#i was thinking that maybe there's an extra mask in storage somewhere in the room? like in that box on the shelf

[someotherdog]

she jumped back the moment his eyes snapped open, but not by much. “soap!” she cried, her voice instantly going from sorrowful and mournful to relieved and grateful. he wasn’t dead! he was near death, but he wasn’t dead. she had saved him. thank you, jesus, god, allah, zeus, thor, flying spaghetti monster, whoever the fuck was out there and listening to her teary, frenzied praying. his hand—the one he had left—grabbed her arm and she let out a keening sound without realizing. it felt like all the air squeezed out her lungs with just one touch of his hand, but she regained it all seconds later when he released his hold.

he released her, just to try and get up. her hands flew up to his shoulders, trying to hold him down. “soap—” honey was just about to be tacked on, but she caught herself. there was no time for terms of endearment, and she knew he wouldn’t appreciate the affection. “wait, stop!” she implored, uselessly trying to push him back down. she’d have better luck knocking over a brick wall with her bare hands. like before, he ignored her and tried to get up again, successfully this time. did he have nothing to say about his fucking arm being blown off? she would never understand that soldier’s mentality, how he just pushed on without dwelling on a single thing. it was baffling to her, a woman that spent most of her life reacting.

ingrid was still on the floor as the men discussed the next situation at hand. her face screwed up as gonzales stated he had dibs on one of the pods. soap threw her a look. her stomach turned. no. he didn’t even have to say it to know he was thinking it, her expression darkening as she stared at the two of them. there was no fucking way in hell she’d been through all of that with soap, just to leave him behind. didn’t he care that she dragged his ass out of an inferno after gonzales tried to stop her? didn’t he care that she needed him? did he care about her at all?

the tight smile he gave her, if it could even be classified as one, did nothing to relax her. in fact, it soured her stomach. he really meant it. he wanted to be left behind to die. how sick! the one bit of affection she received from him was the rictus he was going to wear when he fucking died, probably torn to shreds by one of those creatures or perhaps a self-inflicted gunshot wound. it was unfair. it was stupid. there had to be another way.

even as there were more bangs against the door, mere feet from her, she stayed on the ground and craned her neck to keep her angry stare on soap. it did little to deter him as the escape pods opened with a susurration behind her. soap crossed the short distance between them and lifted her off the ground like a wayward puppy picked up by their scruff. she let out a shallow yell of protest, hanging in the air for a few seconds before he placed her in the pod.

you have to go.

yes, she did. ingrid didn’t plan on staying on the ship, minutes from freedom. she just wanted soap to come along. she didn’t want to die with him, but she didn’t want to live without him, either. there had to be another way, god damn it!

“oh, screw your fucking nobility!” ingrid screamed, full of rage. she saved him just to be shoved off into space without him? in what universe did that make sense? she was being repaid poorly for saving his ass, and it just made her angrier. “don’t just fucking give up, you fucking piece of shit!” she felt like slapping soap, but there wouldn’t be a point. she was shouting into the wind. the decision had been made. “there has to be something we’re missing.“

she knew they were short on time. the banging outside the escape bay was only growing more intense, not slowing down. any creature that missed the first act was coming around for the encore. ingrid strong-armed her way out of the pod and ran towards the other side of the room, where some computer interfaces and panels were embedded into the wall. on one of the screens, she saw a camera feed that showed the hall outside. it was nearly wall-to-wall with those things. fuck.

ingrid was just delaying the inevitable, she knew that. however, that didn’t stop her. over her shoulder, she kept yelling at soap as she opened up drawers and knocked items to the ground, “i don’t fucking care, you’re not staying on this ship and that’s IT, soap! god damn it!” there was a box on the wall above her head, but she couldn’t reach it. that didn’t stop her from trying, straining on her tiptoes, her hand outstretched. her fingers only grazed it. she hadn’t stopped sobbing since they saved soap, chest heaving and tears streaming down her face.

By some divine intervention, Soap's eyes jolted open. His pupils were dilated. Somehow, breathing didn't feel natural. Air felt like smoke filling his lungs and his nose stung with every inhalation. It shot pain through the bridge of his nose and in his tear ducts. Still, he gasped for air, wildly looking around, grabbing for anything he could for a sense of where he was and what was going on. He thought he died.

A millisecond later, he realized he'd grabbed Ingrid's forearm. She was bent over him, this terrified look on her wet face. His shirt felt damp with her tears and snot. Gonzales was over her shoulder, finagling with an operating system linked to two escape pods attached to the wall. Then, all at once, it hit him: Where he was, and what was going on. Holy fuck, they made it. But there was no time to celebrate, hardly any time to feel relieved. Any remaining creatures growled weakly on the other side of the escape chamber door, still in relentless pursuit even after the explosion. And he was sure that, if there were any monsters still left on board who weren't in that corridor, he'd just alerted them all with the pellet bombs. Like ringing the dinner bell.

No time to waste.

Soap shot up, placing his palms on the ground as leverage to pull himself up—wait.

He swallowed.

Where his right arm was supposed to be, there was nothing. Just a singed end at the end of his bicep, covered just barely by the tattered sleeve of his t-shirt. Only the top sliver of his rose tattoo was left. He wanted to scream, but couldn't find the sound. Between the beeping from the operating system and the monstrous growls outside and Ingrid's sobbing right up to his face, he couldn't focus. Everything made up one nightmarish voice.

He pushed himself up once again, this time putting more weight on his left hand, and brushed past Ingrid. No time to waste.

"You're up," Gonzales quipped breathlessly, hunched over the operating system. "The emergency code they gave us doesn't work. It was never supposed to work. No one was ever supposed to escape." He typed hurriedly, trying to break the system, activate some sort of failsafe. "Anyway, we've got another problem. There's only two. And I've got dibs on one..."

Soap glanced over. The escape pods looked like metal coffins and had a small rectangular panel of glass near the face. Unopened, he could see parts of the pod through it: a breathing tube, oxygen mask, not much else. It was fit for one adult, with space for maybe a child. Even if two people could fit in the pod, that wouldn't solve the problem that they'd be shooting into the ether for God knows how long and only had enough oxygen for one person's voyage.

A sudden, but slow banging at the door snatched Soap's attention. It sounded like only one creature was outside so far. No doubt, though, others would follow.

His eyes darted to Ingrid, and by the look on his face, he hoped she knew what he was thinking. If there's only two, she had to be in one of them. No questions asked, no protests. And Soap didn't care whether Ingrid was kicking and screaming at him, he would get her to do what he wanted.

After all of this, with his life on the line and one arm gone, he was still bent on finishing his mission. Whatever it meant at this point. Before all of this, he hadn't had much left anyway. His army buddies were all dead and gone and whoever was left alive in his family didn't give a damn about him. Soap was all there was that was left, and it made sense, he thought, for him to die on this ship. Something in the pit of his stomach told him that it was all supposed to unfold this way, anyway. One way or another, he was going to die, and for some reason, life thought it appropriate to make him the last one alive. Maybe watching everyone die was supposed to teach him something important, but the revelation never came. And it never would.

Just one escape pod left. He shared one final look with Ingrid, almost like the one they'd had before they left the infirmary—but this one felt different. More final. Because he thought it'd make her feel better, he smiled. It wasn't a big smile by any means, and it could hardly be classified as a smile, but after all this time maybe Ingrid would come to appreciate it and knew exactly what it was—the way his tired mouth thinned ever so slightly and a stunted sigh left his nose.

If things went according to plan, she would go back home and tell everyone what happened. Bring some justice to every innocent person who'd died on the ship and shine light on a new alien life force that could potentially be dangerous if it ever found earth. In his head he imagined her hunched over a petri dish, watching the mutation happen to a cluster of cells just like it happened to all the passengers on this ship. And she'd be sure that nothing like this ever happened again.

But even if things didn't go according to plan or didn't have that credits-roll finish, all he'd wish for for Ingrid was her to live peacefully.

That was it. This was it.

A second later it sounded like more than one creature was banging at the door now. Their mutated and mangled faces slobbered all over the glass panel on the escape chamber door. At the same time, Soap heard a beeping—and the pair of escape pods hissed open.

"Fuck yes!" Gonzales cheered, taking off all of his gear and getting ready to board one of the pods.

Soap reached for Ingrid, intent on grabbing her and shoving her in the pod. With only one arm, she had more space to fight back, but he managed to lift her by the shirt into the pod. Her feet lined up with the markings on the ground. Two feet, for one person. He took the oxygen mask and shoved it against her chest.

There was no thank you. No goodbye. Just, "you have to go."

He turned to walk over to the operating system, big bright letters on the screen reading READY.

[onlythegoodpretzels]

Sketch and lines for Katie/Pidge helping Ulas after finding him prisoner on a druid ship. I love tiny people trying to keep taller characters upright.

For @whumpril alternate prompt 1, crutch! And Whumper of World's birthday prompt celebration day 7: wounded!

Fic WIP snippet below the cut. Comes from my main Voltron AU, so the paladins haven't met Ulas yet. She/her pronouns for Katie.

_____________________________________________________________

These vents were dark. It made it easy to go fast, because she could always see when a room was coming up and she had to be extra quiet. Without Shiro to keep her attention she could zone in, not look through the grates as she went. She had her map and she knew the corridors and she couldn’t be late.

Hunk wouldn’t leave Shiro on his own in here, and she wasn’t going to do it for a second longer than she had to.

But the fourth time completely dark room made her pause, trying to squint and see what it was. Princess had said this part of Galra ships was the barracks. But this was quiet. Like eerie quiet. Shouldn’t someone be here?

Nothing.

She passed three more, completely dark.

When she checked her map, Katie startled when something hazy flashed in front of her. Then she blinked. Her breath misted, glittering faintly in the light her her vizor. It was cold. Very cold. She only now noticed the chilly sting on her face, so apparently the armor had uses.

Were the Galra colder-liking than humans? Shiro hadn’t said anything about that.

Katie curled her hands in as she kept going. It hadn’t been cold upstairs. Now she could feel it in her fingertips and in her mouth. Winter in a tiny corner of space. Why?

Up ahead, a grate flickered with faint purple light. She should have crossed by as far from it as she could. Quiet. Out of sight. But Katie’s heart beat in her throat and the cold felt sharp. Why did the Galra want it cold here? Was it servers or storage or…or…?

The room glinted from faintly glowing lines across the floor. It was bare-edged, small. Splotched and stained. Katie could see how white her breath misted easier here. It was freezing.

A heavy metal frame loomed along the farthest wall, and a Galra dangled from it, slow plumes of its breathing roping around its chest. It hung by wrists and ankles, arms forced up and out, legs pinned back and bent, head sagged forward over the floor. A heavy-looking mask obscured the lower half of its face, fastener straps crossed behind its head to loop at the neck. Shreds of clothing ribboned down off its shoulders, tassels slowly shaking.

Prisoners. Katie’s throat felt dry and thick. That’s why they made it cold.

But she hadn’t been thinking Galra. Did they even have a justice system? What did they even care enough about to lock someone up?

The Galra tremored in the quiet. Shivering? Katie couldn’t stop the part of her brain that stared, trying to tell if the clumped, stained patches on it were fur or scales or something else.

She needed to, needed the distraction, because this was already more than she wanted to know. The wondering made her queasy -- had they ever hung Shiro like that? Waiting somewhere shivering until they were satisfied? And ready to hurt him more?

How cold was Dad right now?

“Katie, what’s your --- ?”

Shit! Katie flicked the comm off instantly, but the whisper still ricocheted in the space.

The Galra’s eyes snapped open, the stark yellow like an error in a room so dark. Shit shit! Katie froze, skin crawling. It was facing right at her! But maybe those blank no-pupil eyes couldn’t see in the dark well?

No. The Galra’s eyes widened and it lifted its head, tufted ears swiveled back. As it looked up at her, Katie got a really good look at the nasty crusted patch of something at the base of its neck, thick and congealed.

Blood, her brain insisted. On a person that would be blood. The Galra twitched on its shackles, a harsh punch of mist bursting out of the mask thing.

Shit shit shit it definitely saw her! It was going to shout! Katie’ clutched at her borrowed Altean gun. Should she shoot it? Wouldn’t someone hear. Wouldn’t…wouldn’t that be wrong if it couldn’t move?

Before she could decide, a strange, frigid burst of cold rushed through the air, skittering up her back like it went right through the armor. Sudden sweet smell cluttered the air.

“N-nnnh!” The sound was half a hiss and half something shriller, so quiet Katie barley heard it. The Galra shook its head violently, ears going flat to its neck. “Ghhhh.”

Katie stopped breathing as the vent beneath her jarred, and a door underneath her feet opened. And a Galra druid drifted into the room, the awful point on the top of its head within arms reach of where she crouched.

The cold reached all the way into her teeth now. Katie had never seen one this close before. It’s robe looked slick and gnarled somehow, like it had the texture of thin treebark. Something about how its back moved set hers prickling and aching, like the joints were in the wrong places for her human-style brain to interpret it as something that wasn’t damaged.

“Okaxar.” The druid’s voice had uncomfortable dissonance, like it had two sounds at once. “Kal sakar Zagarax. Tra bakilkol gaal?”

Gaal. The word for speak. Katie only half recognized some of the others. She needed more time to be any use eavesdropping. But the druid’s tone swung up, then down. Mocking.

Katie’s mouth went dry. This was…this was an interrogation.

The hanging Galra full-body shuddered when the druid tapped the mask. The object hissed and shifted, sections moving down and up, and the Galra lurched. The mask settled, looking looser. It’s next puff of breath sounded more like a voice and less like an animal.

Not a mask. A muzzle. Which had been sealing its mouth.

“V-va….Vash…” The Galra broke off choking, eyes clenched shut. It swallowed.

It was going to tell the druid. She’d failed all of them.

The druid clicked, quiet and low. Even thi close Kaite couldn’t tell if it had teeth or if it were making the sound with something even creepier. It said something long and sick-slow as it reached to the Galra’s chest.

Except halfway there, the druid stopped. Completely still, claws starkly edged in the ominous light from the floor. Slowly, silently, it straightened, terrifyingly tall. The edge of the curved, bright porcelain mask-piece glinted, reflecting the lights like they were spears right at her. She couldn’t see any of the glowing eyes, but they must be just past.

Katie’s heartbeat thudded in her head, harder and harder with each second. She didn’t breathe. Shit shit, did it hea herr? Did it feel her, like some kind of awful eel thing? She needed to run, to get out, but if she moved at all it would know.

A weak snarl broke the silence. “V-Vash rib hagox.” The bloody Galra wrenched its head up and away from the druid. “Tra ket----”

The druid glitched forward, suddenly shadowy and see-through, and a second later it loomed across the room, pinning the Galra to the wall by the throat, the chains limp and dangling. Shit it was strong! It lifted its prisoner and raised its free hand. The lights on the floor burst bright, pulses streaming along them toward the frame, up its support struts, and down into the shackles.

The Galra shrieked, fighting the chains.

Katie flinched. The sound was alien, thicker and in more pieces than a human scream. She wanted to close her eyes. To cover her ears. But she didn’t. She needed to know when the druid found out about her.

Wait, no, she needed to run! 

The druid clenched its fist and the energy stopped. The Galra sagged in the sudden silence, heavy plumes of cold mist dragging out of it. Its head lolled sideways, not looking at her.

Not --- wait --- 

The Galra tensed and yanked its head away from the druid again. “Tra ketral,” it wheezed.

The druid crackled, like an electrical outlet ready to zap. Its hand snapped flat.

Whatever it was doing wasn’t electricity. The Galra didn’t spasm like it couldn’t control itself. Its eyes didn’t close and its skin rippled behind the mask, fighting to open its mouth. It’s fighting looked desperate. Voluntary.

This time, it screamed even louder.

This time, Katie crawled.

Moving at all zapped terror through her. But she had…she had a distraction. The druid was busy. She couldn’t get caught. She couldn’t ---

The scream stopped, and she froze. An awful, three-second pause, listening for the attack, the words that would send the druid after her.

Nothing.

The druid asked a question, which she was too terrified to understand.

The Galra choked an answer.

ZAAAAP. The Galra howled.

Katie moved again.

She kept to the rhythm until finally she was at the far end of the ventilation branch. Far away from the grate, around two turns. She should go further. She was too close to the druid, to the awful sweet smell choking the air when they made things glow, made things hurt.

But she wouldn’t. She couldn’t! What if it followed her? She needed to know what happened. Katie made sure her comms were still off and curled into a ball. She held onto her helmet and waited for something to change.

The prisoner kept shrieking.

In the quieter pauses, the druid kept speaking. Short, curt sentences. Demands? Questions? This far she couldn’t make out the words, and it wasn’t like she knew enough of them to be useful anyway.

When the next scream bounced around her, Katie dug her fingers into the unforgiving hardness of the helmet, like she could cover her ears. Since she didn’t understand it wasn’t the same as listening for real to something like this. She could do it. She needed to know if the prisoner alerted the ship. Somehow, it hadn’t yet. If it did, the others would need to know as soon as possible, if they had any chance of finding the lion first.

She was staying. She could do this.

Finally, finally, it stopped. The prisoner made a sharp, high pitched whimper, so much like a hurt animal Katie twitched. Then, silence.

A door hissed, far off.

Chill stabbed through Katie like an icicle to the back.

Then it was gone.

___________________________________________________________

For a moment all Katie could do was shiver, clutching her borrowed Altean pistol, every muscle locked and ready to fight. But nothing else changed. Nothing mateiralized out of the shadows. No more of that awful grating voice.

The druid was gone.

Katie bit her gauntlet and blinked furiously as tears tried to get in her face. It was ok! It was ok? The druid hadn’t found her!

As the pounding in her ears cleared, rough ragged breathing filled up the tiny passage around her.

Katie swallowed, skin prickling.

The prisoner. It…it hadn’t told the druid. It hadn’t looked at her, not at all, as soon as the druid entered the cell. And…it had taken the druid’s attention right at that pause, right when she’d been sure the monster was going to turn around and see her. She’d been right there. It would have been over.

And the Galra…what? Covered for her?

It moaned. So soft she almost didn’t hear it.

She should go.

Something heavy and frantic rattled in Katie’s gut as she shuddered. Her comms had been of for minutes -- she didn’t even know how long. The others must be furious. Shiro must be worried sick, if he even was aware who he was with right now. She had to get back to him. She had to get back to him now.

It was a Galra. She should go.

But --- but it had helped! It had helped and she’d heard…she knew what it screaming sounded like!

Cursing silently, Katie inched back to the cell vent.

____________________________________________________________

The room flickered dark now, the floor lights dim. The Galra hung trembling, head lower than before. Limp and still in the chains.

Something dripped from the front of the muzzle. Please don’t be blood.

It…no. She wasn’t going to it someone who helped her. They didn’t look good. Katie’s mouth went sandpaper dry. If they really were unconscious, she’d be screwed. No way she could move them on her own.

She slid down into the cell as quietly as she could. “Hey. You there?”

The Galra flinched away from her voice, eyes closed. A barely-there sound whined in their throat.

Fair, honestly. This close Katie could see dark marks across their arms where the energy had flared into them. She moved as slowly as she could make herself, wracking her brain for anything. “You don’t know what I’m saying. Um…shit, listen is…Yalki? Yalki.”

The Galra finally dragged their eyes open, squinting at her. They gasped, ears twitching. “Yhhh…?” They sounded garbled and wordless again. “V-vllll.”

Moment of truth here. If they decided to scream now, she’d be doomed. “Shh. I’m not going to hurt you,” Katie whispered. She hated putting her back to the door, but she forced herself to do it. She’d feel the chill, if that thing came back. And she needed to get the Galra down. And figure out how to say that.“I…Vash…” Yes! That was the word! “Vash kakorhi? Help? G-grax. Wait.”

The Galra didn’t yell or growl. They blinked, eyes lighter yellow than she’d thought they were. They lowered their head, spots across their scalp prickling. “Vllln,” they slurred again, as soft a whisper as hers. Softer, even, it was so hoarse.

Ok. Well that wasn’t bad. Keeping half an eye on the Galra, Katie stepped up to the corner of the frame. It held them so high she could only reach the shackle points on their ankles. Katie felt along the metal struts, cursing internally at how smooth and featureless they were. No exposed interfaces. Hunk would be able to do something with the machine, the power conduits, the joists and joints, but she couldn’t. She needed an in.

Damn it was weird being near them, with their long ankle bone as big as her forearm. Kaite felt strangely, impossibly small. She had to work hard not to keep glancing at the strange stony glint on their foot.

No good. She couldn’t do anything down here. “Sorry.” Taking a deep breath, she caught a central strut and hauled herself up onto the mechanism. It had crossbeams and connectors, enough places for her to grab and step to climb. She had to see more of it.

The Galra hissed and went rigid. Katie felt it, felt the tremor skittering through the shackles up into the frame beneath her. Every hair on her arms stood straight up at the sound, the inhuman toothiness of it. She froze.

She couldn’t do this without climbing up across them.

But then her brain caught up, as the Galra made a confused mewing noise and tried to look down at her, but flinched before they could. Sure, they sounded like a hunting thing out to eat her, but they were shaking. She could feel it. They couldn’t kick. They couldn’t bite. They couldn’t even see her down here. They couldn’t do anything about anything she did. She wasn’t in danger here.

Katie swallowed and kept climbing. “It’s ok. One sec.”

The Galra didn’t move or protest as she clambered across them. Their weird shallow breaths brushed her chestplate as she scooted past, trying to keep track of where the pressure moved so she didn’t wrench on them. They craned their neck, trying to keep her in view, then closed their eyes when they couldn’t turn anymore. A rippling shudder ran up their back, and this time she was sure they had fur there as it puffed up.

Their breath caught. Hurt. Not trying to hurt her.

Katie scrambled high enough to reach the wrist cuffs. Finally some good news! The hard-light chain threaded into the mechanism behind the Galra’s pinned arms. After anchoring, the cords continued down and joined in the center with a small panel right behind the Galra’s upper back. Not a bad design; completely impossible for the person on the machine to reach. But easy for her. Katie grinned and wormed her hand beneath the Galra’s back. She could almost reach… “Hang on.”

But she bumped something hard with the back of her hand. The Galra mewled, sharp and sudden, then cut off like they bit down the sound.

Shit. Katie hung on, trying to listen past the creaking and the awful grating gasps from the Galra. Why was she so good at hitting spots like that without thinking?

No chill. Nothing yet. She had to hurry. “Hold still -- uh --- grax.”

The Galra clenched their eyes shut and leaned down as far as they could. “Z-zhhhhr.” 

That she knew, and it should be ‘zar.’ What was wrong that it came out like that? 

Get them down first. 

The panel had shoddy security, no two-factor, no nothing. Of course. Shouldn’t underestimate who might want to steal your prisoner. Katie hooked in her wrist console and the protocols took like a minute. She made sure she had a good grip on the struts, wishing she had the words to actually warn them. “Sorry.” Maybe the tone would scan. “Now.”

She deactivated the chains.

The Galra pitched forward roughly, arms spasming. They didn’t manage to get their hands under them fully and hit down with a rough thud, the impact jarring up their still-pinned legs. The grating force made Katie flinch in sympathy. A strangled, almost silent sound wrenched out of them and they kicked instinctively, except the ankle tethers hummed and sparked.

The Galra curled desperately, hands clutched near their face, and went completely still. They heaved in rattling, drowning gulps, but didn’t make any more noise.

Thank everything --- that hit had been loud enough on its own.

Katie dropped back down as fast as she could, trying not to stare at how much of them she could see now, at the dark purple of their back and the lighter fur that speckled down their spine from where it covered their neck and head and the very-intuitively-wrong crusted orange patches that jaggedly interrupted both.

At the whitish ends of their legs and the weird hoof-like growths on the bottom of their pinned feet. And the dark singed circles in the fur she carefully avoided as she reached in, where the druid had hurt them.

She deactivated the ankle panel as fast as she could.

The Galra folded instantly into a ball, limbs tremoring badly. Not fetal position, but too close not to tug terribly at Katie’s gut. They pressed their face hard into the floor, like they were trying to stay quiet.

She wished there was time to wait. Katie reached for their shoulder. “Come on. Get up. Uh, Ga --- no -- Zek.” Oh geeze they were shivering, so hard it felt like little punches against her hand. Was that bad? “Zek!”

The Galra choked. Their eyes flickered up at her an alarming creamy color. They nodded vaguely, or they buckled against the floor, she couldn’t tell. Panic clenched her hands. Did they know she was here? Was it like Shiro, and they weren’t even seeing her?

Katie cursed how small the vent looked up at the edge of the wall. It hadn’t been small before. “Come on!” she snarled, and, hesitating only a second, she dragged the Galra up with both hands and ducked under their chest.

The Galra cried out in surprise, a short yip-sound. Their weird narrow torso almost slipped right off her immediately, falling in directions she didn’t anticipate and brace. Katie stumbled, catching an arm and fistfull of fur. Then they scrabbled their too-big hands on her armor, the tink-tink of claws feeling all kinds of wrong.

The Galra heaved a desperate gasp and held on, shuffling to their feet under her as she stood. They sagged heavily, scrabbling to stay upright. Now the force of their shivers shook her too, so big Katie could feel it rattling in her head.

Ok, ok, assume that’s bad. Get them out of the cold.

Katie hobbled them to the wall, half-guiding, half-dragging. The Galra was so ridiculously big everything about them felt wrong, their enormous palms plastered across her chest, their bent knees in the way of her steps. It felt dangerous, but distantly, like her whole body know that if they spasmed again they’d knock her over. Their grip wasn’t steady -- she could feel it falter between claws and palms and back again. Polite? Half-conscious? Both?

Ugh she needed more words. And she had to get them both out of here. "Ok, come on."

[thesmallmeggles]

Zanzo Headcanons in No Particular Order

Autism + Cerebral Palsy + Hearing Loss + Quad Amputee (@treemintart was first on this, I just co-opted it)

Based on research I did on bionic prosthetics, I think it'd make the most sense for sense for Zanzo's limbs to be osseointegrated - contact between bone and a sturdy metal like titanium. Nub - metal rod - cybernetic limb snaps into rod and covers nub. (Peppermint and Chai might have this set-up too. And maybe Rekka.)

His cybernetic limbs are battery powered. They need regular charging to function. (There were a handful of instances where Zanzo's limbs shut down from his lack of attention. He's more distressed when it happens to his arms than his legs.)

There's an extra collapsible wheelchair stashed in a storage closet in R&D for this precise reason. And also one at Zanzo's residency, which I assume exists somewhere on the island.

He can feel pressure in his cybernetic limbs, but that's all.

Even if his CP only affected one limb or one side of his body, Zanzo would want all of his limbs to match.

Motor Stims: rocking, hand gestures, fiddling with neural implants and other objects

Zanzo has moderate - moderately severe hearing loss (40-70 dBA range) - difficult to hear conversation, vacuuming, alarm clocks, and other sounds of equal or lesser volume.

He turns his aural implants to a lower audio setting while he's working to minimize distractions. Also does this if he's overwhelmed. Has gotten startled from folks walking in while he's in the zone.

The Jojo villain oc cosplay is Zanzo's mask. If people deride him for being "weird" regardless, it's gonna be on his terms.

The pillow is custom. Zanzo anonymously commissioned an artist to design the cover. He hugs it whenever he feels lonely or stressed. Also sleeps with it.

He owns a pair of blue light filtering glasses. Sometimes he remembers to wear them.

Zanzo joined the internet in his early teens, haunting ye old chat rooms and forums. Published lots of fan art. These drawings often included a dual blade wielding green haired character.

He discovered anime around the same time and it changed his life. His main interest is in action-adventure and mecha series.

He watches anime subbed regardless of whether it's dubbed in English so he doesn't miss any dialogue. Because he's hard of hearing. (Also his parents used to yell at him for having the tv volume too loud.)

He enjoys playing action-adventure games like Metroidvanias and fighters. Occasionally breaks or hacks games for fun.

Gacha games are dangerous for Zanzo. He will be compelled to dump everything into getting the pulls he wants. Not to mention they distract him from other tasks. Zanzo had a few apps on his phone, but uninstalled them.

I don't think Zanzo's much of a pet person. In the cat/dog sense at the very least. If he did have one, I think it'd be something small and low maintenance - like a rodent or a lizard.

Zanzo first dyed his hair in his late teens/early twenties, inspired by his favorite fictional character. He stopped when Vandelay hired him, and picked it up again after his promotion, figuring Kale wouldn't care enough to chastise him about it. He was right. (This is dependent on Vandelay's stance regarding colored hair, which we don't have any canon info about. I imagine the department heads have more leeway in regards to dress code.)

I learned from the Hi-Fi wiki that the BRUT-1L has a "baby rocking mode". My proposal is that Zanzo intended this for stimming. Maybe he couldn't justify making something that specifically self indulgent, so he knocked two birds out with one stone by also making BRUT-1L a combat gardening robot. (Zanzo doubts his neurotypical coworkers would understand the appeal.)

Zanzo has a private YouTube/Twitch (or whatever the Hi Fi Rush equivalent is) account. Content ranges from playthroughs (and game breaking), reviews/analysis, unboxings, and showing off his various robotics projects. (Including ones that shouldn't be unveiled to the public yet.) He has a small, but dedicated following.

Does Zanzo know how to sword fight? Kind of. He understands the principle at the bare minimum.

[leviiattacks]

hi hi hi i really really really loved your jealous headcanon of levi and your teacher levi!!! i was wondering if i could maybe request something where you kinda mix the two(?) so like theres this event going on in school and the reader is very occupied and busy because shes paying attention to her students and then maybe she talks to some teachers about the event and then levi is just there secretly sulking cause he wants her attention too?? or idk you do you because your works are always soooooooo good thank you<3333

author note :: i did not stick to the prompt which was honestly an accident?/£/):7 but there is jealous levi and reader so i hope it workssss, it’s not that great and isn’t edited...but i hope you enjoy it :-( also thank you for the request you were very kind <3

for this to make more sense you’ll probably have to read my first ever teacher levi post which you can find here !!!!!

requests are always open :-)

word count :: 4.3k ???? longer than i expected ???? 

levi groans at the mention of sports day before turning to look at you dead in the eyes

he knows this is your doing, you’ve always been big on getting the children into sport and other extracurriculars

now see, he has no actual issue with sports day?? he’s pretty fit if he says so himself!!!

it’s just that he frankly does not have the effort to participate.

another part of him also feels frustrated seeing mike flock around you like an annoying bee

he’s asking all sorts of questions

“are we doing the three legged race again this year?”

“how about javelin?”

“HAHA...mike...”

levi takes one look at you and knows you’re trying to let him down softly, it is his favourite event after all.

“since last year’s fiasco and the way you nearly hit one of the sixth graders i think not.” you awkwardly chuckle patting his shoulder as if it’s any consolation

mike loves sports day, he’s competitive in all of the teacher only events and last year he even tripped you and levi up ON PURPOSE might you add

either way he still lost the teacher’s three legged race last year and ever since he’s been out to gain his title back.

levi remembers, he’s unsure if you do but he remembers vividly having to carry you on his back because you had sprained your ankle pretty badly after your collision with mike.

back then you and levi were still in the middle of your little math vs english debate meaning the whole walk to the infirmary was filled with bickering.

and when levi had placed you onto one of the beds you insisted you could treat yourself when you really couldn’t

the way that scenario ended had been with levi forcing you to place your foot onto his knee as he iced and tended to it

this year levi is not having any repeats of that. yes, he quite liked having some alone time with you, in fact it was one of the first times he stopped to wonder if he liked you.

BUT!!!! having you limp around the corridors wasn’t the best either and you were highly irritable until you were fully healed

“why don’t you actually try this year?” hange stifles a laugh, they’re stood to levi’s left and upon hearing their voice his shoulders sag. he knows he’s in for one hell of an earful

“i do try–”

“yeah whatever. anyway, you want a cupcake?” hange’s gesturing to the haphazardly iced buns in the four plastic containers in their hands

“these are for the bake sale!!” they add in enthusiastically.

levi’s about to shake his head, he’s already donated to the bake sale’s charity fund without paying for any of the baked goods. yes it is purely because he doesn’t trust hange to feed him anything edible

“they’re y/n’s batch :-)” hange’s wickedly grinning knowing they’ve hit their colleagues weakness

without another thought levi’s right hand dives into one of his pockets, fishing his wallet out. he places a few spare coins into hange’s palm

“wOAH, you’re pretty eager aren’t ya??”

their remark flies over levi’s head as he tries to pick out two of the most presentable cupcakes

“you’re so fond of y/n, why not try a little harder like i said?” hange’s thrown the bait in the river and levi completely falls for it. he turns ninety degrees completely forgetting about the cupcakes.

“i’m talking about sport’s day if it isn’t obvious.”

he faces hange directly. he scowls twisted in fake disgust and confusion all at once

“and why would i care about that?” he shoots back

“after walking in on the both of you touching each other up in the janitor’s closet i’m really surprised you’re — mMMPH—” levi’s shoved one of the cupcakes into hange’s mouth

“you’re gonna have to pay for that–”

levi smacks some more money into their palm to appease the issue

“when did you see that and have you told anyone else?” he’s seething right now, there’s no way he or you were unable to notice someone as loud as hange prance into the storage cupboard accidentally

“i haven’t told anyone but it has only been three days since i saw so who knowsss...”

“i’ll do anything for you to keep your mouth shut.” levi’s practically begging at this point

“i think you should buy a whole box of cupcakes as compensation. my eyes will never be the same again.”

levi hands over more than enough money, he’s probably handed over enough for two boxes just for extra measure

it’s not that he’s embarrassed of you or anything no, no, not at all. he just, this sounds so stupid but he isn’t sure what the two of you are????

you’ve kissed, A LOT but the only problem is that there’s never actually been confirmation of... something more? than that?

he’s simply horrible at asking, and seeing the way you’re talking to mike it’s almost getting to the stage of borderline flirting

he’s currently flexing one of his muscles and levi’s unsure if you’re actually gawking at them or feigning interest so mike can get bored and leave sooner

his bets are on you pretending for the sake of mike leaving until you reach out to squeeze his arm appreciatively

...

what is this feeling??

insecurity?? a low self esteem??? levi isn’t entirely sure what the emotion that surges through him at that moment is

but hange sure does, grinning at the scene playing out they shove moblit with their elbow

well, well, well levi getting jealous is certainly something new.

when levi knocks on the door of your classroom you assume he’s come to bother you and ask for the spreadsheet with grade averages and all that technical stuff

english and math grades need to be compared side by side and even though it’s your job to help with the data analysis you’re pretty bad at it so levi’s the one who USUALLY picks up the pieces and does it for the two of you

occasionally mike steps in and helps when levi’s got other stuff in the way

“oh levi!! mike told me he’d be doing this month’s spreadsheet?” you’ve poked your head out of the door to talk to him

levi’s eyes narrow at that because he hasn’t asked mike for help at all.

“i didn’t come here for the spreadsheet but i haven’t even told mike to assist me this month... i wonder why he’s so passionate.” he mumbles the last part under his breath

opening the door up you wave for him to come inside “what you here for then?” you ask, oOoh maybe he’s finished reading an inspector calls?? finally you can talk to someone about the twist at the end

“i’m taking part in sports day properly.” the statement is unexpected and ?? levi ?? take anything other than math seriously ??

“woah... i’m proud of you?? i’m glad you’re seeing it’s important to show the children physical activity is fun.” your smile brightens up the entire room and he begins to feel a little more confident

peering up at him your curiosity doesn’t go unnoticed and he clears his throat, he knows you’re expecting him to say something else

ok, ok, ok. he thinks he’s built enough courage up to ask you

“i’ve never got the chance to ask but would you like to go on a date?” on reflex levi screws his eyes shut, suddenly he’s convinced you’ll say no and reject him. why would you accept??

“sure!”

his eyes flutter open and he feels you grip at the sleeve of his shirt.

well? that went better than he expected?

“where do you want to go?” you ask

“doesn’t matter, but let’s go somewhere after sports day finishes up.”

“are you barely going to try like last year?” you’re munching away at a granola bar - it’s rather bland and makes your throat feel kinda scratchy

you’re midway through drinking some water to deal with the dryness but you nearly spit it out when levi responds

“no. i plan on winning every single teacher event.”

HE WANTS TO??? beat???? everyone???

“you’re planning on beating mike too?” you tilt your head to the side incredulously

levi purses his lips at the mention of his name

“why does that sound so absurd to you?”

“he’s um, very good at sport that’s all.”

“i am too.” levi’s adamant to prove his point to you

“fine, here’s a deal. win at least one teacher event and i’ll try and solve one of your funny math problems or whatever.”

“what kind of deal is that??”

“you’ll be able to see me struggle with numbers, for free!!”

“no. i have something better in mind.” levi bites his smile back, he can’t let you know the idea makes him feel

“and that would be?”

he takes a step forward decreasing the space between the two of you.

“how about you kiss me in front of everyone?”

your mouth falls open because oh wow....? you have no actual problem with the task you’re simply surprised that levi is willing to put the both of you out there like that. the spectacle is bound to raise some eyebrows

“deal?” he holds his hand out for you to shake

you nod your head. “it’s a pleasure doing business with you.”

and so your deal is sealed with a firm handshake.

the big day has ARRIVED!!!

all of the students are flooding in through the gates. some carry footballs, other basketballs. you’ve been here for less than ten minutes and had to save a ball from crashing right into an expensive window.

everyone’s wearing active gear, udo walks in with a ski mask on?? which is peculiar but it’s humorous so you don’t tell him off for it

you’ve chosen a comfortable olive green tracksuit, you don’t think you’re in the mood for ski masks like udo is

coincidentally levi happens to show up in the EXACT same type of tracksuit?? everything’s the same to the colour. you both stare at each other for a moment trying to figure out how exactly you managed that but give up, you guess you have similar tastes

the accidental coordinated outfits have a few of your students pointing and chuckling together

gabi and falco are laughing heartily and whispering god knows what about the two of you

“three legged race partner?” levi asks as he fills up some water bottles for the water stand

“oh? mike asked me to be his partner.”

levi doesn’t make it obvious that he’s jealous about it because what adult would be jealous over a three legged race??

but even if you can’t tell levi is pissed mike sure can

he’s walking past the two of you, hands shoved into his pockets when he spots you a few meters away. his eyes sparkle when he sees you. it’s at that moment he senses the dark piercing glare coming from your right.

you’ve yet to notice mike but levi’s seen him approaching from a mile away and he isn’t particularly happy about it.

the good thing about mike is that he knows not to mess with levi.

the two have known each other for years and by now mike knows messing with levi is a death wish in itself.

so when the poor physical ed teacher notices the way levi glowers at him he calls out your name to get your attention - he’s much too afraid to get anywhere near you

“Y/N!!”

whipping your head around you wave at your race partner, why does it look like he’s seen a ghost?? you shove that thought to the back of your mind, he’s probably just tired

“petra doesn’t have a partner and uhh... i think levi’s free. could you work with him instead?”

levi turns away to smile to himself. ah how the tables have turned!!!

“but i want to work with you? it’s always y/n and levi do this. y/n and levi do that!! i wanna try with someone else.”

what you’ve said is a lie. honestly you’d just like to see levi get worked up again

but levi doesn’t get the memo at all. it flies over his head and he huffs thinking if that’s what you want he doesn’t mind. he’ll just show you how he feels.

“it’s okay. i’ll go with petra.” levi nonchalantly salutes at both you and mike as he walks backwards before turning around to locate the ginger in question

WHY DID HE GIVE IN SO EASILY???? YOU WERE JOKING?????

with your mouth open wide mike looks at you once and puts the pieces together

“guessing you wanted him to stick around?” you suddenly hear and god, you feel kinda bad

“oh no!!! i would love to be your partner.” looping your arm with his you smile up at him

whether or not mike believes you isn’t clear but he does return your smile.

there’s a few minutes till the three legged race starts, everyone’s running around. erwin’s knelt down to tie yours and mike’s legs together

as he’s doing so you can’t help but hear a high pitched windshieldy giggle leave petra and you visibly seem annoyed. that’s if your arms crossed over your chest and clenched jaw are anything to go by

levi hasn’t even said anything notably funny ???? what is she laughing at ????

he’s quite literally just standing there making awkward small talk with her

it goes something like this

“have you marked your exams yet?”

levi doesn’t realise she’s said anything till she taps his shoulder and he asks for her to repeat her question

“oh.” he thinks for a while. “no not yet. i’ve got better shit to do. i don’t see them till next week either way.”

and then she just starts laughing so hard that she has to hold her knees and when that isn’t enough she holds onto a nearby pole for support

you see where this is going

when her breathing gets even more uneven she reaches out to grab levi’s upper arm

YUP. you knew it. you can’t be mad at her really. no one knows you and levi are sort of a thing.

a thing? is that the term? well, whatever late night calls discussing books and a few heated kisses in private mean that’s what you are

levi stares at the hold she has on his arm and you expect him to shrug her off. instead he sees you look, smirks a little and waves all the while letting her hand stay there

and the icing on the cake is petra waving at you too and her eyes are much more expressive than she thinks they are

she’s internally laughing at you for sure.

ok, not a big deal, NOT a big deal!!!

this is just him getting back at you for before.

flipping your head back your sad expression probably catches mike’s attention because he seems to cave in

“want to make him jealous back?”

his suggestion is interesting but you catch yourself second guessing

“he’s doing that because he’s jealous.” you mumble shaking your leg to test the strength of erwin’s knot

“and? don’t let him win.” he glances at his shoulder gesturing for you to make the next move

nodding your head vigorously you throw your arm over mike’s shoulder but find he’s too tall to make that work so instead you settle on holding him by the side

it takes you a little to adjust to the close proximity but in the time it takes you to do that mike informs you of levi glaring at the two of you

“mind if i hold onto you here? we can coordinate our moves faster!!!” petra doesn’t even wait for levi to agree to what she says. she just flings one of her arms around his torso

again, he lets her just as last time.

this game of cat and mouse is getting tiring, maybe you should have kept your mouth shut when mike approached you.

“ON YOUR MARKS.”

your senses snap back to where you are. your grip on mike’s torso firms and he turns to nod at you.

you nod back.

you’ll win this.

“GET SET.”

“AND GO!”

okay, SO.

something in your game plan must have gone wrong but mike’s strength is something you’ve clearly underestimated. his first step is so powerful you don’t even have the time to start moving

you assume that’s how you collapse to the ground behind him and scrape your hands onto the cement of the track

so much for winning. all you’re doing is bleeding and hissing trying to cope with the stinging sensation

“mike?!?? not again??” hange groans and jogs over to the two of you untying the ropes at your legs.

“do we have to ban you from another event??? you’re too reckless sometimes.” hange smacks his chest and then hurriedly whispers “levi’s coming this way if you value your life you better bolt and use the first aid kit as an excuse.”

mike doesn’t even debate with himself, that’s his best bet at staying alive and so he dashes away as if he’s left the shower on at home for five hours unattended

some students are murmuring under their breaths and luckily for you the forever reliable gabi and falco have come to your rescue with bandages

“show me your hands.” levi’s hard voice interrupts all discussion. petra’s stood peering over his shoulder and you swear you catch her muffling a laugh

levi frowns. “you good?” he asks. you assume this answer will be the deciding factor regarding whether or not he makes this an issue with mike

“i’m great – trust me!! just a few scrapes.”

levi doesn’t look convinced but he let’s it go.

he helps you get up and takes the bandages from gabi thanking her.

“i’ll patch y/n up.” he tells hange pointedly and they agree. moblit at that moment happens to run over with a megaphone in hand.

“SHOWS OVER FOLKS!! WE’LL MOVE ON TO THE JUMP ROPE EVENT FOR NOW!!!”

“i’ll make him lose the one hundred meter sprint so badly he won’t know what hit him.” levi’s been grumbling the entire time he’s sat down to bandage your hands.

now that you’re both sat close to each other again murmurs of “matching tracksuits??” are back

“you don’t have to it was a mistake levi.”

levi shrugs eyes scanning his handiwork. “i want to. i’ve got to earn my kiss in front of a crowd anyway.”

gently letting go of your hand he looks out onto the track waiting to be called.

you’ve never seen levi give his full effort into sports day but even then you’re unsure if he’ll ever be able to beat mike.

honestly mike sure is fast and you recall one of the children referring to him with the nickname lightening bolt

and speak of the devil. a group of children walk past and are talking about the teacher’s race

“mr bolt’s gonna win for sure. you seen him run?? he could be an olympian!!!!” zofia’s gushing about him, she happens to be a big fan

the only nickname you’ve ever heard for levi is ursula – “ursula sure is evil for giving us that much work >:(” you had heard udo say once during class but after the earful he got from gabi he never used the name again, neither did anyone else

a few more minutes pass in a comfortable silence and levi’s called over to his lane. you’ve accepted the fact that there’s no changing his mind and he’s bound to compete now

“wait for me by the finish line.” he instructs and so you do. you go your separate paths. he to his lane (he’s in the lane two) and you to the finish line

petra’s already standing there waiting. her elbows are propped onto the railing peering out towards the contestants.

making your way to stand with her you see her sigh dreamily at levi in the distance

“hey, i know you don’t like levi a whole lot. you know your fued and all but do you think he’d say yes if i asked him out?”

well.

that sure is unexpected.

you fight the urge to scoff because you know you and levi are starting to drop more hints. is this her way of finding out the truth?

“me and levi don’t hate each other actually.”

“oh, well dislike.”

“we don’t dislike each other.”

“tolerate?” she takes her bottom lip in between her teeth trying to control her frustration

“petra. i like levi.” your confession knocks the wind out of her. you both silently exchange looks. she’s very clearly in disbelief.

the next time she speaks the previous playful lilt in her voice is long gone

“as soon as you noticed i liked him you just had to decide you liked him too. people like you make my skin crawl.”

?????????

why is she so bitter?.)/&£:

you can’t help liking levi and he likes you too,, so what now??

“he likes me back petra. can we be civil about this? i don’t like workplace drama. i had no idea you were into him.” you’re hoping that this will happen to shut her up but NO!!! it doesn’t she’s only more mouthy now

“prove it.” she points one of her manicured fingers into your chest and demands evidence she doesn’t even deserve to see

“what???”

“if he likes you back so much he should be able to show it.”

you know, if it were any day, any other time or any other person asking you this you would have out right refused, but given the circumstances and levi already waiting on you to kiss him in front of the entirety of the school you see no issue with having the last laugh in this argument

“fair enough.” you mutter and lean over to see hange announce the countdown

“ON YOUR MARKS.”

“GET SET.”

“AND GO!!!”

you swear you blink because GOD what on EARTH????? you don’t understand why previous to this levi balked at the thought of participating because he’s made it look so easy.

he’s not bolted he may as well have TELEPORTED to the finish line. mike is breaking out in a sweat far behind him and the boyish grin on levi’s face is enough to tell how he feels

gasps and applause can be heard from the children. zofia and udo are passionately arguing about some bet they’ve made - you make a mental note to tell them that making deals is fun as long as they don’t bet large amounts of money

levi’s jogging up to you completely ignoring petra’s presence

“told you i’d do it. i avenged you didn’t i?” you don’t think you’ve ever seen him smile so confidently in public 

you acknowledge what he’s said with a cartoon like thumbs up and then you’re staring at him unable to locate your courage

oh fuck it

you lean in hurriedly and steal a peck from him. he blinks and then scowls much to petra’s amusement. she has to think he’s about to curse you out but unbeknownst to her she’s read the situation wrong

“is that your idea of a kiss??”

and then he takes matters into his own hands – no literally into his own hands. he cups your face in his palms and captures your lips with his own. as you reciprocate petra can be heard choking on her saliva.

“OH well who would’ve guessed the english and math department had an alliance????? not me???” next is hange, they’re feigning shock even though they’ve known what the two of you have been up to this entire time

the whispers have now become full on shouts

“i KNEW it they were dating?!?!”

“MAN??? I HAD A CRUSH ON MR ACKERMAN WHAT NOW???”

gabi and falco are audibly cheering, you’re quite sure they realised what was up long ago

“DON’T BE UPSET BUT I THINK THIS IS WAYYY BETTER THAN PRIDE AND PREJUDICE!!!!” falco’s comment makes your heart rise in your chest

and you know what? you think so too.

as levi’s hand travels to the back of your neck pressing you further into him you come to the conclusion that maybe just maybe this is far better than pride and prejudice ever will be :-)

[sallyf4ce]

wolves

chapter II

-> sally face x f!reader

-> enemies? to lovers

-> previous | next

cw: drugs, cigarettes, abuse, panic attack

*does not follow original plot of sally face*

summary: larry knocks (y/n) off her feet, literally. later, him and sal come to apologize, bearing a gift of homemade lasagna. sal and (y/n) bond over their similar bodies. his eyes look familiar.

The sound of your skateboard and the wind brushing past your ears practically deafened you, which allowed you to think in peace. Maybe you’d survive in Nockfell.

Maybe it wasnt as bad as you made it. You’d grow close to the old apartment, push through school, leave your mother as quickly as possible, and start fresh somewhere across the world. The only thing that you wouldn’t get close to is the forest surrounding Addison. It loomed over you, day and night, dewy pines poking out at you like a warning sign. Maybe mom moved here just so she could torture you with the forest. Remind you of what happened.

Loud footsteps joined the wheels of your skateboard. You looked back, and on your trail were those two kids from the apartment. The tall one’s face was almost right in yours. You let out a small yelp as your skateboard hit a rock and sent you tumbling to the ground, completely destroying your knees in the process.

“Shit!” larry yelled out in surprise as he dodged the skateboard that went right between his legs.

You quickly reached out to your head, trying to calm the searing pain pulsing through it. What the fuck just happened?

“What the fuck?” you groan. The blue haired boy, sal, grabbed your skateboard and came up close to you. pulling down his sleeves, he quickly grabbed your knees and covered them, soaking up the gushing blood.

“Larry!” sal turned around to face him. You winced as the fabric of his sweater clung to your knees. Your hands grabbed his to pull them off but you froze. They were soft and cold, almost like snow. How would it feel to hold them longer? Would you warm them up? or would they freeze you?

What the fuck?

You snapped out of your trance and moved them off your knees. You scowl at larry and pick your skateboard back up.

“Nice job, asshat.”

His face flushes at the insult and he moves back. Sally stands up and offers you his hand, but you dont need his help (obviously a lie, your entire body was aching like a scale 8 earthquake). You shove yourself up and wipe your burning palms on your jeans. With your feet back on the skateboard (it took a few tries to get up because your knees kept buckling), you flip them off and begin skating back to addison. You just wanted a nice fucking stroll alone, why were these fucks literally everywhere you went?

It’s around 12:45 now. You came home, took a bath, bandaged up your knees and took some tylenol. Mom was already in her bedroom and there were some leftover beer bottles on the coffee table, so she probably wouldnt wake up anytime soon. you quickly trashed the bottles and decided for a quick nap on the couch, since your room was… occupied. your pyjamas, for now anyway, consisted of an oversized grey ac/dc shirt and some soft-ass spandex shorts.

“finally, a fucking break from this shit.” a content sigh escaped your lips as you threw yourself onto the cold couch.

a few knocks sounded at your door.

“(y/n)? it’s uh, it’s sal. and larry.”

“fuck.”

THEY’RE LITERALLY EVERYWHERE WHAT THE FUCKKKK AGGHHH WHY CANT THEY LEAVE YOU ALONE THEY ALREADY BUSTED YOUR KNEES LIKE WHAT

“coming.” you mumbled angrily even though they couldn’t hear you.

the blinding fluorescent lights of the hallway hit you as you opened the door. along with them came the smell of freshly baked lasagna. your eyes widened for a second, before looking up at sal. he stared at you, taking in your appearance. your hair was ruffled, eyes blinking sleepily as they adjusted to the light. your shirt had ridden up and showed a bit of your stomach. he blushed as you pulled it down and glared at him, a slight tinge of red on your own cheeks.

“larry.” he nudged his friend. the brunette walked up in front of sal, holding a pan of lasagna.

“listen man, i’m sorry. i didn’t mean to fuck up your knees n shit. jus’ got excited cause of your sanity falls shirt. can we, uh, can we come in?”

Slam.

larry quickly jumped back in surprise.

“i guess that means no.”

you yelled out a quick ‘wait!’ as you cleaned up your apartment and hid your mom’s weed and other things. god, for a grown woman, she didn’t know how to clean for shit.

opening the door back up, you waved them inside.

“god, you smoke a lot.” larry coughed a bit at the smell of your apartment, which earned him a shove.

“sorry! god, sal, so mean.” he mumbled.

“s’ my mom. i only smoke outside. uh, take a seat on the couch, i’ll warm up the lasagna.” you pulled it out of larry’s hands as they both took a seat on your makeshift bed.

sal shifted. “you sleep here?” he asked, confused. maybe your room was being used as storage.

“for now. there’s some weird ghost shit going on in my room. some fucking preppy ghost woman keeps squealing when i come in.”

ghosts? you believed in ghosts? maybe they’d be able to take you on their expeditions! sal perked up at the thought of you becoming friends.

“you believe in ghosts?”

“well, i saw one, so what else could it fucking be?” you chuckled as you shoveled the now warmed up lasagna onto three plates. sal noticed and his eyes widened.

“oh, no, i- i don’t want any-” he waves his hands.

“you’re having it, i don’t care.”

larry laughs as you shove it into their hands.

“feisty, aren’t ya?” he stabs some and shoves it into his mouth. you sigh and lean back into the couch.

“you guys go to the school here, right?”

larry nods. “yeah, there’s only one school in nockfell.”

“eww, larry face, don’t chew with food in your mouth.” sally laughs. in the corner of his eyes, he thinks he can see you smile.

“yeah, we go to nockfell high. i’m assuming you’re going there too.”

“mhm. starting monday. hurry up and eat, i’m not warming it up again.” you grumble. sal doesn’t move. “god, okay, i’ll look away. i have to go clean this thing anyway.” you wave your prosthetic’s fingers.

“oh, yeah, you also have a prosthetic!” his face shifts into a child-like curiosity. it’s a face that you’ve seen before, and it makes you giggle a bit every time. you place your hand on his lap. sal does a double take and his mask raises a bit.

“you wanna touch it, don’t you. go ahead.”

“damn, sal, you get all the ladies. leave some for me.” larry chimes in, hand on his forehead in mock sadness. he chuckles.

“you gonna touch it or what?”

“uh, yeah.” sal slowly lowers his hands onto it. he traces your fingers, flexing them every once in a while. he flips your palm and looks at the graffiti ‘s’ you drew on it.

“when was this?” he looks back up at you.

“grade 10, two years ago. got bored in class and accidentally took out my sharpie instead of a dry-erase marker. god, my mom was mad.” you chuckle at the memory. she didnt let you back in the house for two days. you had to camp out in the shed, where you stored your extra food so she wouldn’t steal it.

sal hummed. “what about this one?” it was a big ‘SF’. was it for his name? of course not, she didn’t know you back then, moron. still, it warmed him up a bit.

“not for you, that’s for sure.”

“damnnn, savage!” larry put his plate down. “mind if i get more?”

“larry, we brought it for (y/n).” sal scolded.

“nah, i don’t mind. knock yourself out.” you nodded, continuing your conversation with sal.

larry trotted towards the kitchen.

larry’s point of view:

sal and (y/n) seemed to be getting along quite well. good for him, really. we might be able to coax (y/n) into our friend group. i didn’t like her at first, but i think she’s just a little stand-offish. anyway, back to the lasagna. man, i wish mom would make it more often. she only makes it for guests. where is it? oh, there. (y/n)’s going to nockfell high, right? probably should tell her about travis.

your point of view:

sal was still tracing your arm, running his pale fingers over where the prosthetic connected to your skin. the doctors could have chopped your arm off completely, up to your elbow, but you wanted to salvage as much as you could, so it stops mid-forearm.

“do you take it off often?” sal hummed. it felt a little intimate, tracing your prosthetic. it was like soothing a part of your body that was already gone. what? what was he thinking?

“mmm, i take it off every night. if i leave it on, i could get rashes ‘n shit. rashes aren’t fun. ‘m assuming you take yours off every night too.” he nods.

“i don’t like taking it off during the day. phantom limb shit, you know? it hurts a lot.” you grumble.

“got the lasagna. since you’re going to nockfell, ‘should probably tell you about travis.” larry sits down. “he’s your typical stick-up-the-ass bully. doesn’t really like sally face ‘n our crew.”

“yeah. just ignore him and you should be fine.”

“we‘ll protect you.” larry swings an arm over your shoulder.

huh? you can protect yourself. does he think you can’t? is it because of your prosthetic?

“i can do it myself, you dimwit.” you push his arm off your shoulder.

“time for you to leave.”

“woah, dude, calm down-” larry’s eyes widen in panic. he didn’t mean to offend you.

“i’m sorry!”

“i’m not hurt, just need my sleep. it’s 1:30. go on now.”

sal sets down his cold, uneaten lasagna and larry takes a quick bite out of his.

“see ya!” he mumbled, words muffled by food. you click your teeth as he walks out of your apartment and towards the elevator.

“(y/n).”

you spin around to face sal. his hand lingers on your counter.

“your knees. how are they?”

you look at his eyes through his mask. they’re light blue. like the lake that you so dreaded. like the sky that morning. like your dad’s shirt. he blinks.

“uh, f-fine. they’re fine. they should heal in a few days. time for you to go.” you grab his shoulders and shove him through the door.

“see you tomorrow?” he stumbles.

“yeah.” the door shuts with a slam and you’re filled with an overwhelming sense of dread.

oh god, not this again. your vision blurs as you try to grasp onto your breath. you can hear the blood rushing in your ears. your heart thuds like it’s going to break through your rib cage. it feels like someone is strangling you, coaxing the last breath of air from your lungs. your nails scratch at your throat desperately, your salty tears only making the marks burn more. at least the cold metal of your prosthetic cools you down a bit.

shut up, shut up, shut up, shut up, shut up. you can’t wake anyone. you bite down on your lip to suppress the strangled cries leaving your mouth. god, not the lake, please. not the forest. not the huge, dirty, rabid wolf-looking creature behind your father. not his cries. please, just make it shut up. SHUT UP.

you wake up the next morning to your alarm ringing.

taglist: @purelydarling @ghostfacefricker6969 @deadpoetsandhoney

[cherrybombusa]

GROUP ONE  - THE BASEMENT. SUCCESS.

PLAYERS:

THE ROMANTIC - Mackenzie Walsh.  THE MANNEQUIN - Caria Yildiz.  THE WRITER - Noah Russell. 

PERKS: 

COME HERE, LOVER BOY!: With Mackenzie Walsh in the group, it’s harder to fail! Mac and the Candy Girl’s love affair gained the group an extra advantage during the Puzzle, and gained them a Last Ditch Effort to get out of the room - but only if Caria gave up trying.

MEMORABLE MOMENTS: 

-CARIA FRACTURED HER SHOULDER.  -THE GANG CHOSE LUCK AND FAILED.  -THE GANG USED ALL THREE TRIES IN THEIR PUZZLE AND FAILED - BUT MACKENZIE’S LOVERBOY PERK GAINED THEM AN EXTRA SHOT. THEY ENDED UP SUCCESSFUL, AND FOUND THE KEY TO SAVE THEIR FRIEND.  -THEY EVENTUALLY ESCAPED THE ROOM AFTER CARIA GAVE UP TRYING. 

The day hadn’t been busy-busy until Mac  began setting up with the rest of the band - the perfect time for a Boardwalk employee to approach him!  Everything seemed to be going smoothly - at least from Mac’s end - but the employee insists that as the frontman of the band, a cord from the basement must be grabbed for his microphone. Mac doesn’t argue much - there’s no time to argue - he just needs to get back as soon as he can. @romxnticss​

The sun has been fixing it’s way over the horizon for what felt like far too long, but somehow the Minute-Makeover booth was still a-buzzing. Curling irons here, Mascara there - but somewhere within the chaos, a Boardwalk worker managed to grab Caria by the shoulder. Her mother was busy with a client, but the Boardwalk worker insisted that paperwork must be retrieved from a clerk in the basement, and it must be retrieved now - lest they pack up the booth ASAP. Caria hardly gets a look at the person - they walk away before any questions can be asked, but apparently it’s important that Caria gets to the basement as soon as she can. @manncquin​

A boardwalk employee grabs Noah by the shoulder as he’s walking down Roller Coaster Row - a little shocking, to say the least, but all is explained when the employee mentions Ronnie Russell and his need for Noah’s assistance ASAP. Apparently, there’s some table in the boardwalk basement that he needed to fetch for the booth they were setting up outside of the Main Stage. Don’t know why they asked Noah when they could have asked Casey, but… he better hurry. @thewriter-noah​

THE NARRATOR: Reunions were supposed to be pleasant occasions, weren’t they? They were supposed to bring feelings of joy, and nostalgia; you were supposed to forget the awkward haze that had plagued your senior year of high school, and just… pretend like the good old days were actually just that. Good. Absence did make the heart grow fonder and all that, didn’t it? Though, maybe it’s silly to wonder why this little reunion, in the service basement of the Boardwalk, might not be so pleasant. It had only been a week ago that they were all huddled into another basement together, after all. Playing at the whims of a suspected lunatic, and baring their souls - and their tongues - to each other. Not even ‘a Day in Carousel Cove!’ could smooth over that awkward little blip, could it? Still, the three of them made their polite, familiar conversation. Mac laments about being late for his set, and Caria makes some excuse about having to get back to her mother… Noah may or may not be wondering why he’s there at all! But the unmistakable sound of a lock clicking from the far end of the room should be enough to cease all wonder. Jinkies, kiddos! Wonder what’s in store for you this time. NOAH: Noah would be lying if he said, having come down initially to find Mac and Caria in the basement alone hadn't set off some vibes that left him feeling sick to his stomach. While it didn't look like he'd walked in on anything especially scandalous, and their reasoning for being there all seemed legit, thoughts of what had happened between Caria and his brother crowded his mind as he began his search for the table. It wasn't like he'd ever suspected anything between she and Mac but the mistrust had it's way of playing out all sorts of scenarios in his head. At the sound of the door closing he paused as he gave a quick glance up in it's general direction before looking back to see if by chance the other two had left without so much of a word. "Did either of you find what you were looking for?" He asked shortly when he noticed they were both still there, feigning certain his uneasiness was playing tricks on him. THE NARRATOR: Just as Noah speaks, a clock in the corner of the room strikes 7:30pm, as does the watch of a masked figure, just outside the door. It’s time! But for what, exactly?

A moment later,  Dean Hargrove’s voice fills the room like a ghostly echo from the stage - welcoming the citizens to the boardwalk, and more... but just as suddenly as his voice appeared, he’s cut off by a voice they don’t quite recognize. A voice that might just damn them all.

CANDY GIRL: “REST IN PEACE TO OUR DEAR OLD LUX, BUT I HAVE NEWS THAT THE CHERRY TIMES IS TOO SCARED TO TELL! THIS WAS NO SUICIDE. LUX WAS MURDERED. THE QUESTION IS - WHICH ONE OF HER FRIENDS DID IT?”

THE NARRATOR: It was hard to imagine a chill didn’t run down the whole of Cherry’s spine at the implication; hard to imagine that her friends weren’t disgusted by it… Or at least acting disgusted.

CANDY GIRL:  “AND TO THAT LITTLE GANG! MAKE SURE TO CHECK OUT THE LATEST ISSUE. SOMEONE IS MISSING, AND YOU’RE THE ONLY PEOPLE WHO CAN FIND THEM BEFORE IT’S TOO LATE. GOOD LUCK!”

THE NARRATOR: It would have been impressive timing if it weren’t so fucking frightening, but at just that moment, their very own issue of the Cherry Bomb slides beneath the door. It skids to a stop, right at their feet. 

The cover is collaged with photos of Lux - the inside? Crime scene photos. There’s no pictures of her body, of course; that would be crude, even for the Candy Girl - kind of - but images of the blood soaked into her carpet. Still pictures of her bedroom, flaunting a life once lived: those are there. A shot of her suicide note, ‘I’m sorry, I love you,’ and all.

And right there, in the middle of the spread, like a centerfold? A note, written in Sharpie - just for our ragtag little slice of the gang.

CANDY GIRL: GET OUT,,, GET OUT, WHEREVER YOU’RE LOCKED!!!! NOT A FAN OF SMALL SPACES?? I’LL STICK YOU IN A BOX. SOMEONE IS MISSING, BUT I WON’T SAY WHO… FIND THE KEY, AND FIND OUT WHO. 

BUT WATCH OUT, WATCH OUT! YOU’RE ON THE CLOCK! LET IT RUN OUT, AND THEY’LL STAY IN THE BOX. WILL THE TIDE COME IN? HMM, MAYBE IT WON’T. OR BETTER YET? MAYBE YOUR FRIENDS WILL FLOAT.

THE NARRATOR: Oh...my. Now, that’s a predicament, isn’t it?

I suppose we’re at least lucky that the Candy Girl leaves the rules simple, right? Find a key. Get out of the room, and… Maybe she doesn’t kill one of your friends. Maybe

MAKE A CHOICE: YOU MUST ESCAPE THE ROOM, BUT HOW DO YOU IT? THERE HAS TO BE A KEY SOMEWHERE, SO HOW DO YOU FIND IT? BY LOOKING FOR CLUES [PROBLEM SOLVING] OR BY TEARING THE ROOM APART? [LUCK]

CARIA: Unquestioning dutifulness used to be chief among Caria's virtues, or at least it must have been, looking back. Not dutifulness out of any sort of filial affection but the point still stands: she's always done what's been asked of her. As it was, she barely blinked at the matter of paperwork. It checked out-- usually her mother has people to deal with the administrative side of things but a legal team for a day at the Boardwalk seemed overkill even to the unendingly ostentatious woman. And given the company Caria's ended up in the basement, she's all too happy to stay all the way adrift in her thoughts. Even the click of the door isn't enough to pull her back to reality. What is enough, however, is the unwelcome broadcast. 

She's never been good with these kinds of things. Maybe there's a way to look around at the small details and figure things out that way, but unfortunately how good she looked in tweed and faked a British accent had no real correlation to how closely her thinking could mirror Sherlock Holmes'. So, she does what she's only ever really let herself do in her imagination: She starts pulling the room apart haphazardly, hoping something helpful will happen upon her if she's desperate enough.

MAC: In twenty years, Mac had never exactly found himself in any high pressure situations. Perhaps it came from living with a self-proclaimed former hippie, or the fact that it was hard to build any real sort of stress in a record store, but regardless- he never saw himself stuck in the middle of this sort of thing. While his first reaction had been to head for the door the moment he heard Dean Hargrove's voice, still preoccupied with missing Mystic Cherry's set, the realization that they were trapped had slowly but surely sank into his brain. There's a pause as Caria starts tearing things apart, a moment to let his panic sink in, before he's starting on the other side of it, desperate for a way out and to the rest of their friends.

THE NARRATOR: In hindsight, maybe it wasn’t the best idea to just start tearing the room apart. Mac and Caria look for nearly fifteen minutes - maybe twenty - as the chaos of everyone else’s night unfolds on ground level above them. They’re losing time, and coming up empty - it’s time for a new plan. 

The Candy Girl is cunning, and cold, after all. Meticulous. She wouldn’t be the type to just leave something where anyone could find it… Maybe. Looks like they’re playing Mystery Gang on this one.

MAKE A CHOICE: FAILURE. THE GANG HAS SUFFERED A TIME PENALTY DUE TO THIS ACTION. IT WILL NOW BE HARDER TO GET OUT.

THE NARRATOR: Looks like they're going to need clues to get out. Noah  stays focused on the sharpie scribbled riddle in the ‘zine while Mac and Caria raid the room for something useful. Not so useful, but strange enough to take note of? A cherry red briefcase, shoved into one of the dusty, storage lockers. Not only that… but maybe there’s actually more to the note than they thought.

MAKE A CHOICE: TRY THE CODE. 

NOAH: This was it. The first interaction with the allusive Candy Girl since the night of Lux's funeral but instead of having them all making out with one another she was sending them on some wild goose chase. Noah could barely control the slight trembling in his fingers as he attempted to put the code into the briefcase they'd found. Normally such steady hands with a pen couldn't find peace as he recalled the box that had arrived at his door only a week before. MAKE A CHOICE: WRONG CODE. SORRY.

MAC: Mac wasn't exactly sure if he wanted to know what was inside the briefcase, though his fear of whats inside soon turns into a fear of not being able to get inside as he watches Noah struggle. Quietly he takes the briefcase into his own shaking hands, inputting 2-1-3-4. MAKE A CHOICE: WRONG CODE. SORRY.

CARIA: Caria frowns and puts in 3421.

MAKE A CHOICE: WRONG CODE. 

NOAH: Noah took the box again and worked the numbers until they read 3-1-4-2.

MAKE A CHOICE: SUCCESS.

THE NARRATOR: The briefcase pops open and reveals a coppery key. Someone should probably try it in the door!

NOAH: Hearing the sound of the briefcase pop open came with a strange sense of relief as Noah pulled the key from the briefcase. "Jesus.." He whispered mostly to himself as he glanced back at Mac and Caria and made a point of dad jogging over to the door. The adrenaline still racing through his veins as he tried the key in the door.

THE NARRATOR: The key doesn’t even turn, and just like that… defeat rings through the room all over again. Wait, unless -

MAKE A CHOICE: TURN THE KEY OVER AND TRY IT THE OTHER WAY? [LUCK - HIGH RISK, HIGH REWARD]

NOAH: Noah paused, contemplating as he felt the key unwilling to move and made the decision to pull it back out of the door. "It's no fuckin good. They're toying with us. This isn't going to let us out." He said frustration thick in his voice as he shot a look to both Mac and Caria. "Any other hints we missed?"

THE NARRATOR: The sound of the clock ticking in the corner of the room is almost ominous as it continues on in it’s effort; keeping a steady beat to their struggle. They have to get out, or someone gets hurt… They have to beat the clock, but how long did they have exactly? And beyond that - how long would they be stuck down here until somebody found them? 

Maybe the door wasn’t so sturdy. It seemed old enough: they could try to break it down. There’s windows - high up, but windows nonetheless. They could climb it, if they needed to. 

And if desperation really struck? Well, they could always scream for help.

MAKE A CHOICE: HOW WILL YOU GET OUT? BREAK DOWN THE DOOR [STRENGTH], CLIMB THROUGH A WINDOW [FIGHTER], OR SCREAM FOR HELP [CHARISMA.]

CARIA: Caria gives a dubious look to her companions but seems to gather some kind of resolve. "If I could just get up through the window, I could get us out," she reasons with an uncommon amount of confidence to her voice, "Can you hoist me?" And then she tries to climb up with the others' help.

THE NARRATOR: If only Cherry High’s gym teacher could see Caria now! To coach her through the proper hand holding technique they had all learned during rock-climbing week. It’s a noble effort as she makes it halfway up the wall, but as a shelf tips forward, Caria topples backward. In the blink of an eye, she’s on her back in the middle of the room - a loud crack sounding from her shoulder.That’s definitely broken.

The other two crowd their Caria, trying to comfort her - promising they’d get her help as soon as they could. But it’s no use. Nobody knows where to find them; nobody can hear them. And nobody is coming for them.

MAKE A CHOICE: YOU'VE FAILED YOUR PLOT EVENT.

CANDY GIRL: But wait! Who is that handsome boy in the back? Mackenzie Walsh Looks like my favorite boy has another shot. Let’s go, Lover Boy!

THE NARRATOR: Seriously? Fine! They had only been in here for a half an hour - maybe a little more - but somehow it felt like centuries. They were beaten, and broken down… They had fallen right into the Candy Girl’s trap, and like mice in a lab, there was no escape. Maybe. They could always keep screaming for help - but then again, what was the use?

MAKE A CHOICE: LOOKS LIKE YOU GOOFED IT - BUT YOU HAVE A SECOND SHOT. DO YOU ADMIT DEFEAT [SELFISHNESS] OR DO YOU KEEP TRYING TO SCREAM? [LUCK HIGH RISK - HIGH REWARD]

CARIA: There was no point, was there? Some tiny part of Caria insisted it wasn't, and yet it had to be. Her shoulder wasn't even what bothered her most. Even if she could get out (but what reason did she have to have ever hoped she could pull off some heroics?) it was undeniable that whoever was in that box never knew or liked her to the level she hoped. Probably, they blamed her for her relationship with Harvey falling apart, for Casey feeling hurt, for Lux dying. They were not her friends. They were unlikely to even like her that much Caria, who had been unintentionally tearing down others left and right, fostering nothing but ill-will. She felt humiliated, which was bad enough on its own but doubly so heaped in a pile in front of Noah, who probably hated her, and Mac, who probably would shortly. 

Why was she even doing this? How could she go back to the group day after day and pretend she belonged? Even if she swallowed her pride and went through the motions for the sake of retaining her place among them, Candy Girl knew the truth, which meant maybe others knew the truth, which meant she would have to sit there as the villain pushing others to suicide. She's crying. Of course she is. Messy, gasping sobs, as though she's been held too long underwater. "I can't do this. Let's not do this. I can't-" she tries to utter while struggling to breath through her crying, "No more."

THE NARRATOR: Maybe it was wrong to just sit down and let it happen to them, but what were they supposed to do? They were beaten down and broken… they had tried so hard, and failed. Why not just say, fuck it?

Half an hour goes by that feels like an eternity. Their friend quietly crying in pain; anxiety on high. Mac trying not to cry, himself. 

But the sound of footsteps from down the hall piques their interest. The sound of their voices all mix in one as they call out for help, and only a minute later is someone turning a key into the door lock.

MAKE A CHOICE: SUCCESS. YOU'VE ESCAPED… BUT ONLY BECAUSE THE CANDY GIRL GAVE MAC A SECOND CHANCE. YOU WON’T BE SO LUCKY NEXT TIME.

[fazbear-security]

Secret Tunnels & Surprise Visits

Mike hadn’t had a week off in nearly two years, and he wasn’t quite sure what to do with it.

He’d slept as late as he could, but that had only taken him to 1pm, and most of his siblings had extra curricular activities that would keep them out until at least 6pm. His mother was working until at least then, when she picked up the kids, and Sasha’s curfew wasn’t until 11pm (and boy, did she wring it for every minute she could get). He’d tried cleaning up around the house, but that had only taken up part of his Thursday, and as much as his mother had appreciated his hard work, it hadn’t been enough to satisfy the itch in his idle hands.

The pizzeria was being renovated that weekend, and was closed from Thursday to the following Wednesday, so Mike had a good full six or seven days all to himself. Already out of things to do around the house after day one, he’d decided to tackle the one task he (and everyone else in the house) had been putting off for years.

Organizing the basement.

“You have a lot of stuff down here.” Puppet commented as he climbed up on top of an old gear locker shoved against the stairs. A pair of old workout gloves and a rolled up mat were still stuffed in it, along with a set of resistance bands. Mike made a point not to look at it. “Like, a LOT a lot.” The slender animatronic that had taken up residence under his bed poked at the curling edge of an old sticker on the side of the locker. “Don’t you guys throw anything out?”

“Does it look like it?” Mike asked rhetorically as he surveyed the mess. Where was the best place to start? Christmas ‘91? His old college stuff? That box of yearbooks that stretched all the way back to Tara’s freshman year of high school? “That’s what we’re down here to do today - pare down all this junk and get rid of the stuff we really don’t need.”

“That’s easier said than done…” Puppet eyed the mess from his perch up on the locker before jumping down, and curiously opening the nearest box. “You’ve got more stuff down here than the old location had in storage….oh!” The little animatronic leaned over the edge of the large box - almost falling in - before scrambling back out with a little box clutched in his striped fingers, and a wide smile on his mask.

“Hey! I remember these!!” He popped open the lid and ran a cloth fingertip over the enamel pins on the board inside while Mike picked another box in a stack across the room, and started to dig through it. “These are the commemorative pins from 1987! They had me give these to employees as a gift at a big party!” Puppet tilted his head curiously. “How’d they get down here?”

“The night shift isn’t the first time I’ve worked for Freddy Fazbear’s Pizza, you know.” Mike made a face at the musty books inside the box he’d chosen, and closed it back up. His mother still might want to donate these to the library - best to just set these aside, for now. “I spent a few months making pizzas for the other location across town before I went to college. I was out sick when that party happened, but management gave me those pins the next day.”

“You mean...we could’ve met sooner?” Puppet looked down at the old pins - at the cutesy, cartoony faces of Freddy, Chica, Bonnie, Foxy, and the pizzeria’s logo - and some of his smile faded. Mike looked up from the box of old clothes he was sorting through at the heavy silence, and frowned.

“Don’t...don’t think too much about it, Puppet.” He advised, folding an old shirt that had stopped fitting a decade ago and setting it aside. “You wouldn’t have liked me when I was eighteen, anyway. I was kind of an as-...uh...kind of a jerk.” He quickly amended. Puppet frowned, and put the lid back on the box before jumping up and sliding it on top of the locker. He was absolutely keeping that.

“So?” The animatronic moved to Mike’s side, and stood as high as he could to try and  see into the clothing box. “I’ve dealt with sulky teenagers before.”

“I was a lot more than just ‘sulky’...” Mike winced. He’d been a jerk with a capital ‘J’ before he’d gone to college and gotten knocked off his pedestal. It was a miracle his parents had been able to put up with him for an entire year, honestly. “Be glad we met after I got my head on straight. It was for the best for both of us.” Puppet’s mask twisted into a frown, but Mike was determined for that to be the end of the topic, and moved the clothing box to get at the yearbooks beneath it.

“...huh?” Mike paused in the middle of opening the last box in the stack, and closed the flaps again to tilt it back, and get a better look at what had caught his attention. Puppet quickly perked up as the young man shifted the box across the floor, and off of a mysterious, rectangular shape still half-buried by all the clutter.

“Oh, cool! A secret door!” Puppet grabbed another stack of boxes and tried to push it off the shape, while Mike scratched his head in confusion.

“I...don’t remember this.” The human frowned, even as he helped Puppet to move the stack that weighed more than him. “I wonder if Mom or Dad knew about this?” He frowned as he cleared the last of the boxes off of what was now obviously some kind of old trapdoor. “Kind of seems like they tried to bury it.”

“Maybe it leads to a secret tunnel!” Puppet suggested eagerly. “Just like in that cartoon with the dog Pippa likes!” He started to bounce on his heels, and started to reach for the seam in the floor. “Let’s open it and see where it goes!”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa! Slow down, Puppet!” Mike snatched the little animatronic up under one arm, and stepped back before he could get his striped fingers into the crack. “We can’t just open it!” He argued. “We have no idea what might be down there - there could be rats, or spiders, or-”

THUNK.

“......” Both Mike and Puppet froze at the sound, and looked down at the trapdoor. “.....that’s a big rat.” Puppet whispered. Mike slowly - quietly - stepped back from the trapdoor, and the sound came again, only louder. He dropped Puppet back to his feet, and the little animatronic quickly hid behind the human, and dug his striped fingers into Mike’s red jacket as they both nervously watched the trapdoor.

THUNK. THUNK.

Something pounded on the trapdoor from below - something big - and a small puff of dust was kicked up from the space. Mike looked around frantically for something he could use as a weapon, and snatched up a baseball bat from another pile of junk. Luis hadn’t used it since his high school days. Surely, he wouldn’t mind?

THUNK THUNK THUNK.

The trapdoor began to rattle, and Mike swung the bat up over his shoulder as the rusty lock creaked and bent. Finally, the old metal snapped, and the trapdoor was thrown open by-....by Chica?

Mike’s brain ground to a halt as the animatronic chicken mascot from his workplace popped up through his floor, looking around with a curious hum at the cluttered basement before she laid optics on him, and broke out into a wide, toothy smile.

“Hi, Mr. Schmidt!! How’d you get here?”

“.......” The baseball bat fell out of Mike’s limp hands, and clattered to the floor. Puppet flinched at the loud sound, but Chica didn’t seem to register the human’s obvious shock, and came up the rest of the stairs and into the basement.

“Guys!” She shouted back down the stairs. “Mike’s here!” Behind her, Bonnie’s ears appeared before the rest of him, and Foxy’s hook scratched at the edge of the trapdoor hole as he hauled himself up out of the tunnel that yawned beneath the basement floor. Mike sucked in a breath through his teeth as the pirate fox - and other figures that, in no way, should have ever been in his house - rose up from beneath the floor, and stretched his limbs.

“Aaarrr, ‘tis about time!” Foxy grumbled, leaning back as if to stretch out a kink in his spine. “We’ve been walkin’ fer hours! I thought we’d be ‘alfway t’ Tortuga by now!”

“We were only down there for twenty minutes, at best.” Bonnie argued as he climbed out. “Your internal clock must be broken!”

“Jus’ like th’ rest o’ me, ey?” Foxy turned an irritable glare upon the rabbit, but his expression immediately softened when he noticed the audience Bonnie had not. “Oh! Mike! How ye’ be, lad? Ain’t seen ye’ since Wednesday eve’!” Puppet looked up at the human he hid behind with wide eyes, and Mike found the presence of mind to lower his hands from their raised position.

“....you’re in my house.” He said eloquently. Bonnie and Foxy both tipped their ears forward, and looked around the basement.

“This be your house?” Foxy flipped up his eyepatch for a better look. “It be….uh….cozy?” Bonnie shook his head and smacked the fox on the arm.

“This isn’t the whole place, buckethead.” He scoffed. “There’s an upstairs, see?” He pointed to the basement stairs, and Mike looked over just in time to see Chica’s tailfeathers disappearing at the top. His heart skipped a beat or two.“This is just a basement!” The rabbit hopped over a box on the floor, and headed up the stairs himself. “Chica, wait for me!”

“I knew that!” Foxy huffed back with a lash of his tail. The basement started to feel a little small, and Mike pulled another breath in through his teeth. Oh, god. He’d had nightmares just like this, back when he’d first started on the night shift...except he wasn’t sleeping now. He was awake, and this was real-

“I, ah, don’t suppose I could get a hand?” Mike froze, and slowly looked back down at the trapdoor to see Freddy himself seemingly wedged in the stairway opening. Behind him, he could also see the glow from Sam’s LED hat band, somewhere back within the tunnel. “I’m not as slim as the rest of you, you know!” The bear admitted.

“Aye, let’s get’che out o’ there.” Foxy reached out with his good hand to grab Freddy’s and started to pull, with Sam - presumably - pushing from behind. After a few more seconds of staring, Puppet edged out from behind Mike to help. Mike, however, remained frozen in place, and a few shades paler than he probably should have been as he tried to comprehend how one of his darkest nightmares was becoming reality right before his eyes-

“Oh, wow!” Chica’s voice echoed from somewhere upstairs - somewhere on the second floor. “It looks like Parts & Services up here, only better lit! Bonnie, you have to come see this!”

“That’s my-! Oh no.” Mike’s eyes popped wide, and he finally broke out of his frozen stupor to bolt for the stairs, leaving Puppet, Foxy, and Sam alone to try and pry the pizzeria star out through the too-small trapdoor in the floor. “That’s my room! Don’t touch anything!”

He passed Bonnie in the living room, seemingly enamoured by the many framed photos hung up behind the couch, and nearly tripped running up the stairs before he caught himself on the banister. It wasn’t until he’d made it up to the landing and thrown open his bedroom door that Mike realized that he...had no real plan for confronting the animatronic inside. He froze again in the doorway, panting, and struggling for words as Chica ‘ooh’ed and ‘ahh’ed over the variety of drawings and unfinished projects strewn about his desk.

“Whoa!!!” Chica picked up a pipe-and-wire hand model that he’d given up on three months ago, and cradled it in her hands with the reverence of a child holding a coveted toy for the first time. “This is just like our endoskeletons! Mr. Schmidt, I didn’t know you could build things!”

“I-. Uh. Um.” The unexpected praise made it even harder for Mike to find his words, and he stumbled for an embarrassingly long time before he heard the creaking of the stairs, and felt a towering presence at his back.

“Oh, neat!” Bonnie pushed his way into the room, causing Mike to stumble forward, as well, and gleefully batted at the punching bag still hanging from the ceiling next to his bed. “Heheh, what’s this thing? Does it make noise?”

“No, it-. It doesn’t make noise.” Mike reached out a hand to stop the bag from swinging, and hoped the feeling of the synthetic leather against his hand would help snap him back to reality. It didn’t do much. “It’s for hitting.”

“Oh.” Bonnie seemed to lose interest at this answer, and turned to face Chica, who had moved on to looking at the posters and pictures hanging on the wall. “Oh!” Bonnie zeroed in on one in particular, and Mike winced internally. “Who’s this kid? I haven’t seen them at the pizzeria before.”

“Yeah, you have. That’s, uh.” Mike found himself wishing he’d never framed that dumb childhood photo. “That’s me.”

“That’s you?!” Bonnie and Chica both crowded around the frame, now, and Mike prayed to any deity listening that his floor would hold under them. “Aww! You used to be so cute!”

“Bonnie!” Chica gasped, and tweaked one of the rabbit’s ears. “That’s so rude! He’s still cute!”

“......” Mike pressed both hands over his face, and leaned back until he was sitting on his bed as the two animatronics began to squabble.

Maybe, if he just sat here for long enough, his brain would get tired of this nightmare, and he’d wake up?

[lillotte17]

Words to Fill Space

Whelp, I’m not going to finish this since the literal creator of the show sort of pulled the rug out from under me. (bless) But I liked what I got down, so I figured I might as well toss it out into the void. 

~

Catra knew who was on the other side of the door before it even finished opening. After all, she had hardly given her a moment to herself since rescuing her. Not that Catra minded the abundance of attention, exactly.

She didn't know how she felt about it, if she was being honest.

Any of it.

When she had been trapped on Prime's ship, some tiny quaking voice inside her had hoped against hope that Adora would come for her. That her inherent need to play the hero would override all the anger and resentment she must hold for her now. That a single shining thread of the promise they had made to take care of each other was still binding them to one another across the vast reaches of space and time, bitter words and bloodied hands.

Catra had hoped, but she hadn't really thought it would happen.

And yet, Adora was here, standing her the doorway with what seemed to be an armful of blankets and pillows, grinning from ear to ear like an idiot. 

She wasn't sure what feeling the image instilled in her, but it was more than a little overwhelming. Everything that involved Adora seemed to be like that. Too big. Too bright. Heart hammering behind her ribs.

"What do you want this time?" Catra grumbled, curling into herself on the thin mattress at the center of the room, hiding her face in the crook of her arm, "I apologized to Entrapta, and I played nice with your friends at dinner, what else do I have to do before you let me get some sleep?"

"I remembered that you get cold easily," Adora explained, not at all put off by the less than cordial greeting, "The ship only has a few bedrooms, but we found a bunch of extra blankets and things in storage, and I figured you might want some of it."

So saying, she tossed a blanket at Catra's head, burying her face in soft stifling fabric. Catra hissed, flailing at the unexpected darkness for a moment before managing to tug herself free. Adora snorted.

"Gee thanks," Catra snarled, "Now can I go to sleep?"

"Well, sure, but…um," Adora began, suddenly looking a bit sheepish.

"Yes, what else do you want?" Catra heaved a sigh, rolling onto her back and flinging an arm over her face.

"There aren't enough bedrooms to go around," Adora admitted, "The rest of us all agreed to double up, but we knew that you were still having a hard time adjusting to being around everyone so… It seemed like I was probably the best choice to send in here with you? After all, it's not like we've never shared a room before…"

Catra moved her arm just enough to take a long look at Adora's face. There was something unbearably soft about it. Uncertainty dancing along the fringes of hope. The dim lighting painting her pale blue eyes the color of storm clouds. Her mouth teetering on the edge of a smile.

"That was a long time ago," Catra reminded her, shifting her gaze away.

"It wasn't that long ago…" Adora insisted quietly, "We don't… You don't have to talk to me or anything. I'm just going to bed down on the floor."

"Do whatever you want," Catra replied with a huff, "It's your ship anyway. It's not like I could kick you out even if I wanted to."

"…do you want to?" Adora wondered.

"…no."

The mumbled admission was apparently enough consent for Adora to move fully into the room and start arranging her makeshift bedding in one corner, tucked up against the wall.

After a minute or two of shuffling around, Adora seemed to settle. The only sound in the room afterwards was the faint sound of even breaths. She smelled a little different than Catra remembered -probably some kind of fancy princess soap as opposed to the regulation bars the Horde passed out- but beneath all that, she was the same. A light honest scent, with the faintest tang of sweat. The smell of safety and trust, and home.

For the first time in ages, Catra felt something inside her unclench, just slightly.

"Do you ever wonder what would have happened…if you had let me come with you when you went back for the sword?" Carta asked, her voice low, and her eyes fix firmly on the ceiling.

The was a long stretch of silence, and for a moment she thought Adora might have already fallen asleep.

"Not anymore," Adora replied, soft and remorseful, "I used to, back at the beginning of all this. I drove myself crazy trying to think of what I could have done differently that would have made you change your mind and leave with me. How I could fix things between us so we could be friends again. But then…"

"Then I opened the portal," Catra guessed, sounding bitter, although mostly at herself, "And you gave up on me."

"I never gave up on you!" Adora insisted, sitting up from her pile of blankets to fix her with an intense look, "You just… You wouldn't let me help you! You wouldn't listen to anything I had to say! You kept hurting me, and my friends, and everyone around you, and then trying to push the blame somewhere else when things went wrong. We grew up together, I know you better than anyone else in the whole world. I always knew you could be better than that. I've seen you be better than that! But it's not like I could just punch you into being a good person, you know? I tried! A lot! You had to want it for yourself first. What else was I supposed to do for you, Catra?"

"I…I don't know," Catra whispered the admission into the dark. She felt her heart sinking in her chest. The same bleak helplessness that had been dogging her for months stealing back into her thoughts. Despair and shame and regret. Knowing that, once again, no matter how hard she worked for it, no matter how far she stretched out her hand, the things she wanted were still beyond her grasp.

"It…It's never going to be the same, is it?" she asked thickly, choking down all the other things she wanted to say. Not even having the words for half of them. "Between you and me?"

"…Probably not," Adora sighed.

Catra made a quiet strangled sound, biting back tears. She was so sick of crying. Sick of losing and being lost. Being left. But she didn't have it in her to lash out anymore.    

Her ears twitched at the sound of shifting blankets and bare feet padding across the room.

Adora sat at the foot of her bed, her expression uncharacteristically hard to make out. Catra sat up and stared back at her, trying to mask her own upset. After a few moments of contemplation, Adora finally reached out and touched her hand. Brief and gentle. Comforting.

"We can't go back to the way things were before," she said, "But maybe that's for the best. I don't think either of us were as good at being friends as we thought we were. The Horde wasn't really a great place to learn anything that didn't involve hitting things and yelling. We both made mistakes. We both hurt each other. Unintentionally, and…less than unintentionally, too. I don't want us to be like that again."

"I…understand," Carta replied. Her shoulders were shaking. Adora covered them with her hands, warm and steadying.

"But maybe, we can make something better?" Adora suggested, the corners of her mouth twitching upwards.  

"Better?" Catra repeated dumbly, momentarily at a loss.

"Yeah. Better." Adora confirmed, a full-blown smile blooming across her face this time, crinkling the corners of her eyes. The low-lit crystals in the room seemed to all agree to pool their light withing her gaze at once, making her eyes shine like starlight.

Catra almost wanted to cover them with her hands. She felt like Adora could melt her from the inside out with those eyes. Even without She-Ra's powers.

"I'm…not sure I know how to do that," she admitted instead, trying not to let out a very telling sniffle.

"Me neither," Adora huffed in wry amusement, "But I'm willing to try if you are."

"And you really think all your princess friends in the Rebellion are just going to accept that?" Catra wondered, disbelieving, "Accept me? Like nothing happened?"  

"Well…probably not at first," Adora conceded, "You did send an awful lot of bots and soldiers to shoot us. But they accepted Scorpia, and they forgave Entrapta, why should you be any different?"

"I've done a lot worse things than either of them," Catra pointed out.

"Alright, that's fair," Adora sighed, "But there's no way you've done worse things than Shadow Weaver, and she's part of the Rebellion now. I mean, nobody likes her or trusts her at all, but she's still there. Nobody tortured her, or suggested sending her off to Beast Island or something. The Rebellion isn't like the Horde; people who make mistakes can have a chance to fix them. It'll be hard, and I can't promise that all of them will like you, or decide to forgive you for what you did, but I know they'll at least give you a chance to try and make things right."

"Shadow Weaver never flipped a switch that nearly ripped the entire planet apart," Catra scoffed.

"No, you're right," Adora agreed, rolling her eyes, "She just spent twenty years or so helping Hordak manipulate orphans into destroying their own planet just to get back at the Sorcerer's Guild for throwing her out. She also poisoned Plumeria, tortured Glimmer, tried to wipe my mind, and almost destroyed Mystacor. And I mean…that's not even getting into everything she did to both of us while we were growing up."

"You don't have to try and make excuses," Catra said, looking away, "Shadow Weaver wasn't half as good at running the Horde as I was. I'm not sure if that says something impressive about me, or pathetic about her, but I don't think any kind of comparison between us is flattering. I'm not exactly proud that I was better at being awful than she was."

"You aren't?" Adora blinked.

"I know, right?" Catra chuckled dryly, "It surprised me, too."

Adora snorted. She caught her gaze again, and the air settled in silence between them for a few heartbeats. Not in anger or frustration or resentment, but something almost comfortable. Almost like friends.

Almost.

Adora smiled at her again, soft this time.

"You know, there is one huge thing you did that Shadow Weaver didn't," she said.

"Oh yeah?" Catra drawled, trying to act nonchalant, but feeling a touch apprehensive despite herself.

"Yeah," Adora continued, her smile curling up into more of a grin, "You said you were sorry."

[nika-the-hunter]

House of Mist [Ch. 11]

Central Seattle Ruins, Pacific Northwest. House Mist Territory +157 days 

Nicole and Rykis walked down the path that had been worn through the tall grass. The old road surface was clearly visible here under the dirt. It was cracked and crumbled, resembling gravel more than the flat concrete it had once been. The other trees, not the evergreens, were starting to get their leaves again, and were bringing brighter shades of green to the pale urban ruins. This was her first spring, and it was wonderful, everything was so full of life. 

 Her meeting with Fort Discovery had gone well; so well in fact that she was absolutely convinced that working with the House of Mist had been the right decision. She and Rykis had spent the remainder of the day walking around the small settlement named after the original park it was built on. There had been a fort there before at some point in ancient history, but its name had been lost to time. 

She met many Humans in the fort; over half of them had ties to the region that went back to before the Collapse. Those that had migrated over to Fort Discovery from elsewhere had interesting stories of the world outside the region as well. She had made it a point that return trips would be common for her. The children that her Ghost was entertaining followed him the whole time, trying to play tag with the mechanical ball. 

Pedro and Athena had ideas for expansion that Nicole could help with. They had been in radio contact with a group of people due east that were worried about a band of Fallen lurking around their town. The town had been cautious about Mist, but stories of the friendly Fallen out west had apparently made the journey to them. They were willing to move into Mist territory but had no way to do it without drawing the attention of the local Fallen crew. Pedro had planned to bring it to the Kell’s attention soon, but the campaign against the House of Devils had kept the Kell busy. Now that things were calming down, he would bring it up and suggest that Nicole help convince the others that Mist was extra safe. 

When Nicole finally left Fort Discovery, she found the Archon taking a video call with an Eliksni Vandal who wore a banner she did not know. Though there was a lot she did not know already. It was hard to tell the color of the armor with the screen glare from the angle they were at, but it looked green. Marakis had ended the call and turned to face the two who had approached. He briefly mentioned that he was speaking with the House of Exile, before asking about their tour. Later Rykis told her that the House of Exile was an Eliksni collective that lived up on the moon. Mist apparently had a trade deal with them regarding Ether. 

On the flight back to the Archons compound, they all talked briefly, Marakis was interested in how she and Rykis were getting along. He seemed really excited with a Guardian and Eliksni living together and seemed to read the subtext of what was really going on quite well. Sparing them the embarrassment of just saying it. 

The day was nearly over by then with the sunset lighting the sky in a bright gold. Their walk back towards downtown kept them in the shade already. Her Ghost spent his time orbiting around the two and occasionally flying off to scan something dangling in the old windows. The ruins were mostly empty, Mist Eliksni lived in the newer buildings that were further downtown. Those buildings were still old pre-Collapse construction, but they were in much better shape than the stone and steel skyscrapers that made up ninety percent of the city. Over the centuries after the collapse, those buildings had remained free of overgrowth and were still somewhat waterproof, unlike her hotel across the lake. 

“So, are we headed back to the Kell to catch that truck back, or are we walking home on our own?” Nicole asked.

“No, the Kell gave you the choice of living elsewhere now. You’re not restricted to Baron Acskis’ outpost.” He replied. 

“So... where are we headed then?” He did not really answer her question. 

“We’re headed to where I lived before. I think that you might like it.” She could see the edges of his face move behind his mask in what she recognized as an Eliksni smile, then he shrugged. “If you do not, then we can go to your hotel tomorrow, or maybe somewhere else.”  

“Oh, alright. It’s been a while hasn’t it?” 

“Mm, not as long as you think, I visit it whenever you’re busy around Bellevue.”

Nicole nodded. “Well that’s good; I’d hate to keep you from home.”

There was a bleep from her helmet that was clipped to her belt. She looked down and saw something flashing on her visor. “Oh hey, give me a second.” Her helmet slipped over her head, but she did not activate the seal. 

The blinking icon opened into a list that took up half of the view screen. The word Quests was in bold at the top, with little icons and what she guessed were the quests themselves listed on it. There were only a few entries. The currently highlighted ‘quest’ had a graphic of one of the metro trains she had seen in the tunnel over a banner for Umic. Memory Troubles was the name with the description “Locate Metro Security Records.” 

The chirp of her Ghost sounded from the helmet’s internal speaker. “Hey! You finally checked out the Quest tab!” 

“What is this?” She asked. 

“Well, you seemed to be getting a lot of things to do, so I decided to put together some of my own quests for you. Usually these come from the Vanguard at the Last City but given how we’re not planning on going there any time soon, I’ll do it for you for now.” 

“Okay... why did it just pop up now?” she stopped Rykis. “Hold on for a second.”

“Well follow the marker and find out!” the Ghost replied, at the same moment a diamond shaped marker appeared. He sounded excited which was very unlike himself. 

Nicole nodded in the direction the marker showed and started to go. “Sorry Rykis. My Ghost found something he wants me to see. We gotta’ detour.”

“Then lead on, Neh-cole.” 

The marker led back and over one block, to the front doorway of a tall office tower. The building's stone facade was crumbling in places, leaving piles of rubble underneath the trees. Once at the door, the icon appeared again further inside. It stopped at a stairwell leading down into the dark. “Alright, we’re here. What did you find?” 

Her Ghost appeared from inside the doorway and played his flashlight over the remains of a sign hanging on the wall. The letters had faded but most were still legible. -Metro Transit Authority. Regional Security Office.

“I found the place!” He did a spin inside his shell. At first, she was not sure what he meant, but the name of the ‘quest’ connected the dots. The camera down in the subway tunnel had been looking right at where her body had been. It was still working and sending the data back somewhere and something was still giving it the command to record. Robust systems were still working somewhere. But if she wanted to find out what had happened to her, all she needed to do was go down and find the network hub. It was not a priority; she had actually forgotten about it up until now. The discovery of her cause of death was more of a hopeful curiosity than an actual objective. However, there it was... at the bottom of the staircase were some answers about her previous life. Under the helmet she bit her lip and gave it a good two seconds of thought. The answer was obvious.   

Down she went. Quickly at first, but immediately slowing for caution; the stairs were slick and covered in moss. That was something she was used to seeing out there. Buildings, trees, rocks, and even growing on the side of Eliksni crates that had been sitting just a little too long; moss was everywhere. The bottom step was submerged beneath a few centimeters of water and somewhere deeper in the basement she could hear flowing water.

At the far end of the large open space, Nicole could see dozens of blinking green lights hidden behind a window. The working systems were a good sign that this was the right place. She stepped into the ankle-deep water and apologized to Rykis. He was not wearing any sort of water-resistant footwear, but he followed her anyway without complaining. Sloshing through the water, Nicole noticed that people had died down here fairly quickly. A few had died at their workstations, leaving their skeletons collapsed over keyboards and left computers in stand-by mode.

The sign on the side of the door said that it was the data-storage room. It was exactly what they were looking for. The blinking lights were the status lights for over a dozen large computer racks. The hum in the room was loud, and the air was warm. The doorway was raised higher than the water, someone had some forethought when they built the place in the basement, so there was no water inside. Once inside with the door closed behind them, Nicole could not hear the water flow anymore.

Nicole had no idea how to search all this for what they wanted, so she waved to the machines. “Okay Ghost, do your thing.” 

He chirped and flew over to one of the stacks. “This might take a while. These cameras have been recording for centuries...” The Ghost flew from stack to stack, an optical beam connecting with each tower. “Just have to find the feed from your station and trace where it goes. It was Olympic... I think?” 

“Well take your time, Ghost. It’s not like Rykis and I can do anything.” 

After a few minutes scanning through the various racks, he had found the data. “I got it!” he exclaimed with all his fins expanding out from his core. “Well, are you sure you want to watch this, last chance.” 

Rykis looked at the Ghost, and then to Nicole. “What did he find, what are we looking for?” 

“Well he found the recording of how I died. The first time.” Nicole grimly smiled. “I'm hoping it’ll give me something to work with. So yes, Ghost, start it up.” 

He floated over to a dormant computer station and interfaced with the monitor. The screen flickered and flashed to life. The multiple camera feeds from across the station appeared. There was even sound. 

Olympic Park Station  -28 minutes

Umic Security Officer Nicole Walker rushed down the escalator leading into the chaotic subway station. Her heavy plasteel ballistic vest almost knocked her off balance in the shifting sea of Seattle citizens. Thirteen hours ago, she had thought that the vest had been overkill; her regular uniform had woven strands of sapphire wire which was good enough to stop mid-caliber ammunition. But as the day progressed, she no longer felt that way, and was grateful for the vest. 

Gunfire at the top of the stairs brought her around with her rifle, aiming the carbine towards the odd colored daylight streaming in at the top of the shaft. The citizens and refugees parted and dropped to either side, clearing a firing lane to the doors. At the top of the stairs her partner, USO. Keane, fired out the door and onto the street. An explosion rocked the shaft and people fell, more pushed deeper into the station. “I’m gonna’ close the doors!” Keane shouted. “Get in here now.” 

He fired again, Nicole tried to get back up the escalator, but the parted sea had closed and everyone that was up near the top was making their way down whether she was in the way or not.

A cluster of blue energy shots peppered the wall above Keane. A large group of people finally made it through the doors, and he slammed his fist into the switch on the wall. The station’s storm shutters dropped from the ceiling and bounced once off their rubber seals. 

They were locked in, and the bad stuff was locked out. 

Another explosion from outside shook the ground again, more gunfire erupted nearby, it was all muffled by the storm shutters. “Everyone downstairs.” Nicole ordered. People that had remained on the stairs, even after the crowds fled, slowly got to their feet, and moved down to the station. 

The trains were still running, “Thank the Traveler...”  Nicole muttered. There were casualties and moving the injured on foot down kilometers of tunnel was just not going to work. 

“Please form a line! Cue up at the marked positions!” A Transit cop in a high-visibility vest was directing the panicked people to where they could board the next subway car. “We’ll get you all out of here as fast as we can. The trains are running double-time and filling up at previous stations!” 

Nicole walked over to one of the small coffee shops along the wall that had its lights still on. The windows were smashed, but two of the original employees were busy passing out water and snacks to anyone who came for them. She grabbed two bottles of water and a small bag of sugar cookies. Downing her bottle in one go, she headed back into the space between lines where Keane was wiping the sweat from underneath his helmet. “You alright?” She offered him the other water.

Taking the water, he also drained it. “Yeah... uh... just glad those doors are doing the job.” He nodded over to a group of Seattle Police Officers talking on the other side of the next line. “They got working radios. Military’s been trying to get up here for hours apparently. Something is bogging down the roads, and the weather is just insane.” 

She nodded. “We could really use the help. A bunch of street cops and some deputized, heavily armed, and highly skilled, security guards ain’t going to help everyone.” Nicole smirked; trying to add some humor into the situation. 

Keane returned the look with a thin smile. “Yeah, doesn’t mean we can’t try.” 

The ceiling chimed. “Train approaching... train approaching.” 

At the front of the lines, the Transit cop checked his wrist pad. “Alright people, this train is only two-thirds full! Stay in line and wait your turn. We’ll all make it out, just don’t push.” 

The sleek subway train slid into the station and squeaked to a stop. The cars were packed, but apparently only part full. Once the doors opened, no one got off, and the lines began to squeeze in wherever they could. With a blow of their whistle, the crowds stepped back and allowed the Transit cops to get the doors sealed and sent the train on its way. “Next train arrives in... five minutes,” chimed the ceiling. 

Two more trains came and went, but the population count in the station did not seem to be decreasing. People were just spreading out now that there was more room. 

Nicole noticed a lone kid standing in the middle of the station clutching a stuffed animal. It was covered in dirt, but she thought it might have been an Orca. The little girl could not have been older than five, but she did not look scared or sad. Nicole walked over and took a knee beside her. “Hey there kid, where are your parents at?” 

The girl looked at her and shook her head. “I dunno, mommy went to get daddy. She said to wait here.” 

“Well which way did she go?” Nicole asked. Hopefully it was not far. 

The little girl pointed the stuffed Orca up the stairs. “She went up there.” 

Nicole looked up that direction and frowned. That was not good. 

“Train approaching... Train approaching.” 

Unknown to Nicole, the station security system picked up a conversation going on down one of the maintenance corridors, coming towards the station. 

“Holy shit Sam, where did you get those?” Voice one spoke out, in audible surprise. 

“From nowhere. I ain’t telling.” Voice two was gruff, and noticeably angry. “Here, take it, it's loaded.”

Voice one huffed and had to hurry to follow “What the hell are we going to do with them?!” 

“We’re getting on that next train. I'm getting us out of this place.” A sharp click-clack sound was registered with the system. It was identified as the racking of a shotgun pump by algorithmic analysis. 

It would have alerted the authorities if there was anyone left to pick-up. There was not.

Back in the station proper, the next train was slowly gliding into the station. It was only one fourth full. Plenty of room for evacuees. The door in the backside of the station burst open and out rushed two men. One had an assault rifle, and the other in the front was carrying a large gauge semi-automatic shotgun. He fired it into the ceiling once. “Everyone fucking back off. We’re getting on that train, you hear me?” the man bellowed. Chunks of plaster fell to the ground around them.

People froze in place, some dropped to the ground. The traffic cops had their hands on their sidearms, but nobody drew their weapons; not with a threat like that in a crowd of civilians. “Hey now, there's plenty of space for everyone. Just put the guns down.” One of the cops motioned slowly.

“Nah, we’re going. Now. Get everyone out of the way.” The guy in front swept the gun across the station. “Stay the fuck back.”

Nicole eyed the gunmen, both the shotgun and the rifle had large drum magazines, however the guy with the rifle seemed put off by what was going on. That did not change the fact that he was still waving the gun around the crowd.

One of the cops that had been back near the coffee shop came around slowly and half crouched. He looked like he was going to try and tackle the shotgun wielder. If shots started flying, things would go bad very quick.

Nicole threw herself in front of the kid who was just out in the open, well in the line of fire. Too many potential targets had been behind the kid.  

The man with the gun reacted to Nicole's sudden movements and fired at her. Under normal conditions, if that shotgun had been loaded with buckshot, it would have just caused a few dents in her plate vest. However, that gun had been loaded with high-velocity solid slugs. 

At the range they were at, there was nothing that could be done. The slug smashed into the center of her plasteel plate, causing it to deform beyond its threshold. Her chest cavity was crushed. The plate had stopped the bullet, but not in any manner that would have saved her life. 

Central Seattle Ruins +157 days 

Nicole watched her original self crumple to the floor and die. The others, who she did not know or recognize, took down the men with the guns. They tried to revive her, but it was no use, she was already gone. Her fellow security guard was visibly distressed and started to kick the guy who had shot her while he was detained. However, the officer in the bright yellow vest pulled him off and shoved him away. The girl was loaded onto the train with the Umic guard and sent away almost immediately. 

The people that remained in the station pulled her body far out of the way, moving it to its final resting place on top of the mezzanine above the tracks. One of the people that helped carry her body placed her arms on her chest and draped a tablecloth from the store over her. He seemed to say a prayer and leave, but there was nobody else up there to witness it.

“Well there you have it.” Her Ghost blinked. “There is more to the recording near the end, but that's how you died.” The video sped up and the station eventually emptied, leaving her body sitting alone on the platform. Nobody else entered the station after the last train zipped down the track. “Huh...” She had expected some firefight with the cause of the collapse, not getting shot by fellow Humans. It did not change anything though, she had hoped that when she found the video of her death it would unlock the memories of that past life, but nothing came from them. No insight into who she was, or any of the people they had known. It felt almost like a wasted trip; the question of how she died was answered, but there was no extra reward. “I can tell you're disappointed. If you thought that it would help your memories, I could have told you that it wouldn’t.” The Ghost replied to the look on her face. “This bit at the end though might cheer you up a little.

Nicole sighed as the video clicked and moved on. With no movement it switched to an ‘extended event monitoring’ mode. There were only subtle indications on how fast time was passing in the station; a steady drip became a flood of water down the tunnels, drowning the track.  Dirt piles slowly grew across the floor from the corners, eventually enough for plants to grow and sprout under the steady station lights. Her body rapidly deteriorated on screen, becoming food for moss and other things that made the station their home.

The video would briefly slow when the occasional animal triggered the cameras, or some big event like part of the roof caved in. The system timestamp degraded into error symbols before the first lightbulb went out. 

When the station was looking similar to how it was when she was revived, the camera slowed down back to real time. Movement appeared from the other side of the platform and an Eliksni scurried in looking around the space. They were small and about the size of one of the Not-Dregs. 

Rykis made a sound behind her, like a squeak almost, but she continued to watch. 

The Eliksni on screen cautiously poked around the ruined metro station, digging through the shelves and boxes left in the cafe. They crossed out to the station mezzanine and came across the moss-covered remains of Nicole’s former life. The Eliksni knelt and picked up the old ballistic helmet, the skull still secured by the chinstrap. However now that it was disturbed the skull slipped free and fell to the ground with a loud thunk. A dull ache spontaneously formed on the back of Nicole’s head and then faded. 

Setting the helmet upside down, the Eliksni carefully returned the skull to its place on the remains. Then they pulled a backpack out from under the moss and ferns that laid beside her body. Digging through it, they pulled out a tablet and what looked like a small stack of notebooks. They put the notebooks back into the pack and threw it over their shoulder but put the tablet into another bag. 

 The image froze in her head as the video went on. She had seen that bag before. It was so familiar, still covered in paint brushes and other small tools. Her eyes slid over to Rykis watching from beside her. The same bag was slung over his shoulder, looking a bit smaller after all the years. If an Eliksni could look any more guilty, she doubted it. 

“Rykis is that you?” Nicole asked him. “Did you take my backpack?” She would not say he stole it; she was dead at the time after all.

Slowly, Rykis nodded. “Yes. that was me. Years ago.” His fingers tapped together nervously, and he seemed to think he needed to say more. “I still have your stuff; I was going to give it back when we got to my place.” 

Nicole raised her eyebrow. “Oh, really now? How’d you know it was mine before we saw this recording?” 

He nodded towards the screen showing the current status of the old station. “When we went down there on your third day. You stopped over where your body had sat for so long. I recognized it right away. Yours were the only bones in the station, and the only bones I had seen down there that day.”

“Well we just saw why. I hope that guy made it somewhere safe. We’ll never know though.” Nicole sighed and waved her hand in the air. “Alright, we found what we were looking for. It didn’t help me, but let's get out of this flooded basement. Rykis, lead on to your place.” “Yes yes.” he chittered. “Follow me.” 

They headed back up to the surface and into the early hours of night. The occasional streetlights continued burning brightly through the trees that grew around them. Some lights were still on in the various buildings, making the skyline an odd patchwork of light and dark. The walk only lasted a few blocks, not long at all. It was actually directly behind the Kell’s hall. Rykis had probably gone home after her last meeting there. She was mainly mentally exhausted, there was a lot that had happened today. 

The building Rykis called home turned out to be the old Art Museum. She smiled at that, of course the local artist would choose to set up shop in an art museum. The windows had all been patched over with metal scrap, just like he had done over in her building, and the door was sturdy and weather-proof. He held it open for her to go in. 

“Anyone else live here?” She walked in and found herself inside a small tunnel made of hanging tarps. The light was provided by the warm Eliksni tube lights that stuck up from the floor every few meters. Her question was nearly answered by voices from behind some of the curtains that broke off from the tunnel. “Yes actually. Many of Mist’s more artsy Eliksni live in the building. But there is more than enough space that I can have this for my own,” Rykis replied. He closed the door behind him and latched it shut. 

Taking the lead again, he took her up the stairs and through a set of double doors, to a half sphere structure in the middle of a room. Tarps and string lights spread out from the structure which was attached to the walls and ceiling of the big room they were in. Nicole could see faded and water damaged paintings hanging from the walls which had to be old Human art. The dome structure was obviously Eliksni construction with heat and light pouring out into the cold building from behind the curtain. “Come in, this is my... uh... home.” He pulled the curtain open and gestured her inside.

"It looks very cozy." Nicole followed him through the curtain and into the space.  He had probably left it to warm up while he went to meet her. 

There was a mix of Eliksni and Human furniture inside. In the center of the space was a table covered in small jars and brushes; she could see a few unfinished canvasses sitting around it. It appeared that Rykis was quite good at traditional painting. 

Rykis had walked over to a locker leaning up against the wall. "Take a seat, let me see if I can find it..." He motioned for her to sit at the table with his lower arms.

Nicole sat where he pointed and watched Rykis dig through the locker. From there she was able to get at a better look at the canvases he had leaning against the bench. 

She recognized the scene in the painting. The looming Spiderwalker in the snowstorm. Nicole had been standing a meter to the right when this had happened. It was the battle at the Pass, when Rykis had charged the tank with a flare to alert the artillery on the ridge. 

One of the other paintings was of the interior of her hotel tower, after she had done some cleanup of the swamp, and made it more like a pond. The light was captured perfectly, and the colors were wonderful. Her art viewing time was cut short as Rykis brought her attention back to him when he placed a hard-backed case on the table. It looked just like the one from the video, just a bit cleaner.

“So, this was mine? From before?” Nicole picked it up and looked it over. The case was made from a slick stretchy material, and the edges cracked when she bent it too much. The straps had rotted away at some point and their remains dangled haplessly at the side. 

“Yes, it should be everything.” Rykis nodded, sitting across from her. “I was young and looking for salvage back then, I had tried to trade your tablet, but it didn’t work and wasn’t worth anything. I did like looking through your sketchbooks though.” 

“Sketchbooks?” Nicole pulled open the bag and heard the rubber seal peel apart, still holding strong over the centuries. Carefully, she emptied the bag and found an old data-pad, and a few notebooks. 

“Yes, there were some really old, stylized drawings that I think you did. Just take a look.”

"Well if you say so." Nicole opened one of the old notebooks and slowly paged through them. The pages were remarkably well preserved; they were filled with drawings of places and things, as well as some random animals and creatures she did not recognize. They were not as good as Rykis' drawings, but they were fairly good. If these belonged to her, Nicole wondered if she had retained those skills as well as her warfighting abilities.

While carefully flipping through the pages, a small rectangle fell out from between them. 

The piece of plastic material was a photograph; it was not even faded at all. Five people were standing in a semicircle, and they were posing with bright yellow guns which looked really strange. She saw herself near the middle of the group in a Umic hat and leaning up against a man wearing a vest with Mars Tactical stitched onto the chest. On the other end of the group was the other Security guard from the recording.  

She flipped the picture over and found that it was not actually a piece of paper, it was something more advanced. The back flickered and began to form words across its surface. "11th Quinquennial Intersystem Defense Technologies Convention. SimFire Combat 3rd place team. Hosted by Clovis Bray"

"Huh," Nicole muttered. "Check out me back in the day." She passed the photo to Rykis and put the sketchbooks back into the bag.

The data-pad looked to be in okay shape, but when she tried the power switch nothing happened. At the moment, it was not really worth her time. She figured she could get her Ghost to fix it, but she should probably save it for later. A lot had happened today, and her head was a little fried. 

Setting the data-pad back onto the table, Nicole ran her fingers through her hair and let out a sigh. "Well... This has sure been a day. Wanna take me to bed and call it a night with the newest member of Mist?" 

Rykis let out more of a purr than a chitter. "Mmm... Yes Guardian." 

He dropped the photo on the table and came over to pick her up. By the time they reached the bed on the other side of the room, her armor and her Ghost had made themselves scarce. Hopefully the neighbors did not mind the noise.

--

[arcanemoody]

Gotham Secret Santa

Title: Songbook

Author: arcanemoody Tags: Season 5, post-S05E07: Ace Chemicals, Bickering Like an Old Married Couple, Referenced Past Trauma, Pre-Slash, Developing Relationship, 78prm, Happy Ending Summary: Whatever Ed needs, he can have. Oswald isn’t sure how he can make that any clearer.

For @ckatattack for the @gotham-secret-santa. I hope you like it!

--

Oswald sorted bolts at his ally’s behest. He helped push the tables together in the library, cleared the combined space so that his partner could work on the engine of the submarine while maintaining a clear view of each schematic. All while humming to himself and emptying boxes of scrap on the side table designated for his work; filing bolts, screws, and other detritus into separate piles and compartments for easy retrieval.

Contrary to the accusations Edward liked to throw at him, he hadn’t intended for his old friend and enemy to be doing the majority of the work -- conceptualizing, working from schematics, redesigning schematics. Oswald himself found none of this intuitive, and had hoped by making himself scarce, Ed's progress could continue uninterrupted. His 10th-grade shop teacher had said once, with a screwdriver in his hand, Oswald Cobblepot was essentially a gremlin. He couldn’t even wire a lamp from a kit; couldn’t sand or carve the blocks used to make a simple standing clock. And his lack of technical acumen was matched only by his inability to commit to physical labor. A submarine was seriously outside his expertise. Seeing to their cargo and procuring the niceties and basic needs his colleague eschewed in favor of managing his labor was much more his speed. He checked on (and added to) their pile of treasure. He made sure Ed had decent food and untainted water. He sorted bolts. He worked very, very hard to tamp down any indignity he felt in each task.

"Are you humming Dinah Shore?"

It took a moment for him to realize that Ed was addressing him. "What?"

"That song. What are you humming?"

Oswald shook his head, slightly dazed. "I-I don't know. It's just something I remembered… maybe from one of my mother’s records? Put it in a box, tie it with a ribbon—'

“...would surely fill the deep blue sea,” Ed finished in his gentle tenor. “That's Dinah Shore.”

“Is it?” Oswald shrugged. “Huh. Well, if you're that desperate for me to not sing it, I think I must have the actual record somewhere.” Ed’s brow furrowed.

“78RPM? Red label? Columbia logo?”

“I think so.”

“That‘s my record, Oswald!” he shouted, taking a large step forward.

His brain froze up in the way it tended to do nowadays any time Ed leveled an accusation at him, grappling with whether it was warranted and whether the vehemence required a match in tone. This did not. He took a deep breath.

“Technically speaking, it’s my record. I bought it.”

“Yeah, along with the rest of my records, my books and my clothes,” Ed shot back. “Well, excuse me for wanting you to feel at home when you got out of Arkham!”

The lot at the police auction had been purchased through an intermediary -- the same intermediary that made a hefty donation to the policemen's union under the name of the Van Dahl living trust. Oswald had known that if the GCPD had felt free enough to use his name to trap Edward into a confession, they would probably be vindictive enough to refuse his name on a purchase order. 

"And anyway, since you left them all at the manor, I'd say that still makes them mine.”

“Technically speaking,” he replied, mimicking Oswald’s earlier tone. “I didn't leave.” “You certainly weren't living there when I got back!” The air in the house had been stale the day he and Fries forced the front door open. Only the kitchen had maintained its normal, spotless, lived-in atmosphere, due to Olga’s continued employment, salary operating on an automatic deposit. The rest had fallen into a cluttered disrepair that illustrated the descent of Riddler’s madness.

“I wasn't not living there.”

“Of course not. You were on the run. Well, you were 'not living there' just enough that I gave Ivy your room.'

“No you didn’t.” Ed’s statement was dismissive rather than outraged. Not an accusation; a fact. Confirming that he had evidence to back up his claim. 

“How do you know?” Oswald asked, curious. 

“Because when I went there in March, my room was as I left it.”

March. 

Two months before Sofia had been taken out for good.

When Riddler had broken him out of Arkham, the purple panel coat with the fur trimmed collar  (flattened now and in desperate need of dry cleaning) had been slung across the passenger seat of the truck. The coat he had left in Ed’s apartment after Galavan’s murder, the coat he’d subsequently gotten back after the GCPD delivered the lot from the auction. He had been too preoccupied at the time to question its presence or how Ed might have retrieved it when Oswald himself had changed the locks a year earlier. 

“You broke into my house!” “It was hardly breaking in — the windows weren’t even locked,” he paused at Oswald’s shocked expression. “I never did it when you were home. Just after you were arrested and, later, when you were squatting at Falcone’s place.”

“Right, because that makes it better! What were you even doing there?”’

“Looking for my things, mainly. I wore the same suit for months and it wasn’t like I had a lot of loose change to throw around, even with Lee’s help.” “So you turned to house breaking. How clever of you.”

“One house. And I didn’t take anything that wasn’t already mine.”

‘Just as before.’ Oswald flinched at the thought, turned away. He shook his head, rubbed his eyes, refrained from upturning the table with all of the bolts he’d sorted. One could afford to pick one’s battles during a long-form escape attempt. .

“Well you can go back for your precious record collection any time you like! If the front door is still on the hinges, I’ll even loan you my key.”

Said key disappeared from his keyring two days later, around the time Oswald found the library work space empty.

-- He did not turn up to sort bolts, shuffle schematics or retrieve provisions for Edward the next day. 

Or the next day. 

He arranged trades. He drank wine on Barbara’s sofa, listening to her talk through the physical transformations of her second trimester and Lee Thompkins’ warnings about high heels being a fall risk and, therefore, a risk to the fetus. 

“As if I would ever fall,” she scoffed. 

He refrained from stating the obvious, pouring himself another glass to avoid grinding his teeth.

On the third day, he turned up to an empty room. He sat waiting in the empty library long into the evening. The sun was setting, filling the room with an orange glow when a member of his security team turned up, an anxious expression on their face. 

“Boss.”

“Where is he?”

-- First Bank of Gotham. A historic granite and lime building measuring half a city block on the edge of the industrial sector on the north side.

The Court of Owls had done a good job of hiding their centuries-worth of dirty work in plain sight. Post-No Man’s Land “restructuring,“ the alley where he and Edward had made their bloody escape two years earlier was on the edge of Firefly’s territory, frequently disputed by Fries’ minions staking a claim. The odds had been in Firefly’s favor recently and Bridgit, to Oswald’s surprise, allowed him to pass through with barely a nod of encouragement. 

“String Bean entered through the southwest staircase. My scouts say he’s been there a while,” she lifted her mask, giving him a pointed stare. “You’ve got an hour, Pengy.”

Oswald nodded, leaving his guards under his former housemate’s watchful eye (and flamethrower). This was Firefly being sentimental. He knew it wouldn’t last long if they overstayed their welcome. 

There were more stairs than he remembered. Each floor opened onto a circular hall of doors with the door knobs either broken or missing, papers and files scattered, the mundane facade of an centuries-old evil organization that still needed three floors of pencil pushers to move their assets and occasionally serve as cannon fodder. Oswald remembered their holding cells being on the sixth floor, close to the roof. The trip to the ground level had been a whirlwind of improvised carnage -- guards, personnel, people in uniforms, people in office wear, he and Ed and tore through everyone on their way out, before crashing onto the pavement outside, covered in the blood of violent rebirth.

He found Edward on the fourth floor, door ajar on what had once been a holding area, dilapidated desks and disabled security gates, loose wires where key panel locks had once been. Long legs folded into a too small office chair, eyes downcast, his friend’s visage brought a lump to his throat.

“Reliving old memories?” Oswald asked, annoyed even as the fear and agony he’d been holding in check all day melted from him.

Ed didn’t look up.

“Edward?”

Another long moment passed before he finally spoke. 

“I found my overcoat,” he said, gesturing at the pile of green plaid slung over the crook of one arm and draped over his lap. Nearly two years in dark storage, no doubt covered in mildew, dust mites, and other unspeakable things. 

“Were you looking for that recently?”

“No,” he shook his head. “I hadn’t even thought about it, or this place in quite some time. I was looking for scrap steel for the outer panels, maybe some extra supplies... I took a notion once I realized where I was. Have I been gone long?”

“Six hours.” Eight, though Ed didn’t need to know just how early Oswald had turned up to the library.

“I couldn’t find any of your stuff. Or anything that looked like it might be yours. Sorry.”

Oswald did his best to contain his reaction, that Ed had done something thoughtful. For his sake. He winced against the ripple of familiar warmth, butterflies. Things he could not afford in the midst of a long-form escape attempt.

“It doesn’t matter. Are you ready to go now?” 

Ed nodded, walking half a step behind as they descended back down the stairs.

--

“How long were you their prisoner?” He asked, after they had crossed the perimeter, doubling back twice to avoid whatever shadows Ed seemed positive were following them. The sun had long since set and what little light they had was from the security teams flanking them, throwing long shadows on the broken pavement.

“Before you arrived?” Ed shrugged. “A few weeks maybe? I was interrogated before they put me in the cage. It was difficult to keep track but not impossible. It wasn’t like Arkham -- their  objectives involved keeping me alive. Though what keeping me alive meant in a city they wanted to destroy is anybody’s guess.”

Probably holding his sage intellect in storage for future endeavors, as Barbara had. Oswald felt angry on his old friend’s behalf as well as himself. He hadn’t been interrogated -- just sedated, stripped, and thrown in a cell. For the formerly missing mayor of the city, it was beyond insulting. 

Ed wasn’t finished.

“They gave me haloperidol so they could question me. That was bad. I was still detoxing at first -- that was worse.”

“From what?”

“Amphetamines, mostly. And whatever psychotropics Tabitha gave me. Withdrawal symptoms ideally shouldn’t last as long as those did. I tapered off to avoid complications with my heart muscle, adrenal glands...”

Oswald held his breath.

Following Riddler’s progress after his death had been difficult from the distance of Ivy’s greenhouse hideaway in Bludhaven. Even after returning home, tracking headlines and articles stopped at a certain date, bleeding into coverage of the mayor’s disappearance. One of those articles included a grainy shot of Ed leaving a press conference at city hall, face a mask of composure, but for the downward cast of distressed brown eyes in rubbed gray newsprint.

He knew Ed had tripled his original kill count in less than two months. And that he’d kept the authorities on the run right up until Jim Gordon decided handing him over to a cabal with designs on child abduction and mass murder was a charming notion. That Ed himself had crossed that threshold virtually without a fight.

“...why?”

“I wasn’t sleeping.”

“Uppers tends to do that--”

“I didn’t want to sleep,” his tone took on a sharp edge and he was glaring at Oswald again. “I don’t even know why you’re asking me. You know exactly how long I was there. You went to Jim first. You always go to him first.”

That jab… felt oddly personal. Oswald wondered what he was missing in that accusation— the narrowed gaze and the resentful pinch to his mouth. Never mind that Jim Gordon was the one who arrested and subsequently reported the “Riddler’s” escape and Ed, a forensic investigator, should have known the importance of following clues.

“If I could gauge what Jim knew, I had a bead on what the rest of the GCPD knew and I could plan accordingly. So, yes, I went to him. And he lied to me and I knew it -- just like I always know when he lies to me. The man has a terrible poker face.”

“So do you.”

“So stop playing with me,” he said, choking up. Having his own methods questioned was galling. And it wasn’t as though his talent for shallow subterfuge hadn’t fooled him once— back when Ed cared about him and a blind spot was established. Memories that brought a salty weighty to the back of his throat and behind his eyes. “Did you even find out ‘who runs Gotham?’”

The question was flippant, almost cruel. Ed’s answer was not.

“That and more,” he replied, somber, almost pensive; enough to deflate Oswald’s ire. 

“Well. Good for you, then.”

“There are things they told me,” he said, serious now, neither chiding nor angry. “...I can’t talk about it. Not yet.”

Oswald kept his eyes on the dark path ahead, tried not to think about what could be worse to talk about than his anguish over the deaths at Haven or the almost blissful oblivion of his first murders. A distant part of his brain reminded him that it could be still another play, but he had seen Ed devastated enough over time to recognize truth from fiction.

“Okay,” he nodded. 

“Things that involve you.”

“I understand. Save it if you want, Ed. You can tell me whenever you want to or hang onto it forever. I don’t care.”

The walk back to the library seemed longer than before. Oswald was surprised that Ed continued to shadow him even as the streets (what had once been streets) diverged and he headed in the direction of city hall.

“Don’t disappear again.”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you.”

“You’re not capable of scaring me!” he said. Patently untrue and Ed knew it, too. “Anyway, I thought you might have gone to the manor.”

“I tried that first,” he replied, producing his keyring from the pocket on his boilersuit. “Yesterday.”

“And?”

“I want to say the front door is still on the hinges, but I couldn’t get more than a few yards away to look. Nature seems to have taken back a good portion of your father’’s estate and... some of it was not happy to find me there.”

“Ivy. Well, it’s good to hear that she's kept up her hobbies,” he laughed, breathlessly. Guilt was rare and pulsed dully in the same pained spot in his stomach where heartbreak loved to dwell. The teenage plant maven had kept Oswald company when he had wanted no one near him and he’d rewarded her generosity of spirit with contempt and vitriol. Forgiveness was, as ever, too high a price to ask for. He’d have to settle for just knowing she was alive. 

“Hang on to the key, anyway. We may need it eventually.”

If they ever went back (and if Ivy killed him on sight), Ed would still need to get inside the house.

—

After the bolts and the sonar, after Penn’s arrival and subsequent dispatch, aborted departures and new arrivals and scrambling to recover what they could from the bottom of the river, they managed to fight through the vegetation and rehome the manor.

Oswald arrived with lunch one afternoon and found a 78rpm in a battered paper sleeve on the dining room table. He reached out to touch it, wondering briefly if it was a trick of his remaining eye.

“Ed?” he called out. 

“I found your record,” Ed said, closer than he’d initially guessed, initially in his blind spot and then moving over to his left side. No longer disputing ownership. “Not here. It turns out the library’s music archives weren’t completely depleted.”

Oswald smiled, turning the record over, noting the red label, the Columbia logo.

“Do we still have a working turntable?”

Ed smiled, amused, offered an arm to guide him.

“Back here.”

It took more than a few breaths to blow the dust off both record and player, more than a few minutes to turn the crank on his father’s old gramophone without overwinding, and finding the appropriate place to drop the needle. The voice that warbled out was familiar in a way that conjured images of his mother’s living room, frying onions in the kitchen, the sharp bite of paprika and heavy salt in the air… none of which echoed Ed’s place in his mind. 

“This isn’t Dinah Shore.”

“No, it’s Doris Day,” he replied, a hint of amusement breaking through what, no doubt, had to be a heavy sense of injustice (Ed’s impeccable brain turning on him yet again). “I got the song and the label right but the vocalist wrong. Such an obvious detail to miss.”

Oswald shook his head, reaching out to take his partner’s other arm, squeezing lightly.

“It’s an easy mistake,” he replied, his non-bandaged eye focused on his dearest friend’s shifting expression; dark eyes misty, a hint of a smile. “No worries, my friend.”

Oswald watched Ed swallow, feeling an answering squeeze on his arm. The two of them leaned against each other, swaying, almost in a dance. Oswald hummed. -- A/N: The song Oswald sings is “Put ‘Em in a Box, Tie ‘Em With a Ribbon,” sung by Doris Day. Ed’s thinking of “Love That Boy” sung by Dinah Shore (and actually misremembers it with a lyric from “Mad About Him, Sad Without Him”). Both were released by Columbia in 1947, Doris is singing about taking romance and chucking it in the river, while Dinah is still in the bloom of loving someone from afar, alternately delighted and miserable.

[huntertales]

Part Two: How Did It Make You Feel? (Clip Show S08E22)

Episode Summary: Sam, Dean and the reader share a bitter reunion with Castiel after finding the angel beaten and bloody in the middle of the road. While digging through the Men of Letters’ files, they stumble upon an undiscovered film which could be the key to completing the third trial. Meanwhile, Crowley digs into the reader and boys’ past, putting people they saved in mortal danger. Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader Word Count: 3,490.

Previous Part | Supernatural Rewrite Masterlist

The drive to St. Louis took about eight hours, something you thought you could handle considering there wasn't much to do on your part but sit there and let Dean drive there. You and the boys made your one and only stop to the church Father Simon had been at since he first got ordained as a priest. He possibly was the only one who could explain the things that you saw on that film. If your suspicions were correct, you had a feeling you stumbled upon the very thing you had been looking for when it came to finishing the final trial. And other things you had been thinking about for years. The only way to be certain was talking to the last remaining person alive from that night to tell you what happened after the camera stopped rolling. 

During the drive here you sent a text to Cas for him to look over the file and send you over the exorcism they used. You translated it best as you could from the Latin that you knew, along with a little help from a translating website you pulled up on your phone. Mostly it sounded like what you’d expect from an exorcism to get a demon out of a human host. What threw you off was the last word you heard the priest shout—lustra. Cas said it translated into “wash” or “cleanse.” That was what threw you through a loop. Why include that word and put human blood into a demon? You were hoping Father Simon has some answers to your questions that were quickly piling up. 

Father Simon was taken off guard by the sight of three faces asking about a night he tried desperately to wipe away from his mind Here you were, forcing him to relive the memory he repressed over five decades ago. You sat in one of the pews with Sam, listening to what else he could provide you with from what the file couldn’t. While you were becoming intrigued with the thought of possibly saving a demon’s soul, Father Simon found it all still disturbing from the way he described it to you. People of faith always wanted to save damned souls from facing the eternal fires of hell. It seemed Father Thompson was determined to go even farther than anyone had ever before. 

“Father Thompson had some unorthodox ideas, which is why the Men of Letters were interested.” Father Simon told all of you what he could remember. You furrowed your brow slightly from what he meant by unorthodox, Sam asked what the other priest meant by saving. “A demon is a human soul, twisted and corrupted by its time in Hell. Father Thompson believed that you could wash that taint away and restore their humanity.”

“Make them human again?” You asked him if that’s what he meant, Father Simon merely shrugged his shoulders. He presumed that’s what the priest tried to do. You felt a light bulb go off in your head if what he was saying was true. All of it made sense. “So, what, they just stay in whatever body they’re possessing and get a ticket upstairs?”

“I wish I knew.” Father Simon bleakley answered your questions. 

Okay, but this ritual...” You pressed him more for any kind of information he could provide you with. “Can cure a demon?”

“I suppose, if it worked, but that night, something went terribly wrong. The demon escaped into the world, and that poor old woman...It was horrible.” Father Simon’s recollection of the memory and what you saw on film was enough to emotionally scar someone for life. And make the priest realize there was some souls not worth saving. “I know father Thompson kept trying. One of the Men of Letters did as well—Andrew Y/L/N. Both of them worked on other possessions, experiments, but I couldn't face that—not again. And then, a few months later...Father Thompson was dead. As for Andrew, it was like he vanished. I’ve never heard from him again.”

“What happened to Father Thompson?” Dean asked the priest.

“Something tore him apart.” The response was enough for you to connect the dots on your own. All of this was starting to make sense. From the experiments you saw on film. What Abbadon said to you when she got you alone. Why it was your father who was turned into a demon. 

“Did he keep any, uh,” You asking the priest something, but you were caught off guard from a tickle in your throat. You coughed a few times into your palm before attempting to speak again. “Did he keep records or—“ All you managed to get out was a few words before you continue on your coughing fit you hadn’t dealt with in a while. You tried not to think much of it until you caught sight of a dark crimson red in the palm of your hand. It was blood. “Uh, do you have a bathroom, maybe?”

Father Simon pointed to the back of the church, you smiled and mumbled a thank you before sliding out of the chair, Sam following behind you to make sure you were all right. Even though you hadn’t been okay in a long time, since you started the trials. You knew damn well the boys saw the blood, and even Father Simon was starting to grow concerned at how you looked. It wasn’t the way a woman in your condition should be. He expressed his concerns to Dean when you vanished from sight. 

“Is she all right?” He asked the older Winchester in a worried tone of voice. 

“Uh, no, padre. She’s...pretty damn far from all right. That's why we're here.” Dean gave the priest the truth to the situation. He stood up from his feet and placed both of his hands on the back of the pew. Father Simon stared at the man with a confused expression, not sure how any of this tied in together. “Father, over the past couple of months, I've seen her do crap that I didn't even think was possible. I mean, sure, she’s miserable and she’s hurting, not to mention she’s carrying extra cargo...but you know what? There's not a doubt in my mind that she’s gonna cross that finish line—not one. So, will you help us?”

Father Simon was a man of faith, someone who devoted his life of preaching the word of God to His followers. Offer a place of worship and salvation for those who needed it. He was taught to turn anyone anyway. But there were things he never wanted to witness ever again. One of them was the night of the ritual that took that woman’s life. And demons most of all. The priest nodded his head in agreement before walking back to storage to gather Father Thompson’s belongings for you and the boys.

+ + +

When you got back from your sporadic trip the next morning, the boys wasted no time in digging through Father Thompson's belongings while you searched around the bunker for someone you still expected to be here Sure, you left Cas not on the best terms with one another, but you expected him to stick around. You searched every room you could think of that he might be in to waste time while you were gone. The angel wasn't in the room you provided him with last night. He wasn't in the many archive rooms. He wasn't checking out the dungeon. And you couldn't find a trace of where he could have gone. Not even a note to let you know where that damn angel wandered off to this time. You headed back to the library to inform the boys. 

"I can't find Cas." You said. "You think he blew town?"

"Sounds like him." Dean's remark wasn't what you wanted to hear right now. He shut a journal that appeared to have belonged to the priest, you guessed it was filled with all of his notes and past tests that ended like the fateful night Father Simon had to witness. "So it turns out that Father Thompson recorded all of his demon-cure tests. And he had a partner in every single one of them. Taking notes and observations.”

"Let me guess," You grabbed the journal from Dean's hands, cracking it open to the middle and skimmed the pages to read one test from March of '57. You recognized the handwriting from old photographs with names and dates written when they were taken, not to mention the days when people used to write things down. You saved everything that was your father’s even the tiniest things. Here you discovered so much more than you ever bargained for "Someone by the name of Andrew Y/L/N?"

"Bingo. This one here," Dean picked up a tape from a pile of dozen and lifted it up for you to see. What he had in his hand might be the last remaining trace of your father before hell got their hands on him. And your ticket to locking the doors on those bastards forever. "This was the last one—two days before Father Thompson died."

You threw the journal to the table in favor of the recording when you noticed there was a small piece of masking tape that someone had messily scribbled down the date. The final test was completed in the beginning of August, Father Thompson died on the fifth. one week later almost all the remaining Men of Letters were slaughtered by a demon named Abbadon. Somewhere in the week she penciled in some time to turn your father into what he was trying to fix. For years you wondered how and why. It never made any sense how a demon turned into a human. Now all of the pieces were coming together for you.

You and the boys moved everything to the war room for more space after lugging out the tape player from storage. You still weren't exactly sure what you were about to listen to. You prayed that this was the key that you had been searching high and low for. Every part of you wanted to lock away the very place that ruined your life. What you were born half into and taunted by them. What your father was forced into. You did the honors of turning on the recording and sat down in your seat, nervously anticipating what you were about to listen to.

"The date is August 3, 1958. This is trial nineteen, hour one. Our subject is Peter Kent. Mr. Kent is the father of two young sons, and three weeks ago he was possessed by a demon." You listened to the grainy voice of Father Thomposn as he discussed his last test subject. "I'm going to ask you a question now. When you crawled into Mr. Kent and ate his children, how did it feel?"

You’d seen a lot of gut wrenching things in your days, you even did some unthinkable acts you wanted to forget all about. But the question Father Thompson asked the demon made your skin crawl at the mere image. You subconsciously rested a hand on top of your pregnant stomach when the demon responded with a throaty laugh and replied with one word, “Orgasmic.”

One of the downfalls of listening to a recording of the test and not seeing it filmed like before was that you were left unsure of what was happening when they weren't speaking. You heard the demon let out a sudden scream of pain from something, followed by the voice of your father speaking up on the recording for the first time. "The first dose has been administered." 

“Do we know what padre was dosing number-one dad up with?” Dean asked his little brother.

Sam had been skimming through the journal reading over the notes and summary of each test done over the year. He turned to the very last one and read. “Uh, yeah, Andrew’s own purified blood.” 

“Wait, what?” You were a bit taken aback at the detail you weren’t expecting. “Purified how?”

“Before the both of them started, Andrew went to confession with Father Thompson.” Sam explained to you. 

“This is trial nineteen, hour two.” You crossed your arms over your chest when you heard your father's voice com back onto the recording, bringing your attention back to the test. He asked the same question Father Thompson had just an hour ago. "When you ate his children, how did it feel?"

“Stringy!” The demon replied with another disturbing response. 

Every hour for eight hours either Father Thompson or your father pumped up the demon blood with purified blood after asking the monster a simple question and hoping for a different response. Six out of the eight times every response was the same; grotesque, vile. However as the tape continued on playing, you began to notice changes in the demon’s response around the sixth hour. You heard him start to slowly stop with the snarky responses and attempts to fight what was being done to him. He sounded more broken down, almost...human. 

You found yourself leaning forward in your seat as the seventh hour rolled around. All of a sudden, the sound of a pleading man could be heard—Peter screamed on the top of his lungs for whatever was happening for him to stop. You could hear the guilt in his voice, the fear. Things only a human would be able to feel. 

“Hour eight, the subject is prepped.” The final shot of human blood. 

You listened to the sound of your father's voice as he got ready to finalize the last step of the test he'd been working on for so long. You furrowed your brow slightly, trying to picture what happened all those years ago, what he was feeling at that very moment. How it must’ve felt when he splashed the demon with holy water and saw Peter's skin burn, but no agonizing scream following after. It was the progress he had been praying for. He dropped to his knees and completed the final step he needed to do. What separated him from changing things for the better and sealing his fate was a few simple words of Latin. 

“Exorcizamus te, omnis immundus spiritus. Hanc animam redintegra, lustra!”  

Andrew cut his palm with a knife and chanted the words he had spoken over a dozen times with subjects that wouldn't be lucky as Peter. Countless bodies he had to lay to rest to get him where him and Father Thompson had worked so hard for. He placed his bloody palm against the demon's mouth and shouted lustra one more time, and just like on the film, the demon's eyes and mouth filled with a bright white light. You nervously clenched your fists together, wondering what happened next, if what you just heard didn’t end the same. 

Your father grabbed Peter's body up from the ground and asked the soul in his body a question. One last time. "When you ate his children, how did it feel?" 

“They were screaming...And I laughed. Why did I laugh? I’m sorry.” Demons don’t apologize for the things they did.  They don't sound remorseful for the actions they chose. The terrible destruction they caused by their own hands. Demons enjoyed the chaos, murder. Watching people suffer. The person you heard was none of those things. He was horrified with himself. Guilt-ridden at the actions he willingly chose to do. "I'm so sorry. God, I was a monster."

“But now you are a man again.” Father Thompson told the soul. “And you have been saved.” 

You weren't exactly sure how you felt right now after hearing the recording. You turned off the player when you got to the end. A part of you was confused as to exactly what just happened, another wanted clarity that what you heard was real. Everything you knew about demons was forever changed. You looked up at the boys, "Did he just...cure a demon?"

“Maybe.” Dean said. He was still slightly skeptical about this ritual, and rightfully so. He wanted to see this done with his own eyes. “Sammy, could we take this hoodoo on a test drive?”

“I mean, I have the exorcism right here.” Sam said. He turned a page into the journal with a complete set of instructions someone might need in order to cure a black eyed monster. “All we need is the blood, consecrated ground, and a demon. So, what? We summon a demon, trap it—” 

“Or we use one that we’ve already tagged.” Dean cut off his brother, suggesting an easier plan for trapping bait. Why go through all the trouble when you had a demon trapped six feet underground not to far from here. “Do we still have Dad’s old army field surgeon’s kit?”

“It’s in the trunk. Why?” You asked the man. 

“I think it’s time to put Humpty Dumpty back together again.” Dean said. 

You looked over at Sam in hope that he had any clue what his brother was hinting around. The younger man was clueless as you to what demon you had lying around that would be a willing guinea pig for you. But then you remember that pesky little red head with a bullet in her noggin with a devil’s trap marked on the tip, thanks to Henry Winchester. It seemed fitting that Abbadon was going to be the one who was going to be up on the chopping block to get her soul cleansed. She turned your father into a demon against his will. And you were going to watch as she was turned back into the very thing Lucifer hated the most—a human being.

+ + +

The drive to where you buried Abbadon all those months ago was only a few hours of a drive from the bunker. With everything that you needed to conduct this exorcism, all you were missing was a demon and her spare parts you had lying around here somewhere. Since the demon knife didn't work on her, the best plan of action you had at the time was Dean cutting off her head and burying them separately. You’d never done something like this, but it was sort of like leaving a demon in a devil’s trap. She couldn’t smoke out and run away to another host. And she couldn’t even move her body. The bitch was trapped in her own head. But that was the problem. In order for this to work, you figured you needed a body with its head attached. 

Dean’s brilliant idea was to sew Abbadon’s head back onto her body, in doing so, she would be brought back to life. Sort of like Humpty Dumpty. You still weren’t sure if it would work. But you didn’t understand why it wouldn’t. Her body was still in perfect condition as you left it almost three months ago. Sam carried the box with the demon’s head in it over to the abandoned desk you were standing next to her headless body. 

“So you really think this will work?” Sam asked. 

“Dude, we got needles. We got thread. We’ve seen ‘Young Frankenstein’ about a thousand times.” Dean said, sounding optimistic about his plan. “Yeah, we’re golden.”

You did the honors of opening the box of your detached head. You grimaced at the sight of Abbadon's face and bloody stub of a neck with dried blood around the skin. "This is gonna be disgusting." You muttered. You slowly pushed the box over to Sam, giving him a smile for what he was about to do. "Have fun, Sasquatch." 

You knew there was no way in hell were you touching a disembodied head and sewing it back on to a body. You left the task up to the boys after they fought for the task before it was given to Sam against his will. You had to look away a few times while you watched Dean hold the demon’s head with his hand as Sam sewn through the skin nice and tight. It took a little while, but after Sam completed the final stitch, you managed to finally stare at Abbadon without resisting the urge to gag when you heard the scissors get tossed into John’s old first aid kit after he cut the string. 

You weren’t sure how long it was going to take for things to kick start running again, it turned out to be mere seconds until you were staring into a familiar shade of inky malevolent eyes. Abbadon had awoken from her three month long slumber. She stretched her awfully tense feeling neck and let out a sigh of relief, feeling more complete after what you just did. She blinked, letting her eyes go back to the pretty shade of blue that once belonged to Josie. The demon gave the three of you a charming smile and greeted you. "Morning, sunshines." 

[Next Part]

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[sirkkasnow]

14 When All Else Fails, Make Amends

Ao3 link

07/27/13-07/28/13 Saturday - Sunday

Good luck with cleanup, was the message that chimed Stan awake in the morning.

Clary had already gone down to Greasy’s by the time there was enough daylight to work by. The usual suspects, minus the kids who were still sacked out upstairs, gathered to bring the Shack’s yard back into something resembling order before the first tours of the day showed up. They settled for getting some of the tables and chairs stacked away into the loaner truck and leaning folded tents against the lee side of the house. Another few trash bags got added to a mountain that would require a special pickup from the town garbage truck.

Stan had gotten a report on the night’s numbers from Soos, though, and that kept his steps light no matter how many discarded party cups he had to pick up.

A chill wind had blown through somewhere in the wee hours which kept the work bearable until the sun finally made it above the treetops. Dipper and Mabel eventually staggered out to collapse on the couch. They’d recovered enough energy to razz the cleanup crew, at least until another text from Clary chimed on all the Pines’ phones at once.

Lunch special is complete! Who wants a full pancake breakfast on me?

“Heck yes!” shouted Mabel. “Come on, people, wrap it up, it’s free pancakes!”

They’d managed the equivalent of sweeping most of the trash under the rug, as it were. Soos waved them off as Stan loaded himself, Ford and the kids into the El Diablo and ran everyone down to the diner.

The Saturday morning crowd was more dense than usual. Someone had written Clary Merrick’s Chicken Dumplings! on the chalkboard at the front door. “Good grief,” Ford muttered.

“Cursed by our own popularity,” Stan agreed as he shouldered the door open and held it for the kids.

Susan met them with a pink-cheeked giggle. “That was some party, huh? Come on, we’ve got a booth reserved for ya.” She shooed the four of them down to the far end and poured coffee. “Server’ll be out in a minute!”

Stan was expecting Clary. When she showed up in a pink uniform and a crisp white apron, pen tucked behind one ear, he cracked up and couldn’t quite stop himself. They’d even slapped a bit of masking tape over her nametag and scrawled in CLARY with a marker. She looked down her nose in wry disdain. “Very funny. I’ve got another forty minutes to go and then I’m done for good, so order up before my employee discount evaporates.”

“You look lovely,” Ford said, valiant as ever. She winked, smile widening, and Stan hit him with a warning kick under the table.

“So.” Mabel’s eyes were gleaming. “We can have anything we want?”

“Anything at all, honeybee.” Clary flipped out a ticket book and readied her pen. “What’s it gonna be?”

Ford and Dipper were relatively straightforward. Mabel’s order rattled on for most of a ticket-book page, Clary making swift notes as she went. Finally she glanced in question at Stan, who smirked. “Anything?”

The corners of her eyes crinkled, though she kept a straight face. “Anything. Keep in mind that I already know you’re a lousy tipper.”

“How exactly d’you expect me to figure a tip on zero dollars?”

“Maybe you should give some consideration to services rendered.” Clary tilted her pen over towards the wall clock. “Thirty minutes.”

“All right, all right.” He made a show of studying the menu, then settled on the best of the club sandwiches - extra turkey, extra bacon, extra pickles, easy on the mayo - with a short stack of pancakes, hash browns, and everything else he figured he could get away with stuffing into a takeaway box. Clary didn’t flinch, mildly taking it all down as the kids’ eyes widened.

She ferried it all out over the next fifteen minutes. The scarred surface of the booth table was jammed near to overflow with pancakes, side dishes and Mabel’s assorted syrups. Stan chomped into his sandwich with gusto. Nothing was quite as delicious as free food. He watched in amusement as Clary waltzed up and down the diner to refill coffee and clear plates.

The clock had about made it to noon when she swung by the Pines table again. “Got everything you need, hon?”

“Doin’ fine for now but I wouldn’t mind seein’ the dessert menu - “

“I’m so sorry, Mr. Pines, but it’s time for my shift change.” Clary straightened, reaching behind to untie her apron. “Hey, Susan?” she called out.

“What’s up, sweetie?”

“I quit!” Clary tossed the apron over the counter and slipped into the booth, Dipper scooting over to make room. She reached across the table and nimbly stole the untouched half of Stan’s sandwich.

“Hey - “

“Who’s paying for this?” she shot back.

Stan must have looked crestfallen, because both the kids were beginning to giggle and Clary was struggling not to join them as she took a bite. “Fine. I’ll consider this my tip. Sorry I missed you all this morning - did cleanup go all right?”

Ford pushed his empty plate to the middle of the table. “I believe we managed to get it all under control. Will you be coming back to pack this afternoon?” Stan settled for the pancakes, still sulking a bit.

“I’ll get started. Looks like I’ll be staying through the weekend, so long as that’s okay. I want to get a decent night’s sleep or two and I still have some unfinished business in town.” Clary settled back with a sigh and accepted a spare napkin from Dipper. “I’m so glad everything went well.”

Mabel squinted down the table from her seat by the window. Her eyes flicked to Stan, who did his best to radiate innocence. “So maybe until Monday?”

“Tuesday, I think.”

“Great.” Mabel clapped hands together smartly and turned her razor focus to Ford. “Grunkle Ford, now that we’ve got all the obligations out of the way, can we make time to head out on that ghost expedition of Dipper’s? I’m pretty sure we could get it done in one overnight hike.”

Dipper blinked in surprise next to Mabel, then flinched - Stan was pretty sure that was a pink Mary Jane tagging him in the ankle. He caught on quick, though, and leaned forward with eager eyes and steepled fingers. “That’s right. I’ve figured out a route that’ll hit everything worth investigating and it’ll be one day out, one day back. If we head out tomorrow morning, we could make it in plenty of time for dinner on Monday!”

Ford tensed up, unused to being the center of both their attention. “...I’d hate to abandon our guest for the last couple of days before she departs.”

“Oh, I’m stayin’. Lots of cleanup t’do, yet.” Stan swabbed up maple syrup with another forkful of pancake.

“I’ll get the truck back to Tate and clear up the last loose ends,” said Clary. “I still owe a few people favors.”

“We can’t go incommunicado - “

“I can show Grunkle Stan how to use the tracking rig, and we can carry your uplinks, right? We’ll be in touch the whole time! Listen, we’ve already sketched out what we know are the safest stretches of the woods after the glitterbomb thing, and we can check on the aftereffects while we’re at it.” Dipper fished out a notepad and started scribbling.

Stan felt his brother’s resistance begin to crack. “Mabel, you want to come along on this - ?”

“You bet. I’ll be your documentarian.” Mabel tugged out her phone, sat back and got a snapshot of the whole table. “We can borrow that action camera thingy and get some video too. Come on, the weather’s going to be perfect for a couple days and we have to get it all done before we start doing birthday planning!”

Ford blanched. “We just finished the biggest party we’ve ever thrown - “

“That’s no reason to rest on our laurels. We’re about to turn fourteen, we’re going to high school in the fall, we’ve got to throw one heck of a bash. What we did over this last week? Nothing but a rehearsal!” Both Stan and Ford inched back a bit in their seats.

“Easy, Mabel. I need some recovery time and they probably do, too.” Clary polished off the last bite and dabbed at her lips with the napkin. “If you’re done, why don’t we pack up and maybe we can figure it out on the way up to the Shack?”

They were still hashing it out when Susan came over with a couple of takeaway boxes. Clary settled up and left too much of a tip, as usual, which wasn’t even going to her. Some of the things that woman did made no sense.

Stan held the door for everyone as they headed out into the sunshine. He turned a palm out behind his back and scored low-fives from both Dipper and Mabel as they passed.

By the time they were back home - Clary had walked that morning, so she joined them in the car - Mabel, Dipper and Ford had negotiated more or less exactly what the kids wanted. The house echoed with voices and footsteps as camping gear, cameras, maps and backpacks were rustled up from various corners.

Stan left them to it and sidled up to Clary. She’d barely made it up the outside steps and simply leaned into the side door’s frame, watching the chaos swirl past. “So?”

“So.”

“We on for this weekend?”

She shifted enough to catch his eye. “We’re on.”

“Tomorrow lunchtime?”

“Perfect. Looking forward to it.” Clary pushed off from the doorframe, her smile a warm flicker. “See you for dinner. Me, I’m going to go sleep like the dead.”

She was as good as her word, too, disappearing into her storage room for the remainder of the afternoon. Stan gave up almost immediately on keeping up with the kids and sacked out on the couch for a good couple hours.

Dinner came early, thrown together from admittedly excellent leftovers. The conversation consisted mainly of intense discussion about safe trails, the most sheltered spot to set up camp and various anomalies that both Ford and Dipper wanted to catalog on their overnight.

Clary didn’t even blink save to ask a question or two. She was playing it frosty, which meant Stan was too, which meant Mabel was glaring daggers at both of them after half an hour of innocuous discussion and list-making.

“I’ll get the plates,” Mabel declared loudly when they were mostly done. “Grunkle Stan, help me get all this back to the kitchen!”

He obeyed, trailing along after with an armload of dishware, and dropped it off in the sink only to be accosted by Mabel standing on the stepladder and towering over him. “Well?”

“Well, what?”

“I am not spending two whole days distracting the nerd brigade so that you can finish cleaning up the lawn, mister.” Mabel set hands to her hips and stared him down. “She’s done being mad and that’s great. So what are you going to do about it?”

“Take it easy, pumpkin, I’ve got it all handled.” Stan dragged the stepladder a few inches closer so that she could help dry dishes.

“You’re going to tell her how you feel?”

“I’m gonna tell her I hope I can still see her again after all this.” Because oh boy anything else might be more complicated than he could handle. “An’ then we see what happens, I guess. Don’t worry ‘bout me, sweetie. Your grunkle’s a master at the art of romance.”

He winked and she rolled her eyes. “Don’t you dare let her get away. This one’s a keeper.”

“Uh huh. Pressure much, Mabel?”

The expedition headed out bright and early on Sunday morning after a hearty breakfast. Clary and Stan waved them off from the porch, watching them strike out into the forest with packs and walking sticks. Mabel made a point of spinning on her heel as they hit the treeline, flashing a wink and a double thumbs-up with such enthusiasm that Stan wondered if she’d sprained an eyelid.

Clary's smile was brilliant even behind the cover of her hand. “She’s about as subtle as a sack of sledgehammers.”

“Definitely gets that from my side of the family. Think you can make yourself scarce for an hour or two?”

“I have a few people to visit, a couple bills to pay, and then I’ve got to start packing.” She hooked the car key out of her pocket and gave the miniature Mystery Shack dangling from it a twirl. “Meet you for a late lunch?”

“Anytime before three’s probably fine. You be careful in that thing, all right? I haven’t had time to really go through the guts...drives all right, at least, but with McGucket messin’ with it…”

“I will be careful. Scout’s honor.” She flashed him a three-fingered salute and jogged off to the Fairlane. Stan watched warily as she buckled in, fired it up, and headed out down the long drive, then fished out his phone and started making calls.

He had a productive few hours in her absence, helping Tate load the loaner pickup with the last batch of party chairs. Dipper had left the laptop behind, and after some fiddling Stan managed to get the tracker going. A trio of colored dots marked Ford and the kids on a projected trail map.

Mabel answered first when he toggled the uplink console, her bright voice warbling with distance. “Love Patrol Alpha Summer Expedition Number One, reporting! Is that you, Mystery Base?”

Stan grumbled in resignation. “Yeah, yeah, Heartbreaker, that’s me. Listen, I got the map goin’. You three holdin’ up all right?”

“We’re making great time, and I am documenting everything! Not a single track, not one tiny clue is going to escape our notice while we’re out here. Grunkle Ford says it’s about another two hours until we get to the spot Dipper wanted to look at so badly, and after that we’ll make camp.”

“Uh. Great. Keep us posted, okay? I might be doin’ dinner or somethin’ with Clary so maybe we’ll check back in before bed and then at breakfast time.”

“We’re not going to have any emergencies while we’re out here, come ooooonnnn.” Stan closed his eyes for an exhausted moment, unwilling to lay odds on that. “It’s all under control. You two have a nice time and be ready to tell me everything later, got it?”

“Roger, Heartbreaker.”

There were a few other bits and pieces he wanted to line up for the day and those fell into place easily enough with a quick trip down to Greasy’s. By the time he heard the distinctively smooth, deep note of the Fairlane’s engine as it rolled up around two-thirty, he had a couple of trout butterflied, deboned and laid out on ice. Stan fired up the skillet and had butter sizzling merrily as Clary leaned into the kitchen doorframe.

“All done for now, and what, pray tell, have we got for lunch?”

“Only the good stuff. Fresh this mornin’.” He waggled brows at her as he strapped on an apron, dredged the fish and tossed the first fillet into the pan.

“There is no way you had time to go catch that.” She headed for the fridge, reaching in to pull out a few containers of leftover sides.

“Hey, I delegated. Tate came by to get the pickup and he dropped these off. Guy’s, like, a fish whisperer or somethin’, he walks down lakeside and they jump into his creel, it’s weird.”

They swung around each other comfortably in the confined space. Clary set up the table with plates and glasses, not bothering to do more than pop the lids off a motley assortment of Tupperware. The conversation was relaxed and drifting - the most scenic route to Portland, the best lunch counter on the way to Seattle.

Clary sat back with a sigh once she’d finished off her trout. “That was worth the wait.”

“It’s nice t’have lunch right out of the lake, isn’t it? Saved my bacon a few times the first couple years here.” Stan gathered plates as she scrubbed the serving containers. “So, if you can put off packin’ for a little while - you seen the new exhibit yet?”

“You know, I haven’t? Things were too nuts last week.” She leaned aside to let him drop the plates off in the sink, kept on washing and handed them off one by one once he had a dishtowel.

“Up for a private tour? It’s Sunday, last batch of payin’ customers was like half an hour ago.”

“With pleasure.”

Once they’d stacked away the last of the glassware, Stan offered his arm. She laid a hand lightly at his elbow with a quirked little smile and he led her out through the unaccustomed quiet of the Shack.

“So we’re already gettin’ rave reviews.” The museum was silent save for their footsteps, sunlight pouring in bars of honey gold across the plank floors. “‘Mr. Mystery’s still got it.’ And ‘It’s Air-Conditioned!’ I think Soos is already workin’ up a plush or a keychain or somethin’.”

They ducked through the exhibit’s moss-draped doorway, the interior almost chilly and dark enough to disorient after the main room. Stan laid his hand over hers to keep her close as they wove through the narrow corridor. He and Soos had done a hell of a job here on short notice, he thought, with some nifty projection work and vents set up to blow cold air across the feet of tour-goers.

He’d written most of the spiel and leaned over to half whisper to Clary as they walked slowly through. “Dark things dwell in the far corners of these northwest woods, y’know. Things that slumber under our mountains an’ spread nothin’ but shadow when they wake an’ roam the world.”

“This all sounds suspiciously familiar.” Excitement hummed under her low murmur; she was as thrilled as any tourist.

“‘Course it does - this’s all new to us, missy, but the Shack’s crew of intrepid adventurers just got back from a dangerous trek all the way out into the far reaches - “

They rounded a corner, the sound of tinkling glass drifting up over a tiny hidden speaker, and she actually flinched at the forced-perspective replica of the crystalline stag set up to sparkle ominously at the far end of the space. Stan squeezed her hand in reassurance, trying not to laugh. “Mabel did that one. Nice, eh?”

“This is fantastic.” Clary looked up into the darkness overhead, where he’d set up a scatter of glinting glass eyes picked out by pinlights. “You did all this in like two weeks?”

“Well - not alone. Soos an’ Melody have been crankin’ up the exhibits since they took over the Shack. This’s what kept us all so busy while you were cookin’ for everyone in town. C’mon.” He tugged her down past the Crystalline Abominations display, where the lighting came up by subtle degrees. “Check this out.”

Clary’s original taxidermy critter, tidied up and reworked a bit, perched on a branch in a glass case. The placard read ‘mustela merrickii’, explaining its exotic origins and its favored diet of nightmares, and beside that sat a portrait of ‘Dr. Clara J. Merrick’ in old-timey explorer’s gear rendered in sepia inks.

Stan rocked back a step, utterly pleased with himself, as her eyes popped wide and she clapped both hands over her mouth. “This all okay? Ford did the watercolor over there. Seemed only fair t’name it after you.”

She was quiet for a few seconds too long. He shifted his weight from foot to foot until she turned, splayed fingers only half hiding her sly, delighted grin. “You couldn’t wait to get rid of me when I first got here. This whole routine was designed to creep me out and scare me onto a bus.”

“...yeah, that’s fair. You turned out to have a stronger stomach than I expected.”

“Ha. I’m glad I exceeded expectations.” Clary bumped her shoulder into his. “Thank you for letting me leave a mark here. I must have a copy of that portrait - I had no idea Ford was an artist, too.”

“We may or may not have included a nice rendition in your partin’ gifts.”

She cracked up as they wended past winged weasels tangled in shadowy papier-mache tentacles. “Do I get the home game? Have I scored the grand prize?”

“You’ve got a workin’ car, I guess, but as for the rest of it, what were you hopin’ to take with you?” She pulled the curtain aside at the end of the walkthrough and Stan brushed past, half holding his breath as he stepped out into the light.

Clary looked him up and down, her mouth quirked with something between amusement and regret. “I cut a bulk deal with Soos for snowglobes and a couple bobbleheads, so that’s covered, but I can’t say that’s all I was interested in. What’re you doing tonight?”

“Might have somethin’ in mind. I mean, y’know, if you’re up for it.” He held up both hands as she drew indignant breath. “All I’m sayin’ is that there’s no way you went thrift shoppin’ with Mabel and got out of it without somethin’ glittery, right? Show me the gaudiest thing you’ve got. I’ll make it worth your while.”

“What time?”

"Right around dark? Don't worry about dinner."

She shook her head at him but her eyes were sparkling. "Sounds good. I'll track you down out on the porch."

They split up for the rest of the afternoon. Stan spent half an hour tidying up the car, vacuuming out the random debris that had accumulated through the summer’s errands and adventures. Clary steadily trekked back and forth between the Fairlane and the house. Boxes and bags slowly filled in the wagon’s wayback, more stuff than she’d come in with for sure.

Once the day began to fade, she slipped off to take over the bathroom for a quick shower, then vanished into her storage room. Stan went through after and took some time scrubbing himself to respectability. He shook out the old bronze hustle suit from the back of the closet, the scent of cedar sharp in its synthetic fibers. This thing had never needed an ironing since he’d picked it up years ago and it didn’t need one now, which was great, because he had stuff to do.

He still looked damned good in it. Stan squared himself up in front of the mirror, splashed on a bit of his favorite aftershave to make him extra irresistible, got his hair where he wanted it and strolled out to the yard.

Striking a casual pose against the front fender of the Stanleymobile was fine for like, a minute, but his back was beginning to creak in protest by the time Clary finally stepped out onto the porch. Stan pulled himself upright with a suppressed grunt and headed over to meet her as she came down the steps.

Mabel had delivered, all right. Clary’s outfit was some kind of barely-structured 80s-vintage tunic top over skinny leggings, all steely spangles that managed to both drape and cling distractingly, one shoulder and its black bra strap left bare. The scarf was amethyst silk shot with silver threads, hair twisted up and secured with a couple of borrowed glitter clips to tumble down in waves. Her fancy purple eye makeup was definitely out of Mabel’s makeover kit.

“Not half bad,” he said as off-handedly as he could, and she flashed him a grin.

"Sauterne gold." Clary reached out to straighten his lapels and tapped the heavy medallion at his breastbone. "Don't you embody an entire decade of regrets. You wear it a lot better than that old sedan did."

“It was a good decade! They don’t make ‘em like this any more, am I right?” He swept an arm out in a grand gesture, indicating his own awesomeness as he caught her hand in his. “C’mon, let’s book it, we’ve got the evenin’ to ourselves and I don’t wanna waste a minute.”

'Where are we headed?"

"That's a secret." Her eyes rolled heavenwards but she trailed along at his side, allowing herself to be handed into the car and buckling in as he headed around to slip into his own seat.

“No hints whatsoever?”

The car rumbled reassuringly to life and he piloted out along the drive, fingertips tapping along the window frame. “Only if you close your eyes.”

The sky was darkening rapidly, a smudge of deepening blue through the trees, and her smile was a bare glint in the passenger-side shadows. “We’re going to Greasy’s.”

“There is a lot more to town than Greasy’s!”

“I’ve spent most of the last week at Greasy’s and we are absolutely going there, because you know better than to take me to the local bar.” Clary leaned against the window and obediently closed her eyes.

“There are actually a couple classy joints in this burg, I’ll have you know.” Which of course they weren’t going to. The El Diablo rolled smoothly on down to the diner. Stan glanced over to make sure she hadn’t peeked, then hopped out, scooted around the front of the car and drew her door open. “All right. You good to step out blind?”

“So long as I have you to lean on.” She got her feet on the pavement, her hand latched in at his elbow, and he leaned back a bit to get her upright. Stan managed to kick the door closed behind them and got her up to the front step.

“All right, all right, take a look already before I regret this more than I do.”

She obliged him, lashes fluttering up, and gasped in delight that was at least half manufactured. “Why, Stan! It’s Greasy’s! Only it’s all twinkly!”

“Very funny.” He had managed to get the twinkle lights going with the bribed-and-blackmailed help of a couple of the staff, and the diner glowed against the dark backdrop of late evening. “Look, I thought we’ve had more’n enough big drama for the week, right? So this way we can snag a snack, someone else can cook an’ handle the dishes, it’s Sunday night so it’ll be pretty dead….”

“Do we get to dance?” Clary’s hip grazed his as they stepped inside. The late-night waitress spared a cheery little wave from behind the counter. As he’d hoped the place was pretty much empty since he’d kept his preparations so modest - no sound system and definitely no inviting the locals.

“All taken care of.” He pointed down to the booth at the end, where Mabel’s karaoke machine sat sparkling on the table, a tiny disco party light duct-taped to the top. Stan walked Clary down with solemn dignity even though she was laughing into his shoulder. “Lady’s choice. Anythin’ you want.”

“Anything at all?” she needled, kneeling on the bench seat to flip through the tunes on offer. “You’re leaving yourself wide open there, Stan.”

“Princess, I am at your disposal tonight.”

Clary glanced back at him over her bare shoulder, eyes narrowed. “Ditch that jacket and show me how fancy those feet can get.”

He tossed his jacket onto the unoccupied booth seat, then ducked his head to grin as a familiar disco bassline overlaid with swooping strings welled up on the karaoke speakers. “What, no Glenn Miller? Not gonna wring another couple slow dances outta me?”

“This is no ballroom. We’re going to have to improvise.” Clary crooked a finger at him, pacing backwards onto open floor where the smaller tables had been moved aside. “Come here, loverboy.”

Stan rolled his shoulders, cracked his knuckles and stalked out after her with rising glee.

The world contracted to the circle of his arms and her within it. No paying customers, no expectations, no obligations, nothing but the determined steady thump of the beat and the faint insistent nudge of she’s leaving at the back of his head - he pushed that down and aside.

He had better things to worry about. Balance and counterbalance played out in turns and dips. Clary leaned into his palm at her waist and spun away, strain and flex flowing through his frame according to rhythm and melody and her trust in his grip.

For three tracks there wasn’t a word to say, just an occasional huff of breath or a chuckle. The fourth song was a slow one and he cautiously eased into her space. Clary looked up to him with narrowed, knowing eyes. Her arm slipped around his shoulders and she settled against him - no ice block this time - so he laid his cheek against her hair, their feet light, tracing out overlapping box-steps without a hitch.

He wanted so fiercely to stay there in the bubble of the moment that he had paid no attention to the slow trickle of people who’d wandered into the diner, but a faint cough from a booth somewhere down the line drew his attention. Stan swore under his breath as he counted heads. They’d picked up an audience and at least one idiot was angling a phone down their way.

Clary laughed dryly as a pivot gave her the same view. “Why don’t we take a quick break and let some of them come take over the floor.”

“Long as you’re willin’ to DJ, that sounds fine to me.” She left her arm linked in his as they returned to their booth and swept her professional hostess’ smile across the room. Embarrassed observers picked up menus or sheepishly shuffled down to dance in the space they’d just vacated.

“Chocolate shake? We should split it. Lunch was late.”

“On it, sweetpea.” He left her fiddling with the music queue and caught the waitress in passing to place the order, watching the swirl of traffic up and down Greasy’s center aisle. Apparently word had gotten out that Clary was about to go, and Gravity Falls wasn’t quite done enjoying the novelty of the Shack’s temporary-resident lawyer.

“Oh, I couldn’t possibly,” Clary said gently to Manly Dan as Stan stomped back down to their booth with shake in hand. “My dance card’s full tonight. Perhaps I’ll be back for a visit sometime. I won’t forget!”

Stan skewered Dan with a glare that actually shifted the big fella back on his heels and slid onto the seat alongside Clary, between her and the rest of the crowd. “You’d think they’d move on to somethin’ else by now,” he groused as she unwrapped the straws.

“What can I say? People keep telling me it’s been a dull summer compared to last year.”

They only got through half the shake. Constant interruptions from well-wishers grew more frequent as the place became more packed - no way this was a normal Sunday crowd, people were coming in for a last gander at Miz Enigma - and Stan’s patience was stretched painfully thin by the time Clary finally leaned over to murmur into his ear. “Why don’t you bring the car around to the side. I’ll be right there.”

“About time we skipped,” he gritted out, cutting through to the front door with heavy strides. His last glance caught her perched upon the table’s edge, microphone in hand, thumbing through songs and chatting with a couple of the museum staff.

The El Diablo glided smoothly up alongside the diner. He sat and waited, thumbs tapping an annoyed staccato on the steering wheel, listening to the muffled racket of enthusiastic singing from within.

Five minutes.

Ten.

Fifteen. He was about ready to charge in there and throw her over his shoulder, scandal be damned, when the side door opened a sliver and Clary slipped through with his jacket over one arm. She dropped into the passenger seat and fumbled with the belt in her haste. “I got the sheriff going on a medley. Get us out of here, please.”

The tires were already squealing as he backed up and peeled out along the main drag. “So am I rubbin’ off on you or what? That was pretty slick, though I like a little flash an’ dazzle on the way out.”

Her low chuckle was edged with sharp relief. “Maybe I’ve learned a thing or two. Any chance we can find some peace and quiet?”

Stan took a left, cutting away from town into dark, dense pines. “I know just the place.”

Tumblr masterpost

Clary plucks the pen from behind her ear and flips open the ticket book, looking over the table expectantly. “What’s it gonna be?”

Sandwich!

Pancakes!

Everything!

[thepilotanon]

Prelude xix

...to become close {masterlist}

I would like to thank everyone who has stuck around and has been putting up with the fact that my updates are slow, you’re all kickass people and I appreciate you! I know I’m not getting a whole lot of notes with the past few chapters as of late, but I would really appreciate if you let me know what you thought! I hope you will enjoy, and thank you for stopping by.

warning: spare violence.

Nova never went to the comfort of her lover’s bed that night.

Using the staff provided from the spar bin during her practice with Lumiya, one of the female Knights of Ren who wanted extra conditioning, Nova managed to force a blunt hit to her abdomen and flipping her over. There weren’t many stormtroopers within the facility, only Phasma and some of her own units going through a new evaluation of her training exercise; a bunch of clashing and pinning and painful groans coming from helmets. It seemed parallel to each other, when Nova and Phasma pinned their opponents hard to the mats below them. However, in comparison to Phasma, it seemed that Nova used a bit more brutal force on her sparring partner. It took her a moment to drop out of her second of negative thoughts to see Lumiya struggling to compose herself…

“I’m sorry,” Nova exhaled worriedly, kneeling down to try and remove Lumiya’s helmet to help her breathe better. “I’m sorry, I didn’t - Lumiya, please forgive -”

“It’s alright,” Lumiya huffed through her voice modulator, reaching up to carefully grasp her wrist and pushing it away. Despite the covering of her face and the change in her voice, Nova could sense she was smiling. “I wasn’t focusing hard enough, I know. I still have a lot to catch up to you, don’t I?”

“No, you’re strong,” Nova tried, sensing how her companion was finding the situation amusing and a good learning experience. “I wasn’t being fair to you in combat, that was my fault.”

“The fault in the situation is Lumiya,” a clicked voice caught everyone’s attention. Voices died down immediately at the presence of Kylo Ren entering the room, helmet visor aimed directly as Nova frowned. “It wouldn’t matter if her opponent was stronger or weaker in strength to her - she would still be easily killed in the matter of seconds for not focusing.”

Lumiya was instant in getting to her feet (although Nova could feel that she was sore in her lower back) standing in salute to the Commander. Nova took her own time getting up as she dropped her staff. “Still, it’s my job to make sure she improves at a safe pace for her health. It’s not her fault that I wasn’t being mindful in my own strength to help her.”

“If the student isn’t learning from the Master, then it’s the student’s fault for not listening,” Kylo responded, taking a step forward.

Nova felt Lumiya’s body stiffen. “Well, it would only apply to this situation if there was an actual Master present for the students,” Nova snapped rather stubbornly. Looking over to Lumiya’s empty mask, Nova’s voice softened for a moment as she spoke. “Lumiya, you’re done for the day. I want you to rest and report to the medbay, if you’re still feeling sore in your lower back.”

Lumiya didn’t move with Kylo’s stare at her, and Nova easily stepped between them and gave off a more authoritative tone. “That was not a suggestion, Lumiya. That was an order.”

“Y-yes, ma’am,” Lumiya stuttered and kept her head turned down as she made a quick exit, leaving Phasma to slowly turn and order her ‘troopers to return to their routine.

Nova boredly went back to the mat she was using with Lumiya to pick up the sparring staffs and return them to the bin. Kylo didn’t move a muscle as the activity returned to the training hall, seeming to wait patiently until she was done. Once Nova passed a message along to Phasma about discussing her new training technique later-on, Kylo was direct in turning around and following after Nova in an orderly fashion out into the hallway, where the other officers and ‘troopers were readying their cycle routines and droids rolling about. Nova didn’t particularly wait for Kylo, no matter how much he was reaching out to her within their Force wall, she kept walking. Where? Maybe to get some food to eat? She didn’t know, but she didn’t want to see or speak to -

Feeling a strong arm wrapped around her, Nova held back a frustrated growl when Kylo threw her over his shoulder. Stepping sideways in the currently empty hall, Kylo punches the panel on the wall to open the singular blast door; tossing themselves inside the unused storage unit of stacked towels, blankets, sheets and extra clothing to fit one size, Nova was upset being handled by him with her mind settled on getting food. Kylo was quick to set her down on her feet away from the door in order to close it.

“Kylo, what are you -!”

“Why are you ignoring me?”

His voice was gruff, even through the voice modulator crackling her ears. Nova puffed air into her cheeks and looked away from his masked face rather bitterly. Her Force wall hiding them within the cramped space, being chest-to-chest, she couldn’t bring herself to look at him and feel the tension and stress radiating from him and directed to her. It wasn’t to blame her at all, she knew, but he wanted to point out that he wasn’t happy about...where they left off.

“I just didn’t go to bed last -”

“No, you didn’t,” Kylo underlined and Nova’s lip twitched to a near snarl. “I’ve said that nothing was your fault, Nova. You could have come to bed, and I wouldn’t have done anything to h -”

“You left me upset!” Nova projected, causing Kylo to raise his hand to silently ask her to calm her voice. Nova’s face felt warm as she pushed his hand back down, looking anywhere else but at him. “You left me feeling a whole bunch of things, and I felt weird for the longest time and I got mad at you for it.”

Before Kylo could suggest that it was the fleeting moment of bad memories bring brought up, Nova released a groan and hit her forehead against his sternum. “No! It wasn’t that! It was - I don’t know what it is, I’ve never felt it before, but I know you were making it!”

“What are you - wait, do you mean..?”

Kylo looked down to her, allowing him to look within at what she was talking about. It took him a moment before a strangled exhale hissed through the helmet, making Nova shut her eyes as feeling his heartbeat pick under her touch. Reaching to scratch underneath his helmet, Kylo took a moment to recollect himself before reaching for the latch and remove the bulky accessory from his head. Dropping it to the piled up towels, Kylo huffed with flushed cheeks before hesitating to rest his hands anywhere on or near her body. It eventually left Kylo to drop his gloved hands at his sides.

“It was wrong of me,” he swallowed thickly, “to leave you...to leave you aroused like that. It was very wrong of me, when I thought you were uncomfortable of me, when I saw that image, while I was going to… I am so sorry, Nova.”

“It was only a split second. I was frightened, because I’ve never done it before and I have bad memories of what I thought it was suppose to be like,” Nova confessed. “Sometimes nightmares of what could have happened back on Bavva III, but… I really liked the way you were touching me, Kylo. The words you projected to me and how you were holding me, I was happy and I didn’t want you to stop.”

Nuzzling her face into her chest, trying to keep her frustration down and take in his warmth and scent, Nova sighed. “I didn’t want you to stop, Kylo, and it left me upset to the point I didn’t want to come to bed.”

“You didn’t sleep last night, did you?” he asked her softly, seeing her move her head against him ‘no’ in response. “Neither did I. I wanted to come and get you, but I didn’t want to overstep boundaries and frighten you. It’s very selfish of me to even approach you like I did in the training room.”

Nova shook her head again, nuzzling closer to him as his hand instinctively came to tenderly rub her clothed back. “I was mad at you.”

“With good reason,” Kylo huffed, somewhat amused and guilty at the same time. “A very good reason, in my opinion. The blame is entirely on me, and I don’t think I can apologize enough for what I’ve done to you besides what I thought.”

“I forgive you, though,” she responded quietly. “I sense that you are very, very guilty over this...yet, I don’t know where this leaves us now.” Looking up to him curiously, Nova was careful with her space between him. She could sense the discomfort from him, yet his hand caressing her back with the most gentle of touches were confident and reassuring, eyes contemplating.

“From last night, I thought things over, and,” Kylo took a careful breath, “you deserve a better place than aboard the Supremacy for your...first time. You’re beyond than what anyone else deserves, where there is the chance of being seen or noticed something is different with your appearance, aside from the confidentiality of a doctor… I don’t want to give you your first better experience of intimacy on this ship.”

The hand on her back coming to brush strands of loose hair behind her ear, Kylo’s gloved fingers brushed along her jaw with careful precision. “Your first experience should be where we’re not rushed or monitored, but somewhere I can take care of you, if needed. Where we can go at your pace.”

“My pace?” Nova asked curiously, seeing him nod before carefully grasping her chin and angling her head to press a gentle kiss to her forehead, mentally giving her the definition of what he meant. Hearing his meaning made her blush a bit, her body feeling warm all over again in a more endearing way of how he remained in letting her be in control. “Okay...I understand.”

“Until then, I suggest something that will benefit us both,” Kylo spoke softly against her skin, his nose inhaling her comfortable scent. “It’s still too early for either of us to really be needed anywhere; we go back to bed and sleep comfortably for a little while, and catch up on some important time we missed last night.”

“Yeah,” Nova immediately answered, leaning a bit against his chest and closing her eyes. For once since that uncomfortable night of the tension and need from the waist down, she felt at ease and comfortable in his hold. His arm wrapped around her back once more, urging her to come closer and nuzzle his chest. “I want that.”

Both of them managed to be unsuspecting in their different routes taken to return to their secluded hallway, Kylo waiting there first while Nova played one game with the droids of chase before slipping inside Kylo’s bedroom. His outer armor and gloves removed, Nova was more than happy to grin when his large hands cradles her cheeks and his warm lips kissing her smile. Collecting her in his strong arms, Kylo kissed her cheeks and jaw over and over while carrying her to the bedroom and carefully set her down on his bed. Nova simply yanked him by the shirt to catch his lips in a quick kiss and bury her face into his chest.

“Can we nap, please? I’m tired.” Only feeling the soft material of the blankets and the warmth that radiated off of her lover, she already was starting to feel the effects of her lack of sleep. It felt like a lifetime ago when she would have sleepless nights, being with him had helped her change to appreciate and enjoy the feeling of waking up feeling held and loved by Kylo.

Nodding, Kylo pressed a gentle kiss to her temple and motioned for her to lay down while he removed her shoes for her. Until he was pulled by his tunic again, rather impatiently, Kylo’s mouth formed a shy of a grin while obeying her silent request. Letting her take charge of where she wanted him, Kylo was pulled to lay on his side while Nova attached herself to his chest; her leg brought over his hip and face buries into the material of his shirt, Kylo own hand tangled into her hair and lightly massaged her scalp. Tilting his chin down, Kylo pressed his lips carefully against her head, inhaling her scent and finally relaxing in bed.

“Are you comfortable?” he asked softly against her head. Waiting for an answer, he was met with soft, delicate snores and Nova’s cheek snuggled against him. The corner of his mouth twitching, Kylo couldn’t do anything else but wrap his arms tighter around her and close his eyes, readying to find his much needed peace.

Supreme Leader Snoke watched carefully as the young woman stared out the vast window within the throne room, her head tilting with the most innocent, curious stare to the collection of broken asteroids floating by with the planet in the distance beyond of the field. Leaning forward to drown out more noise of the spar session going on behind her, Nova kept her gaze focused on the planet with the mixed atmosphere of beautiful blues and greens hidden from the dark lumps of asteroids. Instead of watching Kylo spar alongside with the Knights, as she was suppose to do in order to help Snoke find room for improvement, her focus was completely elsewhere in the universe. Snoke himself was taken aback by her...unknown distraction.

Eventually, Kylo and his Knights slowed their sparring session at the lack of attention from the two observers. Lumiya was able to stop her companion, Vost, from falling back by pushing his shoulder from Kylo’s blow just in time to see how Kylo deactivated his ‘saber and face his Master.

“It seems that little Nova finds something more important to focus on than taking notes from the spar,” Snoke drawled, flexing one hand to use the Force to carefully drag Nova away from the window.

Upon reaction, Nova swung her arm behind her back, apparently severing the connection and kept her eyes ahead. Few of the Knights stepped back from the wave of Nova’s Force overpowering the Supreme Leader, leaving him to actually chuckle with amusement at her stubborn behavior.

Getting up from his throne, Snoke approached Nova’s sitting form across the room, his hands helping to keep him balanced. “Young Nova, what are you doing, you brainless girl?” he asked her rather tauntingly. “What has your empty mind so focused on… Vardos, is it?”

Nova didn’t respond, only sparing a side glance to the tall humanoid before scooting away from him. Kylo watched emotionlessly as the Supreme Leader glanced carefully to each of the Knights of Ren helmets, searching their thoughts of their opinion of the situation. Chuckling, Snoke reached down and tugged on her braided hair. Nova didn’t show any expression of distaste for the treatment, or even the quietest of noise.

“You sense something on the planet Vardos, don’t you? I can see it,” Snoke said quietly, yet it seemed loud enough in the silenced throne room. “Something is drawing you to it, isn’t it, little one…”

Turning around, Snoke waved a hand towards the group of Knights standing idly by, as if waiting for something to happen or an order. “Knights, you are dismissed. Kylo Ren, you are to remain here,” he commanded. And, as usual, everyone followed the order accordingly while Kylo remained in his spot, eyes darting behind the mask to Nova’s relaxed body and Snoke watching her with a sort of pride that didn’t make sense to him.

“My young apprentice, Kylo Ren,” Snoke began, turning his body towards his way before turning his focus away from Nova, “I do believe it is time for little Nova to construct her own lightsaber.”

Frowning, Kylo turned his chin to see the distant planet he’s never visited, but knew so much about. “Vardos is an unoccupied planet, Supreme Leader. Aside from breathable air, there is no such thing as life forms present or even growing from Operation: Cinder… There isn’t any way for Kyber crystals to be capable to -”

“Vardos had multiple laboratories and safes filled to the brim with Kyber rocks, as well as some that were used for Starkiller Base, if you’ve done your research,” Snoke interrupted, and Kylo instantly shut his mouth when Nova glanced behind her shoulder for a moment. Nova sniffed boredly before looking back out the large window, leaving Snoke to watch her behavior carefully. “The satellites of the weather arrays have been deactivated and, so far, the storms have ceased. The planet itself is dead, yet I believe many of the storage units and structures still hold mass amounts for her to choose from…”

Turning to look back to Kylo, Snoke moved cautiously back to the aisle, aiming to the door of the mass room. “You will escort her to Vardos immediately, with proper equipment within your shuttle. Keep an eye on her while she searches for her Kyber crystal, and all - you know the customs and traditions, Kylo Ren.”

Leaving the two within the large throne room, eerily quiet, Kylo watched Nova carefully as he slowly approached her from behind, being mindful of her thoughts darting all over the place - unseen by the Supreme Leader. Something unknown to her was keeping her distracted, something she didn’t know or how to explain it to him.

“Kylo,” Nova spoke, her voice soft and filled with curiosity, “when can we go?”

“As soon as I ready the shuttle,” Kylo answered simply, reaching to his belt for his commlink. “I’ll order for it, but...are you alright?”

Seeing her nod, Kylo released a breath. “The Supreme Leader feels that you are drawn to a Kyber crystal, to construct a lightsaber. I don’t know how long it will take us, but I suggest we pack essentials for a few days, just incase.”

“Okay…”

“What do you sense coming from there, Nova…” he asked softly, seeing her lean and press her bare hands to the cold windows by her fingertips. “What do you see?”

“I don’t know, but it’s something I feel like I need. Is that normal?” Turning away completely from the window, Nova willingly approached him and looked to his mask with a concerned pout. “If Snoke said it’s a dead planet...is it really safe from - what did he say it was? The burning substance he was talking about.”

“Operation: Cinder,” he told her. “Something that happened before the plans of Starkiller Base were constructed. A collection of satellites were used to corrupt the balance of all living capabilities on the planet, only leaving it breathable. There isn’t any use for the planet to anyone, much less anything profitable to anyone…”

“But there is something there,” Nova claimed softly. “I don’t understand why I want to go there, but I need to. There’s something, I know it! Does that make any sense at all?”

“From anyone else, no. From you, I’m willing to compromise and assist you until you’re satisfied,” Kylo confessed rather casually, making her smile. “Go and pack clothing for a few days, and I’ll be at my shuttle waiting for you.”

Nodding, Nova gave him one more grin before running off to go collect her things, letting Kylo go off and ready his ship at the loading hangar. As soon as he stepped into the loading dock of the Supremacy, Kylo suddenly realized something rather important…

This would be Nova’s first time being allowed off ship to an actual planet without the guide of the First Order.

“What was wrong with this planet that they did Operation: Cinder?” Nova asked softly, her arms coming to wrap around Kylo’s neck from behind as her chin rest on his shoulder. Watching him easily pilot the shuttle all on his own, Nova was more curious of watching him man the flycraft with such precision without any other assistance, as he instructed the crew that he didn’t need anyone else.

When Kylo spared a moment to look over to her, eyeing her carefully, Nova gave him a soft smile and pressed her nose to his cheekbone. “It’s okay to tell me, I’m curious,” she confessed to him. “The planet was once flourished with life, right?”

“Yes. I don’t know the exact details of the mission, but I believe it was to experiment in preparation for Starkiller Base,” he answered, turning his gaze to the incoming atmosphere that held numerous shades of grey and darkness. Part of him truly wondered if the storms have ceased when he caught sight of lightning not too far away from where he planned to land on Kestro, the capital of the planet. “This would also be my first time visiting this planet; the Supreme Leader hasn’t instructed anyone to use this planet for anything, as far as I am aware.”

Looking over to the scanning pad not too far away from the pilot’s chair, Nova tilt her head at an angle to read it properly. “There is still no signs of any forms of life,” she informed him, feeling him nod against her arm. “So...will it be empty, like a unused storage unit?”

“Deserted, with building structures that haven’t been used for a very long time. Dead plants and maybe ruins,” Kylo attempted to help paint a picture. “I suggest, if the area we explore is not what you’re searching for, we return to the shuttle and find a different spot to try next. Do you feel anything different?”

Shaking her head, Nova rest her cheek on his shoulder. “No, it feels the same. Just...want to get there. I don’t know what’s there, but I need to get there.”

“We’ll be landing shortly, just be patient, love,” Kylo urged her softly, taking one of her hands into his and press a kiss to her wrist. “I need you to stay by my side once we leave the ship. If I sense any sort of danger nearby, I want you to listen to me and return to the shuttle and stay safe…”

“We will be fine.” Hearing her response, Kylo looked over and gave her a hard stare when she pulled away from him. Shaking her head, Nova gave him a smile. “I don’t sense any danger, Kylo. I believe there is nothing dangerous or anything to be afraid of here.”

“You say that, but yet I’m the one who has more experience, isn’t that right?”

Nova blew air into her cheeks rather stubbornly, making him raise a brow. Switching the shuttle to autopilot, Kylo stood from his seat and approached her with careful steps; she didn’t move away from him, standing her ground, and he was gentle to raise his hands to cup her face. His gloved thumbs brushing under her eyes, he released a long exhale when he saw that she wasn’t going to back down.

“It’s not that I don’t trust you, Nova. It’s nowhere near of me not trusting you,” he told her quietly, hoping she could read his words. “Out of majority of those in my life, I trust you the most. But, you need to understand that -”

“You’re scared for me,” she exposed with a pout, “with what happened on Starkiller Base.” His throat bobbing with a hard swallow, Nova reached to hold his wrists firmly. He finally noticed the soft, tingling sensation in the back of his head. “You worry for my health, ever since I got poisoned and the frostbite. And all that happened after...”

When he didn’t respond, Nova smiled sadly before leaning her forehead to press against his armored chest. “It happened, and it was scary. I also have bad dreams of it every once in a while, but waking up during the night and remembering that you’re holding me and keeping me safe and warm?” Sighing, she wrapped her arms around him and held onto him tight. “I’m no longer afraid of what happened in the past, because you’re there when I need you most. I’m not scared anymore, because I know you’ll protect me from anything that will hurt me, Kylo.”

“I would,” he responded, affirming her. “I will, at any time…”

“Which is why there isn’t any reason to worry on a broken planet, correct?” Nova asked him, leaning her head back to look at him. “There’s no lifeforms or anything...but there might be bigger Kyber crystals for me to find, right? I was very good at finding those tiny bits before, wasn’t I?”

Kylo couldn’t resist the twitch of his lips when his fingers traced along her jaw. “You would find the largest Kyber rock while anyone else can’t even find a single piece with the best of equipment,” he praised with a smirk, reaching to kiss her forehead when she grinned bigger. “I apologize for being easily worried over you, my love.”

“It’s okay, I like that you care so much. Just trust me a bit more than worry, okay?”

Kylo sighed, his arms holding her around her waist tightening just a bit, making her giggle softly. “I know it will be hard, but I promise to tell you if there’s anything wrong or if I need you for help,” she added, which helped him relax a lot more. “I don’t know anything about this planet either, so this will be something for the both of us to depend on each other for.”

“That’s very true,” Kylo agreed.

Once the control panels alerted them, the two separated with Kylo softly instructing her to sit down in the co-pilot’s chair. Keeping her hands on her lap, Nova watched with great interest of Kylo returning to his chair to switch off of autopilot, eyes darting over to watch them enter the atmosphere. The grey, murky clouds confused her view, making her stretch her neck curiously, as if it would help change her view. Stealing a glance to her love, she saw how focused he was at the controls; both hands maneuvering the whole shuttle with such ease, as if the clouds blocking their view wasn’t anywhere of a problem for him. Of course, knowing his talents and longer experience with the Force, she supposed that he could see without actually needing to…

Breaking through the clouds, Nova’s brows knit together at the sight before them. Layout of the planes lacked color and life, buildings remained as cemented blocks and shattered windows showed signs of plain darkness within them. Looking down to the ground, wreckage of ships and vehicles, barricades and broken down remains of what Nova could assume were trees littered all over. Everything looked drained and empty, just as Kylo had mentioned to Snoke back onboard the Supremacy. There were no signs of life of any sort: no animal or being scavenging about, no signs of floral or blossoming flowers or leaves. The lack of robots or any electronic lights also brought forth a sort of seldom kind of loneliness and sense of loss inside her chest.

However, a much stronger feeling overpowered that loss. Something unknown to her, but it was important and she had to find it.

Landing the shuttle on a platform that hadn’t looked to be used in years, Kylo killed the craft’s engine before allowing either of them to stand. The outdoors looked mute, in Nova’s opinion, as if there was no such thing as wind or activity to be seen or experienced on Vardos. Kylo had left his spot to gather a satchel and coats for the both of them, along with cowls; ensuring that Nova was properly dressed and covered to deal with the rather chilly temperature they were warned about, buckling the thick, long-sleeved coat on her first. Noticing her making a face, Kylo raised his brow at her when she presented her pout to him.

“Don’t start,” Kylo drawled quietly, kissing her forehead.

“It feels restraining in the arms,” she insisted with a sigh, allowing him to wrap the cowl around her shoulders and lift the hood carefully over her head before proceeding to put on his own. “Just...sleeves in general are bothersome.”

“I understand. I’ll have them tailored once we return to be more loose for you. Until then, you will have to manage for now,” he informed her and Nova only nodded. He reached over to open the hatch in the back of the shuttle, letting the door slowly open to the outdoors. Seeing her take the satchel and drape it across her chest, he went to reach for his helmet when Nova reached over and touch his arm. “What’s wrong?”

Her gaze was unfocused at the moment, yet her grip on him tightened just a bit. “The feeling is stronger now, I can feel it… It’s unusual,” she mumbled with a slight pout of confusion. “I don’t understand what it is, but there’s something important here.”

“Just be patient, don’t leave the shuttle without me,” he instructed her. Before allowing her to take a step further away from him, Kylo gently took her wrist in his hold and pulled her to face him once more rather close. His arm carefully wrapped around her back, resting comfortably at her lower waist, and the other held up a small pin with a muted blue orb in the center.

“This is a tracking commlink,” he explained softly, letting her look at the device for her own evaluation before slipping under the cowl to the collar of her tunic, pinning it securely. “For whatever reason, if we end up separated or anything, we are able to reach each other and I will be able to find you through the tracker within the shuttle and communicate.”

Nova nodded, a small smile on her lips. Kylo kept his stare of her with a raised brow. “This does not mean you can wander too far away from me, alright?”

“I wasn’t planning on it in the first place,” Nova hummed before getting to her toes and tug him down to kiss him, which he returned with equal force and more pressure to her lower back to bring her closer.

Kylo removed her hand from his top and slipped his helmet on, guiding them both to the ramp and down the hangar into the muted planet’s environment. Both unaware of what the planet holds on the surface and what is hidden underneath the dead grounds of planet Vardos.

Nova dug into the chrome-colored cabinet, digging through the dusty, yet carefully chiseled crystals arranged by their weight. Frowning, Nova closed the cabinet and went to the next one over, opening it with a bit of effort from the many years from being unused. She was quick to try and look through the cabinet with the Force, picking up a crafted piece of Kyber between her fingers to try and see if she could find any sort of color. The unusual feeling that gave her so much energy and excitement to explore and dig around have diminished over time of finding many laboratories that contained heavy pound after pound of many Kyber crystals. Once she was able to get her hands on it, there wasn’t much of her own curiosity or joy to search, and Kylo took a notice after searching three different buildings…

“There is nothing that catches your attention?” he asked her, turning his head and angled his helmet-clad face to see her huff and shake her head. “Would you prefer to go to a different district and look there?”

Nova tilt her head back with a small pout on her lips, looking up to him with a rather disappointed look in her bright, sparkling eyes. “I thought I could sense something coming from this area,” she confessed to him. “I don’t understand; one moment, I can feel it so close and now? It’s like it...dispersed? Evaporated? Can that happen with the Force, Kylo?”

“The Force can work in mysterious ways, with or without years of experience. Perhaps, the Supreme Leader thought you were looking for a Kyber rock, but you’re being attracted to something else,” he suggested, slowly aiming for the broken doorway while Nova got herself to her feet and followed close behind. “Has anything caught your interest here?”

“No.” Her tone was more depressed, and Kylo looked down to see her still pouting and keeping her gaze ahead. Sighing behind his helmet, Kylo exhaled, igniting a hiss through his vocoder while guiding the both of them through the threshold to the dead outdoors.

“Don’t worry too much about it. We will keep looking until we find something to your satisfaction,” he promised her, rather more confident than his partner at the moment. Hearing Nova make a simple noise while they both descend the stone steps, Kylo chuckled. “It’s very rare to see you like this,” he told her, catching her attention to look at him with a blink. “Being quiet about something that should be...exciting.”

“It’s not fun when the feeling went away,” she claimed. “What if it doesn’t come back, Kylo?”

Kylo thought it over, realizing the possibilities of the loss for whatever was attracting her. This wasn’t the first time Nova watched a planet they were passing by, yet it seemed that Vardos was suppose to hold some for of exciting discovery for her that allowed Snoke to let this exhibition to happen. If they were to return empty-handed, there might be an issue with the humanoid Master who was expecting more to come out of this mission. Knowing Nova, she didn’t particularly care for Snoke’s reaction or whatever outcome were to happen - however, Kylo knew Snoke better. He knows both of them better…

“Would you like to meditate,” he started softly, “to try and find it once more? At least a general direction. It would be better than nothing.”

Nova rocked her head from side to side, contemplating the idea before exhaling. “I suppose that’s the best option we got, isn’t it?”

Reaching the landing of the stairs, Kylo placed his hand on her shoulder and carefully turned her to face him. Angling her head upward with the touch of his gloved finger, he pressed the front of his mask against her forehead and the tip of her nose; imitating of connecting their foreheads with an affectionate gesture, just to make her perk up more.

“You’ll get it,” he assured her confidently. “You’re more powerful than you think, my love. You just need patience with this one, that’s all.”

Nova huffed, but smiled up to him. Somewhat returning the pressure, pressing her nose against the front material of the helmet where she knew his own nose was, hovering her lips where his would be. “Okay, I will,” she said with a more chipper voice.

“I’m going to get water from the shuttle,” Kylo told her before looking to the next building: a stall structure that was made from glass that seemed to withstand the numerous storms and catastrophes over the years, with no open cracks within any of the windows (although some cracks). He knew there was storage of Kyber crystals within safes inside, easy to break open with his lightsaber piercing through. “Go into the lobby of that building there and wait for me, alright? I won’t be long, just wait by the main door entrance.”

“Yeah!” Nodding in understanding, Nova turns and strolled across the abandoned street to the next building. Watching her climb the steps on her toes, avoiding the major crevice and missing chunks, Kylo then turned to approach the shuttle to retrieve water for himself and Nova before he heard a low rumble.

His head snapping around, he hurried to the building Nova entered not even a second ago to the dusty cloud flowing out of the propped entrance. Coming to a sudden stop, Kylo’s eyes widened at the sight of the sunken flooring of what used to be the lobby ground of the building. Dust rose from between the rubble, signifying to the young Commander that it just collapsed, with the woman nowhere in sight.

She was very much alive, yet he couldn’t see her anywhere above ground.

“Nova!” Kylo called out through his mask, unable to hear with the ground shaking and rubble clattered into the mess. His breathing quickening and feeling claustrophobic, Kylo ripped off his helmet and yelled as loud as he could, desperately:

“NOVA!”

Fun fact: The names of Knight of Ren, Lumiya and Vost, are canon apprentices to Darth Vader in the Star Wars franchise in various universes/story plots. They are not connected to the possible names to the film-canon Knights of Ren.

taglist: @ayatimascd @ymariejp @yippee-ki-yay-motherfucker460 @formerly-anonhamster @rosalynbair@redhairedfeistynerd @imyourdreamwife@kyloxfem @goth-pigeon @kylography

Remember, if you would like to be tagged for future chapters, please don’t hesitate to message me! I’d be more than happy to add you. Thank you for reading and I hope to hear from you!

[noblechaton]

Downpour

i’m not even really sure what this is besides ladrien trash lol. i guess i was just drabbling and it spun out of control so now i dunno what i wrote so uh, i’m just gonna toss it into the void lmao

AO3

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

“I knew it was supposed to rain-” Adrien quickly popped open his umbrella and hung it over Ladybug’s head. “But I didn’t think it was gonna get this bad. Sorry about that.”

“It’s okay, you don’t control the weather. As far as I know, anyway.” Ladybug chuckled, admiring the way rain dripped against her hand. “Besides, I...kinda like it.”

“It is pretty nice.” Adrien wrapped an arm around her waist. “I’ve always liked the way the river looks when it rains. It’s really...comforting.”

“Yeah.” Ladybug warmly smiled, glancing briefly out at the Seine and then up at him.

Her arm hooked around his and held him tight, more enamored by the way his face seemed to glow despite the dark, night sky and the darker storm clouds hanging above them.

Adrien kept his eyes on her, too, his heart started to feel lighter in his chest the longer he matched her loving gaze.

“I’m still glad we came out tonight. Even with the rain.”

“Me too.”

For a silent moment, the two considered staying where they were for the rest of the night. Warmly sharing each other’s company, and body heat, while cold rain dripped and splashed around them.

Such affectionate thoughts, however, were brought to an end with a loud crack of thunder.

“Er.” Adrien shook his head some. “We should...probably start heading back, soon. I don’t think either of us can really afford to catch a cold.”

“I don’t know.” A dim reflection of a lightning strike shined in Ladybug’s eyes. “It’d be fun, just taking care of each other for a few days.”

“You don’t have to get sick for me to do that.” Adrien warmly snickered. “Just gotta ask.”

“Okay.” Ladybug cuddled up to his side. “How about we make some chicken noodle soup when we get back, then? Y’know, just in case we do get sick.”

“Sounds good to me.” Adrien slipped his arm from her body and took her hand in his. “So long as you’re ready for the best chicken noodle soup you’ll ever have.”

“We’ll see about that.” Ladybug tightly held on to him while they started their walk back to his house.

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

“Jeez.” Adrien quickly shut the door behind him. “I didn’t think it’d get worse.”

“Guess I’m spending the night, huh?” Ladybug gave a wide smile.

“Guess you are.” Adrien happily agreed with a hug and tried to lay on the charm. “It’s always an honor to have you in my bed.”

“Phrasing, Agreste.” Ladybug snickered. “Unless we’re saving that soup for later.”

“Yeah, no, we, um, we’re still...” Adrien resigned to the crimson red on his face. “We’ll get that going once we get warm.”

“There you go.” Ladybug snuggled up close.

They stood at the entryway for a few minutes, simply holding one another and smiling through their embrace, gradually rubbing and squeezing on each other as a means to try and raise the temperature. Try as they might, however, the rainwater didn’t seem like it wanted to dry off.

“Um, actually,” Adrien rubbed the back of his neck, knowing in advance just how bad what he was going to say was going to sound. “You should...probably get out of that suit.”

“My, Adrien, how bold of you.” Ladybug teased. “Was this your plan all along?”

“No, I didn’t mean it like,” Adrien stammered. “You’re just...wet. Not in that way, I don’t think, I mean, I’m wet, too, but-”

“I know what you meant.” Ladybug shushed his flustered nerves with a light giggle. “I just wanted to see you blush a little more.”

“Of course you did.” Adrien took a soft, relieved breath. “So, um, do you want any clothes to change into?”

“It’s probably better than walking around in wet underwear. From the rain, they’d be wet from the rain, since my suit got soaked and they might be wet, but...” Ladybug intentionally trailed her thought off.

“Phrasing,” Adrien couldn’t help but smirk. “Bugaboo.”

“Let’s just...get to your room before it gets any worse, yeah?”

“Yeah.” He nodded.

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

“So,” Adrien rummaged through his closet. “Anything in particular you wanna wear? I’ve got all sorts of stuff in here. Haven’t cleaned it out in ages.”

“Got any really big shirts?” Ladybug leaned around him to better look at her options. “Like, an extra extra large t-shirt or something.”

“Hm…” Adrien tossed a few garments out until he seemed to stumble across something that fit her description. “How about this?”

He swiftly pulled a pink tinted shirt off the rack and held it up for her to see, though his eyes went a bit wide once he realized what was printed on the front of the shirt.

“I heart LB.” Ladybug read it aloud with a grin, snickering at the way the heart was colored red with black polka dots. “Isn’t that a tourist shirt?”

“Yeah, I, um…I just really liked the design.” He blushed. “And this was the last one they had in stock, so.”

“I bet it looks cute on you.” She cupped the side of his face and took the hanger from him.

“Not as cute as it’ll look on you.” Adrien smiled. “Er, um, right, pants. You’ll need pants.”

“Any sweatpants in there?” Ladybug asked after he ducked back into the closet.

“Uh…” Adrien thumbed through a few different racks. “I think they might be in the wash.”

“A closet that big,” Ladybug scoffed. “And you don’t have any sweatpants?”

“Hey, it’s been really hot out.” Adrien double checked a few hangers. “They probably got put somewhere else. Or in storage.”

“Alright, well” Ladybug held her chin. “What else do you got?”

“Hm, a bunch of the same pair of jeans, some really beat up basketball shorts-”

“Why do you have so many of the same jeans, anyway?”

“They’re part of an outfit. The outfit. Speaking of, you should see how many of the same shirt I have in here.”

“I can only imagine.”

“Anyway, uh, looks like the only other things are-” He stuck his head out with a notable tinge of red on his cheeks. “Some...boxers.”

“Oh.”

“Freshly washed,” Adrien held up two pairs with a nervous smile, one black with a dark green trim and the other white with a brighter green trim. “If that helps.”

“Uh.” Ladybug had a slight blush of her own at the mere sight of his underwear. “The, um, the black pair seems a little more poofy, so I’ll take those.”

“Alright.” Adrien handed them over and shut the closet door. “You should be all set.”

“Wait.” Ladybug somewhat anxiously bit at the corner of her lower lip. “I know this is gonna sound silly, but...do you have any masks?”

“Actually,” Adrien rubbed the back of his neck and scrunched his face some. “There’s this costume party thing coming up, and...”

“And?”

“And...maybe I’m going in a Ladybug costume.”

“Again?” Ladybug giggled. “Haven’t you gone as me for most of these types of parties now? I know you’ve been doing it for the last like, five years, at least.”

“It’s a good look.” Adrien smirked.

“That’s fair.” Ladybug agreed. “You do look really good in red.”

“Exactly.” Adrien stepped towards the bathroom door with some replacement clothes of his own. “Just, gimme a sec to go grab the mask and change, I’ll be right back with the mask.”

“Take your time.” Ladybug smiled, snickering at him waving before he disappeared into his bedroom.

With a soft, loving sigh, she turned around and laid out the clothing they’d picked out on the counter. It wasn’t quite an outfit, or at least, not a very good one, but it was so very Adrien that she wouldn’t have been surprised if he’d worn such a combination in his spare time. The slightly worn nature of the shirt told her that much.

“Alright. Tikki,” She exhaled. “Spots off.”

A warm, pink glow illuminated the room for just an instant.

“Aw, don’t give me that look.” Marinette plead innocence to her Kwami. “It was...storming, like, really badly.”

“I understand,” Tikki gave her a caring, yet mildly concerned look. “But you’re making a habit out of this, Marinette.”

“I know.” Marinette’s head dipped down. “I just…”

Her sentence wasn’t allowed time to finish, as the sounds of footsteps rapidly approaching interrupted her thought.

“Hide!” She whispered and watched the Kwami zip around the shower wall in the nick of time.

There was a moment before he came back that she thought about greeting him like this, with no suit, mask, or any clothes at all, really. Sure, revealing herself to him in her underwear probably wasn’t the best way it could go, but the temptation was there. What better way to reveal your secret identity, right?

Whatever deliberations she had, though, faded away with the sound of the door creaking a little further open.

“I think you’re really gonna like this mask, it’s...” Adrien fell silent after taking little more than a step back into the room, awestruck at the sight of her back.

“Oh, er-” He realized he was staring by the time his eyes reached the straps around her shoulders and quickly covered his eyes. “Sorry, I’m sorry! I didn’t see anything! I should have knocked!”

“It,” Ladybug let out a contemplative breath and dipped her head forward, throwing away the brief thought of letting him see her as she was. “It’s okay, just...give me a minute.”

“Yeah, yeah, um,” Adrien blindly tried to hand her the mask. “Here. It should, uh, fit you pretty well. One size fits all and all that.”

“Thank you.” Ladybug cooed, wrapping the string around her head and adjusting the mask. “You can open your eyes, by the way.”

“Are you sure, you’re down to your underwear. It’s nothing I haven’t seen before, but,” Adrien took a breath to keep whatever composure he still had. “Just. Okay.”

Slowly, he pried his fingers away from his face and was greeted by the exact sight he’d expected. Knowing what was coming, what was standing in front of him, however, didn’t stop him from blushing wildly.

“Wow.” Adrien picked his jaw up off the floor and shook his head, tying his best not to stare at her undergarments. 

“Back at you.” Ladybug smirked, seeing that he was wearing little more than a fluffy white bathrobe. “I always did love that thing.”

“Yeah,” Adrien smiled back. “That might be why I grabbed it.”

“Anyway, I, uh,” He inched forward and dipped his head to hers. “I guess I should give you the room and go get that soup started, huh?”

“Yeah,” Ladybug gently grabbed at his robe and briefly slipped into a kiss, the scent and taste of rain strong on her lips. “I guess you should.”

“Don’t take too long.” Adrien teased.

“Mhm.” Ladybug warmly sighed through her nose. “I’ll be right out.”

[onceandfutureoshainspector]

- that feels like it might be a lampshade, confirming that this is a man in the iron mask thing, DIMA didn’t expect NICK to show up here. a bit of a relief, as this probably disproves my “DIMA lured NICK here to scrap him for parts” theory.

- this place looks like a very cramped, cluttered, improvised medical procedure room? i don’t think this place was designed to be an operating theatre for full body transplants, which makes the fact that DIMA brought KYE here and then abandoned it to its loneliness all the more fucked up.

    - there are multiple beds in here - i thought that altering AVERY 2.0 to look like AVERY 1.O would be more or less plastic surgery, but this might indicate that a more literal form of full body transplant took place here? not the bones, obviously, but this isn’t the INSTITUTE, DIMA couldn’t just 3d print a body to specification, and for that matter would be limited in the way of resources for non-barbie-doll-looking alterations of appearance. he might have had to physically transfer soft tissues from the donor to the recipient.

        - this might explain why AVERY’S SKULL is a quest item - it has actually been seen uncovered by a face, by the one who removed it and the one who now wears it.

- the only thing in here of significance is this thing. it’s worse than every gun that i’m carrying, but that does seem to be a lot of unique mods for one weapon, so i’ll see what i can do with it next time i’m messing around with a WORKBENCH.

    - no idea what “DECEMBER’S CHILD” is a reference to. i think i might have seen it somewhere at some point, like in one of those “monday’s child is x, tuesday’s child is y, etc” nursery rhyme things, but even there i’m not sure.

- this perplexes me even more. DIMA told KYE to only let him into this room, but the only thing in here is a gun, with apparently no relevance to anything else in this place. even the body that he didn’t want anyone to find was just buried out there in the entry room. was this AVERY 1.0’s gun, maybe? why didn’t her replacement take it then? i feel like i’ve got a handful of puzzle pieces, but none of them are from the same picture.

- tried to talk to KYE again to idk say hi? ask if it wanted me to stick it on a HOLOTAPE and get it out of here (or for that matter, that extra storage drive that i couldn’t give to FARADAY!!!!!!)? i can’t activate the intercom again though. glitch maybe? the fact that it has a name and a personality would indicate that it has more of a function than opening one door and never speaking again.

- climbed back into my POWER ARMOUR, heading up and out.

[pyrewriter]

Stories and Surrender (Part 1)

Adrien had just severed the last tithe that connected him to everything he has ever known, now he had nothing but what he stuffed in his bags and whatever was in his bank account. Considering what his previous occupation was and the fact he was the son of a famous designer he was probably better off than most runaways. That didn't mean it was going to be easy, from now on he has to lie about who he is and hope that no one sees through his charade.  

Adrien groaned as he remembered that all of this was on top of being Chat Noir one of Paris' saviors, then he remembered he had a loose end to tie up. This time however he would be ready for whatever Wild Willy threw at him. Adrien ran to find somewhere to put his belongings and safely transform but he didn't trust an alley to be safe not with search parties roaming that is. Looking around, he spotted an underground station "There, I can use the luggage storage" he thought making his way to the entrance and down the stairs.      

Once his only possessions were secure now he just needed to find a place to transform but Adrien didn't want to waste time so the bathrooms would have to do. Looking over his shoulder as he entered and checking every stall he deemed the room clear "Plagg, Claws-".

Plagg stopped him asking "WAIT wait don't you wanna know about your new threads?".

Adrien raised an eyebrow "What do you mean 'new threads' Plagg?" 

Doing a little spin he explained "Hehe well my boy as you know every suit is different for each wielder correct" Adrien nodded motioning for him to go-on. Continuing he said "Well they change to fit the current wielders needs and hide their Identities".

Still confused Adrien asked "Ok so what does all that mean exactly?". 

Plagg only smiled stating "Transform and see, I think you'll like the new look".

"Oook then Plagg, Claws Out" the transformation to Chat Noir did feel different but he was curious as to what Plagg meant by "New threads". He left the stall and looked in the mirror thinking it would be easier to see the changes in a reflection. His costume was completely redesigned only ears were unchanged and his tail was almost the same as it was but the rest of his new look was new.  

The mask that once covered his eyes was gone and was replaced with one that hid his mouth, dull white wisps seemed to float and churn in the black of the mask. As he reached to inspect his new mask the wisps shifted and molded themselves into question marks seeming to emulate the expression he was making. Chat decided to test this by making multiple faces from a smile to a frown and the white wisps moved to form a shape that projected his expression. 

Shifting his gaze downward slightly he realized that his prior observation was not totally correct as the costume did still have some skin tight elements. He had a slightly loose fitting short sleeve two tone jacket with spare pockets and an extra high collar, green highlights the same color as his eyes accented it nicely. Underneath was a skin tight under shirt that extended down his biceps to about his elbow before changing to wraps. His gloves were still present but his signature bell seemed to be missing.  

Looking down at the rest of himself he discovered he had a loosely wrapped belt with green stitching that still doubled as his tail. A small jingle caught his attention, lifting his coat he found where his bell had gone it was now dangling from his belt. He wore slightly baggy pants that tapered to skin tight as they reached his knees and transitioned into his shoes.  His shoes had a split toe and looked more like a ninja shoe than anything else. Out of sheer curiosity he lifted his foot to take a look and found another green accent that matched the symbol on his ring. 

Chat continued to look at himself in the mirror until a random citizen opened the door to the bathroom, the sound of the door shook Chat from his trance snapping him back to reality. They stared at each other for a moment before Chat gave the citizen a nod and left the bathroom to start his search for Wild Willy. Once Chat was back on the surface he reached for his staff ,which was thankfully in its usual spot, and launched himself onto the roof of the nearest building.

His new outfit however gave him an odd compulsion to try out a new technique for traversing the rooftops of Paris. Ordinarily he would run and use his staff to propel himself if he needed to bridge a gap but now he wanted to test his limits. The transformation had always enhanced physical abilities ,that much was obvious, but he had pulled off feats of agility he previously thought impossible while not transformed as well.  

Getting a running start he took a leap of faith aiming for the roof across the street from him, to his joy he made the jump easy. He continued to do this as he made his way across Paris finding his new method to feel more natural and fluid. When this Wild Willy business was over and he got a new life started he would seriously have to consider taking up free running but that would have to wait.  

Willy had left his alley and was wandering the streets gardening stares from most with others outright running away at the sight of him. Willy had tried to talk to a few passersby but they all neatly fainted and some had pissed themselves in fear of what they thought he was going to do. After a while he tipped his hat forward hiding his face in shame and regret at what he had become. Only the cling of his spurs and the murmurs of the terrified citizens accompanied him as he aimlessly walked the streets hoping to meet once more with Chat Noir.

Meanwhile Chat was getting used to his new outfit and keeping an eye out for a certain cowboy but so far he had no luck. After an hour or so of running he found himself near the school he decided to check in to see how his former classmates and friends were doing. He didn't want to be blatant with his interest however as it was after school and Chat Noir just dropping by would be strange. He prepared himself to take a dive, making it look like a misjudged jump but he planned to land on his feet and tumble. With a purposeful over shoot he plummeted into the courtyard smashing a bench and kicking up dust in the process.  

His former classmates were gathered in the courtyard all seeming to be talking about something as a group. Upon his sudden entrance however they all gasped and screamed not knowing who or what just fell from the sky. When the dust settled he could see they were all staring at him in confusion he tried to get up but struggled to pull himself from the rubble. After a few failed attempts he let out a sigh looking to the class "Little help?". Juleka was the only one to step forward offering him her hand which he took, as she pulled he gave one last effort to free himself and he was suddenly standing.  

Letting go of her and cracking his back "Thank you" he said 

Juleka fixed her hair replying "No problem, it's the least I can do"

"You guys seemed pretty deep in conversation, what was it about if you don't me asking" he said still stretching and cracking. 

"We were organizing a search for a friend of ours" Alya was the one who spoke up this time and of course she had her phone out recording everything since the crash.

"Oh nngh really for who, where'd he go" he asked feigning ignorance while he dusted off.

"A boy named Adrien Agreste ran away and he could be injured...hey maybe you-" he knew what Alya was about to say and he hated what he was about to tell her.

"I'm sorry to hear that but I don't have time to help" he cut her off with a dismissive tone turning around grabbing his staff and launching onto the roof.  

"Wha-WHAT!" while the others were shocked and confused Alya was furious about what Chat Noir had just done and said to her.  After a few minutes of fuming and incoherent angry rambling she finally spoke clearly again "Slight change of plans Juleka, Nino, your with me, the rest of you stick to the plan".  

"What are you guys gonna do?" Kim asked sounding concerned.

"We're going to tail the no-good street cat and see what's so important that he can't help look for Adrien" she stated with anger in her voice

In one collective voice the class let out a single "RIGHT!" and all walked out of the school splitting up to cover more ground. Juleka, Nino, and Alya however ran in the direction they last saw Chat Noir heading, spotting him after only a few minutes. They did have to ask around for directions but it didn't take long at all but when they did find him and were about to confront him he seemed a little preoccupied.  

"You're a hard man to find, Willy!" Chat yelled standing on his staff which was currently bridging the gap between two buildings. 

"Hehe I could say the same for you, Chat Noir" Willy yelled back looking exhausted and tired after almost an entire day of walking with no food or rest.  

"So how are we going to settle this?" Chat asked crossing his arms Willy drew his gun but Chat was surprised when he threw it to him. Catching it he quickly pointed its barrel at the cowboy, finger on the trigger.

"I figured I'd let you decide how this ends" Willy said raising his arms in a gesture that seemed to show he accepted whatever happened next. 

Still pointing the gun "WHY?" Chat asked with authority in his voice.

Willy shook his head "I never signed up for what I did and frankly...I don't wanna do this anymore". Chat relaxed, lowering the gun he dropped to street level and threw the gun back to Willy who fumbled to catch it. He looked at it then to Chat confusion plastered on his face.

"You're not getting out of this that easy" Chat said walking over to him "-but I'm not going to fight you either".

"But-" Willy tried to protest 

Chat cut him off "Where'd you sleep last night?" he asked raising an eyebrow.

Willy sighed "An Alley next to a construction site, but what does it matter aren't you just gonna de-evilize me once Ladybug shows up aren't you?" they were face to face now.

"Ladybug isn't in Paris right now so no and it matters because if your powers haven't been taken from you and you don't work for Papillon you can't go home" Chat stated. He started walking "Now follow me". 

Willy rushed to catch up "Where're we goin an-and what do ya mean Ladybugs not in Paris" he asked even more confused now.

"The police station, you're going to turn yourself in because villain or not you don't deserve to sleep in an alley and besides I can tell you haven't eaten" both their stomachs growled. It had been almost a whole day since either of them had a decent meal let alone a hot one and the mention of food made that fact very apparent. "And it's exactly how it sounds LB has been gone for about a month now".

"Well it sounds like you're in a pretty similar boat" Willy joked.

Chat chuckled "Yeah, hey I know this great bakery that's on the way, let's get something to eat before we turn you in". Alya had been recording the grand majority of the whole interaction ,of course, and was more confused than furious now.  

"So what now, are we gonna follow them?" Nino asked 

"No, they won't be going anywhere worth the chase" she wanted to follow them to the station but that could wait until later for now she needed to focus on the search for Adrien. Motioning for them to follow Alya told them "Come on, let's get back to the search for Adrien with any luck we'll find him before Marinette gets back from her family reunion". 

"Kinda hope we have bad luck in that case" Nino muttered under his breath so neither of the girls could hear. He was the only other person who ,at least partly, knew what was going on with Adrien but he couldn't tell that to anyone, not even his girlfriend. Nino followed behind Alya and Juleka who were looking in every alley and asking anyone who would listen if they had seen their Adrien. No one had of course, no one except that unfortunate couple who had seen him climb over the wall. 

"Um ar-are you looking for that Agreste boy?" asked a voice from behind them, it belonged to a woman who looked rather timid. 

"W-we know it's not much but we saw him jump the wall of his house, at least I think it was him" the man spoke this time.

Alya practically pounced at the couple "Really, was he ok? did he look like he was running from something?".

"No-I mean ugh we don't know, all we saw was someone that looked like the Agreste boy climbing over the wall with bags, he saw us and gestured for us to not say anything. After that we ran and that was the last time we saw him but he didn't look hurt or scared or anything" the woman explained.  

Alya let out a sigh of relief "Ok so he's not running from anything that's good thank you, both of you" the couple nodded and walked away holding each other. The three of them continued their search while the rest of the class scoured the rest Paris in an effort that only one of them knew was a lost cause. Even if everyone knew the facts however it would be unlikely that they would stop trying to find him.  

Chat and Willy walked in relative silence as they made their way down to the bakery, as they got closer Chat checked his pockets. After a quick pat down he pulled out a twenty.

"You just have that on you?" Willy asked sarcastically.

Chat deadpanned "Yeah, my wallets in my other pants so I always carry some money in my suite" 

"I see, and while we're on the topic of suits what's with your new get-up?" 

Chat tugged his jacket "Well since I can't exactly show my face I needed something to hide...what happened" Chat wanted to keep what happened to him secret. "-and I was getting kinda tired of the old suite anyway so here we are," he explained.

Willy shrugged "That makes the most sense I guess, how you holdin up after 'what happened' by the way?".

"Still hurts" Chat stated plainly, after a few minutes of walking they had reached the bakery. "Stay right here I'll be back with some macaroons and croissants" he went inside leaving Willy outside while he got them something to eat. Chat placed his order "Three croissants and a half dozen macarons please, whatever you have on hand is fine".

While he waited for Chat Willy stood outside trying to ignore the stares and whispers around him, looking over at the park he saw the statue of Ladybug and Chat Noir that stood in the park. "Not the best pose they could choose is it" he thought aloud.

"No not really but I didn't design it so c'est la vie" Chat had come out of the shop without Willy noticing.  

"Ah-jeez you bout scared the piss outta me" Willy jumped not realizing Chat was next to him.  

"You want a macaroon or a croissant?" Chat asked digging into the bag of pastries.

"Croissant please" Willy replied holding out his hand.

"There you go, let's go find somewhere to enjoy this stuff" Chat stated.

"Aren't we supposed to be turning me into the cops?" 

"I ain't got nowhere else to be or go but if you're so eager I suppose we could go straight there" Chat said with a sarcastic mocking tone.

"Hehe guess our situations ain't that different after all" Willy mumbled under his breath before, in a clearer voice "Nah let's go enjoy our treats". Together Willy and Chat went to find a bench down by the waterfront to enjoy the only food that either of them have had for most of the day. When they found a spot that looked secluded enough Chat removed his new mask and chowed down on one of the other croissants. 

"Mmmm I love that bakery, they make the best croissants in all of Paris" Chat said before taking another bite. Willy was sitting to his left watching him as he ate staring at the scar left by the shot.

"Man I really did a number on ya didn't I" Willy said in a solemn regret filled voice.

Not wanting to try and talk with his mouth full Chat replied with "Nhnn" he swallowed "Yeah, still kicking though".  He sighed reclining further back before asking "So what made you get Akumatized anyway, if you remember?".

Willy took a deep breath before replying "My brother...my little brother" Chat brought himself to a sitting up position looking at the cowboy sitting next to him. 

"I'm all ears man"

"I only moved to Paris a few months ago from Mexico, we lived in a town that divided territories of two rival cartels".  He pulled out his gun "This used to belong to my little brother heheh he loved playing cowboy 'someday I'll be sheriff and keep the bad guys away' he'd say. I got my hands on a fake passport and cash but there was only enough for one person so I took it planning to get him over here legitimately". Tears were dripping from his face and his voice was getting strained.

"Hey-hey breath man breath..." Chat was tearing up himself but kept it together enough to comfort Willy.

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