @molly-sencen

Farris - @everyonehasthoughts

Speens - @an-absolute-travesty

Holes - @holesinmyfalseconfidence

Connor - @linhammon-roll-bromance101

Panda - @worldwidepandamonium

Meg - @ultralazycreatorfan

Word count: 2,740

Warnings: Nothing makes sense.

“Lynn, can you have the next shipment of the Gatorade sent to my address in Peru?”

“Farris, what did you do now?”

“Nothing!” They grinned nervously.

“I swear if you moved to Peru just so you could buy an alpaca, I will-”

“It’s not that, I swear! Well, not just that. Boss called and said I have to be at the excavation site by tomorrow, that it might be a big break.” Farris scoffed. “As if. Last time, the only thing I found with my metal detector was someone’s Betty Boop keychain.”

“Yeah, I can ship them there,” Lynn sighed, exhausted from a night of getting a deal with the investor and setting prices for the products. “And that’s crazy.”

“I know right?” Farris answered. “Betty Boop? When was this person born, the 1950s?”

“That’s not- yeah, you’re right, Farris.” Lynn changed her sentence halfway through. “Any word back from Panda?”

“Yeah, Panda got back to me. Said that her sign is a Scorpio.”

“What?”

“Exactly, who would’ve thought Panda was-”

“Farris, you were supposed to ask about the chain restaurant idea!” Lynn massaged her forehead. “Why did we agree to be partners?”

“Because I threatened to blackmail you,” they responded, taking a bite out of an apple. “And I did ask about that. The zodiac sign was probably the question I wrote on my arm so I wouldn’t forget.”

“And?”

“She said the chain restaurant idea is a good thing to look into, as soon as we can make a good menu, hire some staff, good prices, nice locations, accessibility, y’know, all that jazz.”

“Because that’s so simple.” Lynn sighed, shuffling through the paperwork that had accumulated within the past week. “Alright, tell you what, I’ll get an artist to make an ad, maybe a social networker, I’ll set up a blog and we get the word out. As soon as you get back from the gig, you call me, alright?”

“Yup,” they agreed. “Oh, and Connor just texted saying he needs your help. I told him to wait ‘til I got back so I could teach him how to properly rollerblade, but the kid’s a madlad.”

“Anything broken?”

“His sanity.”

“Farris.”

“And a lot of furniture.”

“Guess I’ll have to find out for myself, huh?”

“You sure will.”

“Alright, I’m checking in with the supplier. Talk later?”

“Cheerio, mate,” Farris grinned, saluting her before ending the call.

Lynn opened her laptop and emailed her supplier, who had requested to remain anonymous. This was fine though, identities shouldn’t be known when dealing with the black market and pyramid schemes. Lynn was fine with using her real name because of her position as co-founder of Forbidden Incorporated. If she was going to go deviant, she’ll be damned if she didn’t do it with style.

_________

Cadence’s phone buzzed, as an email from a client had just arrived.

“Forks do not work with ice cream,” Tater yelled for the umpteenth time.

Holes clutched their head in a mixture of disappointment and annoyance. “Why would you use a spoon? It’s not soup, you can’t just spoon it out!”

“Then pop it in the microwave for a few seconds, for fu-”

“Crank it down 12 notches,” Molly suggested.

“-for Pete’s sake,” Tater acknowledged Molly. “And didn’t you just eat an entire bag of flamin’ hot Cheetos in one sitting?”

“They were good! And I’m fine,” Molly insisted. “Sure, we’re out of milk, and I have strep throat, but I just took a shower and I don’t think I’m gonna pass out just yet.”

Tater and Holes pulled out a Lysol can, masks, gloves, and a plexiglass barricade within seconds, clearly getting flashbacks from 2020. Cadence wasn’t paying attention, as usual, and kept writing her response to the email.

“Relax,” Molly laughed, clearly not finding it strange that they had those on hand at least a decade later. “I got my antibiotics, it’s not contagious anymore. And hey, good news: I made a questionable decision, and that’s also not contagious.”

They threw the equipment behind them, seemingly into the abyss, and relaxed a bit.

“Ok, now to address the real problem,” Holes started. “Who is Pete and why are we doing everything for his sake?”

“Oh my gods, it’s an expression, Holes,” Tater sighed.

“No, no, Holes, is onto something,” Molly said, grabbing the detective hat Lynn had designed for her and putting it on. “And I intend to find out.”

“Cadence, please make it two against two,” Tater pleaded.

Cadence glanced up from her phone. “What’s happening?”

“Oh my- you know what, I should’ve expected that, considering the Paint Water incident.”

“Ok, the Paint Water Incident was ONE TIME!”

“The what?” Holes looked interested.

“We don’t talk about it,” Cadence chimed in. “Think of it as the Great Gulon Incident of our group.”

“Great,” Holes sighed. “Another mystery. You’re all high.”

“I was fully aware of what I was doing in that incident.”

“Even better,” Holes commented dryly. “Nevermind, I don’t need to know.”

“Besides, there are great puzzles to be solved,” Molly continued enthusiastically. “Onward! We must scavenge for our first clue of Pete’s identity.”

Tater closed her eyes, telling her conscience to shove it for a moment. “Where do we start, Detective?”

Holes raised their eyebrows.

“If you can’t beat ‘em, join ‘em,” Tater shrugged.

Molly looked at Holes in expectation. “Alright, fine,” Holes caved. “But I’m taking Cadence with us, I’m not going crazy alone.”

“That ship has sailed for both of us,” Cadence commented, not looking up from her phone.

“Yeah, haha, very funny. Let’s check out the corner opposite of the one they’re searching.” Holes paused, waiting for them to be out of earshot. “We don’t have to do anything, just pretend to search, I’ll be watching to make sure they don’t get killed.”

Cadence looked down at the email from her client. A shipping of 500 bottles, and 3,000 containers of newer products. And to Peru? Why had they changed the shipping address? She sighed. It was going to be a long day.

________

Connor’s house was on fire. Connor’s house was on fire. Why was Connor’s house on fire, you ask? Well, if you need to ask, you clearly haven’t met him. Lynn gazed at the sight in front of her tiredly, not knowing how she hadn’t expected this to happen.

Speens was calmly watering the bushes surrounding the house, not giving a second thought about putting out the fire with the water they had.

Lilah appeared beside Lynn, startling her. “Oh, good, you came. Gray has been trying to help Connor stand up for the past 30 minutes, but he’s way too drunk and he keeps refusing to ditch the rollerblades. Oh yeah, and his house is on fire.”

“About that, how’d it happen?”

“He was rollerblading on the stair railings when he fell onto their lamp, which tilted over and fell onto the seance that he was holding earlier in the day so the candles fell onto the hardwood floor, and then he spilled vodka everywhere, and then the flames turned blue, so here we are,” Lilah recounted all in one breath. “It’s kinda beautiful to be honest.”

“Beautiful isn't the word I would use to describe it,” Speens called. “It’s interfering with the plants. Well, except for Suzy, she’s a stubborn one. She wouldn’t burn, and believe me, I tried to make her.”

“I believe you,” Lynn said, quite understandingly. She had seen Speens around on the Deep Web, but had respected their secret. They all had secrets, after all.

Lynn walked inside where the hose was already uncoiled and ready to be used. Connor, however, was clinging to Gray’s leg. “NO, DON’T USE A HOSE, THE HOUSE DOESN’T LIKE SHOWERS.”

“Connor, the house is an inanimate object, it does not care,” Gray told him, trying to get control of the fire in the kitchen.

Connor gasped. “How DARE you talk to Cynthia like that?! She deserves better!” He crawled over to a wall that was, inevitably, about to burn down, and he stroked it. “You’re gonna be okay, sweetie. Don’t listen to the mean person, they’re just a hater.”

Gray shook their head and sighed. “Hey, Lynn. Can you increase the water pressure?”

Lynn did so, much to Connor’s dismay. To make up for it, Lynn handed Connor a piece of a floorboard that had undoubtedly been broken into pieces when they fell off of the stairs. He hugged the floorboard close to his face, crying happy tears, not thinking about the possibility of splinters. Lynn was confused, but had a feeling she would need him as an ally soon, and this was the best way to start.

Lynn babysat Connor as Gray put out the fire. When they had finished, none of the house had fallen down. It was weaker, and very charred, but somehow it hadn’t fallen.

Gray reached behind them and pulled out a ladder and a blueprint covering the new design of Connor’s structurally damaged home. Everyone had become acquainted with such things being summoned when needed. “Alright, I got the materials in the car, but we need to fix this house, er, Cynthia, up.”

“Renovating a house, huh,” Lynn muttered. “Better than spending all day dealing with paperwork. But if I’m going to help you and Connor, I’m going to need both of your help. So, how about an offer?”

Gray narrowed their eyes. “What would that offer entail?”

“Well, for you, Gray, I’d need help renovating a certain building. We’re talking about new elevators, knocking down walls, putting up new ones, new furniture, everything businessy. As for you, Connor,” Lynn paused, waiting for him to look at her. “I need a spy. You don’t have to be sober, but you have to keep them talking alright?”

“I’m feelin’ woozy,” Connor giggled.

“Can you overhear what people say and report back to me when you hear something important despite the wooziness?”

“Yup, and I can be a skater dude, too,” he grinned goofily. “We can all live our dReAmS.”

“Well, I’m in,” Gray said, helping Connor lay down. “I’ll certainly need a team for that building of yours, but I’m in. I can’t repair a house on my own anyway.”

Lynn nodded. A team, huh? For that she needed customers, crazy, loyal, and determined enough to support her products. She had a few people in mind who might be able to deliver.

______

“Meg, you got the snacks?” Ivy called over her shoulder, setting up the gaming consoles. They had finally stopped procrastinating and organized a group hangout between Speens, Ivy, and Meg, making it a game night. Ivy brought the video games, Speens brought the hands-on games, and Meg was in charge of snacks.

“Yup,” she smiled, wheeling in a wagon of junk food. “Anything you could want, it’s here. What games you got?”

“Rocket League, Mario Kart, only the best of the best. How about you, Speens?”

“Uno, Jenga, Connect Four, Scrabble, Twister, Monopoly, you name it, I got it. Where do you want to start? Virtual or hands on?”

“Virtual, I guess,” Meg decided. “Haven’t played in a while, ever since a pigeon yeeted my controller out of a window.”

Ivy tilted her head, asking for an explanation.

“T’was like a message from an angry god,” Meg said wistfully, resting her head in her hands. “A god who preached ‘live, laugh, yeehaw, and stop playing The Last of Us 2 because it’s a trash game.’”

“Are you on drugs?” Ivy looked sincere.

“I mean, I wrote ‘gay’ and ‘yeehaw’ all over my dad’s truck, and later that night I had a dream about falling in love with the sister of this prince that I had to stop from destroying everything at exactly 12 AM, but I don’t think that’s what you’re looking for.”

“No, that answered my question,” Ivy said, setting up the board out while the sunset shined brightly onto their faces in the cool evening light.

Meg chose the monster truck token. “Refresh my memory, how do you play again?”

“It’s literally just capitalism for kids, and I am above you mere mortals,” Speens helped, choosing the rubber duck token, and taking a Snickers and KitKat from Meg’s snack wagon. What happened next was ungodly. Speens opened the KitKat bar and ate it. Without. Separating. The Bars.

Ivy reeled back in horror, and Meg hid behind her, terrified of the scene going on before their eyes.

“What?” Speens finished the chocolate and wiped their hands with a tissue. “Are we going to play this game or not?”

“Oh no,” Ivy said, pulling her hair slightly. “You don’t get to gloss over that. The Forbidden Spicy Gatorade is for all of us to share and enjoy once we get our hands on it, but you never, never, disrespect the KitKat bar.”

Speens scoffed. “You’re really going to dwell on that?”

“Going to dwell- I can’t even-“ Ivy took a deep breath to steady herself.  “I will not allow this in my house. So you know what? Let’s raise the stakes. We need this Monopoly game to be a game-changer.”

Speens narrowed their eyes. “What are you saying? You’re betting something?”

“Yup. If I win, you have to wear a hoodie that says “I love Holes” and you have to help me with a plan of mine. If you win, I’ll help you get revenge on someone.”

“And if I win,” Meg continued. “Y’all owe me a lifetime’s supply of fro-yo and you both have to agree to each other’s bet deals.”

“Deal from my end,” Ivy pitched in, selecting the top hat token. The other two agreed, and the game commenced.

By 3 o’clock in the morning, Ivy had been in jail 17 times, and Speens had one hotel left. With a few lucky turns, Speens was bankrupt.

Ivy smirked, having a good feeling about this. “I call upon the power of the almighty Top Hat!”

“Oh, don’t look so smug, Ives,” Speens scowled, opening their suitcase of vodka and pouring their version of two shots. “You can still lose to Meg, and she bet a lot.”

“True, but in reality, would you rather lose to Meg or me?” Ivy flashed a grin. “The hoodie’s in my room, by the way. Don’t worry- it’s washed!”

Sighing, Speens went to retrieve the hoodie. A deal’s a deal, after all. When they returned, they looked ready to kill someone. They wore a baggy bright pink hoodie with “I Love Holes!” spelled in purple glitter. “You better win this, Meg.”

Meg stuffed a hand in her bag of snacks and nodded. Ivy’s turn was next, and it brought Meg down to $100. Speens muttered something under her breath and waved her hand in an elaborate motion. Seconds later, a loud crash was heard, followed by the breaking of glass and the sound of spraying water.

Ivy frowned. “What was that?”

“Go check,” Speens suggested.

Ivy looked out of the kitchen window to see… no window. The top of a fire hydrant had come bursting off of its mounted position and had crashed through her window. “No!” She frantically ran to the street to assess the damage from outside.

“Well, what are you waiting for?” Speens stirred their beverage casually. “She’s not looking, you can win this.”

“Even if it means you always have to pay for my fro-yo?”

Speens shrugged. “Beats having her win. Besides, I’ll eat just as much fro-yo as you do if I’m paying for it.”

Meg went through the cards quickly, ignored whatever magic just went on. With a lifetime supply of such an other-worldly snack, who wouldn’t? Meg found her card just in time, as Ivy came back in, looking surprisingly calm.

“I boarded up the window, insurance will cover it,” she explained. “Your turn, Meg.”

Meg pulled the card she had placed on top of the pile and made her move. She had done it. Ivy was bankrupt. Not only that, but she was going insane. She flipped the board, sending everything tumbling into the depths of her house.

“How did you- you had no chance-”

“Breath, princess,” Speens joked. “I know what’ll take your mind off of this: some good old fashioned revenge on an old rival of mine. Whaddaya say, pal?”

“This day could not get any worse,” Ivy whined.

Except it could. And it did.

The electricity cut out and Ivy let out an ear-piercing screech.

__________

A/n: Not my favorite chapter, but I have some freaking PLANS for the next ones. Stay tuned! And if I made any errors, let me know because I can’t sit still for more than 5 minutes, so I only corrected a few things.

[gold-eyes-vengeful-heart]

Make-Up Day, For Prompt#25: Wish

((because clearly I didn’t get to this “on time” lol, but

the climax, finally, of the arc I’ve been doing between Dae/Runya and Maebh (who belongs to @semper-miles)

content warning for violence/gore and abuse and uh what probably counts as cannibalism? this one got fuckin dark I’m sorry))

===

Runya of course scrambled out of the Weapon’s cockpit quickly; Blue, in turn, quickly shut it again and started to inch back, though even as he did, Runya had heard Sorin yelping in surprise and demanding Blue to open that back up he had to be out there--

And on top of that, a roar in the distance that was very distinctly Daeyona’s. Very few other noises other than Abyss-magic had that depth of bass in the sound. But he had the Legatus right here in front of him and he wanted to talk and he was most certainly not going to let some berserk pile of corrupted magic have at him just yet. 

He wouldn’t have anything interrupting him now. Not after all these years of doing aught else but fantasizing about and working towards this moment.

“Blue, dear? Give her a swat for me, will you? I can’t have her interrupting.” Even though he hadn’t raised his voice to talk to the Weapon, Blue had clearly heard enough--barely had Daeyona picked up Maebh before the Weapon’s claw-ended tail picked her up and threw her, the roar turning to something more like a surprised yap from a hellhound in the process.

A wet cough from Merceus, however, caught his attention; his ear swiveled shortly before his head did, and he just smiled at seeing the Legatus on his feet, however shakily with the sheer injury Maebh’s raw aether had inflicted on him. Runya just folded his hands behind his head, and sauntered towards him. “Mmm, don’t you just look terrible.”

How many times had the Legatus said that to him, before?

The way that Merceus’ eyes narrowed at him sent a little frisson of glee down his spine, even. “Oh, so you do remember who I am, then? Even though I look more than a little different these days? Good, it saves me a monologue.”

“You stole my Weapon,” Merceus hissed, straightening up despite the pain it was clearly causing him. (Good.) “And you escaped my labs. And you were the reason that I finally decided that Angerona was more trouble than she was worth.”

Runya’s tail stiffened and his ears went back and yet the dead-looking smile remained on his face, even as his smugness blew back into seething hate. “Ahhh, much the wrong thing to say, I’m afraid...” And though his entire back and legs protested at the movement, he darted forward and a single sharp kick to the Legatus’ abdomen sent the taller, more solidly-built man reeling, his injuries leaving him vulnerable to the otherwise-mediocre blow. Another shove sent Merceus falling onto his back into the dirt, and as he snarled in pain and tried to get up, Runya quickly shoved his boot down on the man’s neck.

And the Miqo’te still smiled down at the Garlean, jaws slightly agape and lips curled in disdain to reveal shining fangs.

“I did nothing, for years, other than bide my time and wish to be here with you like this,” he continued, the purr in his low voice more like a growl. Burned flesh peeled with a soft wet sound under his foot, blood trickling from the wounds, but he just reveled in it. “With you under my heel, where you and every other Garlean belongs. Years and years, your scientists gored me and throttled me and tore me apart and stuffed me full of augmentations that are still yet killing me for your own ever-so-lofty ends, and you even deigned to do it with your own hands sometimes. And whenever Angerona objected, you just had her sisters beat her, to keep her in-line.”

Oh, did he remember. His mind was so scored and cratered by the endless hellish memories that he remembered little else in detail anymore.

“And I was no anomaly--your glorious civilized Garlean Empire repeated such atrocities at scale, because none of us even counted as people anymore, just things. And you even had me believing it, sometimes, for all my hatred and plotting against you. To think you had the gall to call us ‘savages’, after all of that.”

“We aren’t the ones summoning eikons to kill the world--”

“Oh, no,” Runya interrupted, pressing down and smiling as the Legatus scrabbled uselessly at his foot, “you just want the honor of doing it first, given who your Empire’s leaders really are. How terribly noble.”

He heard Blue’s cockpit hatch hissing open again and knew that Sorin had finally been let out, and though it gave him no greater pleasure than to imagine choking the Legatus to death under his bootheel, and watch the light slowly leave his eyes as he would make the man beg for his life, he also knew he had precious little time before his little friend there decided to make him be merciful. And so he just drew the book from his hip, the pages already a-glow with magic...

Merceus suddenly laughed, a nasty hacking sound, letting his grip go slack. One of his eyes was glowing, and though Runya wasn’t quite able to tell what it was doing at a glance, he didn’t fail to overhear Blue suddenly going very, very still.

“Oh, no, aan Asaamir. We’re not done yet.”

Blue advanced from behind, step by mechanical step, and when Runya dared to peek back over his shoulder, he could see the Weapon’s eyes glowing and jaws slack--

Just like before, when Mourning had gotten to Blue.

Sorin gritted his teeth and drew his sword but Blue just stepped over him, using his massive paws to keep Sorin from getting close.

“I won’t suffer some failure of an experiment to live after doing this to me.” But Merceus’ eyes were focused on the slightly-swaying Weapon, not Runya--and only then did it fully click for the Miqo’te that Merceus was the one controlling him. “That thing is mine. It was never yours. It listens to my bloodline alone, not some savage.”

But even as he focused the full force of his stare on Blue, clearly willing him to do something...Blue just paused, even shaking his head just a fraction.

“It will obey me.”

Blue shook his head again, more emphatically this time, and the vague distant look in his eyes grew sharper.

{Free. We’re...free. Garlean hurt us.}

Merceus’ stare grew even more wild, if such a thing was possible. “You’ll never be free of us, that thing masquerading as a cat is your captor, not your pilot or your friend--”

But Blue suddenly snarled aloud, and Runya only then had the sense to get out of the way. (Even if every ilm of his body and his conscious mind refused to simply let go of his hated foe, the more primal level of his brain, the one concerned with survival and nothing else, refused to be in front of something that large making that kind of noise.)

{Runya-friend! IS! FRIEND!}

Without Runya’s foot crushing his neck, the Legatus could scrabble upright, but even as his other eye lit and his tattoos flared back to life with a steaming hiss, it did nothing to deter Blue. The Weapon, swift and snarling, bent and lunged and with a single sweep of sheer violence of his head, grabbed the Garlean in a sanguine spray tinged with char.

An unearthly gargling scream tore from the Legatus, the blow having simply grabbed him instead of crushing him, but he had time for no more than that. A toss of his head sent Merceus flying a few fulms, only to land more firmly in Blue’s jaws, where fangs longer than his arm impaled him and their serrated edges tore him to pieces with each snap of Blue’s jaws, indistinct chunks of bloodied gore and crushed bones sliding down the Weapon’s throat and showering Runya with a sanguine mist.

...He couldn’t help but feel a little cheated. Blood dribbled down his upturned face as he watched Blue eating the man with all the grace and finesse of a crocodile, and though it was over in moments, he kept staring, and staring, and staring.

(He had expected this to feel better. Hells, he expected to be cackling with glorious happiness at seeing the last and nastiest of that bloodline dead. Satisfying? Certainly, it was...but.)

“Runya!” Sorin had certainly gone an interesting shade of grey-green at what he had just seen as well, but he stubbornly stayed on his feet, a fox-like darkside silently weaving around his legs once he stopped. 

(It should have felt better. Right now, it just felt like nothing.)

“Runya, are you all right?”

(Was he ever?)

He must have said the thought out loud on accident, judging by the look he got. “You know what I mean, Runya. Did he harm you? Or harm you just now, you know what I’m intending to ask you.”

(The Legatus in particular had died messily. He had died screaming, just like Runya had wanted. Powerless to stop his fate, just like Runya himself had.)

“...Runya.”

(Why did he feel nothing but tired?)

“He made quite the mess.” Runya dragged one gloved hand down his face, smearing the blood more than wiping it off. “I do believe...I need a shower.”

Sorin almost put a hand on his shoulder, but one look into Runya’s eyes made him drop it. “Well, we can...we can go do that.”

Runya barely even noticed the stammer and said nothing about it. He stayed staring up at Blue, and Blue finally--if awkwardly--stared back down at him, and said nothing for a few long moments.

{...Runya-friend?}

“You should clean up, too.” His own voice felt as if it came from another person’s mouth and mind, but he turned to start walking, bloodied footprints left in his wake. 

{Hmph.} Continuing that little disobedient streak, Blue watched him pass by and then proceeded to follow him, Sorin having to jog to catch back up with them.

(Merceus was dead. And yet...would that be enough?)

[laurelsofhighever]

Fandom: Dragon Age: Origins Chapter Rating: Mature Relationships: Alistair/Female Cousland Additional Tags: Alternate Universe, Fereldan Civil War AU - No Blight, Romance, Friends to Lovers, Slow Burn, Demisexuality, Cousland Feels, Hurt/Comfort Chapter Summary: Having arrived at Deerswall, plans are made for the push to Highever, but Rosslyn has a lot on her mind. 

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

Twenty-fifth day of Firstfall, 9:32 Dragon

“Something isn’t right.”

Alistair pulled his gaze from the vista before them. “What do you mean?”

Under a brief easing of the weather, the king’s army stood outside Deerswall, massed on the flat plain that had once fostered so many refugees. Rosslyn sat at the front with Alistair, Cailan, and the senior officers of their guards, wrapped up in furs to ward off the wind as they studied the high, closed gate of the fort and the eerie quiet of its walls. A pair of crows hopped across the top of the eastern watchtower by the gate, but nothing else moved.

“They’ve abandoned it,” she realised. “There’s no one here.”

“Would Howe give up such an advantage so easily?” Cailan asked.

“He knew we were coming. It’s probably part of some larger plan, snake that he is, but we’ll still be better off inside than out until we’re ready to move again.”

“Or maybe it’s more simple than that,” Alistair replied. “Maybe it’s an ambush and they’re waiting for us to get too close so they can poke us with a lot of arrows.”

She nodded slowly; she had considered it. “Gideon?”

“Ma’am?”

“What is the size of the garrison here?”

The old commander shifted in his saddle. “Scout reports put the number at forty to sixty swords – what was left of the Red Iron after Wythenshawe.”

“Mercenaries have horses,” she murmured, and pulled down the scarf that covered the lower half of her face. Icy air stung her nose but she breathed deeply nonetheless, and marked the claggy, stale odour of mud and water, without a hint of smoke or animal dung to taint it. Beneath their feet, a trail of hoofprints led away from the gate, with lumps of manure scattered here and there at least three days old. The emptiness reminded her of Harrowhill, the cold, the quiet, even the blank walls fluttering with the Orange and White of the hated Bear. She turned from the banners with a curl of her lip, aware of the army at her back and Lasan’s nervous shift beneath her. Back then she had trembled, a lost girl stripped of everything she had ever known.

“Should we go up and knock?” Alistair asked, to fill the silence.

“That’s not a bad idea.”

“Wait –” His hand shot out as she slipped from the saddle. “I didn’t mean to actually do it!”

“We need to know for sure if there’s anyone in that fort,” she replied easily, unslinging her shield from the saddle and buckling Talon to her waist.  

“Then let someone else go.” He had dropped to the ground beside her, stepping around the groom that had come to take their horses’ reins. “Cailan –”

“You think I’ve the power to persuade her from this?” The king shook his head. “I trust Her Ladyship’s judgement, and her skill.”

“I’ll be careful.”

But Alistair moved closer, heedless of the ranks watching them, and laid a hand over hers. “We talked about this,” he murmured. “You – taking risks.”

“Would you have me send one of my soldiers to do something I wouldn’t be willing to do myself?” she asked.

“The problem is, you’re entirely too willing.” He attempted a smile. “The first sign of anything –”

“I’ll come back,” she promised, and squeezed his fingers. “Just try and stop me.”

She felt his eyes bore into her back as she started across the open ground with her standard bearer at her heels. Howe’s forces had been busy in the months left to themselves, bolstered the defences with stone bracing at the base of the palisade, and set a ditch in front of the main gate. They had even built a bridge over the lumpy, half frozen sludge at the bottom, though the only thing left of it now was a charred skeleton of pilings and planks doused by the rain before the fire could fully take them. It made a great delaying tactic.

Mud sucked at their boots. Their progress was slow, hampered by the search for caltrops under their feet and movement in the crenelations above, and as they crossed the invisible line that put them within arrowshot of the walls, Rosslyn raised her shield just a little bit, ready in case Alistair’s worry proved true. The moat stopped her reaching the whole distance to the gate, so instead she stopped at the lip of the bank and planted her feet as if she were exactly where she wanted to be, waiting for her standard bearer to raise the Laurels at her back.

No sign from the walls. The crowd stopped their preening to watch as Maddow opened his mouth to speak.

“Hail to Her Ladyship Teyrna Rosslyn Cousland, Falcon of Highever, Commander in the North, right hand of His Majesty King Cailan Theirin, true and just ruler of Ferelden, defeater of the traitor Loghain and the snivelling polecat Howe who waits on him!”

Rosslyn’s brow quirked. “Laying it on a little thick, aren’t you?”

“I thought we were trying to bait them, ma’am.” He shot her a grin, which only widened when she rolled her eyes and nodded for him to continue.  

“Enemies of His Majesty! You are called on to surrender yourselves, this fortress, and its environs immediately to the grace of Her Ladyship, or else it is decreed to a one you will suffer a most painful death!”

Unimpressed, the crows resumed their business and let the last echoes of the challenge rebound off the palisade, but nothing else moved. Rosslyn counted to ten, and when no arrows came streaking from behind the walls, let go of the breath she had been holding and half-turned back towards her lines, a grin wild and triumphant across her face.

“What do you think?” she called to them. “Should I blow a raspberry?”

A chorus of jeers answered her, meant for the ears of whatever forces might be hiding behind the gate, and when even that met only silence, she nodded, once, and gestured for Maddow to follow her back to the ranks, where Gideon was already waiting.

“I want to be in there by nightfall,” she ordered. “The ground looks solid enough to put a bridge in, so get the carpenters to work on it – utility only, no flourishes. It needs to get everybody across and hold up until we leave. In the meantime, sweep the whole place for traps and anyone that might be hiding, groups of three at the least so alarms can be raised.”

“Aye, Your Ladyship.” The commander bowed, and turned to bark orders to the unit of scouts already waiting for orders, leaving her free to return to Alistair’s side.

“And now we wait?” he checked.

She huffed and went to loosen the girth strap on Lasan’s saddle. “And now we wait. It’s surprising how much of that there is in battle.”  

“I see.”

“What’s that look for?”

“Uh…”  

With a cough and a quick glance to make sure all attention was elsewhere, he sidled up next to her, settling his hand on the small of her back to keep their conversation close enough that no one could overhear. The touch barely reached her through all her layers of metal and cloth, but its tenderness, the clarity of his gaze, sent a lick of heat shooting along her limbs nonetheless, and she had to turn her face into her horse’s flank to avoid being overcome. She could see Loren and Franderel in the distance, guiding their horses over from the wing, but still too far away to trouble them yet.

“I’ve never seen you command like that,” Alistair said, with the slightest tinge of pink at the tips of his ears. “Not even at Lothering – when you swooped in and saved me, remember?”

“Does it bother you?” She had grown up hearing comparisons between herself and the more elegant ladies of the court, the ones like Anora who kept to their arms training as a formality only and never tried to go to war.  

His touch rose to the back of her neck, playing with the loose strands that had fallen out of her braid. “I wouldn’t say it bothers me, at least not in a bad way. It just makes me wonder what you would have been like raising horses on the coast – if you hadn’t had to deal with all this.”

“Would I have met you, then?” she asked.

“Of course,” he answered, and brushed his lips against her forehead. “Blight wolves couldn’t keep me from such beauty.”

A smirk lifted the corner of her mouth. “And you think a line like that would have worked on me?”

“Ohhhh you? No, I’d have better lines for you. Trust me.”

“Such as?”

“Well, let me think…”

“Your Highness, Your Ladyship!” Franderel reined his charger sharply to a halt and dismounted, with Loren not far behind. “I trust everything is going well?”

“Fine,” she replied, leaning back out of Alistair’s reach as if they hadn’t been interrupted. “We were just about to join His Majesty in his pavilion.”

Her vassal nodded, either oblivious or choosing to ignore it, and gestured towards where servants had already posted the War Dog standard and offloaded the tent canvas from its supply cart. “Shall we, then? It will be good to finalise the details of our campaign to the north, even if we may have to face the prospect of getting underway before we can fully claim Deerswall.”

“Why don’t we keep the doom and gloom until after lunch?” Alistair made the suggestion with a smile, but he kept close to her side, gaze narrowed at the elderly bann.  

“Of course, Your Highness.”

“His Majesty has sent outriders to establish a perimeter,” Loren offered, interposing between them, “so if we are forced to stay outside the walls tonight, we won’t be caught unprepared.”

At a stalemate for the moment, they left their horses with the grooms and weaved through the ranks of soldiers being kept busy with menial tasks while the carpenters and the advance worked on the bridge and on clearing out the keep. Others still had been sent into the surrounding forest for firewood, and on the few cookfires already established here and there, the rest lined up for their midday meal. It would likely be nothing more than thin meat stew bulked out with vegetables and hard bread, but on such a cold day with damp nipping at the fingers, it would provide welcome warmth for a few hours, and the smell was already rising through the camp.

“How are your lands coping with the refugees, my lord?” Rosslyn asked Franderel, to distract from the cavernous feel of her stomach.

“Many moved on to the west where fighting was less likely to spread, Your Ladyship,” the bann replied, falling into step beside her. “Those who stayed have been a mixed blessing – extra mouths, but also extra hands to help with the harvest. And extra eyes to watch the northern border for trouble.”

She nodded. “Highever will not forget the generosity shown to its people.”

“West Hill is only glad to offer assistance when called upon. And…” He allowed a smile. “I am also relieved to see our worst fears turn to smoke. I knew your father, fought with him. It seems you’ve inherited his talents.”

“Thank you, my lord.”

She decided not to push the issue, despite her suspicion over his apparent sincerity, and only nodded her acknowledgement as Cailan waved them over to the table he had set up by the supplies, already in attendance with Teagan, Knight-Captain Irminric and a bevy of servants swirling around them. He had decided to forego the entire pavilion, choosing optimism instead, and had directed the servants to pitch only a windbreak and a roof over his map table in case it rained. The openness of the arrangement allowed a view across the entire camp, with Deerswall as a backdrop and a fine detail of cartography splayed across the war table readable in the daylight.

“Ho!” the king called. “Are we on track?”

“That depends on what surprises the Red Iron left for us,” Rosslyn answered.

“Tch, cowards. Although in fairness, I doubt I would dare brave the Falcon’s wrath waiting inside a wooden fortress!” He greeted the others and ushered them around the table. “In an ideal world, the keep is perfectly safe, and we will be in it in time for a decent night’s rest, which means we will have limited time in the morning to prepare for anything but an immediate departure. As you can imagine, if the rumours of the queen’s presence at Castle Cousland prove true, we must reach it – and take it – as soon as possible. Since we can do nothing further to aid us in that for now, we should solidify our plans.”

Loren bowed. “We stand ready, Your Majesty.”  

“Good. Now then, the spear of our attack will come from two fronts.” Cailan rearranged the maps to find one of the northern coast, which he smoothed out and weighted at the corners. “One group, led by Her Ladyship and Prince Alistair, will travel along the coast and infiltrate the castle to secure the queen and the gates ahead of the army’s arrival.”

“Castle Cousland’s walls are nigh unpassable,” Franderel scoffed. “And there can be no certainty that any within those walls are yet loyal to the Laurels. How many are you taking for this venture?”

“Enough,” Rosslyn replied. “Our strength will be my knowledge of the castle, rather than numbers. Without the help of a dragon to breach the curtain wall, the keep could never be taken in time to ensure Queen Anora’s safety.”

Cailan sighed. “There is no ideal solution to this, but no better. The second force will approach as if for a traditional siege, with as much fanfare as we can muster. This main force will be both diversion and bait to try and draw out Howe, and once we have him, Loghain will have nothing left behind which to hide. You have thoughts, my lord Loren?”

The bann startled out of his frown. “What of Loghain’s forces?”

“If this is a trap, then we will turn it against the trapper. We have surprise on our side. He will expect to face an army with nowhere to run, with a castle for his defence, when in fact, thanks to Her Ladyship’s actions, the opposite will be true.”

“I see.” Loren stroked a hand along his chin. “It might still be wise to send an advanced guard ahead, in case the teyrn is not where he is expected to be.”

“That’s unlikely,” Rosslyn interrupted. “Loghain is an experienced general, and for the first time, our forces outnumber his. He’ll want every advantage he can get, which means having Castle Cousland at his back.”

“Still,” Irminric reasoned, with a glance in her direction. “It would not hurt to be wary, if we could find a unit suitable for the task.”

“I would like to volunteer,” Loren said, and at Rosslyn’s blink of surprise, drew himself up. “I have spent months watching the border, hearing of your successes, and I wish for an end to this as wholeheartedly as any of you.”

“How will Your Majesty know if this… infiltration force has succeeded?” Franderel asked.

“We are due to meet in six days after Her Ladyship leaves for the coast,” Cailan replied. “Once Howe’s colours are struck from the tower, her party will open the gates to the rest of our forces, and we let our enemy beat itself to exhaustion against the walls.”

“Most of the mages will stay with that force. We expect the most casualties there, and if Her Ladyship does not manage to reach the gates it in time, they will make the greatest difference in fending off an attack. Given the lack of templars, they will need a guard.”

“Would my knights be suitable, Captain?” Teagan asked. A slight hesitation shook his voice, but he had adapted quickly to the idea of being Arl of Redcliffe in his brother’s place, with all that entailed.

“They will, my lord.”

The jangle of mail alerted them to the arrival of a messenger in blue, who bowed low, cheeks flushed pink as she started to speak.

“Your Ladyship, Guard-Commander Gideon said to inform you the bailey and upper battlements are clear for occupation, and the bridge will be completed to standard in an hour.”

“Thank you, corporal. Have units start to move across as soon as possible, and draft more people into the search of the keep to speed the clearance.” Rosslyn waited for the messenger to leave before turning back to her audience, her back straight and her voice steady. “One question remains before we set out. My volunteers are ready, but what about the ship we commissioned?”

“It’ll be waiting for you at Rothsbridge, Your Ladyship,” Franderel replied. “Supplied and ready, as per your order.”

“Good.”

Despite the mask of confidence, nerves jittered beneath the surface, turning her stomach and shortening her breath no matter how many times she forced her muscles to relax. The prospect of finally going home lurked at the back of her mind, pushed aside for as long as the council discussed troop placement and travel times, but every detail only added to the weight of reality pressing down on her, and would not be ignored forever. This was the campaign for Highever. The end she had wanted for so many months was suddenly in sight, real, complete with the very real consequences they would all suffer if she failed.  

Even once darkness fell and the last of the army had squeezed through the gate, and the Amarathine banners were torn from the walls, her mind wandered, dwelled on what she might find, how little might remain. Without people to occupy them, most of the rooms on the private floor would have to be shut up, the furnishings covered with dust sheets to ward off damage. She would be expected to move into the big room at the front of the house that had always belonged to the teyrn, never mind the sea view in her own chambers, or the fact that she could never think of the big room without hearing her father’s jokes and her mother’s deep, rich laughter.

What had become of her parents’ things – the dressing sets and the lifetime of trinkets? Oren’s toys? How much of her whole life had been thrown aside, or melted down for coin to fund the ransacking of the rest of the teyrnir? The more she tried not to think about it, the more she dreaded having to walk the halls again, accompanied by nothing but draughts through ancient corridors, the echoes of her own solitary footsteps. The heat of battle forced her mind to other things, but once the war finished and everyone went back to their lives, what could she do?

She lay awake for an hour trying to get comfortable, trying to put it from her thoughts, until her patience snapped and she threw back the bedcovers hard enough that they half-buried Cuno. He opened one bleary eye, but she soothed him with a murmur and he stretched out with a doggy sigh that took him back to sleep. Nobody would bother her at such a late hour. She threw on shirt, breeches, and a gambeson for warmth, and headed to the stables.

Alistair would have to go to Denerim, to fulfil his duties as heir apparent. She scowled at her boots as she dwelled on the idea. It was one thing to have their affection for each other made public, but to live together without any formal arrangement between the two of them would cause scandal in the court. Anora would never allow it. And she would never ask him to shoulder such a burden.

The horses greeted her with soft snorts and sweet breaths. As she slipped into Lasan’s stall with a grooming kit on her arm, he turned to her with a low nicker that eased her worries away. Spending time with the large, graceful animals always calmed her, and after topping up her charger’s supply of hay and water and discarding her gambeson on a hook outside, she lost herself in in long strokes of the dandy brush, working from neck to haunch until even the thickest parts of his winter coat gleamed like marble. She spotted burrs in his tail and teased them out with a comb, then looked for anything else the grooms might have missed, details that might keep her mind focused just a little bit longer. She couldn’t take him with her, after all. Her mount for the morning run to Rothsbridge stood further down the line in the narrow barn allocated to the geldings of the messenger service.  

A hoof stamped in the straw.

“I’ve overstayed my welcome, huh?” she asked, coming up to stroke her horse’s ears.  

He pulled his head away from her, swishing his tail and giving a meaningful tug on his haynet.  

“I see I’m dismissed.” She shook her head and left him with a final pat. “Don’t bully the hands too much while I’m gone.”

A rustle in the straw alerted her to another presence as she bolted the stall door.

“There you are.”

She smiled and turned, and found Alistair leaning against the post by the door. “I thought you’d be asleep.”

“You definitely aren’t,” he replied.

Whatever response she might have given died under the soft scrutiny of his gaze. He was already moving forward, reaching for her, warm and solid, a strong heartbeat to calm the tempo of hers.

“The plan will work,” he told her as her arms slipped around his neck.

“It’s not the plan,” she breathed. “It’s after.”

A sigh, the embrace tightening about her shoulders. “We’ll face it together.”

“I’m glad you’re going with me.”

He loosed a chuckle above her ear. “We both know you just need someone to carry the bags.”

She snorted, because he said it to make her laugh, but she pulled back nonetheless, just enough, and threaded her fingers into his hair. “That isn’t true.”

He searched her face. She nudged forward, drawing him down, until he leaned the last little distance and kissed her first, starting with a hand feathered along her jaw, the tiniest of steps to eliminate what little space remained between them.

“Is anyone else here?” he asked, without breaking away.

Unable to speak, she merely shook her head. The kiss deepened, they moved. Alistair’s hand stretched out to brace them both as her back met the wall, while hers roved, pulling him closer at waist and neck. The press of his body trapped her, all strength and safety like she had never known with anyone else, and when a groan tore from his throat with an involuntary stutter of his hips, she took it, and answered, and followed him when he turned his head to pause for air. For a moment they stood, sharing heavy breaths, unmoving save for the whisper of hands across cloth, the slight sway as their senses righted and reminded them of the ground beneath their feet.

“We, uh, never got to finish our conversation,” he managed, voice rough, fingers soft as rain as they slipped beneath the fabric of her shirt and wove delicate, distracting circles across her back. “I’ve been thinking about it – about what might have happened if we weren’t interrupted.”

She leaned into him, grinned as her touch on the back of his neck made him shudder. “So have I. What… what would you have said?”

“That…” He swallowed, untangling her fingers so he could take them in his. “I want you, and I’ve wondered – imagined – what it would be like for longer than is probably decent. And I want – I’m willing to wait, until the perfect time, the perfect place, until you’re ready, and it’s what you want.”

The words held a practiced air, as if he had rehearsed them, scanned them for any misinterpretation, and now he held himself before her, all brittle hope as he waited for a response. Rosslyn’s doubt all but bled away, her uncertainty not for what she wanted, but that the lack of wanting before might show itself in the moment, in other ways. She tightened her hold on his hand.

“You think it would be worth the wait?”

He sighed, disbelieving. “You’re worth everything already, but that… it would be special.”

A bright knot of tension coiled beneath her ribs, expanding around her heart until her breath stalled and her limbs shook, but in its suddenness the strength of her yearning defied mere words. Her silence drew his brows together, however, and the purse of his lips as his gaze dropped to their linked hands was unacceptable.

“I love you so much,” she told him at last, laying her free hand against his cheek. “I’m just… not sure how to explain it. I haven’t changed – what I am is the same, and my feelings for you don’t…” She stopped, biting down on a growl. “I don’t see you and desire you like I’ve heard other people say. But I feel you, and this isn’t close enough, and I want – I want to be with you for that. I want to touch you and never stop, I –” the words were tumbling out too rushed, an embarrassment buoyed by disbelief that such an admission was hers at all. And she was too easily distracted. Alistair’s spare hand still lay at her waist, still turning circles against her skin with the blunt edge of a nail. “I don’t want you to stop doing that.”

It took him a moment to work out what she meant. “You like that?”

“Mmhm.” Her eyes closed to better concentrate on the trail of his touch, but when she tilted forwards, he dodged the kiss and let his mouth run the length of her jaw instead, all the way to the pulse point at the top of her neck. There, he paused, the tip of his tongue flicking against her skin as he wet his lips.

“I want to learn every inch of you by heart.”

She realised her lungs had stopped working. A snide part of her wanted to deny the rush of heat through her limbs, the tingle low in her belly, as merely a reaction to the road ahead or some vain hope that this might finally be the cure to whatever ailment had left her cold all her life. Terror gripped her through that tiny instant of doubt, but Alistair stood ready to lead her away from the precipice. His eyes darkened to the rich, sweet hue of spiced mead as he looked at her, his fingers careful as they left her waist to play with the wispy hair at the back of her neck.

“Breathe,” he reminded her, with a fond twist to his usual cocksure grin. It faltered. “Would – what I said, is that alright?”

She caught his face again, her focus slipping to his mouth. “As long as you let me do the same with you,” she answered.

The shudder that ran through him wiped away any hesitation about claiming his lips again. He pushed her back into the wall as he opened to her, smirking at the noise the movement startled from her throat. Deliberately this time, the cover of his body rocked forward, a slow, cautious push against her hips. His head dropped to her shoulder.  

“Is this alright?”

All she could manage was a strangled hum and a nod. She knew enough to recognise the long, hard line trapped between his body and hers, and thought of it made her stomach flutter. She kissed his neck, cradled his head in her palm. Every nerve sang like a plucked string. In the stalls around them, the horses shifted in their sleep, a small noise amplified by the darkness and the need for discretion.

She squeezed his arm. “Someone will find us here.”

“And we can’t have that.” He chuckled and dragged himself away, though his hands lingered. They followed invisible tracks along her sides, as if memorizing the shape of her ribs. “It must be getting late – we can’t stay here all night.”

Without losing each other, they wandered from the stable and paused at the trough to wash their hands of dust. A thin rime of ice lay like a skin over the water. Rosslyn threw her gambeson around her shoulders like a cape as she broke through with a bucket to fill the washing station, grateful for the extra layer and for Alistair’s warmth huddling next to her. He fished stray wisps of straw from her hair as he waited for his turn with the horsemaster’s caustic soap, and smiled at the way she blushed, which only encouraged the spread of heat across her face.

Nobody bothered them as they picked their way around the sea of canvas tents to the keep steps. The only movement came from the guards on the battlements, and without the light of either moon to lessen the darkness, the night closed around them like a curtain, allowing them the privacy that came so dearly in daylight. Tucked under Alistair’s shoulder, with his arm around her trying to stave off the chill leaking through her still-open gambeson, Rosslyn almost allowed herself to believe they were like any other couple, leaning into each other, stealing each moment as they found it, all but inseparable, and barely caring what the royal guards thought of them as they passed.  

The highest floor of the keep had been set aside for the king and his closest companions, and it was deserted. They halted awkwardly as they came to Rosslyn’s door, limned by the low, harsh light of the storm lantern in the alcove opposite, and stood with hands still linked and eyes averted in a vain attempt to prolong the moment before they had to part. Her heart thumped a harsh rhythm in her ears, but before she could say anything, Alistair caught her chin and with the smallest hesitation leaned down to tilt a kiss against her mouth. She reacted instinctively, closed her eyes, stretched upwards to make it last. He stroked her face as he pulled away.

“Goodnight, my love.” His smile turned self-conscious. “Just think, the next time we’ll be sleeping in beds, we’ll be in Highever.”

“Alistair.” She kept hold of his fingers as she glanced to her door and back. She felt her mouth twitch in a brief, reassuring smile, but nerves quickly stole it away.

“You…” His glance mirrored hers, eyes wide. “When I said – down in the stable, I didn’t mean for any of what I said to pressure you.”

“I know.”

“And… you’re sure you want me to – to spend the night? With you?”

Every fibre of her body ached towards him, the feeling too strong for words. She loved him. She wanted to know what it was like.

“I was under the impression that it’s not the done thing to leave – after,” she tried, and winced when the nervous, joking tone fell flat. “I… we wouldn’t have to do anything, but regardless, I don’t know if I could sleep without you, not tonight.”

To her surprise, he giggled. “Woman, do you know how many nights I’ve had to bully myself into not knocking on your door because I thought you’d turn me away?”

“I won’t,” she promised. “I want this. If you do.” She barely had time to raise her eyes to his before he came crashing down to meet her once more.

[monstersofsilence]

Descendant of The Dragon Rider

“You... are a danger. Your legacy is a danger to ALL. We will do our best to be sure that the dragons will go extinct... if it means slowly killing you and the legend you carry on your back. Your arm... is just punishment for what you have wrought.”

Galina looked at her right arm, sighing heavily as she vaguely remember those words long ago. Her lusus was by her side, its head tilting slightly to the side in concern as the mutant troll noticed, smiling confidently and pat their face. “I’m alright, ma. Don’t worry about me.” She said, standing up from where she is and got up, heading out of the doorway and pulled away a cloth to the outside town.

Half way up the mountain he lived, the small village was like home. It’s not known to most. Lots of trolls who are mutants, escaped slaves, and, often times, deserted Fleet trolls would seek refuge here in the mountain town. That and this is one of the few places on Alternia where the black market is popular. Overall, a quaint little place having mostly everything it needs.

Galina knows mostly everyone. She familiarized and got friendly with everyone, doing her work on getting food for the town when she’s asked for it. In return, they pay her or provide her some information on the whereabouts of the cloaked cultists that cursed her. So far, she’s getting close. Walking around town, she greeted everyone as she walked by and often times chat with them for a bit. It wasn’t long until she heard some commotion. Heading towards the ruckus being caused, she spotted some masked trolls causing trouble to a store owner. “Hey! Fuck faces!” She called them out, reaching over and behind to wrap her hand around the hilt of her beast cutter. “Get out of here. Leave them alone.”

The masked trolls turned to face her, one of them looking shocked by the sight of her as the leader started acting tough. “This isn’t your business, miss!” He said. “This person owes us! And we’ll take everything even if it means killin’ them!”

Galina stayed silent, a fiery rage building inside as she merely grins and let out a chuckle. “Alright... have it your way.” Puffs of smoke peered out from the corners of her lips as she talked and without any hesitation, she pressed on a small lever of her weapon, changing it to a whip, quick stepping forward and lifting her weapon overhead, reaching towards the leader as it cuts down onto him. He screams in pain, nearly cut in half as part of the weapon, still extended, stopped halfway at his chest. Galina pulled her weapon back, the teeth of her weapon sawing through the leader, as it retracted back to her. The person falls down and dies as the other three started to run away in which she chased after them. Letting go of the small lever, the weapon returns back to its normal form.

One of the trolls tripped in which she kicked them in the face, knocking them out instantly and continued to press on the final two. The last two trolls were cornered. Only thing between them was a wall... and Galina. Letting the blunt part rest on her shoulder, she walked towards them and stopping until she was about seven feet away from them. “I can do one of two things... I can leave you two off the hook but with a promise that you’ll never do this shit again.” Galina said. “Or... you get to learn from your half-man leader lying on the ground back at the owner’s store. And a bonus... char you both to death.” She says this, and small puffs of fire came out of her mouth.

“W-We promise! We won’t do this again!” One of them pleaded. “P-P-Please... we just needed money!”

The other was quiet until taking of their mask and started speaking. “You will die! Descendant of the Dragon Rider!”

Surprised by this, it wasn’t long until her curse decided to show itself. Cryptid-like figures began to show up behind the person that’s talking and Galina’s immediate reaction is defense. “You! Get out of the way!” The troll who was pleading for forgiveness stopped and dived away.

“You will die a slow death! As once your ancestor did! The dragons shall not come back!“

“Shut up...” She merely says,  breathing out a flamethrower at the person, setting him ablaze as he screamed out in pain. The shadow figures were gone as well as she turned to the troll, walking towards him and lifted him by the collar. “Who the fuck was he?” She questioned, pointing at the burning corpse.

“I-I don’t know!” He said. “He just joined me and my buddies one day for some reason... w-w-we didn’t question it considering we thought the more guys we have, the more easier it would be to shake down people that owed us... but...”

“But what? Spit it out.”

“He kept blabbering about some other gang he was in... at least I think it was a gang. Said something about rites of passage and dragons. Bunch of random stuff I just overhear him talking to himself. Oh! He did say something about The Dragon Rider... uh... ring any bells...? Heh...”

“Yeah...” Galina said as she turned to look over at the burning corpse and slowly let the troll down. “She’s my ancestor.”

“O-Oh wow! That’s... that’s something! What a coincidence!” Getting the feeling that he was gonna get off the hook, Galina soon turned to look back at him as he began to lean back in fear. “O-O-Okay, okay! I promise! I-I won’t do this again!”

“Hope it stays that way. Otherwise you’ll end up like your buddy over there.” She said, letting him go as he slowly walked away and then ran as she goes to the corpse. “Now this just makes things more complicated.” Galina said to herself, crouching down. She removed her right hand from the sleeve of the coat she’s wearing, removing the long sleeved glove she wore to expose her robotic hand. Reaching out, she pats down on the body to snuff out the flames with her right hand and began to search through the body to find anything that might’ve survived. Soon, she feels something small but shaped like a book. Looking through, she finds a journal. it’s almost burnt but the engraving on the book still feels like it’s there and perhaps some of the pages could still be readable.

Not wanting to leave the body there, she carries it, along with the other that’s cut in half in front of the store, and dragged them out of town, burning them off so they can be nothing but ashes. Meanwhile, she looks through the journal she has, looking over at the pages until finding one that hasn’t been scorched.

“... I have gone to seek out the descendant. For our own, and everyone else’s, sake. We all thought the dragons died long ago. We thought wrong. The Dragon Rider, the one that raised these monsters, kept alive one before she passed. It’s only a matter of time as her descendant continues that tradition. These dragons are a danger. No, a threat to our own very way of life. They can’t be controlled or tamed. They are our doom and The Dragon Rider’s descendant is keeping the danger alive. Soon. They will be gone. Soon. The Dragon Rider’s legacy shall be nothing but a myth. Lost within ashes.”

[espadagalaxia]

Day 1: House Rivalry/Forgotten Magic

for @naruto-magic-week, sorry i'm so late 😌👉👈

summary: Kawarama doesn’t remember ever having been powerful.

[tw: period-typical homophobia, Hanahaki disease, child abuse]

He’s been simple for as long as he can remember.

Kawarama isn’t strong like Hashirama, nor is he as brilliant a tactician as Tobirama. Itama shows promise, but even he hasn’t revealed the innate ability of their brothers.

In this, in mediocrity, Kawarama feels unparalleled. He excels at being good enough, and it rankles.

For all the hard work he’s put into himself, for all the times he begged Tobirama to spar with him and Hashirama to try to teach him the Mokuton, he’s still decent at best.

Butsuma notices. He sees the way Kawarama struggles to walk over water, the way his wrist can’t quite describe the angle at which you flick a wand, the way it takes him weeks to master spells that take his brothers days, or in Tobirama’s case, hours, to learn. Their father never says anything. The disappointment in his glower is enough.

“I have a failure for a son,” Kawarama overhears one night when his father thinks he’s gone to bed, and the empty ache that settles in his gut is familiar and irritating. He clenches his fist and grits his teeth and forces himself to listen to Butsuma’s harsh words. He wishes his mother were there.

The other man in the tent clears his throat; Kawarama jumps and bites down on a squeak of fear. He presses close to the wall, heart pounding, and strains his ears for his father’s answer.

“I can’t support the family as is, Goma,” Butsuma says calmly. “Hashirama and Tobirama are very powerful, and they’ll bring glory to the Senju name. Itama… has improved, but Kawarama?”

And deep down, Kawarama realizes what his father means; they’ve been at war, and their family may not be as badly off as some others, but they’re relatively poor, nonetheless, not that he has a comparison. He just knows, because he hears Butsuma talk, because their mother met a kinder man and sends them notes from time to time in a shorthand that Butsuma can’t read. When her sons grow up, she says, she wants them to come live with her and her lover.

Children are being culled to support the clan. Kawarama knows he could be next.

One day when they return from training, Kawarama enters the center of their tent ring to uproar. Hashirama is bent over, coughing up something pink, and Butsuma is bellowing at him.

Kawarama inches closer; Tobirama holds him back, gives him a meaningful look, and Kawarama realizes that his Aniki is coughing up petals. Oh.

Hashirama wipes his mouth.

“Tell me who it is,” Butsuma snarls, grips a handful of Hashirama’s hair (he’s been growing it out lately) and tugging it to make Hashirama look him in the eye.

“You don’t know him anyway,” Hashirama snaps, eyes wild, and Butsuma slaps him across the face. Angry red marks appear on Hashirama’s cheek. He looks murderous.

“A boy?” Butsuma roars, letting go of Hashirama’s hair to deliver a kick to his side. Kawarama hopes their father doesn’t hear the whimper Hashirama gives in return, and he grips Tobirama’s hand until Tobirama hisses in pain and pulls him close soothingly.

“I want to help Aniki,” Kawarama whispers, tears pricking at his eyes, and Tobirama bows his head.

“I know, Otouto. I’m sorry.”

After that, everything happens so quickly, Kawarama doesn't remember anything until he’s staring up at Hashirama, on his knees, and everyone’s awed and fearful faces are fixed on him.

Tobirama gasps loudly; Itama exclaims in surprise and runs up to him.

Kawarama looks at the ground; it’s charred black, smells of mineral and coal and like things a tree should never come into contact with.

Hashirama helps him stand. There’s a circle of black around them, a blast radius that encompasses their entire camp and has somehow left everything untouched.

Everything, that is, but Senju Butsuma, or whom not a trace remains. Somehow, Kawarama finds he doesn’t particularly mind. Butsuma was never a kind man.

“I think,” Tobirama says in a shaky voice, “our Otouto is… special.”

And he wraps his arms around Kawarama, proud and protective, and kisses the top of his head. Kawarama clings, wonders whether he did anything wrong until Hashirama takes his hands into his own and beams.

“A fire type,” he says, eyes dancing, and pulls Kawarama into a hug. “I’m so proud of you, Otouto!”

Kawarama can’t help a giggle.

“Aniki,” he asks quietly, face splitting into a shit-eating grin. “Who’s your boyfriend?”

Hashirama turns bright red and shives him away. “None of your business, you little goblin,” he laughs and ruffles Kawarama’s hair.

“I’ll ask Tobirama,” Kawarama threatens. Hashirama smiles.

Another petal pushes its way past his lips, but he brushes it away before Kawarama can see.

“Besides,” he says mildly, “he’s not my boyfriend. Let’s go make dinner, hm?”

Kawarama beams and takes his hand.

He misses the uneasy look on Itama’s face, or the worried expression Tobirama wears.

[cheshiresense]

so i was going through your uraichi tag and i came across that picture of ichigo crouched between urahara and yoruichi, and it got me thinking. what's she think of all of this?

I assume you mean in the SP!AU? Well, um.

Have I mentioned how much I hate writing Yoruichi pov

This takes place sometime after Ichigo graduates but before the convo with Kaien and Shinji.

Okay, here we go:

There is a row of small potted bonsai on the windowsill.This is very strange because for as long as Yoruichi has known him, Kisuke hasnever been particularly interested in gardening of any kind.

In the end, it doesn’t stop her from swinging herselfthrough the open window, although the Kidou trap that triggers the moment shelands is an even bigger surprise than the plants. She twists out of the wayeasily enough, watching with raised eyebrows as the black bolt of energy charsthe ceiling above and leaves a rather pretty imprint of… a rhododendron?

“Pretty, isn’t it? His finals at the Academy included themeanings of all the squads’ flower insignias, and it was apparently interestingenough to him that he researched further.” Kisuke’s voice floats out from thegeneral direction of the kitchen. “He’s still not very good with standard Kidouspells but he has a peculiar knack for creating traps. Still a bit hit-and-misson the power output but he can cobble a decent one together in under a minute.”

Yoruichi turns just as Kisuke appears in the doorway. He’scompletely out of uniform today, which hasn’t been a common sight since theygraduated the Academy. Instead, he’s thrown on a casual yukata with a dark coatover it, and he’s wearing geta of all things. They clack across the floorboardsas he moves into the room, jarringly loud in a way that makes Yoruichi’sinternal assassin cringe.

He’s also wearing that hat of his, the one he never goesanywhere without these days.

“Tea, Yoruichi-san?” Kisuke enquires mildly, setting downthe tray he’s holding on the kotatsu. “You were sitting out there for quite awhile.”

Of course Kisuke noticed. Well, Yoruichi wasn’t putting mucheffort into hiding anyway.

She sits down and accepts the cup Kisuke hands her.

“Finished off all the sake, huh?” Yoruichi asks dubiously,because hell, it really is tea.

Kisuke only shrugs as he folds himself into the seat acrossfrom her. “I haven’t bought any in a while. I’ve always preferred tea.”

True enough, but Yoruichi’s always preferred sake - mostShihouins do, with the tolerance to match it, and the reiatsu control to getrid of the hangover the morning after - and Kisuke’s long since mirrored hisown tastes with hers, as far back as when they still lived together at hermanor.

Until now, apparently.

There’s been a lot of until nows lately. It’s atleast half the reason she’s finally tracked him down without anyone else aroundto interrupt or overhear them. She wants to talk, and she feels like it’s aconversation long overdue.

They drink in silence for a few minutes, and Yoruichi letsher gaze roam around the room. There are signs everywhere of a second personliving here - a stack of Academy books and notes off to the side, two identicalpairs of Shinigami-standard sandals by the door, the bonsai for heaven’ssake, and of course the second reiatsu signature lingering in the air -it isn’t exactly subtle.

She turns back to Kisuke, who’s watching her with a patientsort of calm that she’s never seen before prior to… these past few months.She can’t say exactly when he became this. Sometime when she wasn’tlooking, obviously.

They don’t spend as much time together anymore, not since hewas made captain. They used to see each other every day unless one of them wasaway on a mission. Now, aside from getting drinks together with some of theother captains and lieutenants or coincidentally being invited to a dinnerhosted by the Shibas on the same evening, they go months without talking, andit’s been that way for going on seven years.

“So what have you been up to lately?” Yoruichi says at last.She didn’t really have a plan before coming here. She has questions, yes, butshe still can’t seem to find the right words for them.

Kisuke looks faintly amused now, the bastard, and his replyis equally frustrating, “Oh, a little of this, a little of that. Running mysquad, making new toys for the Gotei-”

He rambles on down the list, one non-answer after the next,and abruptly, Yoruichi realizes– Kisuke is treating her exactly the same wayhe treats anyone he can’t be bothered to take seriously. Once, that used to beliterally everybody except Yoruichi and Tessai. These days though, she’s seenhim strolling down the street with Hirako, heads bent together in actualconversation; she’s seen him sparring with his spitfire lieutenant in thecourtyard and actually offering useful tips, even if they do all come outsounding like taunts, while his other subordinates watched or cheered or both;she’s seen Urahara Kisuke waiting at the front entrance of the EighthDivision compound on random evenings, bold as brass and utterly impervious tothe wide-eyed looks of leery bewilderment he received that have slowly becomeindulgent smiles as he walks home from work with-

“-keeping up with my paperwork-”

“-and shacking up with your boytoy?” Yoruichi finishesdryly, cutting him off at last.

To his credit, Kisuke barely misses a beat, pausing only tosnap out a fan from one of his sleeves that barely hides half the sly grin onhis face as he chirps, “Well I can’t deny my darling strawberry-chan keeps mewarm at ni-”

Then he has to duck as something sparks in the corner of Yoruichi’seye, and a second later, a streak of red light bursts into existence and almostpunches a hole in Kisuke’s hat as it whizzes over his head before shattering ina rain of shimmering pieces on the far wall.

Yoruichi’s halfway on her feet before the Kidou trap evenfully dissipates, and she can only stare when Kisuke pops back up chuckling, onehand coming up to pat absently at his hat.

“Oh, he figured it out!” He says brightly, voice full of afond sort of pride. He glances at Yoruichi and adds for her benefit, “Keying aspell to a specific word and aiming it at a specific target. He’s been workingon that for a few weeks now. I had no idea he keyed it to ‘strawberry-chan’though. I only call him that to tease. But I suppose that’s the whole point.”

He looks amused all over again as if his hat isn’t stillsmoking a little.

“How many traps do you have in this place?” Yoruichi demandsincredulously. Then she pauses. “Wait, you taught him how to key a Kidou spellto a word and a target?”

That’s something you can only learn in the Kidou Corps.Yoruichi knows it, even if she doesn’t practice it much, because Tessai taughther despite the fact that he technically wasn’t supposed to. And Kisuke knowsit because he figured it out himself and mastered the art before even Tessaifinished that portion of his training.

It’s a Kidou Corps secret, one of the skills taught only tothe those who enter their branch of the military, kept within their ranks tomaintain their reputation as the best Kidou practitioners in Soul Society.Yoruichi’s not exactly in a position to throw stones, but for Kisuke toteach someone else…

“So,” Yoruichi slowly takes her seat again. “Not a boytoythen.”

Kisuke meets her eyes, and his features finally sober intosomething more serious.

He looks older, Yoruichi realizes. Not in any physical sensethat she can tell but… there’s an air about him, something tired and jaded in away even the Onmitsukidou could never inflict on him.

And somehow, Yoruichi missed it, missed the change when ithappened, missed whatever made one of her oldest friends look like this,and why did Kisuke even keep it from her?

Did he think - whatever he’s done, whatever problem he’sstumbled on, whatever happened - that she would refuse to help him?

(She knows he’s had it tough, as a captain. Not even just anew one, but one that came from the Onmitsukidou, and even if people don’t knowexactly what he did, there’s a reputation that comes with that, one that isn’tentirely undeserved, but also one that makes people give him a wide berth.There’s more than one reason Onmitsukidou members don’t usually stopbeing Onmitsukidou members until they die, and it isn’t just because it’s oneof the laws that governs Soul Society’s Covert Ops forces in order to maintaintheir secrets even more stringently than the Kidou Corps keep theirs.

But she thought if anybody could handle it, it would beKisuke. And he is handling it, isn’t he? There were a couple years atthe beginning when he floundered under the weight of his new responsibilities,surrounded by people who looked at him and only saw assassin and spyand genius and monster, while Yoruichi pretended not to seeanything at all because Kisuke had to be able to bear his captaincy on his own.But he’s better now. He got better. His lieutenant doesn’t yell as much, stillbacktalks but not in a way that conveys contempt and little else. He seems alittle closer to a few of the other captains, Hirako and Kyouraku in particularand even just those two are powerful names to be attached to. He even surfacesfrom his labs more often, in favour of spending more time with hissubordinates. And while there’s still gossip about whether or not he’s fit tobe captain, not quite as many shy away from him anymore.

So he has gotten better. He’s learned, even if ittook him several years and several mistakes to get there.

Or perhaps it just took a certain Shiba hovering at hisshoulder.)

When Kisuke doesn’t speak first, she heaves a sigh andreaches for her tea. “You’ve been getting into trouble without me.”

This earns her a rueful smile. The fan disappears and thehat finds its way into Kisuke’s hands.

He looks less like a stranger like this.

“It’s nothing I can’t handle,” He tells her, and at least hedoesn’t insult her by denying that there’s something going on. But shecan tell he also isn’t going to say anything else, and a part of her wishes shecould just order him to spit it out even though she knows that won’t workanyway.

Yourichi is Clan Head, the Shihouin heir her whole life,Commander-in-Chief of the Onmitsukidou, captain of the Second. But Kisuke’snever followed her lead because of any of that, not really; he only ever did itbecause he wanted to, because he regarded her highly enough that he did justabout anything she told him to, up to and including presenting his Bankai inthe Captain Proficiency Test.

(He could’ve failed it, she knows. Failed it and made itbelievable.

He didn’t because she didn’t want him to. She knows thattoo.)

So in the end, she doesn’t ask. Once, perhaps she would’veneedled him for details, insisted he let her in on whatever secrets he’skeeping, and he would’ve relented easily enough, or more likely he wouldn’thave kept any from her in the first place. But she thinks - not for the firsttime even though it’s a hard thing to admit even to herself - that somethingmight have broken between them when she booted him out of the Second over halfa decade ago.

She still isn’t sorry for that, because no matter whatKisuke might think, it was never just because of Suì-Fēng. But she also doesn’tknow how to fix it, so she doesn’t ask.

“But you’re handling it with Shiba Ichigo?” Yoruichi saysinstead, grinning when Kisuke blinks at the sudden change of subject. “How inthe world did that happen anyway? Fresh out of the Academy, and word has it youwere seeing him even before he graduated. Robbing the cradle much, Kisuke?”

Kisuke blinks again, but that’s about the only reactionYoruichi gets, and she briefly mourns the fact that somehow she can’t seem tofluster him anymore.

“He’s young,” Kisuke agrees. “But he’s very mature for hisage.”

Yoruichi arches an eyebrow. “You’re telling me you’reattracted to him for his maturity?”

Kisuke shrugs, flipping his hat around and placing it backon his head before pouring himself some more tea. “Among other things.” Heseems to mull this over before admitting, “He’s smart. Not like me. Moreintuitive. He picks things up fast, and he doesn’t often need somethingexplained to him more than once for him to understand.”

“So he understands you when you go off on a sciencetangent,” Yoruichi clarifies, and that is impressive.

“At least the gist of it,” Kisuke agrees, and he’s smilingagain down at his tea, except this time it’s not so much amusement as it issomething soft and affectionate and just a touch fragile.

Ah. So that’s how it is. It isn’t just that Shiba Ichigounderstands. It’s that he listens. Even Yoruichi’s brain tends to glazeover with boredom if Kisuke goes on for more than thirty minutes. Tessai can makeit to a full hour but even he can only go for so long before he finds somethingelse to do while Kisuke’s voice becomes background noise. At this point intheir lives, they’ve pretty much learned to tune him out if he rambles on toolong, and Kisuke’s never exactly minded either– they listen when he’sspeaking to them directly or when it’s important, instead of just more or lessthinking out loud.

But then, she supposes Kisuke’s interests and hobbies aretheir own kind of important, and if Shiba Ichigo actually pays attention to itall… well, maybe it’s not such a shock that Kisuke’s remained interested in oneperson for even just this long.

She flicks a glance at the ceiling next, where the outlineof the rhododendron is still soot-dark against the wood.

Beware, she recalls. A meaning derived from howpoisonous rhododendrons can be.

“And the flower? The bonsai? I’m assuming those are hishobbies. You’ve never been interested in plants.”

“He likes making things grow,” Kisuke says. Yoruichi shootshim an odd look because that’s not exactly a common pastime for most young menfresh out of the Academy and probably raring to prove themselves to theirsquad. Kisuke only shrugs again. “And he’s a bit of an artist. It’s relaxingfor him. Being a Shinigami can be stressful.” He glances off to the side, atthe window she came through. “Sometimes he takes a sketchbook and sits outsideand just draws whatever he sees. He’s good at it.” That strange, warm smilemakes a reappearance. “He forgets the time on occasion. I have to make sure hedoesn’t end up skipping a meal when he gets too focused.”

Which is rich coming from Kisuke. The gods know how manytimes Yoruichi’s had to fish him out of a research haze when he disappearedinto his books for too long. No doubt, Shiba Ichigo’s probably done his fairshare of ensuring Kisuke doesn’t forget to eat or sleep as well.

But maybe this is good too, for Kisuke to have someone totake care of.

“…You actually like him,” Yoruichi observes. “This is anactual relationship.”

Kisuke glances at her, and there’s that amusement again,underscored with a hint of steel. “Well we are living together.”

Yoruichi sets down her teacup and leans back on her hands.“True. But I thought your interest in him might’ve been due to his genius. Wehad Ichimaru Gin, but the Fifth likes to keep him underwraps. Everybody heardabout the Shibas’ latest pride and joy though. I wouldn’t be surprised if youdecided you wanted to poke at his powers a bit.”

She pauses and studies Kisuke carefully. His features havegone curiously blank despite the lack of tension in his face, and he’s reachedup to tug the brim of his hat down to shadow his eyes. “Unless that iswhy you’re all over him-”

“I hardly need to offer to share living space with him ifthat was all I wanted, Yoruichi-san,” Kisuke interjects, the words coming lightand mild and perfectly pleasant.

Apparently, she’s touched a nerve.

Yoruichi hums noncommittally before pushing off her handsand leaning forward again, half-slouching as she balances her elbows on herthighs. “Alright. But if the Shibas get the wrong idea, you should probablymake sure you jump ship in time.”

“Jump ship?” Kisuke repeats, and he’s looking at her again,steady and calm and unyielding in a way that makes the back of her neckprickle. “I’m afraid that won’t be possible. The Shibas will just have to grinand bear it.”

The conversation seems to end there as Kisuke beginsgathering up the cups and teapot before getting to his feet. “Feel free to stayfor dinner, Yoruichi-san. Ichigo should be back soon with the groceries.”

He sweeps away into the kitchen, leaving Yoruichi staringafter him. She’s still there when he returns.

“I think I’d like to meet him,” She remarks as he sits downagain.

Kisuke levels his gaze on her, silent and intent for a long,unblinking moment. And then, for the first time this afternoon, or maybe forthe first time in what feels like years, Kisuke quirks a smile at her, sly andconspiratorial and familiar, like fast-paced tag across Shihouin clangrounds and hours spent exploring every trapdoor and tunnel in the manor and apact of loyalty sworn between three brilliant students in the dead of night asthey planned for their future.

“Try not to ambush him when he comes in through the door,”Kisuke suggests, but his tone is more resigned humour than anything else.

Yoruichi cackles right back because Kisuke knows better. “Imake no promises.”

[loving-jack-kelly]

Psych AU

Jack

Is Shawn, obviously

Cop dad, troublemaker because he liked disrupting his dad’s authority, actually very smart but does his absolute best to avoid people knowing it

His dad figured out he had a photographic memory when they were like, watching a movie, and Jack called out a mistake that nobody believed was real until he rewound and showed them, and then trained him to be super observant

His dad really wanted him to be a cop and Jack refused out of principle

Never held a job for long because as soon as something else caught his eye he’d go for it

Usually squeaked by on stretching pay from a job for forever, living in a tiny apartment, and doing art commissions when he could get them

Is really good at reading people from what his dad taught him

A Chaotic Good in its purest form, he’s always trying to help people but gets in his own way with his antics

Davey

Is Gus

Jack’s best friend while they were growing up

Was very respectful of authority and balanced Jack out, until Jack got him in on his schemes and then they were the terror of every adult in town

Pharmaceutical salesman, knows so many medicines off the top of his head

Drive a Blueberry and Jack makes fun of it but actually loves the car

Lawful Good, always obey the rules unless Jack makes him do otherwise, has a hard time lying

Spot

Lassiter, obviously he’s Lassie guys

Head detective, very put together and capable

Solves cases all the time and hates that Jack also solves cases all the time

Acts high and mighty but really does care about everyone

Crutchie

Juliet, Crutchie is Jules

Shows up and Jack is instantly like oh boy that crush hit me over the head with the velocity of a 747

He’s a transfer detective who’s worked his whole life to get where he is despite being an amputee and having a prosthetic

Jack acts like his crush is a joke but means it 100%

Crutchie is very capable and kicks ass and hates being underestimated because it’s almost kept him from achieving his dream before

When he was first trying to get to be a police officer he almost wasn’t allowed into police academy because they thought his prosthetic was a hazard and it took him his entire time to convince them otherwise

Now he won’t let anything get in the way of his being the best detective he can be

At first Jack bothers him because he had to work so hard to get where he is and Jack just shows up and starts solving crimes without seemingly a second thought, but Jack grows on him

Katherine

Chief Vick

Is technically the interim chief but she’ll death glare anyone who calls her that because she deserves to be full chief and everyone knows it

Very skeptical of Jack and thus Davey but they are efficient and so she lets them keep working

Jack likes calling in tips to the police when he solves a case on his own because he thinks it’s funny that he can solve crimes from his couch that the police can’t

Eventually he calls one in and they call him in, he assumes it’s for like, reward money, but actually they suspect him in the case because he was right but it sounded like insider knowledge

He doesn’t want to admit he figured it out because of his observance and memory, but they’re going to arrest him, and he noticed the front desk cop was superstitious and so on a whim claims to be a psychic

Spot, the would-be arresting officer, is like, no way, that’s fake, psychics don’t exist

But Jack uses the things he noticed while waiting to be seen to “prove” that he’s psychic and everyone kind of starts to believe him because how else did he know so much about people he’d never met before?

But then Katherine hires him as a consultant for a case that they can’t solve because she figures he can’t do much harm when they’re about to lose the case to higher ups anyway

So Jack shows up to Davey’s job and is like, dude, I have a job and you have a job with me, let’s go

To which Davey responds, no way am I doing anything with you, your last five job attempts have been disasters

But Jack convinces him eventually and soon they have an office and a private investigative business

Davey constantly threatens to tell everyone that Jack isn’t a psychic but he never would because Jack really is solving crimes and they’re best friends

Jack flirts. With literally anyone. Even when it’s entirely inappropriate. Davey does his best to keep him in check. It doesn’t really work

Jack his sister just died don’t flirt with him

Jack her best friend is missing

Jack he’s the bad guy

Jack she is literally trying to murder us stop complimenting her form

Jack he

Jack she

Jack

He’s so ridiculously bi people genuinely think he’s joking like they think he’s straight making gay jokes because of the sheer number of times he flirts with guys and girls all the time

He does his best to seem as immature as possible, but he has a pretty high emotional intelligence

For a while, Crutchie is dating a guy who’s similar to Jack, which makes Jack sad because he wants to be dating Crutchie but Crutchie has never seemed interested

Eventually Crutchie overhears Jack talking to Davey about him and Jack says that he’s willing to just be friends if that means Crutchie is happy, only he wants to be happy too, and he can’t imagine being happy without Crutchie because he’s pretty much fallen in love with him over the years they’ve gotten to work together

And then Crutchie eventually gets together with Jack, after he gets out of his other relationship

Dating Jack is essentially dating both Jack and Davey because they’re always together

It also ends up being much like babysitting sometimes, because Jack gets into all sorts of trouble and Davey only does so much to stop him before joining in

Also when Jack proposes his speech (taken directly from Shawn’s proposal bc tbh it was an incredible proposal) goes like this:

Charlie Morris, I do not believe in love at first sight, because I didn’t even need to see you to know I wanted to spend forever with you. That didn’t make any sense. Scratch that. I have spent my whole life running from one thing to another, quitting and running and quitting and running and pretending that my destiny was to drive a wienermobile.

Davey: He was young and afraid of commitment.

That’s true. But I’m not that young anymore. And I’m also not afraid. Because when I’m with you, Char, I’m just fearless and unbreakable.

Davey: Like Samuel L. Jackson.

Jack: No, Samuel L. Jackson was the glass man.

Davey: Not emotionally, Jack, not emotionally.

Jack: Okay, dude, well dial it back just a teeny bit.

Davey: *choked up* Okay.

I know that I come with baggage, and a best friend who’s not going anywhere. Ever. But I promise you that from this moment forward the only running I will be doing is into your arms, and I will never stop holding your cold little hands or losing myself when I wake up in the morning and look at you and recognize how frickin’ lucky I am.

Davey: *in the background* Oh my gosh, oh my gosh, it’s happening, say yes, say yes!

Crutchie: Yes, yes!

Jack: Okay, well technically, you just said yes to Davey.

Crutchie: Well ask me, Jack!

Crutchie, will you marry us? Me? Mostly me? Even though Davey is always gonna be part of the deal and one day he’ll have his own Crutchie and we’ll be one big family and we’ll have dogs, all rescues, and kids, probable before we’re sixty. Just marry me so I can show you how amazing our life will be together?

Davey was crying by the end of it and Crutchie said yes, obviously, please do yourself a favor and watch the scene from the real show it’s cinematic genius.

Spot meets Race and for pretty much the only time in his life opens up easily and right away

And then it turns out Race is the criminal in the case they’re working on and Spot has to arrest him but he promises to wait until Race is out of prison and they end up together anyway

Now for the true reason this au works: the quotes. The dialogue. All of these are direct quotes from the show.

Davey: You named your fake detective agency "Psych"? As in "got you"? Why didn't you just call it "Hey, we're fooling you and the police department; hope we don't make a mistake and somebody dies because of it."

Jack: First of all, Davey, that name is entirely too long; it would never fit on the window. And secondly, the best way you convince people you're not lying to them is to tell them you are!

Davey: How do you just eat when there's a dead guy laying there?

Jack: What, is that rude? Am I supposed to share?

Jack: Good morning, detectives! Are we collecting donations for the policeman's ball?

Spot: We don't have balls.

Jack: I honestly have no response to that.

Crutchie: You're not hired. I can't pay you. If it turns out there's something to it, I'll make sure you get put on the case. That's all I can do.

Jack: Crutchie, I'm quite sure we could work out some kind of services exchange. You see I like to do some sketching myself and sometimes I need a model.

Crutchie: Huh! [gets up and walks from the room]

Jack: Was that inappropriate? ...Felt OK.

Jack: Don't panic. Those bites are consistent with a T-Rex bite.

Davey: You know that?

Jack: Yes, I know that. [shows picture of himself in the mouth of a T-Rex skeleton] I was banned from the Wyoming National Museum for that shot. The bruises didn't go away for a year, but it was totally worth it. It was my best screensaver ever!

Crutchie: Jack, how do you know this?

Jack: The same way that I know that as a child Spot wanted nothing more than a pony.

[They all look at Spot]

Spot: Oh, come on. Who didn't?

Davey: Anyone who wasn't an 8 year-old girl.

Spot: I hate snow globes.

Jack: Huh. That's strange, because my psychic sense told me specifically that snow globes didn't give you nightmares of being trapped in a clear ball with snow that burned your skin off.

Spot: Who keeps telling people I like snow globes?!

Jack: I don't think anyone's here.

Davey: How sure are you?

Jack: Fairly to pretty damn.

Jack: Davey, don't be a myopic chihuahua. I have a full-proof plan that solves the case and gives the Chief all the credit.

Davey: What is it?

Jack: Actually, all I have is the phrase "I have a full-proof plan." Beyond that, I'm wide open.

And so many more these are all from like the first three seasons of eight the whole show is like this it’s incredible and I love it

[damnedryder]

— ✰ TAKING THIS ONE TO THE GRAVE

TAGGED: Ryder Lynn, featuring Sheriff Evans.

DATE/TIME: Tuesday, May 23rd, 3rd Period.

LOCATION: Pierview High School, Counsellors Office.

SUMMARY: Ryder is interrogated by the Sheriff in the case of Sebastian’s body being identified and he’s just as interested in what the sheriff knows. 

TASK: Interrogations are underway at Pierview High. When the students arrive Wednesday morning, cop cars have the school surrounded and the entire student body must line up outside to get searched before entering the building. As students make their way to homeroom, they notice multiple lockers being checked by deputies. You are required to write a self-para featuring your character’s interrogation with Sheriff Evans. 

WARNINGS: There’s some plot spoilers here, so be warned ahead of time for that. Reading it here will only give you this knowledge out of character, so don’t get any ideas and say that someone in character would overhear or know any of this information. This doesn’t give away much in the case of the murder, but a lot of Ryder’s characterization and mindset.

Third period was always the worst. Not only did he have to sit between two cheerleaders that laughed back and forth and didn’t seem to notice that he was sitting right between them, but English and Composition weren’t exactly his strong suits. None of the words made any sense to him - though, he supposed that’s what all the after school work was for. It didn’t seem to be helping much yet. The program at Pierview wasn’t nearly as advanced as the one he’d started in Chicago and there weren’t exactly paid tutors here that really stood up to the challenges that he faced when it came to school and reading.

“Did you see that hickey on Kitty’s neck at practice yesterday? Ew.”

“Double ew. Her boyfriend might be the quarterback but he’s totally a low six.”

“I don’t know, he’s got nice arms. I’d let him plow m-”

The bell rang, indicating the start of class, before a voice came on over the old speaker system.

"RYDER LYNN, PLEASE COME TO THE COUNSELLORS OFFICE.”

He sighed audibly, standing up and picking up his backpack from where it had been tucked under his desk. Different students had been called down throughout the day and he shouldn’t have been surprised that he was one of the names on the list. Sure, he was new to Pierview but that didn’t mean he couldn’t know something about the case or the boy that was the topic of every conversation today. 

Ryder took a hall pass from the teacher before leaving the room and navigating to the small cubicle of a room that the school liked to call an office. It wasn’t nearly large enough to hold more than a desk and a few chairs, but that seemed to fit in well with the rest of the schools original, old school furnishings. He knocked before entering and furrowed his eyebrows when he saw recognition spark on the face of the Sheriff - sat with his feet crossed at the ankles on the corner of the desk.

“AREN’T YOU MARLENE’S SON? HOW’S YOUR MOM? I WASN’T EXPECTING TO SEE HER BACK IN OHIO.”

"Uh, yeah. She’s okay,” he dropped his bag to the floor and took a seat in one of the faded chairs that sat in front of the officer. “Wasn’t exactly planning on moving back but it seemed like the best thing to do, I guess.” 

“Makes sense. Wouldn’t be right to leave the family in distress like this. She and her brother weren’t always close, but she always knew when she needed to be around.”

“Yeah... How d’you know my mom, exactly?”

“We went to school together. You know she grew up in Pierview, right?”

“Yeah, right. Duh.” Ryder scratched the back of his head, rustling and messing up the hair there as he leaned forward. “So, what am I doing here, Sheriff?”

“We’re interviewing all students to make sure we get the full story. If I’d known you were here, I’d have called you in sooner. THIS MAY SEEM OBVIOUS TO YOU, BUT FOR THE RECORD - CAN YOU EXPLAIN TO ME HOW YOU KNOW SEBASTIAN SMYTHE?”

Ryder shifted in his seat and dug his fists into the pocket of his sweatshirt. He’d done well at keeping his exact identity a secret from the rest of the student body. If someone had gone after Sebastian for any kind of personal reason, he didn’t want to make himself a target too. Ryder wasn’t particularly excited to share the information, but he knew didn’t want to lie to the sheriff. Especially since he had a few questions of his own. 

“Sebastian Smythe was my cousin. His dad and my mom are brother and sister.”

The sheriff nodded and Ryder knew that he’d already known the answer to his own question.

“DO YOU KNOW IF YOUR COUSIN HAD ANY ENEMIES?”

"We didn’t really talk a lot about school or anything when he came up on the weekends. He was trying to get away from all that stuff, you know? We mostly just snuck out and went to parties. There were a few times he mentioned having dirt on a lot of his friends but I figured that was normal high school gossip kind of stuff. Nothing that would get him killed or something crazy like that.”

“And you and your family were living in Chicago at this time? How often did Sebastian visit?”

“Yeah, it wasn’t all the time. For a while it was only once every couple of months. When we were like thirteen, fourteen. There was a while when he didn’t come at all and then when this school year started it was every couple of weeks. Mom knows how his parents could be, so she was always really cool about letting him crash.”

“And how are his parents exactly?”

“Strict, I guess? I don’t know. They have really high expectations. It’s kind of a Smythe thing. They wanted him to take over at the law firm, so they were always super up tight and telling him what to do all the time. It wasn’t really surprising that he’d just snap and run away, you know? That’s kinda what we were hoping had happened. He’d always end up at our place and when he didn’t, his mom kinda panicked.”

“So you moved to Pierview.”

“Yeah. The Smythe’s might be kinda uptight sometimes, but we know when we’ve gotta be there for each other.”

THE OFFICER SLIDES A ZIPLOCK BAG OF CHARRED BALLETS WITH ‘BLAINE ANDERSON’ MARKED ON EVERY SLIP ACROSS THE DESK. “DO THESE LOOK FAMILIAR TO YOU? WE FOUND THEM IN A GRILL IN THE PARK IN SEBASTIAN’S NEIGHBORHOOD.”

Ryder moved forward in his seat, leaning over the papers on the desk. “No, I’ve never seen them. Do you think Blaine did something?”

“I’m not in a position to answer that but we think whoever put these in that grill might have some idea where Sebastian was the night he went missing. You’re sure you haven’t seen these before?”

He shook his head, sitting back in the chair with white-knuckled fists. He’d known there was something weird about the Anderson kid, but he hadn’t been able to put his finger on it. Maybe these weren’t connected to him at all, but then why would they even be considered evidence?

“TO YOUR KNOWLEDGE, IS THERE A DRUG PROBLEM AT PIERVIEW HIGH?”

"I think drugs are a problem at every school, Sheriff. It’s not nearly as bad here as it was in Chicago, but I’m sure there are a lot of kids here that sneak off to the woods during track days in gym class. Doesn’t really seem like that big of a thing.”

He watched as Sheriff Evans shrugged. It probably wasn’t what he wanted to hear. “Did Sebastian take something? Is that why you’re asking? Did they find drugs in his system?”

“I’m not in a position to answer...’

“Did he, though?”

“I can’t answer that, son. Your family will receive more details as we find them. AS THE SHERIFF OF THIS TOWN, IT’S MY DUTY TO FIND OUT WHO DID THIS TO YOUR COUSIN. WE WILL DO EVERYTHING WE CAN TO FIND OUT WHAT HAPPENED TO HIM. YOU’RE SAFE IN THIS ROOM SO IF THERE’S ANYTHING YOU WISH TO TELL ME, YOU CAN. ANYTHING YOU NEED TO GET OFF YOUR CHEST?”

"I don’t know what happened to Sebastian, sir, but I intend on finding out. And I think it’s good that you’re interviewing all the kids here because I really think someone in this school had something to do with it.”

[gldngrl7]

Karamel Fic: Edging Toward Synchronicity (8/8)

Author: gldngr7

Rating: Explicit

Began: March 11, 2017

Chapters: 8

 Feedback:  Encouragement and constructive criticisms are always welcome.  Flames are destroyed with my freeze breath.

 Author’s Notes:

Tagging: @mon-kai-el, @actualpuppychriswood, @pwettypwita, @contygold86, @karamelizedlove, @kelbottumbles, @starcrossed-comets, @emarasmoak, @fangirlintheforest, @ships-sailing-in-the-night, @lostin-the-desert, @somos-poeiraestelar

      And all I gave you is gone

       Tumbled like it was stone

            Thought we built a dynasty that heaven couldn't shake

                 Thought we built a dynasty like nothing ever made

   Thought we built a dynasty forever couldn't break up

         The scar I can't reverse

               When the more it heals the worse it hurts

                    Gave you every piece of me, no wonder it's missing

   Don't know how to be so close to someone so distant

--MIIA – “Dynasty”

   Chapter 8/8

For three hours they went over the designs for the suit.  Winn had seven designs in all, and together they were able to jettison some elements as impractical, too bold, or otherwise inappropriate, until the remaining ideas came together to create something both workable and aesthetic.  

 “I like the red,” Mon-El approves.

 “It offsets Kara’s blue,” Winn nods.  “I thought that would look nice,” he preens a bit.

 “It reminds me of Daxam’s red sky.”  His mind drifts back to last night’s dream and the vividness of it; the red sun over his head, the plum boscage at his fingertips.  The crunch of the dead copper-blossoms beneath his knees as his wife’s blood poured through his fingers, his son’s life ebbing away inside of her.  Mon-El’s heart races and his gorge rises.  He covers his mouth with his hands, squeezing his eyes shut in a desperate bid to keep from vomiting.

 “It does?” Winn inquires, blissfully unaware of the other’s vexation.  Mon-El plays off his nausea-induced stress as a yawn, which has Winn doing a double-take.  “Am I keeping you awake?” he snarks.  “Long night?”  Off of a stern look from Mon-El’s steel-turned eyes, Winn gulps and asks, “Too soon?”  Then, nodding, he turns back to his computer and answers his own question.  “Too soon.  I hear you.  So what do you think about the boots…?”

 “They’re a little too high,” he shrugs with one shoulder.  “I’m not a pirate.”

 “Kara’s boots are high,” Winn explains.

 “She wears a skirt,” he argues, “the aesthetic looks better.”

 “Especially with those legs,” Winn blurts, before he can stop himself. He cringes, anticipating a challenge of some sort or at least another steel-blue stare, but instead he watches out of the corner of his eye as Mon-El’s lips quirk up on one side.

 “Especially with those legs,” he echoes, his voice turning husky.

“Oh-kay,” Winn drawls, wishing he could scrub the look of blissful recollection on his friend’s face from his mind.  “So, we’ll cut the boots back to below the knee.  I’ll have them lined with Kevlar to be safe…maybe add some steel toes.”  With a look from Mon-El, Winn corrects, “Steel toes taken care of…check.”

 “I don’t see a cape in any of these designs,” Mon-El points out, hoping his voice doesn’t sound like a pout.

 “No cape,” Winn answers succinctly.  “You don’t want a cape.”

 “Of course I want a cape!”

 “Trust me, you don’t.  Kara’s cape is for aerodynamics.  It helps with drag, she takes care of the lift.  You don’t fly, so all you’ll get is drag.  Not having a cape could mean the difference between making a 15 story leap and an 18 story leap.  Cape is just going to weigh you down.”  Winn’s analysis is succinct and doesn’t leave much room for arguing.  He chuckles, “You learn to fly…I’ll build you a cape. Deal?”

 Mon-El sighs and rolls his eyes, unable to hide his disappointment. “Deal.”

 “Plus, this way all the ladies will get a better view of your ass.” Winn’s eyes widen, as Mon-El side-eyes him.  “Did I say that out loud?”  With a defensive shrug he spouts, “What?  I promised I’d make you look good…so I’m playing to your strengths!”

 It took another hour to nail down the incidentals of the red suit, deciding on a high collar of royal blue to match the Kevlar-lined boots, an asymmetrical hemline on the shirt, skin tight pants that show the dips and creases of his musculature and a yellow belt with a center medallion containing a glyph of Daxam’s sun shooting red rays of light.

 Taking measurements in the locker room was a singularly uncomfortable experience in which Winn joked about never expecting their relationship to get this close.

 Ral was there the whole time laughing at Mon-El’s discomfort.

 Heading back to the CIC after Winn said he had all he needed for the time being, Mon-El overhears an agent commenting that Dr. Danvers had arrived unexpectedly a while ago.  Hospitality on this planet demands that he stop by and pay his respects to her – but also he’s always enjoyed talking to her in the past.  She projects a motherly warmth for which Mon-El has secretly always yearned.

 “You want to be charming,” Ral reminds him, unnecessarily, “but not too charming.  Remember…the last time you saw her you were only thinking about defiling her daughter.  You weren’t actually doing it.”

 Mon-El stops in his tracks and glares pointedly at Ral, who grins widely, before walking onward.  “No one’s defiling anyone,” Mon-El says surreptitiously between clenched teeth.

 “Hmmm…I wonder if Dr. Danvers will see it that way….”  Ral torments him.  Admittedly, Mon-El has some concerns about seeing Dr. Danvers again, now that he’s mated to her adoptive daughter.  

 His gut clenches with concern, but he stays his course.  “Why do I keep you around?”

“Because I know things, Brother.  Things you’ve forgotten and don’t seem inclined to remember.  It’s right there,” Ral says, needling him.  “Right there under the surface.  So close you can feel it bubbling up.  Sometimes you think you hear the wails inside your head or see the flames in your mind’s eye.  And the smell of the blood, of charred skin and heads on fire like screaming candlesticks….”

 “Stop,” Mon-El begs.  Suddenly finding himself breathless, his heart racing, he places his hand against the smooth concrete wall and tucks his face into his arm, squeezing his eyes tightly shut.  Behind his eyelids, white and gray flash and flicker like the screaming, flickering bulbs of the intrusive cameras belonging to rabid reporters and paparazzi.  “You have to stop.”

 “On the contrary, brother, I have to continue – if that’s what it takes. Now that you’ve seen the truth, or at least part of it, you need to let the rest in.  It’s the only way to make you whole.”

 “Whole,” he echoes.  “I’m more whole here, now…with her…than I ever felt for even a single moment of my life back there.”

 “Good…that’s good.  There may come a time when you need to choose between hanging on to me and losing her, or letting go in order to have the life you want, and you’ll do well to remember that.  But that day, that loss, and everything that led up to it…the choices you made…will always be a specter over your head for as long as you refuse to give it its due. Let it in,” Ral urges.  “Feel it.  Accept the pain of it, so that you can make it a part of who you are and move on. There’s still work to be done and you can’t keep it at a distance forever.”

 “I know,” Mon-El breathes, seeing the truth of Ral’s words for the first time.  

 “Sir, are you alright?” an astute DEO employee walking by stops to ask, noticing Mon-El’s distress.  He recognizes her as one of the medical practitioners often seen in the med-bay and her lab coat identifies her as such.

 “I’m fine, thank you.  Just...” his vision flashes white and gray again ad he rubs his eyes, “a bit of a headache.”

 “Would like an escort to the med-bay?” the woman asks.

 Mon-El tosses Ral a glance and nods, “Actually, I was just on my way to see Dr. Danvers.”

 “I just saw her in the conference room, sir.  With Agent Danvers and Supergirl.”

 “Supergirl’s here?”

 “Just flew in a few minutes ago,” the agent informs him.  “Do you need help?”

 “No, I’ve got this.”  Mon-El straightens his spine, gives the woman a reassuring smile, and lies, “I’m feeling much better now, thanks.”  

 The medic regards him suspiciously for a moment before nodding and walking away.  Mon-El watches as she goes, waiting until she disappears around the corner before altering his course in the direction of the conference room.

 “You’re…not looking so good,” Ral declares.

 He doesn’t feel so good either.  It’s not anything he can pinpoint or put a finger on, like a fever or a choking cough.  It doesn’t feel like the sickness created by the Medusa virus, but rather a profound foreboding that fills his chest and spreads down his spine like the tendrils of Velestrian Rot, a black vine that burrows deep, growing out of control until it breaks apart the very thing to which its attached.  His fingers tingle and his eyes sting incessantly.

 He doesn’t mean to eavesdrop but his powers appear to be fritzing out. It occurs to him that he may be experiencing withdrawals from going more than twenty-four hours without siphoning electricity.  Ral had claimed it was becoming an addiction.  Perhaps he had been right—he usually is.  

 “Safety of others?” he overhears Kara ask, but doesn’t know to whom she speaks. Is there something brewing out there? Perhaps Cadmus is up to some new tricks? Something for which he needs to prepare.  “You want to put him back into a cell?”

 Mon-El halts in his tracks just outside the conference room.  This is interesting.  Who is she talking about?

 “Isolation,” he hears Alex say, her tone one of pacifying rationalization.  “For his own good.”

 “But in a cell,” Kara repeats. “After everything we—after everything I—put him through when he first arrived.  After Medusa?  You want to put him back in a cell like he can’t be trusted.”

 Mon-El’s heart speeds up because it sounds like they could be talking about…him.  Are they talking about him?  Talking about putting him in a cell, like when he first arrived?  After everything he’s done, how hard he’s worked to prove himself?  To prove he can be trusted?

 “Kara, he’s on the verge of a full-blown psychotic break.  It sounds like he’s fighting it for the moment, but there’s no predicting how long he has before his mind completely fractures and he can no longer tell the difference between the hallucination and reality.  And if that break happens and he experiences another flashback like the one he had last night…Kara, I know it’s painful, but locking him up really is the best for everyone.  At least until we can find a way to purge him of the hallucination.”

 “They know about me,” Ral says.  “It was only a matter of time, of course.  Especially with how close you two have been getting.  You can’t keep these things secret forever.”

 “Alex thinks they can take you away from me,” Mom-El says, a dark rage rising inside of him, a fever building that spreads up his neck and face until he can feel it burning beneath his skin.

 “Let her believe what she likes, brother.  She can’t take me away.  No one has the power to do that.”

 Mon-El tunes back in, listening for what comes next, waiting to hear Kara’s voice of reason…and hope.  He knows, without a doubt, that she believes in him.  Trusts him.  She just asked him to move into her loft with her so that she can help him deal with the nightmares and now, the flashbacks; there’s no way she going to give up on him so quickly and so easily.  She always fights for the ones she loves.

 “Okay,” Kara’s voice agrees.  “We’ll play this your way.  We’ll lock him up.”

 For the second time in his life, Mon-El’s entire world crumbles around him.  She didn’t even fight for him, didn’t come to his defense.  He had been so certain that she would, so certain that everything they’d shared had meant as much to her as it means to him.  

 They’d talked about sharing a life, about having a family, and here she is bartering all of that away because he’s…too damaged.  She’ll take everything away from him if he allows this. If he doesn’t do something, doesn’t move or take a stand, she’ll take away everything he’s earned and worked so hard for.  His job, his friends; she’ll take away Valor.

 A righteous rage mixes and swirls with the heartbreak he feels inside. He won’t be locked up.  Not again.  Not after what his father did.

 “Now you’re feeling it,” Ral exclaims.  “Let it come, Brother.”

 Mon-El shakes him off, ignoring the gnat that whispers in his ear, focusing only on the red that closes in around his vision, locking down his sight until it focuses like a laser beam, focuses on her.  Her head whips around to see him standing in the door, and her eyes widen with surprise, her eyebrows crinkling as though already preparing to tell him lies.

 “Remember when I said not to worry about the time and the place?” Ral asks. “That I would take care of it?  This seems like as good a place as any other.”

 Mon-El grits his teeth and steels his resolve.

 “Mon-El,” Kara exclaims, frightfully.  “How long have you been standing there?”

 “Long enough,” he grinds out.

 “Mon-El, you’re not—“ she tries.

 “Don’t,” he says, raising his voice and his hand.  “Just don’t.”

 “Looks like some people just don’t get the same consideration others do,” Ral needles in a practically blasé manner, sounding for all the world like he’s stoking  Mon-El’s anger to a fine rage.

 Mon-El turns on Ral, pointing a finger.  “You…shut the hell up for once!”

 Kara’s heart constricts, her throat closing as Mon-El reveals to her for the first time the depths of his psychosis.  “Mon-El,” she cries, covering her mouth with her hands.

 Dr. Danvers exchanges a look with Alex before slowly rising from her chair and inching away from him.  Alex’s eyes harden and she reaches for her belt.

 “Man’s got a point, though,” Mon-El shouts, his adrenaline surging unlike anything he’s ever felt before.  The taste of it in the back of his throat is like battery acid.  Looking at her, at this woman he fell in love with and by whom he is betrayed, he can feel the walls inside of him splintering, bursting apart like a cage outgrown by its captive.  “How long did you get, Kara?” he wonders.

 She sees him changing, breaking right in front of her and it’s everything she didn’t know she feared.  His handsome face transforms into a monstrosity a red anger, his lips turning an alarming shade of…gray?  “I don’t understand,” she shakes her head, expressing her own confusion, rather than answering his query.

 “How long did your precious adoptive family give you to grieve all that you had lost?  Did you a get a whole three months like you’ve given me?  Is this the extent of your generosity?  Did they threaten to lock you away because you were too broken to be fixed?”

 “Mon-El, we’re trying to—“

 “If you say ‘help’, Kara, so help me Rao.”  Mon-El blinks furiously, his eyes watering, unable to clear the angry red of his vision.  “I see my dead brother,” he confesses.  “I talk to him when I need to work things out, or sometimes when I just need a friend. I’m not going to be told that’s wrong by a woman who keeps a virtual construct shrine to her dead mother.”

 Kara gasps and swallows the acrid acid taste in her mouth that rises in the face of his vitriol…and his truth.  “It’s not the same,” she insists, though her tone lacks conviction.

 “Oh, I know,” he shouts, his voice grating on her heart like sandpaper. “The difference is I know that Ral is dead…in my heart.  It happened right before my eyes.  I’m not still holding on to hope.  You know what I’m also not doing?” he asks.  “I’m not going back to that cell.”

 “It’s okay,” she promises.  “I just need you to calm down.”

 “I don’t get to be angry now?  Of course,” he scoffs, “The woman I love betrays me and you still expect me to be your little lap dog.  Doing whatever you tell me, being whatever you want me to be.”

 He doesn’t know what he’s saying, where all these words are coming from. They spill from his mouth like a vomit of long buried but now unrestrained bitterness.  Just this morning, he made love to her as if she were his world and he thought she felt the same.  But now, looking at her feels like she’s just another jailer, holding the keys to his shackles.

 Tears streak down her face as her heart breaks.  She came here seeking help for him and never intended to betray him, but he would never see it that way, not in this state.  She wipes the tears from her face, looking up to see four agents approaching him from behind.

 Something slams him in the back, followed in quick succession by three more blows, one in the back of the head that brings him to his knees. Before he can gain his bearings his wrists are gathered in front of him and a pair of Nth metal cuffs are placed on them.

 A thought flashes through Mon-El’s mind, that this is not how he planned to obtain Nth metal cuffs today.  He scoffs angrily at the irony, but the thought only serves to inflame his rage, reminding him that just this morning, despite the specter of death that hung over his head, his whole world was shaping up quite nicely.

 “Alex, what did you do?” he hears Kara ask her sister.

 “I pressed my panic button,” she replies.

 “Please,” Kara begs the agents who are dragging Mon-El to his feet. “Please don’t hurt him.”  She steps forward toward Mon-El, but Alex grabs her arm to stop her.

 The agents’ mistake is pausing before attempting to place Nth shackles on his ankles.  He throws them off with ease, watching as Kara’s and Alex’s widen in surprise as two of the agent fly through the glass windows.  Despite the verbal confrontation and his clear distress, neither of them expected him to get violent.  But clearly they had underestimated his psychosis.

 Crashing through the glass, the agents fly over the balcony and forcing Kara to speed to their rescue, leaving Mon-El alone with Alex and Dr. Danvers. Hyperaware of her need to protect her mother, Alex draws her weapon and points it at Mon-El, but anticipating her move he speeds to her and tears the gun from her hand, crushing it in his fist.

 He considers throwing the chunk of metal at one of the remaining agents, but before he can decide, he’s grabbed from behind in a chokehold by an arm with which he is intimately familiar and the world is whizzing past until he and Kara are in the open atrium of the DEO’s top floor.  “I don’t want to hurt you,” she shouts, begs.

 “You already have,” he chokes, her strength crushing down on his larynx.  His red vision grays around the edges, until his father appears before him and everything goes red-hot again.  “No!” he screams.

 “You’ll do as I say,” his father declares, his own steel-gray eyes staring coldly back at him with a sneer on his full lips.  “And never forget that you are…utterly…replaceable. Did you honestly think that you were only one?”  

 Ignoring the pressure at his neck, Mon-El wrenches himself free. “I’ll kill you for what you did to me. I will never give you what you want.”

 When he shakes Kara off, she’s thrown back several feet, knocking her into the light table, both smashing it to smithereens and shocking the hell out of her at the same time as thousands of volts of electricity pass through her.

 “You will,” his father insists, a smile of victory spreading slowly across his face.  “And until you do…I think I’ll keep our dear Morgon here as collateral.  Whether or not he’s returned to you in one piece, depends entirely upon the speed with which you comply.”

 Ral drops to his knees in front of Mon-El, broken and bloodied, one eye swollen shut.  “Leave this place, Brother,” he whispers.  ‘The first chance you get…run.  Forget about me…he will never let you be free.”

 “What have you done?” Mon-El shouts, focusing his rage on his father.

 “Just a promise…with more to come.”  Waving his hand with a careless, carefree gesture, he commands, “Take him away.”

 The scene in his mind shifts again like a red swipe across his vision and Daxam is crumbling around him once more.  Ral is sprawled at his feet, his wrists and legs in chains as the room shakes and trembles.  His legs are broken, meticulously broken with great care, so as to increase initial pain and long-term suffering, but that isn’t what draws his attention this time.

 Like the chains, it is a detail he hadn’t seen before—his mind hadn’t let him see—the swaths of dried blood caked on Ral’s cheeks, stemming from the empty sockets where his eyes once were.

 “No, no, no…what he did he do?” Mon-El cries reaching down to touch his brother’s face.  “What did he do?”

 “Extracted a price,” Ral answers, as the smell of smoke and the sound of screams filter through the air.  “A price that no longer matters, it seems.”

 “He only did this because of me,” Mon-El cries.  “Because I wouldn’t give him what he wanted.”

 “Not your fault,” Ral reaches out blindly and grabs Mon-El’s collar, pulling him closer.  “Every drop of blood taken from me is a price well paid if it means this venal House finally dies with him.  Know that I regret none of it, so long as that is the outcome.”  A loud boom fills the air causing the ground to shake beneath them and Ral chuckles, despite his obvious pain.  “The gods of Val-Or side with you this day.  With both of us.”

 “How can you say that?”

 “Because this is your chance to get away from this place.  The prison doors are open.”

 “What about you?”

 “You have to leave me, I’ll only slow us both down.  You can still escape.  He took my eyes, brother,” Ral winces, blood gurgling up to his teeth, his injuries far worse than they initially appeared.  “I’ll never see my beloved Melis again – unless it’s in the afterlife.  A place I’ll be seeing sooner rather than later, if the gods are good to me once more.”

 “I won’t let you die here,” Mon-El insists.

 “You will,” Ral cough, blood and spittle spewing from his mouth.  “And you will make me one last promise.”

 Torn, a scream of heartbroken rage wells up within him, pushing its way through his clenched teeth.  His brother-in-bond is dying and there’s nothing he can do for him, but fulfill a final wish.  “What is it?” he asks.

 “Find a way,” Ral coughs again.  “After this place is gone and that old despot is dead…find a way to restore what was great about Daxam.”

 “What was great…?  I don’t understand.”

 Another boom rocks the building, chunks of the ceiling falling around them both. “There’s no time,” Ral rasps ever more weakly around horribly split lips.  “You have to go now, before you’re buried with me.  You’ll find a way,” Ral says, and Mon-El knows he isn’t talking about escaping.

 Mon-El backs away towards the cell’s only exit, reluctant to leave the only man he’s ever called friend – called family.  The only person who’s only truly loved him for him.

 Sensing his bond-brother’s reluctance, Ral’s voice softens, “I’m already a memory, brother.  Go before it’s too late.”

 Just as he reaches the doorway, he looks back just in to time to see a chunk of the stone ceiling fall and strike Ral in the head, caving in a large portion of his skull.

 It is a killing blow, he knows, instantly sparing his brother from a slow agonizing death from internal bleeding.  It is a death for which to thank the gods, but instead he feels only rage for stealing the life of the only good thing he ever had in his life. The only thing that was ever his.

 Mon-El hands fist tightly as his anger and grief wells up within him and then overflows.  “Noooooo!” he screams.

 ****

 Mon-El isn’t with them anymore, if he ever had been in the last few horrible minutes.  He’s somewhere deep inside his own fractured mind, remembering traumatic events of long ago as if they were happening for the first time – like cutting away healthy flesh to find a bloody, festering wound beneath.    Regaining her feet, struggling to overcome the effects electricity has on her, Kara manages to shake off her disorientation and move towards him just as two things happen at once.  

 “Nooooooo!” he screams, blind eyes focused on something she can’t see while his hands fist together hard enough to stress the bone.

 And then the room explodes.

 “Get down, get down!” Kara screams, as agents dive for cover under and behind any available protective surface.  Red beams of light shoot around the cavernous room cutting through everything they touch like a soldering iron.  His sudden onset heat vision is made all the more uncontrollable by the fact that his feet are hovering several inches from the ground.

 He mumbles incoherently for the most part, only the occasional phrase making sense inside the chaos he creates.  “Where is he!?” he demands.  “Where has he gone?”  His ravings continue as Kara ushers people to safety, her first priority getting them out of the line of his unintentional fire.  When the last of the agents is removed to safety she considers her options as she observes his delirious raving.  “Looking for this—“

 Taking flight, Kara shoots toward him, striking him at mid-level and pulling him down to the ground, both of them sliding across the floor until they’re buried in a wall.   The beams of red-hot heat shoot into the ceiling, which crumbles around them.  She can barely restrain him as he thrashes beneath her and she doesn’t know what she’s supposed to do, but she has to end this before someone gets seriously injured.  

 It tears her heart out, the inhuman sounds he makes, as if he’s reached down into the deepest parts of himself and found his most excruciating pain, bringing it to the surface and using his own voice as its release valve.  Where is he now, she wonders?  Marinating in some hellish mind palace with no way out but death?

 Kara covers his vision beams with her hands, absorbing them and keeping them doing any more damage.

 “He’s out of control, Kara!” she hears Alex shouting.

 She knows her sister is right.  He’s out of control and out of his mind and there’s only one thing she can do. Balling her hand in a fist, she rears back and slams it in his jaw, once and then a second time, both times his head rolling right back like a ball-ended punching bag that always comes back for more.

 “Yes,” he seethes, his voice filled with hatred.  “Kill me,” he shouts, lost in a delusion she can’t understand. “Kill me now, if you can!  Your last—“

 His next words are drowned out when he turns his head, his laser beams striking the glass walls to the outdoor balcony, causing them to shatter and explode.  Thousands of tiny glass missiles spray the atrium like a glittering rain of deadly diamonds.

 “Mon-El,” she sobs, her face wet with tears. “Please?”  Kara begs, but she doesn’t know what she’s begging for, maybe praying for, other than for it to end.  Like an answer to her heartfelt but unarticulated prayer, his heat vision sputters out as he lay beneath her, as if he’s gained some measure of control.

 She punches him again, blood splattering from his noise and upper lip, which is when she realizes he hasn’t gained control of his heat vision, but has simply expended the reserves of yellow sun radiation in his cells—solar flaring—which makes him utterly vulnerable.  

 His eyes widen as his mind flares to lucidity to find Kara hovering over him, her fist coming down towards his face with alarming force.  In the instant that her fist makes contact, and pain explodes in his head, he’s certain that death awaits him.

 His last thought as darkness closes in around him is that this morning he awoke a hero, and somewhere along the line, without knowing where he mis-stepped, he became a villain.

 The End

(To be continued)