#she even radios in and says that she's changing her perimeter deal with it

[softquietsteadylove]

The tiny cellar. The door slamming shut. The darkness. Gils claustrophobia. The DRAMA!

For the wildfire one please! ❤️

"Someone! Anyone, please!!"

Thena walked a little more briskly. It had reached her ears so quietly and muffled at first, but there was no mistaking it now. Someone needed help. "Hello?"

"Please, help me!"

She picked her pace up to a light jog, the scenery looking much more familiar now. She kept telling herself she wasn't coming back to Gil's cabin - again - she was just...in the area. Her perimeter routes had changed, that was all.

It wasn't that she missed the place, or the host.

"Someone!"

"Gil?" she called out, looking around for him. She couldn't figure out for the life of her where he was. She walked around the side of the cabin, but he wasn't by the wood pile, or chopping out front. He didn't seem to be inside, based on how she was hearing him.

"Please!"

"Gil, are you okay?!" she shouted back, her heart starting to beat faster. What the hell had happened to him? "Gil!"

"Help!!"

"Gilgamesh!" Thena ran around the other side of the house. There wasn't much over there except the storm cellar door and where the water connection was. He had showed her the water main so that she could help herself to the shower in case he was away and had shut it off.

The doors rattled, being pounded on from the inside.

"Please, please, please!"

"Gil!" Thena shouted back, rushing to pull them open. They weren't locked, but the wood had warped over the course of winter, and now were wedged together in just such a way that made them seem impossible to get open now that they were slotted together.

"Thena, please!"

She slammed her foot on one door and pulled on the other one, stumbling back as it finally cracked open. If she didn't know him so well, it might have been terrifying, seeing someone as large as Gil come tearing up and out of the cellar in that state.

"Thena!"

She tried not to fall over as Gil sank to his knees, wrapping his arms around her and pressing his face into her stomach. He was bawling like a baby, clearly having been hyperventilating in the cellar by himself. She huffed. "Gil."

"Thena, oh thank god, fuck, I-I thought-"

Thena tried a few times to try and pat his head - or something - without feeling weird about it. He was clinging to her like he'd faced down his worst nightmare, which perhaps he had. He wasn't being dramatic, or his big, sensitive self. He wasn't well. "It's okay, Gil."

He screamed into the material of her shirt, his whole body quaking. He was such a bear of a man but he truly seemed fragile, on the verge of crumbling. "I can't...I can't..."

Thena finally gave in, letting her hands fall over him as gently as she could manage. He flinched, and it only made her feel worse for him. But she rubbed his shoulder, ran her fingers through his hair. "I'm here, Gil. You're okay."

He took slower breaths, steadier with each slow inhale. He slowly sank lower until he couldn't even hold onto her anymore, seemingly ready to lie down on the forest floor.

"Gil, hey," she said gently, trying to have more than her usual charisma (lack thereof) with him. She knelt with him, holding his shoulders and making him look at her. "What happened?"

He groaned, his throat raw from screaming for however long he'd been in there. "I-I was checking on some stuff in the cellar. I always have the doors wide open, but they must have gotten blown over, or maybe something wandered by and closed them--I-I dunno."

"Okay," she nearly whispered, nodding and watching him closely. His eyes were bloodshot from crying, but his pupils were responsive. He was no longer gasping for air, his chest no longer heaving. She wouldn't be surprised if he was lightheaded. "It's over now."

He groaned again, rubbing his face. "Ugh, Thena...I'm sorry."

He was apologising?

"I didn't mean to freak out and," he blushed, typical Gil, "throw myself at you like that."

She tilted her head at him, and he looked truly ashamed and remorseful. "You never told me you're claustrophobic."

He shook his head, ruffling his own hair now. He looked like he'd been through hell. "Doesn't come up much, I guess. I don't exactly get put on cave duty that often."

Thena furrowed her brows. She would think that if his phobia was this severe that he wouldn't be put on cave search duty to begin with.

"Thanks for rescuing me," he smiled limply at her as she rocked back on her heels and flopped back on her butt across from him. "Sorry you had to come all this way to do it."

"I was," she shrugged, hoping she seemed casual, "passing by."

Whether he believed her or not, he chuckled and nodded, "well, you really saved me, so..."

Thena sighed, keeping an eye on him. It didn't feel right to just...leave him like this. She inhaled, poking him in the shoulder, "okay, hey, c'mon, get up."

He blinked at her as she pulled herself up and dusted off her grey jeans. "R-Right, you must have to-"

"Get inside, I'll make your disgusting leaf water for you." As soon as she said it she wondered if maybe she could see why she was known as a 'stone cold bitch' at the station.

Gil brightened like a dog being offered a treat. He looked up at her with those big brown eyes of his, "really?"

She turned away from him; he acted like she had asked him to marry her! All she offered was to make him some tea! "Today, Gilgamesh, before I change my mind!"

Maybe she could be a little nicer to the man whose life had flashed before his eyes in his own storm cellar.

But Gil picked himself up, hopping to fall in step beside her. He nudged her shoulder gently with his, "thanks."

She bit the inside of her cheek. He was making such a big deal about it. "Thank me if I make it right."

But even now, her growling did nothing to dissuade him from inviting her in. If anything, when she whipped the door open and stepped in ahead of him, he held the door open over her shoulder. Such a little gentleman (she rolled her eyes).

"Gil," she started while on her way to the kitchen.

"Yeah?" he asked, already kicking off his boots in favour of his sandals.

She lingered by the doorway between the kitchen and the main body of the cabin. "Next time you need something in that cellar...just call me."

"Huh?"

She resisted the urge to press her forehead to the fridge door, feeling her face growing warm. "Just wait for me and I'll do it for you! You don't have to go down there again, is what I'm saying."

She continued on her way, digging out the kind of tea that was his favourite. She didn't know what kind it was, but she supposed she had smelled worse teas. And she knew how to put the kettle on. Maybe she would make herself a single mug of instant coffee with the boiling water while she was here.

"Thanks, Thena."

He was probably smiling that dumb smile that was kind of endearing. And she refused to go out there if he was going to catch her looking flustered over it. He could wait for his stupid leaf water.

This was why she was off search and rescue. Saving just one person made it feel worthwhile to do it again and again.

[tloujm]

Part V: Liars

Author’s Notes: This is that aforementioned storm. Timeline wise, the two of you have only been together for half a year.

Genre: Little fluff at the beginning, then boom ANGST

Summary: You and Joel find the bodies of two former Jackson residents. The traumatizing discovery prompted you to question Joel again. His lack of answers caused a riff in your romance with each other. After a little bit of time, you decided to take a road trip down to Utah to visit the hospital and find some answers for yourself.

Ship: Joel x Reader

As two of the most experienced survivors in Jackson, you and Joel often patrolled as a pair. Joel didn’t mind doing group outings, but if you were involved, he preferred it to be just the two of you. For a couple that lived together, you and Joel didn’t see too much of each other. This led him to cherish these particular patrols. It was an easy day. The only clickers you found were through a scope. Joel may not be a stranger to violence, but any day where melee combat can be avoided is a good day to him. The two of you took your time on the trail; your horses slowly walking next to each other. You pointed out a small cottage. It was picturesque considering the dilapidation of its surrounding environment. Joel was apprehensive, but agreed to make a little detour so the two of you could check the place out. You figured stopping there would give everyone a bit of rest before continuing on. 

Joel searched the perimeter and you peered through the windows. He approached the door and found that it was unlocked. The two of you entered and looked around silently. You followed him down the hallway to a door that was cracked open. He tried to open it further, but it barely budged. 

“Think you could try to get through there?” He suggested, looking at the narrow space between the door and the wall.   

“Got it.” You slipped through the space with little maneuvering of your body. Once you were in, you immediately turned around to find what was blocking the door. Someone had barricaded it with a dresser. You pushed it out the way. “All good.” You said to him.

Joel grunted, pushing the door open wider. “Thanks.” It didn’t take long for you to spot a body. It distracted you from the moving one to your right. “(Y/N)!” Joel alerted you. It got too close for his comfort. He shot the clicker right as your brain registered it's existence.

“Thanks.” You said after letting out a breath. 

“Yeah.” He mumbled before examining the human body. “Hey, c’mere.” He had crouched down in front of the skeleton. “You remember when Maria called a search for those two teenagers that ranaway?”

“Yeah.” You approached the body.

“I think this is them.” Joel said.

“God, that was a year ago now. They only made it this far before…” You faded out. You didn’t even want to finish the sentence. You turned back to face the other body. One of them had turned. “Guessing by the head wound and the blood under it, this one was shot by that one.” You pointed back and forth between the bodies.

“I’d reckon you’re right.” He let out a little grunt as he got up. You walked around to gather clues on their demise before discovering a scrap piece of paper on a table.

“‘Jackson is a wonderful place, but we got tired of hearing the stories of people suffering everywhere else. We wanted to save lives. We had good intentions.” A breath hitched in your throat as you read the next part. “‘We didn’t make it an hour before running into a horde. Now we’re bitten. We’ve decided we’re going to end our lives instead of turning. Please tell our family and friends that we’re sorry. Love Adam and Sidney.” Joel watched as you turned the paper around. There was more on the back. “‘I shot her. I can’t take my own life. I’m a fucking coward. Adam.’”

“Jesus.” Joel whispered to himself.

“If only they were immune, right?” You commented, putting the paper back down. He glared at you. He couldn’t quite read your face, but he could only hope that what you said didn’t mean anything.

He broke the silence. “Well. Let’s, uh, get these bodies back to Jackson.” He looked at you and gestured with his head. “C’mon.” He began to move, but you stayed still.

“When we took that hike a couple years ago, you said that my test results didn’t matter.” You started. Slowly, Joel turned around. He knew he was in for it. “What did they tell you specifically? Why couldn’t they make a cure from me?”

“They told me that there were others like you. You weren’t the only immune that they’d come across, (Y/N)----”

“That’s not what they told me.” You stated, growing frustrated.

“They probably said that you were the only one, to make you go. They wanted you to feel the weight of the world on your shoulders like it was your responsibility to save mankind.”

“Why didn’t you just tell me that before?” Your voice started to sound defeated.

Joel let out a deep sigh. “I didn’t want you to think it was all for nothing.”

“If there were other people, then why couldn’t they make a cure from them?” You asked.

“That’s the thing, (Y/N). They had their chance. Multiple chances, matter of fact, and they failed each time. They didn’t seem any more certain about a cure when your test results came back.”

You thought on his words for a moment. “I never met another immune before. Have you?”

“They could be hiding it. You do.” He replied softly. It could have been true, but the feeling from your gut was familiar. It told you that he was still lying. He could tell you were thinking of something else to ask. “Is now really the time for this?” He slowly approached you. His demeanor hardened. 

“We traveled across the whole country to get to that hospital. I had so many questions for them. What if we had stayed? If you would have given them more time, they could have figured something out; something they hadn’t seen with the other immune.” You raised your voice, almost in a pleading tone.

“(Y/N),” Joel’s voice turned firm. “How many times do I have to say, there was no cure! They failed. They tried. We tried. But it just didn’t work. I need you to understand that.” He let that sink in before changing the subject. “Now, we need to get these kids back to their families.” He continued to glare at you, but you looked away. His defensive attitude dissipated. “C’mon.”

For the sake of getting back home on time with the bodies, you let the matter go, but it didn’t stop eating away at you. The two of you looked around the house for supplies before going back to the room where the bodies were. You helped Joel wrap them in sheets. He carried Adam and you carried Sidney. Because she was nothing but bones at this point, Sidney was much more fragile. You tried to keep her intact when putting her over the horse. Unlike Adam, she did not stay put. You felt bad all around, between handling the bodies and the inconclusive talk you had with Joel. This was your first fight as a couple and you didn’t know what to do about it. You wanted to figure it out alone, but you had no choice but to walk with him the whole way back to Jackson. It was a long walk and you stayed silent the whole time. 

You took that time to try to regain your memory of that day. The fact that it’d taken so long for it to come back made you think that it was stunted from more than the anesthesia. You figured it was better to try to come up with the answers yourself for once than ask Joel. He was remarkably defensive and you weren’t in the mood to deal with that. 

You remembered cold frigid water, but how did you get there? What was the body of water? You’ve known how to swim since you were a kid, so if you were to have drowned, how did it happen? You tried to think further, but that was as far as your brain would go. 

When the two of you arrived, Joel told the gatekeeper to radio Maria. She and Tommy came as soon as they could. You watched the somber looks on their faces. The brothers gently unmounted the bodies while she sent others out to tell the families. You took the reigns of the two horses and led them back to the stables. 

That night, you went to bed early. After the stables, you went straight home in the hopes to be fast asleep by the time Joel got home. Your plan worked and soon you were lost in a slumber. Next thing you knew, you were swimming. The water was murky but manageable. You had to dive through an opening to get to your destination. The place looked industrial. You looked around as you lifted yourself out of the water. There were steel beams and ladders and then there was Joel. He was standing there waiting for you. His mouth moved, but you couldn’t quite make out what he was saying. He seemed happy to see you though. You caught up with him and the two of you walked through the building. The sound of rushing water got louder as you approached the end of the pathway. A strong current had flooded this section of the building. “Hold on, we’ll find a way across.” Joel said encouragingly. You followed his lead as he started to hop on top of floating debris. At one point, you got ahead of Joel and decided to cross to another section of the building by walking across on an overturned bus. You hopped down onto it. You could tell it was unsteady, but it did its job. You had just made it across when Joel hopped down onto it. The sound of creaking metal and rushing water formed a pit in your stomach as you knew that Joel was not going to make it. You tried to reach out for him, but the platform began to break underneath you. The current started to move the bus, which caused Joel to lose his balance and fall into a broken window. You screamed his name. You could hear him struggle as water rushed through the openings of the bus. You ran across the platform in an attempt to catch up with it. You released a burst of energy and jumped onto the glass door. Luckily, it didn’t break when you did because you saw that Joel was right under it. You wanted him to move so you could try to bust the window open and pull him through, but the current was keeping him pinned where he was. He reached up and tried to pry the door open, so you followed suit. The rapid current coupled with the increasing weight of the big metal box, caused the bus to almost spin before sinking. You lost your balance and fell into the water. It happened so quickly. Your heart rate grew faster and faster until it stopped altogether. Everything went black and that's when your eyes shot open. You clutched your chest as your eyes adjusted to the darkness of your room. You could feel yourself starting to hyperventilate. You focused on your breathing, allowing you to calm down. Joel was there next to you, fast asleep. It must have been early morning. You got up with no intention to go back to sleep.

Over the next couple of days, you became insomniatic as your brain kept going back to the hospital. Every night, you laid in bed feigning sleep until you heard the sound of Joel’s light snores. It was then that you would get out of bed and get dressed. After a few days, it’d become routine for you to head to the training grounds in the settlement and practice your archery. To avoid attracting attention, you did not bring a lamp. The only light you had was from the moon. You told yourself that you did it to practice nighttime combat, but truly, it was an attempt to distract and tire you. It mainly helped the latter. 

“Tonight is the night.” you whispered to yourself once you were downstairs. Your night started off like the others: waiting for Joel to fall asleep and getting dressed. This time, you had a bag packed, hidden in a crawl space you found. You went through it one last time before slinging it over your shoulders. You pulled open the junk drawer, careful not to make noise, and grabbed a pen and paper. You wrote a brief note before sticking it on the refrigerator. Part of you was hoping he wouldn’t find it immediately so you could have enough time to do what you needed to do. You contemplated not writing a note at all, but you couldn’t do that to him. Despite your instinct that he was lying to you, he didn’t deserve to not know. 

A week earlier, you snuck out the east gate, known for being unmanned, and acquired a working car. That in and of itself wasn’t easy, but finding gas to syphon was another story. Your trip depended on this, though. You could have snuck your horse out, but you didn’t want to risk any problems that would arise during such a distance. You parked the black SUV a considerable distance from Jackson to avoid being detected by anyone there. With only minor obstacles, you were able to make it past two state lines by daybreak. The car’s speed began to slow down as you approached St. Mary’s hospital. The building was desolate. It didn’t stop you from being cautious as you got closer. You parked your car behind a big bush and covered it in branches before you set off on foot. The inside did not look familiar to you at all, which made sense since you were never awake for any of it. Did it even happen at all? You asked yourself. You knew that this was the building because the two of you had spotted it from afar, but what if you never made it. From the start of the journey, Joel was hesitant toward anything regarding the Fireflies. He even asked you if you wanted to turn back. If you being knocked unconscious in the water was true, then maybe he took that opportunity to make the choice for you. I still woke up in a hospital gown, though; you thought.

As you looked around, you found evidence of a former settlement. The doctors and scientists who worked in the building must have lived here as well. A lot of their stuff was still here. It was as if they never left, but no one was there. Blood was found on the walls and floor. It was far from fresh, so it didn’t phase you at first. Your break in the mystery was an abandoned duffle bag with the Fireflies symbol on it. Underneath the clothes, you found a tape recorder. Luckily for you, it still worked. You pressed play: “Most people have left already. I was one of the ones that wanted to go after the smuggler and the girl. They said, even if we found her, or by some miracle, found someone else that’s immune, it’d make no difference. The only person who could develop a vaccine is dead.” So many questions ran through your mind. You didn’t know which to visit first. All you knew was that you were right, Joel was a liar. He had looked in your eyes and lied to your face. How could I ever trust him again? You stuffed the recorder in your back pocket and continued to search. In another room, you found patient files in a cabinet. There was not one for you, but you went through the files of others. As you skimmed through, you found out that the Fireflies experimented on humans who were not immune. From what you could tell, they tried to cure patients who were involuntarily infected by the fungal parasite. The goal was to kill the parasite once it had embedded itself in the host before complete transformation. Finding a cure was more than just a race against time. It was a way to kill the parasite for good without killing the host. It was a way to go back to normal. If a safe solution could be found, it could be turned into a vaccine and give people immunity. That was the theory, at least. None of them survived, however.

You read some notes strewn across a desk written by a doctor named Jerry Anderson. They seemed bleak. He mentioned the preparation to dissect a human patient alive through the brain. The writing seemed so archaic and almost desperate. Nothing else had worked. Dr. Anderson wasn’t sure if the sample that he planned to pull out of the patient would survive outside the host in the conditions of the rundown hospital long enough for him to reverse engineer a vaccine. It was a risk he was willing to take, however. There was no official file for a patient corroborating these notes.

You packed everything that you found of importance into your backpack. You intended to bring it back to Jackson and confront Joel with it. You made your way back outside before the sun began to set. The sound of approaching horse hooves made you alert. You turned around to watch the galloping figure.

“(Y/N)!” You recognized Joel’s voice first. He pulled on the reigns of his horse as soon as he got within a yard of you. He slid off with ease and walked up to you, never breaking eye contact. His brows were furrowed and his eyes were of worry and disbelief. You thought he was going to yell at you but all he did was hug you. “C’mere.” Joel pulled you into a tight embrace. He noticed that you didn’t return the gesture. Still, he let his chin rest on top of your head before kissing it. “The hell were you thinkin’? Runnin’ off in the middle of the night like that? You talk to me. You don’t just leave me a damn note.”

You pushed him off of you. “Talk to you? I don’t know what to say to you anymore.” Hearing you say that broke his heart. He noticed the change in your disposition after the two of you found those missing teenagers. You’d become withdrawn. “But if you want to talk, then let’s talk!” You heatedly exclaimed before taking a breath to level your voice. “Tell me what happened here.” Joel silently looked at you with large, guilty eyes. “I swear to you this is the last time I’ll ask, because if you lie to me one more time, I’m gone. You’ll never see me again. But if you tell me the truth, I’ll go back to Jackson.” You paused and lowered your voice. “No matter what it is.” Joel let out a long sigh but stayed silent after that. You could tell he was thinking. “Just say it.”

 It was when you finally said his name did he look back up at you and begin to speak. “Making a vaccine would have killed you.” You let out a shaky breath as he watched you. “So I stopped them.” A tear ran down your cheek. He reached out to wipe it, but you moved away.

“Don’t touch me!” You couldn’t look at him.

“(Y/N), listen to me. The Fireflies,” He shook his head. “I shouldn’t have ever trusted them.”

“Like how I trusted you?”

He inched closer to you, but you inched just as much back. “You were drowning. I tried to save you but some Firefly soldier attacked me. When I woke up, you were gone. They told me that you were being prepped for surgery. The blood tests and scans were not enough for them. They said that what you have is a  mutation of the Cordyceps and it’s located in your brain. Somethin’ about it blocking transmitters. It’s why you’re immune. They were going to cut you open and leave you there.” 

It was at that point you realized that the doctor’s notes were about you. It was your brain that he had planned on dissecting. You would have died. Streams of hot tears rolled down your face and onto your sweater. In the back of your mind, you knew that that could have been a possibility. You expected to die a long time ago anyway. Your death was just a delayed event. 

“My immunity would have meant something!” You said, thinking back to the tape recorder. “What did you do to them?” You finally looked up at him again. I already know, don’t I?, you thought to yourself. The images of stale blood resurfaced in your mind. There was a lot of it. “You killed them.” You stated. He did not agree nor deny. “Oh my God!” Your voice became shaky as you thought about the amount of violence that Joel had single handedly caused. That blood didn’t just belong to a couple of people; not even a handful. A whole settlement was damn near executed and you let yourself love the man who did it. Your face fell into your hands as you began to hyperventilate. His fingertips barely brushed your shoulder when you slapped them away. “I said don’t you fucking touch me!” You stared into his eyes. They were ashamed, but unremorseful.  “I’ll go back to Jackson, but we’re done.”

You get in your car and head back home, leaving him standing there. Those were the last words you spoke to him for months. Making it back to the house before he did, you gathered up your things and stayed at a friend’s for a while. 

[justjessame]

The Deal Chapter 50

Negan and I sat together, across from one another in his apartment, discussing what had happened while I was gone. He saw my glance at the bed, and gave a quiet laugh.

“You think I’ve fucking slept since you left?” I felt the shock of his admission right to my core. That he’d admit that he’d been screwing them since I left, with no time to rest hurt far more than I cared to admit. “I toss and turn in that bed every fucking time I try to rest.” Wait, what? He’s staring at my face when it dawns on him. “You thought-”

I wave him off. “I thought nothing.” I answer, but I can hear the strain in my own voice. “What else?”

His eyes lock onto mine. “Your note, Jessi, you left me a goddamn note.” I glanced down at where Lucille was fouling up the paper. “Did you honestly think that leaving would HELP me?” I could hear the exasperation in his tone. “Your note didn’t make it better, sweetheart. I fucking nearly lost my mind. Where did you go?” I looked into his face and shook my head.

“The Kingdom.” Why lie? It wasn’t as though anyone was left behind by now. “I went to the Kingdom, because I thought it would be the ONE place no one would know me.”

“And?” His curiosity was freaking boundless.

I sighed. “I was asking for too much, apparently.” I left it at that.

“We haven’t heard from my lieutenant from that zone,” he was watching my face. “From the entire team, actually.”

“And you won’t.” It was simple. To the point.

He nodded, clearly he expected as much. He sighed. “Simon wants to just kill everyone fucking one.” I blanched, the cost of that many lives, and for what? “I don’t agree.” He had seen my face. “Hilltop sent me a gift.” I waited. “Boxed up nice and tight in a coffin sized box. One of mine, turned undead freak.”

I took a deep breath through my nose. “Guess Glenn and Maggie are still holding a grudge.” Flippant, but worried. “How many?”

He knew what I meant and his shrug scared me. So many he couldn’t count? Or so many he didn’t care? “I didn’t want this, Jessi, YOU know that.” A nod from me. “Carl tried to distract me.”

I knew he meant when he went knocking on Alexandria’s gate. “He did?” Please tell me he didn’t get hurt, my mind begged.

“Yeah, offered me a deal like you had.” I gave a lurch of mirthless laughter. “He almost memorized your entire script.” He sounded almost proud. “It was bullshit, since the rest of your dad’s people got out, but it was a fucking strange touch.”

“Guess he listened to me a little bit after all.” I said, feeling a smile tug at my lips. “Any other terrible news?”

Negan nodded. “Yeah, you’ve been here for too fucking long without me touching you.” And like when he knelt beside my chair, he moved so fast that I was in his arms before the words could make sense, and our lips met and I felt something I hadn’t felt even when we’d kissed before. I felt HIM. All of him. His power. His confidence. And more than anything, his NEED for me.

A knock came to the door, and he nearly growled at the interruption. I smiled against his lips, but knew that we had time. At least a small window until the next round of battle. I had no idea how wrong I was.

We were outside. The knock on the door had been a reminder from a Savior that Negan had wanted to walk the perimeter to access the damage. Taking my hand in his, he drew me from his apartment for the inspection. I was with him, outside when the radio squawked to life. And I’d know the voice on the other end from around the world. Dad.

Negan was mocking. Asking for Dad’s location so they could meet face to face, but then it came. The news that could threaten to tear me apart at the seams. The news that would make my nightmares a reality.

“Carl's dead. He wrote letters. He wrote one to you. He asked you to stop. He asked me to stop. He asked us for peace. But it's too late for that. Even if we wanted to deal now, it doesn't matter. I'm going to kill you.” Dad blurted it out and I tried to wrap my mind around the fact that my baby brother, a boy that I had watched slowly turn into almost a man, was gone.

Negan’s hand tightened on mine. I had no idea what he saw as he stared down at me. “How did it happen?” The question brought Dad up short. He didn’t get it, Negan’s interest, that I was standing with him. “How did he die? Was it the grenades...the fire?” Dear God it really was a war.

Dad sounded angry that Negan would even suggest that he was the cause of my little brother’s death. He told Negan, and me, that he died helping someone, and my throat burned. My little brother had died being kind. He’d died for being helpful.

Negan and Dad were going back and forth. Negan telling him that he hated to hear it. That the loss of Carl was a terrible one. That he had hoped for a different outcome. And my dad heard nothing. He reiterated that he wanted to kill Negan.

“The hell are you doing Rick? Why are you fighting? Why are you making this so hard? Carl is dead because of you. Because you couldn't leave shit well enough alone. I mean maybe he would have died some other way. Any one of us can get our ticket punched at any second. But in this case... in this case, he is dead because of you. Because you weren't there to stop him from doing something stupid. You set this course Rick. Who's next? Jessica? Have you ever considered her? That she could already be DEAD because of you?” Negan’s fingers were trying to sooth me by rubbing my knuckles.

Dad snarled that Negan would be next. Ignoring any mention of me. I barely noticed. I was thinking about Carl. About when Lori and Dad brought him home from the hospital. How six year old me had been so desperate to help. To hold him. To tell him stories from my books. I took every opportunity to feed him. I wanted to change his dirty diapers. I wanted to prove that I was a good big sister and that he’d always be able to count on me. I thought about when he wanted to learn how to ride my bike when I was ten and he was four. How he taunted me with the fact that he wasn’t that much smaller than me, and how I shook my head and helped him onto the seat and kept the bike balanced. How I was just as excited as him when he took off finally on his own. All the times I helped him with his homework. Or when we sat and he read comic books and I’d read my novels. Fighting over the television. Or the phone. My little brother was gone.

“You see... I stop people from dying. I am the answer. Now, it may have taken a hard lesson for you to hear it, but you should hear it now. It's time. Do not let anymore of your shit decisions cost you to lose anyone else you love. That garbage... that sticks with you forever. Just like Carl will. Just like JESSICA should. Hell, I'm feeling it now and I'm going to be feeling it for a while. You could have just let me save all of you. I mean that's why I killed your friend in the first place. Why Jessica offered herself up so no one else had to die.  So that you can sit there and say that you're going to kill me, but you won't. You failed. You failed as a leader and most of all Rick, you failed as a father. Just... give up. Give up because you have already lost.” His voice was calling me back to the present, but memories of Carl and me were too tempting to get lost in. “You still haven’t asked, Rick. You still haven’t asked the ONE question I keep waiting for. ‘How is she?’” He closed his eyes as I focused on him again. “You have two kids left, Rick. And you haven’t a fucking clue how one of them is right now. You’re so fucking focused on winning. That’s why you failed. You never fucking understood. Since you didn’t ask, let me go ahead and tell you. She’s beside me, Rick. Jessica Grimes is standing right beside me and she heard it. She heard that her LITTLE BROTHER is dead and wanted peace, but all you want is my fucking head.” He opened his eyes and stared down into mine. “Keep the letter Carl wrote. If he wrote one for Jessi, I’ll retrieve it for her, because I’m coming for you, Rick. I’m coming and I’m going to take care of it once and for all.”

And then he handed the radio to one of the Saviors standing nearby. His hand free now, he cupped my cheek. I closed my eyes at the feeling of his gloved hand, the comfort he was offering. “Let’s go upstairs, Jessi.” And he took me back to the quiet and safety of his apartment.

[lantur]

royai week 2020: day four, “crackle”

summary: The Colonel and the Lieutenant have an unusually candid conversation.

rated: t for teen

tags: pre-canon

words: 4384 | read on ao3

Identifying and interviewing candidates for the State Alchemist program requires travel all over the Eastern area of Amestris. A lot of soldiers - hell, even most of Roy’s unit - dislike travel. They’re reluctant to leave the comforts of home and put up with questionable accommodations and questionable food, not to mention the practical annoyances. The long rides in trains that are either too hot or too cold, and the inevitable delayed connections that turn a four-hour trip, one way, into a six-hour trip.

Roy loves to travel. He always has, ever since he had been a kid accompanying his aunt on trips outside of Central to meet with her network from outside of the capital city. The inconveniences are, well, inconvenient, but they don’t bother him much. They are considerably outweighed by the fascination of seeing the rest of the country firsthand; striking up conversations with locals (or overhearing conversations between locals) and listening to them talk about how they live, about what their thoughts and concerns are.

Employment is an issue in the northeastern sector of the East Area, and has been ever since the mines closed. Import of food and other necessities to the southwestern area is sketchy and unreliable. The farthest west areas of the Eastern region have a significant problem with drug-related crime, due to its proximity to Central. Roy notes all of this down in his travel journal during the train rides for later reference.

I like to keep my finger on the pulse of the people, he tells his unit. They agree that his phrasing is “a little creepy,” but also agree that this genuine interest in the populace is what makes him a good leader.

This month’s trip has taken Roy and his Lieutenant to Liore, near the border of the North Area. It’s quite a bit colder than it had been in East City, even though it’s hardly a week into October. Their appointment with this potential State Alchemist candidate - Robert Gotha - is at eight the following morning, leaving them with just about twelve hours of downtime when they check into their inn.

The rooms are side-by-side on the first floor. All Roy wants is a hot shower and dinner, in that order, but Riza insists on doing a sweep of his room first, as she always does, and making him wait outside for his own security.

“Nobody outside of Grumman’s office and our unit knew of our travel plans,” Roy points out, risking her displeasure by opening the front door a crack. Riza is inspecting the interior of the room’s small closet. “There are no explosives under the bed or under the sink. I’m willing to bet that there are no assassins hiding in the bathtub, either.”

She throws him a glance, and a frown. “You never know, sir. You remember Major Rosen. The bomb was strapped to the back of his nightstand. We shouldn’t take any chances.”

Roy does remember Philip Rosen, the Bone Alchemist, blown to bits a year and a half ago by a survivor of the Ishvalan massacre. He nods, somewhat abashed. “I appreciate your diligence, Hawkeye.”

“Of course, Colonel. Now, please close the door. You can wait in my room, if you want to set your things down somewhere.”

Riza’s room is even smaller than his. Maybe the reminder of the Bone Alchemist’s fate had set him on edge, but Roy walks the perimeter of her room, checking in the bathroom, pulling the closet door open. The last thing he needs is for someone who planned on attacking him to find Riza instead. Everything seems safe, but drafty, and he frowns, noting the lack of fireplace in the room.

Riza returns in a few minutes, and draws her coat closer around herself the moment she walks in. “Clear,” she says. “The locks are flimsy. I suggest bracing your chair against the door, just in case.”

“Thank you, Lieutenant. Your room is secure too.” He sees the surprise on her face, and he’s rewarded with a small smile. “It’s cold, though. You don’t have a fireplace. Do you want to switch?”

Riza shakes her head. “That won’t be necessary. I sleep better when the temperature is a little lower.”

“At least have dinner and do your paperwork with me, then.” Roy walks to the door. “Your food will go cold in a couple of minutes if you eat it here.”

Riza hesitates, and then nods. “Thank you. I’ll go get dinner for us now.”

He doesn’t have to tell her what he would like. She already has his preferences memorized, as he does for her. Roy gives her the key to his room, and the first thing he does when stepping in is to light a fire in the fireplace. It warms the room instantly, and he sighs with relief.

The shower has dreadfully weak water pressure, but at least it’s hot. Roy towels his hair dry, pulls on a pair of dark pants and a white button-down shirt, and then steps out, releasing a wall of steam into the small room. Riza looks up from her paperwork. She had changed into civilian clothes too, a long skirt and a white button-down like his, and settled into one of the armchairs near the fireplace. The warm glow of the firelight does lovely things to the color of her eyes and hair, loose around her shoulders. The heat brings a faint blush to her cheeks. It isn’t the first time he’s seen her sitting in front of a fire, but the sight never gets old.

“I bought kebabs with chicken, eggplant, and bell pepper.” Riza gestures to the foil-wrapped package in the chair across from her. “I had mine already. It was even better than the ones we had last month in Meox.”

Roy flings himself down in the chair, unwrapping the kebabs. They smell wonderful, and he’s glad that they had opted against the cold sandwiches sold on the train. “But are they as good as yours?”

Riza continues writing, and a tiny smirk touches her lips. “No.”

Roy wolfs down his dinner, making no effort to be decorous. “Why do I have all this paperwork on this table next to me?” he says, with his mouth full. “Isn’t it enough that I spent all of this morning and afternoon in meetings that could have been memos?”

“It’s because you spent all of this morning and afternoon in meetings, instead of getting any work done. And because you refused to make up for any of those hours while on the train, in favor of testing out that new long-distance radio with Havoc.”

Roy bites back a laugh at the memory of his and Havoc’s increasingly ridiculous codenames. “Right.” He balls up the foil packaging and tosses it into the garbage can in the corner of the room. “What are you working on, Hawkeye?”

“Figuring out your schedule for next week.” Riza taps her pen against the paper. “You have two weeks’ worth of meeting requests in one week’s time. I’m trying to make sure that you still have enough downtime to get your paperwork done.”

“Paperwork and downtime don’t go in the same sentence.” Roy picks up Breda’s most recent intelligence report and rifles through it. “Just plan on me working late on Wednesday, Friday, and Saturday. That should do it.”

Riza makes a note. “So, I assume I’ll be working late on those nights as well.”

“You assume correctly.” Riza gives him a displeased look, and Roy twirls his pen through his fingers, unable to resist teasing her. “What? Are you upset about missing out on the coming week’s date nights?”

“Hardly,” Riza says, impassive. “I figured that would be more of a concern for you.”

“It isn’t. I’m giving it up.”

Riza raises an eyebrow, managing, as always, to convey a great deal with that small gesture.

“I am,” Roy insists. “It’s all getting to be a little much. And it’s pointless.”

Riza raises both eyebrows, this time. “Pointless? With all due respect, this doesn’t sound like you.”

Roy shrugs, and the expression in Riza’s eyes softens somewhat. “I’m sorry if you had a bad experience, sir.”

She’s speaking to him in the gentle, pitying way one would address the recently heartbroken. The same way she talks to Havoc, for heaven’s sake. Roy runs a hand through his hair, flustered. “It’s not like that, Lieutenant.”

Riza tilts her head to the side slightly, intrigued without pressing, and he has to elaborate. “I don’t mean to sound arrogant. But the women I’ve gone out with know of my rank and reputation. The Flame Alchemist, the Hero of Ishval,” -- Roy’s voice takes on a faintly mocking air -- “and the youngest Colonel in decades. I’m practically guaranteed to be a Brigadier General by the time I’m thirty-five, if I continue to play my cards right. Do you follow me?”

He sees a flicker of amusement in Riza’s eyes. “If I understand you correctly, you’re implying that your dates would prefer to be more than just dates.”

“Exactly. They don’t just want a couple of nights out. They want a real relationship, Hawkeye.” Roy sighs, rubbing his temples. “They want to be a General’s wife, someday, and live in a fancy house with large, manicured lawns, and a couple of nice cars, and a couple of nice kids that will go to Central’s best private school.”

Riza makes a sound that’s almost a laugh. “The dream.”

“I can’t provide that,” Roy says tersely. “I have no intentions of living that life. I have no intention of living a long one, after becoming Fuhrer and implementing the changes that we want. If there’s any justice at all, I’ll be held accountable for what I did in Ishval. I don’t want to leave a widow and a couple of kids behind. That’s not an option.”

Riza inclines her head. “That’s fair.”

He shrugs, momentarily lost for words. “It’s starting to feel...wrong, to take what I want from these women, when I know that there’s absolutely no chance of them getting what they want. They want the third date. They want the relationship. They want to be the girlfriend, and then the fiancee, and then the wife. And I’ll never make that happen.”

“So, nobody’s happy.”

“Basically. Which is why I’m finished with that.” Roy leans back in the armchair, stopping the pretense of working, setting his stack of paperwork on the side table. He regards her thoughtfully. “What about you?”

Riza tenses up slightly. “What about me, Colonel?”

“Oh, you know.” Roy waves a hand casually. “You may not be as highly ranked as I am, and you don’t have the reputation that I do outside of military circles, but you’re a beautiful young woman. That carries its own weight. I’m surprised you’re not beating men back with a stick. Or your pistols.”

He had intended it as a compliment, but Riza glances at her lap, momentarily downcast. “That’s it, sir. That’s all that men see when they look at me. Just another blonde that they’d like to buy a few drinks for, and then take home for the night.” She sounds resigned. “They don’t see me. It feels a little dehumanizing.”

This is all news to him, and Roy stiffens. It’s stupid, it’s hypocritical, to be so stricken by men doing the exact same thing to Riza that he’s done to other women.

“Even the nicer ones, the ones that ask me out to dinner first…” Riza trails off. “They don’t know about Ishval, and the things I did there. They don’t know the burden I carry.”

“Hmm.” Roy considers this. There’s still a knot in his chest at the idea of anyone being foolish and shallow enough to see his Lieutenant - thoughtful, empathetic, kind, intelligent Riza - as nothing more than a conquest. “You could tell them.”

Riza shakes her head, at once. “They wouldn’t understand. Or they would think I was a monster.” She pauses. “Similarly, I doubt they would understand my goals, and what I’ve dedicated my life to.”

Roy feels a wry smile tugging at his lips. “I figure that most men would struggle with the idea that their girlfriend spends every day, and some evenings and nights, in service of another man’s ambitions.”

“Exactly.” Riza looks at him steadily. “Besides, I’m in the same position as you. I intend to be held accountable for my actions in Ishval as well.”

They’ve talked - argued; even fought outright - about this before. About the fact that he has no intention of prosecuting her at the same level that he would seek for himself and the other State Alchemists. Riza’s entire kill count in Ishval had been a mere fraction of what his had been. She had vehemently disagreed with his position. “Hawkeye--”

Riza gives him a quelling look, and Roy falls silent. “I don’t want to leave behind a husband or children, either,” she says. “I don’t want to be in a relationship that will go nowhere. That can go nowhere. It seems dishonest - like I would be holding the other person back from the happiness and uncomplicated life they deserve. I would rather dedicate myself fully to work.”

Somehow, with everything else they have in common, he’s not surprised that they share this perspective as well. “We’re both in a similar predicament, then.”

Riza exhales slowly, and then looks into the fireplace, at the flames crackling there. She looks so far away all of a sudden.

“What is it?” Roy asks, and she glances at him, startled, as if she had forgotten he was there.

“Nothing, Colonel. It’s nothing.”

That piques his interest, and he leans forward. “Don’t lie to me, Lieutenant. It violates our unit’s code of conduct.”

Riza narrows her eyes at him, but finally, she gives in. “You pointed out that my commitment to you and our cause doesn’t leave much space for another man,” she says, but then she hesitates, and stops entirely.

“Well?” Roy prompts, his curiosity getting the better of him. Over the years, they’ve come to know one another so well - as well as they know themselves, he would guess - but this is the one thing they’ve never talked about before. About serious romantic entanglements, and their lack thereof.

“I’d rather not say.” Maybe it’s just the fire, but Riza’s complexion is a little warmer than it had been several minutes ago.

“Come on, Hawkeye.” Roy gives her his most charming smile; slides into his most persuasive tone. “My curiosity is killing me.”

Riza sniffs. “That sounds like a personal problem.”

“Unfair, Lieutenant. I told you what was on my mind.”

She sighs again, exasperated, a little resigned, keeping her eyes determinedly trained on the fire. “Fine. You know, you’re like a dog with a bone sometimes.”

“I am a dog of the military, after all,” Roy says sardonically, and his Lieutenant rolls her eyes.

“You’re such a significant figure in my life,” Riza says, at last. “And you have been, for so long. I worry that would open the door to...comparisons. That wouldn’t be fair to whoever else was trying to find a place in my life. ”

Well, he hadn’t expected that. The words are so unexpected, so sweet and so sad, that Roy blinks, lost for words. “Hawkeye,” he says, trying to inject some levity into his tone. “I’m flattered.”

Riza doesn’t have a dry retort for him. She just looks at him with somber eyes, and Roy relents. “I feel the same way.”

He doesn’t tell his Lieutenant that when he’s looking into his dates’ eyes, he expects to see amber-colored ones looking back at him. He doesn’t tell her that when he leans over to tuck a lock of hair behind their ears, he’s expecting to see her blonde locks against his fingertips. He doesn’t tell her that when they laugh at his jokes (usually too long and too loud for what the joke actually warranted) he expects to see her small, wry smile instead. Or an eye-roll, or that look she gives him sometimes, the one that mingles exasperation with affection.

He doesn’t tell her any of that. But from the expression on Riza’s face, he thinks that he doesn’t have to.

Roy clears his throat, breaking their gaze, looking into the fire. “Well, Lieutenant. I think our close professional relationship has put us in an unfortunate situation.”

“As always, you have a gift for understatement, Colonel.”

It had been a typical Hawkeye deadpan, but when Roy looks back, he sees a tiny, reluctant smile on her face. It gives him a shot of courage, or recklessness; he isn’t sure which yet.

“You know,” he muses, “I have a thought exercise for us to work through.”

Thought exercises - running through hypotheticals, from the mundane to the far-fetched - are one of his favorite things about leading his unit, and they are at least a once-weekly event when the unit is together in East City. Riza sets her pen down for the first time, giving him her full attention. “Yes?”

“It would solve a lot of problems if you and I could...”

Roy trails off, his meaning clear, and Riza sits up straighter.  

It’s bold, even for him. It doesn’t just cross the line; it sprints across the line. It isn’t the kind of thing he would have said if they were back in East City. But the sheer distance from the imposing figure of Eastern Command, from superior officers, from anyone else who knows them and might see or overhear something they shouldn’t - that has opened doors. That all feels so far away, here in Liore, sitting by the fire in his room.

Riza shifts in her chair -  not in discomfort, but consideration, drawing her legs underneath her, tucking them to the side. “It’s interesting that you think that. I think it would create a lot of problems.”

Her tone is mild, though, and there’s no hint of affront on her face at the outrageous suggestion. Riza seems utterly unfazed by being propositioned by her commanding officer. Which isn’t that surprising, now that Roy thinks about it. He has discussed treasonous plans to overthrow and overhaul the existing government with her for years. Compared to literal, actual treason, the prospect of a sexual relationship seems considerably less shocking.

Additionally, she hasn’t yet threatened to shoot him in the foot, which is promising. She hasn’t stopped this little thought exercise that he had started.

“I argue that it would solve more than it creates. We’re both unable to pursue relationships, due to the barriers we’ve discussed.” Roy straightens his collar, feeling rather like an attorney beginning opening arguments in a case. “On the other hand, you and I understand our situation perfectly. We know where our lives are headed and where they will end. We know that we aren’t looking for marriage and children.”

He doesn’t have to say the rest. We know one another and what we’ve done in the past better than anyone else could. There are so many conversations we don’t have to have with one another, that we would have to have with others.

The truth of what they are striving towards and why, and their vision for their personal futures and the future of Amestris. The years in Ishval and what they had seen and done there. The ugly truth behind the harmless, bloodless epithets of Flame Alchemist and Hawk’s Eye. The nightmares.

Riza inclines her head slightly, wordlessly allowing him to continue.

“Pursuing anything with anybody else would distract both of us from our goal, which isn’t an option.” Roy studies her, trying to judge her reaction.

His Lieutenant’s expression gives away nothing. “What makes you think we wouldn’t distract one another?”

“Because I know us, Hawkeye,” Roy replies patiently. “I know that there’s nothing we’re more committed to than reforming this country. You and I both know where this work ends. We always have. Nothing and no one is ever going to make us change our course.”

“That’s all true,” Riza says, her voice steady.

He hears the rest of her sentence, and sighs. “But?”

“There’s one issue you haven’t addressed. The anti-fraternization regulations.”

“Oh, that.” Roy dismisses her point with a shrug. “It’s not an issue.”

Riza glances skyward for a moment. “Please elaborate, Colonel.”

“The anti-fraternization regulations prohibit personal relationships between officers and enlisted members within the same chain of command, as they are prejudicial to good order and discipline,” Roy recites, with no effort. He and his Lieutenant are both very familiar with the regulations, after all. “Romantic relationships, cohabitation, and marriage fall within the umbrella of personal relationships. We wouldn't be living together. We wouldn't be getting married. And it wouldn’t be a romantic relationship, Hawkeye. It would just be--” He pauses, searching for the most tasteful word choice. “Some companionship, as we need it. To help us make our way down the long road we have ahead. And we would be discreet about it. Nobody would ever know.”

Riza props her chin in a hand, mulling it over, and Roy watches the firelight flickering in her eyes. “No pressure, of course,” he says, with an easiness he doesn’t feel. The adrenaline and boldness has worn off, leaving him with an uncharacteristic case of nerves. “It was just a thought exercise.”

Riza glances back at him and then stands up, gathering her paperwork. “I think I’ll turn in for the night, sir.” She sounds so calm and even, as if they had been discussing the logistics of how to implement democratic voting in the most rural areas of Amestris.

Roy stands automatically and opens the door for her. “Good night, then, Lieutenant.”

“Good night.”

Roy watches until she closes her door behind her; until he hears the lock click safely into place. He closes the door, locks it, braces a chair against it, as Riza had suggested. Then he collapses onto the bed and presses the heels of his hands against his eyes, all the breath leaving his body in a long sigh. Hughes has always called him a risk-taker and chastised him for being impulsive. That’s nothing new. Tonight, though, he had taken that to an entirely new high. Or an entirely new low, depending on how one looks at it.

-

They return to East City the following day. A week passes, and Riza gives no indication that their conversation in Liore had ever happened. She treats him the same way she always has, both when others are around and behind the closed doors of their office, after everyone else in their unit has left for the evening.

“I asked Elizabeth if she’d like to start something up with me,” Roy tells Hughes on the phone, on Saturday night. He’s supposed to be working, but it’s half past eight already, and he hasn’t been working with his full attention span for two reports now.

Hughes makes a strange sort of spluttering noise; it sounds as if he’s choked on his sandwich. “No way.”

“It’s true.” Roy winds the phone cord around his finger absentmindedly. “I don’t think she was interested in the idea, though. I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t disappointed. She's the only one I've ever really wanted."

“Roy--”

Riza walks back into the office then, carrying an armful of files from the archives, and Roy is forced to improvise. “I have no interest in your services, and don’t call this number again,” he orders, in his most forceful tone. He slams the phone down, before giving his Lieutenant an apologetic smile. “Telemarketers. I have no idea how they get their hands on the military lines.”

“Please give Lieutenant Colonel Hughes my regards before you hang up next time.” Riza sets the files on her desk, and then picks up her coat. Roy notices that she’s changed back into civilian clothes, a dark skirt and a silk blouse. “We could head back for the night, since we got quite a bit done today.”

“That’s the best idea you’ve had all day, Lieutenant.” Roy stands up hastily, before she can reconsider, and picks up his coat. “Come on. I’ll drive you home.”

They live within a couple of streets of each other, about twenty minutes from Eastern Command. They pass the time in quiet conversation, speculating about how Breda’s undercover mission in Mouhed is going, and the upcoming joint training exercise at Fort Briggs. As always, Roy feels an irritating pang of disappointment when they reach the back parking lot of his Lieutenant’s apartment building. He spends every day with Riza, and many evenings and nights, too, and yet he never tires of her company.

“Sleep well, Hawkeye.” Roy throws her his most appealing look. “Any chance you’ll bring in coffee on Monday morning?”

“I could be persuaded.” Riza crosses her legs, and Roy tries to ignore the slit up the side of her skirt. She studies him for a couple of moments, and he catches the faintest flicker of apprehension in her eyes. “Would you like to walk me upstairs, Colonel?”

She’s never asked him that before. It takes the words - the offer - a moment to register. Roy shifts the car into park as soon as it does, more roughly than he should. “I would,” he says, realizing that he can’t remember the last time he had to fight back an actual shiver of anticipation. “Very much. Oh, and Lieutenant?”

Riza’s hand stills on the door. “Yes?”

“You should call me by my name, when we’re upstairs.” Roy remembers, then, that Riza’s apartment building doesn’t have an elevator, and they’ll have to make it up four flights of stairs like civilized adults.  

“Of course, Colonel.” Riza holds his gaze, and Roy’s mouth goes very dry. “I think I’ll be able to do that. When we get upstairs.” She pauses and adds, almost as an afterthought. “You can call me whatever you want.”

Riza. It’s how he refers to her in his mind, but never out loud, not for years. It makes his throat burn, how much he wants to say it. To whisper it as he lets her hair down from its updo, and brushes his fingers against her collarbones. Roy exhales slowly. “We should go up. Now.”

Riza gives him a small smile. “Yes, sir.”

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

notes

Writing from Roy's POV is always an interesting and amusing exercise. I had a bit of a laugh while I was writing this because it's basically like

Roy: What if... we fucked... ahaha, just kidding Lieutenant, it was just a thought exercise, just running hypotheticals...unless...?

I hope you enjoyed reading; I'd love to know what you thought! Royai Week has been super fun so far, both with reading others' amazing and creative responses to the prompts, admiring the gorgeous art, and sharing my own stuff. I'm hoping to have Day 5's prompt posted sometime tomorrow, but it might be a day late if I don't get it up in time.

[poorlytunedukulele]

Day 8 - Tyrant

September 14, 2950; Meridian Bay, Mars

She’s hunting Valus Ta’aurc.  Tracking is really more like it- she has no plans to attack on her lonesome.  The Vanguard is planning a strike, but to kill the Valus they must first find him.  He’s been oddly elusive for a Cabal.

Though Azra would have preferred to spend her week scoping out the Citadel, she’d come when Cayde had called.  It hasn’t been an easy job.  She’s died three times already on this hunt, but she’d die a hundred times before she’d think to give up.  It was simple, in her mind: Cayde called.  She’d go.  She’d spend the week getting soaked on Titan or starving in the vacuum of space for him.  He’d do the same for her.

She follows the Siege Dancers by their radio traffic.  She doesn’t speak Cabal well, but Spark knows enough to translate and he’s in her head so deep it’s close enough.  She tails them from a distance (there’s hardly any cover in the desert) as he and his troupe go down into Meridian Bay.  It’s nighttime, the stars scuttled by the haze of a sandstorm.

The wind shifts, just a bit.  Something’s happening, Spark whispers, something’s wrong.  On instinct she leaps from her Sparrow and dives towards the only cover nearby- old Vex-stone buried in the sand.  Harvesters prowl overhead, but that’s not why she’s hiding.  The air tremors with something too familiar.  Time bends.  On the Cabal network: Stand by to fire.  They are coming.  Stand by to fire.

Nobody will be watching for her.  How the Cabal can detect the Vex coming, she doesn’t know.  But they’re arraying for a battle and they won’t distract themselves dealing with her even if they do notice.

Let’s get a better view, Spark suggests.  She climbs an obelisk, swift and sure, and looks down over the battlefield.  There’s tension in the air.  Space itself seems taught.  Azra holds her breath.  She knows what’s coming.

There was fire in the distance. It wasn't the defenses that were hit, not right off the bat. The Tower itself was still under a barrage of missiles. The explosions flashed like heat-lightning in the clouds of smoke. The actual lightning flickered, revealing the harsh outlines of Cabal ships hidden in the storm clouds. The bombs just kept rolling in, wave after wave. Anti-aircraft fire was beginning to fill the air now, golden traces lancing across the brown-gray darkness.

She shakes off the premonition just as the Vex arrive.  With a crack like thunder they explode into existence, crashing down on the ranks of Cabal with a barrage of laser fire.  Cabal artillery answers.  Tracer rounds scream through the air, raising goosebumps on her arms.  Shattered time flickers against her like shrapnel.  She huddles on the point of her tower, drinking in the Arc-howl of Cabal munitions and the razor-edged glass of Vex fire.  Below her is chaos.

The Cabal are outmatched.  In only a few minutes their air support is all but gone.  Harvesters swing drunkenly off the battlefield, navigation confounded by timespace distortions, occasionally careening headlong into the sand when their engines are hit.  A Cabal somewhere cries into their comms: Black Shield, Black Shield, Firebase Thuria, perimeter compromised, request terminal protective fire, zero six zero, one three eight, immediate effect-

She feels an unfamiliar prickle on her skin.  She closes her eyes, focused now not on the screaming battle below her, but to something above.

Do you feel that? Spark whispers, awestruck.

Yes, she says, yes, what is that?

There is something else, neither Vex nor Cabal.  Gravity brushes her skin like spring rainfall.  She can taste it in the Light- something removed, observing, eyes narrowed in scrutiny at the chaos below.  It feels familiar, somehow.  She’s seen this before.  But where?  When?

She has the sense of something old lifting a long spear. Testing its heft.

She opens her eyes when the shade of light changes- no more white arc fire and golden tracers- the sky burns like molten iron.  Azra remembers a rhyme about the doom of red-skied mornings.  Devastation rains, quite literally, and Azra has to shield her face as explosions rock the valley.  Radiolaria boils and burns, Cabal munitions explode, sounding like popcorn to her deafened ears.

Then: quiet.  The battle stops. Those Vex still present wink out. Though Azra’s ears ring, Spark recognizes the voice of Valus Ta'aurc on the Cabal network.  “Find the source! Rouse the Flayers and find the source!”

She remembers then.  Knocking about in the Cosmodrome, sitting near the Array and listening to the eerie whine of the gravity waves.  She catalogues the devastation below as her Ghost repairs her ears.  This would be news for the Vanguard.

The Vex bait out the Warmind.  They seek to understand it.  Makes sense.  It’s a powerful new player in the system.  It flew under the radar for a long time.  Now it’s drawing attention.

The Cabal, too, hunt it.  Whether they want to use it or just destroy it, she can’t guess.  It doesn’t matter, really.  Either one would be bad.

She’s not sure if they really need to stop the Cabal, though.  Rasputin proved itself quite powerful tonight.  It must have deemed the attention worth it, to test out its power.  It is confident it can deal with the Vex and the Flayers, or at least that the risks they pose are a price it is willing to pay.

She wonders if Rasputin knew she was there.  If her witness was part of its considerations, or just an unintended side-effect.  She remembers the ordinance burning in the sky like a giant red eye staring down on her.  She shudders and draws her cloak tight around her.

But she’s not here to crack the convoluted nut of the Warmind’s intentions.  She’s here to track Ta’aurc.  She drops from her perch, landing silent in the cooling sands, and seeks out her Sparrow.  It’s covered in dust, but the stones protected it from munitions and shrapnel.

She slides on her helmet, grateful for the distance it provides from the smell of boiled Vex fluid and Cabal oil.

AO3 Linky

[kazzmcsass]

Journalism with the Boys

Chapter 4: Horror Movie Party Thing

Word Count: 2154

Dakotah almost didn't make it to the mini horror convention. He was suddenly woken up with his phone rattling relentlessly on his bedside table. When did he fall asleep? He did not have the time for a nap. Dakotah picked up the phone and flicked it open, squinting at the name of whoever dared call him.

He let out an annoyed, hissing sigh and picked up the call, "What?" 

"Where are you?" Jack's staticky voice came to him.

Dakotah panicked for a moment before he looked at his plastic alarm clock. He still had 45 minutes to get ready and leave, "At home, why are you calling me?"

"You got a car, right? Need a ride," Jack said.

Dakotah flopped back in bed, held his phone far away from him, then pressed his face into his crooked elbow so he could groan as loud as he could. Seconds later he had already collected himself again, "Why are you only asking now?" 

"Damn, you got a pet jaguar or somethin'?" Jack asked.

Dakotah did not respond.

"Okay, listen. I was gonna have someone else drop me off there but they bailed out last minute. I'm president so I'm supposed to be there and you're vice president so you gotta help me," Jack explained.

"I don't have to do shit," Dakotah grumbled.

"Come on, man," Jack whined.

Dakotah sat up and grumpily closed the textbook he was supposed to have been reading, "Fine. Okay. Let me know where to pick you up."

Thankfully Jack actually didn't live too far away from SCCC. Since he didn't drive or have his own car he presumably walked to campus. Dakotah had to rush getting ready to have enough time for the detour to pick up Jack and get to the library on time.

Jack’s house actually looked quite nice, on the outside at least. Jack lived in a nice little neighborhood with a house that looked like it was owned by a middle aged Karen type. Thankfully Dakotah didn't even have to call Jack before he was out of the house and booking it towards his car.

Jack slammed his door unnecessarily loud and sighed, "I knew you'd come in clutch." He slouched down in the seat and stared out the windshield, fixing up his slicked back hair, until he realized they weren't moving and Dakotah was staring at him, "Gonna get going?"

"Your seatbelt," Dakotah said simply.

Jack rolled his eyes, but clicked his seatbelt into place without complaining. Then they left. They were silent, Jack not saying anything and Dakotah not having anything to say. Dakotah eventually turned the radio up to a polite volume. He rather liked jazzy music and morning talk shows. At one point Dakotah realized that Jack was tapping his fingers against the dashboard to the tune of the piano as he stared out his passenger window. He decided not to say anything about it.

The library was a good ways away from Jack's house and they only started conversation in the last few minutes.

"Is Courtney doing okay?" Dakotah asked. They didn't really cross paths through the day, so he hadn't seen Courtney in some time.

"Yeah, taking it like a champ," Jack said, "The guy's really acting like he always has."

"Okay, thank god. I couldn't imagine how awkward it would be if he was moping about. Not that I would blame him," Dakotah said.

He carefully pulled into the cluttered parking lot of the library the event was taking place at. He had to wait as a soccer mom guided her herd of kids across the lot, not even sparing him a nod or wave. Prick. Jack was nice enough to point out that all the spots seemed to be taken. Dakotah hated driving. He eventually found a spot and had to finesse his way into it.

Jack exited the vehicle as soon as he turned the engine off, immediately on his phone. Dakotah took his time as he wasn't in a damn rush like him. He had to lock the car from the inside as the clicker on his keys never worked since he got the old thing. Jack was waiting for him at the end of the car, hands shoved in the pockets of his black jeans. He hadn't even thought to dress up, only wearing jeans, a purple button-up, and a disgustingly unfashionable jean jacket.

Or a Jacket as the teens would say these days. Oh wait. It doesn't really work when the word starts with a J already. Anyway.

"They're gonna meet us in the foyer," Jack announced before glaring at a happy couple who passed by. Guy couldn't stand to see other people be happy and mind their own business, apparently. 

Dakotah just nodded and they walked into the library. He held the door open for Jack out of courtesy. No 'thank you', but Dakotah didn't expect much anyway. As Jack had said, the other two club members met them in the rather quiet foyer. Voices from the small convention drifted out from a room to the right, presumably some sort of event room the establishment had to avoid any events from disrupting the quiet library part 

"Glad you came!" Courtney chirped in a respectfully quiet, but cheerful voice.

It was like nothing had changed with him. Dakotah found it a bit unnerving, but he didn't say anything.

"Let's go in," Hugo said eagerly. 

Dakotah could tell he was itching to dig into the nerd shit that was bound to be in the convention. The group followed him in as he excitedly scurried along. People cleared the way for him, presumably more out of fear of being trampled rather than respect. 

As they entered, Dakotah was hit with a wave of warmth. The chatter was much louder and there was music playing quietly under it all. Around the perimeter of the room booths were set up for vendors. One area had a cluster of tables and chairs while on the far side two tables with modest lines were set up. 

Hugo immediately dove right the fuck in. Courtney followed close behind him and then Dakotah and Jack trailed behind them. He wasn't much for conventions or buying the little knick knacks or gushing of similar interest. He had grown out of that sort of stuff ages ago. Dakotah, nor Jack, hid their lack of enthusiasm.

"You don’t have to follow me, you can go look where you want to,” Hugo said after the group followed him to several booths. It was clear he was directing it to Jack and Dakotah, though.

“I want to stay close, for when you’re ready to do the interview,” Dakotah said and Jack grunted in what was presumably agreement.

Hugo suddenly looked excited, his concern quickly forgotten as he remembered the reason why they were here in the first place. “Ah, good point,” He said before focusing back on whatever goofy merchandise he had been scrutinizing before.

Dakotah was sure to give him a bit more space after that, as to not bare down on the guy. Which was probably impossible since he had to be 6 and a half feet tall. He may not enjoy the subject matter, but it was clear Hugo was rather happy. Courtney was uncharacteristically quiet, however. He still looked cheerful and his voice remained high and airy, but he wasn’t as talkative. No doubt the death of his grandmother still weighed on him.

“The original will always be the best,” Jack commented, taking Dakotah out of his thoughts.

“Huh?” He asked. He looked up and saw that the table they stood at now had various posters with knives and hockey masks and Friday the 13th printed across them, “You like these movies?”

“They’re classics, everyone’s seen them,” Jack dismissed.

“I haven’t,” Dakotah said.

Jack immediately looked pissed and on guard, a common expression for him, it seemed. He rolled his eyes and crossed his arms, not unlike a petulant child, “Why are you making a big deal over it?”

“I’m not making a ‘big deal’ over it,” Dakotah said. His voice rising in annoyance as well, “It’s okay to be interested in things, Jack.”

Jack didn’t say anything and instead ignored him. Geeze, this guy was a lot of work. Always trying to fight about something. They didn’t make much conversation after that and gradually made their way down the line until they were at the tables for the two authors. One person had a small line while the other was idly fiddling with the stacks of pamphlets and fliers on her table. 

“What the fuck?” Jack whispered.

Dakotah gave him a raised brow, prompting Jack to point at one of the books propped up on her table. Werewolf Pirate Love. The head of a wolf over a stormy sea with an 18th century ship being tossed about made up the cover.

“Oh,” Is all Dakotah could say.

Hugo eagerly approached the small-time author, who politely smiled at the group.

“Hey- I love your work. I’m a part of South Central Community College’s Journalism Club and was hoping you had some time for an interview,” Hugo said, the words tumbling out a bit too fast as he let his excitement overtake him.

Seconds later the group had been ushered behind the table, squeezing together in the small space. They all loomed behind Hugo, not unlike a gang ready to kneecap someone. Give us the wolf smut or else, ma’am. You’ll find out what the knife’s for soon enough if you don’t fess up. Dakotah was getting really bored.

Hugo pulled out a small notepad and a dingy pencil, poised and ready to write down what golden knowledge he was about to receive. He opened his mouth to ask the first question, but was interrupted by Dakotah.

“Do you mind if we record this interview, Ma’am?” He asked.

Hugo, who had been too eager to get to the goods, nodded and dug in his pockets for his phone.

“I don’t mind at all,” She said.

The questions weren’t anything special. The usual ‘favorite book’ and ‘biggest challenge’. He was a bit tense at first, but as Hugo got into the swing of things he loosened up and held a more conversational interview with the woman. Thankfully it didn’t last too long. Hugo was running out of questions, though it seemed he was hesitant to stop talking to the author, even if she was rather obscure.

“Okay, final question,” Hugo said before a gigantic, goofy smile spread across his face, “I loved the romance between Romeo and Roman in Werewolf Pirate Love. Do you plan on having future romance in your novels, or even exploring the romance genre in general?”

Dakotah pinched the bridge of his nose and Jack groaned. This man was embarrassing.

The woman smiled and gave him a sly shrug, “We’ll have to see.”

The group decided to wait in the seating area afterwards. The second author was on a break and told them to come back 20 minutes later. Hugo was happy to visit the rest of the booths, but they still had a few minutes to spare after that. Dakotah had grabbed them some of the free waters they were offering, a blessing because of how hot and crowded the room was starting to feel. 

“What’s the other lady’s name again?” Dakotah asked. It wasn’t his interview, but Mister Harlow had suggested they use the other members’ events to still practice their writing skills. 

“Her pen name is Pearl Stormy,” Hugo answered

Dakotah nodded and went to take a sip from his water.

“Sounds like a porn star name,” Jack commented.

Dakotah snorted. He inhaled his water. Then he started coughing, thankfully not spilling water over himself in the process. Hugo and Jack immediately started laughing, Jack being gracious enough to smack him on the back a few times. The moment made Dakotah realize something, though.

“Where’d Courtney go?” He asked, voice still a bit strained.

Hugo looked to the empty seat next to himself then shrugged, “Bathroom, I guess.”

Dakotah nodded, wiping away the droplets of water that had landed on the table with his sleeve. Jack caught Dakotah's arm and he was ready to beat the fuck out of him before Jack twisted his wrist around to peer at his watch.

“Time’s up, go interview your lady,” He said before letting him go and standing.

Hugo and Dakotah followed suit, but Dakotah paused. Courtney had really just slipped away without a word. Hugo seemed too excited to meet his semi-famous author to care, and he knew Jack wasn’t going to care about anyone but himself. Dakotah held back a sigh. He guessed it was his job the give a fuck, then.

“I’m going to find Courtney,” Dakotah said, “In case he wants in on the interview.”

“Yup,” is all Jack said before the two headed off to the table.

[zach-the-fox]

Furiends Episode 10: Birth of Heroes

The morning sun lights the entire town square up. Several colorful canvas tents are set up for today’s event; Marketplace Monday, which is an event where many small and big businesses come together to promote their products and services around the public space in front of city hall. Team Rescuers stand before the crowd of people, searching around the perimeter as they remain back from the event.

“Pretty crowded today,” comments Kenji. “A lot of people at Marketplace Monday.”

“Perfect for our plan,” Jay tells him. “Mom should be set up about now.”

“Remind me again on what’s happening,” asks Miffy.

Jay lowers his tone to a whisper. “Mom has gone to place some explosives under the square. They’re set to go off soon. Once that happens, we’ll go in and save the day.”

“Interesting,” Cindy says. “And how does this relate to the flawed brats?”

“Mom has fabricated some pieces of apparel, based on their clothes. She has planted them with the bombs. After we “save” everyone from the explosions, we look around and fish them out, showing everyone what a dastardly deed they’ve done.”

“There’s children and families in the square, though,” Miffy utters. “Won’t they get badly hurt or killed?”

The wolf darts his eyes at her. “Sometimes, you have to make sacrifices to get what you truly want, even if it means innocent people die.” He fixes his eyes on the square. “Once all of this goes off, those brats will be run out of town and never be heard of again. We’ll also make sure the whole world knows what they do. Get ready!” The four animals wait, keeping their eyes on the bustling fair as animals, tall and small, go from stall-to-stall. Several seconds go by, and yet not a single explosion can be seen.

Cindy looks to her companion. “So, what am I supposed to see here? Are they going off anytime soon?”

Jay shakes his head. “I-I don’t understand… They should’ve detonated by now… What’s happening?”

“Are you sure she set them up in the square?”

“She told me so this morning… How could she-”

“Hey, Jay,” Miffy interrupts. “Why are you on T.V.?” The wolf stops and looks at the flatscreen television overlooking the square, as does the crowd. His eyelids pull back as wide as they can be while watching himself talk to the hooded figure on the screen. His conversation continues to carry on with the cloaked being as they explain their plan for the orphanage and about setting up the friends. “What?!” Everyone in the watches with shock; their eyes wide-opened like the wolf. He and the team run into the center of the square with his glare still on the television. People in the audience point to him and accuse him of treachery.

“Listen,” Jay utters. “I can assure you, whatever is going on is some kind of trick. That all isn’t true!”

“Oh, it’s all true!” yells a voice. Everyone turns and traces the voice to the fox, who stands in front of the government building in blue goggles with matching-color cape, gloves, and tights. His paws positioned on his hips. “Team Rescuers are nothing but frauds and deceivers! They’re not concerned for your wellbeing, your safety, or your wants and needs. They take their own desires more seriously.”

“Flawed Fox!” Jay takes a step forward, clenching his paws with aggression. “Why you-”

Emmy appears by Zach’s side, wearing her goggles, purple tank top vest with the same color gloves, but with darker-colored pants and belt. “They were going to blow up the square, along with all of you in it, and then put the blame on us to deceive you all that we were nothing but terrorists. That way, you’d run us out of town or even kill us!” The crowd gasps in shock.

“Are you kidding me?” Miffy asks.

“Afraid not,” shouts the brown cat, making herself visible on the fox’s other side by zooming into arrival. She dons a black jumpsuit with blue lines to highlight it, along with blue goggles. “They weren’t acting alone, either! They had a lot of help from the headmaster of the orphanage! It was very clear she, along with your “favorite hero team,” were going to attack many innocent beings.”

Brook comes into view next. She dons a blackened mask with a hooded cloak to cover her dark jumpsuit with lime green around the area between her legs. Hovering behind her are the explosives that were buried underneath the marketplace. “Man, these things would’ve caused a massive number of casualties. We wouldn’t want that to happen, would we?” She sends them all flying away into the sky, deep into space, dazzling the people.

“We were able to stop your horrific plan just in time,” Zach claims. “You could’ve killed innocent people and children.”

“Flawed Fox!” utters Jay, pulling out a radio. “You didn’t think ahead with that, though! Come in, Mom. Those brats are here!”

“That’s where you’re wrong, Wolf,” shouts Hatboy, flying in and landing on his feet as a bird before changing back to his original form. His costume consists of a red mask and white bodysuit “Your mother won’t be helping you out right now. She’s all tied up…” By his side, the robed figure is released onto the ground from his grasp. The headmaster’s constrained in a set of ropes around her arms. “One villain down, four more to go.”

“You’re not going to get away with faking anymore!” yells Emmy. “It’s time to come forward and accept your fate!”

“What would you all know about being heroes?” Cindy cries. “You don’t have what it takes to be courageous and cunning!”

“We are better than you, though!” shouts Carly. “We don’t go after harmless civilians and blame a group of unfortunate animals! You lot are too unethical to be called heroes!”

“I’ve had enough of this!” Jay sharpens his claws. The friends ready themselves, equipping their weapons and getting into fighting stances. “You will never beat us!”

“We shall determine that!” Zach retaliates. Jay immediately goes for the fox, but Zach blocks his attacks with his metal staff. Emmy pushes the wolf away and joins Zach, but soon Jay is aided by the monkey. Cindy and Miffy go after the cat and purple rabbit. The four intertwine in engagement with fists, leaving Hatboy to struggle with keeping the headmaster contained. The square stirs into chaos as the battle endures, causing the spectators to back away from the area. Tables are thrown and tossed around, tents are torn with animal claws, the sounds of clinging metal and shouting deafens other noises. The animals try to gain the upper hand on each other. Zach whacks the wolf away with his staff.

Jay growls. “I am impressed, Fox. But whacking me away will not do you any good!”

“There’s more where that came from, Jacob!” Zach responds. The wolf charges toward him, but Zach remains still. As Jay is three feet before him, the fox catches the wolf, lifts him up, and tosses him into a fountain. Jay is quick to stand and charge toward the fox again. He is no match with Zach as he readies himself. Zach jumps into the air, then comes back down with his foot against Jay’s head, knocking him down to the floor. The fox stands by his face and looks upon him. “You didn’t account for my new abilities.” He turns to see Emmy struggling with Kenji as he sways his tail at her. Zach runs over and whacks the monkey in the face, knocking him away. The fox then turns to the warthog. “You good?”

“Yeah, thanks,” Emmy replies. The two notice Kenji getting back up and holding out a wooden staff. “Uh oh!” The two animals prepare to battle him.

However, Hatboy zooms in as a car and hits into Kenji, causing the monkey to fly and hit the tent ahead, knocking him out. He changes back and looks to the two. “I’m sorry, Fellas. Did I steal your target?”

Zach smiles. “Not at all.”

“Uh, aren’t you supposed to be watching the headmaster?” Emmy utters.

Hatboy looks and see the prisoner has vanished. “Crud! Got to go!” He runs off.

Brook dodges some punches thrown by the cat. “Whoa! Nice kitty!”

“You dumb rabbit!” shouts Miffy. “You and your flawed friends will pay!”

“Don’t ever call me dumb!” The purple rabbit uses her mind to pick up a dumpster and toss it at the cat, hitting her back. Miffy gets up fast, then runs to her.

Carly immediately speeds in, kicking her away. “Man, you are one mean cat!” Miffy gets back to her feet. “Uh oh!”

“I’ll let you deal with her!” Brook focuses on the sheep for a fight.

Carly quickly paints something in front of Miffy. The beige cat pounces, but slams right into a wall spawned by Carly. Miffy struggles to stand, soon closing her eyes and falling into a deep sleep. The brown cat paints again, this time, some rope around her to keep Miffy in place. “That’ll teach you.” She jumps when a flying lamppost lands near her. “Yow! Hey!”

“Sorry!” Brook ells her. “Just a bit distracted!” She evades the sheep’s attacks. “Whoa! You’re very feisty for a sheep!”

“You are a weird rabbit!” responds Cindy.

“Am I?” Cindy comes at her. “Oh!” The purple rabbit focuses her mind, conjuring a tornado gobbles Cindy and spins her around quickly. Once the tornado dissipates, the sheep stands, but wobbles. “Cool, I can conjure wind as well!” Cindy sets her eyes on the rabbit and charges again, but her dizziness causes her to stumble. Brook places her foot on her back to ensure she stays down while Carly paints restraints on her hooves.

The headmaster, having been chased by the stands by Hatboy, goes to pick up a wooden stake. She cuts herself free. Hatboy charges, but is tripped by the robed animal’s foot. She then points the weapon at Zach. “I will kill you for this, Flawed Fox!” She runs toward Zach with the wooden stake, but her attack is blocked by Emmy’s sword. The hooded figure tries desperately to hit the warthog, but when Zach aides her, the two repel her in an instant, disarming her weapon and kicking her back into a stone wall. The headmaster then takes the stake and throws it at them. The wooden picket is caught in midair by Brook’s ability, then tossed away. The headmaster gets back up in anger and charges at them again, but is stopped by Zach, who grabs her arms with his, picks her off the ground, and tosses her at a nearby tent.

Carly makes quick with her paintbrush to draw a jail around her, enclosing her in. “There, that should hold her.”

“I… I can’t believe it…” Zach looks down at his paws, then at Team Rescuers. “I… I just saved people… I actually saved people!” A smile occupies his face. “I AM A HERO!”

“WE are heroes,” Emmy implies. “WE saved everyone in the square.” She gives him a smile. Zach reflects her expression and nods.

“Hooray!” Hatboy shouts. Brook quickly picks him up and hoists him in the air. “Whoa! Hehe.” She then sets him back down, smiling.

“They won’t be deceiving and hurting people anymore,” Carly says. “Not after we exposed them for who they really are. People now see them for what they really are.”

Zach approaches the restrained hooded figure. “Looks like the tables have turned, Headmaster…”

“You!” the headmaster calls out. “I will get you for this, Flawed Fox!”

“That’s all you ever saw me as,” Zach says. “You and everyone else in Heroto, all because of my biological parents and disorder…”

“I didn’t care about what you did!” she cries. “But when you harassed my son and his friends, you went too far!”

“No, Headmaster… YOU went too far: Attacking innocents and blaming all of it on us… Putting me down was all you’ve ever done for me… I fell down and lied on the ground for some time, but then Emmy stood before me with Carly. Brook and Hatboy, too. They offered their support to me, so I took it, and I got back up. My friends are amazing, and we will continue to fight off anyone who messes with us or anyone unfortunate.” Zach turns away and sighs.

Emmy looks at him. “You okay, Zach?”

“I-I’m fine…” Zach puts his paw on his head. “I’m just a little empty inside, that’s a-…” His eyes widen as he puts his arm down. “Empty… That’s what it is… All my life I’ve been dubbed a “flawed fox.” However, I faced my darkest fears, and now I’m not worried or afraid anymore…”

The warthog pulls up beside the fox, wrapping his arm around his back for comfort. “You aren’t a flawed fox, Zach. You are more of a “fantastic fox”.”

“Fantastic Fox,” Zach repeats. “Such an interesting name for a superhero. I am Fantastic Fox! Hero of Heroto!” He looks to Emmy. “You know, you were pretty courageous and daring to take on Team Rescuers. You are also a good edition to the team.” Emmy smiles and thanks him. “What shall we call you, though? Super Emmy?”

Emmy puts her hoof on her chin. “How’s Acroswine? You think it’s a good name?”

“Suits you,” Hatboy spurts. “Oh! I want to be called Shapeswift! Because I change into anything I want!”

“Sweet,” comments Brook. “Hm, I’m not sure about my name. It’s quite hard to come up with one. Maybe Lafaun?”

“How about Dark Mage instead?” asks Emmy. “You look like a mage, and you can make things levitate like one.”

Brook agrees and settles on it. “I think I’ll stick with that.”

“Hm,” Carly thinks, holding her brush up. “Not sure what to call myself. I do love this paintbrush a whole lot.”

“How’s “Palette Cat”?” Zach suggests. “Good for an artistic superhero like you.” The cat smiles. Her expression spreads to the fox. “Seems like this is the beginning of new lives for us. Fighting crime, saving lives, and keeping peace.”

“It sure is,” Emmy tells him. “Sure is.”

@carlycmarathecat​ @emmy-the-absolute-goof​ @bendy-bear-15​

[the-gunslock]

Hiver 3 - North, part 1

This is the first on a 3-part story on how Amanda and I got together, and how I met two very nice settlements in North America.

Devrim Kay squinted and put his fingers on his chin, reaching inside his memories for an answer to the eager Warlock sitting across him, holding open a page from the past Dawning’s book, written by Eva Levante herself. His gaze pierced the page, trying to gather a mental image.

“A sour fruit, with white flesh… I’m sorry, Hiver, I don’t believe we grow it on the Farm. Maybe by going north of the City, towards the Panama Canal, you’ll find yourself someone who has it, or perhaps a place where they grow.”

Hiver nods and takes a sip from her tea. It provided some peaceful warmth inside the mossy, damp church that Devrim used as his sniper’s perch in the European Dead Zone.

“And be able to bring a good gift home to your partner.”

Then she chokes on it.

“She isn’t my partner. Or Crimson Bond, or whatever term people choose to use.” She manages to respond, between coughs.

Devrim chuckles. “You’ve got the look, though. Your heart is on your sleeve. Trust me, I’ve been there.” He says, smiling, before closing the book and sipping his own tea. “If you need any advice for dealing with the feeling, I’ll be happy to help you.”

He hands back the book. Hiver puts it inside her Duster’s bag and nervously pouts at him.

“Devrim, I’ll bring you cocoa powder and a brand new sniper rifle if you keep quiet about this.” She bargains, drawing another stifled laugh from the old man.

“Alright, a counterproposal.” He says as he gathers the dishes and stores them away for cleaning later.

“I’m listening.”

“I’ll keep quiet about this anyway. But, when this works, promise me I’ll be the first to know.”

“That’s a deal.” Hiver says, getting up to leave. “Thanks for the tea, Devrim. And for the help. And... for keeping this safe. I’ll see you soon!”

He makes a “mouth zipped” gesture, pressing his lips together, then closed his hand into a fist and then extended his fingers with the flick of a wrist. Her secret was safe, as amused as he was by the whole ordeal. As Hiver turned to leave, Trinity popped out of transmat.

“I told you women are her biggest weakness.”

The Ghost and Devrim have a laugh together and then she disappears back into the embarrassed Warlock’s backpack.

Back into her jumpship, Hiver is happy to finally have a lead on where to look for this fruit. She had gone to the Cryptarchs, the Vanguard, Hawthorne, Tess, Louis -- No one knew any solid fact regarding Amanda’s prickly, childhood fruit. Not even Eva. But she knew where to look for it now.

“Trinity, can you trace a course to old American Empire frontier?”

“Aye aye, Cap’n.”

Just had to be careful of Fallen and the Vanguard’s quarantine zones. She was still not sure where most of them were, so, in case of doubt, leave.

“Why here, though?”

Hiver sighs, as if touching on forbidden knowledge.

“In the metadata for the Chaperone, it’s said that Amanda’s mom came from desert people, right? There are only a handful of deserts from where one would have to depart from, cross the Panama Ravine, and get to the City. That, and the aesthetic from the Chaperone itself.”

“Makes sense.”

Upon touching down on the area formerly known as ‘Texas’, Hiver immediately summoned her ‘Approaching Infinity’ Sparrow to look for vegetation, refugee settlements, or both. Whichever came first.

It was really cloudy, which set the mood for a really long and lonely journey, racing through the destroyed and overgrown streets of old Texas. She’d see broken cars, Fallen banners, machinery and rusted street signs everywhere. The greyness of everything made the whole trip monotonous, and it felt like an eternity until she found any sign of life. Still no fruit trees or cacti, and, subsequently, no fruit for her to analyze. Even if it was the wrong one.

“Hiver, I have detected some heat waves coming from this area inside the city. Probably a campfire.”

“Thanks, Trinity. Let’s go.”

Hiver takes a sharp turn at one of the avenues and does her best to navigate the now-empty streets. Except, unfortunately, by the unholy amount of debris that covered them, forcing her to do some risky maneuvers in order not to crash. But she was focused, racing through the dead city.

“Why are you going so far for this fruit?” Trinity inquired. She knew the motive, partly due to the neural symbiosis, and partly due to Hiver’s interactions with and about Amanda. But verbalizing an answer always makes it more real, so she wanted to hear it.

“I want to give it to Amanda, as I said.”

Trinity sighed. “Yeah, but why? You don’t really have an obligation to do this.”

“It would make her happy.”

“It matters a lot to you, doesn’t it?”

“The fruit?”

“Her happiness, dum-dum.”

Hiver lowered her head, looking at the dashboard of her sparrow. She recalls the image of the Shipwright and her smile brighter than a Dawnblade. The warlock has been fighting the feeling for little less than a year now, pushing it down through the course of the Red War. For the first time, it doesn’t feel sheepish, reluctant or nervous anymore. On the contrary, it felt serene. A shining hope. A goal that she could work towards.

And she sure would.

“Yes. Yes, it does.”

Trinity lets out a cheerful “Hm”. It definitely sounded like she was smiling.

Eventually Hiver reaches an area with an inflow of people and supply carts, transmatting her helmet and Sparrow away. The children are playing and laughing. The adults are either socializing or doing their jobs around the open spaces of the village, such as cooking or making weapons. Soon she is approached by a bearded man with his head wrapped in cloth. He looks friendly and welcomes her with open arms.

“A Guardian? Ahahahaha! It’s so rare to see one of you ‘round these parts.”

He claps his hands together after a slight bow. Hiver starts walking towards the village’s ‘market’, the man accompanying her.

“So, what brings you out here, Warlock? Vanguard business?”

“No… no. I’m looking for a fruit, actually.”

“You came all the way over this settlement for… a fruit?”

“Labor of love, my friend.” She answered with a smile and a shrug.

“Heh, I get whatcha mean. What is this fruit like?”

“Prickly... white on the inside.” She tries to make its shape with her hands. “Tastes sour.”

“I see, I see... One second.”

The man leaves her to walk towards the village’s vendors. She sees them making pensive expressions, examine their relatively empty crates, and then shake their heads sadly. Hiver knew this was reason to expect bad news and unconsciously puts on a nervous face. The bearded man nods at the vendor and starts walking back to her.

“Got good news and bad news for you, Guardian.”

“Bad first.”

“If I’m being honest… we can’t spare much food. Hell, we barely have enough for ourselves. The fruit you’re looking for exists in settlements around the region, but the suppliers can’t cross the frontier without being scavenged by Fallen. Over time, they just stopped trying, and we can’t wait that long for our own food to grow.”

“What about the good news?”

The man raises his fingers to emphasize his phrasing. “Good news is that you and I can trade favors. You chase off those Fallen, secure the supply line, and we can ask for your precious fruit upon the next delivery, in a few weeks’ time. Sounds good?”

“Deal.”

Trinity pops out of Hiver’s backpack. “We need to know where your suppliers go through. We follow that route, we find the Fallen, and we kick their asses.”

“I’ll fetch you a map and trace the directions. We’re counting on you, Guardian.”

“Right back at you.” Hiver replies.

Map in display, Trinity guides Hiver through the delivery route, but they encounter very few Fallen on the way. They guess they want to remain hidden or invisible until another scavengeable transport comes around. But at this pace, they won’t be able to track their lair, and they would continue to terrorize these settlements.

This requires a change of ideas.

“I have a plan, Hiver. Get to the next village.”

They take a couple hours to get there, but as soon as they do, they instantly notice a different atmosphere; the gates are closed and there are guards making a perimeter around the outer wall. They give her suspicious looks, but don’t raise their weapons yet. Rather, one of them calls out to her.

“Why are you here, Guardian?”

Trinity transmats the map into the man’s hand.

“We are looking around this city for a specific fruit,” Hiver states, “but this man with a turbant of sorts we met in the previous village said your food deliveries are being thwarted by Fallen in this area.”

“That is correct.” The guard confirms.

“We couldn’t, however, find any of them on our way here.” Hiver concludes.

“However,” Trinity continues, “I had an idea that could help get your operations back on track. We just need to talk to whoever manages them.”

“Give me a minute.” The guard pulls out a portable radio and calls for a ‘Ms. Gallagher’ person. Minutes after, he gets confirmation for the Guardian to enter. So he opens the door and says Sarah will be expecting her. Hiver thanks him and proceeds through the gates.

This community is definitely vaster than the one before; their houses are more solid, built in cobblestone and brick, and in the distance she can see the orchards and terraces where their vegetables and fruits come from. Soon after Hiver took in the scenery, a woman that appeared to be in her middle age, wearing a robe-like garment, called to her.

“Sarah Gallagher?”

“Yes, that’s me. I’m Sarah Gallagher. My pleasure, Guardian.” She extends her hand and Hiver gives her a firm handshake. “I heard Quinn asked you for help.”

“He did. We are here to help secure your delivery routes.”

“Follow me.” Sarah said, starting to go towards what seemed to be some sort of garage. Trinity materializes once more.

“We couldn’t trace these Fallen’s origin as we came, but I want to propose an idea to whoever runs this place. I’m assuming… that’s you.”

They reach the garage where transports are kept. Some of them are in dire need of repair as the Fallen took parts off of them. Some of the parking spaces are empty; Not everyone gets to come back from a scavenging. People are running up and down with machinery and tools to get them up and running, but most of the intact ones are in standby, not knowing when it would be safe to trade their food again. Sarah sits at a nearby desk. Hiver leans over it while Trinity floats.

“So… we need a transport of yours to go make a delivery. We escort you and get rid of the Fallen that come your way, and if they scurry off, we can find their leader. You deliver the food, the Fallen won’t bother Quinn’s settlement OR yours, and we get the thing we’re looking for. Everyone’s a winner.” Trinity says, with half a mind that Sarah won’t accept her idea.

“That sounds reasonable. However, too many good people have died trying to cross this deathly frontier, Guardian, and you’re about to use my citizens as bait.” She replies, hands intertwined and supporting her chin. “Can you guarantee no lives will be lost during this plan of yours?”

Trinity trades looks with Hiver, who looks at the desk, trying to look for an answer for Sarah. She doesn’t know what to say.

“I can’t, ma’am.”

Sarah closes her eyes and lets out a quiet groan.

“However, I came all the way here from the City to get that fruit. Instead, I found people that need help. As such… it is my duty to help. And if trusting me to do this means no one can die, I shall do everything in my power to keep these people alive. And believe me when I say…”

Hiver raises her palm and a ball of crackling arc energy materializes in her hand.

“I have a lot of power.”

Sarah eyes the ball of violent lightning in the Awoken’s hand and silently but quickly nods a few times.

“Your honesty is appreciated. I’ll see what I can do about the transports. You can stay around until I come to an agreement with the drivers.” The human woman says, getting up from the desk and walking towards the workers at the garage.

“Thank you, Ms. Gallagher.” Hiver says before she walks out and sits on a bench with legs crossed, hands on her lap, the quietness and pure air of the place causing her to close her eyes and whistle until she dozed off.

“...dian? Guardian, get up.” Hiver hears half-consciously, feeling someone tap her face.

“Whaaaat….” She yawns and lifts her head, massaging her neck. “Ms. Gallagher? Hey. What do you need?”

She extends a hand at Hiver, who uses it to get up from the bench. “The drivers agreed to that plan of yours. Took me a couple hours to convince them you knew what you were doing. Also, to repair the transports, kinda rundown from the lack of movement. We are ready to leave at your convenience.”

“Sure. Sure. We leave in… five minutes. I need to wake up first.”

Sarah smiles at her earnestness, communicates the lease to her drivers, and bids the Awoken farewell and good luck. Hiver checks her hand cannons for ammo, and transmats her helmet on. She had given her word, now it was time to act up to it.

The transport is some sort of agricultural convoy. It runs on large, treaded tires and has a relatively high speed, pulling many wagons behind it. The first wagon was an open one, for personnel transportation, and the rest have closed trunks with crates full of food. It looked like a kind of train.

Hiver grabbed onto the handle bar of the personnel wagon, hanging outside it looking for any sign of Fallen activity. Inside were many civilians and guards in case she needed cover; She was, however, adamant on taking the Fallen matter into her own hands. If this failed, all of this mission would be for nothing.

“Hiver, I hear movement.” Trinity warns.

“FALLEN!” The Warlock yells.

The driver engages full speed. Guards ready their weapons and the civilians hide the best they can. She climbs the wagon to scout from above the food crates. Soon enough, crude, battered brown-vehicles piloted by Dregs appear behind the transport and start firing at the convoy. Hiver runs to the back of the wagon, ready to draw.

“It’s high noon, dipshits.”

She starts picking them off one by one, making their Pikes flip over and their bodies tumble on the ground.

She detects movement behind her while she kills the Dreg riders. Invisible Marauders leap on the convoy from the trees, either climbing up the side of the crates and using their wrist blades to damage the metal, or landing on the personnel wagon and trying to kill its occupants with Shock Blades. Hiver uses her Arcbolt Grenade to dispatch those on the roof of the wagon, and kicks or shoots away those that climb up the sides.

“Hiver! Get me a body of one of these Fallen! I can pinpoint their origin from there.”

Hiver runs to the personnel wagon and kills a Marauder with a force push, grabbing it by the foot as it falls. Throwing it on top of the convoy’s food wagons, Trinity gets to scanning its body while she dispatches the rest of the enemies; resistance is getting lighter, fear washing over the bandits, causing them to retreat.

“I’ve got it!” Trinity says. “I’ll warn the driver that we’re leaving them for now. Should be smooth sailing from here.”

Trinity transmats to the convoy driver’s cabin and he gives her confirmation that they should be fine. Broadcasting this to Hiver, she jumps off the wagon and summons her sparrow in order to follow the waypoint Trinity set with the information pulled from the Marauder’s corpse. It leads to an artificially-made cave in the outskirts of an old metropolitan-ish city, almost all of it destroyed by now. The Fallen Banners helped her locate the place, and the patrolling grunts are quickly killed in a thunderous mess.

Stepping inside the sewer-like installation, cannon at the ready, she dispatches Sniper Vandals as she takes care not to slip on the humid stone of the place’s floor. Fighting through hordes of enemies and floating above the currents provenient from the area’s rainy season, she eventually reaches the end of the sewer into a room filled with machinery and scavenged material. There she locates the leader of this terrorizing group: A tall Eliksni, by the name of “Traksis, Pelted Captain.”

As he roared at her and engaged his Arc shield, she spotted one a different banner on his armor, bearing a dark blue color and a vaguely snout-like symbol; The emblem of the extinct House of Wolves. She infers he must have been one of those who escaped the Reef’s onslaught and affiliated himself with House of Dusk, but somehow was allowed to retain Wolf imagery. It meant his presence is dangerous. It could lead to another uprising.

As he aimed his Scorch Cannon and fired an erring projectile, she leapt in the air and lighted her Chaos Reach super ability. “Time to go, Wolf,” She said, as her beam of crackling electrical potential vaporized the Captain and anything near him. Under her helm, she smiled as the Wolf banner smoldered along with its former owners, and she knew her work was over.

She felt puzzled, but was satisfied nevertheless. This should be the end of the Fallen threat in the vicinity. She had to let the villagers know.

The inhabitants of the first village Hiver found were in glee for seeing the convoy arriving (mostly) safe and sound, celebrating as they refilled their settlement’s food storage, and clapped just as hard upon seeing Hiver return in her sparrow, smiling. Quinn comes to greet her, clapping with the crowd.

“Quinn. The threat is over. I tracked and killed the Captain. The Fallen should not bother you anymore.”

“And you saved all of these people who depended on that food!” He states, letting out a hearty laughter. “I would ask how we can repay you, but we already have our answer. And, guess what?”

“What?”

Quinn turns to one of the vendors and motions “come here”. They appear with a medium jute bag, and out of it, curious objects peek:

Pink fruits, with green prickly appendages. She took one, and pried it open with her hands; The flesh was, indeed, white. It smelled sour, definitely. They called it “Dragon Fruit”.

This was the fruit (she hoped) she came for. The one that would remind Amanda of Lucia, her small friend. Her parents. Her first time making the light garlands that decorated her small refuge, back when she was traveling to the City. And that she now makes to decorate her workshop.

Amanda’s first Dawning.

She hugged Quinn in thanks and bid her farewells to the village’s people. Soon enough, her unsecured/OUTCRY ship flew by and she got transmatted into it, storing the bag in a compartment. She plotted a course for the City.

“Hiver, when you talked to Quinn… what did you answer him about the fruit?”

“I think I said… labor of love? Why?”

“This is the first time you’ve admitted to loving her. They didn’t know who she is, but I still count that as progress.”

Wide-eyed, Hiver thought about it for a second. It was more casual than she imagined, but saying it out loud made it feel more real. It took her aback, making her blush, creating purplish spots on her skin, but it also yielded a shy smile from her. She guesses it took some time to admit it to herself as well. But now that she did -- there was no way she wouldn’t move forward.

“Trinity, send a message to Amanda.” She asked.

“Go ahead.”

“Amanda. You and I, our spot, as soon as you can. There is something I want to show you.”

The Shipwright stretched her free arm as she heard Hiver’s message on her holo-tablet. It put a smile on her face as she couldn’t wait to see what kind of archaeological knick-knack or brand new hand cannon her Warlock friend would bring for her to see. She starts recording a video message.

“Got it, girl. Will do it as soon as I’m done with my services today. Should be soon. See you there!” She ends it with a wink and a grin, returning to her services.

Hiver should be here soon.

For some reason, the Shipwright found her own heart pacing about it.

[davetheshady]

🌟 how about chapter 4 of waiting for the bus in the rain 🌟 and only partially because i showed up to yell about the last few paragraphs when it first dropped. also just because i love Julie content and it's the very middle of that fic

::blows dust off inbox:: So! Now that I’ve back from traveling through three countries and recovered from trying to leave most of my arm skin in one of them (PUBLIC SERVICE ANNOUNCEMENT: don’t go so fast you flip over on the Alpine Slide, particularly if you’re in the actual Alps) here’s some DVD commentary on Chapter 4 of Waiting for the Bus in the Rain! It’s chock full of my stylistic hallmarks, i.e. way longer than I expected.

(Note to my sister: THIS IS FULL OF SPOILERS. GO READ MY STORY FIRST YOU LOSER)

There’s a Sheriff’s Secret Police officer outside Julie’s window. Considering she’s in her office on the second floor, this is fairly impressive. But when they scream and scrabble against the glass after accidentally kicking over their ladder for the third time, Julie’s had enough.

Even when they’re not under suspicion of using the scientific method, Julie has to deal with WAY more (attempted) surveillance than Carlos ever does. This is partially because she doesn’t have amazing hair, but also because Cecil doesn’t narrate large chunks of her life over the radio that the SSP can copy down and submit as a report.

vulnerabilities include fire and cold iron

and according to the literature high velocity cheese wedges but i’ve never seen anyone test that

My hand to God. Probably my number one complaint about fantasy as a genre is that everyone takes stuff from Celtic mythology so seriously when half of it is just. Completely bonkers.

Originally, most of the relevant exposition about fairies was provided by a different character entirely: Carlos-f’s misplaced smartphone, an AI who Julie called Hex (yes, like in Discworld, hell yeah science wizards) because she refused to give Julie her name. Hex provided such ringtones as “Dark Horse” and “Double Rainbow” and would occasionally get distracted by lists of numbers. Hmm… 

I changed it back because 1) it was a detour and this chapter was long enough already, 2) Julie and Carlos’ friendship is one of the main throughlines and having them talk to each other was better for the story, and 3) him texting during the middle of a battle is hilarious. But as far as I’m concerned, Hex is still canon. 

Andre yawns on the other end of the line and asks, “What time is it?”

“Quit whining, it’s only—” Julie looks at the clock.

Shit.

“—3:00 AM,” she finishes defiantly, because she still has her pride. Embarrassment pricks at her like flying embers settling on bare skin, because now Andre knows she was so out of it she didn’t even bother to try keeping track of the time, and he’s going to think she couldn’t sleep because of feelings, which is both correct and incorrect, because she wasn’t even trying to sleep since distracting herself by going over the minutiae of their data while the Sheriff’s Secret Police scream and fall in the bushes is better than listening to her cats prowl around while lying in her quiet apartment by herself, and any moment now he’s going to feel bad and decide to humor her and answer her in a voice filled with cloying pity and say—

“Would Hiram McDaniels count as one respondent, or five?” He yawns again.

A good chunk of Julie’s inner turmoil just, like, boils down to a recurring loop of that Tim Kreider quote about “If we want the rewards of being loved we have to submit to the mortifying ordeal of being known.” She doesn’t consciously WANT the rewards of being loved, it just kind of… happens… and then she’s stuck with incredibly loyal life-long friends… and now she not only has to deal with her own feelings but theirs too, which is pretty much her worst nightmare… 

Fortunately, since she’s already gone through the mortifying ordeal of being known, they do frequently pull through and offer the kind of support she knows how to accept. 

“Give TV’s Frank a kiss for me.”

“I’m not kissing my cat for you,” says Julie.

I mean, she’ll kiss the cat. Just not on request. 

And yes, all her cats are named after the Mad Scientists’ sidekicks on Mystery Science Theater 3000. ~foreshadowing~

When she opens the door of her workshop later that morning, she finds that someone has been by to leave her a breakfast tray. Well, “tray”, in that it’s a textbook, and “breakfast”, in that it’s a French press, a stale churro, and her blood pressure medication. But the French press is completely full with still-warm coffee, so overall she’s going to count this as a win.

This appeared pretty early in my drafts: it’s just such a funny mental image to me and also encapsulates Julie and Gary’s relationship pretty well, i.e. a string of question marks who somehow get along.

The naturally suspicious part of her wonders if he deliberately provoked her reaction to the flamingo to gather more information about it. The naturally analytical part of her points out that Carlos is more likely to gnaw off his own hand than put someone in danger, especially when he could just put himself in danger instead.

Julie is just a tad cynical, so she’d definitely think of potentially negative interpretations of her friend’s actions. But it’s not actually a possibility she dwells on in any real sense, and every time she interacts with Carlos-f (not to mention Carlos-0) she trusts him implicitly. She wouldn’t admit it in a thousand years, but she considers Carlos one of the few genuinely good people in the world: not because he never makes mistakes or creates personal disasters, but exactly because of those things. She knows he’s a flawed person, and that everyone is flawed, so that makes him genuine – which means every time he’s tried to do the right thing at personal cost, over and over, that was genuine too.

Basically, there’s a reason why in the last chapter she automatically references “scientist means hero” with “Fuck, I’m turning into you!”

“So,” she says. “Nilanjana. Do you need new pronouns, or anything?”

“Does anyone need any pronouns?” asks Gary contemplatively, which Julie takes as a ‘No’.

“Should I drop ‘Gary’ entirely? Do you want me to change your name in our paperwork?”

He thinks about it for a moment. “I don't know, man,” he concludes. “I don’t really believe in labels.”

Gary has galaxy-brained from “gender is a social construct” straight to “identity is a social construct” and beyond. 

“Are you thinking what I’m thinking?” asks Julie.

“I think so, Dr. K,” says Gary. “But how will we get three pink flamingos into one pair of capri pants?”

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=v-xrnIXQ3iQ

What happens when the wave function ψ is the same as the physical system it describes, and what happens when that physical system collapses?

i.e. what would happen if common misperceptions of the Observer Effect were actually the correct perceptions?

Julie can’t help it: she snorts. “Passionate? Me?”“Well, yeah,” says Romero. “You really care about the things that interest you. You get really involved and angry and never quit or back down.”“Oh,” says Julie, then blurts, “You like that I’m angry?”“I… don’t like it when you’re unhappy?” says Romero. “But – it’s part of you, so… yeah, I guess I do, because it’s how you are. Why? Is – is everything okay?”She’s spent a lifetime having people tell her to stop being angry. No one’s ever told her she’s fine the way she is.

There have been many, many, MANY thinkpieces about how women are socialized not to express anger, often even to themselves. That was never going to work for Julie, who after all is powered by constant low-level rage, but that just means she had to deal with the backlash from not adhering to social programming instead (on top of additional backlash from being a woman in a male-dominated field). Of his own free will, Romero not only rejects that social programming, but also clearly spent time thinking about her empirically to determine that her anger is a positive force instead of a random and horrible personality trait.

He’s a Good Dude.

When she was in elementary school, her third grade teacher had been fond of saying, “If you’re bored, it means you have no imagination,” at least until Julie had decided to deal with her boredom after finishing her science assignment, her homework, and the rest of the textbook by seeing what happened if you jammed a paperclip into the electric socket. (The answer was certainly not boring and, in fact, probably the most exciting and practical thing they learned that year.)

That used to be my aunt’s favorite saying. I personally did not copy Julie’s response, but it is based on research done by one of my friends. (It’s okay, he was very careful about safety and made sure to use rubber-handled scissors to poke random bits of metal into the outlet. Apart from a classmate’s socks catching on fire, everyone was totally fine.)

She wakes to the sound of Cecil talking about the other week’s marathon, which may or may not have been mandatory, whoops. Carlos has texted her an emoji of various hadrosaurids gathered around a campfire singing “We Are the Champions”.

PREVIOUSLY IN NIGHT VALE:

EXT. - THE LABS

Thousands of citizens stream down Main Street, driven relentlessly forward to the Narrow Place. The Harbingers of the Distant Prince hurl themselves towards the building again and again, only to be rebuffed by the wards. Charred corpses lay scattered around the perimeter. Green storm clouds gather overhead as their anger grows. 

INT. - LAB ONE

ANDRE

Did you hear something?

JULIE

[not looking up from her welding]

No.

 Carlos, meanwhile, has NO idea his emojis are not in fact standard. 

“I liked him,” says Josie. [...] “He was trying to do… something, I forget what. I hope he figured it out.” At Julie’s incredulity, she says, “Some people, they’re rough around the edges, but they try. They hope for something better and keep going. That’s important.”

“What if you go where you’re not supposed to?”

“Then you come back and fix what you can,” says Josie.

“What if you can’t?”

“Then you find someone to help you,” Josie replies. “Oh! I love this song.”

She turns up the volume of the radio and treats everyone to the aria from Shastakovich’s Paint Your Wagon.

Vocals by L. Marvin

Angels chilling at your house are, of course, part of the standard retirement package for former Knights of the Church. Old Woman Josie used to carry Esperacchius and passed it on to the Egyptian, after which it went to Sanya. She and Shiro were buds and saw Elvis in Vegas (and also, interestingly, several times in the Ralphs).

Anyway, if you want to suggest that a character is subconsciously mulling over an issue, I recommend having them ask some leading questions without describing their reactions and then change the subject.

“It’s come to my attention,” she begins, then has to stop and clear her throat again. “It’s come to my attention that we have a pretty good thing going on. So I was just wondering if you’d like to keep doing this, you know. For the indefinite future. With me.”When he doesn’t say anything, or look at her, or move at all for that matter, she removes her hand from under her thigh where she’s been sitting on it and points at the lease. “I highlighted where you have to sign,” she says, somewhat unnecessarily. “If you wanted to.”

I think this is the only time we see Julie nervous about anything when her life is not actively in danger.

You can’t write a romance arc without including some degree of emotional vulnerability – it just wouldn’t be satisfying. On the other hand, how that emotional vulnerability manifests is REALLY dependent on the person, and if you don’t base it firmly in their character it wouldn’t be satisfying, either. (I’m REALLY picky about romances in part because of this.) Julie’s not the type to pine or swoon or be filled with self-doubt*, but she is bad at feelings, and unfortunately, she’s determined that an equitable relationship with Romero requires some kind of tangible, committed expression of them. So she does that as best she can. It’s not actively harmful to her, but it does require a stretch out of her comfort zone. 

* ::cough::Carlos::cough::

Yes, Julie has technically registered their equipment with City Hall, in that they’re listed as alternatively “electronic abaci” and “databases” and she’s claimed they only use the internet for checking email. Until now, they’ve coasted on general good will towards Carlos/his hair and the fact that all authority figures have been functionally electronically illiterate since the Incident in the community college’s Computer and Fire Sciences building.

Look, I could have SWORN there was an Incident at the Computer and Fire Sciences building specifically mentioned in canon. Can I find it anywhere? No. Did I listen to an episode that was subsequently erased from history? Possibly.

This time, someone picks up. There are a few seconds of sleepy fumbling, followed by “Hello?” in more vocal fry than voice.“Cecil!” she says. “Is Carlos there?”“Are you in fear for your life from the long arm of the law?” Cecil mumbles.

her current ringtone

“Julie, I said hold on!”“I am holding on,” she snarls as the rumbling stops. “It’s a diagnostic. 75% efficiency? Am I the only one who cares about proper maintenance in this town?”

This combines two of my favorite things: people focusing on hilariously inconsequential details during a stressful situation, and Julie lowkey engaging in supervillainy. Nikola Tesla did not design earthquake machines so Night Vale could install shitty ones they can barely use. STANDARDS.

“I probably wouldn’t have destroyed Weeping Miner,” she says eventually.

“I know,” says Carlos.

“I could have, though,” she says.

“I know that too,” says Carlos.

[...] Carlos shifts. She looks over; he briefly catches her eye and says, “So could I.”It’s not the same. Carlos would probably feel bad about it, for one. But she feels some of her anger dissipate anyway. At least she’s not the only one dealing with this bullshit.

Subconscious concern --> conscious concern! Getting back to Julie’s cynicism: she doesn’t think there are very many good people in the world, and that excludes her too. Sure, she’s risked her life to save others, fight baddies, and make sure the dangerous technology she’s developed doesn’t fall into the wrong hands, but she knows she has selfish reasons to do them, like protecting her friends and making sure the town/world isn’t destroyed so she can keep doing her research.

But at the same time, the fact that she has been dwelling on the ethics of her situation ever since Chapter 19 of Love is All You Need, that she is genuinely bothered that she’d consider destroying a neighborhood, and that she’s talking about this with Carlos, who considers them to have a similar dilemma, suggests that deep down she is dissatisfied by her cynical model of the world because the data isn’t quite matching up. Which, of course, means she needs more data in the form of Chapters 6 and 7.

On one side is a large picture of Carrie Fisher giving everyone the finger

I think Space Mom is mandatory at protests now. 

This whole section (especially the rain) was heavily influenced by the March for Science, which both Ginipig and I went to in 2017. You too can make a difference and also give yourself writing material!

“Any more words of wisdom, Usidork?” she asks instead.

USIDORE, WIZARD OF THE 12TH REALM OF EPHYSIYIES, MASTER OF LIGHT AND SHADOW, MANIPULATOR OF MAGICAL DELIGHTS, DEVOURER OF CHAOS, CHAMPION OF THE GREAT HALLS OF TERR'AKKAS. THE ELVES KNOW HIM AS FI’ANG YALOK. THE DWARFS KNOW HIM AS ZOENEN HOOGSTANDJES*. HE IS ALSO KNOWN IN THE NORTHEAST AS GAISMUNĒNAS MEISTAR AND HAS MANY OTHER SECRET NAMES WHICH YOU DO NOT… YET… KNOW.

* Hoobastank

He blinks at her in polite incomprehension. “I don’t want to miss the Life Raft Debate,” he says. “It’s important to support your department.”

Several universities hold yearly Raft Debates, where representatives from the different disciplines have a debate about which of their respective areas of study is the most vital for humanity and thus should get to take the one-person life raft back to civilization from the desert island they’ve all gotten stuck on.

I should inform you that at my alma mater the Devil’s Advocate, who argues that none of the subjects are worth saving, has won multiple times.

Without taking her eyes off her opponent, Romanoff thrusts out her hand. Dr. Aluki Robinson (Associate Professor of Ornithology) passes her a harpoon, its ivory barbs almost glowing in the dim light.

Nauja and Aluki are both from Cold Case, because no one deserves to be stuck in Cold Case where we’re apparently supposed to be deeply concerned about the main character’s sexual experience but only vaguely perturbed by the powerful white and white-coded women stealing Native American children to brainwash them to their culture so they can be fed to the system seriously WHAT the FUCK Jimbo

ANYWAY, in this universe the Winter fey of Unalaska are discharging their obligations to help the Winter Court against Outsiders by sending some of their people to monitor the prison in Night Vale. This also gets to highlight the fun of an unreliable narrator! Julie is generally not one of those, because she’s a smart and observant person who will happily question everything, but even she has her limits when she’s out of her element. In the case of this story, there are several minor details to suggest there is some Winter and Summer court drama going on in the background (the chlorofiends, an entire academic department of shapeshifters, Molly and Mab personally overseeing bus routes) and most of it just goes completely over her head.

During his undergraduate career, Gary had elicited a considerable amount of interdepartmental discussion about his desire to be exempted from lab regulations for wearing appropriate – or any – footwear in the lab, which evolved into a considerable amount of interdepartmental discussion about whether wrapping your feet in duct tape immediately before said lab time constituted appropriate footwear.

This was based on one of my mother’s students, who eventually resolved the situation by commissioning a handmade pair of moccasins he placed on his feet immediately before entering the lab.

“The scientific method is four steps,” says Carlos with a cheerful inevitability as the officers start shouting panicked instructions into their walkie talkies. “One, find an object you want to know more about; two, hook that object up to a machine using wires or tubes; three, write things on a clipboard; four, read the results that the machine prints.”

This is a direct quote from the book. Was this entire subplot about the scientific method ban designed just to come up with a plausible retcon for why someone with actual scientific training would announce this over the radio? It sure was!

THE SCIENTIFIC METHOD:

1. “Step one, cut a hole in the box,” calls Wei.2. “No, step one is collecting underpants,” says Gary.3. “Step four: make a searching and fearless moral inventory,” says Julie.4. “And then step five, acceptance,” Andre finishes.5. “You see, the first level is ennui, or boredom. In particular cases it may be the desire for somebody or something specific – nostalgia, love-sickness… At more morbid levels it is a dull ache of the soul, a longing with nothing to long for. A sick pining, a vague restlessness. Mental throes. Yearning. And at the scientific method’s deepest and most painful level, it is a sensation of great spiritual anguish, often without any specific cause.”6. “It’s how you decide whether to fix the problem with duct tape or WD-40,” says Julie.7. “I think,” says Osborn, “that it’s a divine machine for making flour, salt, and gold.”

8. “Don’t be absurd,” says Galleti. “The scientific method is two vast and trunkless legs of stone standing in the desert!”

9. “And they say the scientific method is—”

“—the quality of cosiness and comfortable conviviality associated with sitting around a fire in the winter with close friends,” puts in Dr. Chelsea Dubinski, Assistant Professor of Chemistry.

10. “Or is it the special look shared between two people, when both are wishing that the other would do something that they both want, but neither want to do?” asks Galleti.

This section was also a chance to write about the rest of Night Vale’s scientists, of whom we still know so very little. There’s enough of them that there’s a whole science district, and the community college seems pretty well staffed, but the fact that Carlos made such an impact when he rolled into town suggests that they were either pretty lowkey or indistinguishably weird from the rest of the town.

“I don't feel alone,” snaps Julie. “I feel like shit, and I know why I feel like shit, and the thought of outlining that in excruciating detail is, oddly enough, not making me feel any better!”

One of the things I wanted to address in this story (inspired by Ghost Stories, which I uhhhhh did not care for) was the shortcomings of a lot of narratives about grief. Because many of them are not only oversimplified, but also not everyone processes grief in the same way. It’s not necessarily a linear narrative of where you go through the five steps and then you’re totally over it: it might take a long time, or you might be fine until some other, unrelated setback triggers you, or it might be a cyclical process as anniversaries roll around. Grief lingers. Related to that, helping people deal with their grief isn’t always as simple as sitting down with them and offering a sympathetic ear. Some people don’t process their feelings well verbally, and the emotional labor of formulating all your grief for another person’s consumption can be nearly as traumatizing as grieving in the first place, and VERY difficult to do when you’re already feeling down.

On top of that, I think general American culture is just. Real bad at dealing with grief. Which means we don’t have many positive models to base our responses on, either as grievers or as people supporting the grieving, and if you don’t fit those models at all it just makes the process that more difficult because everyone’s stumbling around in the dark.  

“Does it always feel like this?” she asks.“Which part?” asks Carlos.“We won,” says Julie. “Methods have lived to science another day. We can do our work without interference. All we did was lie about what the name meant, but…” She taps the lab table with a pencil. Another secret violation of the law. “It still feels like we… lost something.”“We did lose something,” says Carlos. “It was just a name, but names are important.”

One of the reasons I love writing Carlos and Julie’s friendship so much is because it’s such a relationship of equals. They’re both hypercompetent, pragmatic, and a little ruthless; their skill sets don’t have much overlap (at least, not yet) and their personalities aren’t at all similar, but they get each other and it’s so sweet. When they wander out of their respective areas of expertise, or stumble across some kind of dilemma, they feel comfortable asking each other for guidance – they can admit their ignorance and drop their public facades of Having Their Shit Together because they trust each other. 

“I want—” Her mouth opens and shuts again, wordlessly. Her scowl deepens.Then she narrows her eyes and says, “Darmok and Jalad at Tanagra.”

Molly being a huge Trekkie is pretty much my favorite thing from Ghost Story (not to be confused with Ghost Stories)(although thinking about it, swapping their plots would be kind of amazing??), so of course I wanted her and Julie to interact in a way that showed off what huge nerds they are.

But yet another element I wanted to include in this story is the background detail that ~the masquerade~ must be maintained because it’s too dangerous for humanity as a whole to be fully cognizant of the supernatural – which tends to get a little lost in the sauce, because the supernatural is consistently super duper powerful and our heroes (most of them pretty supernatural themselves) generally avert disaster by the skin of their teeth. But here’s Julie, just a regular human who’s capable of producing terrifying technology, has no concern for the rules and traditions of ancient regimes unless they’re inconveniencing her, and who would be perfectly fine with upending the status quo just to see what happens. Regular humans just aren’t more flexible about change than the supernatural, they’re even curious about it sometimes – which must be terrifying to something like the Winter Court, which has been devoted to maintaining the same strict balance since forever. Regular humans can do stuff like tell a story so well it inspires the Winter Lady to subvert her magical restrictions and remind her of her own humanity.

Julie grumpily emails him a rough summary of her thoughts on Troy Walsh and her conversation with Molly and heads up to her office to pull up everything she has on both the bus garage and the man in the tan jacket.

Bullshit secretkeeping (“I can’t tell the other main character this important plot point, it’s better if they don’t know”) is one of my least favorite tropes and I avoid it at all costs. It’s such a stupid way to add tension. It can maybe work once, but after your character has inevitably watched it backfire spectacularly, you can’t repeat it ever again unless you want to imply they’re a dumbass who never learns from their own mistakes and apparently doesn’t care that it clearly puts everyone in more danger. ::looks pointedly at a certain book series::

Also, it’s almost always much more interesting to have characters try to share important information. If they don’t succeed, it coats everything in ironic horror as the outcomes one person tried to avoid happen despite their best efforts. If they do succeed, it means everyone is fully cognizant of the potential danger even as they are still prevented from acting on it properly, like because they (e.g.) get kidnapped in the middle of the street. 

King City is not in the correct dimension. The man in the tan jacket seems to know something about this, but up until a year ago he wasn’t drawing attention to it. He was busy poking his nose into everyone’s business, ingratiating himself with the powerful and the influential, dealing with them in secret…basically, the SOP of your typical Night Vale authority.Like the Night Vale Area Transit Authority, with its bus route to… King City.They had a job and they chose to keep it, Molly said.“Fuck,” says Julie. “He was working for them!”

In retrospect, it’s hilarious to me how much of this fic was powered by spite. Ghost Stories and Cold Case both really bothered me. The resolution of the Man in the Tan Jacket storyline, meanwhile, felt pretty underwhelming – not because what Finknor came up with wasn’t interesting, but because it barely engaged with the few plot points they had already established. Like, when TMITJ shows up in the podcast he interferes with the Mayor, he’s connected to the city under Lane Five, he surfaces during the Strex Corp arc, he interacts with a whole bunch of series regulars in an ominous fashion… Yeah, that probably came from Finknor dropping him in more or less at random, but the end result was that during the first several years of the show it seemed he was an active driver of whatever his plot was supposed to be. In WTNV: The Novel, though, he’s much more reactive and impotent. This wouldn’t necessarily be bad if this change was acknowledged as part of his storyline, but… it’s not… 

(And I get that it can be difficult to come up with a plot for an element you didn’t intend to be plotty at all, but like: there wasn’t THAT much material they had to account for. I should know, I had to look it all up to write THIS story.)

I think this was especially frustrating because it ends up feeling like a “have your cake and eat it too” on the part of Finknor: it’s not automatically bad when fans care more about the show’s continuity than the creators (creators have different concerns, and a lot of time that means they’re using the creative latitude to do something neat), but the novel was very much presented as “finally, a resolution to that one mystery you find cool!” which is… pretty much a direct appeal to the fans’ care about the continuity. So to then ignore or retcon so many aspects of the continuity without any story payoff for it feels like a cheat. 

(Ultimately, though, my inspiration to actually sit down and write mainly sprang from 1) all the lovely comments about how so many people loved my OFC, which as someone who started lurking in online fandom in the early 2000s was both mind-boggling and heartwarming, and 2) lol those ladies have the same name. I learned nothing.)

She gets the call at 21:27. She goes to the hospital, although there’s not much point. The human mind is the most powerful thing on the planet and it's housed in a fragile casing of meat and bone.

I’ve mentioned a few times (possibly more than a few)(probably more than a few) that I didn’t like the WTNV live ep Ghost Stories, and that’s because the ~big reveal~ is that Cecil’s story was actually about a personal family tragedy, and once he’s able to admit that, everything is hunky-dory. As I recall, it went something like this:

WTNV: hey remember that time your mom died and your family was thrown into chaos

ME: WELL NOW I DO

WTNV: and on that note, good night everyone!

Needless to say, everything was not hunky-dory. 

But on top of being emotionally compromised for the whole following week, I was also professionally annoyed. Prior to this live show, we’d had a few cryptic references to Cecil’s mom and could reasonably infer that his relationship with his sister was strained. Critically, though, neither was their own clearly-defined character (compare to the treatment of Janice or Steve Carlsberg), these were not frequently recurring elements that would suggest they weighed heavily on Cecil’s mind, and it wasn’t even obvious that their backstory WAS particularly tragic. So the emotional lynchpin of this live show was mostly new information about Cecil regarding characters the audience had no connection to.

Tragic narratives are powerful not only because they evoke intense emotions, but also because those emotions are supposed to go somewhere and do something: provide catharsis, reinforce the artist’s philosophy, make the audience ponder the meaning of life... In using a tragedy as a plot twist, your ability to give it the proper emotional arc is very limited, because you have to misdirect from its existence while building it up, and then quickly progress from upsetting emotions to those more appropriate for concluding the story. That’s not impossible, but Ghost Stories immediately throws a wrench in the works by splitting the audience’s emotional journey away from Cecil’s: he already knew about the tragedy and the people involved with it, so the plot twist acts as his emotional catharsis... but only his. When the twist itself is the first time the audience realizes there ARE emotions, and that the first 85% of the show was completely unrelated to them, there’s simply not enough time for the audience to have them, process them according to the story’s weird ramblings that kinda imply fiction based on real life is more important than genre fiction like horror (PS: that’s a WEIRD take for a fictional horror podcast), and reach their own kind of catharsis without it being horrifically rushed. Particularly when they’re having a WAY more emotional response than the character due to their own personal tragedies which they were not expecting to have to think about during a fun podcast live show about ghost stories.

As stuff like this points out, you can’t just sprinkle in character deaths and expect quality entertainment to sprout: there has to be a purpose to putting the tragedy in the story (even if that purpose is to highlight how purposeless tragedy can be in real life). I’ve always been VERY critical of the assumption that tragedy is ~more artistic~, both in historical lit and modern pop culture; sad emotions aren’t inherently more meaningful than happy ones. Merely including tragic events isn’t deep; you have to do the work and make it deep, in its context and development.

So: on to ::gestures proudly:: probably the worst thing I’ve ever written!

From an aesthetic standpoint, I leaned into the Night Vale house style in this section because I found it to be really effective at conveying the enormity of the tragedy for Julie: it’s pretty blunt, just like her, but the focus on oddly specific details, the narrative distancing, and the lurking sense of existential horror seemed a fitting demonstration of how badly the emotional gutpunch disrupted her narration/life. 

And I really wanted it to be an emotional gutpunch. (But not a surprise: even if I hadn’t warned for it specifically, Julie mentions Romero dying all the way back in Ch. 10 of Love is All You Need.) This is in part a story about grief and mourning, so the loss that caused it needed a central place. I wanted it to be powerful enough to retroactively fit in with how upset Julie is in the opening chapters and to add real tension to the devil’s bargain the feds want to make with her in the next chapter. But most importantly, I wanted it to be so significant to both Julie and the audience that the end of the story has an impact. Loss doesn’t get “cured” – but it seems to me like it’s not supposed to be. Loss is a part of life; love, in whatever form, helps give you strength as you grow and change from the experience into someone new, and this is also a story about the love in friendship.

I think a lot about the ethics of writing tragic stuff, because when you get right down to it, ultimately art boils down to poking your fingers in someone’s feelings and stirring them around. People get really invested in the stuff you are responsible for creating, and making someone feel bad for no reason isn’t being an artist, it’s being a dick. But I’m very happy with how this turned out, and hopefully didn’t traumatize anyone who didn’t want to be traumatized.

(I do feel bad for everyone who was reading as I posted that had to wait an entire year for the next chapter, though. I wanted to get something up sooner, but I had to wait until I sorted Chapter 6 and Chapter 6 was just. The worst. WORDS ARE HARD. People who read WIPs are braver than any Marine.)

hmu for more dvd commentary!

[labyriinths]

Alexander Charles Whitman AU

--featuring Liz Parker & other characters.--

Warning: If you are interesting in watching Roswell, or you’re watching Roswell and haven’t finished this contains spoilers mixed with creative writing.

Disclaimer: The following events were directly affected by S2E5 when Future Max tells Liz to make him fall out of love with her. As such, they didn’t just change their timeline, but everyone else around them. Had Tess not stayed longer, Alex would not have been affected by mind warps. Rather than re-imagining future Max not visiting Liz, I’ve kept that canon, and decided that Season 2, Episode 16-21 will have an AU from there forward:

Alex knew something wasn’t right. He was feeling tired, irritable and losing time. He didn’t even know when was the last time he felt normal. If it hadn’t been for his recent development with Isabel, he’d say he was feeling numb as well. The line of symptoms bothered Alex--something he would normally use to write more music. But that desire was gone as well. Identity crisis? Major.

His dad would tell him he was spending way too much time on the computer, without him recalling how that would be possible because he wasn’t researching anything pressing. Deciding to self diagnose, he went to the local Radio Shack and set up cameras everywhere. In his room, in his car, and even garage where he would normally practice with his band. There had to be an answer, and he needed to feel like himself again.

It wasn’t long before he received an answer--one he didn’t expect. Tess was using him to create an algorithm decoding their lost language. He looked like a mindless zombie, rid of any free will. Worse, he couldn’t recall any interaction with her, so this was likely not a one chance encounter. Not knowing who he could trust, he reached out to Liz.

All Liz had to do was see his eyes, and she knew he wasn’t lying. She had the inkling  Tess couldn’t be trusted. But she thought she was at the cusps of turning a new leaf. Boy were they all wrong. If they were to tell Max, he probably wouldn’t believe them. Needing to help her best friend, she did the most difficult decision she could make. Send Alex away. Liz was a witness to Tess’ powers and it was terrifying. The Alex in front of her looked aged, and worn out. A complete contrast of what he was known as the goofy, light-hearted pal. She could be putting herself in danger to face it without an ally, but she couldn’t let Alex fall deeper in poorer mental health.

Together, they decided to create a scenario that took Alex away for an undetermined amount of time. His last time with the gang would be at the prom, where Liz would keep a watchful eye of him. Alex had enough credits from his AP classes to be able to graduate early, and not spend the rest of the school year there. Instead, he would ‘attend college early.’ In reality he was going to get treatment elsewhere at a clinical trial. He needed to see if he could gain the memories he’d lost.

Before he would leave, Liz needed to gather as much intel as she could before he would disappear. She combed through the footage. She needed to see Tess could fall into a trap. After receiving a migraine from looking at the footage so long, she knew she needed to tell someone. Max was out of question, especially with the kiss he shared with Tess after prom, it would complicate things too much. Isabel would freak out and wear her emotions on her sleeve, and if she included Maria, the rest of the gang would realize something was up if they ran off together. That brought Michael into the fold. Michael kept secrets, and he was withdrawn from the whole Tess debacle. He would be the one to see this with fresh eyes, and they could easily go off on their own separately without arousing suspicion.

Eventually, she had the courage and one night Maria wasn’t working at the Crashdown, she cornered him after their shift ended. He didn’t believe her, until she showed him the footage. She explained how she told Alex it would be best to skip town, just to stop the scenario of him being mind warped. Michael didn’t think that would be enough. Especially with Tess’ power being so powerful. They would have to do something more dramatic. He suggested now that he was getting a better feel for his powers, that he use his telekinesis and they could fake Alex’s death. Then they could draw out Tess to see where she would go, and what she would do. It would be a long shot, but maybe they could find the missing pieces.

With the three of them on board, Alex said goodbye to Isabel, to give her proper closure, as well as to Maria. To all of them, he was going to ‘to study abroad.’ Mr. Whitman was going to visit family in Tucson so he wouldn’t be around when they did the accident. They made sure not to tell Tess that Alex was leaving until they dropped him off at the airport.

Michael and Liz drove to the morgue, and looked for any John Does. Liz looked at their charts and found one with Alex’s blood type, and similar build. They stole the body --forging documents so they wouldn’t find anything missing. Michael drove the car to the highway, and set up an ‘accident.’ perimeter. As they stood at the road, Michael used his telekinesis and made the car go over 80 mph swerving every couple miles, until it hit a tree with full impact. The car was engulfed in flames. As Liz saw it, she couldn’t help but burst into tears. Even though she knew Alex wasn’t in there, she could feel like this would be a turning point. Michael consoled her, and they went to the crashdown to start on their shifts. Hopefully someone would find the car soon and give them the news.

Sheriff Valenti finds the wreckage, and shares the news to the gang at the Crashdown. It was a difficult task for Michael and Liz to keep to themselves but they had to. All the while, Liz watched Tess’ reaction and it looked so genuine. It made her sick, she could feel her hand turn into knuckles at the anger, until Michael flashed her a look, and she relaxed. Max took the initiative and volunteered to see if he could save Alex, but Valenti said there was no body. It had been burnt to a crisp. Instead of a funeral, they had a ceremony of ashes.

Liz in the meantime, became obsessed with combing through Alex’s Switzerland things, until she found out he didn’t actually go. That had all been a lie as well. Tess had been mind warping Alex for a better part of the year. No wonder he was in such poor condition. Max tried to get her to open up to him, but she refused. She set him straight saying she wanted nothing to do with him romantically right now. She had enough to deal with. She needed to figure out why Alex died. Wanting to know if she could trust him, she put the idea out that an alien did this, and Max flipped out. Tess all the while was silent. Isabel reacted harshly, and Michael remained desolate. Maria was in denial, but she couldn’t just eliminate the possibility of alien involvement. The discussion angered Max and they all went their separate ways. This was the beginning of the rift between aliens and humans in their group.

Max’s downfall from the original episodes occurs. His fall out with Liz, with Isabel. He turns to Tess for comfort. All of it. Maria’s obsession with the yearbook also occurs. Liz decides to reach out to Maria since she accused Liz of not grieving properly for Alex. She tells Maria her theory of Alex not having been at Switzerland and that it was all connected. Maria then finds information about the emails, and they go to Las Cruces to snoop around. Meanwhile, following Tess proved she is living a double life. Liz finds out that Tess had a storage place she was renting out which was weird because Tess was living with Valenti why would she keep things away from them? A few hours later, while they’re at a stakeout, Liz takes pictures from across the street of Tess entering Alex’s room looking through his things. That certainly wasn’t normal behavior. She decides to talk to Tess about her powers at Valenti’s. She knows she can mind warp but she doesn’t know how everything entails. Before Tess could respond, they’re interrupted. Max comes in and because he got involved with Tess, he acts volatile with Liz, and she decides to leave. 

The rest of the episodes 19 -21 remains mostly canon. Liz finally confronts Tess again in episode 21, (season finale) and tells her she knows she was the one that mind warped Alex, and why. [The book that has the language of antar was a project all along that she assigned Alex to work on. They needed a translation and she took it upon herself to make Alex work on it day and night.] Tess vehemently denies this. Telling her if she did mind warp him, she had no recollection. That it's possible it was Nasedo that made her do all of this--that he must be alive. 

In between a rock and a hard place, Max sides with Tess. With a newly decrypted text (Liz showed it to them as proof), they now know how to use the granolith. Max is prepared to take himself, Tess, Michael and Isabel with him to their planet. He’s under the impression the baby can’t survive on earth (yes Tess & Max’s baby is canon too). Liz wants justice for Alex’s suffering, still not letting it slip that he’s not dead. Michael believes that Tess is telling the truth, and his desire to see where he’s from is stronger than his instincts telling him that this story she told didn’t feel right. Isabel, Michael, Tess, and Max do their proper goodbyes and have every intention to leave Earth.

Liz stays behind angry and betrayed they’re leaving them behind like collateral damage. It became serendipitous that she feels slightly comforted when she receives her first update from Alex that day of all days. He had a long journey, but he was starting to feel like himself again and he wasn’t losing time anymore. To keep up the facade, he penned his letter as ‘Ray.’ 

When they’re at the granolith Michael is the first one to pull out saying he can’t leave. That all he’s wanted was to find somewhere he belonged, but now he feels like it’s here. Isabel follows suit and says she can’t leave her parents. She thought she wanted to get away, but now that they were so close to it, she didn’t want that life where she betrays family. Max grows weary that after all this they didn't want to go. They were supposed to be a team.

Meanwhile, Kyle finds a notebook of receipts of the rentals, and pamphlets of  Las Cruces in the penmanship of Tess. If Nasedo had been possessing her, Tess wouldn’t have had all this information. She was guilty.  Armed with this information, Kyle, Maria, and  Liz try to see if they can reach the rest of the gang before they head to their home planet. Maria tells Michael as he’s just about to leave, and Liz confronts Max telling him all the information she has. Max decides to stay behind, and sends Tess away. 

Once Tess is gone, Liz and Michael tell everyone the truth about Alex. Isabel and Maria are especially angry, but they explain how incapacitated Alex was, that it was the only way to keep him safe. Isabel decides to visit Alex. When she eventually does, he gives her his blessing to move on, as he doesn’t know when he’ll be better or how different he’ll be when he is.

Current Time//Alex’s Return

Alex returns after a year, newly rehabilitated. His personality is still geeky, but a little more quiet. He prefers to play the guitar and no longer sings. He has picked up writing again. His old buddies were still around, so they brought back The Whits. He decides to take a sabbatical to get his life back in order, instead of going away for college. But he does enroll in online studies with an MIT program to keep him busy. Currently, he has an apartment just outside of Roswell, and he works at the local geek squad to help reboot systems for clients. He’s weary on joining the gang again, but he appreciates the support they have given him.

[mothmansmilkman]

Big ol Information Sheet About My JJBA Part 5 OC That I Love (AKA I know im the only one who cares about this but i gotta put my self-indulgent shit SOMEWHERE)

TW for weapons, child abuse and endangerment, and other canon-typical Jojo stuff 

Name: Rio (last name unknown)

Stand: White Room

Age: Unknown, but assumed to be 14 (celebrates the day she was discovered after her attempted murder like a birthday)

Height: 5′2″

Favorite Food: Cherry pastries

Favorite Movie: The Little Mermaid

Favorite Band: Nirvana

BACKSTORY

Rio doesn't remember much about her childhood, but she remembers living in a house with a loving mother and father.

Her life was changed one night when she was 4 years old. As her mother layed her in her bed, she told Rio that no matter what she heard downstairs to not scream or go down there.

A terrified Rio heard the sounds of her parents being murdered hours later. As the perpetrator was searching the house, he discovered Rio huddled in her bed. But, instead of killing her along with the rest of her family, he decided to kidnap her.

For years, Rio was kept a slave in that person's house. Only hearing of the outside world through TV, radio, and overhearing conversations between houseguests, she had begun to have fantasies of what the world outside the house must be like.

She would find out on the day she was murdered. In the middle of the night, her kidnapper took Rio to an alley armed with a Stand Arrow. Since a Stand Arrow leaves no visible wound after the act, he assumed that Rio would die and whoever found her body would assume she was a runaway that died from malnutrition or something.

However, Rio awoke hours after having the arrow stabbed into her abdomen. But strangely, the alley she remembered being in had changed into a pink castle. With the small bits of knowledge she had, she just thought to herself "I must be dead. So this must be what heaven looks like..." and went back to sleep. 

Now Here’s Where We Get Self-Insert-y!

I’d like to imagine if Rio would end up in any of the canon Vento Aureo groups, she would be in La Squadra because 

1. I want to see these dudes dealing with a literal child

2. There’s a line in the song White Room “She was kindness in the hard crowd” and I like when the musical references tie in to the character’s personality. 

At the time of Rio being discovered, I personally headcanon that La Squadra wasn’t fully formed, and the only members being there were Risotto, Sorbet, Gelato, Formaggio, Proscuitto, and Melone. (Illuso, Pesci, and Ghiacchio would be the more recent members) (Sorry if all this is wrong, i havent actually read the manga ;_;)

Anyway, one of the members would be concerned about a pink castle being where a pink castle would not usually be. And they would be more concerned when no one else on the street even payed attention to it, as if it wasn’t there. But, as if the Stand knew someone was there, a door appeared on the castle’s wall. Hesitantly, they opened the door, ready for a battle. 

...instead, they saw a disheveled, malnourished, young girl curled up on the dirty ground. When she opened her eyes and stared up at him, she finally spoke. 

“God? ...how long have I been dead?”

Eventually, the gangster would take Rio to their home and ask for her story. The original plan was to let the child take a bath, have a meal, and then take her to an orphanage. However, certain details made the gangster feel more pity, like how Rio didn’t know enough about her past to remember her own last name or birthday. But, as soon as she described her “death” via a gold arrow, the assassin realized something bigger. 

If someone had access to a Stand Arrow, there was a chance they were part of Passione. It would be dangerous to leave Rio alone. This would eventually (after explaining the situation to Risotto), lead to Rio becoming a resident of the La Squadra safehouse. 

Life With La Squadra

Rio would be hesitant at first to ask La Squadra for anything. Not just because they’re intimidating criminals, but because she was already grateful for everything they had done for her. They saved her life, but also bought her clothes and things a kid would need. They also figured out that she was probably 10 years old. Her only request upon being given permission to live in the safehouse was that she would be taught how to read. 

As time passed, the walls, both mental and physical (White Room’s fault for the physical ones), between Rio and the other members began to fall. She had begun to view every member as a father figure, even referring to them as “Papa [name]”. 

Learning to read also showed the members that Rio was intelligent along with being kind. She had developed a habit of checking out books from the city’s library and copying the text by hand into a notebook as she read it, giving her a copy of her own. While she enjoyed children’s books, she enjoyed non-fiction even more, because it gave her more information about the outside world. 

The other members would actually be happy to take Rio out in public when they weren’t on missions. (Especially Formaggio because hed act like she was his real daughter to try and look like a dilf) It would always be entertaining to go from having an intelligent conversation with a booksmart 10 year old to watching them get excited over ice cream or a big teddy bear. 

Rio’s favorite things to collect would be stuffed animals and warm blankets. Also books, but she copies hers from the library, so she feels no reason to want to buy any. 

Despite being happy and calm most of the time, Rio still has trauma from her past. Certain triggers will suddenly end up with White Room suddenly appearing around Rio, with the memory in question being displayed on the walls for all of the members near her to see. When White Room fades, Rio has usually started crying, and needs a few minutes before she can speak again. 

When Rio eventually started copying medical textbooks, she asked (because no one hid the fact that La Squadra killed people) if they could bring a corpse back so she could dissect a body herself. Sorbet and Gelato would be the only ones to say yes, and actually follow through. 

Rio eventually learns about Christmas. On her first December 25th with the gang, she gives everyone a knife painted in their favorite color. 

Since I headcanon Pesci and Ghiacchio as the youngest of the La Squadra boys, Rio would call them her Big Brothers. 

White Room

The whole time she’s with La Squadra, Rio has been training White Room. Eventually, she learned her stand has 3 abilities:

1. It can create a room.

2. It can manipulate the room. The size, the color, etc. She can even display her own thoughts onto the walls. 

3. If she understands something completely, she can create a copy of it that only exists inside the room. 

Rio realizes she can use her stand for killing was when she was 11. A stranger trying to rob her while she was running an errand alone brought up a fight-or-flight reaction, leading to White Room crushing the attacker as if they were inside a trash compactor. 

When Rio learns that she can copy items that she understands, the first thing she asks is to learn how a gun works. The rest of La Squadra had known she would end up as part of Passione someday, because honestly they couldn’t see her having anywhere else to go, but they were wary of letting her join THEIR part of Passione since there was a very high likelihood of death. However, Rio quickly learned the ins and outs of weapons. She proved herself to be worthy as a member of La Squadra when she completed a mission, killing a man by slitting his throat with a knife created by White Room. At 11 and a half years old (possibly because no one really knows how old she is), she became the youngest official member of Passione at the time (and possibly youngest ever). 

Rio prefers to work with her father figures on missions rather than work alone. Her strategy is to secure the perimeter of the area with White Room, so the target can’t escape and no one else can enter. Then, she waits with a sniper rifle. She wants to have her papas and brothers backs, and act as support in their battles. It makes her feel like she’s returning the support they always gave her. 

How Rio Would End Up In The Events of Vento Aureo

Rio would be 12 years old when Sorbet and Gelato die. As the picture frames were being opened, she would recognize a body part as something she saw in a medical book. 

The realization that it was her Papa Sorbet’s body would click in her mind, but she’d refuse to believe it. As the members of the team place the frames in order, they all start to regret letting Rio be in the same room. 

She later gets the news of Gelato’s death. 

Rio openly weeps at the funeral. This was the first time her heart ever truly felt broken, since she wasn’t old enough when her real parents died to really remember them. It takes Rio a while to start acting like her old self again. Like the rest of La Squadra, she never forgives the Boss for this. Despite feeling anger when Risotto told the gang to just “Forget about Sorbet and Gelato”, she understood that any act of revenge that wasn’t thoroughly planned out would make her or worse, more of her papas and brothers to suffer the same fate. 

AU Where Bucci Gang and La Squadra Team Up Because That’s What I Wish Would’ve Happened (Also i just dont want to write Rio dying like they do in canon)

Seriously tho if Giorno or maybe buccellati would've gone on the shopping trip this au probably wouldve happened

Rio would be 14 at the time Giorno happened and the events of Vento Aureo took place. 

Rio would love having people closer to her age around. I imagine she'd become friends with Narancia and Fugo (because Narancia can have fun and can give her the childhood fun she never had, and Fugo because finally someone with brain cells). I imagine she’d see one of their study sessions one day and just join. 

Tbh Trish and Rio need each other. They need other girls in their lives.

Rio is okay with Mista, but likes Sex Pistols more. Buccellati wishes it wasnt too late for him to adopt her

If the boat scene would still happen in this AU, I think Rio would go with Fugo. It's not that she's scared of fighting the Boss, it's because La Squadra doesn't know if they can handle her dying at such a young age. They tell Fugo that if he's leaving, to take Rio with him in order to track down any possible living relatives (or anyone who could possibly know Rio's true identity)

Before they leave, Rio tells the group to find her again when they come back. She had faith that with their numbers and combined abilities, the 2 gangs could take down whatever was in their path. Sadly, when Giorno reaches out after the events of VA, only a few survived.

Rio would, of course, end up joining Passione again like in Purple Haze Feedback. This last image is a design of an older Rio (maybe age 16-18)

[krycss]

Actions Speak Louder Than Words | Jacob Seed x f!Deputy | Ch2

AO3 Link

Chapter 1

Question for ya: So my Deputy's name is Catherine, but I found it easier to simply go along with calling her Rook unless the character talking to her directly uses her name. Is this confusing to you guys as the reader? It makes sense to me but I want to make sure it's easy to follow in case I swap out the names every now and again. 

           By the time they made it to Holland Valley it was fairly late in the afternoon. Pulling up to the ranch Rook could see John pacing the porch near the front door. As Jacob parked the truck John ran to the door, eager to help Rook out of the vehicle. She gave him a smile, as much as she could, hoping her gratitude was shown in her eyes. John halted in his steps, obviously surprised at her appearance. John helped escort her inside, with Jacob following closely behind, where a doctor was already waiting inside the ranch.

           Her relationship with the Seed family was…not what she expected when she arrived in Hope County. Dealing with a cult was not exactly what she had in mind when she left the police academy but here she was. However, ever since the fateful night that this whole mess began, there had been a part of her that couldn’t help but listen in every chance she got to Joseph’s words. She wasn’t a particularly religious person, she’d admit that, but the things he talked about did ring true – the world was indeed in chaos. She constantly found herself stretched between the resistance and their growing reliance and pressure on her, and the members of Eden’s Gate trying desperately to bring her into their flock. Sometimes she wished someone would just make the decision for her.

           It was during one of her many nights in Jacob’s cages that her relationship with the family changed. Her and Jacob had already built a kind of respect for one another – though neither would admit it. She loved the challenge he provided. To many it would seem a torture, and some days it was, but she needed the structure. She enjoyed the fact that when she was focusing on training for his trials she didn’t have any other pressure on her back. She didn’t have to worry about the others of Hope County who relied on her so much. She needed someone to take the reins from her for a bit, and Jacob being in charge provided that necessity. They’d never admit it to one another – stubbornness works both ways – but their respect showed in subtle ways. He would check on her during her conditioning, and when need be she provided as a distraction for when he couldn’t sleep and ended up walking the grounds in the middle of the night. On the night Joseph decided to pay her a visit he had told her the story of his wife and child. She felt compelled to stop him as he started to walk away. She asked if she could talk to him again some time, and the smile that formed on his face would be something to remember.

           Rook wasn’t fully paying attention to what was going on around her in the ranch. She tuned out the doctor and the questions. She had grown used to the silence of being a prisoner not allowed to talk. Jacob squeezed her shoulder, pulling her out of her head.

           “Doc says it’s definitely going to hurt to take that out.” Jacob glanced down at her lips. “We don’t have any anesthesia lying around, but we’ve got bliss.”

           Her eyes darted up to his. He ran his hand up and down her arm.

           “I know you hate the shit but you’ve been through enough pain already, don’t you think? You’re strong though, it’ll be fine.”

           Her eyes flickered between his before she nodded her head. If he said she was strong then she could trust his judgement. Right?

She never liked giving up control to the Bliss. Faith had been understanding at least, when they talked about it. She never popped up out of the blue anymore to bring Rook into her little world. If she wanted to talk, she called. One of the benefits on easing herself into Joseph’s good graces.

           The doctor stepped closer, murmuring something that Rook didn’t catch. After being away from it for so long it wasn’t even that close to her and she could already see the sparkles in her eyes. With a quick blow, everything began turning hazy. The last thing Rook could feel was Jacob’s squeeze her shoulder one last time before everything turned white.

           Perhaps it was the trauma, but the scene conjured up by the Bliss brought her back to the day this all began. The day of her kidnapping.

~~~

           “Ah, Catherine. I wasn’t expecting to hear from you so soon.” Joseph’s voice lilted from the radio.

           “Yeah, yeah.” She laughed back. “I have some plans that might take a while so I knew we wouldn’t be able to have our little chats like we usually do. And how many times must I tell you to just call me Cat before it sticks?”

           It had been a month since that incident in the cage. Every chance the two could get they would talk. It was like having her own sibling that was always there to listen, no matter how mundane the topic. Sometimes it would be small-talk, other times it would just be Rook simply listening to the Father as he prepared a sermon. Usually though, it would be a game of questions back and forth, both parties eager to engage.

           “I understand, and you know I’m old-fashioned.” Joseph laughed. “So, what are we discussing today then, hm?”

           “Actually,” Rook replied sheepishly. She walked around the corner of the outpost she was currently at, getting farther away from any prying ears. “I was wondering if you might be able to get me the frequency Jacob uses?” She mumbled the last part, a part of her hoping Joseph wouldn’t think too much of it.

           There was a moment of silence. Rook used the time to hop into the back of a nearby truck. She hoped it was far enough away, didn’t need any rumors.

           “You two are becoming close.” There was a hint of a question behind it.

           “I wouldn’t say that, but, I’ll admit I find myself curious about him more than before. And he doesn’t exactly plan out ‘conversation time’ when we’re together unlike your other siblings – it’s very hard to get them to NOT tell me about themselves.” She added with a lighthearted laugh.

           “Jacob’s had a hard life. I think it would do him some good to have someone close.” Joseph hummed, seeming to insinuate something. She didn’t correct him.

           “Although, he won’t exactly be happy about this, I believe.” He laughed.

           Rook nodded her head, a smile on her lips.

           “Yeah, I suspect that much. But, someone’s gotta keep him on his toes.”

           “That is true. Well, he typically uses frequency twelve when he talks with me. You can use that one until you two settle on your own channel. Is there anything else you need from me, child?”

           “No, but thank you Father.” Rook found herself calling him that absentmindedly lately, but she never thought too much about it. It was just easier.

           “Try not to destroy too much of our property, yes?” He let out a chuckle.

           “No promises!” Rook replied before putting the radio down.

           She let out a large huff of air as she pulled her arms up over her head, stretching out the muscle and causing a few joints in her spine to crack. It was mid-afternoon and she was getting ready to do some work with some of the Whitetails in the area. There were two members coming with her who were currently packing up the truck they would be using. They were new to the Militia and Rook was “asked” by Eli to help out with showing them the ropes. Part of her thinks it was just so that she was out of the bunker and away from Tammy when she was in a mood.

           Rook fiddled with the radio, tossing it between her hands. She wasn’t exactly sure how she would even begin a conversation with Jacob. Normally it was the other way around after she bothered him enough times. Her time spent with Faith and John allowed her some insight into their lives – although, at the beginning she tried anything and everything to get them to stop dumping all of their issues on her – but Jacob was an enigma. She truly just wanted to know more about the man. It didn’t help that she also found herself attracted to the old soldier, but that was beside the point she told herself. She kept hovering over the channel buttons but before she could send anything out a man jogged up to her.

           “Hey Deputy, we’re ready to leave when you are.” The man pointed over to the other man waiting by the truck. “It’s nice to finally meet you.”

           “Nice to meet you as well …?” She waited for his name.

           “Ah, it’s Johnson. Just joined up the other day.” He shook her hand, his grip was tight.

           “Alright, nice to meet you Johnson. Let’s get going.”

           Rook jumped off the back of the truck and made her way over with Johnson following behind. After meeting the other man, also with the last name Johnson – Rook realized they were brothers – they set off on the road. Rook made a mental note to make a Johnson & Johnson joke to Sharky later.

           Their goal was to gather supplies from a nearby factory that Rook had recently liberated but didn’t have time to loot and help set it up for occupation. When they arrived it was quiet. The other militia members that were stationed there were swapped with their group and sent back to the Wolf’s Den. After gathering as much as they could the three started getting ready to settle in for the night after securing the perimeter and deciding the watch schedule. One of the brothers agreed to go first, Rook was thankful because of how tired she was. Rook decided to take one of the offices that was still near the front door, just in case. She hadn’t seen where the other Johnson brother went off to, she figured he was either in his own space or out with his brother on watch. As she set up her “bed” – a blanket on the ground and her backpack as a pillow – she made a note to learn their first names to ease the confusion. She laid on the ground, fidgeting with her radio once more. Could she risk trying to talk to Jacob with the others nearby? Fuck it.

           She looked out the nearby window, spotting the brother on watch. She still didn’t know where the other was but she didn’t hear anything nearby. Tuning the radio to the channel Joseph gave her earlier she took a deep breath before pressing the button.

           “Jacob?”

           Silence. Rook took the time to turn the volume down on the radio.

           “Do I even want to know how you knew this channel?” Jacob drawled on the other end.

           “I may have asked Joseph? He was more than willing to assist in my operation to annoy you.” She said with a laugh.

           “Of course he did. What do you want?”

           “What? A girl can’t just hit up her buddy for a little chat?” Rook teased.

           “So we’re buddies now, huh?” Jacob let out a huff. “Alright, I’ll bite. Chat.”

           Rook paused. Honestly she wasn’t even expecting to get this far.

           “Uh, haven’t quite figured that part out yet. But, I’m in the area so I figured I’ll give ya at least a little warning in case things start blowing up out of the blue. You know how I get.”

           “You know if you’d just stop escaping when I bring you back you’d be allowed to blow things up, right?” She could tell Jacob was smiling.

           “Yeah but where’s the fun in regulated explosives? It’s all about the surprise.”

           “You’ve been hangin’ out with that Boshaw too much.”

           “Probably.”

           There was a lull in the conversation. It had been a while since they had talked. It also didn’t help that between the two of them, Rook did most of the talking since Jacob tended to be a rather reserved individual. Rook sighed. It was getting dark.

           “Well, I suppose I should probably get some rest. It’s getting pretty late.” Rook bit her lip.

           “Yeah. Need your beauty sleep.”

           “You suggesting I need more?” Rook mocked offense.

           “I ain’t sayin’ nothin’.” Jacob laughed. “Get some rest though. You’ll need it for wreaking havoc. Make it a big one so I know where to come get ya.”

           “We’ll see what happens. You get some rest too, I know you don’t get nearly enough.”

           Jacob just hummed in response.

           Rook wasn’t sure if “goodnight” was the right response or not so she settled for just turning the radio off and getting comfy. It didn’t take her long to fall asleep.

             She wasn’t sure what time it was when she heard a small thump in the night. She opened one eye. Nothing at the door. She waited to listen for anything else. Silence. One of the men moving around, she thought. As she closed her eyes again she couldn’t help but feel a presence next to her. Just as she opened her eyes she saw the butt of a gun headed right for her, knocking her unconscious.

            When she came too she was in the main floor of the factory. The room sparkled with dust lit by the rising sun beaming through the windows near the ceiling. Unconscious all night it seemed. She let out a groan as she moved her head to look around. Her arms were tied behind her back in the chair she was sat in. She could see the brothers out of the corner of her eye, both of them holding their guns out.

           “Somebody care to explain what the hell is going on?” She let out with a sigh.

           “You know, everyone thinks you’re some kind of hero.”

           Johnson #1, as Rook decided to call him, came forward.

           “But you’re a liar. A fraud.”

           “The hell are you talking about?” Rook stared up at him in confusion.

           “I heard your little conversation with Joseph back at the other outpost, and imagine my surprise when I hear you talking to Jacob when we get here! We’re out here fighting for our homes against these assholes and you’re on familiar terms with them?! You’re supposed to be helping to lead us out of this mess!” Johnson punched her in the gut, hard enough to knock the wind out of her. “Eli is a fool for letting you wander freely around the Wolf’s Den. Tammy’s right, you’re a liability to our safety. For all we know, you’re giving them a direct line to our information and families.”

           Johnson #2 chimed in with his agreement.

           “Alright listen,” Rook rolled her eyes. “I don’t know what you think you heard, but you’ve gotta be some kind of stupid to think I’d put everyone in danger like that.” She pulled at her hands, the rope chafing her wrists.

           “They are the enemy!” Johnson #1 added with a backhanded slap.

           Rook sucked on her teeth, spitting out some blood onto the floor.

           “So, what? You’re gonna kill me? Just like that? You don’t think that’d look bad for the Whitetails?”

           “We should.” Johnson #2 piped up.

           “No, not yet.” Johnson #1 walked back to his brother. “We’re gonna make her regret her decisions first. Let’s see if we can’t break her of her loyalty to those fucks first.”

~~~

           Rook isn’t sure how long she’s been out when the Bliss finally wears off. It’s still darker outside, so some time has passed. She immediately feels the throbbing of her lips which causes her eyes to widen. She sits up, her hands shakily reaching up to feel her face.

           “Careful.” Jacob’s voice rumbled next to her.

           She glanced over at him.

           “Doc said not to irritate them too much.”

           Rook nodded. She took a deep breath through her nose and then slowly starting opening her jaw. She winced at the initial pop and flare of pain that followed. Jacob was attempting to soothe her, telling her to take it slow. She eventually got it open again and proceeded to work out the kinks. It had been so long. She forgot how simple the feeling of just being able to open your mouth felt. She let out a silent sob prompting Jacob to pat her on the back.

           “It’ll take time, but you’ll get through this. You’re strong.” He gave her a quick smile.

           She still couldn’t quite believe him. But she didn’t argue. She found that she couldn’t find it in her to reply at all, actually. How long had it been since she’d last spoken to someone? Every time she did while in the hands of the Johnson brothers earned her either a punch, kick, or slap. She supposed that her brain just decided it was better for not to speak at all. Noting the worry on her face, Jacob spoke up.

           “Can’t speak?” He asked quietly.

           She shrugged.

           “It’ll take time. You know how I am with mine – the dreams.”

           Rook nodded in understanding. She knew his troubles with PTSD very well.

           Suddenly the quiet room was filled with sounds from the hallway. Voices that Rook recognized. With a quick knock, the door to the room opened and in walked the rest of the Seeds. John was the first to enter with Faith and Joseph following. Faith hopped over and enveloped Rook in a hug. Rook quickly realized it was going to take a while to get used to people once more. And this family was certainly an interesting choice for her foray back into society.

[hawthornewhisperer]

When the world is too noisy to sleep

The happiest of birthdays to @katchyalater!

For six years, the world had been too quiet.  With just Madi to talk to— and precious few animals, especially the first few years— the world had been silent as a tomb most of the time.  It had driven Clarke nearly mad, and when everyone came back to her in the span of two weeks, she’d rejoiced in the cacophony of the people she loved.

But now it felt too noisy.  Even at night, when everyone was asleep, Clarke’s small compound was filled with sounds.  Cots creaked and people snored, and guards paced the perimeter with guns that clicked and boots that snapped twigs and crushed leaves under their heels.  It felt odd, resenting the noise when she’d spent so long wishing for it, but nothing had been the way she imagined.  Her mother refused to speak of what happened in the bunker, and Octavia and Kane looked haunted.  Abby had taken to Madi the way Clarke knew she would, of course, but there was a guilt in Abby’s eyes whenever she looked at Clarke that made Clarke’s skin prickle.

And Bellamy— Clarke had wanted him to come back to her for so long, and now that he was here she didn’t know what to say to him.  He’d changed more than she imagined, and even though she’d told herself over and over again to expect him to change, part of her was still surprised he had.  It wasn’t just the beard, either.  There was a peace to him that hadn’t been there before, a stillness, a deliberateness that surprised her.  The Bellamy she remembered had never hesitated— that had been her role.  But now he was the one preaching caution and diplomacy in dealing with Eligius while Clarke urged action.  It made her feel off-kilter, like the time the canoe she made tipped over and suddenly she was under water and didn’t know which way was up.

Clarke threw off her blankets and decided to go for a walk rather than toss and turn some more, but she hadn’t gone more than fifty yards when a guard challenged her.  “No one leaves camp at night without a direct order from Octavia,” the woman from the bunker explained.

Clarke fought the instinct to argue and walked over to the fire instead, picking up a stick from the ground and tossing it petulantly into the crackling flames.  “Can’t sleep?” Bellamy’s deep, reassuring voice asked from behind her shoulder.

Clarke shrugged.  She had spent six years imagining telling him everything, memorizing details so when he came back there wouldn’t be any space between them, no moment left untouched.  But now he was here, real and solid and warm and standing just behind her, and she couldn’t find the words. “Too noisy,” she said gruffly.

Bellamy fell silent and she hoped he’d walk away, leave her alone with her black mood.  “I’ve got an idea,” he said, and Clarke risked a look back at him.

She couldn’t read his expression.  She hated that— not knowing what Bellamy was thinking was unimaginable to her once upon a time, but now it felt like he was a stranger.  But she nodded and let him lead her around the corner from the outbuildings to the rover.  Bellamy grabbed an extra sleeping bag from the bunker’s stash and handed it to her, opening the back of the rover as he did so.  “I slept in here last night,” he explained.  “I’d forgotten how goddamn loud crickets are.”

“Those are frogs,” she said, a tiny smile creeping across her face.  She accepted the sleeping bag and lifted herself into the back.  She and Madi had slept in here countless times, but only when they were scavenging. It hadn’t occurred to her to use it at the compound.  Bellamy paused with his hand on the door and she looked at him awkwardly.

“Sleep well, Clarke,” Bellamy said.

“Wait,” she said when he went to shut the door.  “Didn’t you finish your guard shift a few hours ago?”

“So?”

Clarke narrowed her eyes, piecing it all together.  “You can’t sleep either, can you?  You were going to sleep in here again.”

“It’s fine.  I got a decent night’s sleep last night.  It’s your turn.”

“There’s plenty of space,” she said impulsively.  “We could...share.”  She felt unaccountably nervous in offering, mostly because in the two weeks since he’d been back she hadn’t been able to figure out just what he and Echo were to each other.  She didn’t think they were together, but then sometimes there would be a moment of familiarity— her hand on his lower back, or him smiling at something Echo said in a council meeting— and Clarke would be plunged back into uncertainty.  It felt silly and selfish to admit she was jealous he had moved on, but she was.

“I snore,” he warned.

“Better one person snoring than three dozen,” she replied.

Bellamy looked back towards the compound and nodded.  He took a second sleeping bag and climbed in after her, waiting for her to scoot over to one side before unrolling his pack.  Sharing with Madi had been easy, but Madi was considerably smaller than Bellamy and definitely didn’t have shoulders as broad, so it took a few moments of shuffling and fumbling before they were comfortably laying side-by-side.

Clarke rested her cheek on her folded arm and considered him.  It was darker in here, and much quieter.  She could hear his slow, even breathing.  “Who told you you snore?” she asked quietly.  There were plenty of people who could have told him that, she reasoned— his mother or Octavia or Gina, or even Miller.  But she had a deeper reason for asking, and she couldn’t stop herself.

Bellamy didn’t respond right away.  “Echo,” he said finally.

Clarke hated herself for her jealousy.  It sat uneasily in her gut, curdling and churning, competing with anger and regret and a heaping dose of self-censure.  She had no reason to feel this way, because Bellamy had thought she was dead for six years and he was never even hers in the first place.  She had no claim to him, she’d reminded herself hundreds of times over the past two weeks, and therefore had no right to feel like she’d lost him.  “I’m glad,” she made herself say, because she was, truly.  She wanted him to be happy and whole, and if Echo was the person who made him happy now, she’d learn to live with it and wouldn’t let jealousy poison her.  She’d let Bellamy go and be happy with her family having come back to her, and that would have to be enough.

Bellamy made a soft sound like a snort.  “She told me when we were breaking up last year,” he said, and he sounded like he was smiling.  “Said she was glad not to have to sleep next to someone who snored like a bear anymore.”

Clarke wasn’t sure what to say to that.  “Oh,” she said, so he’d know she was listening.  “I’m...sorry?”

Bellamy’s sleeping bag rustled like he was shrugging.  “We both knew it wouldn’t last.  But there wasn’t much to do up there, aside from each other.”  

Clarke let out a surprised giggle at that.  “So I spent six years fighting for my life and becoming a surrogate mom while you spent six years having sex with everyone?” she teased.

“More or less,” he said, chuckling.  “Not Murphy though.  I still draw the line with him.  He did try to hang me, after all.”

“Only because you tried to hang him first,” Clarke laughed, and Bellamy barked out a laugh.

It felt good to laugh with Bellamy, and Clarke felt the thick wall of glass that had surrounded her since they returned start to crack.  More than once someone from the Ark would say something and Bellamy would laugh unexpectedly, clearly an inside joke, and Clarke would feel more lonely than ever.  But maybe this was just temporary— maybe she could work her way back to them, even if she’d never share those same experiences.  She couldn’t make up for what they’d lost, but they could make new memories.

Clarke fidgeted to get more comfortable, and Bellamy’s arm came down around her shoulders.  “Here,” he said, and shifted her so she was resting on his chest instead.  “That okay?”

Clarke blinked back unexpected tears.  In the six years post-praimfaya she’d slept with Madi curled into her hundreds of times, but that was different.  Clarke was Madi’s comfort then, and whatever peace it gave her to have Madi slumbering in her arms was profoundly different from this moment.  She curled around him, letting his warmth seep into her bones, and draped her arm over his chest.  “I talked to you,” she admitted.  “Every day.  I’d pull out the radio wherever we were and I’d try to contact you, and then I’d tell you about my day.”

Bellamy’s muscles tightened at her confession.  “The ark?” he said carefully.  “Or me?”

“You.”  She took a deep, shuddering breath. “You were what kept me sane, more than anything.  The memory of you, of how much you believed in me, of— just you.”  Her throat was thick with unshed tears and Bellamy carded his hand through her hair.

He cleared his throat.  “I talked to you too,” he said.  “It was different, because I never thought I’d see you again.  I thought you were gone, but I couldn’t let go.  I tried, I really did, because I thought you’d want me to, but I couldn’t.  So on nights when it felt too much, or when I was going crazy from having to see the same six people over and over again, I’d find your mugshot in the database and ask you what to do.”

Clarke nuzzled closer to him, the pain in his voice like a knife to her heart.  “What did the others say about that?”

“I never told them.  They’d think I was crazy.”

“Why tell me?”

Bellamy pressed his chin into his chest to look down at her.  The light was dim, barely enough for her to make out his pupils, but his eyes were glassy.  “Because that’s what we do.  We tell each other things we can’t tell anyone else,” he said roughly.

A wave of emotion threatened to overwhelm her, so she steered them into calmer waters.  “My mugshot isn’t exactly the best picture of me,” she said lightly.

“I thought it was nice,” he replied, matching her tone.  

She felt like ice in the grip of a spring thaw, slowly drip-drip-dripping back into being.  Clarke put her head back down on Bellamy’s chest and tangled their legs together.  “I missed you,” she whispered into his shirt.  “I missed you so much.”

“I missed you too, princess,” he said, and pressed a kiss to the top of her head.  “But we’re here now.”

The vice squeezing her heart eased slightly.  “Good night, Bellamy.”

“Night, Clarke.”

[sirladysketch]

This is a story that was supposed to be a oneshot, but I really need fluff in my writing life right now (HTLGI is hitting a dark patch) and I couldn’t stop cackling over the idea of this, so now it’s a 5 chapter, just-for-funsies fic. Hope you guys enjoy!

Ardyn was dead.

(....Probably)

They'd used the power of the Crystal to stop him, anyway, and although his dying words were a threat that he would return, the sky cleared, the sun came out, and Noct descended the steps from the throne to kneel beside his friends as they revived from the sleep spell.

The next few hours passed in a somewhat of a blur; he'd been injured during the fight with Ifrit, and going against Ardyn hadn’t done the burns any favors, so Ignis demanded that he rest while they secured the perimeter. He sat on the crumbling steps, sipping from an elixir under Ignis’ worried gaze as Gladio checked the immediate area. Prompto radioed into Hammerhead to share the good news and to request immediate backup, chatting with Talcott for a few minutes before signing off to preserve the battery. Hunters were en route, and the remaining Glaives (such as they were), were getting called back, but it would take a couple of days for them to muster to the citadel, during which time they were on their own.

By unspoken and unanimous agreement, they retreated from the broken throne room to seek out areas that had been less affected by darkness’ taint, and at length they found themselves upstairs in the royal suite. There was no indication of Ardyn even approaching this part of the keep, the hallways covered in a thin film of dust that stirred into little eddies as they passed.

Noct stopped in front of the doors that lead to the private domain that had once been his father's,  and took a deep breath, steeling himself for what lay beyond. A comforting hand fell on his shoulder-- he wasn’t sure whose it was, but he knew that the three of them stood at his back, and he smiled, standing a little taller. He patted the hand and then stepped forward, grasping the double doors and pulling them open.

All at once, the last memory of his father in this room came to him-- Regis telling him of Ardyn’s decree for marriage, what the King had hoped the peace agreement would mean for the kingdom, why he felt that Noct and his friends leave the city, rather than stay and marry after the treaty had been signed. Noct had wondered if the King had known something, but he’d never be able to ask now.

Now it was empty. It smelled of stale air and dust, and only cracks of sunlight managed to filter in through the curtains at the window. He walked over and pulled them open, spilling light into the room and temporarily blinding all of them. He turned and tried to take it all in, letting his eyes adjust. For better or worse, this was his now. His responsibility to pick up, his duty to carry on so that the kingdom could rebuild.

And it occurred to him in that moment, standing in his father's sitting room, that he had no plans for what to do next.

They'd been planning up to the confrontation with Ardyn, all of their efforts focused on getting to the city and ending the darkness. He hadn't planned to walk out of that alive, hadn't thought he'd need to plan beyond summoning the power of his ancestors to destroy Ardyn.

He had no contingency plan in place for the event of his survival.

Crap.

He turned to his friends, wondering if they’d come to the same conclusion.

“So… what now?” he asked, glad to see that they, too, were sort of standing in place, unsure of where to stand or what to say. Gladio waited half-in, half-out of the doorway, as though he hadn’t decided whether it would be better to stand guard in the hallway to watch for attacks or to stay by Noct’s side to keep him safe. Prompto decided to take that moment to snap a photograph, once again temporarily blinding Noct, but he didn’t have the heart to chastise him, overwhelmed by the fact that they  could still make memories after all of this.

As it was, Ignis was the first to come back to himself, quickly assessing the situation and coming up with a plan.

“Now, we take inventory, then we clean,” he said, running a finger along a dusty surface and ‘tsking’ as it came away with a white smudge. “And I’ll see about getting something prepared for supper, shall I?”

Fortunately, Regis had left them a gift to that end. They worked on each room together, dusting and taking stock of the items his father (or more likely, his father’s Glaives) had hidden in nooks and crannies. As they went through the bedroom, Ignis let out an excited “That’s it!” and pulled out a collection of what had to be Regis’ personal bar, still intact and ready to drink.

The first toast went to Regis, the next to the brave men and women who sacrificed so much to get them to this point. The following toast was to friends and loved ones, and the rest of the next two bottles went to reminiscing about everything and nothing in particular. They did not speak of the future; tonight was about remembering what had been. The future could be dealt with another day.

Of course, the gods always have other ideas.

Noct shuffled out of the bedroom sometime mid morning the next day, bleary-eyed and still slightly hungover. He'd beaten the others out of bed, something he'd tease them about to no end once they surfaced, but given the celebrations of the previous evening, that was hardly a surprise. Somewhere along the line he'd lost his jacket and pants, but given the fact that it would be days before the hunters arrived and the guys had seen him in far less, he didn't really worry about it that much.

He was moving on autopilot through the rooms, taking the quiet of the morning to remember his father and the happier times they'd shared. He drew back the curtains in each room he entered, flooding the apartment with light and feeling better, more confident about what was to come. He could see the city--  his  city--  below, and while there were significant signs of damage, it looked like some districts had come through more intact than he’d initially feared. They'd have to investigate as soon as the teams reported in, of course, and they’d need to confirm that the daemons were completely gone, but they might be able to start moving people back into the city within a week or so, and then the real work would begin.

He turned from the window, lost in thought, and paused, staring into the room. The wheels in his mind were… well, if not turning at quite their normal speeds, they were definitely in motion. All the same, it took him a moment to figure out why he was suddenly on edge, and what had changed in the room since he'd entered.

“Holy fuck!” he yelped, stumbling backwards and falling on his ass. He heard the distinct crack of glass, but he didn’t  feel anything, so he’d leave that on his ‘investigate later’ list, focusing instead on the intruder in the room. He grappled with the edge of a chair to pull himself back  up to his feet, swaying a little and blinking away the spots and wave of nausea that threatened to overcome him.

Gentiana watched him collect himself off the ground with a cool, somewhat distasteful look.

“Are you well?” she asked, taking his bumbling lurches in stride and watching him attempt to look presentable. He tugged at the bottom of his shirt, very much aware of his missing pants, and reached forward to pull a blanket off one of the chairs in the room, wrapping it around his waist.

“Ah--Sorry, I mean, um, Gentiana, we were celebrating, and, ah, hm, we weren't expecting you, what, ah, brings you here?”

“What were you celebrating?” She asked, and there was a definite chill to her voice, although she didn’t  appear to be angry. He wished he still had that elixir from the day before to deal with the headache he could feel forming at the back of his tongue, something to give him an edge and sharpen his thoughts enough to hold--and remember-- a conversation with a goddess.

“We beat Ardyn,” he said, blinking at her. “The sun is out. We’re all alive. Take your pick.”

“Hmm,” she replied, as though she’d  forgotten  the fight he’d faced… gods, was it only yesterday? Oh, shit. He’d beaten up her boyfriend, was that why she seemed off? Granted, she’d  helped him beat up Ifrit, but he couldn’t help but wonder what had brought her back so quickly-- if she’d even left in the first place.

“...Do I need to be sober for this?” he asked, wondering if it would be rude to rifle through the Armiger to pull out another elixir. Or to head back to his dad’s illicit stash of booze. “Or is this a case where I should drink  more  to deal with whatever you have to say to me?”

This did earn him a slight smile at last, although it was brief. “I come to speak of you about grave matters,” she replied, and her eyes flicked to the other room where the guys were still sleeping off the various bottles of his dad’s private collection. “However, I imagine you will feel more inclined to the latter state of mind.”

“....Lemme get Specs,” Noct mumbled, then headed into the bedroom, shuffling over bodies and squinting at the shapes in the gloom, trying to figure out which one was which. He could’ve bent down to get a closer look, but in the end he figured that 1, they’d all probably want to hear what the goddess had to say, and 2, if he knelt down he might not be able to get up.

“Rise and shine, people! We’ve got company. Prompto, gimme my pants back.”

A few minutes later, the four were all more or less dressed and awake, sitting on one of the long couches in the parlor while Gentiana sat perched on one of the large reclining chairs. Ignis had tried to make it less awkward by offering her a drink, but she’d politely declined, and anyway there didn’t seem to be any tea or coffee left in the apartment’s kitchenette, at least nothing that could be considered safe enough to use.

Noct cleared his throat, praying that he was sober enough to deal with whatever pile of shit (and let’s face it, dealing with the gods had never been anything but a shitty experience) Gentiana was about to give him.

“So, why’re you here?” he asked again, trying to sound polite and courteous and not like he could taste the sunlight through the dull ache of an oncoming migraine. “Ardyn is gone, and I have a kingdom to get back together. Are you here to offer me advice?”

“Hardly,” Gentiana said, voice crisp. She brushed off imaginary dust from her long skirts, giving a little sniff as she continued. “Ardyn has been temporarily dealt with, as Bahamut told you from the start. Because you failed to destroy him, he will rise again, years from now, to attempt to take over the world once again.”

Her eyes narrowed, and Noct felt the guys around him stiffen, not quite ready to draw weapons, but they were all starting to realize that it might not be best to deal with an angry ice goddess when you were three and a half sheets to the wind. Noct regretted not getting a drink-- elixir or alcohol, either would’ve been a nice distraction and excuse to look away.

“You failed in your primary task as The True King, and therefore, I have come to provide you with a new one,” she said, sitting primly on the edge of her chair. “You must produce an heir.”

Noct blinked at her, wondering if he’d heard that right. “I… what?”

“You were chosen to save the world from darkness once and for all. You failed to do so--”

“Yeah, I got that part, sorry I lived. What’s the bit about the heir?” he cut in, but she ignored him, talking over his interruption.

“--so you must continue the Lucis line so that another King of Light will rise to do what you were unable to do. This is your obligation as king,” she said. She clasped her hands in her lap and smiled, looking as though she’d just made an innocuous comment about the weather. Noct spluttered, trying to pull thoughts out of the fuzzy wool that clouded his brain.

“Luna’s dead!” he protested. Gentiana had the decency to look sad about that, but her tone was matter of fact.

“Her brother has already begun making valiant efforts in continuing the line of the Oracle,” Gentiana replied, apparently unconcerned that Ravus might take offense at the goddess telling everyone of his unprotected sexual escapades. “It is now time that the King-- the sole wielder of the Ring-- do the same.”

Noct gaped at her, then looked to his friends, who shared mixed expressions of amusement and horror-- no doubt both at his expense. Noct ran fingers through his hair, trying to sort out what she’d said by repeating it aloud. “You just want me to… find some woman and…? How can you even…? Isn’t there something  else  we can do to stop Ardyn from coming back?”

“The line of Lucis is the only one able to wield the Ring,” she repeated, speaking slowly this time to ensure that he completely understood what she was saying. “Therefore it is your responsibility to ensure that that ability is passed on to the future King-- or Queen-- who will destroy Ardyn completely.”

“You don’t make people just to sacrifice them,” said Noct, voice soft. He looked over at Prompto, who caught his meaning and flushed, one hand going up to cover his tattoo. Noct turned back to Gentiana. “You can’t ask me to do that, it isn’t right.”

“Do you object because you are angry that I say that you failed your primary purpose in life? Or are you angry that I suggest that you rectify the mistake?” she asked, apparently not willing to put up with his refusal. Then she looked at his companions for the first time and tilted her head, puzzled frown on her face. “Or is it because you prefer to lay with men and therefore do not believe you are capable of continuing the line?”

“I-- that’s--- that’s none of-- Augh! It’s just not right, alright!” sputtered Noct, face burning. He very carefully did not look at his friends as he spoke, clearing his throat and forcing himself to take slow, even breaths. He was the King. The very epitome of calm and collected. He was  not  a rogue tomato in fancy dress, no matter how hot his cheeks felt.

“You lost your ability to contest this when you failed in your duty as King,” she repeated, standing and giving them all a level look. “I am telling you that it must be rectified, and soon. How you choose to do so is your own prerogative. Get it done, or we will be forced to take actions.”

And with that she was gone, leaving the four of them standing in the parlor, still hungover but not quite sober enough to believe what they’d heard, and definitely not drunk enough to put up with it. Noct fell back onto the couch and dropped his head into his hands, massaging his temples.

Ignis was the first to speak, clearing his throat as a way to break the tension. “...Well, it seems that we have a bit of a dilemma,” he said, not daring to look Noct in the eye.

“You think?” Gladio asked, then laughed, slapping Noct on the shoulder. “We’ve dealt with worse shit than this, your highness. Plenty of ladies out there who’ll line up for a chance to jump in bed with you.” Noct paled and swayed under Gladio’s hand. “‘’Course, Iris might have something to say about that,” he mused, knowing his little sister would probably cut a bitch to be first in line.

“I don’t… want to do that,” Noct said, gritting his teeth and sinking down to lean against the arm of the sofa.

“Well, for what it’s worth, Gentiana raised a good question,” Ignis said, thinking out loud. “One that we must address before we can determine the best course of action. Why  do  you object to producing an heir, is it any of the reasons she mentioned?”

“Ugh… all of the above?” Noct replied, then groaned into his hands. “I can’t do this right now, we have survivors to help, relief efforts to organize, a city to clean up and rebuild-- I don’t have time to worry about wooing someone for the express purpose of getting laid and knocking up some woman so the gods will get off my ass!”

They had the decency not to laugh at that, but Noct could tell that they were just imagining it, a line of women through the streets of Insomnia, signing up to do their duty for Crown and Country. For the first time in 24 hours, he was having serious second thoughts about  not  answering the Ring’s bloodthirsty call.

A quiet voice spoke up amidst their bemused ponderings, soft and hesitant, but clear enough that they all broke from their private thoughts.

“I can’t believe I’m actually suggesting this, but some of Verstael’s equipment might be functional if you want to… skip the dating process.” The three of them turned as one to look at Prompto, who blinked at the sudden, intense attention he’d garnered. He took a step back, holding up his hands. “What? I’m not saying it’s a  good  solution, but if you really don’t think you’re, um,  up for the challenge …. Aranea might know some scientists who survived and could help you out.”

“Or you could get it on with Aranea, she’s pretty hot,” Gladio suggested. He scratched his chin thoughtfully, as though imagining the scene. “And she’d probably be up for keeping the armor on, so you could pretend she was someone else if she’s not your type.”

“There is also rank to consider,” said Ignis, apparently thinking through the possibilities and actually  considering this what the hell. “A king is usually required to marry into nobility, which is why Lady Lunafreya was such a good match. There may not be many candidates remaining, however, so that may be a moot point. Iris might actually be our best candidate to put forward-- she has an established relationship and affection for Noct, and the Amitica family line has certainly proven its fortitude these many long years.”

“Are you seriously pimping out my sister?” asked Gladio, crossing his arms and frowning in thought. “...I mean, you have a point, but  still. That’s my little sister you’re talking about.”

“Your little sister took out three behemoths in as many months,” argued Ignis, warming up to the idea. “She could certainly keep Noct in check.”

“Guyssssss you’re forgetting the fact that Noct doesn’t  want to knock up anybody!” protested Prompto, earning a grateful look from the King. Then he lost it when he continued, “...although knowing the Empire, they probably have everything you’d need for a Luna clone. Would that be weird? I feel like that would be weird.”

“I’m telling you, we pay Aranea to pop out a brat and it’s done-- no need to break any hearts over it, it’s strictly a business deal,” said Gladio, mind already made up.

Ignis pushed his glasses further up his nose, squaring off against the larger man. “And as much as you may not  wish  to hear it, I still believe your sister is our best option, and Iris would agree with me.”

“Or we could, you know,  not  worry about producing an heir right now and focus on stuff like getting farms up and running again, or, I don't know, helping survivors rebuild parts of the city so they can come home,” suggested Noct, but the three people he considered as his only surviving family just looked at him, shaking their heads.

“Dude, did you  see  what Shiva did to Ifrit? He's her boyfriend and she STILL turned him into a popsicle. No way am I letting her get pissed off at you, buddy,” Prompto said, shivering at the memory.

“It’s not the end of the world, kid. I’ll talk you through it, and we can get you  really  drunk if you’re that worried about it,” Gladio promised.

Ignis patted Noct’s shoulder. “It will all work out for the best,” he said, giving Noct a sympathetic smile. “It shan’t be that terrible a fate.”

Noct stood and walked into the bedroom, leaving the three of them to contemplate their newest quest, Operation: Get Noct Up. He’d been right; he was definitely  not  drunk enough to deal with this shit.

[ghostmaggie]

"Invite Me" - Bellarke

a drabble about one character asking another character to join them

prompts / ao3

–

the sun in your eyes

It’s surreal, being on the ground.

In some ways, it’s nothing like the first time. He remembers stepping out cautiously, terrified out of his mind but trying very hard not to show it. He remembers his sister’s delighted shriek–“We’re back, bitches!” The yelling and cheering, the sheer shock at the impossibly of it all, the knowledge that he wasn’t there yet, that he was going to have to keep running, might always have to keep running. The understanding that whatever Earth was to the hundred delinquents, it wasn’t home to him. 

The second time down wasn’t like that. It’s all sort of a blur, while that initial drop is burned into his memory in vivid color. He’s pretty sure the ship had barely touched the ground before he’d leapt across the length of it and shoved the door open, Raven’s shout about air tests and perimeter checks and some semblance of a plan chasing vaguely after him, on the ground without any fanfare, any reverence, any indication he’d missed it for the last six years. He was running before he even saw her, because he knew, somehow, knew she was there after the endless radio silence and the burning planet and the extra year of delay, because his feet knew exactly where to go to get to her as she barreled into his arms and he clutched her so close he couldn’t breathe. 

“Clarke,” he said, and she let out a laugh that settled into tears. 

He didn’t look at her for a long time. First because looking at her meant holding her a lot looser than he ever wanted to again, and then because looking at her hurt. 

How do you handle getting the one thing you’ve wanted for six years–longer, even–and never dreamed you’d get to have? Looking at her showed every mark of six years of separation, and every feature he remembered from before. Looking at her showed fierce blue eyes lit up with relief and joy and what he has to assume is love. It’s hair cropped shorter than he’s ever seen it and streaked with red, confidence and contentment and a lack of self loathing that means everything to him after seeing Wanheda nearly destroy Clarke Griffin. It is every inch the girl he loved, the girl he loves, the girl he will always love. 

It’s been a few weeks now, since that second landing, and looking at her still feels like a precious gift he hasn’t earned. Monty says he needs to talk to her about it or he’s going to come across as not caring, which. Monty obviously knows that’s bullshit, because Clarke’s smile makes it clear she knows exactly how Bellamy feels about her. But it’s different for Monty. He’s spending a lot of his time drinking in the sight of Miller, but he didn’t spend six years anticipating the opportunity to. He just got to the ground and saw him and thought, oh. That’s right. There’s you. It’s an entirely different experience, especially five years post your last breakup. Which was in space. 

All that’s not to say Bellamy doesn’t spend time with Clarke. It’s pretty much all he does, aside from spending time with Octavia. And even then, Clarke’s there half the time. With the group from the bunker retrieved, and that group, the space crew, Clarke, and the nightbloods all mixing together, there’s a lot of decisions and plans to make, and Octavia was quick to turn to the original co-leaders of the delinquent camp to share the burden of leadership. And after the burdens they’ve shared together, this one feels impossibly manageable. 

So they help create work schedules and supervise the building of cabins and common quarters and community buildings and hear concerns and put together hunting parties and allocate resources and really it’s just like old times, except they’re usually holding hands and a lot of the time Bellamy talks to Clarke only looking at her out of the corner of his eye. If it bothers her, she doesn’t say anything. He’d like to think she understands. She always seems to understand. He’s working his way up to believing she exists again.

It’s weird being back in other ways, too. He’d forgotten just how difficult it is to survive on Earth–between apocalypses and all, but also just in the day to day. The uneven terrain, the erratic weather, the sheer amount of space. He forgot what it was like to fight for your food. The mix of algae and limited rations as a diet in space sucked, but at least the math was done right and he knew he’d always have it, no problem. Now he has to relearn how to shoot a gun, how to hunt, how to tell which plants are safe, when everything is scarcer now, everything in the somewhat wrecked world just a little harder to deal with than when he left. So it still doesn’t feel quite like Earth is his home.

Clarke, though. Clarke does. 

They’re standing on the outskirts of a newly built cabin neighborhood, near the community center they’ve been using as a home base. It has a few quarters attached to it, including the one where they spend their nights, curled around each other, breathing in the same time but not daring to do more. The settlement has grown impossibly quick, but Bellamy figures humanity has proven itself capable of the impossible time and time again. 

They stand in silence for a while, until finally Bellamy takes a breath. He doesn’t look at Clarke when he says, gruff, “You think it’s finally time for that drink?”

He knows she’s smiling because he can feel the air change, but there’s something off about it. For a terrible second, he’s transported back in time, thinks he’s going to wake up from a dream and find himself standing outside the gates of Camp Jaha, the breeze blowing across his face as he invites Clarke to share a drink and the air shifts and she refuses, takes all the burden she can carry and more and leaves. For a second he can feel her lips against his cheek, firm and miserable, gone too soon, and his heart stops with the fear of losing her. 

He looks at her, and her smile is wistful. Tears are gathered at the edges of her eyes. “I love you, Bellamy.”

His forehead drops to press against hers before he’s even really processed what she said, and he can’t stop looking at her now. 

“I love you,” she says again, a little shakier, like she’s afraid that–what? That he doesn’t feel the same? She’s smarter than that. 

“Clarke,” he says. It’s a promise, a prayer. It’s the answer she’s looking for. It’s a word that’s meant the same thing as love for years now. Still, he can speak the common language. “I love you. I’m not going to make a speech about it–”

“That’s new for you,” she interrupts, lit up, delighted, grateful, and he shoots her a good-natured look. 

He presses on. “But I have wanted to tell you that every day for over six years.”

In reply, she surges up and kisses him, and that kiss is everything. It is Earth and space and fear and friendship and life and death and partners and lovers and everything in between. It’s a kiss to make up for the time it took to get there, and a kiss that savors every step along the way, proves that every hard choice, every sacrifice, every separation, was not in vain. 

“Fuck, I love you, you asshole,” Clarke says. 

Bellamy laughs. And it feels so good to laugh. “Love you too, princess.” He kisses the tip of her nose.

“Now let’s go get that drink,” she says. 

And so they do.

[zach-the-fox]

Furiends Episode 10: Birth of Heroes

The morning sun lights the entire town square up. Several colorful canvas tents are set up for today’s event; Marketplace Monday, which is an event where many small and big businesses come together to promote their products and services around the public space in front of city hall. Team Rescuers stand before the crowd of people, searching around the perimeter as they remain back from the event.

“Pretty crowded today,” comments Kenji. “A lot of people at Marketplace Monday.”

“Perfect for our plan,” Jay tells him. “Mom should be set up about now.”

“Remind me again on what’s happening,” asks Miffy.

Jay lowers his tone to a whisper. “Mom has gone to place some explosives under the square. They’re set to go off soon. Once that happens, we’ll go in and save the day.”

“Interesting,” Cindy says. “And how does this relate to the flawed brats?”

“Mom has fabricated some pieces apparel, based on their wears. She has planted them with the bombs. After we “save” everyone from the explosions, we look around and fish them out, showing everyone what a dastardly deed they’ve done.”

“There’s children and families in the square, though,” Miffy utters. “Won’t they be badly hurt or killed?”

The wolf darts his eyes at her. “Sometimes, you have to make sacrifices to get what you truly want, even if it means innocent people die.” He fixes his eyes on the square. “Once all of this goes off, those brats will be run out of town and never be heard of again. We’ll also make sure the whole world knows what they do. Get ready!” The four animals wait, keeping their eyes on the bustling fair as animals, tall and small, go from stall-to-stall. Several seconds go by, and yet not a single explosion can be seen.

Cindy looks to her companion. “So, what am I supposed to see here? Are they going off anytime soon?”

Jay shakes his head. “I-I don’t understand… They should’ve detonated by now… What’s happening?”

“Are you sure she set them up in the square?”

“She told me so this morning… How could she-”

“Hey, Jay,” Miffy interrupts. “Why are you on T.V.?” The wolf stops and looks at the flatscreen television overlooking the square, as does the crowd. His eyelids pull back as wide as they can be while watching himself talk to the hooded figure on the screen. His conversation continues to carry on with the cloaked being as they explain their plan for the orphanage and about setting up the friends. “What?!” Everyone in the watches with shock; their eyes wide-opened like the wolf. He and the team run into the center of the square with his glare still on the television. People in the audience point to him and accuse him of treachery.

“Listen,” Jay utters. “I can assure you, whatever is going on is some kind of trick. That all isn’t true!”

“Oh, it’s all true!” yells a voice. Everyone turns and traces the voice to the fox, who stands in front of the government building in blue goggles with matching-color cape, gloves, and tights. His paws positioned on his hips. “Team Rescuers are nothing but frauds and deceivers! They’re not concerned for anything; not your wellbeing, your safety, your wants and needs, but take their own desires more seriously.”

“Flawed Fox!” Jay takes a step forward, clenching his paws with aggression. “Why you-”

Emmy appears by Zach’s side, wearing her goggles, purple tank top vest with the same color gloves, but with darker-colored pants and belt. “They were going to blow up the square, along with all of you in it, and then put the blame on us to persuade you all that we were nothing but terrorists. That way, you’d run us out of town or even kill us!” The crowd gasps in shock.

“Are you kidding me?” Miffy asks.

“Afraid not,” shouts the brown cat, making herself visible on the fox’s other side. She dons a black jumpsuit with blue lines to highlight it, along with blue goggles. “They weren’t acting alone, either! They had a lot of help from the headmaster of the orphanage! It was very clear she, along with your “favorite hero team” were going to attack many innocent beings.”

Niji zooms by the warthog’s side with Eren jumping from his back. The rainbow-haired wolf has a mask to cover only his eyes, a blue shirt with a red and yellow ‘w’ on it, steel-blue pants, and red gloves while the deer covers himself in a grey hood and mask, along with a white and lavender sweat jacket and grey shorts buckled by a golden belt. Niji sets a pile of explosives he’d been carrying down. “Man, these things would’ve caused a massive number of casualties. We wouldn’t want that to happen, would we?”

“No indeed,” Eren adds. He takes out his wrench. “Best to make them all into scrap.” He whacks the bombs with his tool, changing them all to nothing but metal in one hit, dazzling the people.  

“We were able to stop your horrific plan just in time,” Zach claims. “You could’ve killed innocent people and children.”

“Flawed Fox!” utters Jay, pulling out a radio. “You didn’t think ahead with that, though! Come in, Mom. Those brats are here!”

“That’s where you’re wrong, Wolf,” shouts Navy, flying in and landing on her feet, showing off her costume which consists of pink mask and cape and a ring on her right wing, as well as a white pouch around her waist. “Your mother won’t be helping you out right now. She’s all tied up…”

The newt stomps in with the robed figure in his arms, then sets her down in front, showing the headmaster constrained in a set of ropes in her arms. His white jumpsuit with red lines are the opposite of Carly’s suit. His mouth and nose remain covered by a red mask. “One villain down, four more to go.”

“You’re not going to get away with faking anymore!” yells Emmy. “It’s time to come forward and accept your fate!”

“Yeah!” shouts Eren. “Your days of lying to people are over.”

“What would you all know about being heroes?” Cindy cries. “You don’t have what it takes to be courageous and cunning!”

“We are better than you, though!” shouts Carly. “We don’t go after harmless civilians and blame a group of unfortunate animals! You lot are too unethical to be called heroes!”

“I’ve had enough of this!” Jay sharpens his claws. The friends ready themselves, equipping their weapons and getting into fighting stances. “You will never beat us!”

“We shall determine that!” Zach retaliates. Jay immediately goes for the fox, but Zach blocks his attacks with his metal staff. Emmy pushes the wolf away and joins Zach, but soon Jay is aided by the monkey. Cindy and Miffy go after the bird and the newt. The four intertwine in engagement with fists, leaving Eren and the cat to struggle with keeping the headmaster contained. Niji helps guide the spectators of away from the area for safety before joining in the battle. The square stirs into chaos as the battle endures. tables are thrown and tossed around, tents are torn with animal claws, the sounds of clinging metal and shouting deafens other noises. The animals try to gain the upper hand on each other. Zach whacks the wolf away with his staff.

Jay growls. “I am impressed, Fox. But whacking me away will not do you any good!”

“There’s more where that came from, Jacob!” Zach responds. The wolf charges toward him, but Zach remains still. As Jay is three feet before him, the fox swings his staff at him, knocking the wolf into a fountain. Jay is quick to stand and charge toward the fox again. He is no match with Zach as he uses his mind to predict when the wolf will strike. Zach jumps into the air, then comes back down with his weapon against Jay’s head, knocking him down to the floor. The fox stands by his face and looks upon him. “You didn’t account for my new abilities.” He turns to see Emmy struggling with Kenji as he sways his tail at her. Zach runs over and kicks the monkey in the face, knocking him away. The fox then turns to the warthog. “You good?”

“Yeah, thanks,” Emmy replies. The two notice Kenji getting back up and holding out a wooden staff. “Uh oh!” The two animals prepare to battle him.

However, Niji zooms by and smacks him with his paw, causing the monkey to fly and hit the tent ahead, knocking him out. Niji looks to the two. “I’m sorry, Fellas. Did I steal your target?”

Zach smiles. “Not at all.”

Navy dodges some punches thrown by the cat. “Whoa! Nice kitty!”

“You dumb bird!” shouts Miffy. “You and your flawed friends will pay!”

“Don’t ever call me dumb!” The bird flaps her wings rapidly to push away the cat with her ability. Miffy gets up fast, then runs to her.

Carly immediately steps in, catching her in midair with her telekinesis, then drops her to the ground. “Man, you are one mean cat!” Miffy gets back to her feet. “Uh oh!”

“I’ll let you deal with her!” Navy changes into her lizard form to fight the sheep.

Carly quickly paints something in front of her. The beige cat pounces, but slams right into a wall spawned by Carly. Miffy struggles to stand, soon closing her eyes and falling into a deep sleep. The brown cat paints again, this time, some rope around her to keep Miffy in place. “That’ll teach you.” She is then smacked by Navy’s lizard tail. “Yow! Hey!”

“Sorry!” Navy tells her. “Just a bit distracted!” She evades the sheep’s attacks. “Whoa! You’re very feisty for a sheep!”

“You are so ugly as a lizard!” responds Cindy.

“Am I?” Navy then changes back to her bird form. “This better?” Cindy comes at her. “Oh!” The bird flaps her wings fast, creating a small tornado that gobbles Cindy and spins her around quickly. Once the tornado dissipates, the sheep stands, but wobbles. She sets her eyes on the bird and charges again, but her dizziness causes her to stumble. Navy places her foot on her back to ensure she stays down while Carly paints restraints on her hooves.

The headmaster pushes Eren off and knocks Silus back to stun them, then goes to pick up a wooden stake. She cuts herself free, then points it at Zach. “I will kill you for this, Flawed Fox!” She runs toward Zach with the wooden stake, but her attack is blocked by Emmy’s sword. The hooded figure tries desperately to hit the warthog, but when Zach aides her, the two repel her in an instant, disarming her weapon and kicking her back into a stone wall. The headmaster then takes the stake and throws it at them. Time slows for everyone except Eren, who walks over, faster than everyone else, and catches the stake in the air. The headmaster gets back up in anger and charges at them again, but is stopped by Silus, who stands in the way and grabs her hands with two of his own, then lifts her off the ground and tosses her at a nearby tent.

Eren reaches for his wrench and hits the little shelter, turning it into a jail cell for her. “There, that should hold her.”

“I… I can’t believe it…” Zach looks down at his paws, then at Team Rescuers. “I… I just saved people… I actually saved people!” A smile occupies his face. “I AM A HERO!”

“WE are heroes,” Emmy implies. “WE saved everyone in the square.” She gives him a smile. Zach reflects her expression and nods.

“Yeah!” cheers Niji. “We did it!” Navy joins him in celebrating.

“Hooray!” Eren shouts. Silus quickly picks him up and hoists him in the air. “Whoa! Hehe.” He then sets him back down.

“They won’t be deceiving and hurting people anymore,” Carly says. “Not after we exposed them for who they really are. People have now seen them for what they really are.”

Zach approaches the restrained hooded figure. “Looks like the tables have turned, Headmaster…”

“You!” the headmaster calls out. “I will get you for this, Flawed Fox!”

“That’s all you ever saw me as,” Zach says. “You and everyone else in Heroto, all because of my biological parents and disorder…”

“I didn’t care about what you did!” she cries. “But when you harassed my son and his friends, you went too far!”

“No, Headmaster… YOU went too far when you started attacking innocents and blamed everything on us… Putting me down was all you’ve ever done for me… I fell down and lied on the ground for some time, but then Emmy stood before me with Carly, Niji, Eren, Silus, and Navy. She offered her hoof to me, so I took it, and I got back up. My friends are amazing, and we will continue to fight off anyone who messes with us.” Zach turns away and sighs.

Emmy looks at him. “You okay, Zach?”

“I-I’m fine…” Zach puts his paw on his head. “I’m just a little empty that’s a-…” His eyes widen as he puts his arm down. “Empty… That’s what it is… All my life I’ve been dubbed a “flawed fox”, however, I faced my darkest fears, and now I’m not worried about that anymore, or afraid…”

Eren pulls up beside the fox, wrapping his arm around his back for comfort. “You aren’t a flawed fox, Zach. You are more of a “fantastic fox”.”

“Fantastic fox,” Zach repeats. “Such an interesting name for a superhero. I am Fantastic Fox! Hero of Heroto!” He looks to Eren. “You know, you were pretty courageous and daring to do everything that’s happened today.” Eren smiles and thanks him. “However, you like to manipulate time and speed. How’s the name “Quick Pause”?”

“Quick Pause?!” Eren utters. “I… I like that name. No, I love it.”

Zach then looks to Emmy. “What should we call you, Emmy?”

Emmy puts her hoof on her chin. “How’s Acroswine? You think it’s a good name?”

“Suits you,” Navy spurts. “Oh! I want to be called Feather-Morph! Because I change into anything I want!”

“Sweet,” comments Niji. “Hm, I’m not sure about my name.”

“Why don’t we call you Werewonder?” asks Emmy. “I know you’re a fast, but also a wolf.”

“I think I’ll stick with that name.”

“Hm,” Carly thinks, holding her brush up. “Not sure what to call myself. I do love this paintbrush a whole lot.”

“I’m thinking “Palette Cat”,” Niji tells her. “Good for an artistic superhero like you.” The cat smiles.

“Eren, Honey,” Silus starts. “How bout you give me a good superhero name? What should I be called?”

“Um…” Eren rubs the back of his head. “I’m not sure… You do have immense strength… Is “Mightymander” okay with you?”

“No,” Silus responds. “It’s not okay with me. It’s GOOD for me, and it fits my abilities. Thanks, Quick Pause.” Eren’s smile grows bigger.

“Well,” Zach starts. “Seems like this is the beginning of new lives for us. Fighting crime and maintaining peace.”

“It sure is,” Emmy tells him. “Sure is.” @carlycmarathecat​ @emmy-the-absolute-goof​ @rainbow-strike​ @ask-choro-mama​ @pink-unicorn-blood​