#not sure about the lad’s canon look i’m going off of the first game’s cover & my own interpretation

[mielleillustrations]

Been playing Thief Gold for the first time & having an absolute blast so here’s some very quick sketches of Garrett.

[justpan]

Title: Unwilling Bride

Summary: At last it is time for the battle between Pirates and Lost Boys.

Pairing: Peter x Reader

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12 Part 13 Part 14 Part 15 Part 16 Part 17 Part 18 Part 19 Part 20 Part 21 Part 22 Part 23 Part 24 Part 25 Part 26 Part 27 Part 28 Part 29 Part 30 Part 31

Everything was on track.

The camp was moved, the fences were ready; even better, Tootles found a way to put them all on a single pulley system.

One rope cut and all the fences would drop down in sync, that meant that the archers wouldn’t need to waste arrows trying to trigger them each individually.

Peter made good on his word, he was watching the pirates, constantly. You wouldn’t be surprised if he wasn’t sleeping at all.

All he seemed to do was sit up in the tallest trees he could find, send his shadow to locate the enemy, and report his findings to Felix who was patrolling the new camp.

‘Any news?’ you asked as Felix approached you.

‘They are less than a day away from the battle ground.’

‘Finally, guess we’d better get our asses in gear, can’t be late for our own party.’ you smiled excitedly.

‘BOYS!!! GET READY, THE GAME IS ABOUT TO START!!!’ Pan yelled as he marched into the camp.

His back was straight and he had a glint in his eye, the smile on his face was shark like and dangerous.

Like the smile you saw the first day you met him, it was as if he was on top of the world.

‘You heard me didn’t you? Get to the battle ground, or you’ll miss all the fun!’ he shouted.

The boys cheered nice and loud, and almost instantly the camp was hectic.

Everyone was running around grabbing their weapons, already laced with dreamshade.

‘You ready squirrel?’ Rufio asked.

‘As ready as I can be, little bird.’ you smiled.

‘I bet I can take down more pirates than you.’ he grinned.

‘Oh, yeah? What’s the wager?’

‘How about...if I win we try to take things further.’ Rufio suggested.

Your breath got caught in your throat, you hadn’t expected that to be on his mind right before you ran into battle.

‘And if I win?’

‘Then...we’ll do whatever you want.’

‘And if I want to take things further...what then?’ you asked, a small smile pulling at your lip.

‘Then I guess it’s a win win for us.’

Well, it looked like you were both on the same page, you both wanted to. There was a battle hours away, and by the time you got back to your room the two of them would be bloody and exhausted.

You couldn’t think of a more perfect way to lose your virginity.

‘A win win.’ you smiled.

‘Yeah?’ Rufio asked, a hopeful look in his eyes.

‘Yes, really, I’m still gonna take out more geezers than you.’ you grinned.

‘We’ll see.’

‘Hey! Be cute later, we gotta get moving and fast.’ Felix said, dragging the two of you along with the others.

You quickly shook away your feelings and started getting mentally ready for the battle; you couldn’t afford any distractions. Because this wasn’t training, it was a real battle with an opponent that would kill you if you gave them the chance.

Everything needed to go right, the fences, the arrows, the fight. Most important was the feeling.

This fight needed to feel like a guaranteed win; every Lost Boy needed to believe they would live through this fight and every pirate they let live needed to feel like it was a mistake to challenge The Lost Boys.

Once you all arrived everyone got in position, you saw Rufio taking his place with the clubs, Felix with the clubs.

Pan was standing in the middle of the clearing, watching over everything.

You walked over to him, to go over everything one last time.

‘How long?’

‘They should be here in less than an hour.’ he replied.

‘Their numbers?’

‘Less than fifty.’

‘Good, we got the mass and the skills...but I feel like something is wrong.’ you said to yourself.

‘Whatever it is we have no time to dwell on it, get down.’ Pan said.

You nodded and used your magic to put a door into the hollow tree behind Pan, you stood there and charmed the door to close.

In the dark you made sure you still had enough room for your arms to move the way you needed to work your magic.

With that done you put up a spell on the bark in front of you so you could see the clearing.

It looked like everyone was in place, now it was just a matter of time.

You watched in anticipation as the quiet settled over the camp, all you heard was your own breathing.

At last you could hear a rustle from the trees, and watched as the pirates entered the clearing.

‘I take it you are not here to deliver a box of cakes.’ Pan said smugly.

‘No I’m not.’ the one you knew to be Captain Hook said in false politeness.

‘Then why are you and your friends here? Did you want to play a game?’

‘No games this time Pan.’

‘There’s always a game, and this one is called...Pirates and Hunters. You can be the pirates.’ Pan grinned before he whistled.

The arrow zipped through the air and like magic the fences dropped down and closed in the clearing.

Immediately the clubs and swords jumped out of the trees.

‘Let’s play!’ Pan yelled.

You watched the pirates pull out their swords and listened to their war cry as the much anticipated battle finally began.

All you wanted was to be in the middle of it, but you had to keep your eyes sharp, that was your job; make sure none of your own were killed in the scuffle.

So you watched every pirate and followed every arrow to make sure only pirates were hit by them.

At the left you saw Tootles fighting with one man while another was behind, his sword ready to stab the boy in the back so you shot out your hand and used your magic to yank the pirate all the way back to your tree.

His back hit the bark with a loud crack that came from either his skull or his spine cracking, either way he was certainly not getting up ever again.

Without taking a moment to think of the first man you’ve ever killed you got back to following the battle.

A few arrows were missing targets and planting themselves in trees and in the dirt, whenever you were sure no boys were in immediate danger you would take up the arrows and have them hit any pirates that were near it.

It seemed as if everything was going perfectly, only old fat bodies were on the ground and at least six were dropped by the fences.

You looked to your right and saw Rufio, he was fighting two pirates, moving so swiftly it looked almost graceful. He kicked one down then spun to bring his club down on the other and while he did that you dragged the other and slammed his head on one of the roots of your tree.

All of a sudden you heard a loud crash and the camp went silent.

One of the fences was blown to shreds, you could see a canon where the door once was and saw the last person you ever expected to see on a battlefield.

Wendy.

She was there with her hands tied in a way that kept them over her ears and covering her eyes.

A fat man with a red cap was beside her, with a sword to her throat.

‘Smee, good form.’ Hook said happily.

You looked to Pan and saw he was standing across from the captain, their swords still touching from when they had been battling.

‘Now...how about a new game? I call it Hostage.’

Pan was furious, but if he knew how to do anything it was how to compose himself.

‘That’s cheating.’

‘Pirates aren’t known for following rules. Now how about this we’ll give you your little girl, in exchange you grant us passage off this damned island.’ the pirate smiled.

The fat man in the red hat handed the crying girl to his captain who placed his hook to her throat.

‘If I don’t like the game?’

‘Then I’ll rip this girl’s heart out, in the bloody way. From my understanding she is rather important to you.’

‘It so happens she is.’

‘Take the deal.’ the one handed pirate offered.

‘Deal, there will be a portal just for you in the middle of the sea, but know that I will never open another portal for you again. You will be in the ground feeding the maggots in some boring realm before you ever see the alligator you want.’

‘Oh I will find him, now call off your dogs.’

You looked to Pan, looking for anything, any sign that he had a plan. A sure way to get Wendy away from the pirates and still win this battle.

There was nothing, no knowing smirk or calculating look in his eyes, he just looked furious. Angrier than you have ever seen him before, considering that at one point he had chased you through the woods that said something.

‘Game’s over boys, looks like pirates don’t play fair...bad form.’ he said.

One by one all the boys threw down their weapons and the archers stepped out from their hiding spots, but you stayed put.

You looked over, when you saw something red moving behind the canon that was still smoking behind the fairy tail captain.

Rufio.

He had his club raised high and eyes set on Hook’s head, in an instant you understood his plan, kill the pirate so Pan could get Wendy and we could get back to killing these old geezers.

But unfortunately you weren’t the only one who saw him.

Hook’s namesake was always polished, not for the sake of looks, but to see the reflections of things behind him. It was impossible to not notice such a loudly dressed lad.

Swift as wind he withdrew his hook from Wendy’s neck and before you could even scream in terror he had buried his hook in Rufio’s chest.

‘NO!’ you yelled.

The pirate removed his hook and let Rufio’s body drop to the ground.

You ran through the door of your tree and rushed to your boyfriend’s side, there was so much blood covering his chest you couldn’t see where the wound actually was.

‘No, no it’s OK. I can fix it.’ you said with shaking breath.

You tried to use your magic to heal him, but it wouldn’t work. Your hands were too unsteady and you couldn’t focus on how the body was meant to connect.

‘It’s...ok...Love y-you....’ Rufio choked out before his eyes lost focus and his body went limp.

‘No…’ you sobbed, you placed your forehead to his and tried to force him to be ok, or maybe to make yourself wake up.

Whatever you were trying to do didn’t matter because it didn’t work.

Felix was suddenly by your side, his eyes were wet, but he wasn’t crying.

He placed his hand on your shoulder and kneeled down with you over Rufio.

You didn’t notice it, but the camp had gone silent.

All these centuries of running wild on this island and killing any intruders and this was the first time they had ever lost one of their own.

‘No one else try anything, let me and my men go Pan.’ Hook said, removing the blindfold from Wendy's eyes and hands.

‘Leave the girl, and know that if I ever see you again, on this island or in any realm at all you will be as dead as that brother of yours.’ Pan spat out.

With tears in your eyes you watched the pirates retreat through the woods, a part of you wanted to burn the whole island down but you couldn’t.

Magic required a good amount of control, and you had never felt more unstable in your life.

You couldn’t stop the sobs that were spilling out of you or make your body stop shaking; there was only one thing in your mind.

Rufio was dead.

Your boyfriend had just died in your arms and there was nothing you could do about it no matter how strong your magic was.

Magic can do a lot but not that; dead is dead and it’s forever permanent.

‘(Y/N).’ Peter said solemnly.

‘I couldn’t save him, I saw him making his move and I didn’t stop him.’ you said around the lump in your throat.

‘We all saw him, and we all thought he could do it, it isn’t your fault.’ he said.

All at once it clicked in your head, like the last piece of a puzzle a thought formed in your mind.

Wendy.

‘You!’ you all but growled as you stood up and tackled the only other girl on the island to the ground.

‘You got him killed!’ you screamed in her tear streaked face as you wrapped your hands around her throat.

With all your strength you tried to crush her windpipe; if it was the last thing you did you were going to make her suffer for what she did.

‘(Y/N)!’ Peter yelled as suddenly you were yanked back, partially pulling Wendy with you, but eventually you lost your grip.

With a grunt and a thud that probably sounded worse than it actually felt you hit the ground.

‘I-I’m sorry!’ Wendy coughed, looking as pitiful and as helpless as the insect she was.

‘You will be, I’ll make you sorry!’ you spat as you struggled against the magic weight that was holding your body down.

‘Calm down.’ Peter said, his voice calm and clear as he stood over you.

‘Fuck calm! I want her dead!’

‘So do I.’ Felix said from beside Rufio’s body.

Felix closed his friend's eyes and looked up at his leader.

‘She betrayed us...Rufio is dead because her. She has been prancing through camp being as useless as a leech in dress and none of us said anything to you, but this.’ Felix said, standing up and pointing the body in front of him.

‘We can’t ignore this; and I won’t forgive it.’

More boys spoke in their agreement and soon they were all but spitting at the girl, the sight at one point would have disgusted you, but right now you just want to get up.

‘Quiet!’ Pan yelled, his voice strong and loud.

‘I know...the girl deserves to die, she deserves to die bloody. She is useless and no one likes her, not even me despite what I know you all think; but I still need her. We all do if we want to win the real game.’

The real game.

His master plan, the one he hadn’t even disclosed to you completely, all you knew was the goal, he needed Bae’s child; to get him he needed the Darling boys, and to keep them in line he needed Wendy.

Rufio was dead, his killers were on their way to freedom and all Peter, no not Peter, Pan cared about was his goal.

‘I hate you.’ you said, not even realizing you had said it.

You probably wouldn’t have even noticed your own voice if silence hadn’t become so heavy, as heavy as the weight that was no longer pinning you down.

Slowly you pulled yourself up and you looked at Peter, or Pan or whoever the hell the boy demon really was.

‘Rufio...he fought for you, he killed for you, and because of that stupid daffodil in a dress he died for you. You are so selfish and self concerned that you won’t even avenge him, won’t let me avenge him! He deserves that much!’ you cried.

‘(Y/N) I know right now it feels raw but-’

‘Not just now! I will never forgive this!’ you snapped.

You looked from him to Wendy and had to refrain from attacking her a second time.

‘Hide her, don’t ever let me see her face because if I do I will kill her...the same goes for you Pan.’

‘What are you saying?’ Peter asked, still masking his emotions in that way that not even you could see through it.

‘I’m saying that I hate you Peter Pan and if I ever see you again I will put you in the fucking ground...you and your little daffodil.’ you said.

Your eyes moved to the boys, the ones you had been laughing and training with for what must have been nearly a century now.

‘Only love for you all, if any of you ever find me I won’t be sore to see you; and if you’re following orders to find me I’ll fight you fair. Keep each other safe...since we can see vengeance is only priority in the right circumstance.’

You looked down at Rufio and again your vision was obstructed by tears.

‘Bury him by my tree, Felix.’

‘I will.’ your best friend without any hesitation

With that done you felt like you had said all you could say, so you turned away from all of them,

From Rufio’s body, your ex Peter Pan, the girl who’d gotten your boyfriend killed and all your friends too.

You look out at the woods and spare no time to think of all the dangers that hid behind the trees as you walked away from what was once your home.

[supercalvin]

Aawwww, I adore your ficlets so so much! If I may be so bold and prompt smth too? I loved your Brynn canon time story - Do you feel like maybe writing a modern setting version with Brynn? Maybe Merlin and Arthur adopt her or somehow find her or to her? And they just know she belongs to their little family? That’d be so wonderful, but just if you like. Thank youuuu! 💞💞💞💞

YAY! I love this idea! I probably should have written this for Father’s Day, but better late than never. 

Also, this ficlet doesn’t have anything to do with the first ficlet, but if anyone is interested >>> Canon AU Kid!fic

Prompts + Ficlets

***

Gwen had been working at the adoption agency for close to ten years now. So when Merlin and Arthur, some of her closest friends in the world, tentatively asked her how they could go about adopting, she was over the moon.

They went through the paperwork and screening fairly quickly, since Gwen knew all the ins-and-outs. She could tell that they were both fairly nervous, although in their different ways. Merlin was anxiously talking about all the statistics and best ways to help a child adjust from foster living to a forever-home. Arthur was quiet most of the time, which wasn’t altogether that odd, except he would get this terrified look in his eye every time Gwen talked about the two of them becoming ‘fathers.’ Knowing Arthur’s own father hadn’t always been the best role model, Gwen didn’t blame him for looking like he was about to be sick at the word.

The adoption agency set up a picnic for a small group of potential parents and foster children, with plenty of food and a few scheduled activities. Gwen was working, so she couldn’t keep a close eye on her friends as she facilitated the event, but when she went to check up on them, they were doing alright.

The next activity was group painting, and Gwen paired everyone up and started them by telling them to paint anything they wanted and see where it took them.

Barely a minute into the activity, her coworker pulled her aside, and said she needed help with one of the kids.

Gwen had noticed that Brynn hadn’t been particularly enthusiastic about today’s picnic. Gwen didn’t blame her. She was ten years old, which was much older than all the other kids here, most of whom were five to seven years old. She was sitting on a nearby bench rolling her ever-present football under her feet.

Gwen sat down next to her.

“I don’t want to finger paint.”

Gwen did not want to point out that the kids weren’t finger painting and did not mention Brynn’s tone either.

“You don’t have to, love,” Gwen said with a sigh. “Do you want to stay, or do you want me to call your foster parent to pick you up?”

Brynn shrugged.

Most parents wanted to adopt young kids. Six years old was usually the limit. The older kids got, the less likely they were to be adopted. Brynn knew that just as well as Gwen did.

“Hey,” Gwen looked up to see Arthur, a crease in his brow as he looked at the two of them. “Everything alright?”

Gwen nodded, “We’re just taking a break.”

Arthur nodded, “I don’t blame you. It’s kind of overwhelming. Mind if I join? I already knocked over half the paint tins. I’ll leave the painting to Merlin.”

That’s when Gwen noticed that Arthur’s leg was covered in blue and green paint.

Brynn snorted and Gwen felt something like hope tighten in her chest.

Arthur sat down in the grass in front of the bench and Brynn automatically looked hesitant again, eying Arthur suspiciously.

“I don’t want to talk,” She said to Arthur.

Arthur nodded, looking rather serious. “I don’t want to talk either.”

Brynn looked a little affronted that her own game had been turned on her.

Despite outward appearances, Gwen could see that this was going well.

“I have to go help with the painting. Are you two going to be alright taking a break?” She looked for confirmation from Brynn that she was alright being left alone with Arthur.

Brynn nodded, and Gwen patted her on the shoulder, “Just let me know if you need anything. Don’t forget to get a snack later too.”

Gwen went to help with the paint (it was a rather messy activity, but that usually encouraged bonding) but she kept a close eye on Brynn and Arthur.

She saw that Arthur had laid in the grass next to Brynn and they didn’t seem to be talking, just soaking in the sun and getting away from everyone else. Gwen had always noticed that Arthur would easily get overwhelmed at parties, and often found him taking breaks out on patios or front porches before going back in to mingle.

When she looked back again, Arthur was sitting up and Brynn seemed to be talking. Arthur nudged the football under her feet and soon enough the two of them were teasingly knocking the ball between them. Arthur juggled the football for a few seconds and Brynn tried it out too. Gwen could tell that Arthur showed her how to balance the ball on the end of her foot and encouraged her when it didn’t work. They were in their own little world, running in the grass and kicking the football back and forth between them.

“How old is she?”

Gwen startled. She hadn’t even noticed Merlin standing next to her, watching his husband and Brynn.

“Ten,” She said, knowing Merlin would know what that meant.

Gwen turned to look at him, and she could see tears in his eyes, a clenched fist nervously held to his chest.

“Go,” Gwen nudged him.

Merlin hesitated, “I can’t kick a football for the life of me.”

She pushed him, “Go fall on your arse. I’m sure Brynn will love it.”

Merlin took a halting step forward, taking a breath and running over to the pair. There was a quick introduction that couldn’t have been more than, ‘Merlin, catch!’ as Arthur nudged the ball over to him. Merlin got in a few good kicks to Brynn but sure enough, Merlin was horrible with a football. Brynn kicked the ball to him and he slipped over it and fell on his arse.

Brynn looked scared for a second, like she thought she’d done something wrong, but then Arthur burst out laughing. Gwen always loved Arthur’s real laugh. It was obnoxious and sounded more like a donkey’s bray than a laugh.

“Shut up! I’m not a football lad like you!” Merlin threw the ball at Arthur, who easily caught it in his hands.

Brynn visibly relaxed and Gwen saw her smile, which was a rare sight that made Gwen’s heart fly in her chest.

Arthur gave Merlin his hand and hauled Merlin back onto his feet, mockingly dusting him off before Merlin pushed him away. They resumed their game, passing the ball in a triangle between the three of them. They didn’t seem to be talking a lot, but Gwen didn’t think that would work for Brynn. She would open up only when she felt comfortable, and if football was the way to do that, then Merlin and Arthur were leaps and bounds ahead of any other potential parent.

Gwen told her coworkers to start the next activity without her, and she went to the food table to grab a couple snacks and a few juices.

When she approached the trio, Brynn was talking about her favorite footballer, “-won the football world cup and she’s one of the best ever.”

“Sorry to interrupt, I just wanted to make sure you stay hydrated.”

“Oh thank god, Gwen, save me. Is that juice?” Merlin took the bottle from her, looking grateful. She laughed as Merlin looked absolutely desperate, after only a few minutes of sport talk.

“I’ll take some crisps, if you’ve got them,” Arthur said and Brynn followed his lead, which Gwen took as a great sign.

Soon enough, Gwen was settling them down in the grass munching on their snacks as they chatted. The rest of the potential parents and foster children eventually got their own snacks and joined them out on the grass, and the picnic was coming to a close.

The parents said goodbye, some good connections made and Gwen hoped for the best. The kids were ushered into the bus to be dropped off at their foster homes. Brynn lingered at the bus door, football under her arm. Merlin and Arthur were also lingering on the other side of the park. Their heads were bent close together and Gwen could tell they were talking rather seriously.

Brynn looked over to them and then back to Gwen, as if to ask if she really had to leave.

“Come on, Brynn. You’ll see them again. They already made an appointment with the agency.”

“An appointment?” Brynn asked looking up with big eyes.

Gwen nodded, trying to hold back a smile, “You’ll see them next week. Come on,” She ushered Brynn onto the bus and Gwen took a seat next to her.

“Merlin and Arthur are some of best friends. I’ve known them since I was in uni,” Gwen said, not looking at her, trying to be casual. “Merlin’s a doctor and Arthur’s a personal trainer.”

“Do they have kids?” Brynn asked quietly.

“No,” Gwen said, “They really clicked with you. Did you have a good time?”

Brynn nodded, still hugging the football to her chest. “Mr. Arthur promised to teach me how to juggle the football.” Brynn was quiet again, but that was alright. It had been a long day and Gwen had never seen Brynn as open as she had been on grass.

Soon enough there would be more visits and more paperwork. Soon enough Merlin and Arthur would be bringing Brynn her own luggage to move her out of her foster home to their home. Soon enough there would be official documents and a celebration to Brynn’s official adoption.

But for now, Brynn leaned against Gwen’s side with her football clutched in her chest.

***

Prompts + Ficlets

[hancfubuki]

character analysis;

SAKURA FUTABA

alright, lads. those who know me or followed me on my previous blog know that i LOVE to do this. i need to clarify that i study psychology, so these analysis is coming from a professional point of view ( which i do mostly to reinforce my essays because like, teachers love to make us analyse movies and characters lol ) and solidify my characters as my passion is giving a feeling to them of ACTUAL human beings. 

now, i have seen many headcanons of futaba being autistic but, yet again, from a psychological perspective i don’t see it, and i’m gonna explain why. ( however if you headcanon her as autistic is completely valid. this is a personal analysis and perspective ).

if you have a character analysis request let me know and i’ll be more than glad to do it!!

DISCLAIMER: THIS IS GONNA BE A LONG POST. I’LL TRY TO MAKE IT AS SHORT AS POSSIBLE BUT I KNOW BEFOREHAND IT IS FOR SURE GONNA BE LONG. 

breaking down the character i can see clear signals of depression, anxiety disorder, agoraphobia, hikikomori syndrome and selective mutism; this last one is commonly mistaken with the autistic spectrum because the common knowledge is associating the non-verbal behavior with the autistic spectrum or cases of schizophrenia, but in fact, this condition is not only applicable to those disorders. in real life, some people have been diagnosed with autism when in fact they suffer selective mutism, so it’s better to actually understand the root of the disorder before jumping to conclusions and giving an actual diagnosis. 

let’s start with a short definition of each condition:

MAJOR DEPRESSIVE DISORDER: this condition affects negatively on the way a patient feels, thinks or acts. it causes severe feelings of sadness and in the majority of the cases loss of interest in activities that were formerly enjoyed. this also has an effect on the patient’s behavior and can also lead to physical problems. 

( SOCIAL ) ANXIETY DISORDER: a pretty common condition ( there are studies that say that nearly 30% of the adult population suffer from this disorder ). this is actually a normal reaction of the brain when it senses excessive fear or stress, it alerts our brain of possible danger and sometimes it can escalate and turn into panic attacks. 

AGORAPHOBIA: derives from the anxiety disorder. it is the fear of open, big spaces that can handle large crowds. usually the patient’s affected with this phobia feel fear mostly because they anticipate situations like using public transportation, standing in line, etc. it causes an immense fear that leads to panic attacks because they feel trapped, helpless or embarrassed. in some cases, this phobia starts because of previous panic attacks, so the patient will try to avoid those places and if something triggers that feeling, the phobia is going to act up.

HIKIKOMORI SYNDROME: this is a japanese culture-bound syndrome. it affects mostly young people in japan. they live isolated from the world, most of them locked down on their parent’s house ( some of the cases might communicate ONLY with their relatives. in the most severe cases they won’t speak to anyone at all ). this lock down can last days, months or years and it is heavily influenced by the internet and technology, as the it is their only escape. 

SELECTIVE MUTISM: also derives from anxiety disorder. the patient is unable to speak in CERTAIN social situations. it usually starts on childhood but it also affects adults. contrary to its name the person does not refuse to speak, they don’t have a choice as they are truly UNABLE to speak. certain people triggers panic on them and this causes the talking to be impossible, as it is an anxiety disorder, the person will anticipate situation as well that cause distress. however, despite of this trigger the people that suffer from this condition is able to speak freely to close family circles and friends as they don’t really trigger a freeze response on them. mostly this fear comes from the expectation the other person might have on them, and this provokes the anxiety causing a great difficulty responding or initiating verbal communication.

moving to her personality and background, from the very first moment we notice the anxiety coming from her, she is only able to communicate behind a screen and with an alias as she does not really completely trusts the phantom thieves. why do i think she has selective mutism instead of being under the autistic spectrum? easy, when you start the game you can notice sojiro constantly getting calls ( and we realize later on they were from futaba ). meaning that she is able to bond properly with him, sojiro even explains later on the game that she didn’t eat nor talk for a long time and little by little he was regaining her trust to let her know that she wasn’t alone. still, you can notice sojiro’s guilt as he is not able to take her out of the house and he is happy that at least she is eating but still you can see the traces of the depression and anxiety on her personality.

futaba explains her desire to die, a common thought that derives from depression as the people that suffer this condition usually see life as meaningless. she doesn’t want to be seen either, so she covers her face and any trace that could easily identify her because yet again, she needs trust to speak normally to another person, besides she has this constant fear of being judged which shows her anxiety. 

also a very important point is that people with this affections ( anxiety and selective mutism ) is that they might come off as RUDE or BLUNT ( something we notice on futaba ), because they are well, socially inept. however, as soon as she starts spending more time with the thieves she starts acting more relaxed and it’s when she starts showing her cheerful, childish side. i truly believe that these conditions started from her childhood, because as it is stated on her story line, she grew up being a lonely child. kids would just ignore her because she was considered a genius, her mother was never home and she started believing that her mother cared more about her research than being with her, this plus the lack of friendships and her mother’s dead only developed a severe anxiety disorder that later on was going to evolve in the conditions i explained previously. 

the thieves indeed help her to slowly start her process of overcoming her fears, and it shows that initially she didn’t really got along well with all of them, especially makoto because makoto has a more mature vibe than the others and this would only intimidate her and made it hard to actually catch her attention because most of the subjects makoto would bring were considered boring for futaba. remember that social anxiety causes that, you are not going to bond with everyone and only trust can lead to a relationship of reciprocate interest. 

overall, we can see how throughout the game she starts doing better. she creates a list with joker that allows her to conquer her own fears and well, after all everything is a process that takes years. she still relies a lot on the internet, but now she has real interaction and friends, but still when joker is about to leave she thinks about the possibility of them no talking to her anymore because akira is actually the glue in the group. of course thankfully it didn’t go that way, and they remained closed even after their leader left ( it’s canon on P5D don’t touch me ). akira is such an important figure for her as well, he has a lot to do with her improvement and i sense ADMIRATION coming from her, because akira is everything she would never dare to be. however the best chemistry she has among her friends are ryuji and yusuke, as they are easygoing, eccentric people and it’s easier to pick up trust on their personalities, as well as morgana as she shows a deep love for cats. ann, makoto and haru are the completely opposite of what futaba is yet the friendship still work because they take up on the big sis role for her. makoto is extremely mature so she actually helps her to find her boundaries, ann might have caused an issue on her self-esteem at some point but she also is someone she admires because futaba realized that she is not only looks, instead, she is an actual warrior who deals with a lot of things, and haru is the fluff ball that actually spoils her. all the different personalities among the group helps futaba towards her rehabilitation ( i’m sorry, i had to LMAO ). 

an important aspect is sojiro, HE DOESN’T PRESSURE HER INTO ANYTHING, he knows and understand what she is going through and he let her be because he is aware that HE CANNOT CHANGE HER. change and getting better is a personal decision, and of course a person needs support but you can’t actually do it for them. honestly, sojiro is a GREAT paternal figure and he deserves all the love he gets because he is so caring and understanding that he contributes to her growing. also the balance in the group of friends is really important for a person who suffers from severe anxiety disorders because it allows them to interact and explore things that are out of their comfort zone, and this is the case with the thieves. they are so different yet so similar that it is easy for her to understand how despite having a similar background it affects everyone differently, leading her to open up her mind a little and allowing her to understand that the change lies within her.

in summary, we can notice a big change on futaba, she is more comfortable outside and with people and she eventually will be over her traumas. remember that she is still growing up and she has a lot to go through, there will be good and bad times, probably future traumas that might affect her anxiety but that’s what i love about her character, it’s not about “getting cured of the conditions” is learning to live with them because they are apart of you. and this is what the character development on my futaba portrayal will go, it will be her accepting her anxiety and realizing that anxiety doesn’t control her but instead finding balance. 

[the-wotog-collection]

true canon: an explanation

True Canon is set in a typical High Fantasy D&D ye olden age world, with monsters and magic and dragons galore. It started out focused entirely on Eve and Viktor and a few others’ travels through a country called Witherhurst, and as we made more characters and stories and kingdoms, we expanded the scope of WotOG (the original D&D game) to cover all of them, until we had a nice world built up around the characters. Since not all of the stories related to the events of WotOG (and WotOG part 2: Electric Boogaloo), we decided to change the name to True Canon, so we knew which universe for sure was the foundation upon which our Many AU’s Stand. Here’s a quick n dirty timeline, for reference:

(much more under the cut)

-Eve, Viktor, and a few others that aren’t relevant to the story travel around Witherhurst on a job or something from a lady who’s Definitely Not Important At All (Her name is Prenella). At some point Prenella ditches the party and they’re stuck without a cleric for a while

-They make it to a big city, and through shenanigans that include travelling the city for fun and also almost dying to a pack of rabid dogs, Eve convinces Intem to join the party.

-Eve, Vik, and now Intem (plus one more pc) unravel a cult plot, something about the end of the world, blah blah nothing really important there. They end up taking out the cult and fighting Prenella, the cult’s leader, who also happens to be a dragon. Neat.

-After that horrifying ordeal, the party reconvenes and decides, ‘fuck it, let’s go find a new place to travel together’ and thus board a ship that they then steal from the captain (after Intem’s “pet” eats said captain).

-So begins the few years the party spends as pirates.

-Things happen, they end up fighting an eldritch god for world-ending rights, and go on their merry way.

- Intem falls into the role of reluctant (but no less ruthless) pirate captain, with vik as his first mate and eve as navigator (despite the fact that she can’t read. they figure it out)

-This is around the time Intem goes from lilac-haired sunshine boy to disgruntled cynic who’s Done With Your Shit, Viktor.

-Eventually the crew docks, and picks up Therai and Pippin for a while. Eve also brings up the idea of reviving Vik’s old travelling companion, Dante (two bros, chillin in a tavern, no feet apart ‘cause they’re so gay), and Intem’s like “Sure why the fuck not” and they set off to find his grave or whatever.

-Hatch and Xander are in the area and end up getting picked up by the crew.

-Dante gets revived, and for the next year or so, everything is fine.

-Eventually the crew docks near Therai’s old home kingdom, and he dips, taking Pippin, Xander, and Hatch with him (he really only meant to take Pip). They spend a while travelling to his kingdom, Aer-Vinn, and encounter Hatch’s long time (boy)friend Aerglo. He joins the party, at Hatch’s request.

-A little while later (vague time frame I know but exact years don’t matter here), there’s some Good Therai Angst when- Shock! Horror! - they end up stumbling upon Tal, who shares ~history~ with Therai. Not the good kind, mind you. They leave soon after meeting Tal.

-There’s a few more encounters with Therai’s old companion before Tal eventually softens up and joins the party, hell yeah. Warren joins too, because he was nearby and Also shares ~history~ with Therai and Tal. (They were all in a party together before this)

-AT THE SAME TIME THIS IS GOING ON: Rain sets out on a holy mission from their church to prove themselves worthy of being a Paladin of the Church.

-They meet Rosemary along the way, and after a small adventure together, they decide to help Rose out and find Catherine with her, because a while back Rose accidentally turned Catherine into, well, a cat.

-They do find Cat, after she’d gone through some Shit in an alternate dimension featuring a Sun Goddess and her complete mental breakdown. Cat Killed A Goddess (or two, we’ll see how the campaign goes), and made friends with the cousins Mikhail and Valentine. Mikhail doesn’t matter to the timeline right now. 

-Anyway, Rain and Rose find Cat, and settle down in a little seaside village where they work together to turn Cat back into a human.

-They Succeed!!!

-Uh-oh there’s a stranger at the door- Oh! It’s just Rain’s Cleric friend from their church, Rahon! Turns out Rain kinda went MIA and everyone back home is having a Panic, so Rahon’s here to make sure Rain is alive and well, or collect their belongings if they’re not-

-But they’re alive, so Rahon calms down and decides to stay (after sending a message back home, of course), to keep an eye or two on Rain.

-Rain is Delighted :)

-The party (minus kal) were traveling somewhere, kal ended up going the same way, and they ended up in the same city for a while. rahon saw her Up To No Good, so he kept an eye on them and saw them getting stabbed, and decided to nurse her back to health, and thus Kal Joins The Party. Rahon is an absolute sweetheart to them

-Eventually Rose, Cat, and Rain head out to a nearby cave system bc of Reasons, and end up kinda sorta stumbling into a system that leads to this world’s version of the Underdark. They need help navigating, because Fuck These Tunnels Are Confusing, and come across a little hermit drow who’s living his “best” life in his underground hut with tattered clothes and ratty books and cracked glasses.

-He just wants to see the surface but is terrified of how the world will treat him if he goes up alone, so he offers to guide everyone through the Underdark in exchange for them taking him up to the surface. Everyone agrees

-Astralus, little hermit drow lad, does so, and soon finds himself stumbling out into broad daylight. He’s got light sensitivity and everything Burns, but he’s so fucking happy oh my gods. Also he’s crying but it’s okay, he’s kinda really emotional.

-Aster joins the party! And they find out he’s cousins with Rose, who practically adopted him as a brother anyway let’s be real.

-Somehow Val learns of Cat’s whereabouts, and pops by to say hi to his trauma buddy. Cue shock as he sees her as human for the first time. Aster develops an immediate crush, and takes to following Val around like a lost puppy.

-Val is having a Time because, Aster looks just like a person he knew in an alternate universe and things didn’t turn out well for them. Yikes.

-Val joins the party, if only to tease Cat and finally have a place to be for a while

-MEANWHILE: Bree finds an abomination living in the abandoned mineshafts near her village. She decides he could probably use a friend, since the entire village is pretty scared of/hostile towards him, and becomes that friend. She finds out his name is Ve, and he’s a sweetheart. She makes immediate friends and he teaches her sign language, because he Literally Doesn’t Have A Face, he can’t speak.

-A few weeks later, either Ve or Bree decide to leave bc Fuck This Town, except they don’t say Fuck because they’re both softe beans (they both legally cannot say fuck. and i actually had an idea for how they leave ovo). Either way, they leave, and through shenanigans, they pick up Three More Tieflings, what the hell, which is kinda funny because previously, Bree didn’t think tieflings existed at all. 

-Tarvaii and Trancey are travelling together as a Chaotic Mischief Duo, and end up joining the party because Bree made friends

-Same situation with Chaym, though he was alone and depressed because his entire village got massacred. Bree made friends, and Chaym joined the party

-Chaym also ended up teaching Trancey magic, specifically Necromancy, which is kinda really stupid dangerous but it’s fine, Chaym survived, why shouldn’t Trancey? (flawed logic but okay Chaym)

-Cut to a few years later, back with Eve and Co.

-They’re in a tavern, Eve sees a depressed tiefling at the bar. What does she do? Immediately go try to cheer him up.

-She finds out he’d left his pregnant girlfriend on a mission to go help out somewhere, and ended up stuck in a weird place where time passes differently for him. It’s been 26 years, though to him it felt more like a handful of weeks. He’s scared and confused and would very much like to find his family, but he has no idea where he is.

-Eve’s heart breaks bc! he’s so sad and his girlfriend is pregnant and he’s got a family and just wants to get back to them, how could she not want to help? and thus she decides to help the tiefling, Viren, find his family.

-Through a series of events, the find out Viren’s family was living in a beautiful city built into the mountains, that fell quite a few years back. Luckily, his girlfriend left beforehand, and moved to a small mining town, where she gave birth to, and briefly raised, their son. She named him Ve, after his father, who she assumed was dead.

-There was a fire at one point, and Angelica, Viren’s girlfriend, died saving Ve. Viren is absolutely devastated when he finds out, and Eve offers to resurrect Angelica, y’know, bring the family together again, even if for just a short time.

-Vi agrees, and they do so! Woo! Also Eve and co. meet up with Ve for a while so the family really is back together.

-Intem, doing a sneaky trick, makes it so Angelica’s soul keeps the body and just, lives until the body dies, be it natural or unnatural causes. He only tells Eve and Angelica about it, and waits to see how long it takes Viren to realize ‘oh shit I’m not losing my fiance so soon’

-Also Viren and Angelica get engaged! Woo!

-A little while passes, Viren and Anne join the party, and Eve gets pregnant with Intem’s kids. At this point the party’s stopped adventuring, and they all settled down somewhere nice. Anyway Eve’s pregnant and gives birth to twins, Olive and Evergreen (Evan for short), but Olive looks more like Therai than Intem and it’s kinda weird, but nobody really minds because the twins are just, so cute. Also Therai (and co) came back and built the party a nice house, so, yeah.

-Olive and Evan grow up, and Evan takes an interest in Druid Magic. Vik lets Evan access his Giant Library and teaches him general magic stuff. Olive scares her whole ass family by taking an interest in Necromancy, and eventually someone gets in contact with Chaym (and by extension Trancey), and has him come over to teach Olive.

-Olive becomes a necromancer! And then heads off with Evan in tow to start their own life of adventuring. 

-Eve has another kid, Avery, with Therai

-Olive befriends a Whole Ass Dragon, gives him the nickname Jade, and introduces him to Evan. By the time the trio make it back to Jade’s hoard, Avery’s taken on the role of Fighter and heads out into the world to do her own thing. She also meets Clover, another fighter, and they travel together for a while before joining Olive, Evan, and Jade. 

-That’s it, that’s where we stopped on the timeline of True Canon. It’ll go on, of course, but, here’s the general timeline in 4 pages

[spartanguard]

always pass on what you have learned

so @optomisticgirl found this twitter thread and told me I had to write Captain Cobra in the same situation. It took a little bit but here it is: 1.9k of Captain Cobra/dad!Killian fluff. slightly canon-divergent (Henry hasn’t left yet when Hope is a baby, but he IS an adult—so if you don’t like reading about him doing adult things, even just in passing, back away).

summary: Henry had a visitor last night. she hasn’t left yet and it’s morning. will Emma notice? or will they hide away and make a break for it? Killian is eagerly watching (with his sidekick, baby Hope) to find out.

It was a testament to Killian’s well-honed captain’s eye that he was able to pick out the slight anomaly in the usual prim order, despite the early hour and his sleep-deprived state.

He’d just hit the bottom of the stairs with his teething infant daughter on his hip—who had decided that 4 am was the perfect time to wake up wailing and that 8 am was when she wanted breakfast—when he noticed the unfamiliar pair of shoes sitting at the end of the row of boots and sneakers in the foyer. They weren’t Emma’s style, and certainly were too large for Hope; that left only one option:

“Well, darling. It seems as though your brother’s lady friend spent the night.” Hope babbled back at him in response, green eyes wide. “It looks like today will be more interesting than we thought.”

Henry wasn’t necessarily in trouble or anything; the lad was 18—nearly a man grown. And he’d endured enough lectures from both his mothers on the many modern contraceptives that he would have that end of things covered (and if not, then he was old enough—and had a strong enough support system—that he’d be able to deal with the consequences). Emma would probably be displeased, but she knew she couldn’t stop him. And honestly, they couldn’t say much given that they’d surely done worse—Hope being the evidence of their late-night activities.

So Killian’s curiosity was just that: who on earth had Henry been fucking last night? He hadn’t dated anyone since breaking up with Violet last year. And would she get out past Emma’s notice?

(“Fucking” seemed a crude term to use, but Killian had no other words to describe the sounds coming from Henry’s bedroom as he rocked Hope back to sleep earlier. Lovemaking, it was not.)

He’d just started feeding Hope her favorite squash purée when the stairs creaked, making him pause with the spoon midair. It was too early for Henry to be up on average, but if he was trying to sneak someone out, then maybe…

But it was Emma who blearily shuffled into view, eyes barely open but feet moving on instinct toward the Keurig. “You gonna stare at me or you gonna feed her?” she quipped, as Hope protested the delay in her meal.

“Both,” he replied easily, complying with his daughter’s demands and never missing a moment to ogle his beautiful wife. In the relative silence that followed, the only noises heard were the gurgling of the coffee contraption and Hope’s happy smacking of her mouth as she ate.

No sounds came from the room above, even once the smell of pancakes and bacon filled the house.

“His loss,” Emma concluded with a shrug as she wiped the last bit of syrup off her plate with what was left of her small pancake mountain. She savored her final bite, setting her fork down and leaning back in her chair. “Well, I was going to start working on laundry and cleaning the bathrooms, if you wanna clean this up and keep this one occupied?”

“Sounds perfect.” Hope might be slowly munching on her puffed cereal right now, but once she was loosed, it was a full-time job keeping her from climbing and crawling into places she wasn’t meant to go. Emma had put up some magical barriers, but if the occasional sparks they saw in their baby’s hands were any clue, it was just a matter of time until those became useless.

And he was also extra intrigued to see what Henry and his friend would do now—or if Emma would find them first.

Once the kitchen was cleaned and the puffs devoured (and subsequently cleaned off the floor, where they of course had been stepped on), Killian was keeping Hope occupied in the living room with some toys, trying to get the 11-month-old to take her first steps. Alas, it wasn’t meant to happen for her today, but he did finally hear movement coming from Henry’s room—the creak of the floorboards as two individuals made their way around the space; he had a decent idea of what they were doing.

He could also hear Emma cleaning the bathroom in the next room over. And could see their visitor’s shoes still by the door.

“What do you think, little one?” he asked Hope, pulling her up to standing as she tried to crawl into his lap. “Will your mum discover your brother and his friend, or the other way around?”

Hope’s responding gibberish was as much an answer as he expected—and, oddly, seemed to fit the scenario.

“It seems we’re in agreement, love.”

Nothing developed, though, by the time Emma finished upstairs and then went down to the (now finished) basement to handle laundry. If anyone wanted to make a move, now would be the perfect time; they had a 10-minute window while Emma folded the clean wash.

Killian was reading to Hope from a giant stack of books (mostly from Belle, of course) when finally, footsteps alighted on the stairway. He tried to maintain his focus on the story while watching to see who came down from the corner of his eye—especially since the steps were far too light to be Henry’s.

He had to rein in his gasp when he saw Ava—Henry’s best friend—hop off the landing into the foyer, grab her shoes, then tiptoe back up, not casting a glance his way but clearly trying to avoid being seen. The sound of rushing water from the bathroom shortly followed, to no surprise; it was past 11 am, and no one had a bladder that strong.

His amusement at the whole situation was quickly turning to wonder: why would Henry feel the need to hide a relationship with his best friend? It wasn’t as though she was a stranger; in fact, she was one of Hope’s favorite people. Of all the ways the lad had managed to get in trouble over the years, this was far from anything awful.

Just as he was considering sending Hope after them—neither teen could say no to her adorable face—Emma came back up from the basement and continued on up. The waiting game would continue, though he had to assume it couldn’t go much longer; they were no doubt starving, but far too intelligent to get back to what they’d been doing last night.

By this point in the day, he could only assume the kids were waiting for Emma’s usual afternoon nap with Hope. (She never intended to fall asleep when she put the babe down; but no one begrudged her the rest. Nursing was hard.) That’s what he’d have done, at least; but he also had never quite been in this situation. Before he turned pirate, he was too focused on the Navy to pay much attention to the fairer sex; after, it only helped his reputation to be caught leaving.

Not much later, Emma came to retrieve a drowsy babe from Killian. “Someone’s definitely ready for a nap,” she assessed, scooping the littlest Swan-Jones into her arms. “I’ll be back down soon.”

“Take your time,” he said as he stood to give her a quick kiss, knowing full well neither of them would be seen again for a couple hours.

Silence settled on the downstairs soon, and Killian set about cleaning up the mess of toys in the living room before turning his attentions to the rest of the downstairs—and keeping out an ear for any other happenings.

He was dusting the frames that hung above the fireplace when two careful sets of steps made their way down the stairs. There they were. But he remained focused on the task at hand, letting them slip out seemingly unnoticed. They were good kids, they weren’t doing anything bad—they were just being ridiculous.

In his peripheral vision, he saw the door quietly swing open and Ava creep out. Once she was out of sight, he turned his head and managed to catch Henry’s eye, who evidently was watching to make sure they weren’t seen.

Henry paused as they stared at each other and gulped, which just made Killian smirk. And give him a wink. Henry gave an awkward nod—both knowing they’d chat later—and followed his (girl?)friend out.

Several hours later, Emma was upstairs giving Hope a bath while Killian prepped dinner for the adults when Henry returned. (Emma had been a little bummed that Henry left without saying goodbye, adding that “he should have just invited Ava over”; Killian held his tongue.)

“Smells good,” Henry commented as he entered the kitchen and made a beeline for the fridge. “New recipe?”

“Sort of; still trying to replicate my mother’s,” Killian replied as he stirred the sauce, to go with the pasta that was cooking on the next burner. “Should be done in a few. I’d imagine you’re rather starved after the day you’ve had.”

He glanced at Henry from the corner of his eye; the lad had stopped in the middle of opening his can of soda and was turning a color that matched the tomatoes in the pot.

Henry gulped. “Am I...am I in trouble?” he stammered out.

“No,” Killian answered casually; there was no sense in torturing the boy.

“Does Mom know?” he continued, still visibly nervous (but he at least finished popping the tab on his can).

“Does she need to?” Killian tossed back. “I was always under the impression you and Ava were just friends.”

“We are...I think...I’m not sure.” Henry took a sip of his drink and leaned against the adjacent counter. Killian silently looked over at him, letting him continue. “We’re just kind of fooling around, I guess. Like, we like each other, but with her going to UMaine in the fall and me leaving, we don’t really want to get super involved. Does that make any sense?”

“Aye, it does; that’s tricky.” Killian remembered a similar feeling on the outset of things with Milah—but was pretty sure Henry didn’t want to hear the sordid details of his relationship with his grandmother. (They talked about her, obviously, but Henry mainly wondered what she was like, and Killian was more than happy to oblige.) “Just...try to make sure no one’s heart gets broken. And make sure you’re being safe.”

Henry’s blush had been fading, but then it returned in full force. “We are,” he insisted. “Wait—you heard us?”

“Much to learn, you have, young padawan.”

The Star Wars reference drew a chuckle from Henry, but he quickly tossed back, “Yeah, well, it’s not like you’re a Jedi Master at being quiet either.”

“On the contrary, Master Henry—I don’t let anyone hear anything I don’t wish them to,” he countered with a wink.

“Eww! Seriously? Come on, Killian!”

Killian was laughing quietly at the reaction when Emma joined them. “‘Come on, Killian’ what? That smells good,” she added, echoing her son.

“Oh, nothing—he’s just trying to make me lose my dinner before I even eat it.”

Emma playfully swatted Killian’s shoulder. “Be nice! Especially since Prince Henry has finally graced us with his presence.”

The conversation fell into banter and discussions of plans for the week ahead, as normal as ever. No reference was made to the previous night by either man, and Emma still seemed oblivious; Killian and Henry were fine to leave it that way, and it was never mentioned again.

But Killian did notice that Henry used a bit more discretion with visitors from then on.

And he may have been a bit on the loud side when he and Emma made love that night. It was only fair.

thanks for reading! tagging @kat2609 @thesschesthair @fergus80 @xpumpkindumplingx @shipsxahoy @mryddinwilt @cocohook38 @annytecture @wingedlioness @fairytalesandtimetravel @word-bug @pirateherokillian @bleebug @its-imperator-furiosa @queen-mabs-revenge @flipperbrain @sherlockianwhovian @laschatzi @ive-always-been-a-pirate @nfbagelperson @stubble-sandwich​ @killian-whump​ @lenfaz @phiralovesloki @athenascarlet @kmomof4 @ilovemesomekillianjones @whimsicallyenchantedrose @snowbellewells 

[scripted-dalliances]

Rest In Peace: Chapter Eight

Title: Rest In Peace

Chapter: 8

Summary: A part of Faithless Fairy Tale, a more in depth look at how they brought Laura back to life. Appearance of old faces, creation of new ones and if you’re looking for canon, it left a long, long time ago. If you squint you might be able to see some pieces from the book.

“Fear no more, says the heart...” -Virginia Woolf

+

Mad Sweeney pushes himself up off the floor, pissed for several reasons, top three being the fact he has just face fucked the floor, that Laura had ruined what was turning out to be a fan-fucking-tastic dirty dream and worst of all, he was clearly sporting a stiffy.

“Fuck you, dead girl, I was sleeping!”

“Yeah, and now you aren't. Come on, get up and get dressed, ginger bitch. We have a long drive back.”

That gets his attention, “Back where?”

“Back to Indiana. To find Anubis and Ibris. I have questions and I want them to answer them. I mean. Odin is dead now, so even if they had a deal it should be fine to just ask what it was.”

“You sure that's smart? They might take one gander ‘atcha and decide your trial period of second life is over. I might not be able to pluck that coin outta you, but Anubis might.”

“Then I will do a lot more than smack his hand if he tries.”

Sweeney gives out a dry chuckle, he doesn’t deny that he kind of wants to see it. An ancient god of death getting slapped silly by little Laura Moon. It was a painful experience, that he was familiar with but that didn't mean he had sympathy for anyone else who was on the receiving end of it.

(More so if he thought they deserved it)

“Fine, give a man some fucking privacy to get dressed.”

Laura looks down her nose at him, still on the floor, hidden by the bed.

“You got a boner, don't you.”

He feels his fucking ears burn, “Out!”

She leaves, but he is distinctly aware of her smug knowing smile.

He most certainly does not jack off to that same smug smile at all.

+

They decide to take one of Ostar's cars. It's the least fancy and brightly colored of her harem of cars, just a black SUV that has tinted windows and enough space for Sweeney’s long legs, so it's possible she'll never even notice or care. They argue for hours on who gets to drive it before a light bulb bursts right above his head, proving soundly that his luck is still fucking shit and they're more likely to survive if she drives.

Before they leave, Sweeney hunts down one of Ostara's many fluffy friends and picks it up by the scruff of the neck to bring the rabbit to his face.

“Oi, tell your old lady we'll bring the car back after we've paid a little visit to Anubis.”

The rabbit’s black nose twitches and Sweeney rolls his eyes.

“If anything happens to the fuckin' car you can have Shadow fuckin' Moon be the one to fuckin' pay for it. Its his damned dead, asshole wife!”

“Ex- asshole wife.” Laura calls out, climbing into the driver's seat.

Sweeney drops the rabbit, “Whatever, call it alimony then.”

“I had a better paying job than Shadow and owned a house, if anyone is paying alimony it would be me.” She says as he gets into the passenger side and she adjusts the car seat. Bringing it up as close as she can to the wheel. Meanwhile, he rummages through the bag at his feet that he brought, until he finds a stack of air fresheners.

He unwraps three lemon shaped ones and throws them in her lap. Laura looks down at them with a sneer while shoving on a pair of sunglasses.

“Really.”

“Shadow might not care for lemon scented you, but I sure as hell pick it over molding corpse.”

+

The first few hours of their drive isn't bad. Its not like they aren't used to sharing small spaces for impossibly long distances. This time she has the ability to aim all the air conditioners in her direction while he keeps the seat warmer on his side on high.

It also helps that he brought a blanket and a very pink fuzzy hat.

“Not a fuckin’ word outta of you dead girl.” He pulls it on and crosses his arms like a grumpy child. As if she was the one who made him wear it.

Laura keeps her face carefully blank, “I didn't say any thing.”

“You were thinkin' it.”

She struggles to hide the uptick of her lips.

“You do look pretty in pink.”

“Fuck you, dead bitch.”

“Fuck you back, Suibhne.”

+

“I spy with my little eye something that begins with the letter ‘C'.”

“It better be cat.”

“It ain't.” Sweeney says with a delighted smirk.

Laura slams her feet on the brakes and Sweeney hits the dashboard with enough force to warrant a crunch.

“You’re an asshole, dead girl.” He hisses at her. Blood from his busted nose runs down his face and into his beard. She grins and continues their little game.

“I spy with my dead eye, something that begins with the letter D.”

Sweeney sniffs wetly, but then after a beat of silence asks, “Is it dickhead?”

“Bingo.”

+

The drive goes by faster than before. Probably because the SUV is naturally more efficient than an old ice cream truck, it helps too that neither of them need to stop for much. At most it’s a quick bathroom break, but Sweeney isn't the type of man who cares where he pisses so more often than not its just the side of the road.

On one such occasion, Laura gets out too just to stretch her limbs. There is a hint of stiffness in her that makes her worried that rigor mortis is a real possibility if she doesn't keep moving. It makes sense as much as it doesn't, her body moves but her insides don't.

There's no blood, every vein clogged and more than one of her organs stapled shut. Twice in some, while others are completely missing. Making her feel like a doll with no stuffing, nothing keeping her together but a gold coin and thread.

Except when she kissed Shadow and felt her heart beat…

Except when she touched Sweeney and felt her blood race…

Above her, a bird cries out. Laura covers her eyes to better see it fly over head. It circles twice, enough for her to fear it might be a damned vulture before it lands atop the car's hood and she realizes its far too small.

It's a hawk, and it opens its mouth to yell at her.

“What the fuck is this.” Sweeney comes up behind her, smoking and glaring at the bird as it continues it’s angry squawking. “What’d you do to piss it off?”

“Why do you think I did anything?”

“I might have shit luck, but even I’d still bet on those odds, darlin.”

“Go!” A new voice shouts.

“…Did that bird just tell me to go?” Laura questions, mostly at the bird.

“There you have it. Even the local wildlife is telling you to piss off.”

The hawk spreads its wings and lets out a sharp gutted cry; could be anger or indignation, fuck it could be a happy sound. All Laura ever owned was cats, she knows fuck all about birds.

“Go with!”

Laura has been having a really weird after life, all things considering, so stopping to talk to a hawk on the side of the road is just…well it is what it is. Fucking weird, but she does it.

“You…want to come with?”

The bird ruffled its feathers, puffed up and started earnestly bopping it's head. Laura shrugs and opens the passenger door, but quick as a lightning , Sweeney is pushing her hand aside and crawling in.

“I call FUCKIN' shot gun, the talking chicken nugget can sit in the fuckin' back.”

Laura slams the door closed, Hard enough to catch the tall idiot by the elbow and moves to open the back door instead. Gesturing to the bird to get in.

“Sure you want a lift? I mean you've got wings and this idiot never shuts the fuck up. I know which one I'd choose.”

The hawk flies into the back.

“Great.” She closes the door and walks back to the driver side. Mad Sweeney is glued to the radio, the bird is perched on the seat. Every now and then picking at something between it's claws and chewing.

“So, a dead woman, an unlucky leprechaun and a talking bird go on a road trip. Set up for a good joke, right?” She says, strapping herself in.

“And by good joke. You mean fuckin' awful, right?”

A new voice from the back pipes up, “Actually, I'm a God.”

Both of them scream in reply.

+

The bird who is not a bird at all, sits casually and as both Laura and Sweeney spit and sputter out curses in shock.

“Fuckin hell! Give a fella some sort of fuckin' warning you trickster asshole!” Sweeney puts a hand to his chest, where his heart is trying to escape his ribs. He will die of a damn heart attack before the end of this trip. He can feel it in his bones.

“Normally I wouldn't agree with him for anything, but holy shit yeah.” Laura looks at the man. He's handsome, dark skinned and naked. Really, really naked. “Also…maybe clothes? I’d like to at least know your name before I know what your balls look like.”

Sweeney glances back. Regrets it instantly.

“At least cup yourself, lad. This ain't our fuckin' car and I ain't paying to clean your dick sweat from it.” He tells the guy but there is no reaction from him. No shame.

Mad Sweeney looks harder at the man and sighs. He knows that look.

“Oh fuck me…” He glares at the dead woman beside him. “You just had to do it, didn't ya. You just had to let the bird in.”

“He asked!”

“He is fuckin' mad as shit! LOOK INTO HIS FUCKIN' EYES, WOMAN. HE IS BATTY AS A FUCK-” Sweeney glanced back to point, only to find he couldn't, “..he is a fuckin’ bird again. Fuck.” The hawk was back and blinking at them both. “Why the fuck is he a bird again?”

Laura shrugged, “How would I know? Maybe all your stupid yelling scared him.”

The hawk flapped it's wings.

Sweeney glared, “You’ll have a lot more to fear from me than the tone of my voice if you don't fuckin' change back, you mad feathery fuck, and tell us what the fuck you want.”

There is no pop, no dazzle of magic. Just one moment there was a bird, the next the man was back.

“I'm not scared of you.” The man says simply.

Before Sweeney can fling himself into the back and start a fight, Laura catches him by the shoulder.

“Stop trying to fight naked bird boy. I do not have the energy to properly workshop all the insults I could make from it right this second. And I'd really like to give it my all, so maybe hold off?”

“He wouldn't win.” The man says, as if stating a fact and nothing else.

“Wanna fuckin bet, bird brains?”

The man tilts his head, either confused by the insult or Mad Sweeney in general. Either way, Laura clocks the blankness in his eyes and acknowledges that whoever he is, he isn't playing with a full deck.

“Hey, so. Hello. I'm Laura.”

“I know.”

Taken slight aback, she waits for him to continue. When he doesn’t, she pushes on. “Any chance you can tell me your name or perhaps the reason why you suddenly decided to join us?”

The man blinks at her, processing for a long time before answering.

“I am called Horus. I know you are going to my brothers. I wish to come with.”

“…Okay.” Laura accepts this best she can. Horus as far as she can tell, is also an Egyptian god. So that makes sense…at least in the context of where he is traveling to. “Still gotta wonder. Wouldn't flying as bird be quicker?”

Horus doesn't answer, only looks at her with mournful dark eyes. Laura is shocked to see a second later a tear runs down his dark cheek.

“Hey, listen its fine. You can come with.” She awkwardly attempts to back track. She isn’t good with people, and knows it. But so far this God hasn’t done anything to her except ask for a lift and within seconds she has made him cry. That's a record even for her.

“Shit. There is probably some shitty karma coming my way now isn't there? For making some innocent god cry?”

“Ain't you, dead girl.” Sweeney tells her, voice lowered. He hands the weeping god his blanket and even an opened pack of peanuts. Which seems to cheer Horus up considerably. As he quickly stops crying and  starts to pop them into his mouth to chew. “Chances are he has been a bird so long, everything up there is scrambled eggs. Doubt he remembers what his brothers look like let alone what street they live on.”

He knows, after all, just how little it takes to lose your mind. What it's like to be a bird and lose everything that you were and not even notice until its too late. The ability to turn back into a man fades every time you take flight, that's what they don't tell you.

Even now, sometimes he has days he wishes he could spread his wings and take off. Leave everything behind, just to feel the wind and the air hold him again, to be free and light as only a bird can be.

“But he knew who I was. Knew I was headed to them…”

Horus, having finished all his treats, leans towards them.

“The ravens told me.”

Laura glances at Sweeney, who growls and bangs his fist against his knee. “Okay, does that mean something or is that crazy bird code?”

“Huginn and Muninn. Odin's pet ravens. They've been following us for so long, I sort of forgot. Figured with Odin dead they'd fuck off. Either they've gained a sense of self or someone else has given a job to the lil bastards to keep tracking us.”

Horus frowns, “They were always meant to leave him. Even he knew that. If they work for someone new, it was always meant to be.”

Horus holds out his hand. And it takes a second for Sweeney to realize he wants a treat. With a heavy roll of his eyes, he bends to pull out another bag of snacks from his bagged horde. He pops it open and hands it over, watching in disgruntled amazement as the god upends it all into his mouth at once.

Laura starts the car and pulls it back onto the road. She doesn't exactly remember the way to the funeral home, other than a vague general direction she should head to and can only hope there is a sign for their business when they reach the state.

“So, Odin has a few minions still roaming about. Does it matter?”

“Does it matter she asks,” Mad Sweeney repeats, voice mocking. “Of course it fuckin matters. You, dead girl, killed him. In front of a group of holy witnesses at that. Now Shadow and Miss Spring might not say anything, but you can bet Media and Techdick will. I have no doubt they were watching from afar.”

There had been too much going on, afterwards to notice for sure, but Laura didn't doubt it.

“Never mind what feathery dumb and dumber are up to, by now there will probably be a whole new war gearing up. All against the dead girl who decided to go highlander on their big man. Fuck, there's no telling if they're teaming up or not either, old gods and new.” He chuckles, “Ain't nothing brings people together like a common enemy.”

Laura frowns, “I don't know why you're laughing. If they come after me, you're just as fucked.”

“Aye. Not much changed for me then is it?”

Laura stays silent, he's been eerily right for most things and she hates the idea he might be right about this.

>

[love-with-you-i-have-everything]

we’ll give the world to you, and you’ll blow us all away

This is a tiny bit of Captain Cobra fic that will become canon to me if we don't get any interaction between Henry and real-Hook by the end of the season! Thanks to @happilyswanjones for reading this over for me!

You can find it on Ao3 here. Enjoy!

He found the horizon calming. He didn’t really know why, whether it was instinctual or thanks to too much time spent with Killian. But sitting on the bow of the Jolly Roger, legs hanging over the side, Henry felt at peace, despite the storm of issues he was inevitably about to face in the coming weeks.

Over the last eight years, he’d stumbled upon heaps of positives of having two mums. Regina’s place was perfect if he needed an escape from Emma and Killian’s love-sick teenager routine. It worked vice versa too, and whenever Regina was in one of her standard bad moods, he always had somewhere else to run to.

Having to share potentially earth-shattering news twice was not one of those positives.

No one was going to understand. Or maybe they would, but they wouldn’t like it. There’d been so much talk of college, of heading off to New York City, or Boston to write for publishers and papers. And Henry knew that both his mothers, even Killian had been putting money aside for it.

It’s not like he wasn’t grateful; he knew how desperate people were to get places in colleges, to have the funds to do so. He knew he was lucky.

But it wasn’t what he wanted. Not really. In theory it sounded great, but in its actuality, it didn’t seem like enough.

Maybe it was Violet breaking up with him a year ago, heading back to her home in the Enchanted Forest that brought it on, but either way, college didn’t seem like the right fit anymore.

He heard the footsteps before he saw who they belonged to. Not that he needed to check. Henry had heard them way too many times marching up the corridor, always followed by a voice telling him to get out of bed on early mornings, asking if he wanted to go sailing.

“Something on your mind, lad?” Killian asked, hovering behind him as if waiting for an invitation to sit. Henry let out a sigh, shrugging his shoulders ever so slightly.

“Why would you think that?” he asked, finally looking over his shoulder to meet the tilted head of his stepfather, eyes deep with concern. Henry moved over slightly, making room for the man to sit beside him.

“Because,” Killian started, moving to take the offered seat, “when I was a lad, a brand-new lieutenant on this very vessel,” he let out a breath as he sunk onto the raised edge, shuffling to get comfortable, “I used to sit in this very spot and think.”

Henry snorted, now keeping his eyes locked on something in the distance.

“Also, because I got a worried phone call from your mother saying you very efficiently fled the house as soon as she asked you about college applications.”

He shrugged again, not game enough to comment in fear of spilling out the truth. Killian cleared his throat at the silence, taking his eyes off Henry and onto the horizon. They sat for a moment in silence before Killian spoke again, this time softer.

“Look, lad. If the last few years of parenting,” he stumbled over that word, and Henry laughed in his head at Killian’s constant hesitancy to call himself a parent; it was clear to everyone how far their relationship had come, “has taught me anything, it’s that there’s no point pushing you if you don’t want to talk. So I’m happy to sit here in silence as long as you like.”

Looking across at him now, Henry studied the man sitting next to him. Only a few years ago, Henry would have shied away, not willing to talk to his moms about things like this, let alone Emma’s pirate boyfriend. But somewhere along the line, he’d become more than that. Maybe it was the sailing trips, the family dinners or movie nights, or even the little moments, like when Killian tried his first Pop Tart.

(He’d claimed to hate it, but Henry had noticed the supply depleting at a faster rate after that day.)

So, at some point, Killian had become family. Not that he hadn’t been before, or even that he legally was after the wedding. No. He had become family to Henry .

He could remember, way back in the time of the Missing Year, when his mum would date guys. None of them cared about him, they’d tolerated him at best. Walsh was marginally better. But Killian was the first guy who really seemed to care about Henry as his own person, not just an extension of his mother. Honestly, he wasn’t sure why that meant so much to him.

But it did.

Henry let out a sigh, and before he could think, the words poured out of his mouth.

“I don’t want to go to college.��� There is was. The cat was out of the bag. It was a relief in a way, like the pressure had been building and had finally been let out. Much to Killian’s credit, he didn’t react. “Don’t look so surprised,” Henry continued sarcastically.

Killian hesitantly reached an arm around Henry’s shoulders, “I will admit, lad, I did see this coming.”

Letting out a breath, Henry became very interested in the wood beneath him, running a nail through a grain in the red paint, “Does that mean my moms know too?” he asked, hoping he was wrong.

“Your mothers may know a lot about magic and the like, but I think you’ll find they can be a bit blind sometimes.” Henry let out a snort, “Especially when they’re both so excited for you at the moment.”

Henry felt his stomach drop with guilt. He was graduating near the top of his class, and he hadn’t stopped hearing about it. First it was his grandma, then she had told Emma, who had told Regina. And he was proud of himself, really. But all the fanfare and celebration had just made him feel worse about everything.

Killian seemed to catch onto his mood and quickly tried to cover up his mistake, “Not that that means they’re not going to understand how you’re feeling, lad.”

“Yeah. Right.” Henry replied shortly, hoisting himself up and moving towards the main mast. He didn’t look back, but could hear Killian follow him. He tried to be annoyed, but he couldn’t find it in him.

Everyone knew Killian didn’t give up on the people he loved.

The ropes that wrapped around the mast were complicated and interwoven with one another, twisting up the wood towards the rigging above them. He’d spent many days sitting on the deck between Killian and his mum, or even his grandpa, tying knots and untying them, just enjoying rare days of warm Maine weather. He was going to miss days like that.

“You know,” Killian began, voice cutting through the short silence, “when your father was on this ship he battled with questions similar to yours. What am I going to do with my future? What’s the right path? I doubt he would have imagined the story his life played out, but I also doubt he would have traded it for anything.”

Henry rolled his eyes at the pirate’s words, “What are you trying to say here, Killian?”

He felt a pressure on his shoulders and finally turned to face Killian. His eyes were full of sincerity, not the playful glimmer that usually lived in them. It was the look they got when Emma came home from the station, stressed and cursing the dwarfish population of the town.

“What I’m saying, Henry, is that you might not know what the ‘right’ thing to do is right now, but your story will find you.”

Sighing dramatically, he broke away from his stepfather and walked to look over the edge of the ship, “That’s what I’m saying, Killian.” he exclaimed, voice rising, “I need to find my story. And I don’t think it’s here in Storybrooke or at college...”

Killian interrupted, “Well, I know Belle always talked of travelling the world, maybe some of her things could give you some ideas, and I’m sure your mothers would be happy to let you…”

“Will you let me finish?” Henry said, throwing his arms up by his side, turning back to face Killian, who smartly shut his mouth and gestured for him to continue. “I don’t think it’s in this realm either.”

Silence settled over the pair for a good minute before Killian spoke again.

“I see.”

They held each other’s stare, and Henry could see the gears ticking away in Killian’s head. While he hadn’t counted on telling him everything like this, he had hoped of all people, Killian would be the most open to the idea. But his hesitancy was reason to doubt.

“Well, Emma and Regina may struggle a bit more with that kind of travel.”

Folding his arms stubbornly, Henry rolled his eyes, the picture of his mother. “They shouldn’t. It’s not really that different.”

Killian’s brows furrowed in concern. “I’m afraid it is, lad. There’s a whole other range of dangers in other realms, ones that are far less easy to deal with than taxes and bank loans.”

Looking at his feet, Henry scuffed his toes along the deck of the ship, the same one he’d cleaned as retribution for all sorts of things, like the time he and Violet had snuck out to see a movie.

“I’ve survived them before.” he replied, this time less confident, quieter. “I don’t know, Killian. I just,” he stopped to gather his thoughts, “I’ve spent my whole life around fairytale characters, reading their stories in that book. I want to be a part of that. I need to be, I know it.”

Over the last few years, Killian had been somewhat of a confidante to Henry, someone who was more than happy to pull pranks on his mum, who he could try risky sword fighting moves with and petrify everyone else with them afterwards. But every now and then, when his mothers were either too busy or just didn’t understand, he’d be there for comfort, for solace.

That was the Killian that was in front of him now. That was the Killian that reached out and pulled him into a hug, patting him on the back.

“I understand, lad. Truly, I do.” Henry did his best to hide his sniff. “And for what it’s worth, I think your mothers will to.”

Henry let out a wet laugh, pulling away from the hug but staying close enough for Killian to keep his hands on his shoulders, “I’m not saying they’ll understand right away, but they’ll come around.”

Then he came out with the big one.

“We all just want what’s best for you, Henry. What makes you happy. Whether that’s here, on the other side of the world, the Enchanted Forest or the bloody moon, we’ll learn to deal with it. As long as you’re happy.”

Looking into this man’s eyes, Henry was yet again stunned by how much they’d both changed. Never would he have thought the man he caught staring at his mother would become this ..

“Thanks, Killian,” he replied simply, not knowing what else to say. “Do you think you could be there when I tell everyone? So I have someone on my side, at least?”

Killian looked down to the deck, then back up at Henry through his dark fringe. “Aye, Henry. Anything.”

Before the moment could get even sappier, he turned away to return to his spot on the bow, only to be joined moments later. They sat in silence, both staring out into the water. Henry could understand what Killian got out of being on the water for so long; there was nothing better, more calming, than staring out at the waves.

“I’m going to miss you, lad,” Killian admitted softly. Without responding, Henry simply nodded.

There was nothing else to say.

[lovebunnie]

if youre still doing the writing could you do a nuwanda x meeks? because i like to think they met and meeks had a crush on him but nuwanda was oblivious to it, so meeks just pines a lot and somehow nuwanda finds out, (probably through chris or knox when one of them accidentally blurted it out) and nuwanda does a whole plan to ask meeks out.

“How can someone so attractive be so stupid!”

“Meeks, buddy, you’re preaching to the fucking choir.”

He laid on top of his bed, head hanging off the side while being upside down and groaning loudly. Pitts sat at his desk messing with bits and pieces of a clock while Knox wrote in his notebook. The three of them had been hanging out for a while, waiting for Neil and Todd to get back from helping Mr. Keating with something they didn’t understand or care to find out.

Meeks covered his face. “I just don’t understand. They flirt with everybody but as soon as someone flirts with them back, they suddenly can’t comprehend it?”

“Dude, I think you’re going to have to be more direct with them,” Pitts told him, not taking his eyes off the clock. “Nuwanda is just kinda… goofy like that.”

Sliding down from the bed, Meeks shoots back, “I don’t know how I can be more direct with them, Pittsie. Everything I say goes over their head!”

“Did you try just asking them out directly?” Knox asked. “Worked for Chris and I.”

“I will absolutely not take romance advice from you. Not now or ever.”

Knox looked up from his writing, shocked. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means it took you five times before Chris finally said yes, meaning no, it didn’t work and thus no, I will not be asking you, Knoxious.”

He closed his notebook and stood up indignantly, responding, “At least I had the balls to do it! You can’t even look Nuwanda in the eyes without catching on fire!”

Pitts finally looked up from his clock, concern etched onto his face. “Hey guys, calm down. We can settle this without getting expelled.”

Meeks scoffed and stood up. “Listen, I’ll take pining over Nuwanda until the fucking Earth explodes before I asked them out and make them uncomfortable. they obviously don’t like me, so what’s the point?”

He grumbled and stormed out of the room, grabbing his backpack on the way out and slamming the door. Knox and Pitts flinched against the harsh noise, and slowly faced each other.

“Good work, assclown,” mumbled Pitts.

“Me? How I am the one at fault here? I was just being honest!”

“Obviously, Meeks didn’t need honestly. He needed us to be friendly and helpful. You should go apologize before he steams all night long.” Pitts turned back to the clock while Knox sighed dramatically and fell back onto the bed. They shared a few beats of silence together, thinking about Meeks and feeling sorry for their friend and his ridiculous crush.

Suddenly, a voice. “Yeah Knoxious, what the fuck was that?”

Both boy’s heads shoot up as they exchange wide eyed glances. they both deduce that no, it wasn’t either of them. In fact, the voice was worryingly familiar…

“Nuwanda?” Knox asked aloud.

“Yeah, I’m here.”

Quickly, Knox reached into his pocket and extracted his phone slowly. He showed Pitts that screen, confirming the accidental butt dial. “Oh shit.”

“I’m guessing,” Nuwanda said, “that you didn’t mean to call me and I wasn’t supposed to hear that.”

“Uh-huh,” Knox squeaked out while Pitts slammed his palm to his forehead, making sure Knox knew how stupid that move was on his part. If Meeks wasn’t going to kill him then–

“Wait, did you hear all of it?” Pitts suddenly asked the phone.

“Every word,” came the reply.

Knox’s eyes went wider than before, almost supernaturally wide at that point. “So like… what do you think?���

The silence hung in the air for a few moments; they held quiet contemplation and Knox was about to scream with anxiety. Meeks would never forgive him, it was the end of their friendship and he somehow fucked it up twice in one day!

“I think I’m the biggest idiot on the god damn planet,” Nuwanda muttered into the phone. “I was walking around outside, enjoy nature and trying to find some cool spots to hold the club, when suddenly my phone rings! Not unusual, but no one really ever calls, so I answer. But I can’t even say hello to my buddy Knox because I’m getting an earful about how I’m attractive yet stupid– which by the way, hurtful Meeks– and then I hear some yelling and then a door slam. So now I’m sitting out here in the god damn frozen ass air thinking about Steven Meeks and how ignorant I am and how good he looks in those glasses.”

Pitts and Knox don’t know how to respond, so they stare at each other slack jawed. If Nuwanda is saying what they think they’re saying, that means that Meeks can stop wallowing in self pity and knock off the pining.

“So, are you saying you want to go out with Meeks?” Knox asked.

“I’ve been wanting to date that fucking nerd since I first met him. I thought when he was flirting, he was joking!”

“That’s what he thought you were doing!” Pitts exclaimed.

Nuwanda sighed in the receiver. “Well, what the hell am I going to do now?”

“I guess you’re going to have to ask him out,” Knox stated. “You both like each other, after all.

“Yeah but like…” Nuwanda moaned childishly, “how do I do that? I can talk a big game but how does a person even talk to their crush normally? I’d just look like a buffoon.”

“Nonsense! Just speak from the heart!” Knox exclaimed, the romantic in himself beaming. “What do you like about him?”

“God, everything. He’s wickedly smart, like unfairly smart. His nose scrunches up when he sees something he doesn’t like, which here, is a lot. That’s the only good thing about the place: I get to see the ‘Steven Meeks Nose Scrunch’ and it’s adorable. He’s super fucking friendly, I want to talk to him forever and when I’m not with him it sucks ass.”

Knox almost drops the phone in shock. “Holy fuck, dude. I think you’re in love with Meeks.”

Nuwanda groaned loudly. “I know and it’s horrible! God damn, I have to go find him. Did he say where he was going?”

Pitts shook his head before remembering they couldn’t see him. “No, but he took his backpack, so maybe the library.”

They sighed lightly. “Wish me luck lads.”

They both called out similar calls of good luck before Nuwanda hung up the phone and sought out Meeks.

As they entered the building, they thought of ways to ask Meeks out: flowers seemed too fancy, poems were too obvious, letters were too insincere. Nothing felt just right to ask someone like Meeks out. They wanted to experience to be perfect just so in case Meeks turned them down, they could say they gave it their all.

Nuwanda rushed down hallways, and eventually ran into Meeks, who was lugging his backpack behind him. “Oh, hey!”

Meeks chuckled softly. “Hi. Sorry, I didn’t see you there.”

“It’s okay,” Nuwanda whispered, standing very close to Meeks. “I was actually, uh, looking for you.”

“That’s weird, because I was looking for you too!” Meeks laughed out, rubbing his neck in nervousness. It was so endearing Nuwanda melted into a puddle and became putty in Meeks’ hands. 

“What can I do for you?” They asked, trying to act cool.

Meeks took a deep breath and squared up his shoulders. And suddenly, his lips were pressed against Nuwanda’s, softly and yet very inviting. Nuwanda closed their eyes and softly cupped Meek’s jaw, letting him know that it was all cool with them.

Together, they both pulled back. Meeks shuddered, and whispered, “I really, really like you.”

“Oh thank God,” Nuwanda chuckled, slowly taking Meeks’ hand. “Because I really, really like you too.”

The pair giggled, unaware of what to do now. They stood in the hallway, hands clasped and eyes wide with promise and mirth.

Nuwanda carefully leaned down and pressed his forehead against Meeks’. “You’re a little shit, you know that?”

“Look who’s talking. I’ve been flirting with you ever since I met you.”

“And I’ve flirted back! Damn, for being the smartest person on the planet you’re an idiot.”

Before Nuwanda could call out Meeks again, he closed the distance and kissed them soundly once more. In the back of their mind, Nuwanda made a note to buy Knox a cake for his help.

[mindsnot]

Broken Age Fanfic part 1 (subtitle: new beginnings)

Currently working on a Broken Age fanfic. It’s pretty long, so it’ll go beneath a readmore. I tried to keep it in the spirit of the game, with puzzles and humor, and what I hope is consistent canon. Not sure if they’re making a sequel ever, but until then, here’s my conclusion. 

               Shay stepped out of the conference room and sighed, his whole upper body sagging down, as if he was deflating. The hallway was empty. He only had as much time as he would have plausibly spent in the bathroom, so he pulled out his phone.

               He flipped open the hexagonal clamshell and was greeted by a smiling face.

               “What’s happening, Shay? Are you having a good day?”

               “Put me through to Vella.”

               “Aw,” the phone cried in a warbly voice. “You’re always calling Vella. You know who you haven’t called in a while? Curtis. You haven’t called Curtis in a while. I bet he misses you,” the phone sang.

               Shay gave the phone a deadpan stare.

               “I’ll call Vella,” the phone muttered.

                 Vella pulled out her clamshell phone she got from Shellmound. Its case was an actual clamshell, and it smelled faintly of fish. She wasn’t sure why she used it, but she never did get around to using a new one.

               “Hello,” she said.

               “Hey, it’s me.”

               “Hi, Shay. How are delegations going?”

               “They’re going.” Vella could tell from the way his voice trailed off that “going” might have been too generous a word.

               “Well, you can’t expect the negotiations between the Lorunans and the other countries to go perfectly smooth at first,” said Vella.

“But it’s so boring,” Shay whined. “They’re just talking in circles. Neither side is willing to compromise.”

               “You’re the one that signed up to be an ambassador,” said Vella, rolling her eyes.

               “Anyway, what are you doing,” said Shay. “Baking a cake?”

               Vella scoffed.

“I do a lot more than bake cakes, you know,” said Vella. She certainly wasn’t going to admit that she had just finished decorating a three-layer cake less than an hour ago.

“All right,” said Shay. “Well, what are you doing now?”

“I’m heading to a place,” said Vella. The forest at the end of the road was coming into view now. Plumes of chimney smoke rose from the middle. “Woodburr, have you heard of it?”

“I think so…isn’t Curtis from there? Why are you going to a middle-of-nowhere place like that?”

“Let’s just say,” said Vella in a playful voice, “I’m hunting for a wolf.”

               “Wait, you mean Marek?” Shay cried, but Vella had already hung up.

               Shay groaned and put his phone away.

               It was quiet.

Shay turned around and saw the Thrush Master towering over him.

“Hello, child.”

Shay straightened himself up, standing as tall as he could.

“The meeting is still going on,” said Shay.

The Thrush Master laughed.

“Ah, yes. The unity of Loruna and the badlands. The undoing of everything we’ve worked for in the name of peace, in the name of progress and cooperation. But not everyone is so happy with this forced accord. With this unexpected…reversal.”

“Gee, I couldn’t tell.”

The Thrush Master raised an eyebrow.

“You misunderstand me. A bit of bad blood—in moderation,” he muttered, “can be a good thing. A necessary evil, if you will. Blood, genes, life must be able to adapt, or else it will cease to be. And that which fails is the farthest thing from perfect. Although, The First might prefer to wipe the slate clean, to start over. Most of us would not prefer that.”

The veins stood out on the Thrush Master’s head crest.

Shay narrowed his eyes and tried to look for any trace of a lie, but the Thrush Master’s expression was flat.

“And what? What’s the point of telling me?”

The Thrush Master held his arms behind his back and looked down at Shay, studying him.

“You have demonstrated a certain…judgment, the kind we have always been looking for. I do not think it would be unwise to trust you. Take this.”

The Thrush Master produced a package from the folds of his robes. It was book shaped.

“Uh…” said Shay.

“The other three volumes elude me, but I managed to obtain the second. I trust you will appreciate its worth and decipher its mysteries. Now, I must be going. And I believe you have a meeting to return to?”

Shay stifled his retort. He was pretty late coming back to his meeting.

He walked back down the hallway, but right outside the door, looked down at his parcel. He opened the bag it was in and removed the book.

Bunny Tutu and the Poison Mushrooms, it said on the cover.

 “Let me know when you want another stack, sweetie,” said the mayor, pouring a flood of maple syrup onto Vella’s second stack of pancakes.

“Thanks,” said Vella. She watched the syrup ooze through the thick stack of pancakes. She was already full after the second pancake in the first stack. “So, anyway, about the wolf that moved into town—”

“Oh, yes, quite the talk,” said Mayor Margo. She was stout and burly, dressed in denim and plaid, and had round, rosy cheeks. “He went and hid in the Moss Shed.” She shrugged and made a noise. “No way to get in there. Who knows how he did.” Her cheery expression dimmed. “More importantly, you aren’t looking to cause any trouble, are you?”

“What do you mean?” Vella cut another bite out of her pancakes and ate it. It was really was quite good, especially the fresh maple syrup. She could always appreciate good sweets.

“Just the way you’re dressed, sweetie.”

Vella was wearing a red cape with a red hood. She was aware how that looked when someone was looking for a wolf. She shrugged herself.

“Don’t worry,” she said between chewing. “Can’t see why there’d be any problems.”

 There was a problem.

The Moss Shed was a huge rock covered in moss, just as its name suggested. Only it wasn’t a rock. It was metal beneath the green growth, and there was a clear set of metal doors secured shut at the base. Only Vella could see the moss broken at the seams…as if it had been opened recently.

There were no handles, no keyholes, nothing.

“Another puzzle,” Vella grumbled.

Vella checked her pockets.

First, she pulled out her trusty knife. She tried jamming it in between the spot where the doors met, trying to wedge them open, or something.

“Hey, toots, do I look like a crowbar,” shouted the knife. The tiny little face on the hilt was frowning with its eyebrows furrowed.

“Sorry,” said Vella. She put him away and went back to thinking.

The only other things in her pockets were her cell phone, her pastry bag (just in case there was a cake that needed decorating), and an embroidered hand towel (always handy, something you should never leave home without).

Maybe she was looking at it wrong. If Marek got in there, then there had to be a way in. She seriously doubted he forced the doors open. So she tried prying her attention away from the doors and looking elsewhere along the Moss Shed. To the left there was nothing. She climbed to the top of it, and aside from a clear view of the rest of Woodburr and all its little log cabins, she didn’t see much. However, after climbing back down her foot slipped on a patch of moss, causing her to almost fall.

She dusted herself off and got her bearings back. A couple feet to the right of the doors was a patch of moss with her footprint still pressed into it. She touched the moss and noticed it was loose.

“All right, here’s your chance to shine,” she said to her knife.

“Let me at em’,” he growled. Vella sawed through the patch of moss and let it fall to the ground in one big clump. Behind the clump was a control panel of some sort, with blocky red buttons and black and yellow lines outlining it.

“So that’s how he did it.” She put her hands on her hips. “Now let’s see…” Vella tried pushing a few buttons at random, then stood back. A little light flared red and a horn blared repeatedly.

“Incorrect password,” intoned a robotic voice. “Two attempts remaining.”

Vella grumbled.

“I’m not going to figure out that password, and I’ll probably never make it in if I mess up again. So, I guess that leaves force again.”

Vella inspected the control panel again. There seemed to be screws at each of the corners. She took out her knife again.

“What are you trying to pull?”

“I don’t have a screwdriver, so work with me here.”

“I don’t like this,” he said. But he didn’t say any more while Vella fiddled with each screw and let them each drop to the ground.

Once the panel was detached, it only hung by a cord of wires, revealing a little bit inside the machinery of the Moss Shed.

“I probably won’t get through there unless I’m a mouse, but I bet if something were to wreak havoc in there it would open up.” She thought. “Or at least do something.”

Her cloak flapped as she turned around and headed back to town, still pondering.

 “Howdy, what can I do you for?” The general store owner was a skinny lad with a bushy beard that almost hid his cheery grin. “The name’s Woodford.”

“What can you tell me about the Moss Shed?”

“Oh, it’s that metal shed covered with moss on the outskirts of town.” Woodford shrugged. “It’s a local sight.”

Perhaps another conversation track would work better.

“What kind of things do you sell here?”

Woodford’s face lit up.

“Why, we sell everything from Woodburr’s famous maple syrup, to lumber supplies, to any handy household goods.”

Vella cupped her chin in her hand.

“I don’t suppose you sell remote controlled bombs, do you?”

Woodford laughed.

“Why would we sell those? We just sell plastic explosives.”

“Oh,” said Vella. She looked down at her feet, then looked around the store at the supplies on the shelves. Looking sideways she asked, “Can you…sell me some?”

“Are you nuts,” shouted Woodford, banging his hands on the counter. “I can’t just sell any old girl plastic explosives…unless she had a way to carry it. Geeze, how would you even deliver it?”

“What would I carry it in,” Vella muttered to herself. How she would use it was another question she was even less prepared for.

She had an idea.

“Put some in here,” she said. She offered Woodford her pastry bag.

Back at the Moss Shed, she went back to the control panel, equipped with her pastry bag. The waxed cloth bag was bulging with plastic explosive. She inserted the metal nozzle of the pastry bag deep into the recesses of the space behind the control panel. She squeezed the bag, gently at first, then harder to force out more of the toothpasty explosive material.

When she was done, she stuffed the bag, nozzle and all, into the hole, poked the detonator in, and ran a good distance away.

The Moss Shed was a speck in the distance when she had gone far enough. She pushed the little button on her little remote.

There was a roaring explosion and a rush of wind followed by a shower of debris kicked up.

When she approached again there was a funny smell from the explosive—the control panel was a smoldering heap of wreckage—and a musty smell emanating from the open metal doors, and the dark corridor that led underground.

Vella pulled her cloak tight, raised her hood over her hair, and descended into the darkness.

 Little Bunny Tutu had built the prettiest garden for himself, and had filled it with all the best of each kind of vegetable. But Bunny Tutu was worried about dirty varmints that might come to mess it all up. So the first thing Bunny Tutu did was build a big wall around his garden.

               Shay was lying on his back on the couch, holding the book above him. He groaned and turned to the next page.

               Bunny Tutu’s very special garden was safe behind the big wall he built. However, Bunny Tutu decided it wasn’t enough. Looking over the walls of his garden, Bunny Tutu kept an eye out for dirty varmints. Suddenly, Bunny Tutu had an idea.

               Shay turned the page. The book was illustrated, with pictures that were clearly drawn for children, and possibly drawn by children.

               Little Bunny Tutu was full of mischief. Leaving the safety of his garden, Bunny Tutu snuck out into the bad lands and into the gardens of the dirty varmints. It was night time when Bunny Tutu did his work. He dug little holes and put little pieces of poison mushrooms inside. 23 little holes, and 23 pieces of poison mushroom later, and he was done.

               Chuckling to himself after a job well done, Bunny Tutu snuck away and returned to his garden to tend to it.

               Little Bunny Tutu wasn’t worried anymore. If anything ever happened, and if the dirty varmints ever got past his walls, the poison mushrooms would sprout in the other gardens. Bunny Tutu went to sleep—another brilliant plan completed—tucked into bed, and looked forward to the next bright day.

               Shay slapped the book shut. He turned the skinny book over and looked at the “2” printed on its narrow spine. He groaned again, louder this time. He had read the book five times already, and he still didn’t understand what the point was. The Thrushmaster didn’t seem the joking type. There had to be something in the book, something he didn’t get yet.

               “What do you mean, you stupid book?” Shay stared at the cover of the book, at Bunny Tutu. He looked so…weird. He was hardly a bunny. He had big, floppy ears covered in pink fur, and a rabbit’s head, but wore a gray suit and had brown, flesh-colored hands. It gave the impression that it was just a person wearing a half-hearted rabbit costume.

               Shay rolled over and sat up on the couch. He had spent hours rereading, researching, thinking, anything to try and figure out the book.

               “I don’t even have time for this,” he muttered. Tomorrow, he would have to go back into work, and dozens of countries were still petitioning to speak with Loruna. He’d already been in at least twenty or thirty meetings so far and…

               “Wait,” he breathed.

               Snatching the book, he flipped to the pages where Bunny Tutu was planting the poison mushrooms in the varmints’ gardens.

               23 little holes, and 23 pieces of poison mushroom later—

               Shay’s eyes widened. The light book felt very heavy all of a sudden.

               Work would have to wait.

                 Shay had finished his breakfast—eggs and bacon, no more cereal, he was fifteen-years-old, an adult!—and was in his room, packing his things, when his mom and dad decided to help.

               “Where are you going,” his mother asked, her round hairdo bobbing side-to-side while she moved through his drawers, picking out clothes for him.

               “I might head to Sugar Bunting first,” said Shay. He was deciding between which gadgets would most come in handy for whatever happened. “But I’ll probably head to other places, maybe Meriloft and Ice Vista after that.”

               23 holes and 23 pieces of poison mushroom. The numbers had to mean something. The numbers stood out. There was a second reason the numbers meant something, but that was covered in a dark shroud in his mind, but the first reason had to be…the number of countries. 23, at least. If not the other three volumes of the book that the Thrushmaster alluded to, then maybe he’d find those poison mushrooms that were buried. It filled Shay with an energy as he packed his toothbrush and laptop into his backpack…but also with a heavy dread. Would he be ready when he found what he was looking for?

               “An extra three scarves then,” his mother chirped. She was taking it rather well, Shay thought. There wasn’t a word of protest about him taking a vacation from his job and leaving on his trip.

               Shay puffed himself up and smiled. That must have meant that they were finally trusting him, as an adult.

               “I got enough meal bars to last you a week, son,” his dad called from the kitchen.

               “Thanks dad.” He wasn’t exactly planning on roughing it in the woods, but it helped to be prepared.

               His mother grunted as she stuffed the last of his clothes into his bulging backpack and zipped it shut.

               “Here you go,” she said.  “Now, I had this made for you, although I hope you won’t need it.” She pulled out a plastic band and secured it to his wrist. It was like a smart watch, except instead of a flat face it had a ping pong ball-sized glass ball attached to it.

               “What is it,” asked Shay.

               The Overmother’s radiant sun head popped up into the glass bulb, beaming up at him.

               “It’s a communicator, sweetie,” the head in the glass ball said, at the same time as his mother speaking into a communicator on her wrist. “It also doubles as a computer terminal, allowing me to interact with various hardware, and control various systems. As long as they’re compatible.”

               “Wow,” said Shay. “I didn’t think that far ahead.”

               “You’re all set, sweetie.” His mom came over and gave him a tight hug. “Now, just let me and your father pack, and we’ll be ready to go.”

               “Wait,” said Shay. “We?”

               “We can’t let you go off by yourself,” his mother laughed. She glided out the door and to her room.

               “No,” he wailed softly. “I was going to be an adult…”

               His father crept into his room, looking back once over his shoulder.

               “Here are the keys to the hovercycle. I’ll keep your mother distracted while you leave the house.”

               “Dad…” Shay almost had tears in his eyes.

               “Go out there, son. I have a feeling that whatever you’re going to do is a very important job. A job fit for an adult.”

               “Dad.” Shay squeezed his father.

               “Get going,” his father wheezed.

               Shay let go, adjusted his backpack, and snuck off.

                 Vella climbed down the steps of the Moss Shed. She slid her hand along the smooth wall for guidance, her footsteps echoing in the darkness.

               The bottom of the stairs had a path revealed by dim, red lights. She followed it, keeping an eye out for surprises.

               She noticed traces of long, black hair on the ground.

               “Marek,” she muttered.

               Following the traces of hair, she headed down hallways lit by dim red lights, past locked doors and dusty, shut down computer panels. The traces of hair forked off in two different directions.

               To the left was a hallway leading to a larger corridor, but in front of her was a bit of hair sitting in front of a door that wasn’t completely closed.

               She decided to check on the door first, since it was closer.

               She was glad the door didn’t make any noise as she slowly eased it open.

               “Aha,” she shouted, as she flicked on the lights. But no one was there.

               She explored the room a bit, although there wasn’t much to explore: a desk with a computer on it, some dusty, old file cabinets, bizarre warning signs on the walls. There was something next to the computer, though. It was a some sort of scanning machine and printer hooked up to the computer, with a thin book lying open on the scanner face.

               Vella picked up the book and looked at the pages it was opened to. It had childish drawings of some sort of weird bunny man. He seemed to be working on some sort of paper Mache project. She clapped the book shut and read the title on the spine: Bunny Tutu and the Brilliant Monster Plan, along with a number: 3.

               She stowed the book away and went back to explore the other path.

               It led to a great, cavernous room, with some great shadow looming in the center.

               “There has to be a light switch,” she muttered. After some searching along the wall, she found a big switch she cranked on.

               “What…” Vella had so much she wanted to say that she was speechless.

               In the center of the room was an enormous orb of metal plates strung up with wires. In a stencil font was a huge #12.

               Vella felt herself shrink. She felt like she wanted to run away, but that no matter how far she ran it wouldn’t be far enough, so she just stood paralyzed with fear.

               The giant metal sphere looked like a bomb.

***

 “Welcome to Ice Vista, traveler!”

               The man who greeted Shay as he got off his hoverbike was wearing a black and white parka. He looked like a penguin.

               Shay wasn’t familiar with Ice Vista—they must have been latecomers to the delegations.

               “So…you guys…” Shay looked around. Everyone was wearing some variation of the black and white parka, children waddling around playing, old people crouched around a fishing hole in the ice. The actual penguins waddling around just seemed liked miniature versions of the villagers. “Worship penguins,” Shay hazarded in a faltering voice.

               “Ho ho ho,” laughed the man. “Don’t be silly. Everyone here in Ice Vista just likes penguins a lot. Care for some penguin jerky?”

               “I thought you liked penguins,” said Shay. The man’s mittened hand was an inch away from his face, clutching a piece of withered meat.

               “We also like eating them.”

               “How are things going, sweetie?” Overmom’s sunny face appeared in the little orb on Shay’s wrist, smiling her sunniest smile.

               “Well, I came here looking for old Loruna tech, and all I’ve found so far is,” Shay surveyed the igloos and bustling villagers of Ice Vista, “less high tech. If there’s anything that old, it’s probably buried under the ice, and I wouldn’t know where to start.”

               Overmom hummed in thought.

               “The villager fish under the ice, right? You should ask around. The people are more familiar with the area than you are, and I’m sure they’d be glad to help.”

               “I’m not so sure,” said Shay, recalling how easily complete strangers tended to drop their problems and help him with his, which is to say, not.

               “If things get really tough, I can be right over to help you in a jiffy—”

               “Whoops, someone’s calling me! I have to go! I love you, bye!”

               The Overmom’s response was clipped short as Shay clicked shut the transmission and her face vanished in the wrist bulb.

               Shay walked back to the middle of the village to get his bearings.

               In the center of the town was an igloo restaurant with a sign that read “Raul’s Bistro” and beneath it, “Coming Soon: Organic Vegan Cuisine.”  

               There were two people in Raul’s Bistro, each hunched over a steaming bowl scooping spoonfuls of pungent goop into their mouths.

               “What can I get you,” said Raul. Although dressed for the cold, he had opted out of the penguin parka most of the other villagers wore for layers of stylish scarves and sweaters with a plaid apron on top.

               “The usual,” Shay said. He always wanted to try that.

               “You’ve never been here,” Raul countered.

               “Okay, then. I’ll have...” there wasn’t much variety between either of the other patrons and their identical bowls of slop. “What she’s having?”

               “Oh.” Raul turned around. With his back to Shay, he let out a loud and drawn out sigh. Raul turned around again. “One bowl of blubber and penguin stew?”

               “Um…” Shay considered his options. “Can you tell me about your vegan cuisine?”

               “Since you asked, we have a delicious red vinaigrette garden salad made with only the freshest, locally grown greens. Vegan, organic, GMO-free, and organic. Coming soon!”

                “How soon,” asked Shay.

               “As soon as I get some locally grown greens. Have you taken a look around? Not many plants grow on the tundra. Until they do, I’ll be melting blubber in that old stew cauldron until I wither and die.” Raul jerked a thumb toward the massive black iron cauldron hanging over the fire, it’s heavy lid rattling under the bubbling blubber broth.

               “Well…good luck with that.”

               Shay went back out into the town square. Raul’s food conundrum wasn’t going to help him discover Loruna ruins.

               Signposts led to the fishing holes. His mom’s advice was to ask the fisher people who knew the place best.

               Shay crunched his way through the snow to a signpost in the town square: “Penguin Fields” towards the left and “Fishing Holes” pointing toward the right.

               The fishing holes were deserted this time of day, say for a pair of squat women in penguin parkas sitting next to each other, fishing the same hole. They seemed frozen in place, but their wrinkled faces were set into expressions somewhere past boredom into acceptance.

               “Excuse me,” said Shay.

               “Hm.” The fishwife didn’t move, but her grunt had a positive tone.

               “I was wondering if you’ve seen any weird technology under the ice. Stuff that looks out of place…”

               The other fishwife pointed a mitten behind her.

               “Look in the old grotto, but don’t look too closely.”

               “Thanks…” Shay wasn’t sure what that second part meant, but he was glad for some simple instructions for once.

               A way away from the fishing holes was a deserted area and a sizeable opening in the ice. It was murky beneath the icy blue water, but it looked deep. It probably housed the grotto the old woman was talking about. Shay took off his back pack and browsed through the contents of his inventory.

               His mom and dad might have expected him to be stranded on a deserted island instead of travelling from village to village. He had fruit and granola nutrition bars for emergency rations, the multitool his dad packed for him, more spare clothes and knitted scarves than he knew what to do with, polymer weave rope, and even a spacesuit, in case he was about to flung into space at a moment’s notice.

               Fortunately, that last item was a nice save, since he needed a wetsuit if he was going to consider dipping into freezing water, and a space suit did the trick in a pinch.

               The bulky spacesuit fit over his normal clothes, and the glass (it wasn’t glass, some sort of advanced plastic, but whatever) dome snapped on neatly.

               He jumped into the pool with a splash and began awkwardly paddling down. A flashlight beam in the suit’s collar flicked on lighting his way. There was clearly something underground, a metal panel a dozen or so feet down, some blocky writing he couldn’t make out…

               Something passed across his vision. His arms were pinned to his side. His legs were gripped and his arms yanked upward. He was spun around and saw a huge metal starfish grabbing him, each articulated limb grabbing one of his. A green eye glowed like an angry alarm, and the top arm of the starfish slammed down on his head.

               The blow rang on his helmet with a dull thud. Then Shay found himself rushing upward, spun around again, then flying through the air and back onto the snow.

               Shay groaned. He opened his eyes to the cloudless sky, and eventually got to his feet and changed out of his suit.

               Shay tramped back to the fishwives.

               “You guys forgot to mention a horrible robotic ocean guardian in the grotto.”

               The fishwives both shrugged.

               “Never told us you were going down there.”

               “Not too smart, are you?”

               Shay gritted his teeth. It was better not to get on people’s bad side, though, especially when he was still asking for help.

               “I don’t suppose you two have any experience fighting monsters?”

               “We just fish.”

               “Of course, if you’re fishing for something big, you’re going to need a big lure.”

               “Starfish aren’t fish. They’re echinoderms,” said one of the fishwives.

               “It’s not a fish,” shouted Shay. “It’s a big, metal…”

               The last item Shay had to work with was his hoverbike. Shay went and brought it back to the fishing holes.

               “Fancy tech you got there, kid. Why are you taking it apart?”

               “I am making,” said Shay, unwinding some wires, “an electromagnet!”

               “Fancy, that” said one of the fishwives, apparently more interested in her line not getting any bites.

               “I’m glad you asked,” said Shay, unclicking a big blocky component from inside his bike. “Using copper wire, stripped with my trusty multitool (“Don’t mention it,” chirped the various tiny voices of his multitool”), and this bike battery,” he said holding up the blocky component, “I can use the power of science to defeat a robot. Pretty fancy, I know, but I am an official Junior Science Master Graduate of Child-Friendly Good Boy Science Experiments.”

               “Where’s your core?”

               “Huh?” That didn’t sound like a compliment to Shay.

               “A strong current, from your battery, copper wire, but where’s your iron core.”

               “You’ll especially need a big core if you’re planning to reel in that beast.”

               “But where am I going to find—” Shay had another idea.

               Shay didn’t bother going straight to Raul’s restaurant. Raul had a solid iron cauldron, but he doubted he’d give it up without anything in exchange.

               He decided to head to Penguin Fields to see if any locals knew anything about where to find some greens.

               Penguin fields were densely populated…with penguins. Two foot birds squawking up a cacophony and waddling around. There was a tall penguin in the crowd, or at least person wearing a penguin suit.

               “Hey there,” said Shay, trying to avoid stepping on any penguins. “There wouldn’t happen to be kale or any leafy greens growing around here, would there?”

               The penguin person sighed. “You’ve been talking to Raul? He’s delusional if he thinks he thinks his salad business is going to take off. No one wants that stuff either. Doesn’t fill you up.”

               “Right…but say someone wanted to find some local greens anyway?”

               The penguin person scratched their chin.

“Look around, do you see anything growing up here? On the other hand, if you were a penguin, you’d be able to swim underneath the ice floes and snack on some iceberg lettuce.

               Shay crouched down on the ice and brushed away the snowfall. The ice was mostly opaque, but there were hints of green orbs underneath the ice sheet.

               “Easy, just pull out my multitool, “Shay plunged his saw knife into the ice and began sawing. He sawed a large hole into the ice floe, planning on lifting it out and plucking the lettuce heads. He sawed a big hole, a few yards long, iceberg lettuce barely visible underneath. “Now to lift the ice floe.”

               Shay squatted and dug his fingers into the crack. He heaved, straining his burning muscles, as the ice floe barely budged.

               “Okay, that didn’t work. And these penguins aren’t helping!” The ice was heavy enough, and the penguins walking on the end he was trying to lift didn’t help.

               “Maybe Raul will loan me his pot on partial credit?”

               “How’s it going,” asked Raul.

               “I found a bunch of iceberg lettuce.”

               “Iceberg lettuce,” Raul shrieked in delight, tossing aside his stew bowl.

               “It’s under the ice.”

               “Oh…” Raul’s smile sank into a heavy frown. “Well, thanks for letting me know,” he said, rolling his eyes.

               “I’ll get that lettuce,” said Shay waving his hands. “It’s just hard on an empty stomach, you know?”

               Raul ladled a big bowl of steaming stew into a bowl.

               “Eat your fill.” He handed the bowl to Shay. He leaned in for an urgent whisper. “The future of organic vegan cuisine is depending on you.”

               Shay made his way back to Penguin fields with his bowl of stew in his hands. The penguins were squawking and crowding around him, but he was tall enough not to let them reach it.

               “Let’s give this a shot.” Shay poured the fish stew on the opposite end of the ice he cut out from the lettuce. As the thick stew splashed onto the ice, the penguins mobbed onto the spot, bending down to lap up the stew. The flow sank deep, but the penguins didn’t seem to notice.

               Wasting no time, Shay went over to the other end and got his grip again. Bracing his muscles (which weren’t that small, right?), Shay lifted, and found the ice floe actually being lifted. The floe was lifted up at an extreme angle, and Shay, in a moment of panic, ran with it and guided the floe higher and higher until it was standing upright 90 degrees, then then flipped it on its back. The ice fell with a huge splash, and the feeding penguins were nowhere to be seen.

               “They’re probably fine,” said Shay. He rubbed his arm. “I mean, they’re penguins, right?”

               What was more appealing at the moment were the exposed iceberg lettuce heads, roots buried in the underside, now the overside of the ice. Shay gather two big armfuls of the vegetables and walked back to Raul’s.

               “All natural cuisine has a future!” Raul fell to his knees in tears. “I have greens, dressing, and a topping.” His eyes shot open. “A topping?” His voice rose in terror. “How could I not have any toppings?” He grapped shay by the lapels of his coat. “Please, my savior, you have to have a topping of some kind on you? Dried fruit, croutons or grains?”

               “I have…” Shay turned around and scrounged through his backpack. “Say?” Shay pulled out his nutrition bars and unwrapped them in the empty stew bowl. He crunched them up by hand and turned around to present it to Raul. “Ta da! Crumbled granola and dried fruit, all natural and organic and, um, food.”

               “Genius,” roared Raul. Raul turned around. “Out, all of you! There’s the door! Drop that disgusting slop and come back when we’re a real bistro.”

               “Say,” said Shay. I don’t suppose you need that cauldron anymore?”

               “Take it! You don’t cook salad in a cauldron. We’re living in the future!”

               Shay was back at the Fishing Holes assembling his electromagnet.

               “Got a core, did you,” said one of the fishwives.

               “Yep,” said Shay. He was wrapping the copper wire around the cleaned-out cauldron, connecting it to the battery he placed inside the cauldron.

               “How are you going to seal the cauldron from water,” asked a fishwife.

               “My dad’s patented hull sealant,” Shay announced, applying the last of the glue before pressing the lid down firmly.

               “Now how are you going to turn it on,” asked the other fishwife.

               “The remote starter for my hoverbike,” Shay answered.

               “Mighty reckless of you to take apart your fancy bike for this fishing trip.”

               “A lot’s at stake,” said Shay, setting his mouth firm. “I need to find out what’s down there.” Last of all, Shay tied the rope to the lid of the cauldron and lugged the whole thing over to the grotto.

               Shay stared down into the pool. He couldn’t see the starfish, but he knew it was down there.

               He pushed the electromagnet into the water and watched it sink fast, dragging the rope with it until Shay grabbed it.

               Shay waited. It was hard to tell if it was getting close, but now was as good a time as any. He clicked the remote of his bike and he heard the buzz of the electromagnet turn on, followed by the loud clank of the robot slam into the magnet.

               Shay grinned.

               “Now to reel it in.” The cauldron was heavy, but the robot wasn’t as heavy as he expected.

               The green eye blazed with rage, but the starfish was helpless stuck to the magnet, and now dragged onto the ice.

               “Time to take a nap, buddy.” Shay pulled out his multitool and unscrewed a panel on the robot. It was certainly Loruna technology, even if it was bizarrely outdated. Shay flipped a switch and the green eye faded. “All right, now it’s time to go see what’s down there.”

               Bunny Tutu’s garden needed dirt. His garden had the nicest seeds, the freshest water, and Bunny Tutu built a neat hedge and had a dozen and a half of the shiniest tools to start gardening, but he needed rich dirt to plant his seeds in. Uh oh!

               The bad lands full of bad people had plenty of good dirt (all they really had was dirt), but how would he sneak over and carry a barrow back to his garden?

               If he asked or offered to trade, the mean varmints would know about his garden (his garden was a secret.

               If he tried to fight them (they were mean, but all a bunch of wimps), they would hide their dirt, or throw it away to spite him.

               Bunny Tutu was clever, so instead, he came up with a clever idea. Bunny Tutu sent his helpers out with wheelbarrows, but disguised them as scary monsters. He told his friends to use their meanest voices and tell the varmints to hand them some dirt, if they know what’s good for them.

               Bunny Tutu’s plan worked so well, even he was surprised. The varmints started competing to give him their favorite dirt.

               Vella slammed the thin book shut (it didn’t make an impressive noise, since the hardcovers were thinner than the sparse, illustrated pages). Vella slid Bunny Tutu and the Brilliant Monster Plan back into her satchel. The glowing number on the ceiling console told her the shuttle pod would be arriving at its destination in less than seven minutes. After Vella saw the…bomb, she could have gone back and warned the others, but another stray tuft of fur led to a small station with a miniature train car. It was far sleeker and nicer looking than any train car she had ever seen, and it was clear that it only went back and forth to one destination. The only question was where, but Vella was about to find out.

               A pleasant, robotic voice informed Vella that she had arrived at Terminal 4, as the train glided to a silent stop.

               Vella got off and explored the station. There wasn’t much there, but a door leading out. The door led to another series of hallways—she found another vast chamber with a huge, spherical bomb, this one labelled “4”—and a few other rooms, mirroring the facility she was just in.

               “So this is number four and I was just at twelve?” Vella kept her voice down, although there was no one around to hear here, the dim emergency lights felt like they were hiding something. “There must be at least twelve of these places, but why didn’t I go to number 13 or 11?” The only other room worth noticing was a room with a door labeled “Data Management.” There was a computer console with a dead screen and a dusty chair sprawled on the ground like a mummified corpse. The computer console beneath the screen projector had a neat hole where a large piece was clearly removed. The side of a console had a nasty hole in the side where it looked like someone took a hammer and smashed it in a few times, and then a few more for good measure.

               Vella’s mouth made a hard line. She didn’t need to look for any traces of wolf hair to guess who made this fresh wreck and made off with what was probably a memory block.

               Vella pulled her hood up tight.

               “He’s got to be out there.” The facility exit/entrance was the same too, leading Vella out into the bright of day, although it wasn’t the brightness she was expecting.

               The golden glint made Vella squint. The exit was on a high ridge overlooking a golden and bejeweled city, and the sky wasn’t the sky, but the roof of a huge cavern, lit by a blinding fake sun that seemed to be crawling along a big railing track. Climbing further down the ridge she was able to align the angle a big sign near the edge of town: “Welcome to Baublegilt.”

               Vella almost tripped from starring at all the gold-plated buildings in town. It looked like a normal mining town with shops and workers traveling around, but even the sweatiest miners hefted solid gold picks over their shoulders and had cloth of silver and gold clothing. The baker’s storefront sign was circled with rubies and sapphires, and the goldsmith’s storefront was…well, covered in gold and jewels, but the other stuff was pretty unusual.

               “If anyone will know this place, it’ll be a goldsmith.”

               The inside of the shop displayed racks of diamond-studded silver bracelets, electrum chains, a fortune in rings crowned with walnut-sized gems, and more. There was a counter leading to a workshop in the back. An old woman dressed in a drab grey frock came out and adjusted her spectacles.

               “Hello, ma’am. Can you tell me about Baublegilt?”

               The old lady sniffed. She tittered briefly, then waved a hand.

               “Here I thought it was someone important,” she said.

               “Excuse me,” demanded Vella, balling his fists and rising up. “That’s pretty rich coming from someone in a gold town dressed—”

               “Dressed in the fanciest fashions available,” the woman cut in. “See these rings?” The old lady put her hand in front of Vella’s face so fast that Vella almost swung and clobbered her. The old lady rotated her hand, “Genuine sandstone glass set in pure tin.” Her hand had at least six of them on. Her other hand snatched at a chain necklace around her neck and held it out, “Lead and zinc links, crowning, this is not gold, a genuine pyrite crystal.”

               “Uh…” was all Vella was able to manage.

               “So you see, I am far too rich to be wasting my time with someone who won’t make me richer. Now, go buy yourself a mushroom pie or whatever it is you commoners eat. The goldsmith flipped Vella a gold coin the size of a cookie. “Ta ta,” she said, disappearing behind the counter and back into her workshop.

               Vella left holding a coin that was worth hundreds of times everything that rude goldsmith was wearing, assuming this was home or anywhere else that made sense.

               Vella went to the baker’s shop, a place she at least assumed would make sense.

               “New here,” asked the friendly baker behind the counter. Aside from some gold dust flecked on the a few loaves of bread, everything looked pretty standard for a bakery, aside from a solid gold rolling pin Vella spied in the back near the oven.

               “What can I get for this,” asked Vella. She held up the huge coin.

               “A mushroom bun,” said the baker with a wide smile. “Mushrooms are pretty cheap, since we don’t have to import them. Or…” Vella wasn’t getting her hopes up, “your pick of my day-old bread.”

               That was that, then. Vella could at least ask some questions to this guy.

               “Tell me about this place. I just kind of…wandered down here.”

               “Oh, we just mine and craft goods out of the local ore and stone. The stuff we dig up isn’t super valuable, but we have plenty of it, and we import fresh produce and fancier metals for the fancier folk.

               “I see…” Vella remembered the goldsmith flaunting her tin and lead like it was silver and gold. “Have you seen any suspicious people around here?”

               “Besides you? I’m kidding! If anyone important came by the guildmasters would know about them. Might be they’ll be inviting them to their annual banquet.”

               “Can you tell me more about this banquet?”

               “I’d rather not think about it, said the baker, scratching the back of his head. This might be my last year catering for it if I don’t make a desert that’s sweeter than last year’s. But the shipment of apples at the fruit stand are scrawny and overpriced. Don’t think they’ll go for a mushroom cake. Do you?”

               “As a baker…” Vella didn’t want to hurt his feelings. “Sometimes you should try branching out,” she shrugged.

               “Ah, no problem, little lady.”

               Vella left with nothing but her coin to her name, besides her knife, hand towel, and cell phone—“No reception down here, of course.” The other street lined with more golden buildings passed an alley. She checked it. A shadow flickered. There was a clatter and a rustle. Her red cape flapped as she rushed to the source of the noise. A silver trash can was on its side, spilling garbage. In the trash was a tall wolf mask and the remains of Marek’s fursuit.

               The wearer was nowhere to be seen. She ruffled through his suit, but turned up nothing. But there was a crack in the cobblestones nearby. She pulled out her knife, but put it away as soon as it started complaining, “For the last time, I am NOT a crowbar.”

               She tried prying open the latch with her fingers, but it barely budged. The last thing she had on hand was the coin she had just gotten. She wedged the big coin in the crack and pried as hard as she could. The cobblestone budged, but that’s it. The coin bent in half. “Dumb gold,” Vella growled. She gave it one more try and succeeded in snapping the coin in half. “Well, now I have two coins, sort of.”

               She got back up and left the alley. If Marek was hiding in town, then that had to mean there was something he still wanted here. The artificial sun was setting, reaching the end of its track. After a brief pause, the lights shifted and the color dimmed to resemble a crescent moon.

               “Something about that sun and moon look awfully familiar…” Memories of Shay’s ship exploded into her head. “Of course!” There was the facility located on a cliffside above, but below…she just had to find the place the controlled the artificial lighting. “Hall of Day and Night” read another sign, leading to a blocky cement structure on top of a hill. The outside looked modern, with token gold plating, but the top was a crystal pyramidal structure like the Dead Eye God from Shellmound, and Vella knew what that was.

               Vella sprinted up to the entrance, but despite the workers coming and going, she was stopped by two burly guards in gold and silver filigree.

               “Halt, only authorized staff and guests allowed for the banquet!”

               “Who is invited,” asked Vella.

               One of the guards shrugged.

               “Guildmasters of the Minter’s Guild, Goldsmiths’ Guild, Merchant’s Guild…you know. Bigwigs with lead in their pockets.”

               “Are you with catering?” The other guard pointed with her truncheon at her clothes underneath her red cape. “What kind of desert are they having? We get the leftovers, you know.”

               The other guard shushed and nudged her hard.

               “It’s…a surprise,” said Vella.

               Vella left the guards at the gate, left town, then hiked back up the ridge to Facility 4#. The tram that brought her to Baublegilt was still waiting, and she could get back to Woodburr in a flash.

               As the tram zipped back in the other direction, Vella had another hour to spend thinking. Of course, the building that gave them light and made their lives possible underground was where the town leaders were holding their big stupid banquet. But then again, this might have been her only chance to infiltrate and snoop around the place, when a big party of people were already going to be there. All she needed was a disguise. Or maybe two.

               Vella arrived in Woodburr’s facility and made her way back to the village’s general store.

               “It’s you again,” said the plaid-clad vendor brightly. “I hope it’s not plastic explosives you’re looking for, because you bought my last stock. Plenty of other goods, though.”

               Vella fished in her pocket and felt each half of the cookie-sized coin. She took out one half.

               “How much maple syrup will this get me?”

               “The store owner leaned in close to inspect the coin.

               “One.”

               “One what?”

               “One keg,” he shouted. “I haven’t seen that much gold in one place in years! Hold on a second.” He came back wheeling a keg of syrup.

               It was a barrel big enough to hide a person in.

               “And here’s your change.” The shopkeeper heaved a sack onto the counter that jangled. “I hope you like pennies,” he said with a shrug.

               “Um,” said Vella, having been paid at her family’s bakery with pennies before. Then a flash went off in her head. “On second thought, thanks for the pennies,” she said, picking up a copper coin from the bag.

               Vella went back into town with her penny sack tied to her belt, rolling her syrup keg on the ground. One of the log cabins in town had to have a seamstress, and she found one by the sign outside.

               There was a woman mending a pair of trousers under a noisy sewing machine.

               “What do you need, sweetie?”

               “I need a sort of dress…”

               “What kind of dress? I don’t do anything fancy.”

               It was hard to explain, and Vella didn’t want to explain her whole mission from the beginning.

               “I need a…costume for…an event I’m going to.”

               The seamstress stopped sewing and scooted her stool closer. She leaned close to Vella and asked in a conspiratorial whisper. She grinned.

               “Do you need an outfit for…cosplay?”

               “Excuse me?”

               The woman beamed.

               “I know what you kids are about! Why, my son Joshua is into those cartoons too.”

               “Mooooom, they’re nooooot cartoooons,” groaned a loud voice from upstairs.

               “What do you want to make a dress out of,” she asked Vella, ignoring her son’s cry.

               Something reliable and sturdy came to mind.

               “How about this,” said Vella, removing her red hood.

               “But it’s such a nice cloak. Still, it’s nice fabric. It’ll make a short dress, though, knee-length, maybe.”

               “That’s fine. I need to look flashy. Speaking of…” Vella pulled out her sack of pennies. “Can you sew these onto the dress, like sequins?”

               “Huh,” said the woman, raising an eyebrow at the pennies. “I guess those characters do have some weird outfits. Still, sequins have holes in them. How else am I going to sew them on?”

               Vella wandered around the shop in thought. She went over to the sewing machine and inspected it.

               “This basically punches holes in fabric, right?”

               “My sewing needle can’t poke holes in pennies, sweetie.”

               But Vella had an idea what could.

               She pulled out her knife.

               “Listen, you like stabbing, right?”

               “Ha, almost as much as I like slashing, sweetheart!”

               “How do you think you match up against one of these?” She held a penny in front of the knife and rotated it in front of the knife’s little face.

               “Those things wouldn’t stand a chance,” he said with a sneer.

               “Here’s your chance to prove it!”

               “What do you think you’re doing?”

               A spool a thread was nearby, allowing Vella to tightly tie the knife to the needle, upside down.

               “Excuse me,” Vella said to the seamstress, who politely let Vella take her seat. Vella pulled out a test penny and placed it beneath the knife. She placed a foot on the pedal and the knife rocketed up and down.

               “Hold on a second!”

               The penny was torn up in the center.

               “Maybe a light tap this time…”

               Placing another penny beneath the knife, Vella gave a quick tap on the pedal, letting the knife shoot up and down once. She picked up a penny and noted a clean groove cut out from the center.

               “Pretty clever, dear,” breathed the seamstress. “You can let me take care of the rest of those. And I’ll fix up your dress in no time. Now, about payment…”

               “Will this cover it,” said Vella, handing over the other half of her coin.

               The seamstress’s eyes grew huge.

               “And then some! I’ll finish it right away, a rush job. Why, I can buy a new workbench, some new records, and even some toys for Joshua.”

               “Mooooom,” cried Joshua from upstairs. “They’re not tooooys! They’re figurines!”

               Vella rode the tram to Baublegilt sitting across from her keg of syrup. It was easy rolling it through the facility, tricky keeping control while rolling it downhill, and easy rolling it up to the baker’s shop.

               “I heard you needed some help baking!” Vella was in open baker’s garb, standing heroically with a hand on her hip and the other on her giant barrel of maple syrup.

               “Is that filled with apples,” asked the baker, killing the mood.

               “Better,” said Vella attempting to salvage the mood. “Have you ever made a maple syrup cake with maple syrup frosting?” Vella smirked and raised an eyebrow.

               “No!” The baker smirked and raised an eyebrow back.

               “Should I just do it for you?” Vella’s smirk was strained now.

               “I wouldn’t mind if you did, to be honest!”

               She would have been more irritated, but Vella was back in her element now.

               Vella spent the next hour mixing cake batter, making frosting, preparing the pan, heating the oven, every little thing that made her think of home and not in a giant golden cave hundreds of miles who-knows-where. The dough was easy—flour, eggs, butter, spices, and her maple syrup were on hand. The cake went into the oven in no time, leaving her plenty of time to reduce some of the maple syrup into maple sugar to mix into the cake frosting. The baker’s tools were limited—he was clearly more of a pie person—but when the cake came out of the oven and cooled on the stove, she managed to apply the frosting as smooth as polished marble, and add a few artistic flourishes on the fringes.

               “I’ve never seen a cake that nice,” breathed the baker. “How can I ever repay you?”

               “Let me cater for you at the banquet. And…” She scanned the baking room. “Can I have your rolling pin?” It was solid gold. It might come in handy later. She certainly would have felt guilty spending it anywhere, since it was bigger than a gold ingot and probably worth more than a place like Woodburr.

               “No problem! And take that old thing. I needed to get a new one anyway.”

               Half the day had gone by, but Vella still had another errand to finish.

               “I’ll be back for the cake. Just give me a couple hours.”

               The seamstress was still working when Vella got back, but the dress looked done.

               “Give me a second. Just one last coin…here we go.” She held up the dress for Vella to admire. It jangled lightly. It had a simple skirt, and a simple, sleeveless top, but the red stood out, and the hundreds of pennies were polished and dazzling. “I hope I made it right. I got your measurements, but try it on.”

               Vella unzipped the back (one of her specifications was that it would be easy to take on and off) and put it on over her casual baking clothes (her other specification). It fit fine. She felt a bit flashy—the last time she wore a dress this flashy, she was escaping a certain monster—but unlike a lot of things in that situation, she was on the hunt, and the skirt was short and loose enough to leave her legs free. She unzipped the dressed and folded it up back in her satchel.

               “Don’t forget your funny little knife too.”

               “I can’t thank you enough. I…” she couldn’t tell them about Marek, her mission, the horrible things in that Bunny Tutu book. “I’ll make sure everything’s goes fine!”

               “I’m sure you’ll be fine, sweetie. And I’ll be here if you ever need anything else in Woodburr.”

               “Me too,” called Joshua. “Unless I’m busy,” he added.

               It was difficult wheeling two dollies at once, but Vella finally made it back to The Hall of Night and Day. The guards looked her over. She was in her baking gear, uncovered by her red hood, and wheeling a dolly with the keg of leftover syrup, and a dolly with the huge, tan and brown maple syrup cake. They both grinned.

               “The back entrance is that way.”

               Her dress was folded up in her satchel. Serving staff wheeling a tasty desert didn’t have to be on a guest list.

  ������@

[emphysemation]

Mercy Me

Another flash ficlet from the Bloodied Up, Consensual!Thramsay divergent canon. 

M/M, Theon Greyjoy / Ramsay Bolton, violence, fighting, fucking, cuddles. 

First half (down to the asterisks) written by LelithSugar, second half by me. 

Here we find the boys discussing Theon’s upbringing...

“Never, not even once, did good old Eddard Stark take a belt to his wayward young ward for whoring about the North, and make him earn his place in the household? Take out all that pent up lust and anger on Balon's boy, with his pretty eyes and his infuriating smile? Maybe see how well he swaggers round Winterfell like he owns the place when he can't walk or sit down?”

“No. And you for one have given that a distressing amount of thought.”

“Well, I had to conjure up something to fill in the blanks when I'm thinking about my favourite pet's upbringing and how he came to me quite so warped, and it was either that or imagining Jon Snow fucking you -” He's halfway through a face of distaste when he catches some tiny twitch or gesture, a barely perceptible tell Theon's not even aware he's given and Theon's caused to wonder which of the seven new hells has a dawn quite like Ramsay's smile.

“*You've* thought about Jon Snow fucking you.” It's a statement of fact more than an accusation. The next is softer, a sort of aside from the script Ramsay's face is writing: “Just thought about, or...?”

Theon shakes his head emphatically, which isn't actually what he means at all when he remembers the question and his breath catches when he realises but it's alright, Ramsay's understood that for how it was intended: a “no I never” rather than a “no” in answer. The grin is back on Ramsay's face, full of humour darkened with spite.

“Really? You do surprise me. Not Robb? Not your fellow lordling?” It briefly occurs to Theon to be pleased that the involuntary twist of his face is not the one that used to follow any mention of Robb, but how many moons has he had at the Dreadfort now to heal? Instead, it seems to have given away something else entirely. “Oh. Too pretty for you, too delicate. Or... too proper, perhaps. Too... well bred? You wanted a base-born lad to rough you up and put you in your place, is that the way of it?”

In moments of crucial pressure, Theon often finds that rationality deserts him entirely. The only answer he manages is to swallow spit so laboriously that he hears it. So does Ramsay, who responds by standing up decisively and backing away, raising his voice.

“On your feet then, Theon of House Greyjoy.” A wooden pole comes sailing through the air and Theon only just catches it. It could be a broom handle, whatever it is it's too light to match the spear Ramsay picks up and spins so the head is under his arm, but he's glad it's no heavier. He's worked, oh but it's been so long since he's taken up arms he can barely grip the pole at shoulder height, let alone remember how to wield it to any effect and Ramsay's got a good solid strike to the top of Theon's arm in before he even finishes his challenge. “Defend yourself. Your house. Your honour. Show me how a true prince fights and surely you'll best me.”

Theon barely hears him over the ring of pain through his body where his shoulder and bicep are bruising, warm and deep. He swings wildly and catches Ramsay's second jab, throws it upwards but stumbles and the blow lands across the top of his back when he falls forwards. The pain is hot, bearable, welcome almost, but unnecessary. He was better than this once.

A quick swipe and its inversion hits Ramsay sharply on the inside of the wrist and comes close to disarming him but Theon doesn't have the power these days to break his grip: perhaps he never would have, Ramsay is smaller but so densely muscled, sturdy where Theon is rangy and somehow the power in his movement is effortless. Even at speed each hit is solid, and he rains down blows smoothly and deliberately on his target areas before Theon can even regain proper footing. Theon manages two resounding hits to Ramsay's side and a painful looking thrust under his collar bone but is shrugged off and countered every time.

Theon stumbles as he rounds on Ramsay, his thighs, buttocks and shoulders smarting where he's caught stripes from the spear handle and his whole body throbs with it, responding the way it always has, which must be why Ramsay's smirking at him like that... it's either that or because he's winning, because although he's got in a few admirable hits and deflected a couple of Ramsay's best calculated attempts, Theon is on his back foot and it's only moments before Ramsay swipes that from under him with a swift kick.

Of course he doesn't fight fair. Fair rarely wins, and any ironborn would agree that honour is relative: the glory of victory is a far greater honour than that of losing with chivalry. Ramsay fights like an ironborn, hard and driven, and for once it's not out of masochism that Theon topples backwards and lands awkwardly underneath him. He's tired, he's out of practice; Ramsay throws the  spear aside and grapples him bodily to the stone floor.

The fists that pummel into Theon's ribs and stomach are gentler than they could be, still only play-fighting but he's soaring with the ache of it, the ease with which Ramsay could disarm and beat him... but he's not beaten. He's sore and at a disadvantage but he's conscious, and whilst that twisted little part of him begs him to lie still and just let Ramsay hurt him, he realises this is perversely the closest to a no-lose situation he's ever been in in his life.

Ramsay senses Theon relenting under his fists and eases. He knows when he's pushed enough, and when getting the upper hand is going to take other tactics and he shifts to straddle Theon's thighs, weighing him into the floor, and presses his forearm hard into Theon's throat as he leans in.

“Is this defeat, for you, then? Are you going to surrender, ready to kneel at the feet of a bastard? Do you yield, Greyjoy?”

This part of the game is not unfamiliar, nor the sudden awareness of Theon's erection and they're too involved to make a diversion of pretending that's an unexpected turn; Ramsay is excited in his own mastery of the situation, narrow-eyed and gleeful.

“Never.”

Perhaps Ramsay was expecting Theon to spit in his face; he's not shocked by that and neither should he be, but the sudden heft of his bodyweight is evidently a surprise. Though it costs Theon every ounce of the effort he can muster to throw him it pays off and Ramsay, levered by his own arm, falls in a roll across the floor until he splays his own limbs to stop himself, taken off guard. Theon launches at him with all his strength behind one elbow, jamming it into Ramsay's chest, punching wildly with his left hand but that's a mistake. His left hand is weak because he never uses it, so used to pretending there aren't enough fingers under his gloves to grip with and his wrist bends in on itself, wrenching a noise out of him that's the most pitiful he's made in the whole fight so far.

Seizing the break, Ramsay hurls himself to a crouch and leaps at Theon, lashing blindly with a backhand that connects, sending Theon reeling back into the floor in half a daze, his head swimming.  Ramsay's nails bite into his upper arms and hold him steadily against the floor, shaking him once, emphasising the strength of his grip and how easily he's regained it. The nails are drawing blood and Theon resists the urge to let his head drop back and just enjoy that.

“Give up. If you bow to me now you'll come to no harm... other than the disgrace of being a noble born prince who couldn't hold his own with a sword against a mongrel Snow from Hornwood...”   Ramsay slaps him, open handed and heavy enough to turn Theon's head to look at him. “Yield.”

But instead of the blissful surrender he is used to expecting long before this, Ramsay is met with stone and Theon headbutts him, aiming for the forehead but smashing too low into his face.  A trickle of blood is making its way into Ramsay's smiling mouth even as he sits back to pinch the bridge of his nose, a shocked laugh that comes out a little wet and Theon gets a far wider window for retaliation than he has planned for. In a real fight he'd be faring far better than he'd expect... but in a real fight he doubts Ramsay would be so conditioned to expect him to give in to a few bruises and well placed pinching, nor to be distracted by mutual arousal. Or perhaps he would, perhaps this is exactly how the fight between them should have gone if it wasn't shirtless in Ramsay's bedchamber armed with broom handles... he doesn't doubt the visceral joy Ramsay takes from stripping him of title and pride is genuine, and he doesn't doubt he can do it without help. So he tries.

“I am the fucking prince of the Iron Islands. I will not yield to a bastard.”  Ramsay's holding the worst of the blood flow with the back of his hand pressed to his nose and glaring upwards as Theon stands and grabs him by the shoulder, aiming a kick into Ramsay's ribs. He thinks to slow it on purpose but doesn't: Ramsay can easily take anything Theon can give and he knows he's only buying trouble for himself when he kicks again but before he can change his mind Ramsay grabs him by the foot and pulls him flat.

All the wind goes out of Theon but he hadn't stopped for Ramsay's bleeding nose and Ramsay doesn't care much for his heavy fall. Immediately covering Theon's body with his own plus as many sharp digs of his fingers, knees and elbows as he can manage in the climb, dripping blood on Theon's bare and tingling skin.

Ramsay's all steadily blazing fury as he grabs him by the hair, winding his fingers in for a good hold and knocks the back of Theon's head into the floor. It's a pulled punch and Theon knows it, but Ramsay keeps up the yank on his hair and the press of the back of his skull into the stone as he settles into straddling Theon's body again, his knees bent so that his legs pin him down at the thighs and the ankle. His hips press flush into Theon's and the heat is staggering: somewhere amidst the rush of pain and being absorbed in the struggle Theon had become momentarily distracted from the pulse drawing all the blood to his cock but there's no escaping it now, trapped parallel as it is to the rigid line of Ramsay's arousal, and they press together almost painfully as Ramsay pushes his chest into Theon's and bites him.

It's no love bite, it's agony enough to draw the sting out of the dappled marks the spear haft made on Theon's arms and legs and the jarring of his back and every other scrape and punch littering his body. He's sure there's more blood on Ramsay's lips and whether his nose is still bleeding or he's bitten clean through Theon's skin isn't obvious.

Ramsay walks his fingers thoughtfully across Theon's collarbones and Theon shakes at the threat in his eyes, the rumble through his chest, the feel of Ramsay's teeth closing across the front of his neck as if to rip his throat out but just nipping, softly; the promising touch of his tongue.

All the strength and the will goes out of Theon's body, his focus retreating to the pain in his scalp where Ramsay grips his hair like a child dragging a doll; his lips against the scruff of hair on Theon's chin; the press of his stiff prick against Theon's hipbone, and how awfully non-negotiable that seems in this position; the nails of his other hand walking crescents down to encircle Theon's wrist and just hold it, not that he was fighting with it now, not that he ever really had a chance. Ramsay is stronger, faster, he has Theon bettered and beaten fairly, and he knows it.

Ramsay trails a line of ominously soft kisses up and growls out the words with his bloodied teeth against Theon's lips. “Do. You. Yield.”

Theon gasps into his mouth. “Yes.”

“Say it.”

A deep breath. “I yield, my lord.”

**********

Ramsay inhales with satisfaction, as if he’s breathing in Theon’s submission. Another little tug of the hair - just because he *can* - and his growl turns into a proud, victorious smile. “The Iron Islands will kneel at the feet of a miller’s bastard?” Blood drips off his chin, falling thickly onto Theon’s cheek.

Theon nods. “I give myself to you, my lord.” His cock twitches and Ramsay glances down and grins at him.

“Damn right.” Ramsay plants a bloody kiss on his lips, then jumps to his feet, standing astride Theon’s supine body. “Up. Kneel for me, fallen princeling.”

With considerably less grace, Theon shoves himself up on his elbows and pushes himself into sitting, every tender joint and pulled muscle singing their complaints in a chorus of pain. Ramsay waits, standing tall and regal.  He’s holding his spear again as if it’s his royal sceptre. Theon clambers into an awkward kneel and lowers his head. He holds his arms at his sides, palms forward and open. Unarmed, battered, bruised and bloody, he presents himself; the vassal in supplication. Time slows to a crawl. Theon holding his position, letting Ramsay soak in his defeat, savour his victory.

Ramsay whirls the spear and taps Theon in the sternum with the head, then uses it to raise his chin. Theon is entirely unsurprised to find Ramsay unlaced and ready for him. He starts to shuffle forward, reaching out, when the spear whirls again and the butt of the handle firmly knocks him back. “Stay as you were,” Ramsay orders him, and paces imperiously in a full circle around him. Theon returns to his previous pose, despite the cramping of his shoulders.

Another circle, and another, and now Ramsay is behind him, nudging his feet apart with the spear, stepping closely up behind him, resting a hand on his shoulder, *claiming* him. Wood whirls again and the spear is held across his collarbones, trapping him between it and Ramsay’s body. Ramsay pulls him back, his thighs against Theon’s back, his cock pressing between his shoulder blades. “I have defeated the Iron Islands in battle, and now they are mine for the taking.” Ramsay declares, victorious.

Theon pushes the spear away and twists to stare at him incredulously. “Seriously?” he asks. He’s all for playing games, but what kind of mummer’s farce was this?

Ramsay stares him down, his face a mask of imperious disdain. There’s just the tiniest flicker of a wink. Theon rolls his eyes and faces front again, giving in to whatever ridiculousness Ramsay wanted to play. Ramsay clears his throat. “I *said*, the Iron Islands are mine for the taking, yes?”

“Yes m’lord,” Theon mumbles dutifully, bemused.

Ramsay shakes the spear in playful frustration. “Try harder!” he complains, dropping out of character for a moment.

Theon spreads his hands helplessly for a moment. “Yours for the taking, sire?” he hazards, trying to figure out what Ramsay wants from him.

“Yesssss… Good boy.” Ramsay ruffles his hair in praise, then regrasps the spear shaft. “And take you I shall!” he booms, projecting his voice like an actor. Theon bites his lip to keep from laughing.

Ramsay nudges him with a toe. Theon straightens his face. “As you wish, sire,” he says, for once finding it difficult to find a tone of respectful subservience.

The spear is taken from his throat, moved to press under his shoulderblades and Theon is slowly pushed forward and down until his face meets the flagstones and his arse is in the air. Ramsay spends a moment hooking Theon’s arms over the wooden shaft, effectively trapping them behind him. Theon turns his face to the side and tries to peer behind himself. He catches a glimpse of Ramsay taking out his belt knife.

“Oh don’t you dare!” Theon tries to sit back up but the spear behind his back has shifted his centre of balance too far for him to lift himself up.

“What?”

“You dare cut another pair of trousers off me, Ram!” Theon rolls onto his side to glare at him. “Drowned hells, can’t you just unlace them for once?”

Ramsay huffs and twirls the blade in his hand. “Takes a bit of the spontaneity out if it, no?”

“This is virtually my last decent pair!” Theon protests. “You are not allowed to cut any more clothes off me until I have something else to wear! Just yank ‘em down if you must!”

“Ugh, you’re so picky…” Ramsay rolls his eyes, but puts the knife away.

“You’re just obsessed with cutting things up!” Theon retorts.

Ramsay cocks his head. “…yes? Should I remind you that you are currently inside the Dreadfort, seat of House Bolton, whose sigil is a fucking flayed man?”

“Okay, okay…” Theon sighs. “My point still stands, no cutting clothes off me. You can remove them like an actual person for once.” He shifts his hips, making his trousers slide lower.

“Fine…” Ramsay relents and grabs at the frayed hems of Theon’s trousers. “Off, off, off!” he calls and tugs the trousers off him, flinging them across the room, leaving Theon stretched out naked on the floor, arms still trapped by the spear. “Now you’re all in the wrong place,” he grumbles and rolls Theon back onto his belly, then bodily lifting his hips up so that he could tuck his legs back into a kneel. Theon’s cheek presses into the stone again and he shifts himself, trying to find some balance.

There’s a soft thud and Ramsay drops to his knees behind him, pushing his feet apart. The hair on the back of Theon’s neck bristles in anticipation. It doesn’t matter how many times he’s waited like this, stripped and bent over, every time is its own delicious perfection, just holding that pose, ready and willing - or unwilling.

“So…” Ramsay purrs, running cold fingers down Theon’s back and over the curves of his arse. “Where were we?”

“Erm…” Theon hesitates, trying to remember how he’d got here. “Oh! Yours for the taking, sire.” He shifts again, spreading his legs further apart. Inviting.

Ramsay snorts. “Whore.” Theon replies only by wiggling his arse, unashamed.

Wet fingers probe at him, creating a cold trail from arse crack to balls. Theon tries to see what Ramsay’s using to slick him up with but can’t get a good view. From the many brief touches, he guesses that it’s probably spit and patience. He shivers, wriggling himself down onto Ramsay’s fingers, impatient. Ramsay always likes to linger over this preamble, likes to stretch the time as well as the hole. Theon tends to want to get through to the fucking. A second finger, more spit, more probing. He was ready, he was ready, just *do it*.

Finally, *finally*, he feels Ramsay shuffle closer, feels the heat and firmness of his cock pressing up against him. But still no pressing fullness, no merging of their bodies. Instead, Ramsay strokes along Theon’s back, curving over him to lay kisses at his spine. “Who are you?” he asks in a voice just above a whisper.

“Yours.” Theon moans, “yours.” He rocks his hips back, trying to capture that cock somehow.

“Yes,” Theon can hear the smile in Ramsay’s voice, “but I already knew that. Who are you?” He’s stroking his cock up and down Theon’s arse, teasing him. Theon knows that he won’t get fucked until he gets this question right.

“I’m… Reek. Your Reek. Your toy, your pet,” he tries, sinking his shoulders lower and arching his back, trying to be more submissive.

Ramsay withdraws and cold air chills the wetness around Theon’s waiting arse. “No,” he prompts, “go the other way, the opposite of Reek.”

Theon frowns, confused. The opposite of Reek? He can sense Ramsay kneeling just behind him, but there’s no more contact between them and Theon feels like he’s starving for touch. “I… I’m… Theon?” he asks, hopefully.

Hands on his hips, pulling him back against warm thighs, hardness nestling between his cheeks. “Good boy,” Ramsay purrs at him. “Getting closer…”

“I’m Theon. Theon Greyjoy.” Freshly wet fingers at his backside, slicking him up where his wrong answer had allowed him to dry. He closes his eyes, feeling only those teasing fingers.

“Keep going…”

“Lord Theon of House Greyjoy, Prince of the Iron Islands- Oh!” There it was, finally, the push and stretch and opening up as Ramsay stared to enter him.

“Don’t stop, now,” Ramsay murmurs, holding himself tortuously still.

“Lord Theon of House Greyjoy, Prince of the Iron Islands, heir to the Seastone Chair of Pyke- ah!” With each phrase, Ramsay rocks himself a little further in, claiming Theon at every title. When Theon falls silent, he stops moving again.

“Is that all you’ve got?” Ramsay asks, teasing.

“Fuck, Ram, just fuck me?” Theon pleads, sweat beginning to sting his eyes.

Ramsay withdraws a little. “Only if you tell me who you are.”

Theon shakes with the exquisite unfairness of it. “I’m Lord Theon of House Greyjoy,” he begins again and gasps as Ramsay thrusts hard into him. “Prince of the Iron Islands, heir to the Seastone Chair of Pyke, former Ward of House Stark at Winterfell, Captain of the Sea Bitch, um… um…” he falters.

Ramsay eases up, but thankfully doesn’t actually stop this time. “And who am I?” he asks, breathlessly.

“Lord Ramsay of House Bolton, heir to the Dreadf-”

“No!” Ramsay pulls out, giving Theon’s arse a resounding slap that makes him yelp in surprise. “No, go the other way. Away from the Lord stuff.”

Theon whines in frustration, clenching and opening his hands behind his back. This would be horrible if he didn’t love the teasing so much. “You are… Ramsay. Ramsay Bol- Ramsay *Snow*,” he corrects himself.

He’s rewarded by Ramsay pressing back into him, grabbing hard at the top of his thigh and pulling him back against his cock. “Yes,” Ramsay grunts at him, “keep going.”

“You’re Ramsay fucking Snow, of Hornwood.” Theon blurts out. “Ramsay Snow, a miller’s wife’s bastard- *OH*!” Ramsay had reached over him and grabbed a handful of hair, wrenching his head back and forcing him to arch his back. “Ramsay Snow, a peasant nobody from a backwater village. No name, no family, no home, no worth…” His words trail off as Ramsay fucks him, pressing his face hard into the flagstones. All Theon knows is the cold bite of rough stone grazing his cheekbone and knees, The thousand tiny pinpricks of pain in his scalp from Ramsay twisting his hair, the ache in his shoulders from having his arms hooked over the spear shaft, the excruciating pleasure of Ramsay’s cock pounding into him and the slap of skin on skin with every thrust.

Ramsay releases his head and grabs the spear, lifting the shaft up and forcing Theon’s arms further back. “Who are you?” he demands, even as Theon loses his precarious balance and slides forward, face scraping over the stone floor and his hips dropping until he’s lying flat on the ground. Ramsay grunts as they fall, but barely lets it interrupt his rhythm. “Who are you?”

“I’m Lord Theon of House Greyjoy! Prince of the fucking Iron Islands! Heir to the Seastone Chair of Pyke!” Now that he’s flat, Theon finally has some friction on his cock, even if it’s from the unforgiving stone of the floor. Ramsay threads his arm under the spear shaft and grabs Theon’s hair again. All the bruises and aches from their fight thrum with deep pain, offset by the sharp cramp in his shoulders. So many times he’s been beaten and knocked to the floor during arms training. So many times he’s imagined being fucked into the dirt by his opponent after they forced him to yield. He squeezes his eyes shut, sinking back into his boyhood, into the days of endless drills in sword, spear, arrow, knife, hand-to-hand… Ending up in the mud over and over again, his body thrumming and alive to every minute twitch or touch from the man on top of him. He’d always tried to fall face first, just to hide his traitorous hardness, because if they found out he knew they’d never beat him like he wanted ever again.

“And who am I?” Ramsay’s voice is a strained groan, he’s close, his rhythm is becoming jerky and out of sync.

“You’re nothing! A nobody! A useless, worthless *bastard*” Theon grunts out between pants. He feels Ramsay’s cock twitch inside him, the surge of his climax. Ramsay moans gutturally, his nails carving crescents into Theon’s thigh.

“And do you yield, Prince Theon?” Ramsay holds him down by the back of his neck, using his body to finish is own pleasure.

Theon cries out as he spills onto the stone floor, “I yield, Jon, I yield!”

Ramsay collapses on top of him, wrapping his arms around him. There’s a jumbled confusion of limbs as Ramsay tries to disentangle Theon from the spear shaft and then they’re lying on the ground, panting and covered in sweat and spit and come. Theon feels dazed, drained, empty. Ramsay is holding him, hugging him close, stroking his hair and down his arms, kissing the top of his head. They lie there until the shadows lengthen and the chill from the stone threatens to seep into their bones. Eventually, Ramsay makes them both sit up and clamber to the bed.

“I guess I didn’t exactly defend my honour, did I?” Theon mumbles, sleepily.

“No, not really,” Ramsay smiles at him. “But uh, you did answer my question.”

Theon frowns, not following. “Hmmn?”

“When you came, you yielded to ‘Jon’.” Ramsay’s face lights up in a gleeful grin as Theon goes pale, horrorstruck. “So… tell me again about how you’d never thought of Jon Snow fucking you?”