#let’s be real though it should be the wraith and HER dirty hands

[lessnearthesun]

The fact that people in the Barrel probably refer to Kaz and Inej as a duo as “Dirtyhands and his Wraith” is so iconic and sexy

[bonnie-barstow-of-flag]

What Keeps You Up at Night part 2: Michael Knights Pov

Bonnie’s POV X

Dedicated to @aspacerat1 and two other people who begged me to write this.

For most silence is craveable, worth more than its own weight in gold. However, for Michael Knight, the quiet is intrusive. An invading force that extends its wicked tendrils into corners of his life he'd prefer to leave undisturbed. He had enough personal demons plaguing him without reawakening those wicked wraiths left to slumber in the wakes of the past.

Stirring, walking, and working forced those unsettling spirits to remain cast out to bay where they belonged. Observant azure orbs behold Wilton’s garage, taking note of the thermal pools of light exuding from within. Michael pauses outside the industrial doors, his fingers clasped around the solid steel handle. Dare he interlope on the work being done within? Would Bonnie be receptive to the encroachment on her territory at this hour? Or should he travel onwards like the wayfaring soldier he was? Warring deliberation is evident upon his striking face though it rests in the realms of darkness. The unyielding urge to investigate eventually wins over.

Barstow hears him though his practiced steps are hushed. A fact, he deduces, comes from having been snuck up on one too many times. He is pleasantly surprised when she does not berate his nosiness but rather, welcomes it. A whimsical Cheshire-cat-like grin snakes across his lips at her prodding. “Ya know, Bons, I could say the same thing.” He casually leans his weight against Kitt’s door.

For posterity's sake, he casts a glance down at his watch. His azure orbs briefly denote the time. It’s the bewitching hour of three when thick blankets of fog cuddle close to the ground and envelope everything including the skyscrapers of the far-off city. Darkness has not yet tasted the welcoming vibrancy of sunlight. Even still, the sky is gradually perfecting a reverse ombre. Thoughts of any realm outside the present garage fizzle into nothingness.

Michael is genuinely touched by her obvious concern. His lips part ways with a gentler, more tame smile. “I’m fine.” Suddenly, he is overly conscious about the focus of her eyes flashing over him. His large hand smooths through the luxuriously thick tangles of his dark curls, hoping to bring some measure of order to the otherwise half disheveled and unruly appearance. After a pause, he finally embellishes his answer to her question. “Figured I might as well make myself useful since I can’t sleep.” Devon surely had mountainous stacks of manila folders laying around with new cases. Some of them might even become the Foundation’s priority before too long. Yet, he’s not really interested in swimming through the black inked collections of information. By preference, he invests fully in his favorite prepossessing coworker.

His azure eyes practically glow, wired by mild disquietude as if they were neon lights when she lets out a huff. Had he ventured to ask something he shouldn’t have? He is about to apologize for any offense he may have dealt her when she finally begins to speak. Any semblance of a smile completely evaporates. Her first answer to his inquiry felt deliberately vague but in a way, he fully understood it. There had been so many instantaneous reactions and so many moments over the years that he would amend if he was ever given such an opportunity. Lingering at the top of that very list was the way he spoke to the poor dying Wilton Knight the day he stormed into the garage. Devon said Michael had just struck a dying man. That phraseology though simple haunted him still. He’d spend the rest of his life wishing he could take those venom-laced words back.

Sympathetically, Michael nods. In existence, there were probably a trillion comforting words he could offer. Begrudgingly, not a singular term would willfully lend itself to snuffing out her quieted sufferings. Even still, he refused to be dismissive of her pain. “I get it. Trust me, I do.” And the hideous truth was, he painfully did comprehend. He waits till she stands to draw nearer. “Look I know you don’t need me to tell you this,” Michael starts, ��but there’s no use in torturing yourself over the past. It just takes your mind away from your present.” A pause. “Besides, every mistake is a lesson propelling you on your way to success.”

“You stole that off some cheesy poster, didn’t you?” Bonnie playfully accuses.

Bonnie wasn’t wrong. He had pilfered some of it but adapted it to fit in his own lax lexicon. Notes of cheerfulness begin to creep back into his countenance and it is denoted in the softening of his eyes. “Well, it’s more like borrowed,” he cheekily returned. Stealing was such a dirty term.

Bon’s next confession cuts him to the quick. He felt as though he had been sucker-punched. The strangled breath that he emits attests to the awful palpable sensation of having been viciously belted by her words. “Bons...” Her nickname is expelled reverently, in the form of a near prayerful whisper. His hands which had been mindful of respecting her personal space now lurch forward, gingerly collapsing around the slopes of her shoulders. He swallows sharply with the realization of just how much responsibility she allowed to weigh down upon her shoulders. They’ve had their share of close calls but not a single one of them had occurred as a result of anything Bonnie had done. Michael couldn’t fathom how she’d ever shift that blame to herself.

Making sure he is holding her gaze, he speaks again. “You’ve never let either of us down. No matter how hopeless our situations have been. I know you constantly say that you’re a scientist, not a miracle worker, but I tend to think of you as both. Without your skills and expertise, neither of us would be here.” His chord is full of unwavering conviction. “I know you, Bon. You will never let Kitt and I peel out of this garage if you genuinely thought we would not return in, at the very least, a salvageable condition.” He knows that this will probably do little to assuage her fears. Yet, he is trying. Michael allows one hand to depart her shoulder to cup her face. His thumb purposefully swipes slow strokes across the smooth globe of her cheekbone half-committing her beauty to memory.

He can discern wisps of terror coiling through those turquoise pools of hers and immediately, his poor heart gives off a series of terrible thrashing pangs. He desired to remove that fear from her, to let her know that he and Kitt are always going to return to her. Perhaps, he thinks to himself; he should take some measures towards being less feckless. “We’re safe. We’re going to stay that way. I promise.” Sure, he knows he ought not to make vows that he is uncertain he can keep but it feels exceedingly important in this very moment to do just that.

He can feel unintentional crater-like chinks forming in his armor both physical and emotional. Shielding her from bearing witness to anything that may translate into the depths of his eyes, Michael opts to press a doting kiss to the expanse of her forehead. It’s a sin. He knows. But he allows the cracked leather of his lips to remain against the warm silk of her skin for a touch longer than he ought. While there, he reveled in the familiar scents of her shampoo and body wash. Man, oh man, he jealously coveted her the way pirates did their treasures.

Barstow’s question causes Knight to unintentionally recoil. It’s something he hadn’t allowed his mind to ruminate on. Hell, he can’t remember the last time he thought about the causes behind his insomnia. Withdrawing his lips and taking a step back, he elects to gaze upon her countenance. She deserved nothing but an honest answer.

The unspoken reply hits Michael the way a barreling freight train might. With every click along the tracks shot fleeting shadows, hollow phantoms of faces and places, resurrecting images imprinted on his mind. Whether they were imagined or real or an unholy collision of the two, he could not distinguish. There was nothing concrete left in the whirlwind the question created and still, the sparks felt indelible. Among these things, Michael dared not give a voice were: oppressively thick jungles with flickering silhouettes of soldiers traversing cautiously through them, glints off of silver and gold shields with the towering engraving of city hall etched in them and the casts of red and blue flashing lights, hot Nevada nights, his father and mother or a man and woman with near enough resemblance to Long, American flags draped over caskets, super-nova like bursts of light from guns being fired, and something- something way back in the blur of memory. He thinks though it is with no absolute clarity, that it might have been home. No. It is not his current place of residence but rather that of his, correction Michael Long’s, childhood. Having taken two bullets to the skull had done little to preserve the things most other people could never forget. Tanya Walker’s bullet managed to wipe out the most solid impressions of the past. While he was grateful not to relive a majority of the horrors and atrocities of Nam, he mourned the loss of recollection towards the rest of Michael Long’s life.

Somewhere along the way, the unspoken reminiscing to the lost voices of the past derails. It takes a wrong turn, spinning on an axis until it conjures up feelings of dread, anxiety, and intense anger. His fingers curl up, clenching tight at his side before going lax again. Just as quickly as the negative emotions arrived, they vanish.

Embarrassment flushes across his cheeks when he realizes that she is patiently staring and he had not given her a response. He had been floundering, drowning without hope of rescue, in things he couldn’t entirely understand himself. He’s never been raw and open about any of his wounds. Discussing them wasn’t going to be an easy feat.

Despite Michael Knight’s outward confidence, insecurities dogged his every step. “Sometimes,” he starts, his voice unusually gravely and husky. “Sometimes I lay awake, wondering why Wilton Knight chose me to carry on his legacy instead of someone else. Instead of Devon or .... or any number of readily available people.” His tongue trails briefly over the jagged edges of his lips. “If anyone deserved a second chance at life, Muntzy did.” It is a fact Michael whole-heartedly believed. He would have traded his life a hundred times over to ensure that poor Rebecca (Muntzy’s wife) and his three little girls wouldn’t have to face a life without their father.

Bonnie listened intently. Her eyes never daring to depart from him. She is so astonished by the revelation, that she finds herself at a rare loss for words. Her brows furrow in disbelief. In her mind, she never questioned Michael’s appointment to FLAG’s most trusted operative. Devon might have earned the position were he younger, more nimble, and less inclined towards a life of predictability. Sure, he had been wild in his youth but those days were long tossed to the wind. Regardless, Wilton had always been startlingly confident in his choice! There had been no doubt in his mind to Michael’s worthiness.

In a softer agonized tone, he rhetorically prods, “why me of all people?” He didn’t fancy himself as being overly special but more than that, he didn’t feel deserving of Wilton Knight’s incredible mantle. The extraordinary burden of which had been thrust upon his shoulders without his ever being asked with the demand that he walks away from everything and everyone he cherished. There hadn’t been one single moment where Michael had been gifted the opportunity to turn back. Michael Long was dead.  “What if I cease to make him proud? What if one man isn’t enough to make a difference?” He shifts uncomfortably. His hands briefly delving into the denim pockets of his jeans. His eyes dart around the garage before returning to her. Where he expected to find judgement, he found only empathy. Before she can open her mouth to further comment, he changes the subject.

Taking one of the cleaner rags he could find nearby, he starts running it along Kitt’s outer shell. It was easier to focus when he could be doing some menial task or other. Or so, he tells himself. “There are some nights where fragments of intelligence missions in Nam and my early days of police work come back to me. Can’t make odds or ends outta them but I know they’re there. They’re hopelessly jumbled like a tangled ball of yarn.” It was hard to put to words unless one had experienced it for themselves. It was like trying to recreate a phenomenal recipe with no real idea of what ingredients went into it. Even if you did, by some miracle, manage to secure all of the ingredients, there was still a mystery pertaining to measurements. When they’re all mixed together, it never really turns out like the original. Now, does it? Heck, sometimes it didn’t make for even a shallow reproduction.

When he tried to connect the dots of things that happened in Nam and on the big bad streets of Nevada and Los Angeles, they came out pixilated a kaleidoscope of images woven tightly together.  Everything would shift and warp with the slightest touch, altering in their entirety. Reality or fiction? It was impossible to discern which category each memory should be assigned to. There is no one he could ask to assist him with the task of making distinctions. A majority of his work gathering intel reports and sending them along in a timely manner had been highly classified. Worse still, there were no war or cop buddies who were made privy to the knowledge of Michael Long’s rebirth into Michael Knight. He had to circumnavigate lapses in memory on his own.

Relinquishing a frustrated breath, he continues in a low voice, “ there are nights when I close my eyes and see her. I see Tanya and that sharp burst of yellow light from the gun...” The words feel thick and he chokes a little. A frigid chill creeps down every vertebra in his spine. Even talking about it makes him recoil. He knows Bonnie wouldn’t ask him to further elaborate. She knows about the accident and a good bit of the aftermath.

Turning back to her with a plaintive expression, he decides to confess a terror that made every drop of his blood turn to ice. “Hear me out,” he starts, abandoning the cloth rag on Kitt’s T-top so that his hands might return to Bonnie’s frame. He hesitates, pulling his hands away from her shoulders at the last second and opting to cradle her face. “Those things are all intense but thoughts of losing you are by far the worst.” He spoke in a manner that left no debate towards his sincerity. Azure orbs vigorously drink her in. He’s lost one love and he made a vow before heaven and earth that he would stop at nothing to protect her.

[pumpkiwi]

“ The Farmer’s Daughter “

       I remember it all too well. My feet moved swiftly through the cornfield, my vision slowly decaying, barely catching my breath. The cold winds caused my running even more pain, and the moonlight didn’t help me much. I didn’t know what I was running from, I didn’t bother turning my back. For if I did, I’d be done for. The only thing I could hear aside from the ringing in my ears, was a girl singing a lullaby of some sort. I couldn’t make out the words at all. However, the singing wouldn’t stop. Suddenly, my foot met with a treacherous stone, concealed within the shadows, as if it were waiting for me. My body slammed hard into the dirt surface below. Letting out a sob, I pushed myself on my feet and looked up to see what exactly was chasing me.

A car horn blasted through my ears. I sat away from the taxi window, awaking from a cold sweat. Didn’t take too long for me to realize that it was all just a nightmare. A surreal nightmare.

“Outta my way, ya rats!” The old taxi driver barked in front of him. . His voice sounded like he had smoked seven cigarettes each and every hour of his life. He noticed me and flashed a ugly grin.

“I see ya finally awoke, old sport!” He chirped with glee. “How’d ya sleep?”

“Fine.” I answered back, “How far are we from the farm?”

“Ooh, only a few miles away! Don’t ya get yer panties in a bunch!”

The farm in question belonged to my uncle, Joe Norton. A large yet sweet man, heart full of gold. His hair matched mine, a copper brown. That was one of the few things we had in common. Despite that, I truly cared for him. That’s why I had to pack my bags and get to his farm as quick as I could. You see, ever since my cousin, Abigail, went missing this summer, things haven’t been the best. Not only was the grief unbearable, Uncle Joe told me all about how his crops were dying, as well as his animals. He didn’t have enough hands to help out. Being promised payment and food, I agreed to come.

“Oi, here we are, old sport! Badger Hill Farm!” The driver announced.

I took one look out my window and saw it: my childhood in mere ruins. Perhaps, I shouldn’t be too surprised. Uncle Joe was an old, divorced man with nothing but the pain and sorrow of his daughter’s disappearance. Strangely, he didn’t seem as worried as a parent should be. Maybe, he’s just keeping himself calm, as if it hasn’t been months. Poor bastard. Regardless, the farm gave me unnerving vibes. Maybe, it was just my anxiety kicking in again.

I escaped the taxi, waving the taxi man goodbye. There, on the ever so creaky porch, was Uncle Joe. His droopy eyes stared at his only company at this time. He then smiled.

“Good to see you again, my dear niece!”

I only huffed at his greeting.

“Nephew, Uncle Joe. I’m your nephew.”

“Right .. right. My apologies. How was the trip?”

“Fine.” I replied, “You doing okay yourself?”

The two of us went on a long conversation of each other’s lives, even though we already were pretty updated from our last call. As we talked, he took me around the maze of Badger Hills Farm. I knew it was going to be hard, from all the chores and tasks we had to complete. But, you would be surprised by my experience with farm life, even before my transition. So, it shouldn’t be too bad … right?

After a few exhausting days of cleaning, feeding and other various tasks, we celebrated with a small night of board games and chips. We played an old version of monopoly, as well as watched some TV for the first time in forever. His favorite show was this old black and white show that reran on some channel I’ve never heard of. It was about a vampire being neighbors with a werewolf, one of the episodes was about the human protagonist witnessing a murder being commited by one of the two. I liked it too. So, on that stormy night, we binge watched the hell out of it. Before one of the episodes could properly end, however, the lights shut off. As expected, it scared the devil out of me. But, Uncle Joe was happy to comfort me.

“Don’t ya worry yer butt off, Gabe.” He told me, rising up from his worn out chair. “I’ll go and take care of that.”

Uncle Joe grabbed the flashlight from the nearby counter and soon enough, left the front door, closing it behind him. There, I sat in the dark, alone. Funny enough, I used to be afraid of the dark, mainly of what could be in it. I’d always have my nightlight on, as if it would wear away any creatures or ghouls. Now that I was older, I knew better.

A shuffle of movement swimmed beside me. I jumped from my seat, glancing the direction it came from. Couldn’t have been a mouse, maybe a cat? Uncle Joe didn’t own a cat. Then, I heard it. That same singing from my dream. However, this time, I could understand the lyrics…

“ Wolves asleep amidst the trees

Bats all are swaying in the breeze

But one soul lies anxious wide awake

Fearing all manner of ghouls, hags and wraiths

For your dolly Polly sleep has flown. “

The singing alerted me greatly. I didn’t stay for the song to finish. So much so, I dropped everything and bursted through the front door. Someone was in that house, I thought. I need to warn Uncle Joe. However, I couldn’t find him or the shed he must have been at.  What came next was similar to my dream. Running through the endless field in fear, unsure of who was coming after me, the endless singing of a song I had never heard of before. The rain had already taken a toll to my clothes, weighing me down as I ran. That unfaithful stone took out my ankle once more. I finally had a look at who I was chased back.

No… it couldn’t be…

There, floating up above me was my dearest cousin. Execpct, she didn’t look like herself. Her eyes were blank like a Tv screen, with a bloody rose covering her left eye, as well as an area around her chest. Her brown, long hair was as dirty as the ground below me and her outfit torn. I sat there, frozen in place, wondering if this was some sort of sick joke.

“ Abby..?” My eyes filled with tears, shaking at the cold, hard rain.

“What… W-hat happened to you? Why… what?”

Her gloved hands held out to me, as if reaching out to help me up. To my surprise, I could hold her hand. I rose up from the ground, still taking in what I was seeing. She released her grip and  stared down my soul before her haunting voice spoke:

“Follow me.”

Her body wasped through the air gently, making sure I was with her. There was no way in hell I would run off. But, despite that, I wanted to know why or what. What happened to her? Eventually, she led me to a now ruined garden. It had been blocked off from the farm itself, most likely due to the respect of Uncle’s daughter. All the flowers were deader than whatever she has been corrupted into. My nose cringed at a rotting and nasty smell.

“This is where he killed me.” She suddenly croaked, no emotions whatsoever.  

“Who..?” I nervously asked her.

“...Father.”

My heart stopped at her words.

“Uncle.. Joe? But … he’s old. And, he’s so sweet…”

“No.” A growl erupted from her. “He isn’t. He’s a murderer. He’ll kill you too if he finds out you know.”

I had to process this. All the things I had ever thought… is that why Uncle Joe was so calm about her becoming missing? I wanted to puke at the mere thought of it. A father killing his own daughter? Why? What was the motive?

“Why.. did he kill you?”

An index finger shot at the nearby flower beds. My gut twisted at what I even thought.

“You .. weren’t the only one..?”

She nodded firmly. I lifted the empty flower bed to reveal one of the almost decayed out corpses. The sight caused me to instantly drop the flower bed. I covered my mouth and nose to prevent myself from throwing up. This can’t be real. It can’t be. It has to be a dream.

Soon, bad news rolled in. The wet steps of mud trailed behind me. Uncle Joe stood there in the rain, holding a crowbar of somesorts. His happy smile that I always saw was twisted into a deep, dark frown.

“So… you found out, huh?” He questioned me. “You found her garden.”

It didn’t take long for me to realize what was going to happen if I stayed put. I was going to end up like Abigail. I raced over the fence and hopped over that bitch. He had thrown the crowbar at the fence, barely missing my back. Uncle Joe followed in pursuit, in a different route. I felt like I was in a horror movie, my heart pounding against my chest and running as quick as I could. I didn’t know where, but somewhere away from here.

“GET BACK HERE!” HIs voice boomed from behind me. “I AIN’T GONNA HURT YA! PLEASE, GABBY!”

I made it to that same dirt road I  entered from. A red pick-up truck happened to be driving on that said road. Taking my chances, I got in front of it, waving my arms fractionally at the driver. Luckily for me, he stopped inches away from me. Checking back on where Uncle Joe was, he near damned was right there. The driver must have seen him, waving me to get in.

In a panic, I hopped on the back of the truck, holding on the edge for dear life. The truck began to drive away as quickly as he humanly could.

I still remember seeing Uncle Joe standing in the middle of that road, watching me with cold, evil eyes. That day, I found out the truth about him and Badger Hill Farms. A death trap it was. He was planning on killing me off that night, and I know.

I have to report him to the authorities, about the missing cases and everything. But, that was going to be my next step. For right now, I took in my freedom with a sigh and laid back on that truck.

I was alive.

[clansayeed]

Bound by Circumstance ― Chapter 8: The Tower Upright

PAIRING: Nik Ryder x trans*M!MC (Taylor Hunter) RATING: Mature

⥼ MASTERLIST ⥽

⥼ Bound by Circumstance ⥽

Taylor Hunter (MC) has made it good for himself in New Orleans; turns out moving to a new city fresh out of college to reinvent yourself isn’t as hard as people make it out to be. Things only start to get confusing when he finds himself the target of a malevolent wraith. Good thing someone’s looking out for him though — because without Nighthunter Nik Ryder as his bodyguard he definitely won’t survive long in the twisting darkness of the supernatural underworld he’s tripped into.

Bound by Circumstance and the rest of the Oblivion Bound series is an ongoing dramatic retelling project of the book Nightbound and the rest of the Bloodbound series. Find out more [HERE].

Note: Circumstance only loosely follows the events and plotline of Nightbound, and features a separate antagonist, different character motivations, and further worldbuilding.

*Let me know if you would like to be added to the Circumstance/series tag list!

⥼ Chapter Summary ⥽

Ryder and Taylor head to local out-of-the-way voodoo vendor Laveau’s for the final ingredient in their protection ritual. While he waits, Taylor gets his fortune told by the real deal—a spirit medium descended from Marie herself.

[READ IT ON AO3]

Krom’s barely through the threshold before Taylor pounces; hovers around him comically short and buzzing like a gnat.

“So, what did they say? Do I need to call — I don’t have my phone, shit — please tell me I’m not cut from the show.”

Luckily the stone troll looks freaked-out enough to get him to stop and apologize. “Sorry,” he mutters, “I just…”

“No, no I completely understand!” Krom scratches the tips of his head and laughs it off, “I just didn’t want to step on you.”

“He’s not that short.” calls Ivy from her booth at the back.

Taylor shrugs it off. “But I appreciate it.”

“Anyway; the company manager’s a little mad no one could reach you but I convinced them to give you a week of sick leave? Even though there was this one weirdly giddy guy…”

They join Ivy on either side. Taylor groans and rubs his hand over his face.

“That would be Antoni. He doesn’t matter. I really appreciate you doing this for me, Krom.”

“It’s no trouble!” And the troll’s voice is so filled with sincerity he has no trouble believing it.

“That’s our darling Krom.” Garrus returns behind the bar with his tray of collected dirty steins and beer glasses. “He’s like an angel; always helping others. You’ve got nothing to prove sweetheart — you know that.”

Ivy answers Taylor’s question before he even has the chance to ask it; “Stone trolls have a bit of a rep’ around here. You saw their natural element at Persephone.”

“Bodyguards, hired muscle, and the like.” Krom agrees; pointedly trying to keep his voice his usual baritone despite Garrus’ casual compliments.

“So you’re a pacifist?”

“In the flesh — so to speak.”

There’s a thud from behind and all eyes turn to see a stack of crates stumbling out from behind the back room curtain. Not hovering in midair as Taylor originally thought but carried by a very red-faced Cal. Who still forces on a smile through his gritted teeth at Garrus.

“Where… where?”

The fae gestures with a bony finger. “Just leave ‘em behind here. I’ll unpack before the evening rush.”

He slams them down before Taylor can even try to offer help — grumbles under his breath about something he can’t quite catch but he knows Cal’s grateful to Garrus for giving him a place to stay. He must be paying off the stupor he drank himself into following their return as less-than-triumphant heroes.

“I should start taking in strays more often — pun not intended,” Garrus teases but all in good humor; especially when he slides a cool glass of water for Cal to chug when his hands are free, “someone to do the heavy lifting around here and all that.”

Krom shifts in his seat. Something so subtle only the two beside him notice it. But Ivy doesn’t give him the chance to let it go and kicks his rock of a leg with her heels.

“I — I could help with whatever you need, Garrus?” Even though it comes out as more of a question than anything.

The look the two exchange is strange but fond. Garrus’ eyes softening under the twinkling lights. Maybe he regrets what he said — or the implications behind it.

“But if you’re laboring around here then what would I have to look at for inspiration?”

Not the smoothest save, in Taylor’s opinion. But Krom acts like it’s the highest form of praise and brushes the compliment off with a wave.

“Are they always like this?” Taylor whispers to Ivy. The revenant just sighs and nods. A long-suffering struggle on her end no doubt.

Heavy footfalls on metal steps herald Ryder’s arrival from the apartments above. He looks around and beelines towards Taylor in a way that almost has him jumping and hiding.

“You, me; let’s go.”

“That’s not how you ask a man out on a date, Nik.” chides Ivy as she pushes the mortals together.

“What?” He blinks; shakes himself out of whatever thoughts compelled him to seek Taylor out. “Wh — shut up, Iv’.”

“Right,” she winks, “he’ll go with you anyway. It’s part of your brutish charm.”

“Shut up, Iv’.” Taylor parrots with a glare. “Is the spell finally ready?”

Not that he’s not enjoying his time at the Shift. And following the disaster that was the Bayou and Persephone he’s not exactly eager to go into other supernatural spaces any time soon.

But he’s never been one to stay cooped up for long.

Ryder huffs. “Not quite. Damn toad wart expired. Luckily though there’s a shop down the road that carries simple ingredients — so put away that grin Iv’. I’m done owin’ you for now.”

Probably a good thing judging by the low witchy cackle she gives instead.

“So let’s get goin’, hustle hustle.”

“But wait — is it safe?” Taylor follows anyway. Keeping at the Nighthunter’s heels is practically his new job. “You didn’t even want me leaving for the theater.”

“I’ll be right there.”

“With your hallelujah arrows, right?”

“Holy light arrows, Rook. You sound like an idiot when you say that.”

“Well now I’ll keep doing it to piss you off.”

“‘Course, because why would you do anything else?”

Their bickering continues out onto the ruins of another day of Mardi Gras fun. At least some things never lose a sense of normalcy.

It’s a small shop — one of those ‘blink and you’ll miss it’ types. The shop name LAVEAU’s is hand-painted above a doorway embellished with the classic purple, green, and golden plastic beads of the season’s parties.

Taylor stops Ryder before he opens the door. “‘Laveau’s’ like…?”

“Read the signs, Rook.”

There they are clear as day; painted by the same hand as the top sign but with an artist’s frustration behind every black-painted stroke. One on the door declaring ‘Yes, like Marie herself’ and then one blue-tacked beneath it; ‘Not Affiliated with Marie Laveau’s House of Voodoo.’

“Oh. Got it.”

While the outside may lack the flair and panache that attracts the usual tourist crowds the inside is a whole other looking glass. Probably looks the way it does to differentiate between those who want fake dolls to poke with pins and those who want a real hex to mess with.

God, he’s talking about real hexes. When had this become his life?

Together they weave through the cluttered mess of uneven shelves and their uneven products. Books stacked flat where they’d fallen over at some point and left that way with little concern. A bundle of glass-looking orbs balancing precariously without cradle to keep them from rolling off the edge. A plant hanger in the middle of the room holds a pile of sage sticks just there. At second glance some look a little used.

The back ‘counter’ isn’t even that. It’s a folding table with a frayed tablecloth unevenly distributed atop and an old and rusting register in the corner.

First Taylor sees the joint resting in an ash tray made out of a mason jar lid. Only when it’s picked up and placed between two pink lips does he realize the man sitting kiddie-corner to the till.

“Welcome, wayward souls, to another side of the witch you know,” he recites as if from a script; monotone — doing everything he can to dissuade those who might darken his doorstep, “everything you see is one hundred percent bona fide authentic to the craft. Don’t do the rhyme if you can’t do the wiccan time.”

Ryder stops abruptly. Arms folded and a raised eyebrow looking over the pile of scattered tarot cards strewn across the table. That which holds the proprietor’s attention more than customers.

Unbidden he reaches out and plucks a card at random. Turns it over to stare at glittering golden words ‘The Emperor’ upside-down.

There’s no way the shop owner should know what card was grabbed — not like he can see though the matte black backing — but he gives a low and throaty chuckle. Lets smoke billow in a thin stream around the same lips now curled in a smirk.

“You always picked predictably, Ryder.”

Ryder who frisbees the card back onto the table carelessly. “I’m not still unconvinced you don’t set me up every time, Luc.”

“For all the shit you see…”

“I’ll always be skeptical of some damn cards, yeah. What else is new?”

“Good question.”

Luc finally drags his gaze up and away from his reading. Gives Ryder an easy and lazy smile that might possibly be the friendliest greeting to the Nighthunter Taylor’s seen so far. Had he not joined Ivy in teasing Krom only a short while ago he might have run himself ragged trying to understand the electric connection he’s witness to.

There’s definitely a history here.

Ryder sighs; knows Luc isn’t going to answer him until he answers himself. “The usual, man. Another day another job. Not much changes for me.”

“That’s not what I hear. In fact — I hear quite the opposite.”

“Sure those aren’t just voices from a bad trip?”

Luc laughs and kicks himself up to balance on the back two legs of his chair. Teeters dangerously close to falling backwards. “Could be, brother, could be. But I ain’t talkin’ ‘bout the spiritual radio this time. Everyone who’s anyone heard tell of a gutsy break-in among the city’s most elite. And all the chaos that followed.”

Ryder’s teeth grind together; his brow gives an almost imperceptible twitch.

“What did I tell you about listenin’ to the rumor mill, Luc?”

“Are they wrong?”

Not giving an answer is answer enough. Makes Luc give a haughty grin so wide Taylor likens him to a shark.

“I said what I said; another day, another job. It got me a rare ingredient I needed. I figured I could get the rest from your sorry ass if I could get you to look away from that damn deck long enough to ring me up.”

Luc makes everything look easy; from getting on Ryder’s bad side to letting his chair fall forward so he can stand. Like he’s not moving through air and gravity but dancing through deep watery depths.

But there’s a defensive edge to his voice — the first emotion beyond amusement — as he starts to gather up his cards.

“I’ll have you know I’m fond of this deck in particular. They were given to me as an apology from someone who never apologizes.”

“Oh yeah, what for?” Judging by Ryder’s tone, though, he already knows.

Still he lets Luc’s bright hazel eyes bore into his soul.

“Skippin’ out come dawn without so much as an adieu.”

Taylor laughs because, well, it’s funny? Only to quickly realize it’s not the right thing to be doing when he catches the strange look Ryder throws back at him; halfway and in profile — like he stops himself before he can make it a whole confrontation.

The teasing’s gone, now. “Yeah — listen, any chance I still have that standing credit here? I need frog warts and a few other things for a protection spell.”

“Ain’t like you to run around on an empty wallet.”

“Yeah, well… this job ain’t just another.”

And as ‘Another Job’ Taylor kind of takes offense to it.

Luc jerks his head towards a doorway shrouded with a curtain of thick wooden beads and the occasional bird feather. “You know where the stores are, cher. Just consider ya’self lucky Mardi Gras is a prosperous time for us all.”

“You’re a lifesaver, Luca. And if it makes you feel better the life you’re savin’ ain’t even mine.”

Taylor’s a step behind his heels when Ryder turns and keeps him at bay with a palm to his chest. His heartbeat stutters; spandex yielding to the firm press, but Ryder says nothing of it.

“Stay up here.”

Taylor scoffs. “Why? I’m not going to accidentally cast a spell or anything.”

“Maybe not, but the last thing I need is you gettin’ clumsy on the wrong object and fuckin’ us both even deeper.”

While he fumbles for a retort worthy of the witty comeback, though, Ryder makes his escape. Calls back; “don’t touch anything, don’t look at anything — and don’t let him suck you up in that damn deck!” before he’s gone in a clatter of beads.

They both know he’s not going to listen — he only says it so he can tell Taylor off when something inevitably happens. That seems to be how they function. Not that he plans on flailing his arms and messing with the first thing he hits, but…

“Since you ain’t dead I’m gonna assume Ryder’s not takin’ on the role’a teacher of the nighthunting arts.”

Snaps Taylor’s attention back to Luc; back in his chair and shuffling the deck in long and ring-adorned fingers.

“No.”

“Good. You might just stay alive then.”

“Apparently that’s a hard thing to do so, sure.”

Luc gestures to the chair across from him. It’s an offer, not a demand, but out of spite for Ryder’s twenty different moods — follow me, don’t follow me, around and around again — he takes it up. Watches Luc shuffle and reshuffle with naught but the soft collision of the cards as music.

When he realizes Ryder’s going to take his time, he figures the best way to start might be an introduction.

“I’m —”

“Pick a few cards for me, Taylor.”

He hadn’t even realized the man had started a spread; each card turned down and black as the void in a soft arc reaching out to him across the table.

Luc is courteous enough not to blow smoke in his face. Sits back slightly hunched and letting his focus flicker between Taylor and the cards. Like both are equally likely to speak to him in the silence.

“It’s probably useless asking how you knew my name, huh?”

“Smart boy. Sometimes they whisper an’ sometimes they scream, but I gotta say it’s been a good long while since I heard the cards call out the way they do to you, Taylor Hunter.

“So help me out here. Pick a few and let them show us why they’re so damn chatty.”

He wants to point out that the only chatty one around is Luca himself, but again that’s one of those useless things he’s finally starting to come to terms with. Knows another useless thing would be to ask why he can’t hear anything… but that’s because hearing is the only word he can think to describe it too.

They’re cards — just plain tarot cards. But like inky tendrils they’re reaching out to him across the table on another plane of reality. One where they have soft black fingers that wrap around his wrists and bring his hands to hover over them. Like safety.

Ryder said… “Well, Ryder said…”

The look Luc gives him cuts him off. Yeah, that was a bit of a stretch, wasn’t it?

He points at random; watches Luc pull a card out without flipping it over. Keeps going until a curt nod cuts him off and nine rectangles of shadow form a square across from him.

“This ain’t your average reading,” that much being obvious by the reverent way the shopkeep looks down at his selection, “and I ain’t your average reader. You’re not from around here.”

“Are you asking?”

“No. But I figure that means you did what all newcomers do — got yourself one of those back room phony shows at the House of Voodoo.”

He wants to say he hasn’t only for how ashamed Luc’s tone makes him feel about it. But yeah — yeah he had. Doesn’t remember much about the event itself but knows somewhere buried in the clutter of his desk back at his place there’s a piece of paper from whatever the alleged ‘psychic’ had him ask.

Luc nods slowly. “Mmhm. Sometimes — ‘bout as oft’n as pigs fly — the cards they play don’t listen and give out an ounce of truth. Nothing life-changing, but a slip enough to tempt the handler into believing.

“You won’t get none’a that here. Whatever’s shown when I flip these babies around has been, is, or will be whether you know it or not. But they only tell as much of a tale as you’re ready to hear.”

The unasked question: are you ready to hear it? And Taylor isn’t sure he knows how to answer.

He knows a lot about himself; inside and out. Has lived through too much and shoved too much inside for too long not to. It’s something he’s proud of. A lot of people spend their lives with no understanding of their inner self but he’s never had that problem.

But there’s a difference between knowing it and seeing… whatever these cards might show him.

What if what he knows isn’t what they say?

Life would be easier if Ryder took that opportune moment to reappear and save him the trouble of having to make the choice.

But life isn’t easy.

He nods — but before Luc can flip over the first card he reaches out and stops him.

“I’m not, like, sealing a deal with a demon or something, am I?” Judging by the look he gets he really shouldn’t have asked.

“Do I look like a demon?”

“I don’t know what demons look like.” He knows it’s a lie but says it anyway; can think only of that skeletal face sneering at him under the moonlight.

Luckily it’s not enough to deter the shopkeep who just bats Taylor’s hand away. “Judgin’ by your ghostly pallor I’m gonna call your fib on that one. But if it eases ya mind; no. No deals here. I get as much outta this as you do.”

Well that’s okay then, isn’t it?

Luc flips the first card over and has himself a little laugh. And why wouldn’t he — The Fool isn’t just an apt card but an apt description.

Taylor’s humor is, however, short-lived. “Seriously?”

“You drew the card. Only one to blame is you.”

“So I’m gonna be even more of a joke in my future or something?”

Luc shakes his head; spreads his fingers as far as they’ll go as the shadow of his palm casts over the center card. “This ain’t your future, but your self. This is you, Mister Hunter.”

“A fool.”

“A man of innocence,” comes the quick correction, “and oftentimes a free spirit. You do your own thing; march to your own drum. Ev’ry Sally and Joe likes to laugh at the Fool but he’s got his eyes set on the horizon and that’s worth admirin’. So don’t sell him — or ya’self — short.”

Innocent — not quite. But the rest Taylor doesn’t disagree with. Seems he knows himself as well as he thought.

Luc’s painted nail traces along a jagged line on the image. “But see here; the Fool stands at the cliff’s edge. He’s a card so it ain’t in his nature to look anywhere but where he’s told but you’re not a card, are ya?”

“What do you mean?”

“Are you lookin’ forward at the horizon or down into that abyss,” — he flips over another card before Taylor can answer — “or maybe you see the Tower on the other side.”

The Tower card is actually at the Fool’s back but he’s learned enough now not to question the metaphors.

“All that love for life might come at a cost. An’ hey — maybe it’s one you’re willin’ to pay. I don’t judge.”

No matter how hard he looks he knows he isn’t going to see the same thing as his reader. But… “I’m gonna need you to be a little less cryptic and a little more straightforward.”

“This ain’t science. Everything’s up for interpretation when the cards are involved.”

“Okay so interpret what exactly you mean by a cost. What cost?”

His rings drum on the plastic surface slowly before Luc clicks his tongue. “Looks to me like you’ve been through some shit lately. Life-changin’ shit — shit that skips right over dippin’ a toe into destiny and pushes you right in the deep end tied to an anchor — or ten.”

Finally Luc looks back up but his gaze is guarded; carefully and excellently so. He can’t get a thing out of just a look.

“I could have told you that.” He mutters a defensive reply. “A couple of days ago everything was fine and then my best friend’s in a coma, I find out the shit I’ve been hallucinating my whole life is real, and on top of it some big scary Ugly wants my skinny ass for a meal.”

“That explains our friend Ryder, then.” Luc almost seems to peek at the row’s last hidden card. When he turns the Eight of Cups over the hum he hums reminds Taylor of endless weeks of therapists and their noncommittal noises failing to cover the scratching of pen on paper. “And it’s all a helluva lot, I bet.”

It’s a bit hard to play off the full-body adjustment to hide his discomfort but Taylor likes to think he pulls it off pretty well.

“Understatement of the century.”

“Makes a world ‘a sense. You’ve tried gettin’ away from it.”

“Actually I haven’t really had the time.”

Only Luc disagrees; shakes his head curtly and offers the Cups to Taylor like it’s written on the surface in plain sight. “The cards ain’t just talkin’ ‘round the physical. Sometimes we do all the runnin’ in our minds and we don’t even know it. It could be as simple as connecting new things in ya life to old ones and convincing ya’self they’re the same; whether they are or not.”

Oh, there it is — on the surface and in plain sight. Struggling for Cal and Donny. Taking blame for what happened (not that he’d tell Cal, he’s got enough to feel bad over). Jumping down Krom’s throat about the theater company.

“Don’t beat ya’self up too bad,” continues Luc in a way that makes him freeze in the sudden fear that he can read thoughts as well as tarot cards, “a little escapism is good for the soul. The hard part’s when you gotta come back to reality an’ doin’ it without a fight.”

Taylor offers the card back and watches it settle home beside the Fool. The same Fool he’s now a little reluctant to identify with so quickly. “Yeah. I guess.”

“Got it — now cut the ramblin’; you’re talkin’ over the cards.”

Only hasn’t he been the one doing all the talking? Arguing won’t help but that little nugget of petulance persists.

This time Luc reveals three cards one after the other. Makes sure to let each one rest face-up before moving on. Letting them breathe. Letting them speak.

Strength. The Hermit. The Two of Swords. The first two facing Taylor this time as if in judgment. No; they haven’t drawn that card just yet.

He realizes he’s waiting on bated breath when his lungs start to burn and beg for fresh air. Why is he so quiet all of a sudden?

“Tell me more about those hallucinations ya mentioned, Taylor.”

That’s not where he was expecting that to go at all; catches him off guard. “Sorry?”

“Don’t be,” but the other man sounds distant; lost in his thoughts, “jus’ tell me. Said you been seein’ things ‘your whole life’ right?”

“Yeah. But I’d really rather not, uh, go into…” Wasn’t his life story down on the cards? It was hard enough explaining everything to Kristin — and they knew things about one another bound to secrecy by the sanctity of roommate-dom. So he tries to keep it all in the realm of the reading; “I mean I know what they are now. I was seeing glamours. Like through them — without a charm or spell or whatever. I dunno, Nik can explain it better.”

When Luc doesn’t give the same shocked jaw-drop the trio at the Shift had he entertains the brief hope that the same talent runs through the psychic’s veins. But that’s dashed when he catches sight of the unconscious way Luc grabs onto one of the numerous stone pendants draped over his neck — the way he thumbs over the polished surface and tugs on the leather cord.

It’s not the same one Ryder has but pretty damn close; close enough to assume his glamour-charm used to have a home in this very shop.

“That kind-a inner sight’s awful rare.” He practically mumbles.

“Yeah, it’s been mentioned.”

“Not unheard of, mind you. Not in things that ain’t entirely mortal by blood and bone. When you draw Strength in reverse it’s not the opposite like you’d think; it ain’t sayin’ you lack strength.

“Think of it more like the meanin’ is just turned about. Upright’s outside and the other is inside.”

“So it’s inner strength.” He can get behind that.

“Or lack of it.”

I’m fucking sorry? “Who—what-now?”

“This row,” he gestures a little too grandly for the subject matter, “is your past, present, and future. I told you the cards were screamin’ — and they still are — but not this one,” — not Strength — “this’un’s more of a whisper. And it makes sense given that you called ‘em ‘hallucinations.’”

“And an explanation for us ‘card’-of-hearing?”

Luc bites his tongue — really and without metaphor; wince and all. Grabs a stray bit of crumpled receipt from god-knows when his last sale was and scribbles on it in blocky letters.

“‘Note to self,’” he enunciates his writing harshly, “‘add sign to shop: ‘Owner Has the Right to Refuse Service on Account of Shitty Fucking Puns.’”

The glare that follows tells Taylor it won’t be long before that sign has his name added to avoid confusion.

No regrets. None at all.

Puns aside, though? The level eye he gets across the cards takes a turn for the serious.

“I think it tells me a lot more than you’re ready to share. About ya life before this; about the things you done to make the pain go away. Some of us may be human but that don’t mean we ain’t still animals. And animals lash out when they’re scared.”

He’s right. It’s a lot more than Taylor’s ready to share. Makes him want to scramble the deck — flip the table on its end. And maybe the old version of him, the version in those cards, might have.

In his silence Luc gets the answer — “moving on…” he almost sing-songs — lets his fingertips dance on the card showing the present: the Hermit.

Which Taylor tries not to take personally. Who is there to be angry at other than himself?

“So since that one’s reversed too that means… what, that I’m a hermit on the inside?”

“I can see how you’d think that,” laughs Luc, “but not quite. How about we let the professional do his profession?”

Taylor gestures. The professional carries on. “It ain’t easy comin’ into this life so late. ‘Specially when you end up seein’ all the bad before a lick’a good comes your way. But you’re drownin’ in it — that’s what the Hermit’s tellin’ us. No time to ruminate?”

He scoffs. “Something like that.”

“Well make time. Lest it all starts crashin’ down and you get the proverbial water in ya lungs.”

“It’s not by choice. There’s things after me and —”

“And excuses ain’t gonna keep you afloat.” The man reaches over faster than Taylor can move back; actually flicks his forehead dead center.

“Ow!” He swats Luc’s hand away.

“It ain’t me sayin’ this, Hunter. It’s them,” he gestures to the cards, “and they know more about this world than either of us could learn in a hundred lifetimes. Take ya damn time and really work out how you feel. Else you won’t be able to face this here future with a clear head.”

Luckily Taylor doesn’t have to ask; isn’t certain he’d be able to as he looks at the Two of Swords card and feels sweat start to bead at his temples.

Playing with tarot cards is all fun and games when you don’t believe. Even when you do — a measure of healthy skepticism is good for the soul. But with everything he’s seen; been told?

Who would willingly ask for their future foretold after that?

“I think we can skip to the next cards.”

“Oho, this don’t work like that.”

“Why,” doing his best to keep his voice level, “it’s my reading, right? I don’t want to know.”

“Sucks to be you, then. You draw; you listen. That’s how all true readin’s go.” Luc leans back on the creaky chair and lets the Swords card flip and twirl between his fingers.

He could make it easy on them both; stop arguing and just get up and leave the reading unfinished. Find Ryder in the back and apologize for doing what he said not to do — again — and book it out of there right quick.

But he doesn’t.

“Now I get why Nik said not to do this.”

“Ha — well, hindsight ain’t much use in a house of foresight baby. So listen; an’ listen well.

“In proper tarot some cards are real close in meanin’. That’s where the spread comes in — the order, the intent; not to mention the cards all ‘round it. The Swords in your future point to some hard fuckin’ choices. And if ya keep on the path ya’re on you won’t be makin’ ‘em with all your marbles.

“I ain’t talkin’ about decisions that can be made for you, neither. When it comes down to it you’re likely to find ya’self alone — not only in the act a’ choosin’ but in dealin’ with the consequences.”

“So what kind of choices? What do the cards scream about that?”

“They don’t —” he tosses the card back down and it’s probably not a coincidence that it slides magically askew back in the reading’s place, “— on account of all the changes between now and when that time comes.

“The cards give truths where mortals lie; hope where the world pushes despair. But at the end’a everythin’ they’re just cards — bound by the same circumstances as you or I.”

It’s probably meant to be poignant; something that might be sold on a re-purposed wooden palette hand-painted and polished. In a shop similar to this — right between the mismatched crystal balls and Ryder’s coveted frog warts.

But all Taylor can think is; “Well that’s absolutely useless to me beyond freaking me out.”

Luc gives another one of his gap-toothed grins — “C’est la vie, mon petit,” — and doesn’t wait for permission or argument to reveal another card.

“If it makes ya feel any better —”

“Doubtful at this point.”

“— Fair. But they won’t leave ya hangin’. Unless the Hanged Man is drawn, a’course. Naw, rest easy knowin’ you won’t be goin’ the journey alone.”

He frowns; confused. “But you just said —”

“Hush. All the best journeys are made with friends. Though I… I ain’t sure I’d call the Nine a’Wands a friend…”

Curiosity replaced by twists and turns of his bewildered head; Luc bites down on his thumb nail and scrutinizes the seventh draw. “In fact, I’d call whomever this bad draw represents —”

“Ryder!”

The Nighthunter emerges in a wave of beads carrying a pearly sphere the size of his head tucked in the crook of his arm. At the same time Taylor jumps — a kid caught with his hand in the cookie jar — and swears when his knee bangs under the table.

Luc doesn’t notice — or doesn’t care; still fixated on the black-and-gold design in front of him. Mutters “could be him, but…” under his breath so low that no one catches it.

Taylor fumbles for an explanation — which is a pretty stupid move seeing as he was ready to just come clean only a minute ago — but doesn’t get the chance. Though he would like to state that it probably would have been an extremely convincing and well-versed one had Ryder not just held up a hand and rolled his eyes.

“I figured you’d ignore me. Already took out my anger with a mortar and pestle in the back.”

Well he’s a little offended now. “I wasn’t blatantly disobeying you or anything,” then; “I’m a grown adult and can make my own choices.”

And doesn’t that karma come around to bite him in the ass pretty damn fast. He makes a great effort not to look at what is no doubt a haughty look of ‘I told you so.’

“Yeah yeah, cry me a river.”

He props the sphere on a large cushion nearby to keep it from rolling and drags the last free seat over into Taylor’s personal bubble. Already looking at the spread like he, too, can hear these alleged screams from the deck. “So, Luc? Any tell on whether or not I’m gonna get paid for this gig?”

“Wha — hey!”

Taylor knows he doesn’t hit Nik’s arm that hard but the offended look he gets back is more than enough.

“Ouch. That hurt.”

“If that hurt I need a new bodyguard.”

“Don’t tempt me to pawn you off.”

“Please do.”

A tinny click draws their focus away from each other and to Luc’s newly lighted blunt. No longer puzzled by the cards — his eyes are brighter; they shine with understanding.

“Nevermind. I get it, now.”

“Get what?” barks Nik a little too defensively.

“Didn’ I jus’ tell ya not to mind it?”

Taylor cuts Nik off before he can continue arguing. They’ve been here too long already. “If we can’t leave until this is finished — can you finish?”

Two cards remain to be revealed. The fortune teller takes his sweet time with a few puffs before agreeing, if reluctantly. Maybe he just doesn’t like an audience?

All sense of the mysterium is gone. Luc flips the cards one at a time with one hand while sucking in his joint with the other.

The Five of Swords. The Wheel of Fortune.

It’s totally the secondhand high that makes the golden wheel glitter and seem to turn before their eyes. Totally.

He braces himself for another round of cryptic semi-explanations. Only they don’t come. Luc’s eyelids droop heavy — almost closed. And judging by Nik’s frown that’s not a normal part of the reading.

“Luca? Hey —” — he snaps in front of the man’s face — “— Laveau!”

He doesn’t quite jerk out of his momentary trance; eyelids flutter as if awakening from a dream.

“Maybe you had a point, Hunter,” after a throaty cough, “maybe it’s best this go unfinished.”

“What seriously? After all that earlier shit?” He balks. Beside him Ryder grabs the Swords and looks it over back to front.

“You’ve never left a reading hanging. What gives?”

“He’s still new to the life. I think he’s had enough bad news for today.”

Taylor practically snatches the card from Nik. But it seems just as reluctant to give up its secrets to him, too. Makes him toss it back down in frustration.

“Just tell me,” even he can’t believe what he’s saying, “since I dunno if it’s worse to know or to guess.”

“Trust me. The worst one’s knowin’.”

“I’ll take that as you’ve never encountered crippling anxiety, then.”

In rare sympathetic form Ryder reaches out and rests a hand on Luc’s exposed forearm. They aren’t hiding behind quips or dancing words any longer; you could see the remnants of intimacy between them from space.

“Luc — come on. For my sake, too.”

The doubt doesn’t ease off from the fortune teller’s brow. In fact it looks deeper than ever before. Finally he yields. “All right — but don’t blame me or the cards. We’re jus’ messengers after all.”

No longer in need of a familiar touch Luc shakes the hand off. Mutters something unintelligible under his breath and takes another few puffs to calm himself down before he covers the Five of Swords like he can’t do the reading while looking at it.

“There’s more than difficult choices ahead for you — and for those what end up around you. A fight looms —” he turns the Swords card on its back atop the revealed Wheel of Fortune, “— on a bigger horizon than that’a the Vieux Carre. Might even be one bigger than this world of ours.

“Not so much a fight as a battle; a war. Turnin’ and churnin’ at the banks of the river and out into the ocean. Ready to flood the whole damn city — every corner of the earth. And it’ll keep ragin’ and screamin’ with every body what falls to it.”

Ryder goes still as stone beside him. Taylor finds himself revisiting the notion of it being better not knowing.

“What does any of that have to do with me?”

“You, Mister Hunter — you’re smack dab in the middle of it. More’n that… you belong there.”

Apologies. Sympathy. Condolences. Luc can’t seem to settle on one way to look at Taylor so instead he just focuses on packing his deck back up. He isn’t as careful this time around — like he’s angry at the cards and what they had to say; to scream. Two separate entities working off of one another but, at the very least, both unhappy with the outcome.

“I’ll get a box for that crystal ball — the warts are yours but I’ll need interest on that relic.” He can’t get away from the pair fast enough. Shuffles the tarot deck in his hands as he goes.

He wants to be surprised that Nik doesn’t follow; doesn’t go to check on someone he obviously has a past and present connection with. But in the goody bag of his emotions he just keeps pulling out resignation — even when he cheats and peeks inside.

That’s all there is. All he can feel.

Where’s that opportunity for escapism the cards had mentioned earlier? He could use a bit of that at the moment.

Doesn’t know when exactly Nik started trying to comfort him; hand on his upper back, the gentle back-and-forth of his thumb. Taylor’s not a big fan of touch but that seems to be how Ryder connects to the world; through the physical.

And oddly it’s working. The comfort thing.

“You okay?”

He’ll sass such a ridiculous question later. “Uh, honestly I don’t really know what I am right now.”

Ryder’s face is unusually close when Taylor looks his way. The barest flicker — a crack in the bravado. Nik is worried for him.

“That can happen after Luc’s readings. You think I warned ya away to keep you from somethin’ fun? Knowin’ his connection with the spirit world makes it all really…”

He struggles for the right word. Weird, coming from him.

“‘Real?’” offers Taylor, and gets him a nod.

“Yeah, really real.”

Noises of shuffled boxes and Luc’s grunts draw them out of Taylor’s personal space and back to the world around them. Up near the back curtain Luc gently eases the crystal ball into a wooden box.

“So, question.”

“Yeah Rook?”

“What do we do now?” Because if turning tail and running like a shameless coward away from this war is an option, he’s taking it.

“We keep on going,” Nik answers, “We get back to the Shift and finish up this blasted protection spell and then we dive into findin’ your attacker and punch a bunch’a holy light holes in it’s ugly-ass face.”

This time when he reaches into the bag of emotions, luck gives him a break and lets him pull out the barest ghost of a smile.

“Man, it is ugly. Like — fugly ugly.”

Ryder’s smile is just as small — but no less sincere — than his.

“It damn sure is.”

[gyromitra-esculenta]

So, generally, I couldn’t leave this stuff on ending 1. So, ‘Something Begins’, or so called Ending 2, part kind of 1. Mostly unedited, still ‘a bad Witcher AU’. So it would seem it gets to be made into a proper thing.

Warnings: none (unless you count general creepiness or mention of hunting/hunting practices or personal angst).

*

It takes him closer to two decades to return even if he swore he wouldn't come back. The horse plods slowly along the road, the dirt muffling the sound of its shoes. Only the jingling of the harness and gear rises above the song of the cicadas in the dead summer air. The trail takes him through the fields of wheat just about losing their grayish-green tint to dirty yellow of fresh straw. Clusters of red and blue in the grain provide welcome relief from the monotony, as do small birds on a hunt, flitting in and out of the wheat.

For the whole day Gabriel barely passes or sees anyone, people probably busy with the festivities preceding the hard work of the harvest, not that he is bothered by it. Far from it, he's rather comfortable with drawing no attention even if the region is favorable to his kin. The voice calling him comes from behind and Gabriel looks over his shoulder to a man awkwardly chasing him, a big pack on his back and a walking stick in hand. He turns the horse around, waiting for him to catch up.

"Master witcher," the man stops to regain his breath.

"A noonwraith?" The fact the general populace is less likely to call him a mutant or devilspawn doesn't mean anyone's going to stop him for a chat. The season's right for the wraiths, too.

"No, no, not a thing like that, doesn't keep around, master witcher." The man has a skin like leather weathered by sun, grey peeking from under his cap, wrinkles around his mouth and eyes. "Have you come for you pay, master witcher?"

Ah. He hadn't really intended to check back on that, mostly forgot about it. Gabriel shakes his head. Nothing about it stirs his interest.

"No. Keep it."

The man nods, as if thinking something over, humming to himself.

"Then come with me, master witcher, spend the night, and the feast. Tomorrow's my youngest hair-cutting, and Mikheil's farewells, the boy's leaving the homestead."

"Your oldest?" Gabriel asks on a whim.

"No, no, the third oldest, the boy got into his head he's better off finding his luck on the road. Well-spoken too, didn't get that from me and my girl," the man explains with enthusiasm. "Family's farm's not for him."

"That's how kids are. He will come around."

"No, no, master witcher, there's no talking him out of anything, always does what he wants. Me and Lila, we thought of giving him to the druids. Some choice words he had, and the druids, they just said no, but Mikheil's got talent."

The man - Wernund, as Gabriel’s memory suddenly reminds him after almost eighteen years, curious what little tidbits emerge when not expected - continues on about his family, and, whether wanting or not, he learns ins and outs of the familial life on the farm. Stranger still, Wernund keeps to the horse's side, and Gabriel feels no need to hurry the mount out of its complacent tempo.

"...I know the naming is mine but Lila chose the name for Nielub, it's a good name, strong name. Woj. That boy will fight a bear barehanded if allowed."

"And the woods, how are they?"

The treeline, closer and definite, sways on the afternoon wind, greener than Gabriel recalls it to have been when he paid it a visit with Jack.

"Never better. I don't know what you did in there, master witcher, but a month, and it was like before."

"Only returned what had been taken from it. Gabriel," he adds. "It's my given name."

With a glance, he observes the plethora of mixed emotions on Wernund's face, waits for the offer of the stay to be rescinded, but to his surprise the man again nods to himself.

"So it would be you, master witcher. Must've had your reasons."

"Gabriel."

"Would be improper, master witcher." Gabriel chuckles at his headstrong resolution and the refusal to feel fright at being in the presence of the one hailed the Reaper. "And there, there is my home."

Wernund points at the buildings at the edge of the forest, almost directly on the no-one's land between the trees looming over the road and the swaying wheat. The farmyard, as a whole, is too big and ample for him to travel on foot - a house, a shed, and a stable, all separate. With the diminishing distance the activity in front of the house becomes obvious: two women sitting on the wooden bench - both plucking chickens, some down floating freely - one man chopping the wood, and a boy running with a stick with several colorful ribbons tied to it.

As they get closer, one of the women notices them - quickly says something - the rest of the way they pass under the scrutiny, and the boy, must be Nielub, running towards his father, the ribbons fluttering behind him. The boy is blond, as is the man leaning now on the axe.

The women, on the other hand, both have rich brown hair, though the older one is visibly greying in front and on her temples - where her locks are woven around polished copper rings glinting in the sun.

Gabriel reins in the horse and dismounts while the boy asks after the gifts.

"Lila!" Wernund sends the boy back to play, placating him with a wooden sword from his backpack propped against the wall. "Lila, we have a guest."

"I noticed," she huffs, returning to her work after giving her husband a lingering look. "Mojmira. Bring the pitcher."

Being observed - regarded with suspicion - never something he grew accustomed to even if it'd always been present in the background of his life, but now back of Gabriel's neck prickles with the question unasked and the weight of her eyes on him.

"I have no intention of taking..."

"Not important," Lila cuts him off, fingers deftly tearing out the feathers, her head tilted to the side hawkishly. "You must be the witcher, the one who rescued idiot husband of mine, I've seen you in my ken." Ah, one of those. Gabriel nods, smiling with the corner of his lips. "You have my thanks, for everything. There's place for you, and the horse, in the stable, clean, and tomorrow, the feast. You'll be staying."

Mojmira comes back from the house with a clay jug held in one hand, and a wooden cup she hands him, dark eyes flicking to his face.

"I see," Gabriel chuckles, raising the cup to his lips - the smell and the taste slightly sour, water with vinegar. "A counteroffer."

"Maybe." Lila throws feathers to the ground. "Fate allows for bargains, but it won't be scorned, not even by the likes of you, witcher."

He glances to Wernund standing several feet away, talking with his oldest, Adan, as he came to know on the way.

"Is your daughter the same?"

Mojmira, sitting again by the side of her mother, and back at work, giggles.

"All women in my line have their gifts."

"And your husband said you're not well-spoken."

"My husband, as much as I love him, is many things, but he had not been born and raised here. He doesn't need to know."

"I see. I'll be going to the forest but I commit myself to be back for the night."

"Fine by me," Lila nods and Gabriel leaves the cup on the bench. "And if you find Mikheil hunting rabbits there, send him home."

"You let your son..."

"You should know, witcher, better than anyone, that if the forest wants to give, it does, and if it doesn't want to, it doesn't."

"It also has a way of punishing those that take what they shouldn't," his tone is sharper than he intends it to, and Gabriel sighs, closing his eyes for a moment.

"That is why we never take what is not offered. If the rabbit springs from under your feet, is it not a gift?"

Gabriel prefers not to answer her knowing smile, instead he turns and leaves the horse grazing in the yard. With a heavy heart, he crosses the road and walks into the forest's shade, feeling her gaze on his back.

The woods are nothing like he remembers them, lush and green now. Neither a desolate and twisted place overgrown with thorns and full of bones, nor a dark nightmare of a child full of monsters. There is life in the trees, birds and insects singing. He spots a fox deeper in - it idly considers him before turning and disappearing in the bushes. Gabriel lets himself wander, a ghost of a smile on his lips, and fingers brushing against the spot under which the flower rests.

Maybe he should have visited years earlier, but it had never felt like a thing to do, the current situation more of an accident than anything else.

It's the smell of fresh blood that pulls him out of his thoughts, and he approaches carefully the small clearing. Two rabbits being bled hang by their hind legs from a low branch, next to them several fish with twine threaded under their gills, a bow and a quiver on the ground. A young man, judging by the posture, sits on the grass with his back to him, occupied with something in his lap. Blond, like the other sons of Wernund.

"Mikheil?"

"You're the worst at collecting your pay, you know?" The boy, springing to his feet, chuckles, and turns. "I was about to go look for you myself."

Gabriel freezes, faced with the impossibility of the image before him, his eyes drifting to the weasel swinging freely from the hands holding it.

"You hate..."

"Oh, yeah, I still do, I guess," Jack mutters, "but this is Lord Murders-A-Lot."

Younger, with places still left to fill out, awkward posture - the legs and arms a bit too long and bony, bits of baby fat waiting to disappear, hair not short enough, dissonances like a vision superimposed on something real.

"...and he murders a lot," slips from Gabriel's lips.

"Mostly chicks. I'm trying to wane him off murder," Jack moves his hands - the weasel appears to be content with being swung around, "and teach him to go after the eggs, but it's not working out. At least, the eggs don't scream at him they're being murdered, like the chicks do."

Gabriel takes a tentative step forward as Jack continues to speak.

"Voles, too. I've even seen him take down a rabbit once, he's an exceptional murder ribbon."

"I miss you," words barely a whisper.

"Well, you certainly didn't hurry then," Jack scoffs, before his eyes widen a bit. He crosses the distance between them - Gabriel cannot shift his gaze away from the weasel for some reason - and stops in front of him. "You're still thinking I'm not here."

"No, you're here, just..." A memory, an apparition, a vision? Not real, not physical, because Jack is dead.

"I sure hope I'm not whatever it is you're imagining me to be, Rhenaweddin." Jack moves, quick, his lips warm and chapped at the edges, with an elusive taste of something sweet and green between them. Gabriel grabs onto his arms to keep him in place before he slips away, again. "I'm really counting on that last growth spurt. Standing on my toes to kiss you, cub, it's going to get old fast."

"That's," Gabriel laughs, almost silent, contained - maybe the emotion has a hysterical flavor to it, "that's what you're worried about?"

"Small things to worry about are good things. Now," Jack puts Lord Murders-A-Lot on his shoulder and the weasel with no delay flattens itself around his neck, "what has my mother managed to rope you into?"

"A bargain. I might have traded..."

"Then you weren't listening, cub."

"Told to send you home." The tightness in his throat is making it hard for him to speak.

"Sneaky woman," Jack clicks his tongue with appreciation, stretching his neck out for a quick peck. "Well, best not to keep her waiting too long, then, she can be really bitchy at times."

Gabriel watches him turn, gather the bow and the quiver, pick the rabbits and the fish from the branch, as if it's the most common - the most reasonable - thing to do. His medallion remains motionless, the thought of having missed its movement earlier in the day troubles him.

"Are you coming, little cub?" Jack laughs, passing him, the weasel still on its perch, its eyes closed and nose twitching. "It feels somewhat strange calling you that when I'm shorter than you."

At that age, yes, Jack hadn't been the tallest, rapidly gaining height only later.

They both did, but it took more time for Jack to grow into his body - his agility strangely mismatched with his disproportionate limbs and bony hips. All paired up with a little cheeky grin like the one he wears now when he looks over his shoulder at Gabriel.

"I'm coming."

Rabbits and fish. Out hunting when they should be training, returning to the keep with the spoils they had not roasted already over the fire hidden in the cove, stomachs full, ready for the reprimand coming from Reinhardt.

It's a memory playing out again in front of Gabriel.

He should, probably, thank the forest for that glimpse, or hate it, deeply, for forcing him to remember and dwell on happier times, uncomplicated, when the only worry had been doing something stupid - which they both were good at, exceptionally so - and suffering the consequences. Broken bones would mend, and scrapes and cuts, sometimes burns and bites, they would heal.

Jack, leading the way, moves with the same kind of disjointed grace he had observed so many times then. Maybe, it is a chance to say proper goodbyes, and to put the ghosts to rest.

"Wait," Gabriel calls after him as Jack is about to cross the invisible boundary of the forest and walk onto the road - the homestead and the fields visible in glimpses between the trees - and the moment has to end.

"You really won't like mother when she's angry."

And just like that, he steps outside the woods, leaving Gabriel with his hand outstretched behind.

He waits for Jack to vanish, for the illusion to fall away from the boy - yet nothing happens, it's still the same painfully familiar silhouette cut against the darkening sky.

The fact he doesn't remember there being any houses this close to the forest does not assuage his uneasiness. Respect it, trust it, revere it, but do not come too close if not needed. The medallion lies dormant. Gabriel draws in a deep breath and follows Jack - not Jack.

The table is set - bread, butter, and white cheese, a pitcher in the centre, probably more water - lit by two torches on poles sticking out of the ground. Lila combs her fingers through Jack's hair but her eyes are on Gabriel.

"Rabbits and fish, as promised."

"Go inside and welcome your father, he's back from the town."

"Yes, mother."

Jack leaves the catch hanging on the hook by the door and disappears inside the house. Lila waits before speaking again.

"Did you find what you were looking for, witcher?"

"No." Gabriel holds her gaze.

[boarix]

Wraith in the Ruins: A Fallout 4 Story Part XII

Children of the Wasteland

Trigger warnings: canon violence/language/gun, alcohol and drug use. Suggestive/mature content

Game Spoilers!

Please enjoy!

 “You may kiss the bride!”

Spring had finally returned to the Commonwealth and with it the wedding of Valentine and Ellie. Wraith and Hancock stood tall and proud next to their friends as they pledged themselves to each other. Going all out with her sewing skills, Wraith had managed to make a wedding dress that the demure Ellie not only felt comfortable in but looked incredible in too. Valentine was dashing in a tux and formal hat and the pair presented an image that was somehow both striking and modest.

As soon as she had finished the dress Wraith had turned her attention to Hancock’s coat. He had been reluctant to have her mend it; suggesting that the threadbare look was necessary, “Rugged yet classy. Flashy but grounded. It’s a carefully cultivated affect, sunshine.”

“I think that even the King of the Zombies could occasionally go to a tailor… I’ll be gentle I promise.” She had kissed him to make him feel better, “We’ll go find some trouble sometime after the wedding and it’ll be right back to where it was.”

“Mmm, you me and trouble sounds good.”

Wraith hadn’t been getting into as much trouble as she might have liked. After returning to Sanctuary from the behemoth incident, Curie had grounded her. Apparently, tearing the entire Gunner Plaza apart with bare hands so recently after having a shoulder rebuilt was a mistake.

“Madame, you have been entirely too rough with your new arm! You heal quickly yes but you are not invincible. It requires additional surgery now and I would have you rest until it has mended. No more ripping and smashing until I say so! You understand, oui?”

Wraith had initially protested and told her that it would have to wait until spring but Hancock had finally gotten through to her after watching her try to shovel snow. “Far be it for me to tell ya what to do with one of your own limbs but sunshine, you should see the faces you’re making. If it hurts it hurts! Danse an’ me will take care of the snow, ya feel me?”

Working one-handed had been frustrating but Wraith couldn’t deny the necessity. Cautioned even after she stopped wearing the sling, she had to convince Curie that sewing and working on new tack with Strong and Bear wasn’t going to undo all her hard work.

“It’s perfect rehab, Baby Bird. I’m all caught up with desk work and I’m about to lose my mind. It’s this or I go out and find dragons to fight.”

“I simply cannot understand your attraction to violent excursion.”

“ALPHA GOOD AT SMASHING!”

There was no denying the sense of peace she had felt, while sitting with Panther sprawled across her lap, creating something with her hands. Now, standing next to Hancock in her Minutemen uniform, the past frustrations of the winter melted as the snow.

Valentine and Ellie were married and there was a small reception at Home Plate. Piper, Preston, Codsworth and Wraith had been cooking for days. Incredibly proud of the cake he had made, Preston stationed himself next to its table, eyeballing MacCready and the children if they got too close.

“Do you think he’ll let us cut it?” Ellie’s voice was just loud enough for him to hear but rather than be embarrassed Preston gave her the two finger I’ve-got-my-eyes-on-you gesture while sporting a huge smile.

The partygoers ate and visited, paused to watch the cake cutting (Ellie had rather daintily touched Valentine’s substantial nose with frosting and then proceeded to kiss it just as daintily away which cause a great deal of assorted “awww” noises) and ate and visited some more. Wraith drifted around pretending to mingle but really she was looking for Deacon. She hadn’t seen him since the Plaza fiasco and she was worried about him.

“Hey sunshine, come dance with me.” Hancock was the very definition of dashing in his mended coat. As other pairs moved to the floor, the ghoul led them toward the less crowded edge. When the song ended he pulled her tightly to him with a cunning look in his eye. “He’s not here, love.”

“Who?”

He smiled then kissed her. It was a long, intense kiss that left Wraith breathless and brought a flush to her cheeks. Seeming satisfied by her passionate response, he cocked his head to one side and gave her a self-mocking smile, “There’s only one person, apart from MacCready, that steals your attention from me.”

Now the color on Wraith’s cheeks belonged to embarrassment and she took a step away from him, “Who says I’m not looking for Shaun?”

“You just out-smarted yourself, sunshine.”

Frowning now, she play-punched his shoulder, “Be nice to me!” She folded her arms and glared at him.

His smile vanishing, Hancock snaked an arm around her middle and pulled her back to him. Leaning in close, his eyes shown with a look of open lust that made Wraith’s heart skip, “I’ll be very nice to you. Right now, if you want me.”

For a long second Wraith forgot that she was in a room full of people. Her breath hitching in her chest, she leaned against him.

Two can play at this game.

Her mouth at his ear, Wraith’s voice was wanton and husky, “I want you.” Thinking that she had called his bluff she was genuinely surprised when he pushed her to the wall while kissing her hard and unfastening her uniform.

…tactical error…

He let her push him away, knowing that he had won, “Don’t worry sunshine; I’m not that much of a barbarian.”

“Hmm, I don’t know… You’re not someone I’d play chicken with.”

 Wraith shooed Valentine and Ellie away when they started to help with the clean-up, “Oh no; you guys leave this me! I’ll have some plenty helps so you guys go do newlywed and stuff.” A little tipsy, she made a couple of obscene gestures that made Ellie giggle.

To everyone’s surprise, Valentine swept his wife up into his arms, “I’ll get right on that!” Ellie laughed, delighted as he carried her out the door.

Hancock snickered, “He’s not even drunk! Hasn’t had a drop since MacCready’s birthday!”

Taking a break, Wraith settled in a chair and waved goodbye (perhaps over-enthusiastically) as Piper and the kids left.

“Quite a swinging, goodtime you all had.” Deacon handed Wraith a container of water, “Any cake left?”

“Ah, there’s the shadow master.” Wraith took a couple of sips while she stared at his full, red beard. “Where’ve you been?” Close to sober, she looked at the floor, “I’ve been worried about you.”

MacCready had swaggered up and stood next to Wraith’s chair not unlike Preston guarding the cake, “How’s it going, sunglasses? Nice chin-warmer. It real, or did you shave a dog for it? Haven’t seen you for a while; thought you might have gone to that big ol’ dumpster in the sky.”

Deacon was surprised: MacCready’s body posture and tone were conversational and friendly, despite the fact he initially seemed territorial. “Well, gosh MacSweety! I had no idea you cared so much.”

“Right!? Well, a hero always cares for the little people.”  

“Hey hero, come back o’er here and help me with this fucking table!” Hancock winked at Wraith on their way out the door.

Even with just the two of them, Deacon felt the air was stifling close, “Can we talk on the roof, boss? I want to see the sky.”

It was still early spring and the night was chilly. Wraith sat cross-legged next to Deacon and watched their breath float away like mist, “You seem to be moving around okay…”

“I’m fit as a fiddle… where on earth did that expression come from?”

“Can you tell me what you’ve been up to? You seem... thicker. I like your beard by the way; it’s nicely shaped. You do that yourself? What’s it hiding?”

“Keeps my face warm. I’m a Minutemen caravan guard. Later this spring when you head to the Capital Ruins to pick up MacCready’s son, you’ll be joined by six fresh-faced new recruits. Well… in my case, a beard-faced recruit. My name’s Harley.” He offered her his hand, “It’s an honor to finally meet you, General. I believe I will be of great use to you.”

After a firm handshake he reached into the Minutemen uniform he was wearing and handed her an envelope. “This is correspondence meant for you from the Nyx Morningstar. She has agreed to meet your party and aide in the safe travel of Duncan MacCready.”

“De… Harley…”

Deacon removed his sunglasses and smiled his eyes at her, “Thicker, huh? Guess all those extra pushups did the trick.”

“You’re almost beastly.” She used her shoulder to shove his playfully. “Harley, are we sure these five ‘recruits’ aren’t going to suddenly become coursers midway south?”

Regret flashed across his face, “We are sure, yes.”

“I trust you.” She meant it as a joke but could tell his chuckle was forced. “I sent a letter to Morningstar last fall… how… no, that’s stupid; you know every fucking thing about me! But, do you know how unfair that is?”

“I’m the same age as Hancock. We are both going to be forty-five this year.”

“I adore you. You know that too though, don’t you?”

He let her lean on him, “Yeah.”

 Shaun was furious. Dirty and bruised, the fact that he had been fighting also showed in the mud in his curly hair. He stood before Wraith with his chin held defiantly high and his fists clenched at his sides.

“Why did you push Nat, Shaun?” Wraith tried to maintain a calm, level voice and keep emotion from her face.

“She threw mud at me.” His voice trembled with barely suppressed anger.

“Why did Nat throw mud at you?”

“I told her to stop being a bully!”

“Elaborate, Shaun. Tell me the whole story.”

“This isn’t fair! SHE STARTED IT! WHY AREN’T YOU YELLING AT HER?!”

Wraith let an edge creep into her voice and hardened her eyes, “The only person yelling is you. As for Nat, don’t worry about it. Piper will speak to her. When you cause a scene and are publicly violent, it is my responsibility.”

“Since when? I thought you gave me up to the Wrights.”

“It’s unfortunate you feel that way.”

Ouch, kid!

Wraith sat motionless waiting for him to speak. A game of patience and nerve she didn’t plan on losing. It took some time but he broke the silence first.

“Nat, Pete, Erin and me were playing the ground-is-radioactive-waste with a ball… that’s when you can’t let the ball touch the ground, cause…” Surprised that she hadn’t interrupted he was momentarily flustered, “Anyway, Shang was just… Idunno, watching us and I felt bad. I asked him if he wanted to play with us but Nat said ‘no’.”  Shaun’s face had started to relax as he spoke but now tightened with renewed anger as he relived the memory, “I told her she wasn’t the boss and she got really mad and threw the ball up on the roof of someplace! I said she was a bully and we all weren’t going to play with her ever again! Then she threw mud at me so I pushed her down.” He waved his hands in exasperation, “SHE TACKLED ME WHEN I TURNED AROUND! SHE TACKLED ME!”

“MacCready said he had to pull her off of you, yes.” The fact that MacCready had been laughing the entire time he had told Wraith, wasn’t something she was going to tell the prideful child.

“HOW IS THIS MY FAULT?!”

“I never said it was your fault. Not sure what that has to do with anything… or why you are still yelling. I’m right here and I’m listening to you.” Resisting the urge to cross her legs or arms she took a deep breath, knowing that he’d most likely mirror her. “If you had a chance to go back and change how you handled yourself what would you have done?”

After a deep breath he folded his arms and looked away, “I’d stop Nat from throwing our ball away.”

“I said ‘you’, Shaun, not Nat. What different thing would you have done?”

“I dunno what you want me to say, so just tell me.”

“Nope.”

Anger renewed, he clenched everything and glared at her, “You want me to say that ‘violence is the last resort’, right? Why don’t you practice what you preach, Wraith the Barbarian?! It must be nice sitting up there on your high tower!”

Wraith had to bite her lip to keep from giggling. “I think you just combined ‘high horse’ with ‘lofty tower’.”

Cheap shot but still, ouch kid. Ouch. I can’t get over how much you look like Nate… lighter skin and my eyes but still… You’re breaking my heart…

“We aren’t talking about me. We are talking about you. Judging by what you just said you know full well where mistakes were made.” Wraith stood up and folded her arms behind her back, “Do you know how to play chess?”

“Wha...”

“Did you know Bear came with me? He wanted to see if there was a market here for some of his brahmin tack… anyway, he and Hancock like to play chess together and I think they were going to meet up for an after-lunch game. I want you to go and watch them. You don’t have to tell them about what happened this morning but you do need to be polite. Understand?”

Confusion crawled across the synth child’s face, “That’s it? I just… have to watch Mr. Hancock and Mr. Bear play… But why…”

“Yes or no, please.”

“Yes, grandma.”    

 “Got tackled by a girl, huh? Good for you!” Bear gave the child a hearty pat on the back that made him lurch forward, “Start calling you Lady-killer! Har har!”

Hancock’s face was inscrutable, “How old are ya, twelve? I guess that’s not so early to have a girlfriend.”

“She is NOT my girlfriend!”

A table had been set up in Home Plate for the two ghouls to battle each other. MacCready was sitting nearby, helping to sort guns that had just come in and he snickered at their gentle ribbing.

“I thought Wraith was teaching you judo. How’d Nat get the better of ya?” Hancock hooked a nearby chair with a boot and gestured for Shaun to take a seat, “Relax kid, you’re lookin’ like yer about to pop!”

Slumping, defeated in the chair, Shaun muttered at the floor, “She’s teaching Nat and Ms. Wright too.” He absentmindedly picked at a clot of mud on his jeans. “It’s not like I’m special or anything. To her, I mean.”

MacCready made a noise in his throat and half-stood, ready to come to Wraith’s defense. Hancock waved him back to his seat with a subtle flick of his hand.

“It seems odd for her to waste her time in teachin’ somebody judo, if she doesn’t care ‘bout ‘em, you feel me? Hey, Bear?”

Taking a long drag from his cigar, the enormous ghoul made a show of considering Hancock’s words, “Hmmm, you’re right.” Blowing a few smoke rings, Bear folded his arms and leaned toward Shaun, “You know, I lost my mom when I was a kid. My poor pop was a broken man for a time. Wolf’s family took me in and she an’ I grew up together just like you and your girl, there. We used to get in the worst kinda screaming, punch fights! Phew!”

Shaun’s locked his green eyes on Bear, “Really?”

“Sure enough. Mrs. Wolf would make us hug after; the worse the fight the longer we would have to. Drove us crazy but it did the trick. Teach us to throw hands at each other!” Looking back at the chessboard, Bear knit his brow and frowned, “Wait. Wait… what did I just do?”

“You lose your spot, brother?”

“No! Nope I got this… So young Shaun, you want to learn chess from a master?”

“I know a little bit… Just how the pieces can move and what they’re called.”

“Master, huh?” Hancock moved his queen, “Checkmate.”

“N… no… you… ” Sucking air over his teeth, Bear was ready to let loose with a powerful stream of curses. Hearing MacCready loudly clear his throat, he instead exercised extreme restraint, “Youuuuu… oxygen thief!”

Shaun shared in MacCready and Hancock’s laughter, “Grandma says that too. What’s it mean?”

“It means a ‘useless person’. I demand a rematch! I was distracted.”

“First lesson, Shaun: when you lose, resign your king with grace. What Grandmaster Bear just demonstrated was not a graceful resignation.”

“Hardy har har.”

“Back on your girl trouble...” Hancock smiled at Shaun’s frustrated sigh, “I imagine that Nat cares about you and yer opinion of her. Probably hurt her to hear ya say you’ll never play with her again. Dealing in absolutes is dangerous. Plus, hormones aside, yer getting a little old to be goaded so easily into a throw-down like that.” Raising his brow he leaned forward confidentially, “Don’t get me wrong, rolling around in the mud with a gal is fun and all but like I said, you’re twelve. Maybe just stick to holdin’ hands, you feel me?”

“She made me so mad!” Hugging himself, Shaun confessed to the floor, “I didn’t mean it though.” When he lifted his head, there were tears in his eyes and his voice was thick with emotion, “Was grandma broken? Is… is that why… Oh, I should’ve said that!”

MacCready practically leapt across the room, “Hey man, don’t cry! What did you say?”

Shaun shook his head and wiped his face with a sleeve, “I’m just… I was mean.”

Hancock set a gentle hand on his shoulder, “Listen kid, we all have bad days, right? You know yer grandma will understand. So, chin up and eyes open. Watch me kick Bear’s… MacCready, what am I allowed to say again?”

 “Well, I’m glad you were able to get through to him; he called me a barbarian! Although, truthfully I can’t protest too much…”

“You’re not… that bad.”

“Thanks, Mac.”

“You should have heard ‘em. Everything a proper father should say.” MacCready shoved Hancock playfully, “Maybe, we should start calling you ‘daddy Hancock’.”

Wraith maintained a private suit at the Dugout Inn and after finalizing plans for a morning departure, MacCready, Hancock and she retired for the evening.

Wraith had been brushing her teeth as MacCready sang the ghoul’s praises but stuck her head in the bedroom to make a disgusted face, “Ugh, no! That is, surprisingly enough, one kink I do not have.”

Hancock pulled MacCready to him, “You can call me whatever you want, Robert.” He set his scarred lips against the younger man’s in a dipping kiss that ended with Hancock gently nipping MacCready’s lower lip. All while maintaining eye contact with Wraith.

“Sh… shit.”

“Awww, now with the cursing? Well I guess daddy’s gonna have to teach you a lesson…”

“Please. Please, let’s not have this be a ‘thing’, okay? …guys?” Wraith protested even as the two men quickly shed their clothes.

“Wraith, c’mere and help hold ‘im down!”

MacCready feigned a timid whine, “Who says she’s on your side, huh?”

Giving in to desire, Wraith pulled her shirt off over her head, “Okay, but I’m gonna make you two hug after.”

 Stopping briefly at Sanctuary, Wraith had dropped MacCready off for his first semester of the year. With another winter in the Commonwealth conquered, she set about finalizing plans for an extended leave-of-absence. This included a three-week tour of all Minutemen settlements within the Commonwealth proper, with Hancock and Dogmeat in tow.  Apart from a minor skirmish with a grumpy, just-woke-up yao guai, that involved Wraith running in circles while calling out to a very frustrated Hancock “please don’t shoot the bear!” the inspection went as well as one could hope and she returned home exhausted but hopeful.

“Curie wants to see you at the clinic, when you aren’t too busy, dear.” Sofie rolled her eyes, “Whenever that is.”  

Hancock had nearly fallen asleep on Wraith’s office couch, but gestured vaguely at her on her way out the door, “Make sure you eat somethin’ first!”

Laughing at her when she walked into Curie’s lab with a whole loaf of razorgrain bread hanging out of her mouth, Danse pointed to his lip, “Afternoon, General. You’ve got a crumb… just there.”

Curie giggled at them, “It is good to see that you eating, Madame.” She walked over and began manipulating Wraith’s left arm. “I wanted to check on your shoulder before your journey.” Danse got up to leave the room but Curie waved him back to his chair, “Her clothing will remain on, mon ours.”

“So what’s the plan, General?” Danse’s face turned red and he cleared his throat.

Not to be detoured from his pet name reveal, Wraith’s smile was enormous around her meal and she razzed him unmercifully, “’Bear’, huh?” She chomped and smacked as she ate; making as much obnoxious eating noises as possible, “You know, we already have a Bear. What’s French for moose?”    

“General…”

“Hmm, there is élan, but this is an elk. It isn’t quite fitting, no? Although some anatomy may be…”

“Curie…”

“Oh, ho? You don’t say? Oh my, do tell!”

Danse’s face was nearing purple, “Are you ladies quite through?!”

“Oh mon amour, don’t be such a prune.” She stepped lightly to him and kissed the corner of his mouth.

The large man gave an equally large sigh and smiled at her, “Dearest, I believe you mean ‘prude’.”

“Oh? Very well.”

“You two are too adorable…”

“How is your pain level, madame?”

“Honestly it’s fine. My arm can be a little tight if I move it straight up and down laterally but unless someone plans on using me as a water pump, it’ll be oaky.”

Danse had been brewing tea and offered Wraith a cup, “The plan? You haven’t actually told anyone where you’re going…”

Sitting on the edge of a counter, Wraith took a sip before answering, “It’s kind of a surprise. I actually want to talk to you about some related matters though; so if you can keep a lid on things, I’ll fill you in.”

“Shall I step out of the room, madame?”

Wraith waved the suggestion away, “Nope, it’s not a huge deal just, like I said, keep it hush-hush.”  

The couple pulled up chairs and both leaned forward unconsciously. Their eager faces reminded Wraith of children excited for story time and made Wraith felt particularly maternal.

I feel like I’ve been more of a mother to these two…

“I’m going to take a couple of days to rest here but the plan is to head south. Hancock, MacCready and I are taking a small contingent of Minutemen and going to Underworld, to get Duncan.”

Curie clapped her hands, “Oh, how wonderful! To reunite father and son! Oh, oh I’m going to cry!”

Danse had gone very still, “You’re going to the Columbia Commonwealth.”

“Yes, I am and I wanted to ask if you would like to come along.”

Standing abruptly, he turned his back to her and spoke to the wall, “Do you think that I should? Why?”

“Danse…”

Whipping around, his face was a kaleidoscope of emotion, “I’m not sure if anything that I remember was real! No, I can’t. I shouldn’t.”

“Mon amour, surely you have chapters of your life that need closing? What if Haylen…”

“NO!” Instantly sorry for shouting, Danse visibly pulled himself together and offered the two women a wan smile, “This is real.” He took Curie’s hand and pulled her into a hug, “You are real.” He kissed her, “Right?”

“Oui, mon ours, I am real.”

Wraith stood to leave, “I understand. Oh, Curie, will you have the prosthetic for Henrietta finished soon? Since we’re going to be going that way I’d like to give it to her in person.”

“Oui, Monsieur Sturges and I finished yesterday.”

“Excellent! Oh, like I said, I’m keeping it a surprise until I know for certain that Mac will be ready. He might still need convincing, so mum’s the word.”

Grabbing her hand before she made it through the doorway, Danse pulled Wraith in for a hug, “Thank you. I know I’ve said it before but if it wasn’t for you… I might have never known what ‘real’ is.”    

Wraith patted his back, “I’m glad I could help you bear-man.”

 “Why am I so nervous? Are you nervous? I’m sweating… ugh! Are you sweating, because I am definitely sweating?”

It was early morning and Hancock and Wraith sat at the table in her small kitchen. MacCready had yet to join them and Wraith was letting her anxiety spin out of control.

“I’m not even sure why I’m nervous! I mean, maybe it’s because I’ve spent a lot of time planning this without actually getting his permission. And the fact that I’ve asked him before… even volunteered to go with him but he said ‘no’ like he meant never.”

“It’ll be fine, sunshine.” Hancock took her hand in his to keep her from drumming the tabletop apart, “You should have seen him when he saw that picture… when he heard his boy’s voice…” His own voice deepened with emotion and his eyes where misty with the memory, “He wasn’t ready before but he’s sure as hell ready now!”

“What am I ready for?” MacCready joined them while rubbing his eyes like a sleepy child. Folding his arms on the table, he laid his head on them and mumbled into the crook of his elbow, “What are you two crazy people going to get me caught up in now?”

“Did you sleep upside-down? Your hair is completely vertical!” Perhaps slightly jealous, Hancock’s tone carried a small amount of disgust, “It’s goddamn ridiculous!”

The young man, with dramatic slowness, unfolded an arm and flipped him off. Smoothly and without hesitation, Hancock plucked a mutfruit from the bowl on the table and slid it down over the offending digit.

“Oh mY GOD! WHAT IS THAT?!” Shuddering slightly, MacCready shouted into his elbow: too afraid to look.

Laughing helplessly Wraith shook her head, “You two are the absolute best!”

“It’s a mutfruit, MacCready.” The ghoul’s tone was shrewd and taunting, “I’d think you’d know…”

Lifting it to his lips, MacCready waggled his eyebrows at him while slowly taking a bite, “Not used to one being applied in that particular location.” He winked at Wraith.

“Boy, that got off track before we even left the station...” Wraith cleared her throat and tried to school her features into a poker face Fahrenheit would be proud of. “Okay… here we go. Mac, I wrote a letter to Nyx Morningstar last fall. She and I have made arrangements to meet at a relatively safe location and she’s going to grant us additional protection as we pick up Duncan.” Mistaking his shocked expression for a rejection, Wraith’s face pinched with nerves and she spoke faster and faster while gesticulating, “I know you’ve told me ‘no’ but I think we have come a long way in making the roads safer since then. After all, that was just after we gave the cure to Daisy! There will be ten Minutemen with us, Morningstar’s people once we get close enough, plus Hancock and me. Not to mention you! The behemoth thing was just a fluke and although I’ve no way of being able to guarantee, without any fraction of doubt, that we won’t come across a similar situation, statistically…”

“Wraith! Wraith, stop!” Able to capture one of her waving hands, MacCready stood and pulled her with him. Reaching for Hancock as well, he hugged them both while laughing and crying, “I love you guys. Of course, of course I want…” Giving over to crying, he was unable to finish.

Thank you so much for reading! Like what you read? Looking for more? Please see my Wraith in the Ruins master-link under my bio. Tumblr’s dislike for link-posts is why you’ll see two versions of my chapters. I do my best to keep the master updated and change the date when I do. As always, feel free to throw me an ask if you have any questions/comments/concerns. Anon too! =^..^=

[kotas-dump]

Artist’s muse

You’d been an artist since before you could remember. The thing was? You were an orc.  A big guy with a bigger heart and it killed you people saw you and shunned you from the art scene. So instead you took your skill to the internet.

There no one knew who the artist behind their favorite dirty artist was. Just that he was some dude who lived in some small town where nothin’ exciting ever happened. A place were orcs were slammed with racism and reminded constantly they were more beast than person.

So to say you were a shut-in. A hermit. Was an understatement. You kept to yourself. Worked a low-wage restaurant where you bused tables and cleaned dishes. Easy work and it left you with enough free time to sell your art and comics on the side. Art of love and sex. Fluffy romance you’d resigned yourself to never having. Art of your dreams, the relationships you’d never had but the characters you made had pieces of you in them and it was your outlet. Your escape.

Grabbing your groceries from the beat-up rusty red pick up you slid the bags up your arm and started carrying them up. All the way to the top floor of your apartment. Grunting you made your way up the stairs.

“Do you need help with that?” A feminine voice called out.

Turning you look back toward a human female. Like a wraith from the shadows she appeared behind you.

“Here. Let me help.” She raced up to you, cutting you off to offer her hand and her help.

Staring at her you melted. Clad in all black with chains and spikes and lace with the sweetest smile on her beet red lips. Her hair shaved short on the sides but left long on the top and currently plaited over her left shoulder.

“Uhmmm...” She laughed and there was a flash of cute crooked teeth.

Shaking your head you snap yourself out of it. “Right uh.. Thanks...here.” You hand her the bag of apples and she scoffs. Sliding a few bags from your arm she motions for you to lead the way. “Go on. Lead the way.”

“T-thanks.” You mutter, continuing your accent to your apartment. Reaching the top floor you fumble for the keys, dropping them.

“I got it.” She chimes, bending to pluck them from the ground. Her skin tight black jeans doing wonders for her womanly curves. Oh man.. she had a great ass.

No!

What were you thinking?!

“Th-thanks.” you mutter as she pushes the door open.

“Don’t mention it. Didn’t know I had an orc neighbor. I live right across the hallway. Always kind of wondered who lived here. You’re as quiet as a doormouse.” She drops the groceries off right inside the doorway.

“You can come in if you like.” You say softly. “Kitchen’s to the right.”

She squeezes around you, brushing up against you on her way. Blinking you close the door behind her and follow her slow steps toward the kitchen.

“It’s like... an art gallery. Did you make all these?” Her voice is filled with wonder and you nod before you realize she can’t see you behind her.

“Oh uh.. Nah.. A uhm...”Quick you needed a lie.” A human friend made them for me. He sells art online.”

“Really? That’s so cool. The style looks so familiar...”

Your heart drops. “W-what?” You sputter, quickly catching yourself as she glances back to you. “I mean he lives locally.. so maybe you’ve seen his stuff?” Nice save.

Setting down the bags she walks toward the piece in the living room and you suddenly regret inviting her in. What if she recognized your style? What if she was a fan? Quickly you shed the bags and gently guide her shoulder back around. “I’ll let him know you like his art. I’m sure it’ll uh.. really get his heart pumping.” ‘out of terror’ you add in your head.

“Hey woah. Hey!” She cries as you push her out the door

“Thank you so much again. I appreciate it!” You slam the door shut and spin around, resting your back against it. That was a close one.

If you were outed as an orc.. Shit.. all your followers would leave.

Sighing you push yourself back up and put away the groceries.

---

Later that night you’re streaming when a comment catches your eye.

“Ever draw goth girls?”

You hadn’t. You’d always thought your type was the cute normal girls. The girls who loved sunshine and the beach.  Sundresses, long hair and smelled like strawberries.

Pecking at the small keys you reply.

“That’s a good idea. I’ll draw that next! Thanks.”

You had the perfect girl in mind. Finishing up your drawing you clear the canvas and start over. Time flies by as you’re painting her. Getting more and more detail in with each and every digital stroke until there’s a light knock on your door.

Writing a quick BRB on the canvas you hop up and head to the door. Oh man you hoped it was the girl scouts selling cookies again. Maybe this time they wouldn’t scream. Stay long enough for you to buy some thin mints.

Opening the door you open your mouth to say hello but your eyes settle on the goth human across the hall. The woman from before. She’s holding a tablet to her chest, screen facing you with a big smile on her face. It was your stream.

Quickly you shut the door. Oh no. Nononononono. Wait.. That closing the door wouldn’t help. Slowly you open the door again and she’s still standing there. Like a little ray of darkness smiling up at you. Death. Come for your soul. This was the end?

“Sorry about that.”

“I knew it was you.” She says, rolling onto the ball of her foot and leans forward. You can’t help but take a step back, scared out of your wits.  “That’s the same art isn’t it? You’re the one who draws the porn and stuff online right?”

Mortified your eyes grow wide. “Listen. I-”

“I won’t tell anyone. I mean I get it why you don’t tell anyone. Being uhm...”

“Orc.” You supply, defeated.

“Right.” She blushes but pecks at her tablet. “You’d get a lot of crap for it I bet but that’s not why I came over here.”

“i-it’s not?” You stutter. Why was she here then?

“Is this me?” She asks,showing you a screenshot of the painting you’d been working on before writing the brb.

Wilting you sigh. God you looked like a creep now. Even if the painting in question was just a bust up portrait.

“Ahh.. uh well. It’s inspir-” You begin.

“It’s amazing!” She cheers. Her head canting ever so slightly to the side as her eyes wondered over the digital painting.

She was beautiful.

“Wha-?” Realizing she’d sat down on the desk you swallow. “I uh..It’s not done so...”

“Really? It looks so good already.” She glances to you and your heart skips a beat. “You did miss a few things though.” Her eye scan your face and those red lips pull into a smile again. “Wellllll... Care for a model then? I’d love to watch you paint and it’s better to work from real life right?”

Your brain is screaming ‘no’ in epic slow-mo like in starwars but your head nods before you have the chance to stop it.

She squeezes by you, practically prancing by. “You got my nipple color wrong by the way.” Her voice carries but it’s a million miles away.

“The...n-nipples?” You whisper, holding the door frozen in place as she tosses the tablet onto the couch and starts to peel away layers of her black clothing.

“Paint me like one of your french girls~“

Should I continue? This has sat in my drafts for months.

Money talks <3

[emjenenla]

If You’re Gone, Maybe It’s Time to Come Home Part Three [a SoC Fanfiction]

Part One | Part Two | Part Three | Part Four

Sorry for the outrageous amount of time this update took. College eats up all your time. Also, it turns out Kaz in this mental state is ridiculously hard to write in another character’s POV.

--

Part Three

(Inej)

(1)

The Van Eck mansion is full to the brim of members of the Dregs. The irony is thick because a year ago, such people would never have been allowed on the same street.

Inej threads her way through the drinking gang members. They’re laughing and sharing stories. They’ve all been told that the party is to celebrate the Dregs’ rise to prominence as the most powerful gang in Ketterdam; only the Crows and a few extremely trusted others know that the party is actually in honor of Inej’s successes hunting slavers.

Even though the building is full of people, it still feels empty to Inej. The only Crows there aside from her are Jesper and Wylan. Kaz hasn’t yet appeared, and Matthias’s death still weighs heavily on her, not to mention the fact that it has caused Nina to drop off the face of the world. Inej has no idea where her friend is and no one has heard from her in months.

Inej has tried everything to find Nina, even picking Kaz’s brain in their coded letters (if anyone knows where Nina is, it’s him). However, it’s been months since Kaz mentioned anything even semi-personal in his letters. They were always impersonal, but since her last visit to Ketterdam, he hasn’t bothered to do anything but send her lists of information. She’s starting to think he’s still sulking about the talking-to she gave him the last time they saw each other. That bothers her, because while Kaz is totally capable of holding a grudge for a couple months (after all, he managed to hold one on Pekka Rollins for years), he’s never stayed mad at her for this long before.

(2)

It’s at least ten bells when she finally admits that she’s worried. This isn’t like Kaz. She’d thought that he’d at least show his face, even if that was only because Jesper and Wylan or Anika and Keeg dragged him along.

She eventually seeks out Anika who is sitting at a table playing a good-natured card game with Pim, Keeg, Dirix and Roeder while Rotty and a couple other high-ranking Dregs look on. They all look up when Inej steps up.

“’Lo, Wraith,” Dirix says. “Welcome back. You staying for good this time?”

“Please don’t,” Roeder says with a good-natured smile to show he’s joking. “I like my job, and I don’t want you to steal it back.”

“No, I’m not staying,” Inej says. “Just stopping by for a visit. If you enjoy scrambling over every dirty, smelly crevasse of this city doing Kaz’s bidding, you’re more than welcome to it.” The instant the words come out of her mouth she feels guilty; she had never minded being Kaz’s spider, even when he was in a mood.

Still the Dregs laugh. They are all high enough in the ranks to have personally dealt with Kaz enough to know just how frustrating putting up with his opaque orders and unfathomable schemes could be.

When the laughter dies Inej moves on to the real reason she came over by them. “Where is Kaz by the way? I know he doesn’t like parties, but I haven’t seen him at all since I got back.”

The table goes silent. The Dregs look back and forth at each other like they’re trying to decide who should be the bearer of bad news. Inej’s stomach clenches with a familiar sense of apprehension, one that she’s been getting when she reads Kaz’s letters for months. It’s a subtle hint that something isn’t right, but she can’t for the life of her figure out what it is.

After a moment, Anika pushes back her chair and gives her cards to Rotty. “If you make me lose, I’ll end you,” she threatens, then stands up. “Come on, Ghafa,” she says in what Inej can only assume is her lieutenant’s voice. “Let’s have a chat.”

(3)

They step out into the hallway and Anika paces to the end to look out at the garden, arms crossed.

“Anika,” Inej ventures stepping up alongside her. “What’s wrong? Did something happen to Kaz?”

“I don’t know,” Anika says, slowly and precisely, like saying each word hurts.

“What do you mean?” Inej asks.

“He’s missing,” Anika says. “No one’s seen him in days.”

“What?” Inej can’t help it, she yells. “Why aren’t you looking for him?”

“We are!” Anika’s voice raises too. “But Ketterdam’s a big place and we don’t know where half his boltholes are. To be honest, he could still be holed up in his rooms in the Slat since no one actually saw him leave. No one answers when we knock, but the door’s locked, like, really locked.” She gives Inej a significant look.

Inej nods. Kaz has more locks on his door than any person should ever need, but he rarely uses all of them because several can only be locked and unlocked from the inside. He wouldn’t have gone through that much trouble if he was just going out. “Have you tried the windows?” she asks.

“Yeah,” Anika says. “We sent Mina up the morning after we lost track of him. The windows are all locked. To make matters worse, each one’s fitted with multiple Schuyler locks. Aside from Kaz there’s only a handful of people in the gang who can pick those, and none of them are capable of getting up on that roof without killing themselves.”

Inej bites her lip. She doesn’t know what to say. This doesn’t sound like Kaz at all. She tries to decide how likely it is that he just found an intriguing job and doesn’t like the odds. “Do you think he’s on a job?”

Anika growls low in the back of her throat, and Inej looks at her. “What?”

“You haven’t been around these past couple months, Ghafa,” Anika says. “Something’s not right with him. Hasn’t been in months, but it’s gotten worse since the last time you were here. I don’t know what kind of lover’s squabble the two of you had, but while you’ve been out there gallivanting around the ocean, we’ve been here dealing with him.”

Inej opens her mouth to protest that she’s doing a lot more than gallivanting, but stops herself because she’s not sure if Anika’s on the list of people who have been trusted with the true nature of her mission.

“Pim and I are basically running the Dregs,” Anika admits, calming down. “Brekker barely does anything anymore. I don’t think he’s realized we’ve noticed, though I’m not sure how that’s possible. He’s not very aware of anything. He spends a lot of time just staring blankly off into space. He’s not scheming, but I can’t figure out what he’s actually thinking about.”

Inej doesn’t know what to say. The idea of Kaz not pulling his own weight and leading the gang he bled for for so long is ludicrous. She can’t wrap her mind around it.

“So far, only the inner circle knows exactly how bad it is,” Anika says. She sounds exhausted. “That means me, Pim, Keeg, Dirix, Rotty, Roeder and Mina. We’re trying to keep it from going farther than that, but we’re running out of time. There are low-ranking members of the Dregs who are personally loyal to Kaz, but the majority of them are only loyal to the idea of him—of Dirtyhands, Bastard of the Barrel. When they figure out what’s going on…”

She doesn’t finish, but she doesn’t need to. Inej knows the Barrel well enough to know what Anika was going to say. If word gets out that Kaz is weak the very gang that has followed him so ravenously will turn on him just like they turned on Per Haskell. If that happens, Kaz will be lucky to escape with his life.

The thought is terrifying.

“What happened before he went missing?” Inej asks Anika, trying to push the conversation away from the horrible idea of Kaz’s possibly imminent fall.

Anika sighs. “You’d do best to ask Espen that.”

“What do you mean?”

“Hard to say,” Anika says. “All I know is that the night we lost track of the boss, he was supposed to go out to do some scouting with the spiders. He didn’t show up for hours. Roeder and Mina were just going to go without him, but Espen got angry and stalked upstairs. After a couple minutes he came down and said that-” she cuts herself off. “You know, you probably should talk to Espen about that, I’m not even sure I understand what went on.”

(5)

It takes Inej the better part of an hour to located Espen in the swirling mass of humanity in the Van Eck house. She’s just starting to wonder if he left without telling anyone when she runs into Mina. The young spider is more than happy to point her in Espen’s direction.

“I saw him over by the food,” she says. “Sulking probably; he hates parties.”

Inej threads through the crowd to the location specified. Espen is seated on a couch, crushed between the arm and a couple older members of the Dregs. He is clutching a plate of hors d'oeuvres and looks murderous, but he’s still there. If Kaz had been in his position, he’d have broken someone’s jaw and fled upstairs where there are less people by now.

Espen doesn’t notice her approach him, and Inej makes a mental note to tell Kaz to teach his spiders to be more observant. She waltzes up to Espen and snaps her fingers in front of his face.

He glares at her, overgrown mop of straw-colored hair falling into his angry blue eyes. Sometimes Inej looks at him and thinks that this must have been what Kaz had been like at age eleven, but other times she thinks that Kaz and Espen are only superficially alike. There is something almost theatrical about Espen’s anger, like he’s playing a part or seeking attention. She can’t imagine careful, calculating, brilliant Kaz ever acting like that.

“Wha’ do you want?” Espen asks in a low, gruff voice that might be a poor attempt at mimicking Kaz’s rasp.

“Just a chat,” Inej says and beckons with a finger. “Let’s go someplace quieter.”

(5)

She leads him into an upstairs parlor and locks the door behind them. He stands in the middle of the room, his arms crossed. “I’m waiting,” he says.

Inej rolls her eyes. “Drop the act. You’re not a hotshot. You’re just a kid.”

“I’m one of Kaz Brekker’s trusted spiders,” Espen says puffing his chest out. “I am one of the most important members of the Dregs.”

“Yes, and I’m the Wraith,” Inej says. “Do we really want to start throwing titles and accomplishments around?”

Espen visibly deflates. He either didn’t recognize her (which doesn’t make sense because she’s given him and the other spiders some tips during her visits in Ketterdam) or he was hoping she wouldn’t call him out on his bravado (much more likely). “What do you want?” he asks.

“Anika said that you and Kaz got in a fight a couple days ago,” Inej says.

“Yeah,” Espen says. “Happens all the time. Why does it matter?” There’s now something cagey about his body language. He’d rather not be talking about this.

“Why don’t you tell me about it,” Inej suggests, using the gentle, soothing voice she’s cultivated to put rescued slaves at ease.

She expects Espen to argue, but he grasps onto her offer to listen almost frantically. Whatever happened between him and Kaz has been weighing on his mind and he desperately wants to talk about it.

“I’m not a spider anymore,” he says.

That was not how she expected him to begin this conversation. “What do you mean?” she asks.

“I got fired,” Espen says, his voice is angry, but matter-of-fact in the way that only Barrel rats seem to be able to manage. As if bad things are something to be expected and taken when they come. “After the argument. Boss says he doesn’t want to see me ever again.”

That is odd. Inej has never known Kaz to tell someone he never wants to see them again. Loathe as she is to admit it, normally when he gets to that point he simply kills the person in question to ensure he doesn’t have to deal with them anymore. “What happened?” she asks slowly.

Espen shrugs, evasive anger back again. “I dunno. Brekker’s been really stupid lately.”

That sets off even more alarms in Inej’s head. She has never, ever heard the word “stupid” used in the same sentence as “Kaz Brekker.” “What do you mean?” she asks cautiously.

For a second Espen looks confused then nervous. “If Anika didn’t say anything, then maybe I shouldn’t-”

“Tell me,” Inej presses, shoving away the hurt at the idea that Anika might be keeping things from her. She and Anika aren’t exactly friends, but they’re not enemies either. Plus, Anika holds a position in the Dregs similar to the one that Kaz did when Haskell was general (albeit, with much less actual power). Of all the members of the Dregs, she’s the closest to Kaz and might be the only one who has a firm grasp on how serious Inej’s relationship with Kaz is. “Kaz is my friend,” she continues ignoring the voice that screams that she and Kaz are way past the “just friends” point. “If there’s something going on with him; I need to know about it.”

Espen sighs then relents and begins his story. Inej listens with growing shock as he relates his confrontation with Kaz. She recognizes the Kaz’s behavior because she has seen them in people she rescues from slavers. She has seen people who lash out at every perceived threat, who see such behavior as the only way to protect themselves from a world that has turned its back on them. She has just never applied them to Kaz.

“I don’t know what was wrong with him,” Espen finishes looking confused. “Is he sick?”

“He’ll be fine,” Inej says because she doesn’t feel like trying to explain trauma to a Barrel kid who has been raised in a community that refuses to acknowledge anything but strength. “Do you know where he went after your argument?”

Espen shrugs. “Dunno. I didn’t see him go anywhere.”

“Okay,” Inej says taking a deep breath in an effort to contain her thoughts. “Thank you.”

(6)

She approaches the Slat the way she always has; by the roofs. She isn’t sure that she truly believes Kaz will be there, but she isn’t sure where else to start so she decides to take her chances.

The window she always entered Kaz’s room through, the window she often sat in feeding the crows, is closed with a dark curtain pulled down behind it. It takes her upwards of twenty minutes to figure out how to pick the Schuyler locks, but when she finally does she pulls the window open, pushes aside the curtain and steps inside.

The room is dark and cluttered which is strange because for all his money Kaz owns very little and keeps what he does in impeccable order. Now there are clothes and weapons strewn across the floor. As Inej steps inside she accidently steps on a sheet of paper that is scrawled over on both sides in Kaz’s handwriting. A number of other sheets of paper are spread across the rest of the floor like someone threw them.

She’s just reaching the conclusion that someone must have broken into Kaz’s room and ransacked it when she realizes the room is not empty. There’s a teenage boy-sized lump in the bed and on closer investigation she realizes it’s Kaz.

She knows that Kaz sleeps on his side, curled into the fetal position with his back pressed up against the nearest wall, but she has never seen him take it quite this far. He’s curled up so tightly that he’s almost in a legitimate ball. She knows that’s bad for his leg; he’ll be lucky if he can stand let alone walk when he gets up. His coal gray blanket is pulled up so that only his hair is visible. He isn’t using a pillow and after a second she realizes that’s because he’s clutching it to his chest like it’s the only thing keeping him from drowning in a stormy ocean.

“Kaz?” she asks her voice nervous. “Kaz.” He doesn’t stir so she crosses the room trying to step around the papers incase they’re important. When she reaches his side, she kneels down next to him. “Kaz.” She says a little louder, reaching out and pulling the blanket away from his face, careful not to touch any skin. “Kaz, wake up.”

He shifts slightly, but doesn’t straighten or release his death grip on the pillow. One eye cracks open just slightly then closes again and he buries his face in the pillow.

“Kaz,” she repeats. “What’s wrong? Are you hurt?”

He moves again, just slightly and mutters something, but the words are rendered incomprehensible by the pillow.

“Kaz!” her voice is rising panic now, she grasps his blanket-covered shoulder and shakes him. “Look at me!”

(7)

As always, the physical contact gets a response from him. He bats her hands away with a motion that is a little more haphazard than it usually would be. His eyes open and he looks at her like he can’t decide if she’s actually there. “Inej?” he asks after a moment. “What are you doing here?”

“Looking for you,” Inej says. “Why aren’t you at Jesper and Wylan’s party?”

Kaz looks away. “I’m not going,” he says.

“Yes, I’d kind of figured that out,” she says perhaps a bit sharper than she intended to. She takes a deep breath and changes her tone before she goes on. “Are you still angry at me for the last time I was here?” he doesn’t say anything so she pushes onward. “Anika said you’ve been missing for a couple days. Are you okay?”

No answer.

“Kaz,” she presses. “Are you okay?”

Still no answer. He won’t even look at her.

“Kaz!” she shouts. He jumps which might have actually been funny under different circumstances. “Enough of this. Are You Okay?” She isn’t even sure why she’s continuing on this line of questioning when he pretty obviously not okay and she knows that if she does convince him to talk he’ll just lie. Perhaps she just wants the reassurance of knowing that he’s at least okay enough to lie to her.

If that’s what she wants she doesn’t get it, because Kaz says nothing. He just keeps looking away, eyes vacant and dead.

Just like their argument on the roof. She’d thought how silent he’d been then was wrong. They’ve argued before, but Kaz has never been quiet and listened. When Kaz is in an argument he lays into the other person with every ounce of cruel intelligence he possesses. Before that night, Inej had never won an argument with him. She should have known right away that something was wrong, but she’d been too angry and too high on her own victory to notice.

“Kaz,” Her voice softens, almost pleading. “What’s wrong?”

Finally he looks back at her, his eyes are still dead in a way that looks nothing like the Bastard of the Barrel. “Nothing,” he says. “I’m fine.”

Even though she was expecting this she can’t help but sigh. “Tell me the truth, Kaz.”

“I was sleeping,” Kaz says in a tone of voice that’s a little too flat for his defensive words. “Nothing more.”

“It’s ten thirty,” she points out.

He raises an eyebrow. “All kinds of people go to bed before that.”

“Not you,” Inej points out. It’s true; going to bed at midnight constitutes as early for Kaz Brekker. “Come on, Kaz.”

“I’m fine,” he says. “Leave me alone and let me sleep.”

Then he curls up on the bed again with his back facing her.

(8)

She can’t get him to start talking to her again, no matter how much she pleads. When she tries shaking him again he just shoves her off and pulls the blanket over his head.

Eventually she realizes that she’s unlikely to get any response from him. She’s going to be stuck waiting for the unlikely possibility that he’ll relent and tell her what’s wrong. She stands up. “I’m going to clean up this room a little,” she told him. “I’ll be right here if you decide you want to talk.”

Kaz doesn’t answer.

Inej sighs and sets to work on the mess Kaz has made. There’s an empty whiskey bottle lying on the floor and when she picks it up she realizes that it’s that super expensive whiskey she and Kaz stole once. Trust Kaz not to get drunk on something cheap.

She throws the bottle away, then turns to the papers spread out across the floor. After she picks up a couple she realizes they’re part of a letter. It takes her the better part of fifteen minutes to gather them all up and figure out what order they go in, but then her curiosity gets the better of her and she starts to read.

(9)

What she reads horrifies her.

If it wasn’t Kaz’s handwriting she would have thought someone else wrote it. The words don’t sound like Kaz Brekker. Kaz Brekker isn’t this open. He doesn’t talk like this. Kaz Brekker does not display this kind of abject self-hatred. Yet at the same time she knows that this horrible, untrue letter is Kaz and she knows that this is how he feels. This is what she abandoned him to without even realizing it.

She knew he had a lot armor, but she realizes now she may have given her understanding a bit too much credit. She had thought that she saw Kaz completely through the eyes of the almost eighteen year old woman she is now, but she realizes she was wrong. Somewhere inside of her a tiny portion of the fifteen year old girl she had been when Kaz rescued her from the Menagerie has been hanging on skewing her viewing of him. Back then she saw Kaz as something powerful and immortal, something strong enough to rise above the filth of Ketterdam, something that could make the monsters pay. That was what had drawn her to him in the beginning; the promise that perhaps, just perhaps he could make her something like that too.

Over the years that view of Kaz had started to die as she realized that Ketterdam took something from everyone, realized she did not need to be a monster. She’d also realized that Kaz was no demon, no immortal being, he was just a boy who had suffered trauma every bit as great as hers.

If Inej was honest with herself, Kaz had done more than just buy her indenture; he was why she wasn’t like some of the blank-eyed people she pulls out of slaver holds. From the instant she’d left the Mangerie, she’d never had the chance to sink into the blackness of her own despair because Kaz had always been there pushing her to move climb a little faster, hit a little harder, to be more than that girl who’d been sold in the brothels. He had saved her, even if he’d never intended to, even if he hadn’t even realized he was doing it. She had owed him the same, and she’d failed.

She sits on the floor and presses her forehead against her knees. She’d left Ketterdam thinking that she didn’t need Kaz anymore. That is at least kind of true; she no longer relies on him to determine her identity the she once did. She’s her own person with her own goals in her reach, but she’d forgotten to wonder whether Kaz needs her more than she needs him.

She turns to him. She doesn’t know what she’s going to say to him, but she knows that she needs to say something. “Kaz…” she whispers. He doesn’t respond, but his shoulders aren’t as tight as they were before so she thinks he’s fallen back to sleep.

She carefully pulls the blanket back around his shoulders so it’s no longer covering his face. Then she carefully steps towards the window. She isn’t sure what she needs to do to fix this and the only thing she can think of is that the only food Kaz keeps in his rooms is dry, gross stuff that doesn’t spoil. Food is like a bandage on a gaping wound, but it is something she can do right now.

Before she leaves she thinks about trying to find all Kaz’s knives and lock them up. She doesn’t know if Kaz will try to hurt himself, but she also knows that she’s unlikely to find all the knives he has hidden. She decides she’s better off just moving quickly and hoping to be back before he wakes up.

She takes one last look at his crumpled form and leaps out the window.

(10)

Her first stop is at the Van Eck mansion. She writes a note to Anika saying that she’s found Kaz, and one to Jesper and Wylan saying that something has come up and that she’ll make it up to them later. She doesn’t mention anything about the kind of shape Kaz is in. She’s not going to tell anyone about what’s going on without his blessing.

She gives the letters to one of the servants then sneaks into the kitchens. She makes off with some meat and vegetables because it will be easier than finding a shop to break into. She’ll pay Jesper and Wylan back later.

After leaving the mansion she stops by the Wraith to grab a few things. This only takes a few minutes and the crewmember on watch doesn’t even notice that she’s there. She makes a mental note to give her crew a talking to about how to be on guard duty, but right now she has bigger problems.

As she heads back to the Slat she passes by the small toy shop where she got the stuffed crow she gave to Alby Rollins before she left Ketterdam. She picks the simple lock on the backdoor and lets herself in. The shop is just as small and quaint as it was the last time she was here. She remembers belatedly that she’d promised the owner she’d convince Kaz to put this shop under Dregs protection in exchange for making the crow toy in a matter of hours. She’d forgotten in the whirlwind of preparations for her voyage. She renews that promise to herself as she looks at the wares spread out around the dark shop. She should not get in the habit of breaking her promises.

She wanders through the store looking at all the cute, fluffy stuffed toys. She isn’t exactly sure why she came here, but she feels like she needs to be here.

Eventually she stops before a rack of stuffed bears. She had a bear toy as a child. She remembers hugging it to her chest and feeling safe. She wonders briefly what happened to it when she got too old to want it anymore. Suddenly she hopes her parents didn’t get rid of it. She would like to see it again.

As she runs her fingers along the shelves of stuffed bears she wonders if Kaz ever had a toy like this. She has spent a lot of time recently trying to figure out exactly where Kaz came from. She knows that at some point in his life someone must have cared for him--he would have died as an infant if he’d been completely abandoned from the moment he was born--but she hasn’t been able to figure out who. She knows Kaz had a brother, but she doesn’t even know what his name was let alone how much older he was. Perhaps this older brother raised Kaz in the Barrel and then ran afoul of Pekka Rollins.

The only person who could answer her questions is Kaz and he’s so close-lipped about himself that it’s honestly a miracle he admitted he even had a brother. She wishes she could convince him to talk to her. She wants to help him, and talking always helps.

She shakes herself. She’s not helping Kaz by sitting in a toy shop and leaving him all alone. She starts to leave, then pauses and turns back to the rack of bears. She suddenly becomes aware of the idea that has been forming in her mind the entire time she’s been in this shop. She’s fully aware it might be a terrible idea and that he might refuse it at best and assume she’s mocking him at worst, but she feels like it’s something she needs to do.

She chooses to a medium-sized bear with a soft, cuddly body; silky, caramel-colored fur and a sweet, reassuring face that doesn’t have any uncomfortable wires in it. She sets the tag on the shop counter along with twice the kruge the owner is charging and slides the bear into a bag she took from Jesper and Wylan’s.

She leaves the shop, locking the door carefully behind her. Then she takes a deep breath, collects herself and takes to the rooftops for the journey back to the Slat.

--

That teddy bear is probably the one concession to fluff you’ll get out of me. I read a headcanon post on Tumblr once where Inej wins a stuffed animal in a throwing contest and gives it to Kaz, and ever since I’ve been sort of obsessed with the idea.

One more part left. Hopefully it will get out soon, but I’ll make no promises.

Thank you for reading!

Emjen

[ko-chan-the-blueberry-donut]

O Fortuna Chapter 8: No More Running

Karin: Hi guys! Here with another chapter! Last chapter seemed to have confused some people on why Alya acted out like that, and I took inspiration from her episode with Lady Wifi and how she acted in Origins that she seems to have a rigid sense of justice when it comes to heroes and how people should act. As seen in Lady Wifi, she doesn’t like unfair bullshit and being treated unfairly or used and I think that if Alya was Ladybug, she would get annoyed that someone was using her for their own gain whereas Marinette got mad Lila was using it to get closer to Adrien. She also is overprotective of her friends and she was mad that Adrien was about to reveal their identities without consulting her or considering what could happen afterwards.

Disclaimer: I don’t own Miraculous.

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“Be not afraid of greatness. Some are born great, some achieve greatness, and others have greatness thrust upon them.”

― William Shakespeare, Twelfth Night

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Chapter Eight: No More Running

Lila sniffled as she walked along the street, clutching the broken necklace in her hands. Her teary eyes caught a poster of Ladybug and she snarled at the offending poster.

“Stupid Ladybug! She ruined my chances with Adrien!” Lila wanted to rip the poster in two. “What does she know about being a hero anyway? She abuses her power to attack people when she doesn’t like them! What kind of hero is that?”

Suddenly, a black butterfly flew towards the necklace, zapping it together with an eerie black aura. A voice spoke in Lila’s head, and she found it to be soothing against the fury and shame she felt.

“Voplina…” the voice spoke eloquently. “I hear your cries. Ladybug humiliated you in front of the boy you like. Perhaps it’s time a new hero stepped in to show her how a real hero should act.”

A purple glowing butterfly mask appeared in front of her face, and Lila’s eyes glinted maliciously.

“Sure, Hawkmoth. I’ll show her how it’s done.”

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

Marinette wondered if she perhaps had taken up banging her head against the tree trunk after all, and knocked herself out because she was sure she didn’t have this much bad luck in one day, did she?

“Marinette! Stop staring at it and swat it away!” Chloe ordered, still clutching onto Marinette tightly. Duusu just gave them a watery gaze, the rejection fresh in her eyes.

Alas, yes, apparently she did.

Marinette made a noise of displeasure and promptly dropped Chloe on her butt. Chloe thumped against the ground with a shriek, and Marinette pinched the bridge of her nose in exasperation. Duusu surveyed her new master cautiously, not sure how she was going to react to seeing her again, but Marinette continued muttering to herself.

“What was that for?!” Chloe exclaimed, raising from the ground to give Marinette hell. “Do you know who my father is?! I’ll have you know these clothes are worth more than your parents’ bakery, Marinette, and you got them dirty—”

She stopped ranting immediately when Marinette’s eyes snapped open to glare at her, the color glinting brilliantly against her features. Chloe felt her breath catch in her throat.

“Chloe, I’m going to say this once, and only once.” Marinette started, her bad mood from today overflowing. “I don’t give a rat’s ass about who your father is or how much your clothes are worth or even about you in general; so, please, for just a little bit, shut the fuck up.”

Chloe gaped at her like a fish, and Marinette turned to her second issue, the blue kwami watching her in fear. Her feet itched to run away, to leave the kwami behind, but she found herself frozen as she looked into Duusu’s eyes. The sadness. The agony. And Marinette found she was seeing herself reflected in those eyes. Guilt crawled up to squeeze her heart, and Marinette suddenly realized how cruel she had been to Duusu. She could hear a voice in her mind that sounded like Tikki reprimanding on how harsh she was to her and Duusu. She was a hypocrite.

She abandoned Duusu like she herself was afraid of being abandoned because of the things she did. Unlike her though, Duusu couldn’t change how she was involved with the Miraculous. Kwamis didn’t have a choice to be inactive. It was their masters that called all the shots.

‘I’m the worst…’ Marinette mourned, her shoulders dropping. ‘I’ve been so selfish that I haven’t considered how Tikki or Duusu feel at my rejection. I only cared about my own fears.’

“Duusu…” Marinette called, and the peacock kwami perked up, surprise at her holder acknowledging her. “Why are you here? I… I’m sorry but I can’t accept your miraculous. Monsieur Agreste made a mistake. I know you awakened because of me… but trust me, I’m not good for you. I’ll only weigh you down…” Marinette explained softly. Duusu looked at her in sorrow.

“That’s not true, Master. I came alive because I felt your conviction and beliefs. You are truly meant for a miraculous. Gabriel doesn’t make mistakes.” Duusu said, just as soft, and the two found their individual despairs linking on the same level, each saddened that the other couldn’t seem to agree with their sentiments.

“Um… sorry but what’s this thing, Marinette? Why is it calling you Master? Also, what’s this about Adrien’s dad?” Chloe interrupted, wary that Marinette would rain wraith upon her again. For someone who was closed off and quiet, she didn’t expect Marinette to have such a fiery temper. “You all keep mentioning something called a miraculous…” Chloe trailed off. Marinette and Duusu turned to her, both just remembering she was there.

“Marinette is my chosen.” Duusu supplied, stating it as if it was fact. Marinette winced.

“Chloe…” Marinette hesitated, not sure what to say or how much to say. “You know how Ladybug, Chat Noir, and Hawkmoth have items called Miraculous, right?” Chloe hmphed and flipped her hair.

“You mean those gaudy pieces of jewelry they wear? Yeah, not something I would personally wear.” Chloe crossed her arms.

“Well, they are what make them… well them.” Marinette replied. “They need those jewelry pieces in order to transform and be their other personas.”

“Master, are you sure you should be telling her this?” Duusu questioned, shocked at how her chosen was just informing Chloe everything. Marinette shrugged.

“Well, nothing can be done about it now. Let’s take you back to Monsieur Agreste, ASAP.” Marinette said, grabbing her bag from the ground. “Besides, she’ll just follow me everywhere screaming like a banshee if I don’t give her some information.”

“Rude! I do not sound like a banshee!” Chloe huffed. Duusu giggled, but stopped as if she realized something.

“Oh! Master, I forgot! I was trailing Adrien Agreste because he has something really important of Gabriel’s! Something that can’t be replaced!” Duusu began panicking.

“You mean like a piece of jewelry?” Marinette raised an eyebrow. Duusu shook her head.

“No, it is a book! An ancient book that holds many secrets about the Miraculous! It can’t fall into the wrong hands.” Duusu fretted. Chloe and Marinette looked at her and then at each other.

“I remember Adrien reading a book in the library when he was with Lila.” Marinette recalled.

“What happened to it?” Chloe asked, curious. Marinette had a pensive expression, tapping her chin with her finger.

“Let’s see… that’s right! Lila took it! And then—gah!” Marinette gasped as it suddenly hit her. She raced over to the trash can, retrieving the tome. Chloe blanched.

“You’re actually touching that thing after it’s been in the trash?” Chloe looked green at the thought of touching trash. Marinette rolled her eyes, wiping the book off with her scarf.

“Relax. It’s fine. Clothes can be washed and so can skin.” Marinette turned to Duusu. “Alright, we have the book, now let’s return you and it to Monsieur Agreste.”

“You won’t be going to claim my Miraculous?” Duusu asked sadly. Marinette looked at her with a pained expression, feeling awful for disappointing yet another kwami. She gently picked Duusu out of the air and placed her in her scarf.

“Let’s get you back.” Marinette replied, not wanting to give Duusu false hope, but also not wanting to be mean like she was before.

“Hold on, I’m coming too.” Chloe claimed. Marinette watched her with wide eyes. Chloe scoffed at her expression. “You can’t expect me to go home and forget all about this, can you? I want answers on why Adrien is being so secretive! Something’s not right here!” Chloe crossed her arms. Marinette sighed and starting walking, gesturing her to follow.

“Fine, but no more screeching. You’ll attract attention.”

“Hmph! I do not screech.”

Duusu giggled at the new banshee lady arguing with her master. Clearly, she doesn’t pay attention to how she speaks.

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Alya glared at the scene below her from the Eiffel Tower. The wind rustled her hair gently while she hugged her knees close to her chest.

“Stupid Nino, stupid Marinette, stupid Lila, stupid Adrien…” she grumbled, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “and stupid Ladybug!” she hissed at the thought of the previous Ladybug. Her lips quivered as she kept hearing Adrien’s jab in her mind. She groaned and banged on her head a couple of times. “Dammit! He’s got me thinking about her! Tikki told us not to dwell on her and here I am doing just that!”

‘But clearly Adrien hasn’t been listening so why should you?’ her mind grumbled. She pulled on her loose hair and let out a yell of frustration. She wanted to hit something! Perhaps she had been cruel, but hadn’t Adrien been crueler to attack her at her insecurities? He knew of her feelings of being second best—the doubt in her mind at not being chosen originally like he had been.

She knew she shouldn’t wonder on the what ifs or the hows like Tikki told her, but she couldn’t help her curiosity. Why exactly did she get a miraculous? What had the previous Ladybug been thinking at the time when she chose her to take her place? Alya wondered if she knew her. How did the previous Ladybug know she was meant for the job? Was it just a fluke and she chose a random person, or was it because the previous Ladybug saw something in her?

Alya remembered the first time she opened the box to the Ladybug Miraculous. She remembered the crestfallen face of Tikki as the kwami informed her she was the new hero of Paris. Alya had been ecstatic at the thought of saving Paris. She was so grateful to the previous Ladybug for giving her this chance that she took up the previous one’s title in her honor. To honor Ladybug’s greatness for choosing the right hero for Paris.

And then she remembered meeting up with Chat Noir. The absolute confusion and sorrow on his face when he saw her and not his original Ladybug. What had Adrien felt when Alya told him the previous Ladybug wasn’t coming back? Was he that distraught by his Ladybug’s disappearance that he still thought about it to this very day? Was Alya not good enough to be his partner? To be his friend? If he still thought about the previous Ladybug, then perhaps she hadn’t been good enough at either of those things. Her amber eyes stung, unshed tears hanging in them, making them glisten.

“It’s not fair!” she cried, burying her head in her knees. “Why did she have to leave? Why didn’t she at least tell me why, so I wouldn’t be here second guessing myself? Why had she chosen me?” her voice cracked.

Because if Chat—Adrien—didn’t think she was good enough, then how could the previous Ladybug think she was good enough to take up her mantle?

She was sure if she released her transformation, Tikki would tell her things like not to worry about it or think on these thoughts, but it was too late. Adrien had found the perfect crack in her armor and broke it into pieces. It was too late to forget about it now.

However, before she could mourn any further, a light from the sky caught her attention. Her eyes widened when she caught sight of the meteor tumbling towards Paris.

“Not good!” she flicked her yoyo into action and flew towards the trouble.

Unfortunately for her, someone else beat her to it.

Another masked superhero jumped in front of the meteor, banishing it away. The crowds of people cheered in relief at the threat being defused. The masked hero looked like an orange fox, with her pointed ears, scarfed tail, and orange bodysuit. Her eyes shined with a mischievous charm.

“People of Paris! Never fear for I am Volpina and I am here to protect you better than Ladybug and Chat Noir ever could!” she shouted, spreading her arms. The crowds below chanted her name over and over making Volpina smirk. Alya just blinked in confusion.

“What the…?” Deciding to be cautious, she approached the new hero quietly. She took a defensive stance just in case she turned out to be a threat. “Who are you?” she demanded. Volpina simply smirked and flicked her hair.

“I told you—I am Volpina! I’m the new hero!” she stared right into Ladybug’s eyes and Alya wanted to squirm. “I told you I was for real. I came to help fight against Hawkmoth.” Ladybug’s eyes widened.

“Lila?!” she exclaimed. How is this possible? She broke the necklace in half. A Miraculous wouldn’t be so easily destroyed. Lila—or Volpina—simply giggled and flicked some dust off her shoulder.

“You failed my test—I was purposefully telling Adrien about me to get your attention, and you went ballistic with the fake Miraculous I had.” Volpina’s eyes narrow. “Not very smart for a hero, are you?”

Ladybug bristled at the jab. Her teeth gritted in her mouth.

“I was protecting a civilian from a liar.” Volpina looked unimpressed.

“Oh really? Well looks at us now. I’m Volpina and I’m here. Guess your lie detector isn’t as good as you thought, now is it?” Ladybug winced at her tone, guilt and shame filling her at realizing Lila was right. She was here now, and clearly a superhero, which means that Alya was a jerk for nothing. Her shoulders slumped. She really felt like a bad person now.

“You’re right. I’m sorry. You clearly have proven your persona.” Ladybug conceded. Volpina grinned smugly and walked over to Ladybug, looping an arm around her shoulder.

“That’s the spirit! Now, onto more important things.” Volpina turned serious. “I believe I know the location of Hawkmoth’s lair.” Ladybug’s eyes widened in shock.

“What?! Where is it?” Alya grabbed her arm. Volpina chuckled and slipped out of her hold. She gestured Ladybug to follow her.

“Over here! This way!”

“Wait… shouldn’t we call Chat?” Alya questioned. She took out her compact and began to phone him. Volpina slapped her hand on the compact and giggled.

“Us girls can handle it, I’m sure! Besides, don’t you wanna show Chat at how great of a hero you are?” Volpina beckoned. Alya looked down at her compact pensively, recalling at how Adrien lashed out at her. His faith in her being a hero seemed to diminish marginally. She had to prove to him she was meant for the position of Ladybug!

She had to make him forget about the previous Ladybug…

“Alright.” Ladybug agreed, putting her compact away. “Let’s go.”

Volpina smiled good naturedly and they were off.

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Adrien had arrived home a while ago, having locked himself in his room in order to cool off. Plagg watched him pace back and forth in frustration while the kwami munched on his favorite cheese. He swallowed, making a loud gulping sound.

“What’s the big deal? So you and Alya had a fight. It happens.” Plagg chimed in. Adrien shook his head.

“Yeah, but this was something really big, Plagg.” Adrien responded, rustling his golden hair. “Alya really acted out, and then I went and let my anger get the best of me and really hurt her. We both were wrong.”

“Well maybe she needs to hear it so she can stop being so much of a tight ass when it comes to how a hero should behave.” Plagg chomped on another piece of cheese. Adrien glared at him.

“Plagg! That’s mean.”

“Well it’s not my fault you subconsciously compare her to the previous Ladybug all the time. You’re always saying ‘oh we’re such a great team but if we had the other Ladybug we’d be better’ or ‘I wonder what the other Ladybug would do in this situation’… you’re like a broken record at times after akuma encounters.” Plagg explained. Adrien looked at the floor in shame.

“I didn’t…”

“Face it, kid. You’ve been holding onto the notion that Alya isn’t your Ladybug behind her back ever since she showed up with the earrings.” Plagg scolded. Adrien wanted to the floor to open and swallow him up. Guilt welled up within him, unleashing the hurt and abandonment he felt from the first Ladybug leaving him behind without any explanation.

“Alya is a great Ladybug…” Adrien protested weakly in order to defend himself. Plagg pinned a serious stare at him, his green eyes seeing right through his chosen.

“But she’s not your Ladybug.”

Ashamed at Plagg’s statement, Adrien stopped pacing and sat on his couch, thinking to himself. Guilty that Plagg was right, he sighed and rubbed his temples.

“I just… I can’t help it… Ladybug was chosen like I was. I felt a connection with her. Yeah, Alya’s great and we work great, but it’s not…”

“It’s not like you’re in sync like it’s second nature.” Plagg supplied for him.

“Yeah…” Adrien admitted. Plagg contemplated telling him the truth behind the Ladybug and Cat miraculous, but knew it would only cause his chosen more distress at learning that Ladybug and Chat Noir were two halves of a whole, and therefore that is why he felt such a strong connection with her. It wouldn’t be good to weigh him down with more abandonment issues, and frankly a depressed Adrien was a whiny Adrien, and Plagg did not enjoy a whiny Adrien.

Also, he didn’t think he could bare the look of absolute despair at knowing Adrien lost his other half. Despite how he acted, Adrien was precious to him. His kitten mattered to him.

And so Plagg kept it to himself.

“I owe Alya an apology…” Adrien voiced out, rubbing his neck. “She didn’t… she doesn’t deserve to be named as second best as my partner in my mind. Even if she was wrong, I went too far with comparing her to Ladybug.” He concluded. Plagg hummed.

“I would advise you to talk to her how you feel. It will do your partnership and friendship good to be honest about these things.” Plagg advised. Adrien gave him a tired smile and scratched behind Plagg’s ear. Plagg, in response, purred.

“Yeah, you’re right.”

“I always am.”

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

“How much longer are we going to go?” Ladybug asked Volpina, as they traveled further and further from the populace. Volpina gave her a smile. Alya had to admit that it was smart of Hawkmoth to be hidden among the outskirts of Paris.

“Don’t worry, just a little longer.” Volpina promised as they went deeper into the woods. They stopped in a clearing, and Volpina turned to her.

“I’ll see if the coast is clear first before we both head in, okay?” Volpina volunteered. Alya furrowed her brow in confusion.

“Wouldn’t it make more sense for us to go in together?” Ladybug questioned. Volpina shook her head.

“We can’t afford you getting captured. Hawkmoth is after your Miraculous, so it would be better not to risk you.” Volpina reasoned. With that, she went off ahead, leaving Ladybug in the clearing. Alya fidgeted, keeping her yoyo close to her, apprehension holding her.

So this was it… she was going to face Hawkmoth.

She wondered what Adrien will say when she defeats Hawkmoth. This is what they’ve worked for, finally coming to fruition. A part of her was saddened though, that he wasn’t here to fight with her. However, she knew this was something she had to do so she could prove to him that she was meant to be the true Ladybug.

Rustling caught her attention, and Alya’s eyes widened when she caught sight of Chat Noir coming out of the forest.

“Chat! What are you doing here?” she asked. Yet, she was caught off guard when Chat Noir glowered at her.

“I see you’re too busy to give me a call.” Chat snarled. He stepped forward more, making Alya feel uneasy. “What kind of partner are you? Some hero you are—you don’t even tell me we’re going after Hawkmoth.”

“Wha…?” Alya voiced out. “How did you know?” she asked. Chat Noir advanced on her, and Alya found herself taking steps back from him.

“I saw you and the new hero together! Are you replacing me too? Am I not good enough for a partner?” Chat hissed.

“No, Chat! How could you think that? I just wanted to prove to you I was a good hero!” Alya protested. Chat laughed mirthlessly.

“You? A good hero? Yeah right. I’d be so much better off without you.” Chat charged at her, baton raised and Alya hurriedly dodged. She readied her yoyo and flew away from him.

“Chat! What are you doing?” Alya yelled. Chat smirked.

“Getting rid of you of course.”

With that, he went after her and Alya flew away. She ran into the forest with Chat Noir in pursuit. Her mind was racing.

‘What the hell is going on?! This isn’t Chat at all!’ Alya panicked. She ran as fast as she could, as Chat destroyed whatever was in his path to get to her. ‘Did Hawkmoth do something to him?!’

She skidded to a stop, coming face to face with a cliff, and she turned to see Chat zeroing in on her.

“Chat, listen to me! Hawkmoth is controlling you! I’m your friend remember!” she backed up, finding herself at the edge. Chat smirked, the cruelty shining in his eyes looking so alien on him. “Volpina! Help!” Alya called.

“It’s just us here, Ladybug.” Chat grinned maliciously. “It’s time Paris got its real hero.”

With that, he charged and shoved her off the cliff. Alya screamed, feeling the pull of gravity weighing her down to the ground, and flung her yoyo out to save herself. Her yoyo caught and she found herself coming to a stop, the force of the pull causing her arm to dislocate. Alya cried in agony at the pain. Tears came to her eyes as she gritted her teeth. She raised her other hand to grip the wire of her yoyo as she hung off the cliff. A giggle sounded above her, and Alya bit through the pain to look up. Instead of Chat, there stood Volpina, grinning like a cat that just ensnared the canary in her trap.

“Honestly, you’re so gullible! And here I thought fooling you would actually be a challenge.” Volpina sneered. Alya clenched her teeth, anger rising within her at the betrayal becoming clear.

“You tricked me!”

“Yes, but you just made it so easy.” Volpina teased. “Now if you excuse me, I’ll be off to claim my prize before coming back to get your Miraculous.” Suddenly, a purple butterfly mask appeared in front of her face, obviously showing the displeasure of Hawkmoth at her statement. “Calm down, Hawkmoth! You’ll get your Miraculous! But for now, it’s my time to shine!” with that, Volpina left Alya hanging there. Alya struggled against the wire, trying in vain to pull herself up. Tears of frustration welled in her eyes, hurt consuming her.

‘I can’t believe I fell for her tricks!’ Alya cursed herself. She began pulling herself up slowly, slipping on the wire. ‘I have to warn Chat! Lila is going to go after him next!’

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

Marinette felt her nerves overflow as she stood in front of the gates to the Agreste mansion. Her fingers shook as she pressed the call button to the intercom.

“Hello, what is it?” Natalie’s voice drifted through the speakers.

“H-hi, we’re here to see Monsieur Agreste.” Marinette anxiously said. “We have something of his.” She added. The camera examined her and Chloe, and Marinette felt the skepticism through the lens. She wanted to crawl into a hole.

“Monsieur Agreste is very busy.” Natalie said.

“It’s important.” Marinette stressed. “He’ll want to see us.”

“Very well.” The camera disappeared and the gates opened. Marinette and Chloe sighed in relief. Duusu peeked out from Marinette’s scarf.

“Okay, now we’ll return his book and be on our way.” Marinette announced. Chloe glared.

“Wait! Just like that? I want an explanation here!” Chloe stamped her foot.  

‘So would I, actually…’ Marinette shook her head at that and chose to ignore Chloe, making her way across the courtyard to the front doors. Surprisingly, it was Gabriel who slammed open the door. He must have heard from Natalie who exactly was trying to meet with him. His icy blue eyes widened at seeing Marinette right at his doorstep; however, when he caught sight of Chloe, his eyes narrowed in suspicion.

“Marinette… how can I help you?” Gabriel spoke, not giving any of his thoughts away. Nevertheless, he was even more shocked when Duusu revealed herself from Marinette’s scarf. Duusu looked guilty, fiddling her paws.

“I… Gabriel, I’m sorry.” Duusu told him with remorse. Gabriel quickly gestured them inside, to which the three followed sweet.

“Come this way.” He gestured to his office. Once they were shut securely inside the room, he swiftly turned to them in outrage.

“Duusu! What have you done?” he demanded for answers. Marinette jumped to Duusu’s defense.

“It wasn’t her fault, Monsieur Agreste! She accidentally found me and Chloe together. It couldn’t be helped.” Marinette explained. Gabriel pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed.

“Duusu, what were you doing out in the open like that? You’ve could’ve been seen by anyone.” He scolded the kwami, but there was no bite to it like before.

“I was following Adrien.” Duusu confessed. “I saw him take the Miraculous book away from your safe and I knew I had to go after him to get it back.” Marinette brought out the tome and Gabriel hurriedly retrieved it, surveying it for any damage, panic clear in his eyes.

“It’s fine, Monsieur Agreste.” Marinette told him gently. “A girl stole it from Adrien and we found it in the trash can, but nothing was damaged.”

“I see.” Gabriel noted.

“Sooo… am I going to get any kind of explanation here?” Chloe decided then that she needed to speak, tapping her foot loudly. Gabriel seemed to have just realized she was there and replied with silence. This made Chloe growl and start yelling, “I know Adrien knows Ladybug! And you gave Marinette some kind of mutant bird that can make her like Ladybug and Chat Noir! How do you know all of this stuff?! Are you guys part of some secret agency?! Tell me already!”

“Mademoiselle Bourgeois.” Gabriel spoke coldly, in a tone that anyone with a brain would know not to cross him, and Chloe squeaked. “Will you kindly lower your voice? My assistant doesn’t have a clue of what we’re discussing, and I’d like to keep it that way.”

“We’re not discussing anything.” Marinette claimed, gesturing Duusu to return to Gabriel, “We’ve just come back to give Duusu and the book back to you. We’ll be leaving now.”

“Marinette, if you would only listen—”

“Monsieur, with all due respect, you have chosen the wrong person. I know Duusu says you don’t make mistakes, but trust me when I say this is the one time you made a bad judgement call.” Marinette dismissed it, frowning.

Before Gabriel could protest, the door to his office slammed open and a frantic Natalie appeared.

“Monsieur Gabriel! Adrien’s in danger!”

Duusu had hidden in Marinette’s scarf, as the three people gave off an expression of alarm, and raced to follow Natalie to Adrien’s room.”

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

Adrien’s eyes were wide as he looked upon the fox hero. She was smiling graciously at him and gave a coy wink.

“Hello, handsome boy!” she greeted. He could feel Plagg squirm inside his shirt. “What do you think of my superhero outfit? Cute, no?” she teased.

“Um… it’s very nice.” He blinked confused. The heroine giggled.

“Adrien! It’s me, Lila!” she grinned.

“Wha—Lila?!” Adrien exclaimed. Lila turned serious and grasped his hands.

“I’ve come to show you I wasn’t a liar like Ladybug claimed.” Lila gestured to herself. “I am Volpina and I’m really here to protect Paris!” Lila claimed. She stepped closer to him and Adrien backed up warily. “Don’t worry, Adrien. I won’t hurt you.” She reached a hand out to touch his face, but a wire quickly wrapped around her wrist, yanking her away from Adrien. Lila yelped.

Adrien’s emerald eyes were wide when he saw Ladybug—Alya—glaring down at Lila with righteous fury. Her amber eyes flared to life like a golden blaze.

“Ladybug?!” he yelled in shock.

“Adrien! She’s an akuma!” Ladybug shouted. She pulled on the wire harshly with one arm, causing Lila to screech in pain at being flung across the room into the wall. “She’s Volpina and she tried to kill me!”

“If only you stayed dead!” Volpina snarled, pulling against the wire. “If you hadn’t ruined my date with Adrien then this wouldn’t be happening!”

“Date?” Adrien voiced. “I... err… sorry but I didn’t really see it as a date.” He said sheepishly. Volpina gaped in shock as Ladybug grinned smugly. However, she screeched and pulled her arm, yanking Ladybug towards her. Ladybug hissed as both her hands tugged back on the yoyo, but the pain from her shoulder caused her to not have a strong enough grip, and she was yanked forward towards Volpina. Volpina punched her square in the jar violently. Ladybug cried as Volpina smirked. She readied her flute and played a few notes before the instrument was knocked from her hands by a baton.

“What a catastrophic it is that you seem to hate ladybugs, Volpina.” Chat grinned. “I hear they’re quite lucky.”

“Chat!” Ladybug exclaimed. Chat hurried to his partner and helped her off the floor. She surprised him, however, when she embraced him tightly. “Thank god you’re real this time!”

“Uhhh now isn’t the time, LB.” Chat told her as she sprung apart, dodging Volpina’s attacks. They readied themselves to fight her when the door to Adrien’s room burst open to reveal Gabriel, Natalie, Marinette, and Chloe. Chat’s eyes bugged open. “What the..?”

“Too late, Ladybug and Chat Noir!” Volpina sneered, having retrieved her flute and Chat’s eyes widened when he saw a doppelganger of himself holding her hand. “I have my handsome boy right here! Come and chase us if you want him back!” with that, her and the fake Adrien jumped out the window.

‘How did she…?’ Gabriel and Chat’s eyes narrowed at the implications of Volpina’s abilities. Both knew Volpina didn’t have the real Adrien, for he was right there as Chat. Nevertheless, Gabriel knew that he had to keep up a front for his son’s sake.

“What are you just standing there for?!” he barked. “My son has been captured! Go get him!” Chat Noir and Ladybug snapped their heads towards him.

“Right…” Chat whispered to himself. Ladybug beckoned him towards the window and both were off. Natalie, Marinette, and Chloe watched the whole scene in horror.

“I’ll go call the police!” Natalie yelled, disappearing from sight. This left Chloe, Marinette, and Gabriel in Adrien’s empty room.

“Adrien… “ Marinette whispered, eyes wide with panic. Chloe was frantically pacing.

“Adrien! No! We have to save him!” Chloe cried. Gabriel wisely kept the information that Adrien was in fact safe and sound to himself. It was not the time or place to reveal his son. He didn’t trust the Bourgeois girl to keep a cool head if he spilled the beans. The blonde haired girl rounded on the other two people in the room immediately as they were not speaking at all. “What are you doing just standing there?! Do something about this!”

“I’m afraid there’s nothing we can do.” Gabriel replied. Chloe was about to yell some more when a noise caught both their attention. They turned their gazes to the third occupant of the room, who was clearly in shock.

“Adrien… she took Adrien…” Marinette whispered. It seemed the severity of the situation was hitting her hard to the point where she was not comprehending it. Gabriel watched her in curiosity. “Adrien’s never been a target before… he’s never been taken before…” she bit her lip to the point of drawing blood. Drips of red ran down her chin. Duusu flew out from Marinette’s scarf and was comforting her. Chloe zeroed her eyes on the peacock.

“You! You can save Adrien!” Chloe declared. Duusu shook her head.

“Not alone. I need my Master to use me.”

“Grr! Then tell me how to use you so I can go save Adrien!” Chloe demanded. Duusu again shook her head.

“You are not my chosen. Marinette is my Master. Only she can use me.” She patted the pale girl’s cheek as Marinette was still silent. Chloe growled and swiftly grabbed her scarf, pulling her to her face.

“Yes, Adrien was taken, Marinette! So what are you going to do about it?!” Chloe yelled, shaking her. “Adrien is gone! My best friend is gone! And if you sit here and don’t do anything about it, I’ll never forgive you, you hear me?!” tears were streaming down Chloe’s face, the reality that her friend was in danger and she couldn’t do a thing about it, paining her.

Marinette’s thoughts were running like a marathon. Flashes of Adrien smiling appeared in her mind. Of him laughing. Of him being shy. She remembered his touches and encouraging words. She remembered the kindness he showed her from the very beginning. She remembered his face when he was holding his umbrella out to her—of his confession.

“I never had any friends.”

A hand reached up and grasped the hand that Chloe was using to grip Marinette’s scarf. Chloe stopped crying, looking up to see Marinette staring back at her, her eyes piercing her with the intensity of a blue inferno. She gasped at how they seemed to stare right into her soul. With Marinette’s guidance, she numbly let go of her. Chloe continued to gaze at her in a stupor while Marinette grasped both of her hands, pressing them against her heart. Gabriel and Duusu watched the midnight-haired girl in interest.

“Adrien will be all right.” Marinette said strongly. “Because I will save him.”

Chloe sniffled, her eyes flooding with tears, and she nodded. Marinette let go of her hands and turned towards Duusu and Gabriel.

“Master… are you sure?” Duusu asked, cautious, not believing what she was hearing. The kwami could feel herself buzzing with anticipation at being used once again. Marinette smiled, and Duusu was caught off guard at how warm it was. When Marinette nodded, Duusu could feel tears of happiness filling her eyes. She shook her head to rid of the tears and thoughts that accompanied them, but she found she couldn’t even begin to quell the happiness inside of her. Chloe, Marinette, and Gabriel watched in awe as Duusu glowed a bright blue in her joy, chirping a beautiful song. “It would be an honor to serve you, Master.” Duusu smiled as tears slid down her face. Marinette had a soft smile as she lifted her hands to catch Duusu in the air.

“Marinette.” Marinette corrected, still smiling, and Duusu felt herself grin.

“Marinette… I feel the cosmos singing in happiness. Its song is so beautiful.” Duusu sniffled.

“Yeah yeah! Hurry it up!” Chloe pressed them, coming out of her daze. Marinette nodded and turned to Gabriel who was holding out the peacock pin.

“Are you sure about this, Marinette?” Gabriel asked. Blue eyes shining in determination gazed into his. He was caught off guard at the conviction in them.

“Adrien has always given me kindness, even when I didn’t deserve it.” Marinette replied. She took the pin and clipped to her sweater. “It’s my turn to give something back.”

“Very well.” Gabriel nodded. “The words to activate the Peacock are ‘Feathers Fly’.”

Marinette took a deep breath, clutching the pin against her chest, and with a clear voice shouted.

“Feathers Fly!”

[asflowersfade]

Scribble-Doodle: Wraiths

A parabatai/Malec/Clace story set after 220. Open-ended because I don’t know how the show plans to take on this particular issue, so...

The first time it happens, they’re walking home from the Hunter’s Moon, he and Magnus, hand in hand, just enjoying each other’s company. And that’s when…

… that’s when the world turns white, like the negative of a photograph, darkness becomes light and light becomes darkness and there’re… things floating around, like wisps of smoke, things with glowing eyes and sharp teeth and they see him, they notice him looking and they turn towards him with mouths gaping wide open and they screech…

It’s gone and Alec stumbles blindly, gasping, as his knees turn weak and a wave of exhaustion crashes over him.

“Whoops!” Magnus yelps and grabs Alec’s hand to stop him from falling over. “Hey! Hey! Are you okay?” he asks, concerned, and touches Alec’s face gently. “You’ve gone awfully pale on me.”

Alec blinks rapidly and looks around, but everything’s as it should be again: it’s a warm night in Brooklyn and he’s here, with Magnus, feeling his gentle hands on his face. The eerie image’s gone. What was that?

“Alexander?” Magnus asks softly, turning Alec’s face towards him. “You okay?”

Swallowing hard, Alec nods. “Yeah, yeah, I… yeah. I guess I better stay away from alcohol altogether next time, huh?” he tries for a lame joke.

Magnus watches him a moment longer, then he smiles and pecks him on the lips. “Who would’ve thought you were such a lightweight! Ah,” he adds with mischief dancing in his eyes, “Alexander Lightweight!”

Alec groans, but then he laughs, too, the incident already forgotten.

But it keeps happening, randomly and sometimes in the most unfortunate moments, like when he’s in a briefing with his people or during a Cabinet meeting with the Downworld representatives. For long moments, he loses track of time, then, as the world around him becomes inverted and all the real, living, breathing people disappear, replaced with wraiths ready to pounce the moment they see him looking. And Alec keeps quiet about it, even though he knows he should not, but how do you explain something like this without sounding crazy?

But then, one day, this… thing that’s been happening to him just goes on and on and on, this strange force holds him tight in this twilight world instead of letting him snap back into his own reality, and the wraiths get too close, they get to him and their rake their claws down his chest, reaching for his heart… 

... and Alec screams and when he returns to his own world of light and warmth - the wound’s still there, four long slashes running down his chest and oozing dark red blood.

And that’s how Magnus finds him as he rushes into the kitchen, dressed only in his purple silk pajama bottoms, he finds Alec kneeling on the floor in a puddle of steaming hot coffee, among sharp shards that Magnus cleans away with a wave of his hand, and he gasps a shocked, “Alexander!” as he sees the blood oozing through the fingers of the hand that Alec has pressed against his chest.

“Magnus,” Alec gasps, looking up at him, “I think… I think I need help.”

“Why didn’t you tell us about this?” Izzy’s voice is angry when she barks out the question. Angry and no little hurt that her big brother didn’t trust them.

Alec’s lying on the couch, staring up at the ceiling. Magnus, who’s sitting by his side, trying to heal his injury, hasn’t said a word since the others arrived, but Alec can feel his disapproval. Yeah, his lover agrees with his sister. All he needs is for Jace to gang up on him, too!

Sighing, Alec admits quietly, “I was afraid, alright? I was afraid that I was going mad because there’s no reason why this, any of this, should be happening to me. I wasn’t in touch with any strange magic or any demons or anything like that. And if the explanation wasn’t magical, then…” He shakes his head.

“But this” --he points at his chest, at the cuts that’s been resisting any attempts at healing so far, both rune magic and Magnus’-- “no hallucination did this. But I still have no idea why this is happening!”

Jace and Clary who have been uncharacteristically quiet ever since they arrived, look at each other. It’s a very loud look, speaking volumes. Everyone in the room notices.

“What?” Izzy says.

“Look,” Clary says slowly, “there’s something we haven’t told you.”

Magnus snorts.

Jace walks up to the couch and looks down at his parabatai. There’s pain in his eyes when he takes in the deep, still sluggishly bleeding slashes on his chest. “I think I know what’s happening to you,” he says softly. “Well, not what exactly, but why.”

Alec frowns up at him. “Jace?”

Jace closes his eyes and clenches his hands into fists on the back of the couch. He seems to shrink in on himself. He opens his mouth and then closes it again.

Clary steps closer and lays her hand on his shoulder in sympathy. “He died,” she explains in a whisper. “Jace died there, at Lake Lyn. Valentine stabbed him in the heart.”

“What?” Izzy breathes out.

Magnus lets his magic peter out and looks up at Jace and Clary.

And Alec, hearing Clary’s confession, he freezes and his eyes widen because he remembers the terrible agony of their bond breaking. He didn’t just imagine it. It really happened. Jace died on him. His parabatai died on him!

He struggles to sit up - Magnus helps him with a chiding, “Hey, hey!” - and asks hoarsely, “How?”

“Raziel granted me a wish,” Clary says in a pained voice. “One wish. And so I asked him to bring Jace back.”

Finally, Jace opens his eyes and looks straight at Alec. “Bringing people back from the dead has always consequences,” he whispers. Then he takes a deep breath and admits, “Ever since then, I’ve been having these… spells.”

“What?” Clary asks, eyes wide with shock. She obviously didn’t know. Nobody did.

Jace goes on as if he didn’t hear her. “It’s just pain, pain and agony and this... weakness. Every time, it’s like dying again. It goes on and on - and then it stops. And I think that, whenever one of those spell hits me, it somehow spills over to you through our bond.”

Clary shakes his shoulder. “Why didn’t you tell me? Jace?” She reaches out to turn his head towards her. “Why didn’t you tell me that?”

His eyes soften. “You were so happy, Clary. It was all over, the war, everything. And you were so happy. I didn’t want to ruin it for you.” He looks back at Alec. “And I didn’t think it would affect anyone else, I swear.”

Alec just stares at him, at a loss for words. He can’t truly be angry at Jace for keeping this from him when Alec kept his own issues from him, so… He’s just glad that his parabatai’s back. And if this thing that’s been happening to him, is the side-effect of Jace’s resurrection, then he’ll gladly take it on, just to have Jace with him, just so he won’t lose him again.

“Magnus, do you know what’s happening here?” Izzy asks anxiously. Only she noticed the dawning expression on his face.

Frowning a little, Magnus nods slowly, looking from Jace to Alec and down at the bleeding wounds on Alec’s chest. Chanting a short incantation, he runs his hand over the wounds - and they disappear. Everyone gapes.

Staring down at his unmarked chest, Alec whispers, “Magnus?”

“Jace’s right,” Magnus says quietly and there’s something… pained in his face when he glances at Jace, then he turns to Alec, looking sad. “You should never bring the dead back. Jace died and not even a miracle granted by an angel can change that. His body remembers and it’s trying to return to its natural state - and that’s death.”

Clary shakes her head and there’re tears in her eyes. “No…”

Jace stares at Magnus. “Then how come I’m still here? Why don’t I just… just keel over and be done with it?”

Looking at Jace, then at Magnus, Alec asks, “It’s our bond, isn’t it, Magnus? That’s what’s holding him here.”

Magnus nods and his face turns even sadder. “Whenever Jace’s body starts shutting down, it begins siphoning life force or… or energy or whatever you want to call it through your bond - from you, Alexander,” he explains and takes Alec’s hand in his. “It pulls and pulls until it has enough to go on for a little while longer. But the more it pulls from you, the closer it pushes you towards death - that’s what you’ve been seeing, the realm of the dead, the wraiths and ghosts and all that resides beyond the veil where no living person has any place to be, that’s why they attacked you.”

“Then how can we stop it from happening again?” Izzy asks, her fear evident in the tremor in her voice.

Magnus shakes his head. “I don’t know. I can heal injuries caused by the dead by severing their connection to the other realm but I don’t know how to stop this from happening in the first place.”

Jace and Alec stare at each other. They just stare, their eyes full of horror and grief and pain and so much more. And only because Alec’s looking Jace straight in the eyes does he have the time to react when Jace grabs his knife turns it against himself.

Alec leaps from the couch - dropping Magnus down onto the carpet with a yelp in the process - and throws himself at Jace. They hit the floor hard and slide across its polished surface, wrestling for the knife that’s already left a shallow, bleeding cut on Jace’s throat. Neither holds back - this is no sparring session for fun - and they punch and kick and fight dirty - but one’s fighting for his death and the other for his parabatai’s life, and in the end, the latter wins.

Throwing a punch, Alec manages to catch Jace right in the mouth so hard that Jace slams his head against the hardwood floor with a loud thump which leaves him dazed for a moment and his grip on the knife loosens. Alec twists it out of his grasp and rams it hilt deep into Magnus’ floor.

Then he straddles Jace, and grabbing him by the front of his leather jacket, he lifts him up and snarls in his face, “Don’t you ever, ever do something like that again!”

When Jace just blinks at him, lips stained red with his own blood, Alec bashes him against the floor once, twice for good measure, before lifting him up again. “Do you understand? You will not just check out in some... some chivalrous attempt at protecting me. You will not die on me again. You will not do that. We will find a way to deal with this without anyone dying.” He shakes Jace hard and roars, “Is that understood?”

Jace stares at him defiantly a moment longer - but when he notices the tears in Alec’s eyes. His expression softens and he goes limp in Alec’s hands. “Understood,” he whispers, and when Alec hugs him tight, rocking him gently from side to side, he wraps his arms around him just as tightly, clinging for dear life.

“Well,” Magnus states, getting up from the carpet, and dusts off his hands. “Look at that, all my healing magic wasted on you lot!” He tries to appear nonchalant but his voice sounds a little shaken, a little afraid for his lover.

“Magnus,” Izzy says in a measured voice. “Can you think of anything, anything at all, that could help them?”

Magnus lifts a hand to rub his forehead; his fingers tremble a little. “Off the top of my head? No,” he admits truthfully. Seeing their faces fall, he adds, though, “But that doesn’t mean there is no way to help them. I’ll have to hit the books. Someone, somewhere must’ve gone through something similar. Resurrection is not a common thing, I’ll grant you that, but it’s also not unheard of.”

Izzy nods, now determined. “And we’ll check our books. The library in Alicante goes back centuries. If there’s anything to find, it’ll be there.”

Alec helps Jace stand and with a last gentle squeeze of his arm, he gives him over to Clary who rushes over, already pulling out her stele to activate Jace’s iratze and help him heal. Alec himself then turns to Magnus.

“Sorry about messing up your work,” Alec whispers as Magnus runs his fingers, sparkling blue with magic, over the small cut over his right eye.

Magnus smiles. “I’ve always known you were a handful, Alexander. Not that it stopped me from falling in love with you.”

Alec smiles back a little.

Resting his hand on Alec’s face, Magnus runs his thumb across Alec’s cheekbone lightly. “I promise you, I’ll do all I can to help you. I’m not going to lose you. I refuse to lose you.”

Nodding, Alec leans his face into Magnus’ hand and closes his eyes, letting Jace and Clary’s soft voices wash over him. 

They’ll find a way. They have to. The war’s over. The villain’s dead. And they’ve earned their happy ending. They will find a way.

And at the edge of his hearing, the wraiths howl.

[coldflashwave-baby]

Coldflashwave, “The saddest thing is that when I told him I loved him, he thought I was lying. He never believed someone could fall in love with him.” Please?

Okay, so this is based off of a OUAT AU I’ve discussed with @agentmarymargaretskitz and @pansexual-fandom-queen, so I hope you like it 

(Barry is Regina, Len is Emma, Mick is Hook, and this is a Heroes and Villains AU)

I told him I loved him once

           Len wasstill reeling from what happened on the dock, what he’d just watched Iris andEddie—his own parents—do to Mick. Heremembered the way Mick had bravely stepped between him and Eddie, urging Lento take Lisa and run.

           “Go.” Hetold him. “Save your girl and your true love. Kiss him and change things back.”

           He rememberedthe vicious way Eddie had stabbed him. He remembered watching his and Barry’spirate fall.

           He wasgrateful that Barry wouldn’t have to live with the memory of it. After all,Barry was known to hold grudges, and he’d watched enough loved ones die not tohave Mick added to the mix.

           It was aburden Len could bear on his own.

           “Dad!” Heheard Lisa shout. She’d run ahead while Len was lost in thought, all the way tothe secret cave that Barry was hiding out in.

           Prince Bartholomew—thetrue prince of the Enchanted Forest, now a bandit on the run from his evilfoster sister, Queen Iris, who murdered his parents when he was young. Damn, itwas quite the switch up, even if Barry hadn’t actually killed King Joseph in their reality.

           Still.

           All heneeded to do was get a true love’s kiss from Barry, and everything would goback to normal. The snowflake tattoo on his forearm itched like crazy as hefollowed Lisa to the cave.

           “…I needto hit the road before Iris finds me and rips out my heart for her collection.”He heard Barry saying. His heart leapt. It felt like it’d been forever since heheard Barry’s voice. Imagining it, imagining him and Mick, picturing hisdaughter’s face, was the only thing keeping him sane the whole time he waslocked in his tower, however long that’d been.

           Hepractically ran inside.

“There’s someone I want you tomeet.” Lisa finished, glancing over her shoulder at him with a smile. Barry…Barrywas as beautiful as he remembered. He was dirty, dressed in bandit clothessimilar to what he’d seen Iris wearing in Lisa’s fairy tale book, but the facthe could reach out and touch him…

He forced himself to resist theurge. He’d given into it when he saw Mick, and it’d just freaked the pirateout.

When Barry’s eyes fell on him,there was no recognition, just like with Mick. “Let me guess—you’re the father?Or are you the pirate I’m also in love with?”

Len’s heart was lodged in histhroat. “I’m Lisa’s other dad. Her birth father.”

Barry nodded, tossing a shirt intothe bag he was packing. “Well, she’s a sweetheart, but a handful. You shouldkeep a better eye on her. Not everyone is as nice as I am around here.”

“I know.” Len found himself responding.“I know that you’re a lot nicer than you like people to think. You used to havea heart of gold before the world took it and twisted it.”

Barry rolled his eyes and threw hisbag over his shoulder. “Not you, too. You believe this whole ‘the world isn’tright’ thing, too?”

Len hadn’t even noticed that Lisastep out of the cave, but he was suddenly aware that he and Barry were alone. “Yes,I do. Because it’s the truth. My name is Leonard Snart. I am Iris and Eddie’schild—a child of true love. They sent me to a world without magic on the day Iwas born to protect me from a curse—your curse.A curse I was destined to break.

“On my thirty-fifth birthday, thedaughter I never knew I had showed up on my front door with a birth certificatewith my real name, but a fake mother’s name on it, and a storybook. I took herhome to you, her adopted father, and I stayed around. You hated me for it, andeven tried to curse me with a sleeping death, but Lisa ate the curse instead ofme. She made me believe in magic, and one kiss from me broke your spell.”

A scoff interrupted his story. “Alright,say that’s true. That means we hate each other. Meaning that the whole ‘love ofmy life’ thing doesn’t make sense.”

“I’m getting to that.” Len drawled.“The Dark One, a man named Eobard, sent a wraith after you for hiding his truelove from him. You used magic to banish it, but I was sucked into the portal,too. I ended up here, a place I had no knowledge of, with Iris, who jumped inafter me. That’s where I met Mick.”

“The pirate?”

Len nodded. “The pirate. He wasworking with your mother, who is an evil sorceress in our reality. But, Mickhad no real loyalty to her, and continuously made moves on me the entire time Iwas there. We got back home, eventually, and your mother followed. A lot ofshit went down, you fell into a dark place because of her, but I realized thatthere was something bright in you. Something that the likes of Nora Allen andEobard hadn’t dimmed yet. I’m not the best role model for goodness, but I canrecognize it. It all went to hell when Lisa was kidnapped and taken to anotherland.”

Barry’s eyes widened. Len could’vesworn there was some familiarity behind them. Maybe just hearing their storywould be enough. “Mick volunteered to take me, you, Iris, Eddie, and Eobard tothe other land to rescue her.”

“Wait.” Barry held up a hand. “Ithought that, in this fantasy, Eobard was evil.”

“He is.” Len confirmed. “He’s amanipulative son of a bitch out only for himself, but occasionally, ourinterests align. Like, when he found out that Lisa is actually hisgranddaughter and the man that took her is his father spelled to look younger.”

Barry’s brow was furrowing in a waythat told Len it was a lot to take in.

“It was confusing to live through,too. Trust me. While we were there, though, you kept acting strange around me,kept glaring at Mick whenever he got too close to me, and I thought you weregoing to set him on fire when you found out he kissed me. Then, a fairy told meabout this.”

He pulled up the sleeve of his leftarm, showing off his tattoo. Barry stumbled back, eyes wide and panicked. “No…noway. There’s no way you’re my…”

Len dropped his sleeve and nodded. “Yeah,I had the same reaction when she told me that I was your true love. Especially becauseof my budding feelings for Mick. But, for some reason, it felt right. We didn’tdo anything about it, until after we saved Lisa and returned home. Zolomon—the manthat took her—cast your curse again, and it was going to take everything exceptfor Lisa back here. So, you kissed me, and cast a spell so that I could saveher and live happily, like I’d raised her my whole life. And I did, for a year.Until, Mick showed up at my door.

“He gave me something to break the memoryspell you gave Lisa and me, and told me that you sent him because something terriblehad happened. Turns out, you and Iris had a long lost brother, born from anaffair between King Joseph and your mother, and he felt slighted that you twohad everything he wanted. None of you remembered anything from your time in theother world until our kiss broke the curse over your memories.

“Apparently,” he chuckled, “you andMick spent a lot of time together in your time in the Enchanted Forest. You twofell in love, thinking that neither of you would see me again. Then, whenWallace—your brother—showed up, you gave him a spell to block him memories ofit so that Wallace wouldn’t come after him, and told him to find me. We alldefeated your brother, who is locked up and dealing with his trauma, and we allthink can become a helpful member to society—your mother really fucked everyoneup, Scarlet—and we’ve all been happy together since. Sure, we’ve had some iceproblems, and now we’re facing off against evil witches and twisted authors,but you, and Mick, and me…we were happy. We were in love.”

           The cavefell silent for a moment, Barry taking in all that Len had just told him. A broken,humorless laugh echoed off the walls. “I can’t believe…” Barry shook his head. “Ican’t believe I just wasted my time listening to someone who calls himself ‘TheSavior’. Savior of what? You can’t save me.”

           He moved topush past him, but Len grabbed his arm. “I can’t save you, Scarlet. You’reright.” He admitted. “You have to save yourself. Do you know how hard it wasfor me to let you in, to let Mick in,after being abandoned my whole life? You’ve got to be open to love. Because Ilove you. And…”

           His wordscaught in his throat, the emotions of losing Mick hitting him full force. “Iloved Mick. I loved Mick, and I just watched him die to get me here, so that wecould break this curse.”

           Barrystiffened, like the weight of the words hit him as well. Like, somewhereinside, he remembered waking up in Mick’s arms, using magic to mess with him,the three of them making out in the mayor’s office (even though it wasn’t Barry’sanymore).

           “I watchedMick get murdered by my parents.” Len choked out. “I’d only ever admitted toloving him once, and the saddest thing is that, when I told him, he thought Iwas lying. He never believed someone could fall in love with him. He alwaysthought he’d be second best to our true love, even though he just made it allso much truer.”

           A teardripped from Barry’s eye. “I’m so sorry. I…I didn’t know.” Another teardripped, then another, and suddenly, Barry was falling into sobs, Len lungingforward to grab him the only thing keeping him up. “I don’t…I don’t know why it’shitting me so hard. I didn’t even know this Mick.”

           “Because,”Len said, “you loved him. You loved him, and you love me. Your heart isbreaking, because you just lost one of the loves of your life. But we’re goingto fix it.”

           He leanedin to press their lips together, but a force wrapped around his torso. “Wha—?”He was barely able to get out, before his entire body was yanked clear out ofthe cave.

           “Len!” Heheard Barry shout, but his eyes were fixed on the figure looming over him. Eobard.

           “Hello.” He smirked. “Sorry tointerrupt.”

           “Grandpa,wait!” Len’s eyes darted to Lisa, who was picking herself up off the ground afew yards to his left. “You’re supposed to be a hero in this reality! Heroesdon’t just kill innocent people!”

           Len knewthat wouldn’t stop Eobard. He knew that, no matter what reality they were in,Eobard was a coward, who would hide behind his reasoning and smarts, killinganyone who stood in the way of what he wanted.And what he wanted now was to make sure reality stayed the way it was.

           “Go ahead.”Len sneered. “Show your granddaughter the real monster you are.”

           Eobardfrowned—of course, he didn’t remember that Lisa was his granddaughter in thereality change—but drew his sword. “Any last words, rogue?”

           Suddenly, arock came out of nowhere and struck Eobard in the head. Everyone’s attentionturned to the mouth of the cave, where Barry was standing, another rock readyto throw. “Get away from him, or I’ll make you.”

           Eobardsighed, turning his weapon to Barry. “If you insist on dying first…”

           But beforeEobard could make a move, Lisa jumped between them. “Please don’t hurt them.”She begged. “Be the hero you’re supposed to be. I believe in you.”  

           Lisa hadthe heart of a true believer, but that meant nothing to a scum sucker likeEobard. He raised his sword to cut her down. Len scrambled to his feet to stophim, but wasn’t fast enough.

           The swordstruck. Lisa tumbled to the ground. Blood gleamed on Eobard’s sword.

           “It’s done.”The Dark One concluded, flashing away. Len stared in horror.

           “Barry!” Herushed to Barry’s side, his shirt already darkening with blood. Lisa pushed herselfup from where Barry’d pushed her down and screamed.

           “Dad!” Shecrawled to his side. She was crying, sorrowfully and painfully, and Len threwhis arm around her.

           Barry grabbedher hand. “It’ll be fine, little princess.” He whispered. “Your dad will takecare of you.”

           Len’s heartstopped. Barry always called Lisa his little princess, at least as long as he’dknown them. “You remember?”

           Barrynodded. “I remember you, Lenny. And I remember Mick. And the real Iris andEddie, and Oliver, Cisco, Caitlin, Felicity…I remember everything.”

           “I can’twatch you die, too, Barry.” Len gasped. “I can’t bear it.”

           “Len…youdon’t have to.” He replied. “You can change things…change the world….”

           His eyesstarted to drift shut, and Len leaned down to press their lips together. For thethird time, he felt a power stronger than anything rush through him, andeverything faded away.

0000000

           Len jerkedawake. He was sitting in his car outside of the diner. He remembered…heremembered…

           He jumpedout and ran inside. Barry was sitting in their regular booth across from Mick.Both were eating cheeseburgers and milkshakes, debating about magic versussword fighting. He ran to them, knowing that they wouldn’t remember the otherreality (he only remembered because he was the Savior), but needing to hold andkiss his boyfriends.

           Mickspotted him first, his face lighting up. “See, here’s a neutral party who hasdealt with both. Lenny, what do you think—?” but Len crashed their lips togetherbefore Mick could finish, practically attacking him with the kiss.

           Mick wasdazed and loopy when Len pulled back, but the Savior just turned and gave Barrythe same treatment. “What’s gotten into you?” Barry panted once he pulled away.

           Len sighed,settling beside Mick so that Lisa could sit by Barry when she got back fromschool. “I’m just…I love you both, so much.”

           (And then,Len becomes the Dark One and everything goes to shit, but that’s another story)

[thisdiscontentedwinter]

hunger - chapter 5

Hunger master post. 

The wolf’s boy is cautious for the next few days. He avoids contact with people, even the drunks he usually asks for change, afraid that any one of them might turn him in to the authorities. He also keeps his distance from the deputies who frequent the diner. He no longer walks by their cars, the blade of his knife digging into the paint.

The wolf is glad.

The boy’s recklessness has taken a back foot for once, and no longer feeds his anger in the same hot bursts it did. Anger, wild and misdirected, is dangerous.

 The wolf is not as glad when the boy’s newfound cautiousness manifests itself in a sort of quiet moroseness that has them trekking into the Preserve to stand and stare at the remains of the Hale house. Death accompanies them, her face pale and solemn. The wolf can feel her breath fluttering his whiskers and the sensitive tufts around his ears. He can hear her voice on the chill wind.

The wolf does not approach the house, even when his boy does.

Stiles is a thin, narrow figure, his breath rising like mist around him as he carefully treads back and forth on the blackened porch. The boards creak and groan under his scant weight. If it weren’t for the noise, he would look as insubstantial as a wraith. The house is a fitting place to find one. The wolf is surprised there aren’t more ghosts here, mouths open in silent screams, rolling eyes turned toward him.

Why, Derek? Why? How could you?

The wolf does not approach the house.

***

 They walk back toward town, following the road that winds through the Preserve. It’s almost night, and it’s getting colder. Stiles shivers in his hoodie. He doesn’t remember winters in Beacon Hills being this cold, but he supposes that a bed and a house make all the difference. And warm showers, and socks fresh from the dryer, and hot meals.

Stiles shoves his hands in his pockets and picks up his pace, the dog at his side.

There’s a sudden dry snap of a branch from nearby.

Stiles turns, his heart racing. On the other side of the road, a man steps out of the line of trees. He’s… Stiles doesn’t know what he is. He’s wearing all black, and he’s carrying some sort of assault rifle, and Stiles feels sour fear twist in the pit of his stomach.

The man looks at him, and looks at the dog, and then steps back into the trees.

The dog is frozen where he stands, hackles up, lip curled, body taut and quivering.

Stiles curls his fingers in the dog’s ruff and tugs him forward.

Just a hunter.

Not some massacre waiting to happen.

Just a hunter.

This is the country. People hunt here.

Okay, so the guy was dressed more like some sort of special ops black helicopter what-the-fuck-ever rather than some guy called Ricky with a beer gut and a flannel shirt, but so what? Stiles is pretty sure you can buy all that ammosexual bullshit on Amazon. Night vision goggles and thigh holsters and pieces of hardware that will make you think your dick is twice as big than it really is.

Just some fucking try-hard who’s watched too many Jack Reacher movies.

His scorn isn’t enough to kill his fear.

Stiles breaks into a run when they reach the next bend in the road, and the dog keeps pace with him.

 ***

 “Entropy,” Stiles announces in the middle of the night when they’re huddled together in the cardboard shelter in the alley. “What we have here is a case of entropy.”

The wolf flicks his ear enquiringly.

“It’s the Second Law of Thermodynamics,” his boy says. “Everything is in a state of decay. This alleyway. These boxes. The food we get from the garbage, obviously. You. Me.” His expression hardens. “Life.”

The wolf lifts his gaze and looks for the moon. She’s hidden from him tonight.

“Living on the streets like this,” Stiles says again, after a while, “it’s not sustainable, you know? I get dirty, and you get fleas, and we’re both going to get cold and sick and weak. My clothes are wearing out. We have less and less money. We’re coming apart at the seams. Entropy.”

The wolf looks at the boy’s face. Stiles’s eyes are lit with the same angry determination that seems to drive him on those occasions he doesn’t let his misery overtake him. They shine almost beta-gold.

“We sit,” Stiles says. “We decay. We need to act.”

The wolf turns his head to look for death. He is unsurprised to discover that she’s stepped closer to them. Her mouth is open in hunger.

The wolf has no doubt his boy will bring ruin on them both.

It doesn’t matter.

The wolf will stand by him until the end.

That’s what pack is.

 ***

 Before his life went entirely to shit, Stiles remembers the phone call. For the past four years he’s held the memory of it in his heart. There was a phone in his dad’s study and an extension in the kitchen, and sometimes Stiles liked to sneak into the kitchen and carefully pick the extension up and listen to whatever the station was calling his dad about. He always hoped it was something exciting, but mostly it wasn’t.

Except that night.

He still remembers the woman’s voice. Sweet and sickly like molasses, her tone a complete mismatch for the message she was relaying.

“Who is this?” his dad asked gruffly.

“Drop the investigation into the Hale fire, Sheriff,” the woman said. “Or you’ll regret it.”

“Who is this?” his dad asked again, outrage creeping into his voice.

The woman ended the call.

So did Stiles, carefully, his heart thumping hard in his chest.

It was like something out of a movie, and Stiles had been almost giddy with excitement. His dad was like a real life hero! He was gonna go up against the evil faceless conspiracy, and untangle it, and it would be awesome! Everyone would be jealous of Stiles because his dad was the best.

It was hard to remember that in the following months, when the lines on his dad’s face deepened, and the bags under his eyes got blacker.

It was hard to remember that when they were leading his dad out of the house in handcuffs, carrying evidence bags with them.

It was hard to remember that when Stiles was the only person in the world who believed his dad when he told the court he’d been set up, when the phone records only showed a telemarketer’s number.

It was hard to remember his dad was a hero when everyone thought he was a dirty cop.

But Stiles has never forgotten the sound of the woman’s voice.

Drop the investigation into the Hale fire, Sheriff. Or you’ll regret it.

His dad must have been close to the truth. It must have been in his reports somewhere. Stiles needs to get a look at them. He can’t just sit here in this alley and wait to decay. He needs to act.

He needs to break into the Sheriff’s Department.

 ***

 The wolf’s ears prick as the SUV drives slowly around the block. There’s a slight whine in the transmission. It’s the same SUV that’s already driven past twice tonight.

There might be a hundred reasons that SUV is driving slowly around the center of town tonight, but the wolf’s instinct knows only one: hunters.

Death takes a step closer, her dark eyes narrow.

 ***

 Stiles leans on the counter of the diner, his ten dollar bill in his hand so that they see it and don’t throw him straight out. He’s anxious, jittery, and nervous about leaving the dog alone in the alley while he does this. He plants himself on a stool, and nods at the deputy sitting beside him.

“Just a black coffee, thanks,” he says to the waitress.

The deputy turns back to whatever it is he’s reading on his phone.

He’s young. He hardly looks old enough to be out of high school, but he must at least be in his early twenties. Stiles doesn’t know him, which is good. Hopefully that means he won’t know Stiles. Stiles’s last placement was in San Diego, so even though he’s sure he’s listed as a missing person there’s no reason anyone should be distributing his picture this far north. He’s hardly Amber Alert material, not with his history. Stiles thinks he’s the cop whose car he vandalized a few nights ago. The guy might have an honest face, but fuck that. Stiles isn’t going to feel guilty. He’d burn the entire fucking station down if he could.

The waitress sets Stiles’s coffee down and gives him a sour look.

Stiles takes a sip, and wonders how the fuck he’s going to do this.

There’s a bundle of keys on the deputy’s belt, hanging there like a bunch of ripe fruit just waiting to get plucked. Except they’re right by his gun, and Stiles knows better than to go for a cop’s gun. He steals another glance at the deputy, and wonders if he’s the sort of guy who would be enticed to let Stiles at his belt for other reasons. Except what are the chances that the cop is not only gay, but also into jailbait, and dumb enough to let a strange kid near his weapons?

Probably pretty fucking slim.

Stiles’s stomach clenches.

He’s stupid. He’s so fucking stupid. What? He really thought he could walk into the diner and somehow walk out again with the deputy’s keys? Like, how was that even going to end in less than his arrest? Stiles doesn’t have any fucking leverage. None at all. He’s a sixteen-year-old kid with a butterfly knife, an awesome dog, and no fucking plan.

He’s a mess.

He just… he wants his dad.

He wants his dad.

His eyes sting.

“You okay?” the deputy asks, eyes crinkling with concern.

“Yeah.” Stiles manages a grin. “Coffee’s hotter than I thought.”

The deputy returns his smile, and then hesitates, his expression sharpening, and oh great, Stiles was supposed to be flying under the radar and now he’s gone and caught the guy’s attention. He could not be fucking this up more.

The irritating bells on the door ring as someone else enters the diner.

“There he is!” the woman exclaims.

Stiles glances around. Another deputy. Fan-fucking-tastic. At least this one doesn’t seem to give a damn about him. She is striding up to the guy with a bright smile on her face.

“Parrish, you owe me a milkshake, remember?”

The first deputy laughs. “Right. I remember.”

There’s a strange itch at the base of Stiles’s skull, and his skin is prickling. The cheap coffee churns in his gut, and bile burns the back of his throat.

“Good,” the woman says. “If you welsh on a bet, I’ll make sure you’ll regret it!”

You’ll regret it.

You’ll regret it.

Drop the investigation into the Hale fire, Sheriff. Or you’ll regret it.

Stiles slides off his stool, and slaps the ten dollar bill on the counter. He doesn’t wait for change. He doesn’t… he doesn’t even know how he forces himself to move. He glances at the female deputy. Reads her name badge.

Kate Argent.

It means nothing and everything at once.

Kate Argent is the woman who phoned his house and threatened his dad. Kate Argent is the one who set him up. And Stiles has never heard of her before in his life.

Stiles leaves the diner on shaky legs and barely makes it back to the alley before he stumbles. The dog is at his side immediately, pressing his nose into his face.

“Oh, god,” Stiles mumbles, flinging his arms around the dog and burying his face in his ruff. “It’s her. I found her. I fucking found her.”

He’s dizzy, giddy, and for once it’s not from lack of food or sleep.

“I have to be sure,” he tells the dog, because look at him. Look at his life right now. He has a dog whose understanding and cooperation borders on the magical—who also got hit by a car but somehow came back from that without a single graze—and today he saw a creepy black ops guy with a gun in the woods, and now he’s just overheard a woman say the same words he heard in a telephone conversation four years ago. It’s entirely possible that Stiles isn’t exactly firing on all cylinders here, right? He’s tired and hungry and he hasn’t had any Adderall in weeks, since it ran out. And his mom…

His mom saw things and heard things that weren’t real.

Stiles needs to be sure. He can’t be certain it’s the same woman. Memory isn’t as precise as people believe. Stiles knows that. And that’s before any of those other factors come into play.

He climbs to his feet and creeps to the entrance of the alleyway. He can see over to the edge of the parking lot from here, where the two police cruisers are parked.

The dog nudges his hand with his cold nose, and Stiles turns back into the alley.

He has a name now.

It’s a start.

 ***

 The wolf doesn’t sleep that night.

He watches the entrance to the alleyway instead, while Stiles curls up beside him and snuffles.

The wolf imagines he can smell wolfsbane on the cold night air.

He hears the whining transmission of the same SUV four more times in the night.

[searchforthescars]

YO OKAY

SO I finally got myself together and wrote the SoC next-gen AU that I’ve been talking about. Yaay! 

Special thanks to @savagekaz , @henrymarsette , @dirtyhandsnet and everyone else who was passionately encouraging me to write this thing. It makes me really happy and I hope you like this. <3

If you want to see photosets or other extra content, click here.

Six years after the events of Crooked Kingdom...

As Kaz Brekker stared out the fourth-floor window, he twirled the slim gold band around his ungloved finger, trying not to imagine it where it should be: on the slim dark finger of a girl who was most likely dead and gone.

He heard her voice in his head, a painful but welcome reminder. “Don't be so dramatic, Kaz,” she'd say with that endearing eyeroll he had come to love.

“Then come home,” he'd say to her now.

He looked out his office window, moving until he could see Fifth Harbor, his eyes lingering on The Wraith 's berth.  Through the dark night and pouring rain, he couldn’t see much, but it was the thought that counted.  That berth had been empty for three years, her captain and crew lost somewhere between Novyi Zem and Ketterdam.  Kaz had tried to bring her home, had deployed his every resource, even asked Nikolai for help at great (and often irritating) expense, but the ship had vanished.

And with it had been the girl he wanted to marry. [Read on Ao3]

He tucked the ring into its box and snapped the box closed, hiding it in the false bottom of his desk drawer.  There was a sudden commotion downstairs, loud shouts that signaled a brawl or a heist.  Either way, he wasn't about to let his people get into any dirty business that he didn't have his hands in.

When he reached the first landing, he realized it was rapping at the door that was causing such a disturbance.  He strode for the door, ignoring the apprehensive looks of his people.  No one dared knock on the door of the Slat without a good reason, a reason that only Kaz Brekker needed to attend to.

He recognized the two boys on the doorstep - they were part of Inej’s crew, recruited after a raid done right on the edge of the Barrel.  His heart made a sickening leap in his chest.

“What business?” To his own ears, his voice was hoarse and harsh.

The taller one shifted a bundle in his arms.  Kaz didn’t invite them in out of the rain, merely regarded them with a cool stare.  “We came from The Wraith.   We have a message from Inej Ghafa.”

Kaz turned to the sitting room.  “Everyone out!”  No one argued but there were plenty of curious whispering, lingering stares that Kaz knew he would have to quell eventually.

He turned to them, inviting them in by posture though not by word.  “What is the message?”

The taller boy shifted the blankets in his arms, handing Kaz a worn scrap of paper.  Kaz forced his hands not to tremble as he squinted through the fading ink.

Kaz,

I hope this reaches you.  I haven’t much time and I know that most of what I could say will leave you with questions. The Wraith was boarded, its markings and flags stripped, and my crew and I were taken hostage.  It has taken us three years to plan even this small of an escape. If I run, my remaining crew will only suffer further.  I refuse to let that happen.

This little girl’s name is Jordan.  She is our daughter but I don’t expect you to care for her.  A good mother always and only wants her her child to be safe.  That’s why I sent her to you.  Please find her somewhere safe, someone who will raise her and care for her.  For me.

I can hear you laughing now. Yes, Ketterdam is not a safe place for a child.  But you can make a world for her that is.  I know because you did it for me.  So stop grumbling, Kaz.

I will find a way home to you. I’m sorry.  I miss you.

I love you.

-Inej

He took a deep breath, tucked the letter into his breast pocket and reached for the bundle in the boy’s arms.  “Careful, she’s asleep,” he murmured but his caution went unheeded to Kaz’s ears.

She looked like her mother, Kaz realized with a clench of his heart, though she had a very Kerch jaw.  She stirred, blinked sleepily and regarded him with bleary coffee-brown eyes.  “Where’s Mama?” she asked, her voice small.

Kaz couldn’t look away.  With a look, he dismissed Inej’s men, knowing he should let them stay, unable to bear the thought.  “Your mother… she’s not here.  She sent you to me so I could keep you safe.”

A little frown creased her brow.  “Are you my papa?”

Kaz held her a little tighter, pressing her head to his shoulder.  “I’m your papa, Jordan.”  The name was unfamiliar on his tongue.  He could have kissed or killed Inej for choosing it for their daughter.  “You’re safe now.”

She made a small noise and fell silent, nuzzling into his neck.  Kaz sighed, wondering what is was about this girl that made him want to burn down the world for her.

He really was horrible at caring for children.  He should ask Jesper for pointers.

“Get down!”

The bullet whizzed straight past Jordan’s ear just before she ducked.  The man in front of her fell as she turned to glare over her shoulder.  “You could have shot me!”

Alexander holstered his revolvers, a broad grin splitting his face.  Jordan tucked her knife into the sheath on her arm. “You okay, Vickie?” she asked, gingerly touching the cut on her cheek.  Alexander’s frown was one of concern.  She shrugged.   I’m okay.

“Don't call me Vickie,” Victoria grumbled, casually checking Alexander for injuries.

“I'm fine, Tori,” he murmured, batting her hand away when her fingers danced over a burn on his shirt. “It was me, not them.”

“As long as you're not spontaneously combusting, I'm happy,” Jordan quipped, checking the window. “Can you both climb?  We need to go before anyone-” Jordan sprang back as the windowpane shattered. “Damn!”

“You were saying?” Victoria snarked.  Jordan rolled her eyes. Alexander positioned himself protectively between Victoria and the only other exit in the room. Jordan reached for her knife again and Victoria made a grab for her pistol.

When the door banged open, both of the Fahey-Van Eck children almost shot their father.

“What the hell?” Jesper Fahey put his hands in the air until his children put their weapons down.  Jordan took a split second to appreciate the fury spreading over Victoria’s face.  “What are you doing here?”

“What are you doing here, Da?” Alexander holstered his revolvers for the second time.  Jordan sheathed her knife with an exasperated sigh, fighting a smile when she saw that Victoria practically had steam coming from her ears.

“I could ask you the same question.  This is a pleasure house.”

“It was,” Jordan shrugged, planting her hands on her hips.  “I convinced them to… relocate.”

“Spoken like a Barrel boss.”

Jordan bit her lip, scanning the room.  Alexander and Victoria shared an ‘uh-oh’ look between the two of them.  “Did you break the window?” She asked Jesper.

“Scheming face?” She heard Alexander whisper to his sister.

“Most likely,” she whispered back, poking him in the side to shush him.

“No.” Jesper’s response came out more of a question. Before Jordan could continue her line of thought, measuring the room’s dimensions and trying to envision what could have broken the window, rapid gunfire sounded from the back of the house.

“Run now, think later,” Alexander said, shoving Jordan in the back until she broke into a run, following Jesper and Victoria down the stairs.

They made it to the streets, narrowly skirting heavy gunfire, their feet loud on the streets.  Jordan had to smile when she saw Jesper grinning, presumably thinking of his glory days.

“That was something,” she breathed, watching her breath float away on the cold wind.  She cataloged their successes.  Twenty-some girls were freed and, while Alexander had given chase to the man who owned the pleasure house, Victoria had uncovered very interesting financial documents that would surely cause the man’s ruin at the Exchange.

Alexander appeared at her side, materializing from the shadows, his blue eyes and dark skin glowing in the lights of the street lamp. “We did good.”

Jordan saw Victoria showing Jesper the papers she retrieved from the pleasure house’s office.  “Yeah,” she agreed.  “Not bad.”

They made it to Victoria’s favorite waffle house, a rickety building crammed between two houses.  Jordan and Alexander shared a plate of chocolate-chip waffles while Jesper and Victoria ordered heaping plates of their own.

Victoria was lean and pale, all sharp angles and messy reddish-brown hair.  When she smiled, the world seemed to light up.  Jordan watched heads turn across the restaurant when she laughed.  Alexander’s eyes crinkled around the edges, fondness playing at his features.  As polar as they were to one another, there was real unreplicatable love between them.

Next to them both, Jordan felt plain and inadequate.  Distasteful people described her as exotic, with her brown Suli skin and matching eyes, but she preferred the anonymity that her father’s looks provided.  She was often jealous of Victoria and Wylan.  No one ever stared at them when they walked down the street.

Alexander shoved the whipped cream onto Jordan’s side of the waffles.  “She likes it,” he said to his father’s raised eyebrow.

“And you don’t?” Jesper pretended to be dramatically wounded.  “Whose son are you?”  Alexander laughed under his breath while Victoria rolled her eyes. “Good to see you’re not at that point yet where you’re embarrassed by your father’s behavior.”

Jordan could never tell if he was kidding.  She wasn’t great with this sort of thing.

She took a bite of her waffles, letting the whipped cream melt on her tongue.  The cut on her cheek stung when she chewed.  Alexander touched it hesitantly with the back of his hand.  His skin was cool.  “You should clean that out.”

She shrugged.  “First food.  Then sleep.”

Alexander’s hand dropped from her cheek.  His fingers tangled in a strand of her hair.  She tried not to shiver.  “Food, personal care, sleep.  In that order.”

Jesper was too busy reading over Victoria’s stolen document to pay them much mind but Victoria’s clever grey eyes were tracking her brother’s every move.  “Not a word,” Alexander said lowly to Victoria, referencing some secret to which Jordan wasn’t privy.  She didn’t mind - siblings needed their secrets.

She had secrets of her own, most notably the birth certificate she had found in her father’s office this morning. She had wanted to tell Alexander about it but with him had come Victoria and she was hesitant to let the younger Fahey-Van Eck in on such a potentially volatile secret.  Besides, this had been Victoria’s first job with them and Jordan didn’t want to rattle her.

The birth certificate was hers, but not.  It carried a different last name but the birth date was hers. Jordan Ghafa. It was so familiar but she needed Alexander’s clever mind to make sure she wasn’t insane.

When the plates were cleared, they walked home in the pitch black.  Victoria and Alexander wandered ahead; Victoria was talking gleefully about the Exchange and Alexander was listening intently. Jordan jammed her hands in her pockets, feeling the handle of the knife on her belt through her coat’s lining.

“You did good work tonight,” Jesper said, coming up behind her.  “Your mother would be proud.”

Jordan’s head snapped toward him.  “My mother?”

Jesper’s face morphed from concerned to guilty.  “Kaz never told you, did he?  Sweet Ghezen .”

“Told me what?” Jordan’s voice sounded uncharacteristically tight to her own ears.

“He never told you about your mother?” Now Jesper wore the face of a man who now knows he shouldn’t have said anything.

“No. Nothing.” She felt her eyes hardening.  If Victoria were beside her, she would be telling Jordan to shut up.

They were walking through Fifth Harbor now.  The cry of gulls and the lapping of waves against the boat hulls soothed her nerves.  Jesper was scanning the streets as if seeking an answer to Jordan’s questions.  Jordan counted the berths, once, twice and then again.

“Hey!” Jordan exclaimed.  Ahead of them, Alexander ground to a halt, dragging Victoria with him.  “There’s a ship in berth 22.  In The Wraith’s spot.”

“So?” Victoria’s pale brow was drawn.  Two bells sounded above them.  Kaz would be furious with her for being home late but Jesper’s eyes - wider than dinner plates - and Alexander’s slack jaw convinced her feet to stay.

“There isn’t supposed to be a ship in berth 22,” Jesper murmured.  He turned abruptly to his children, all joviality out of his tone. “You two, get home.  Tell your father I’ve gone to the Crow Club.  Jordan, go home.”

Alexander gave Jordan a worried look as his father sprinted toward the Dregs-owned gambling hall.  “What the…?”

Jordan shrugged, worry gnawing at her heart. Something is about to happen.   “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Victoria gave her a hug.  “See you, Jordan.”

“You were great,” she told her younger friend.  The Fahey-Van Ecks set off for home but Jordan remained, pacing the planks of the harbor while staring at the offending ship.

Screw this, she thought.  I’m not going to wait for them to find out what’s going on.  I’m Jordan Brekker.  I get my own answers.

Running her hand over the knife sheathed on her forearm, she approached the ship.  It was small and stripped bare of any adornments or recognizable marks and there was no sign of life onboard.  She reasoned that the crew had gone out for the night, off to gambling dens or pubs or who knows where.  But that rationale wasn’t enough to sate her curiosity.

She swung aboard the ship, the lack of gangplank little to deter her.  The planks creaked under her feet as she made her way belowdecks to where the captain’s quarters would most likely be.  The door hung ajar, a small light flickering in the shadows.  Knife at the ready, she peeked around the corner.

A woman, slight and small with large brown eyes, blinked back at her, seemingly unsurprised by her arrival.  Jordan stepped fully into the doorway, keeping her face in shadows, stifling a sigh of resignation.  “Who are you?” The woman asked in accented Kerch.

“Who are you?” Jordan countered, sweeping the room for any sign of danger.  “You aren’t to be docked in this berth.”

The barest of smiles tugged at her lips.  “But I am.  This is my berth.”

“This…” Jordan looked around the room as if to find some clue contrary to her assumption.  “This is The Wraith ?”

The woman shifted on the bed, another small smile flickering at the edge of her mouth.  “It was.  But you still haven’t answered my question.”

Jordan slipped from the shadows.  The woman’s eyes went wide, darting to take in all of Jordan, her fitted black clothes, her choppy black hair, the knife on her belt.  “Jordan?” Her voice was a tiny whisper, a trembling thing.

“How… How did you know?” Jordan felt the ship rock under her feet.  Everything was moving too fast.  She wanted Alexander so she could grab at his wrist, feel his solid presence.

“He didn’t tell you?  About me?” Hurt flashed across the woman’s face as she stood.  She was a couple inches shorter than Jordan but as thin as a sheaf of Victoria’s drawing paper.  It was painfully obvious that she hadn’t eaten well in a long time.  But shouldn’t a ship’s captain have enough to eat?

“Who didn’t- What?” How she hated to stutter.  She tried to put herself together but it was an uneasy thing when there were more questions than answers.

“Kaz Brekker.”  She said the name like it was a prayer.

Jordan nodded.  “My papa.  What about him?”

“He didn’t tell you about me?  About the Wraith?”

She nodded.  “He did, all the time.  Inej Ghafa, former Menagerie girl, spider, and captain of the eponymous ship.”  Victoria would be proud of her vocabulary.  “She was a Dregs legend, the best one.”  Jordan felt a piece of a puzzle click into place.  She remembered the document she had found in her father’s safe. Saints, no.

The woman extended a hand as if to shake Jordan’s.  “My name is Inej Ghafa.  But you can call me the Wraith if you’d rather.”

Running footsteps from above decks told Jordan that they were no longer alone.  “Stay back,” she told Inej, silently closing the door and leaning her full weight against it.  After a moment, she heard familiar voices and flung it open, effectively startling the twelve-year-old messenger employed by the Dregs.  “What business?”

“Kaz sent me to find out who was in the berth,” he stuttered, voice full of unease.  Jordan would have expressed sympathy at any given time but she wanted nothing more than answers and to be off this ship.  

“Tell him…” Inej’s voice was trembling but her gaze was sure.  “Tell him that the Wraith is home.  He’ll come.”

The boy nodded, sprinting back the way he came.  Jordan turned to Inej again, her back against the door, her spine colliding with the handle.  “How did you know my name.”

“Jordan Rietveld saved his brother’s life in death,” Inej murmured, studying her hands.  “I chose that name because I had hoped you would be the one to carry others to the shore.”

Jordan’s world tilted on its axis.  Memories surfaced, little snippets of glossy hair clenched in her fists, a term of endearment in Suli, a bedtime story in Ravkan.  It was her voice.

It couldn’t be.

“Who the hell is Jordan Rietveld?”

Inej did not reply.

She lost track of how long they stood there and stared at one another but the familiar sound of cane-and-foot broke Jordan out of her thoughts.  “Papa!” She shouted up the stairs.  “Down here!”

She was surprised to hear her father breathless.  “Inej?” His voice was hopeful, burning as it left his mouth and something that Jordan could almost consider to be humble.

She took two tentative steps toward the door, toward Kaz, and reached out with one hand.  Jordan watched in awe as he took it, twining their fingers together and touching his lips to her forehead.  “Inej,” he whispered and there was no pain in his voice.  Jordan felt like a stranger, an intruder.  Again, she missed Alexander’s steady presence.

“Hello, love.” The smile crossing her face was so bright it was blinding.  Jordan slipped from the room, leaving them to their moment, her throat tight and her stomach clenching.

Who are you? She wanted to ask the woman in her father’s arms.   Are you my mother?  Why did you leave me.  Why did you come back?

She backed out of the room, sprinting above decks, letting her feet carry her to the Van Eck estate.  She didn’t care how late it was.  She needed her best friend.