#the dog head thing was a sketch in a notepad

[narenohate]

mouthwashing isekai au wip

I didnt feel like finishing this bc its just. me plucking the mouthwashing chars and putting them into my homebrew setting ASHJDFGD

between each of their deaths and them meeting again in-game, there's a span of several months wherein they all live separate lives - in a world far away from the earth they knew.

There's some worldbuilding here and there but, tldr: magic world. wooo.

anya was the first to wake up, Scorched into a kelpie-esque centaur, because Scorching is making a visual shape out of a person's nightmares and merging them with it. she joins the exorcist corps, at first as a wagon horse, then as a proper healer.

then, a familiar face - clear in her mind, disregarding the passage of time - shows up.

anya shouldn't be more well-equipped to deal with curly (injured despite his scorching) than the other healers. she shouldn't be arrogant as to think that-

but he calls her, and she runs before registering he's not meant to have a voice.

[anthrofreshtodeath]

More Crossover Business

Will this fic actually ever materialize in chapter format? who knows. Find previous snippets here and here.

Booth checks his watch for the third time since the four of them arrived at the scene. The man whose dog had found the shallow grave Doctors Brennan and Isles kneel in now is long gone, and the clearing crawls with scene techs and uniforms. Booth licks his lips, taps his pen on the tops of his index cards and straightens his tie.

“Don’t rush the science,” Brennan calls over her shoulder, waving her brush in his direction even though she’s not looking at him. She doesn’t have to.

“I didn’t say anything!” Booth hangs his arms out like making himself bigger will prove his point. 

Brennan shrugs. “You didn’t have to,” she says when she hands a magnifying glass to Maura, who has brushed away the soil covering what looks like a second femoral head. “Your psychomotor agitation says it all.”

“We’re uh, we’re not rushing,” Booth argues, though apparently he’s willing to concede the point that he was in fact motoring in some kind of way. It’s late morning, which will fly right into early afternoon, which is cutting it real close… “We’d just like to, you know, expedite things as much as they can be expedited.”

Jane snickers from where she stands, drawing a little diagram on her notepad to remind herself how exactly they found the body, its bones, while she waits for developed scene photos. She’s just finished questioning the state police, too, those first on scene when the body was called in, so she’s operating on the high that comes from a plethora of initial information. When Booth throws up his hands, she clears her throat. “It’s just that the Sixers are in town, and we may or may not have tickets.”

“No may or may not about it,” Booth says, stepping forward. “We definitely have tickets. So, the quicker the better.”

“You should not have done that,” Maura, in heels and a black trench coat over a navy dress, raises her eyebrow. She runs a gloved finger over the fabric of the decedent’s shirt sleeve, a blouse in a rich purple color she perhaps would have picked for herself, now stained and torn by the elements. “Not when we’re in the middle of all this.”

“This is about sports?” Brennan is flabbergasted, though by all accounts she should not be. “I’m not rushing the science for sports.”

Jane, in the middle of her sketch, her visual brain whirring, snaps her head up. “What’s that supposed to mean?” She says, just a little louder than she should be. 

Brennan looks up, eyes right on Jane’s, blinking. Her throat is long and that deepens her voice when she asks, “What?”

“You said that kinda funny,” Jane curls one brow up and snarls. She blows right through Booth’s stop sign, the waving of his fingers under his chin. The shaking of his head and the forward press of his lips. “Why you gotta say sports like that?”

Maura bolts up. “I- I’m sure Doctor Brennan means that it’s hard to imagine sports being more important than this case,” she says diplomatically to Booth. When she turns to Jane, the diplomacy dwindles into passive aggression. “It’s hard to imagine anything being more important than this case; I’m sure you’d agree.”

Jane also blows right through the insinuation that she’s put this case above their relationship and waves Maura off. “No, no, wait a minute, here-”

Brennan dusts off her coveralls at the knee. She doesn’t give Jane’s venom a chance, and supplies some of her own instead. “Oh no, I meant that sports in general are a waste of time.”

“Oh man,” Booth mumbles. “Bones, don’t-”

Brennan does wait for him, either. “Sports shouldn’t have the importance it does to society, let alone the importance it apparently has to this unit right now,” she starts. Maura sucks her teeth and smirks. It is the first, albeit tiny, sign that Brennan views this budding crime-fighting enterprise as a team. Not a consult, not a service to be provided, but a team. Well, maybe all of the above, but most definitely the latter. 

Jane is going to explode. 

“Rizzoli-” Booth taps her elbow and Jane yanks away. 

“Are you kiddin’ me? You get trash canned by some jocks in high school? You think you’re some kinda evolved being because you don’t like sports?”

“No, no, and exactl-”

This time, it’s Booth that cuts in on his partner. “Bones, she, y’know, she has this thing. This… she thinks sports are…” he wiggles his fingers in front of his mouth, “for kids. And that the people who play them are basically, well, overgrown kids.”

“Again, are you serious?! Didn’t you-? I-” Jane flails, going red, unable to complete a damn sentence. 

Booth doesn’t need her to. “Yeah, I did. Football. Trust me, I’ve registered my complaints with the whole idea.”

“But anthropologically speaking, it’s true!” as distanced from emotion as she boasts about being, Brennan registers the heat of an argument and latches onto it. And Jane, well, she fights fire with fire. They face off close enough to share air. “Not only are athletes arrested developmentally, but so are the adults that watch them. In fact, I find that even worse.”

“Well, let me talk in a way you’ll understand: anthropologically speaking, sports are the entire skeleton of the city of Boston. Peel back the superficial layers, and the backbone looks a whole hell of a lot like the iron of Fenway,” Jane pushes her index finger in the air like she’s threatening to use it against the shoulder of the world’s foremost anthropologist, forensic or otherwise.

“That makes no sense,” Brennan posits. Maura blinks. There’s more finesse, more bite to Brennan than she originally thought. To wield passion and cold disinterest with such oscillation, such ease, requires knowledge. Intent. Despite her best intentions, Maura’s heart begins to thump for Jane. 

“Maybe not in the strictest of terms, but it’s true,” Maura tells her counterpart. “Boston makes sports a religion. Anthropologically, you can understand that, surely.”

“I’m not sure that makes it any better,” Brennan chides. 

Booth blinks, unsure what to be offended at more. “Listen, Doctor Burn-in-hell, some of us actually care about this stuff-”

“You’re comin’ for God, too?! Who pissed in your-” Jane is about to lunge, but Booth pulls her towards him.

“Ok, ok, you know what? We’re gonna go. We’re gonna go back to the city, and we’re gonna take a little break, from all the crime fighting here. You two are gonna get things ok’d to go back to the lab, and well, we’ll maybe see you before we head out. Game’s at 7:30,” says Booth, pushing Jane’s shoulders toward his car up the hill.

“I’m gonna go postal, kid, she says one more thing,” Jane growls just for him to hear, and Booth sighs, big and airy out of his rib cage.

“Yeah, I know,” he grumbles. “Just trust the process. Trust my process.”

“Really? She shits all over our entire lives and you’re gonna give me the sixer’s mantra?”

“Keep walkin’.”

—-

Maura stands over the bones they discovered this morning, having beat them to the morgue by just minutes. Now, she’s scrubbed up, with her hair pulled back with a clip, and she wears her white coat.

It is her clinician’s ensemble. 

Brennan wears loaner blue scrubs because she cares about the integrity of evidence, and because even though Maura has offered her one of the blue coats of the crime lab, it’s not her blue coat. Not the one from the Jeffersonian.

Maura supposes she understands that. 

She’s not even sure how she’d feel in Brennan’s shoes at the moment. She’s consulted, practiced medicine in corners of the world very near to the ones Brennan’s practiced forensic anthropology in. And yet, she sees how dogged Brennan is, how committed to both her cases and the pursuit of her scholarship, and she doesn’t know if she could keep up. Could she leave Boston for months at a time to consult on a case for the FBI, seeing her friends and loved ones only sporadically, if ever? Could she just up and go, pack all her belongings and live out of a suitcase in a motel for weeks at a time? Maura doesn’t have to, but in Brennan she sees a person she once was and needs to conjure up wisps of again. “I admire you,” she says nakedly as Brennan readies her station.

“Thank you,” says Brennan with the utmost confidence, looking not at Maura but at her array of instruments. Then she falters with a smile. “Why is that?”

“Well, you can uproot your life for the cause, if that makes sense,” Maura tells her. “Your commitment to the truth and to the science is… unmatched and you are the best at what you do.”

“I agree with that assessment,” Brennan says, back to her task. She snaps on a pair of purple gloves and puts on her protective eyewear. There is a long pause. “And I admire you, too.”

Maura brightens considerably, a blush spreading over her tight, grinning cheeks. “Really?”

“Yes,” Brennan says like it’s obvious, especially for two geniuses in the room. “Your position is a political one. You could let the powers that be sway you, but you make decisions based solely on the evidence in front of you and your clinical expertise. That call with the governor? I’ve seen men twice your size crumble under that kind of pressure.”

Maura thinks maybe Brennan is right. At least, it may do her well to think about herself more like Brennan does, with assuredness in her ability and a fuck-everyone-else-because-their-IQ-is-lower attitude. “I try. I can’t say I always succeed, but I do try. Working with Jane and her brother helps. Everything is like an honor competition with them,” she says, then she picks up a phalanx and arranges it on the right hand. “I’m going to have to talk about Criminalist Roberts about his eye for detail. This is unacceptable.” 

Brennan peers over Maura’s shoulder and nods in approval even though Maura can’t see her. “I usually have interns to do it, and even then I have to run through the bones again,” she tells Maura. “So this is… to be expected. Or at least, easily remedied.” She walks back to the left foot, makes another couple of changes, and sighs, picking up the fibula and staring down it like the barrel of a rifle. “Just two more. Not bad. There’s something here,” she comments, eyes zeroed in. “Booth thinks you’re sleeping together.”

Maura chokes. She sputters, with barely enough wherewithal to turn away from the bones. 

“Doctor Isles? Are - are you alright? Are you choking? Let me-” Brennan crosses the distance between them in a flash, but by then Maura has stiff-armed her.

“No no,” Maura wheezes. Then, she regains a little bit of breath. “I’m fine. I’m sorry - Booth thinks what?”

“He thinks that you and Jane are sleeping together. I told him that you were divorced,” Brennan states. 

“Well…” Maura pauses. Were they that obvious? Their private moments had been very private, and she’d been especially caustic with Jane recently. The sex brought out the bitterness. How could he…? “Agent Booth should mind his own business,” she settles on, though she knows it sounds weak off her lips.

Brennan thankfully turns back to their work. She speaks a note into her recorder then sets it back down on her work station. “He’s incapable. You know, speaking of sports, looking at this irregularity and the wear and tear on her other ankle, I’d posit she received an ORIF for this break. Booth and I have had this conversation before.”

Maura walks over to see exactly what Brennan has seen, and leans in close. “You’ve had this conversation about my marriage? Oh yes. Basketball injury almost certainly. The wire is gone, but the hole is definitely there.”

“What? No, about sports. And you aren’t married,” Brennan says.

“My previous marriage, then,” Maura tells her. “And I think it’s a right of passage between partners to argue about sports.”

Before Brennan can comment further, the doors to the autopsy suite burst open to reveal Jane. “Hey,” Jane breathes out, like every moment is of the utmost importance. She adjusts her belt around her tucked-in shirt and leans on the table closest to the door, the one next to the one occupied by their victim. “Anything yet?”

“Do you often interrupt the autopsy process?” Brennan, face schooled into cold curiosity, cocks her head at Jane when she asks.

Jane stops. She had crossed her arms, but drops them at the question. She knows her arms are long and that they’re intimidating when they’re left to rest by her sides. “You and me got a problem?” she responds, one foot forward.

Maura cuts in. “Well, Doctor Brennan found evidence of a repaired broken ankle,” she tells Jane. “And based on healed injuries on the left ankle, we’re looking at a sports injury. Probably basketball.”

“That, that girl,” Jane, suddenly uninterested in Brennan, taps her mouth with her knuckle when she turns to Maura. “The college hoops player - what was her name? The one that went missing in Amherst? Charlotte Strand. This has gotta be her.”

“Well-” starts Maura, though Brennan finishes.

“Conjecture at the table can cloud objectivity and bias the mind toward desired conclusions, not accurate ones,” she says. “We have no idea who this is yet.”

“Oh, so we do have a problem,” Jane growls. “You know, you-”

Brennan stands, unphased, unafraid, with a long bone in her hands. 

“It’s ok,” Maura literally gets between them. Jane runs extra hot, and Maura curls an eyebrow. “She’s merely pointing out what I’ve always told you. So, you can either stay objective, or stay quiet. But you are allowed to stay.” And apparently, Booth and Brennan know about the current status of their relations, so she straightens the buttons on Jane’s shirt. “If you’re good.”

Jane gives Maura a dark stare, one that Maura knows as lustful, appreciative, and angry all at once. Then, she turns that stare on Brennan. “I’m gonna go back upstairs. Please call me to discuss your pathology findings as soon as you can. I know when the hell I’m not wanted.”

And with that, Jane leaves, Maura assuming it will be the last time they see each other until the morning. There are those tickets she and Booth have. Maura checks her watch. They’ll be leaving in an hour or two. 

The door slams with as much clamor as it opened.

“She’s quite abrasive,” says Brennan.

Maura smirks, shaking her head softly as if to say really? “She’s… dedicated. As dedicated as you or me. She wants to find the answers as much as we do.”

“So I shouldn’t take it personally?”

“Oh, she means it very personally,” Maura counters. When Brennan grows quiet, grows pensive, looks at the ground when she thinks Maura doesn’t see her, Maura softens. “It doesn’t mean that she doesn’t like you.”

“I upset her,” says Brennan finally. “Even if I think what I do about athletes. And conjecture.”

Maura chuckles. “Yes, you did,” she says. “But it doesn’t take much, Doctor Brennan. You’ll probably do it again.”

___

Brennan has snapped off her gloves and changed out of her loaner scrubs, back into her jeans and blouse. She buttons her blazer at the middle, and pushes the number 3 on the elevator, instead of the 1, which would have taken her to the parking garage where her rental car was housed.

She is not… unfeeling. She also is not stupid. And a rift in the fabric of the team, of any team, doesn’t bode well for results. She knows this from her time at the Jeffersonian, she knows it from her time in Guatemala, and she knows it will apply now. Booth is here to assist, and so is she, but Jane leads this case. And, Brennan has to admit, Jane is good at leading the case. Just like Maura had said, she shows a singular dedication, a competence for procedural work that Brennan admires even if it’s based on speculation and law enforcement’s seeming obsession with the gut. 

So, Brennan must find Jane.

Luckily, Jane sits at her desk, poring over those now-developed photographs from the morning. Even more luckily, so that he doesn’t have to see this, Booth isn’t anywhere to be found in the bullpen. She pulls open the glass door quickly, hoping that she can be done before he returns. 

Jane looks up. “Hey, you uh, you here to shit on paper football next? Because Booth and I are probably going to start that up when he gets back. Kill time before we Uber to the Garden,” she grouses when she sees Brennan.

Brennan pulls her lips into a flat line and one hand fiddles with the strap of the bag over her shoulder. “I don’t know what that is. You shouldn’t play football though. Your brain-“

“Yeah yeah, the CTE. Preachin’ to the choir, here, but paper football doesn’t even require gettin’ up from your desk,” Jane says. And when Brennan stands there, all unsure and, well, fidgety, she drops the file on her desk and motions over to the chair next to it. “C’mere, I’ll show ya.”

Brennan keeps the original purpose of her visit in mind, and then takes the seat. She sets her bag on the floor when Jane brandishes the paper triangle. “This - is the football,” she announces.

“It’s a piece of paper,” Brennan curls a brow - she may have in fact overestimated Jane.

“Yes. That has been folded into a football. So, the goal here is a touchdown. And how you do that is you prop it up like this…” Jane pauses, sets up her attempt, “and bam! You flick it…” she does, and watches where it goes. “And if it gets to the edge without going over, that’s a touchdown. Wanna try?”

Jane is asking because Jane got a touchdown on her first attempt. Suddenly, Brennan is giggly and a little nervous. “Just… ok,” she thinks through it, taking the football and holding it with her index finger on the table. “Like this?”

“Somethin’ like that, yeah,” Jane tells her. “Don’t think about it, just go for it.”

“That’s impossible. I-“ 

“Just do it, Doc,” Jane orders.

Something about the authority in Jane’s register spurs Brennan forward. She does it, and flicks it right over the desk on the other side of them. “Hey! Wow! That’s good, right? It went way over!”

Jane shakes her head, but she’s laughing. Smiling. “No, kid, no points. Part of the skill is the finesse. You put too much on it. But hey, pretty good for your first try.”

Brennan licks her lips. Jane has called Booth kid several times, even though he is not a child. It appears endearing? Her stomach churns, flutters in response. “I… I came up here to apologize,” she says so she doesn’t have to pay attention to the feeling.

Jane leans back, but drops her clasped hands between her spread knees. She taps one toe on the linoleum. “Oh?”

“I find that, even if I don’t regret the content of what I said, I do regret that things feel contentious between us,” continues Brennan.

“Contentious, huh?” Jane prods.

Brennan chuckles once. “You sound like my psychologist. Well, a psychologist who is my friend. Who I suppose is also my psychologist. But yes, contentious. It isn’t conducive to teamwork.”  

“I think it can be, sometimes,” Jane counters. “Gets the blood boiling, the wheels turning.”

“I know that sports are important to you. And while I don’t understand why, I can understand that it might hurt your feelings for me to constantly dismantle their merits,” says Brennan.

Jane’s mouth drops open just a bit. “That’s a little far… but you know what? Apology accepted. Things are good.”

“They’re good?” Asks Brennan, more relieved than she thought she’d be.

Jane puts her hands up in a ceasefire. “All good,” she says.

It is then that Brennan sees the scars, reminded of the wounds that must have caused them. Her face narrows into clinical concentration. “It must have been very painful,” she says, softly and with authority. She had read about Charles Hoyt and the detective who ended him. “The number of transected nerves. You seem to carry tightness even now.”

Jane’s hands drop down again. There is less shame now, but not none. “Uh, you know, I hardly think about it anymore,” she lies.

Brennan reaches for a hand anyway. “Can I see?”

Jane folds her hands in her lap and scoots back her chair. When Brennan looks up, she sees that Boothian smile, extra handsome because it hides a lot of pain for her benefit. “No can do, Doctor Brennan.”

“Why? I can help,” Brennan reasons.

Jane sighs. She crosses her arms and leans her elbows on her desk to get closer to Brennan. “No, thank you. The last forensic scientist I let touch my hands, I ended up marryin’ ‘em. And look how well that turned out.”

Brennan laughs quietly. “Well, I can assure you we won’t be getting married. I won’t be marrying anyone,” she says.

“Oh yeah?” Asks Jane. She looks over at the desk across from her because Booth flashes in her mind and she frowns. “Why’s that?”

“Marriage is an antiquated social contract that operates on the principle that women are property, not people. I don’t need marriage to prove my love for someone,” Brennan answers with a straight spine and some conviction. 

Jane shrugs. “To each their own, I guess. I can see why Maura likes you. You have the same way of thinking about a lot of things.”

“But she married you,” Brennan counters, but it is almost kind. Caring.

“She did. Think she regrets that one, though,” Jane smirks. Brennan hears the bitterness in the vowel formants. Jane is burdened by a sadness that looks old on her. She hunches when she reads her file because it is heavy - not the information, but the melancholy. It doesn’t make empirical sense, but Brennan knows it because it’s not the first pair of strong shoulders she has watched round before her in brokenness. A few seconds of silence pass, and Jane wakes up her computer again. “Booth and Korsak are out talking to potential witnesses, but they should be back soon, if you wanna wait here for him.”

Brennan nods, but blows past it. “You know, I’ve kissed several women before.”

Jane drops the file to her desk, but recovers with just a cough or two. “Hmm, me too,” she says.

Brennan smiles wryly. “Oh, that’s funny, because you’re out and you were married to a woman.”

“You got it,” laughs Jane, who cannot help but think of Maura, “even if the past tense hurts me a little bit.”

“While I overall prefer sex with men almost exclusively, I can admit there was certain appeal in the touch of a woman. More tender. There’s more understanding,” Brennan continues.

“Sometimes,” says Jane. At that moment, the elevator doors open and she can see Booth and Korsak emerging. She tosses a glance in that direction. “Hey look, there they are. Good chat, huh? Thanks for comin’ up here. You didn’t have to do that.”

“I think I did,” Brennan says when they both stand. She touches Jane’s elbow and Jane nods. 

“Fair enough. Take this,” Jane says when she produces the paper football. “When we get back from the game tonight, make Booth teach you the rest of the rules.”

Brennan takes the paper, turning it between her fingers, surprised by the sturdiness of the simple design. “Ok,” she says, “I will.”

[stt4lk3r]

Undefined case - Sherlock x Reader

The off-key sound of the violin made the detective sigh as soon as he entered the room. I was sitting in his favorite armchair, "playing" the instrument. I had no idea how it worked, I just passed the bow across the strings without caring if it was right or wrong.

— Why are you home so early? —he asked.

— I didn't go to work today, —the high-pitched, uncoordinated melody stopped— I woke up with a headache.

Sherlock turned around and muttered "I guess so" as he hung his coat on the hook next to mine. I put the violin back where it belonged and went into the kitchen for a glass of water.

I don't usually miss work, but today was an exception. I woke up in a terrible mood that would get me fired as soon as I opened my mouth.

— You don't look ill, you look very well in fact.

The voice echoed through the kitchen, but I could feel that Sherlock was right behind me. And in a few seconds, that damn game of deduction was going to start. And I was sick of it.

— Listen here, ...

— You arrived before the rain yesterday, you probably don't have a cold —he touched my forehead with the back of his hand— you don't seem to have a fever either. Did you sleep uncovered last night?

I took a deep breath, grabbed the bottle from the fridge and took a long swig from it.

— Hey Y/N, you should have some hot tea instead of ice water.

— Sherlock, I'm not sick, I just woke up with a nasty headache.

I slammed the fridge door shut and went back to the sofa. I snuggled into the thin blanket and hugged the cushion. I've been sleeping on this sofa for the last two months, the time I've been living here.

Sherlock and I lived here together when I was at university, but as soon as I finished, I went back to my home country, leaving Holmes alone in 221B. I recently returned to help a friend in the newly opened coffee shop, and discovered that the room once occupied by me now belongs to Doctor Watson. It's fine for me to sleep on the sofa, it's spacious and I have peace.

Except when Sherlock is poking at something in the kitchen. Or insisting that I help him with a case. Or when he makes me drink tea, saying I'm sick.

— Y/n please, just one sip, it'll make you better. I promise it's not bitter.

I rolled my eyes.

— I thought the doctor here was Watson.

— All right, you can have it whenever you like.

He left the cup on the table, his pale fists showing. His fingers gently released the object.

For a moment I found myself fascinated by Sherlock's hands.

— Sherlock, —I called,—!please take my notepad and a pencil. —the detective looked at me questioningly— I'm going to write my last words before I die. —I said dismissively, sitting down.

— Don't joke about it. —he handed me the notebook.

I took the pencil in my hand, sketching a drawing of the detective's hands holding the cup. I made a point of drawing the ring he was wearing —a present from me, by the way— and detailing every little piece on the yellowed paper. I was so distracted that I didn't even notice Holmes behind me.

— You once told me that you only drew things you thought were pretty, —he leaned his elbows on the sofa next to me— do you think my hands are pretty?

— I don't like you anymore, and you're making fun of me, Holmes.— I turned my neck to face the man.

— I get it. —he held my face, gently caressing my cheek with his thumb— You woke up on one of those days when a dog growls at you in the street and you bark back. Your mood is always so unstable, I don't know how long it took me to notice.

— Well, well, and hasn't the great Sherlock Holmes solved yet another case —I scoffed.

— This is the hardest case I've ever taken on.

The detective placed a kiss on my forehead before heading off to his room.

What do you know?

[bacon-sandwich-of-dionysus]

Snippet of Baying Dogs Chapter Two!

Here's a little sneak-peek at Chapter 2! Enjoy!

Warnings for mentions of blood.

She stared blankly at what remained of the doorway to the forgotten canteen... where Weir had been slaughtered where she stood. Her blood had left its mark, faint winestains clinging to the concrete, desperate to be part of this place's memory.

Dougs swallowed down the rising bile. Kneeling down before the exact spot where they had found her body, she squinted a little, hoping to find some distortion in the bricks and stone... hoping for indication of struggle. She could work with anything here. Anything!

Give me a sign, come on.

It was daylight now and whilst there was a dismal overcast accompanied by a humid fog, Dougs could see well enough to spot something. All she needed was something to point her in the right direction. Weir had looked like she had died fighting and the medic hoped she would find that on the concrete floor.

I can't be here all day... I'm needed, you know!

Eventually, after almost boring holes into the scenery, it gave way. Dougs finally found something to confirm the struggle.

Scratches.

It started almost right under her feet, concentrating in number across from her, in the corner.

These were bizarre, they were thick in the middle before tapering off at the end. Definitely like claw marks, though they were also surprisingly precise.

There was intent here.

There was pattern.

She began nibbling at her pen again as she wondered what to make of this discovery.

Again, she was toeing between animal and human.

It seems she had no choice but to put Gaz's theory in the lead.

Especially when Dougs realised the number of claws belonging to each hand.

The woman counted five lines to each bout of scratches.

Five lines.

Five claws.

Five fingers.

Quickly, Dougs sketched out the empty crimescene before her. She drew the corner, the cracks in the concrete and then the claws. The way they were spread was interesting, with the one sitting furthest from the rest on what was left of the doorway, like whoever was responsible for these had leant on it, needed it for support.

Hmmm.

As Dougs was about to doodle down a potential figure to fit the scene, a droplet of water landed on her page. It made her ink bleed a little into the parchment.

She rubbed away the spot of rain... only for something wet to land on her shoulder. Then, on her nose. Then, on her page again. It got more and more frequent.

She looked up to see the sky was ready to open the heavens onto her, rain using every gap it could find in the torn-up roof to pelt her with icy droplets.

The woman retreated, keeping her notepad close to her chest as she made for a more sheltered part of the building.

Flurried feet found themselves at the barracks.

Price looked up at the sound of her entrance, surprised.

Dougs froze as she stood before them at the threshold. Price, Soap, Ghost and Graves had made a circle, huddled around a pile of playing cards.

"Were you just out in the rain?" The captain asked, taking his cigar out his mouth.

"Yeah." She chuckled, wiping the water off her face with the back of her hand.

"Aren't you cold, love?"

'A bit."

He raised an eyebrow.

"What were you doing?"

"... Birdwatching."

"Birdwatching?" Soap turned around, looking mighty confused.

"Yep."

"What birds did you see?" Price asked, genuinely curious.

Shit.

"Err..." She looked around as she tried to conjure up an answer.

They had all swivelled round to face her now.

"Chiffchaff?"

"Are you asking or telling me?" Price's eyes narrowed.

"Telling."

"Right..."

He didn't believe her for a second but he couldn't be bothered to try and wrap his head around as to why she'd want to go out into the freezing winter rain.

Whatever strange habits or rituals she had, he didn't care. Price just hoped she wouldn't catch a cold. The last thing they needed was an out-of-commission medic thanks to a sodding cold.

[even-after-a-millennia]

Falling into a New Life

For @nilefreemanweek2021 and the alternative prompt Canon Divergent AU! Andy doesn’t get to the base in time, and Nile is on the plane to Germany and tests.  When she dreams Andy calling Booker, what happens when Nile calls the same number?  You can read it below or over on my ao3 account here. Gen | Rated T | ~2.1k

“Corporal Freeman,” the soldier’s voice cut through her music and brief moment of peace.  “Been looking for you.  Wheels up on your ride.”

“Yes, sir,” she said. 

She felt a tightening in her gut, one that got worse as she flew away from base towards Germany.  Towards more tests.  Something was rubbing her the wrong way about all of this.

She hadn’t slept well since waking up in that hospital bed, so despite her nerves, she began to doze as the hours ticked by. 

“She’s just a baby,” she heard a woman say, looking down at a sketch of Nile’s own face.

“Damn it!”  A fist crashing into the side of a Humvee as a plane, the plane Nile was on right now, took off into the sky.

Numbers were being punched into the phone, then dialing.  “Book, I didn’t get here in time.  Word is she is being sent for more testing and you know what they will find.  You have to cut them off.  Get to her before they find out.”

The man closed his flip phone, turning to the other two men on the train.

“We need to get to Germany,” he said.

The plane rattled side to side and Nile woke, looking around frantically.

What was that?  A dream?  A vision?

She scrambled through her pockets, grabbing her notepad and writing down the numbers before she could forget them.  Pulling out her phone, she looked furtively around the vast open area, but aside from her, the only other people on the plane were the two soldiers who had escorted her to the plane, sitting near the cockpit, and the pilots.

If she called this number and someone picked up, she would know she wasn’t crazy.  And if no one did… then maybe it was a good thing that she was being carted off for testing.

Nile hit dial before she could stop herself.

It rang twice before a slightly accented voice answered, “Hello?  Who is this?”

“What the fuck…” she whispered, pulling the phone away to stare at it.  The call had connected, the seconds ticking by.  She pressed it back against her ear, shaking her head slowly.

“Is this the Marine?” the man continued.

“Yeah,” she answered, her voice rough.  

There was a rustle, then a different voice was speaking, “Can you tell us your name?”

A voice in the back of her mind was yelling about strangers and danger, but she didn’t think that the talks adults gave her as a child ever could have anticipated this.

“Nile,” she forced herself to say.  “Corporal Nile Freeman.  Who are you?”

“We’re like you, Nile,” a heavier accented voice said.  “We want to help you, but first, you have to help yourself.  You cannot get tested by those men.  It will lead to something much worse.”

“I don’t understand,” she murmured, keeping her voice low to avoid the other soldiers hearing.

“You have to get off that plane, Nile,” the second voice said.  “We will come and find you, we swear.”

“That’s insane,” she hissed.

“Welcome to the world of coming back from the dead,” the first voice said sardonically.

Holy shit.

That’s what had happened, wasn’t it?  She had felt herself die.  Dizzy had seen it.  Everyone thought she was gone.  They had even taken her dog tags to send to her family.

But then she had come back.

“Shit,” she whispered.

She looked around the plane and spotted the jump door and parachutes.

“No, this isn’t happening.  This is some bullshit.  Is this hazing or something?  Is this fun for you?” Nile demanded.

“Nile, please,” the heavily accented voice said.  There was so much emotion in his tone she stopped.  “Please, you are not safe.  I know you are scared and alone.  But they will do horrible things if they discover you can regenerate.  A jump off a plane is much better than an eternity in a cage.”

“I can’t go AWOL,” Nile said.  “My family-  I can’t do that to them.”

“Corporal Freeman!” One of the men who had brought her to the plane said, approaching.  “I need to take your phone.”

She lowered it without hanging up, alarms ringing in her head.  “What, why?” 

“Protocol for testing.  Could interfere with the machines.”

And he could be telling the truth, but the voices on the other end of the phone were getting desperate even though she couldn’t make out what they were saying.

“Are we that close?” she asked, buying time.

He shrugged.  “Somewhere over Ukraine.”

“I’d like to give it to you closer to Germany, sir,” she said, trying to toe the line of defiance and deference.

“Orders are orders,” he said, reaching for it and this didn’t feel right, something was so wrong about this whole thing.

“NILE!” the voices on the phone shouted all at once, loud enough it reached her ear.

She ducked his grab and undid her seatbelt, sliding away from him.

He looked at her, considering.  “C’mon, kid.  Don’t make me break out the restraints.”

She stared at him.  “What the fuck?!” she finally said, putting her phone in her back pocket.  “Nah, nope.  Come and get it.”

He swung at her and she ducked it and hit him in the ribs.  He let out a grunt and bent over.  She grabbed the back of his head and slammed his face into her knee, hearing a crack as he groaned in pain.  He stayed down, clutching his nose.

“Hey!”  The other guard had gotten up from his seat at the struggle and she turned to face him, trying to keep one eye on the other man.  

The man took out his gun and pointed it at her.  “You are under arrest for assaulting a superior officer.”

She raised her hands slowly.  “In fairness, he started it,” she felt compelled to say.

He didn’t think she was funny.  

“Stay still,” he said, taking a pair of cuffs out of his tac belt.  

Nile looked at them apprehensively, because those were not standard to have for soldiers in her division, and so why the hell did he have them?!

She stood still, weighing her options.  He holstered his gun, holding the cuffs in his other hand.  She watched him until he was close enough to strike.  She knocked the cuffs out of his hand and they flew down the plane.  He tried to punch her but she parried it and went to dislocate his shoulder, but he kicked out and caught her in the knee.  There was a crack and a searing pain, and she cried out, but kept fighting.

He drew his gun again and they grappled over it.  She knew that she was losing the battle with one leg out of the game and pain fogging her mind.

His finger reached the trigger.

She felt the bullet go through her side and her whole body went momentarily numb as it was overloaded with pain.  Nile fell to the ground, clutching her side.

The guard holstered his weapon and went to check on his buddy and get the cuffs.  Nile breathed through the pain and then paused.

Something was going on with her leg.

She looked down as much as she could without using her stomach muscles that were still screaming and watched as her knee popped back into place, no longer inverted.

Her side started to hurt less, and she lifted her shirt to see the skin that the bullet had torn through slowly knit back together.

Regenerate.  That’s what the man on the phone had called it.

Shit.

She pulled out her phone and spoke over the voices on the other side, “I’m jumping.  We’re somewhere over Ukraine.  I have your number.”

Then she hung up and put her phone in her zippered pocket, got up and ran at the parachutes and hit the button that opened the jump door.

“Corporal!  Don’t do it!”  

She looked back as she shouldered the parachute and clamped it into place.  The soldiers were reaching out to her, trying to get to her in time.

Nile jumped.

She fell, waiting until she was well away from the plane to pull the pin to activate the parachute.

Nothing happened.

“Shit!” she said, trying to pull the backup, but it didn’t budge.

Had they purposefully put dud parachutes in the plane?  Was this some kind of test?  Or had this been a terrible coincidence?

She kept falling, spreading her arms and legs to slow her descent as much as possible.  She forced herself to look down, scope out the area below her.  There was a lake in the middle of a field, and she angled herself towards it, gritting her teeth.  Neither option was good, but with no trees in sight to cushion her fall, she would splat either way.  At least the water would eventually mask her blood.

Nile really hoped that she could actually come back from the dead, cause it didn’t look like she was going to survive this.

The water got closer and she forced her feet below her so at least she wouldn’t meet it head first.  She tucked her arms close to her sides and felt herself shoot downwards faster than before.

She concluded, just before she hit the water, that any fall where she could think about how long she had been falling was too damn long.

Then everything was black.

The three men hopped off the train.

“She’s off the plane, haven’t heard anything since,” the blond said over the phone.  “Said she was somewhere over Ukraine.”

The woman sighed on the other end.  “Fine.  We’ll meet in the middle and find her.  Deal?”

“See you soon, boss,” the man said, hanging up.

“At least we will be able to keep Copley off our tail,” the man with a head of curls said.

“We will still need to go after him eventually,” the blond said.  “He knows about us.”

“Nile first,” the man with the heavy accent and kind eyes said.

Nile gasped awake and immediately coughed up water.  She was floating on top of the lake now, the waters around her red.  She groaned as her body slowly knitted itself back together again, bones and organs recovering from hitting water so fast it felt like concrete.

“Ow,” she concluded once the last shift was done.

She turned her head, looking for the closest bit of shore, and starting off towards it.

It took a lot of effort to drag her waterlogged body onto the sand.  She lay on her back, staring up at the sky for a moment.  

Then she reached for her phone, only to find it cracked and even more waterlogged than she was.

“Shit!”

She pocketed it anyway, because she might still be able to recover the memory chip, even if the rest of it was worthless now.

Okay.  Priorities.

Nile was still wearing her uniform, as wet and bloodstained as it was.  She shucked off the long sleeve shirt of her uniform and surveyed the damage to the short sleeve brown shirt beneath.  The cold water of the lake had washed away much of the blood that had been saturated in it, but she took it off and scrubbed a bit more, just to get as much as she could out.

There was still a hole where she had been shot, but she would deal with that if it came to it.

She found a large rock and tied her shirt around it.  

Then paused.  Rested her head against the rock and the uniform she was about to toss away.

She had been a Marine, like her dad before her.  It hadn’t been an easy decision to join, not with how it had ended for her dad, the imperialism that was steeped into the US military, or the fact that she was a black woman and that would affect her entire experience.  But it had been her life, her brothers and sisters in arms had been her family, and she felt like once she heaved this rock into the water, she would be irreversibly throwing that part of her life away too.

She breathed.  Then she lifted the rock and with a grunt, sent it flying through the air.  There was a large splash and it sank, taking her uniform with it.

Nile watched it go, her throat burning with emotions she couldn’t even name.

Then she turned to find the others who could regenerate like her.

[writers-worst-nightmare]

Hello, I just found your blog, I loved the beastars scenarios!! Also congrats on the 200 followers!!! From your event, can you please do a fic or a match up ( you can choose ) regarding beastars?

If fic: fem reader ( can be a feline, maybe a cheetah/tiger or fluffly cat with spots!) x Jack? ( reader blushes wayyy too much next to him, she’s friendly and funny but next to crushes she just error 404, gets extremely shy and quiet, a bit self conscious bc she’s bigger than Jack? And doesn’t know if he will be into it ) maybe they confessing or having their first date together?

And if you want to go with a matchup ( I’ll be brief with it cuz I don’t want the request to be huge! ) : fem, bi, INFP, (in this case it’s for beastars, I think I’d be either a feline or a sheep! With curly hair ) shy at first glance but very friendly! my friends says I’m really funny, I have a obnoxious laugh that makes everyone laugh as well, I like reading, drawing, playing games and taking naps lol, I’m lowkey chill until we are playing games, I get extremely competitive and it’s hard to control it at times, very affectionate if I know the feeling are reciprocated, but if I’m not sure I close off myself a LOT. Secretly hopeless romantic, it’s so easy to make me blush it’s a pain in the ass really ahrbbtjdksos

and i think that’s enough right? Sorry for the long request, hope this wasn’t too much and hope you have a good day!

Match-up for 200+ followers event:

A/N: aww thank you anon! I might even write the fic (although we will see with my motivation) but I hope you like my match-up! If not then please, feel free to send in another ask (my brain might not process some things that you are trying to say)

Looking for information….

Loading preferences…..

Loading a little bit of spice…

Loading tropes for hopeless romantics…..

MATCH FOUND

MATCH FOUND

MATCH FOUND

Shadow pairs you up with….

JACK

Runner ups: Juno (idk, I feel like you two have a opposites attract thing going on and I am LIVING for it) Pina (hopeless romance stuff) Sheila (you two have a lot in common)

Explanation as to why Shadow paired you up with Jack:

Personality:

Jack is very outgoing and extroverted, so when he see’s you doing your own little thing in the corner of the room he couldn’t help but stare at you for a few moments. The way that you looked and everything you were well beautiful to say the least. So he asked Legoshi about you, Legoshi stared at Jack and then at you and then at Jack. The male gray wolf then explained what he knew about you (which was not a lot considering the fact that you were a new student that had just joined a couple weeks ago). Jack walked over to you and started to talk with you. Once you slowly opened up to him Jack seemed to fall more and more in love with you. The way that you talked and your laugh that seemed to make the whole room smile. You were naturally funny and you brought out the child side of Jack that he could have never ever found if it weren’t for you always laughing and playing games.

Likes:

Jack doesn’t really get the whole reading thing but he might get into some comics and show you some of them. When Jack was hard core simping trying to impress you he would read novels. This one time he was reading a book (and also trying to show off the fact that he was reading the book, if that even makes sense). Everyone was giving him weird looks and then you had to go up to him and say that the book was upside down. Jack was sooo embarrassed and lied to you, saying how he was learning how to read upside down. For drawing he can draw a stick figure. And that is it. But he LOVES watching you draw, the way that you sketch and then put the whole piece together in amazing to him. When you are in artist block he will take you out to the park and laugh as you scribble words down on a small notepad to help you get out of artist block. For you liking to play games Jack LOVES that. It is my personal head canon that Jack just LOVESSS video games, anything video games. That was the main thing the two of you bonded over and one of the reasons you two became friends. For taking naps, he is a dog so he likes taking naps with you and curling up to you (he just wants his cuddles :( )

[barnesandco]

Eat the Rich: Chapter 1

Eat the Rich Masterlist

The Avengers are tasked with tracking down an elusive thief, and retrieving the grand amounts of money she has stolen. Even after capture, she turns out to be impossible to break, save for a mystifying interest in Bucky.

Written for @mermaidxatxheart ‘s #jamiesmadwritingbash, under the Robin Hood AU prompt, with the dialogue prompt “What’s a pretty little thing like you doing, running around with the end of the world on her his arm?” in bold in this chapter.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Warnings: mentions of nightmares, memory loss and recovery, brief mentions of Bucky’s Winter Soldier days, and canon-level violence. Lots of frustrated Avengers. A bit of flirting.

A/N: I can’t decide if I want this series to make people laugh or cry, so good luck. Please comment and reblog! 

Divider by the fantastically talented @whimsicalrogers​!

The Avengers are confused. Perplexed and far out of their depths, they’re strewed about the meeting room with variants of displeasure on their faces. Bucky wears the biggest scowl of all, sitting ramrod straight in an armchair intended for postures far more comfortable. The source of their malcontent hovers in a hologram above the conference table, somehow managing to look bored while handcuffed and bound to a steel chair in the most secure interrogation room in the Compound.

You’re a thief. A crook who has been stealing big money from bigger people, in a slew of prominent heists that eventually led to the Avengers’ recruitment to your case. High stakes burglary isn’t their field, but when certain people threw their weight around, demanding a serious investigation, Earth’s Mightiest Heroes had no choice but to play detectives to one elusive criminal.

A flirtatious one, too, Bucky thinks, remembering your first confrontation, as he traces the seams of his metal arm with the softer pads of his flesh fingers. 

Sam, Nat, and Bucky had tracked you all the way to Paris, where, one night, Sam gave chase while Bucky waited to intercept you on the predicted escape route, in an alley behind one of the classiest bars in town. Their prediction had proved accurate, and you had pretty much run straight into Bucky’s waiting arms. 

The ensuing fight should have been an easy one, and Bucky made the awful mistake -- the mistake he hadn’t made since meeting the Widows in the Red Room -- of underestimating a woman, and he ended up paying for it. 

His fists clench in his lap at the memory of how you had pulled a very Widow move on him, and he had wound up on his back with your thighs around his neck in a chokehold almost gentle. You had leaned over him to tie his hands together, and left him panting, out of breath, and with the taste of rust in his mouth. Clambering off, and wiping away the blood at the corner of his lip, you had then said, “I look forward to our rematch, handsome,” before disappearing into the dark, French night.

“Barnes?” He hears Stark call, and he blinks. “You still with us, or are you daydreaming about your girlfriend?” The room grows silent, and Bucky can sense suppressed smiles and silent glares, the latter aimed at Stark from Steve.

“She’s not my girlfriend,” he grouses, letting his metal fingers dig into his kneecaps.

Sam, coffee abandoned on the table in front of him, eyes twinkling says, “We heard her through the coms, Barnes. In Paris, and in Buenos Aires.”

“And Oslo,” Peter pipes up, and Bucky falls back into the memory of autumn frost crunching under his feet, the reverberations of the orchestra in the opera house as he followed your coat-tails -- you played violin, because why the hell not -- down the busy street. Power-walking turned to running, and you had ended up in a crowded, posh bar with Bucky backing you into the wall in the hallway leading to the restrooms, holding your hands in one metal fist behind you.

Still, you had been unperturbed, trying to distract him with gemstone eyes while he called backup -- Stark, soaring in stealth mode above the fjord. “What’s a pretty little thing like you doing, running around with the end of the world on his arm?” You had asked, gesturing toward his metal shoulder, no struggle, no flight or fight. 

Red-lipped smiles, you had given him, and he had been so close to pulling out the handcuffs until a trio of burly security guards had appeared, your backup, apparently, and engaged him in enough combat to allow you to escape. 

“She seems to like you,” Sam finishes piercing the haze of another battle lost, less violently at least, and Bucky rolls his eyes.

“Yeah, well, I don’t like her,” is the best he can come up with, and he stands, moves towards a window overlooking the grounds, addressing the bulletproof glass, next. “What I would like is for us to get the money back so we can all go on our merry way and pretend this ever happened.”

The room falls quiet at that. Every person here is acutely aware of the fact that they’re no closer to getting the money back -- nobody could ever spend the amounts you’ve stolen recently, so quickly; FRIDAY’s run simulations on it -- and you haven’t budged under the interrogations you’ve faced thus far.

Barton enters the room as soon as he gets off the quinjet, still in his typical Bed Stuy uniform -- ripped jeans and purple t-shirt -- and Bucky, alongside Natasha and Sam in the observation room behind the one way glass, can see the angle he’s going with. 

It’s almost cliché, or maybe it’s just Clint, so relaxed and loose-limbed with too much pizza in his system and likely smelling of one-eyed dog -- Bucky adores Lucky, but he’ll never admit it -- the way he turns his chair around and sits, resting his chin on folded arms atop the back of the chair. 

For a moment, Bucky worries he’s fallen asleep right there, until his blond head lifts ever so slightly and he says, “Would you like something to drink?” 

You quirks a smile. “I’d like a proper introduction. What, were you raised in a barn?” The smirk is teasing, but there’s no bite, like you’re greeting an old friend with an inside joke. Barton traces the edge of the table.

“Almost. Ever heard of Waverly, Iowa?” He asks. 

You shake your head, and then, grin, informing, “No, but I have heard of you, Clint Barton.”

“So you didn’t need an introduction.”

“I’m a prankster, can’t you tell?” Bucky thinks of the navy blue dress in Prague, the tiny but powerful stink bombs you had kept in a thigh holster, how you had left them coughing. 

“Jokes are all well and good but, uh, stealing isn’t so funny,” Clint answers., sitting up, and Bucky can hear in his hardening tone that he’s starting to get serious. 

“Depends on who you’re stealing from,” is your flippant response.

“Also depends on who has to get the money back, too, and let me tell you, we’re a little tired of playing games.”

“Then I guess I win, right?”

“Are you sure you don’t recognize her? Her tactics seem familiar,” Sam says, and the sensation that has been aggravating the nerves in an unlocatable part of his brain since he saw her for the first time worsens, but Sam’s question is addressed to Nat.

“She’s not Red Room, if that’s what you mean. The Widows were trained to be merciless. She avoids getting more physical than she needs to,” Natasha answers, retying the band on her braid, flaming red hair coiled over her shoulder.

“She broke Bucky’s nose,” Steve points out in protest. 

Nat shrugs, leans forward to doodle on the notepad resting on her knee. “If it was me, I might have knocked some teeth out. Maybe pulled a knife or garrotte.”

“You have to tell me where you get those sting-y things,” you say the moment Nat enters the room, eyes sparkling and wide with awe. Bucky winces as he remembers the short-circuit from that little electric disc. The engineers in the bank had been pretty troubled by the thought of what could’ve caused that kind of damage to the internal systems, until he his fist around one of their necks gave them something else to worry ab--

Steve’s hand on his shoulder startles him back to the observation room instead of Hydra’s clutches, and he says, “Hey, Bucky, how’s it going?” with a nod to the room in front of them. Vibranium cuffs peek out from under the large, green hoodie that envelopes your form, making you look deceptively soft.

“She wants to know where Nat gets her taser discs.”

“You’re eager for those even after you’ve felt how much they hurt?” Nat asks calmly, and Bucky imagines an ice-cool smirk on her lips as she reminds you of how exactly you were captured. It was the tasers that brought you down, after Sam, Steve and Bucky flew and ran you to exhaustion through the streets of Algiers, costing Stark some collateral payments. He hadn’t minded too much, just been happy to have you in custody, finally.

“They look like they’d be fun to use. Pretty handy around certain metal armed men, too,” you suggest playfully.

“Yeah, he isn’t going to talk to you, but I’ve been looking forward to this chat of ours, so why don’t you start by telling me your name.”

“I don’t have one. I’m a ghost story,” you say, and Bucky assumes Nat is looking unimpressed, because you press forward with the joke. “You’re going to need a medium to talk to me.”

“And where do you suppose I find one of those?”

“You have one. Isn’t Bucky Barnes a ghost story, too?”

Sam’s about to name what is sure to be another way to cause unnecessary injury when Bucky butts in. “It doesn’t matter how she hurt me or how she could have hurt me,” this, with a glare at Natasha, who smiles down at the paper. “We have a burglar with billions stashed away and a buncha angry billionaires breathin’ down our necks to find it.”

“Well why don’t you give it a go if you think it’s so easy?” Looking up from the hangman sketch, Nat fixes emerald eyes on his, reminding him, once again, of the unusual interest you’ve taken in Bucky. One that started with mid-battle conversations of a different nature, and that has extended into custody. Something that’s been bugging Steve, his protective instinct whirring into overdrive -- Bucky sees his eye twitch from across the room at Nat’s remark -- no more so than during Steve’s turn to question the captive.

“You guys are all taking your turns playing Good Cop Bad Cop, but I haven’t seen Robocop yet. Why is that?”

“You left him tied up in Paris–”

“There’s an innuendo in there somewhere,” you sing-song, head tilting rhythmically from side to side. Bucky clenches his fists in the observation room.

“–so he isn’t much obliged to see you,” Steve finishes, bypassing your interruption.

Playful eyes with laser determination, unperturbed by locked rooms and handcuffs, focus on a spot just above Steve’s shoulder, almost looking through the glass, even though Bucky knows it’s just a mirror for you. “What a shame. I was hoping our little back alley tussle wouldn’t scare the big, bad White Wolf away.”

Steve rolls his eyes. “Are you going to tell us where the money is or do you want formal charges and a jail cell?” He asks, shifting so he blocks your line of sight, folds his hands on the table, and broadens his shoulders, all-Captain and no-nonsense.

“Giving up on me so easy?”

“I wouldn’t call it easy, miss. We’ve been looking for months and tried just about everything to get you to cooperate.”

“Not everything.”

“She’s yawning,” Sam proclaims indignantly, glaring, shocked, at the hologram where indeed, the source of their troubles is yawning, like you could fall asleep, tied up and all. “Unbelievable.” He shakes his head, and Bucky stops a snort from escaping. He’s seen all kinds of interrogations, faced a fair few, too, and this woman is just warming up.

The ensuing discussion and debate continues for hours, until the sun sets behind the window Bucky’s standing by, and what silences them is the thump with which Clint puts his hearing aids on the table in front of him. Sam’s coffee wobbles dangerously, and everyone sighs as Clint wordlessly tells them to shut up. Murmurs of agreement to rest and get a fresh start tomorrow echo through the room, and Bucky catches Barton’s eye, and receives a wink. 

Later that night, in his room, Bucky knows he’s not going to get a minute of sleep. It’s just an intuition, something his very bones are telling him, and he sees no reason to dispute it. Under the throbbing ache in his head, there’s an itch in the grey matter of his mind, somewhere he can’t reach, and he twists and turns. The feeling is recognizable as the vexation inflicted when he’s on the verge of a memory, but those return either by dream or by sense these days.

Dreams are for the bad memories, the days of the Winter Soldier, his subconscious loosening whatever locks his mind placed to compartmentalize the pain, to stuff it all away. The nightmares, the terrible memories leave him shaking, but therapy helps. By a few percent, but when the load of pain is as heavy as his is, every small burden taken off his shoulder helps.

Sense brings back the time before Hydra, although it’s sometimes hard to believe there was one. Steve’s face buried in his shoulder, be careful, Buck; Romanian take out, his mother’s hands; faucet dripping, water running out; oranges exploding on his tongue, a month’s salary plus overtime from working at the docks for that sweet rush once a year. The Depression, the first war -- trench memory brought back by a rainy run in Central Park, the scent of muddy petrichor in the air -- snowfall in the Alps, Dugan’s cigar. His body remembers, and then shows his mind the way.

However, this, this infuriating personality that has him incensed and restless, she isn’t in his mind in any capacity, but Bucky thinks he knows her. Or that he might have, once. And he needs to know her, again, because he hates not knowing. The nightmares hurt, and the memories of what he’s lost do, as well, but not knowing, existing in the strange limbo between certainty and loss, it’s unbearable. If this woman knows him, if she’s another key to another past, another piece of him, he has to talk to her.

“FRIDAY?” He asks groggily, sitting up. 

The screen in the wall across from him blinks blue in acknowledgement, along with a “Yes, sir?”

“Is Steve up?” 

“Captain Rogers is awake and having a cup of coffee in the kitchen, Sergeant,” FRIDAY tells him, and Bucky curses at the idiocy of consuming caffeine at this hour of night -- whatever’s in that shit works even on the serum and that can’t be good -- replacing his sweatpants with jeans once more and heading out to find his friend.

Steve has his back to the entryway, deep in thought -- dumbass, anyone could sneak up on you like this -- when Bucky comes in and clears his throat. The mug in Steve’s hands looks comically small, and Bucky sits down across from him at the island, reaches forward to take it from him, and downs the remaining half.

It’s just one more testament to how disturbed Steve is -- as if the careless consumption of coffee at midnight wasn’t enough -- that he lets Bucky steal his coffee. Blue meets blue in the silver dusting of moonlight, and Steve tries to locate Bucky’s purpose in his eyes before asking him for it verbally. “What is it, Buck?” He’s tired, too many missions weighing on those eyelids, but too worked up to let them close, to find rest. What Bucky’s going to say won’t help.

“Let me talk to her.”

[fluffykitty1999-blog]

Dog of the Military- Chapter 29

Chapter 29- Mr. Fingers

In this chapter, we learn more about our new serial killer.

Obligatory ko-fi link here; https://ko-fi.com/fluffykitty12 .

It'd been awhile since Roy had done regular alchemy. When your signature attack was so useful, you didn't really have need for anything else.

But he still liked to dabble in it occasionally. He still got the monthly journal, still read the articles about newer forms of alchemy. He still liked to know about new discovery.

Fusing woof to other wood was a simple transmutation for someone as experienced as him. A simple chalk circle on the side windowsill- he touched two fingers to the small array he'd drawn, watching the blue light flash and focusing.

The blue light faded, and the wooden sash of the window was now fused to the windowsill invisibly. It couldn't be opened- either from the inside or the outside.

Roy was sure someone as experienced as Ed would be able to figure out and undo the alchemy if he'd needed to. But he was also sure that Ed respected him enough to at least be wary of changing things in his home. Hopefully if Ed realized Roy had gone to the trouble of using alchemy to fuse his window shut, he'd think twice about sneaking out.

Even though, having seen Ed at the office today, Roy was pretty sure the kid wouldn't try to sneak out anyways.

After he'd trudged back from the showers, Ed had looked worn out. If Ed hadn't been such a moron, lying to him and sneaking off on his own, then Roy might've pitied him enough to send him home early. But Ed had lied to him and snuck around, and so it was only fair he was forced to live with the consequences.

Still, as Roy peered into the guest room that night to find the boy sprawled out on top of the covers- his boots still on- he knew he was worried over nothing. Ed would stay close by. Where Roy could watch his back.

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"You won't let me go anywhere. You won't let me investigate Banks. You might as well let me help with the Mr. Finger case."

"Mr. Fingers?" Hughes looked surprised at the moniker. Ed had strode into Roy's office and flopped on the couch, shrugging.

"All I do is sign paperwork. It's boring. Let me help you catch this guy."

"Haven't you had enough of him? You almost got tangled up with him yesterday- you brought back a severed finger. That's enough to give anyone nightmares." Hughes said, steeping his fingers.

"Yeah, that wasn't fun. But I'm also probably the only one who ever saw him. I can describe him."

Hughes sat forward, the sunlight reflecting off his glasses.

"Alright. So what did you see, Edward? Describe him for me."

"Tall. Lanky. Six foot, about- he walked... oddly. Shambling gait. All black clothing. Black knit cap. Black long sleeve shirt, button up. Black slacks. Black boots- size 12."

Hughes wrote it all down on a notepad, frowning as he saw Ed pause.

"His hands. Long fingers. Long, black, acrylic nails. Unusual... for a man."

"So you really did see him, then." Hughes set his pen aside, pushing his glasses back up on his nose so his eyes were once again visible through the glare.

"You thought I was lying?" Ed asked, looking at him quizzically.

Hughes shook his head. "No. I thought it might have been a copycat killer. But you saw the real thing- the finger you brought back- you remember which one it was? You saw the corpse... which one was missing?"

Ed leaned forward in his chair, resting his elbows on his knees, pressing the heels of his hands to his closed eyes and trying to remember.

"Left ring finger. The same finger that would've had a wedding band on it, if she was married. I could smell the blood... I was standing in it..." Ed opened his eyes and looked up, eyes wide. "I could smell the glue."

"Glue?" Roy raised an eyebrow, interested.

"Yeah. Glue. Those fingernails- he'd put them all on recently. With glue. I didn't realize it at the time, all I registered was the smell of blood, but the glue... She wasn't wearing those nails when he killed her. He put them on her corpse. And cut off her ring finger for a souvenir. But the rat got it and ran off with it- he must've been looking for it."

"Where was the body, Ed?"

"Right by the manhole- the one in the alley of hammer and mill streets. I thought I told you about it yesterday?" Ed said, frowning.

"You did. We found the bloodstain and a bottle of acrylic nail glue- but no body." Hughes admitted grimly.

"So he moved her." Roy postulated. "Are you searching the sewers?"

"Currently- no." Hughes gave a quick, humorless chuckle. "I'm not about to send my team in there with the wedding band killer still on the loose down there, Colonel Banks rumored to be on the run, and possibly hostile Drachman agents lurking as well. We have no idea where to look. Those tunnels are miles long..."

"I could show you." Ed paused as both eyes landed on him. "I think I remember most of the way. I remember the turns- the tunnel I went in, the one I came out of. I saw which direction he was headed."

"You're so eager to go back to the sewers after your little escapade yesterday? With Banks and 'Mr. Fingers' down there?" Roy cocked an eyebrow. He shot Hughes a glance that clearly said- there is no way I'm letting him go back into the sewers, even if he is with us.

Hughes raised his head almost imperceptibly, acknowledging him. "I don't think having you underground would be a good idea, if you remember the turns you took above ground- the manhole you went down, where you saw him- that'd be helpful to our investigation- letting us know where to search."

"Okay. But I wanna see the casefiles."

"What case files?" Hughes feigned innocence.

"You called him the 'wedding band killer'. He's killed before. I want to see what you have."

Hughes shot Roy a glance out of the corner of his eye. Roy nodded from behind his folded hands, where his elbows rested on the desk, and Hughes pulled a large file folder from behind him. "Read up. We'll head out in an hour."

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"I went in here." Ed was standing atop a manhole in a deserted alley on Frost Lane, looking serious. Roy, Hughes, Ross and Brosch were with them for the investigation.

"I walked straight for 100m, about..." Ed was absorbed in his work, walking in the approximate direction he'd gone.

"I turned left here. And right here..." his full concentration was on the road in front of him. Roy's heightened senses had kicked in. The streets were quiet right now, but one never knew these days when a Drachman operative or hidden enemy would pop out.

Brosch was sketching a rough diagram as Ed was speaking. But Ross obviously wasn't assigned to keep the case- she'd been assigned to watching their backs. Her hand appeared to rest covertly in the pockets of her long black jacket, but Roy say the slight glance of metal- she had her pistol concealed in one hand and was watching.

He was grateful Hughes had thought enough to bring her along.

"Where did you find the finger, Ed?"

"There was an alcove, midway along the passage. The sewers form a T-shaped junction soon... a little further along, I think." Ed paused, before he kept walking on the sidewalk.

Three minutes later he'd stopped and was frowning. "We went too far. This isn't right."

He doubled back, frowning. "This would be a lot easier if you'd let me go underground." he said, frustrated.

"Not happening. Think. You're smart enough to retrace your steps above ground. What did you hear down there?" Roy asked pointedly.

"Besides running water, not much." Ed snapped, frustrated. It had started to drizzle, and Ed paused, continuing on to the edge of the street. He saw something that caught his eye, trotting into the road- just as a black car came around the corner too fast, heading in his direction.

"Ed!" Hughes shouted.

Breaks screeched, and Roy grabbed the kid by the back of his hood, pulling him back and into his own grasp. Roy spun to the side, ducking into a nearby alley for cover.

The black car had screeched to a halt in the middle of the street.

Hughes, Brosch and Ross had all drawn their weapons and approached cautiously, and Roy kept Ed tucked beside him and fingered his ignition gloves in his pocket with his other hand, watching from the shadows.

"Get out of the car!" Hughes shouted.

Ross opened the door with one hand, keeping her gun trained on the driver, and Brosch pulled the man out.

The driver was a young man- he couldn't have been over twenty- dressed in a button down shirt and slacks. He looked sufficiently rattled.

Roy watched Hughes grill the kid for a moment before drawing the conclusion the man wasn't a Drachman operative, but a young idiot who'd gone around the corner too fast.

He turned to look at Ed, who was shaking off his surprise. "Holy shit." the blond managed.

"No kidding." Roy said dryly, scrutinizing Ed carefully. Ed wasn't hurt- so Roy felt it appropriate to reach over and smack him upside the head lightly.

"You just walked into the middle of the road without looking?"

"I was absorbed in the investigation! I was remembering the sounds I heard in the sewer, like you said. There's only so much I can think about at once."

"Your parents never told you to look both ways before you crossed the road?"

"There was one dirt road in my town. It was never that busy. I always heard the horses coming before they came around, and people actually watched out for others..."

"Don't let it happen again."

"Right." Ed was peering out of the alley now, curious as to what was going on.

Hughes had let the driver get back in his car, and the man drove off at a much more reasonable speed.

Hughes nodded to Roy as they approached, letting him know he'd handled the threat, and Ed paused, looking towards the center of the road.

"That's what I was talking about." he pointed.

In the middle of the road was a grate. The road didn't form a T, but rather, it was an X, with roads going in all four directions, but the grate in the center clearly accounted for the waterfall Ed had seen underground. "That's the waterfall. Thirty meets left is where I found the body."

Ed was already moving down the sidewalk, though he made a point to stop and look both ways before crossing the road to continue his quest down the sidewalk.

The rest of the little tour was uneventful, with Ed concluding it at another alley manhole. "That's where I got out. Whoever he was- he followed me, grabbed my leg and tried to pull me back down..." Ed paled for a moment at the recollection, before he seemed to shake it off.

"Hope I helped with the investigation somehow." he said, shooting a glance over at Hughes.

"I think we have some leads to go off of after this." Hughes replied, placing a hand on Ed's shoulder. Roy knew what he was talking about- the fact that their was a battered woman's shelter two blocks down form where Ed had supposedly found the body underground was a big one.

They parted ways- it was nearly six, and as they walked towards home, Ed was silent.

"How long you think it will take to catching this guy?" Ed asked as they walked along, his gaze far off.

"I don't know. Hughes has it well in hand, though." Roy said simply. "You think about work too much. What do you want for dinner?"

"You think about work too little. And I want mac n' cheese." Ed said back. "Any word on Banks?"

"Nothing yet." The sun was starting to set. They were four blocks away from Roy's house. They were waiting at a crosswalk. Roy gazed up at the rooftops, watching the sunlight fade- and saw the reflection.

He grabbed Ed's hand and pulled them both behind a parked car for cover.

"What the hell!?" Ed groused, surprised.

Roy simply raised his hand and hailed a passing taxi, pulling Ed into the back of it behind him, giving him his home address.

Ed had fallen silent in his complaints, but was still looking at Mustang curiously. Roy said nothing, craning his next to look up at the rooftop as they drove out of sight. He vaguely saw a shadow, but it could've been any number of rooftop vents or chimneys in the long rays of the setting sun.

"Care to tell me what that way about?" Ed asked, crossing his arms and looking pissed.

"Saw a reflection on the rooftop. From a sniper's scope."

"You what?" Ed paused, looking shocked.

"Rooftops are excellent for snipers. Banks is at large, as well as the Drachmans. You weren't even paying attention." Roy admonished.

"I was so paying attention! I was paying attention to the road and the crosswalk saying don't walk and getting home for dinner." Ed protested.

Roy sighed. "You were paying attention to that, yes." but not to the right things. Roy's mind whispered. But he quickly silenced that voice. Ed had never been in active combat and didn't know what to look for.

"Snipers like to camp out on roofs. If they get sloppy, you can often see the muzzle flash in the dark if they don;t use a suppressor, or a reflection of light on their scope. I thought I saw a reflection of a scope up there."

"So are you going to send someone to investigate it?" Ed asked.

"No. Because if it was a sniper, they missed their chance and they;re long gone by now." and I'm not sure if I really saw one or my mind was playing tricks on me.

"I'm tired of this shit. Of hiding- we don't even know if there really was someone back there trying to get us. And if there was, we don't know who they were! I just want to get back to searching for the stone."

"You won't be able to help Alphonse if you're dead. And you won't be able to enjoy mac n' cheese if you're so pissy. So suck it up and at least pretend to be in a good mood for your brother."

They'd pulled up outside Roy's home, and Roy quickly paid the cabbie and they ducked inside.

Alphonse was perched on the couch, a book in his hands that actually wasn't about alchemy.

"You're reading those crappy dramas again?" Ed complained, flopping down on the couch beside them.

"I needed a break from all the alchemy. It helps refresh me." Alphonse commented cheerily.

"Just don't go prattling on to me about them this time. I don't care if Julia finds love or not."

Roy went into the kitchen to start a pot of boiling water.

Ed continued to tease Al for his taste in literature.

"You know brother, maybe women would like you more if you actually read something like this and learned some sensitivities." Al said as they sat down to dinner.

"Yeah right. Women love me." Ed shoveled bites of mac n' cheese into his mouth feverishly.

"With manners like that, who wouldn't." Roy said sarcastically.

Ed shot him a glare.

"Winry might like you more if you weren't such an idiot and read about feelings and love. You'll never get married if you don't learn how to communicate with women." Al said wisely.

Ed choked on his mac n' cheese. "I can communicate just fine! With my fists! I fight people, Al, I'm a state alchemist. I don't need a woman, and especially not Winry. She doesn't know the first thing about communication- she just hits people with a wrench!"

"Sounds like she speaks your language then. Violence." Roy smirked.

"You shut up!" Ed pointed his fork at him angrily, steam starting to come out of his ears.

He turned back to Al "And as for marriage- the only rock I care about is the philosopher's stone. Now quit ruining my mac n' cheese with your feelings and crap." and Ed was back to digging into his meal.

Al sighed, and Roy could've sworn he was giving Roy a look that said see what I have to deal with? before he retreated back to enjoying his book. After much complaining and badgering Ed managed to switch Al's drama novel for an alchemy book, and the boys chattered long into the night about research and theorems. Roy occasionally interjected from his armchair when he thought of something useful, but before long it'd grown quiet.

Roy looked up from his newspaper to realize it was almost one in the morning. And it'd been quiet for awhile- no one had said much.

He looked over to see Ed had passed out on the couch, a few notebook pages scattered around him and an open book in his lap. Alphonse was sitting cross-legged on the floor, having carefully bookmarked the page he was on in his alchemy book and resumed reading his drama.

Soulfire eyes looked up as Roy strode across the room, picking up a folded blanket he kept nearby and draping it over Ed's slumped form.

"Don't tell brother I started reading this again? He thinks they're a waste of time." Alphonse asked him gingerly.

"Learning to understand how women think is hardly a waste of time, Alphonse. In fact, it's one of life's great mysteries. It'll come in handy for you someday, when you get your body back." Roy smiled slightly, imagining Alphonse going on his first date.

"What you do in your time awake is hardly my business anyways, Al. Just please keep an eye on things and be quiet. You know where my room is- wake me if you need anything."

"Okay. Goodnight, Colonel." Al's voice was decidedly more chipper- almost like a young boy who'd just been praised by his father.

"Goodnight, Al."

[dragonrajafanfiction]

Yamata-No-Orochi: (Part 4) Erii

ITT: The Mic Drop Heard Round the World.

The sun woke you. Bright light shone through the windows, forming a halo around the curtains and projecting the shape of raindrops from the window onto the carpet. Mingfei had left shortly before you fell asleep of exhaustion and grief. 

You’d fought hard and rebelled against the world, but this last rebellion had taken you too far. Z raised, saved, and safeguarded you. But you refused to play his love game, and that was all it took to discard you. Caesar had been at your side, encouraging you to live all this time. But now that the clouds had gathered, and the darkness of the world surrounded you, he realized that, like Chance, life was not in the cards for you. And Chu Zihang? Well, he always was a sword at your throat.

Once again the world was laughing, mocking you with its silent game of keep away. Love? Syke! Happiness? Syke! Companionship? Syke!

You hated this world. Mingfei went to Erii’s room with the Desert Eagle. What was stopping you from planting your mind in the ground and tilting Tokyo into a rift in the Earth, like it was the undersea Takamagahara? To watch its towers topple, and its buildings burn would be a fitting end to a Godzilla movie.

The hotel phone rang, insanely loud. You reached over and picked it up. “Pizza Hut,” you mumble.

Lu Mingfei stammered for a moment. Then he laughed. “Hey. You, me, Erii road trip. Right now. I left some clothes for you.”

His voice over the phone, it sounded like Z’s. You are silent, mind completely inert, spirit aching. “Sure whatever.” You hang up.

You shower and pull a comb through your hair three times, leaving it to fall over your shoulders. You don't bother with jewelry or make up. He left you a pair of skin tight jeans and a shirt that said Wild Thing across the front. White ankle socks and blue low rise canvas sneakers go over your feet.

The phone rings again. Mingfei sounded breathless. “Come now! We have to go!”

You hang up the phone and dash outside. Mingfei is waiting for you in a cherry red porsche. Erii waves with bright enthusiasm from the passenger side as he gets out and folds the seat down so you can get in the back. “Erii this is my friend, MC, She’s sick like you.”

You startle. Mingfei just went out and said it. You hold out your hand and she takes it, examining your fingers with her dark red eyes. You were lighter skinned, but this girl was near transparent. She scribbled on a notepad. “Nice to meet you. You are very pretty.”

“Guys buckle up!”

Your seatbelt had just clicked when Mingfei down shifted and floored it. The engine let out a mighty growl and the car took off like a rocket down the street. But Mingfei was relaxed, with an impish, ‘catch me if you can’ sort of look. Something in your chest stirred awake.

Erii held up her notebook. “Sakura is the best, right?”

Her smile was so sly, not something you expected to see. “Oh yeah, he's awesome!”

Her nod was sassy, like, Damn Straight.

You look at him again. He was smiling like he was angry. He was acting recklessly. The buildings were a blur outside the windows. The car rumbled like a beast underneath you as the accelerator didn't let up. You weave through traffic like lightning and soon the police are tailing you with flashing lights.

If you thought you were going fast before you were mistaken. The car dug deeper, and it felt like you floated over the road. The police car faded into the distance, unable to keep up.

He pulls into a service station and pays the attendant way too much cash. “Where are we going?” You ask.

“It's a surprise!”

“Does MC like gum?” Erii held out a piece and you helped yourself. 

You lean forward. Erii was covered head to toe in clothing, despite the good weather. 

“MC said that Erii is not stupid, that Erii is smart. MC was right, you knew a lot about yourself. But MC was sad so I wanted to take her too.” Lu Mingfei was saying. “Because she cares for Erii and understands her.”

Erii looks at you for a moment. Then she wrote in her notepad, “Cheer up. Sakura is very lucky. Thank you for caring about me.”

Her expression was so earnest and happy. Did she really understand herself? You hold out your hands for the notebook and pen. You write, “I'm too sick so my friends are scared of me.”

She takes one look at the notepad and her eyes widen. She snatches it back and writes, “Erii is not scared, Erii will be your friend.”

“Please be my friend.” You say softly.

Erii reaches out and seizes your arm. Her face is serious and she nods. When you stop at the supermarket, she drags you along, purchasing snacks and a gigantic stuffed teddy bear. Erii was not interested in herself. She wanted to cheer you up! She understood beyond words the lifelong loneliness, the constant rejection, and growing up in a world that feared you. She forcefully shoves the teddy bear into your hands. And pulls you along. It's so big you can't see around it.

Her image blurs with that of Renata. If Renata had a chance to grow up, she would be this bold.

The bear is so tall it folds against the low ceiling of the porsche. You squeeze in next to it.

“MC is from Siberia. Where she is from, the sun doesn't set in Summer. And in Winter, it doesn't rise and lights dance in the sky.” Mingfei says as you take off again.

Erii swivels in a full body, “What?!” expression and you laugh. “It is true. It's exactly like that.”

“That is AWESOME!” She turns the notepad to you and then writes, “I want to visit your home!”

You recall your promise to Caesar to go dog sledding and feel a pang of regret. But your mind has already replaced Caesar on the dogsled and put Erii there. “Let’s go dogsledding!”

She looks confused.

“Here give me your notebook.” You draw a sketch of a dog sled pulled by a team of panting dogs.

If Erii’s eyes got any bigger they would fill her face. She wrote, “IS THERE SANTA IS HE THERE”

“I… no Santas not there, but we can pretend to be Santa.”

“MC is awesome!”

Before dusk, Lu Mingfei and you two ladies arrived in the town at the southwest end of Shikoku, which is more than four hundred kilometers from Tokyo. The Porsche sports car ran for a full four hours. The whole time Erii peppered you with questions about life in Siberia while Mingfei drove. She had the impression of a magical frostland full of sky and sea. Her sparkling impression was free of brutal reality. For four hours you spoke only of the beauty and wonder of the north. Erii’s notebook is filled with sketches of white quail, snow geese, cute arctic foxes, bears, seals, and whales.

    The open-air parking lot was empty. Lu Mingfei found a parking space to park the car, and opened the door to hear the tide. You could not see the sea. A large hill stood between you and the ocean. The waves sounded like reverberating between the sky and the earth.

    "The sea?" Erii wrote to Lu Mingfei, with excitement in her eyes.

Lu Mingfei nodded his head as an answer. 

Ah the ocean… maybe four hours ago you might have been upset to meet up with the water. Now you just laugh.

Erii looks at you curiously.

“Did you know I got to ride dolphins?”

Erii practically staggers. 

“If you're lost in the ocean, sometimes dolphins will rescue you.” You hook her arm in yours. “They're big and strong and won't let you drown.”

“MC knows so much.”

“Erii knows a lot about Erii’s world. I know a lot about mine.”

Erii nods and smiles.

Lu Mingfei pulled out the compass, opened the long-prepared map, and took you to the town not far away. The sign in front of the town reads Umezuji-cho. At this time of the year, the streets of Tokyo must be bustling with people, but in this small seaside town, there are no people on the streets, only a group of elementary school students in school uniforms passing by.

Mingfei seemed to be in a rush, but Erii dallied with you, asking questions and marveling at the tofu shop, or the batik store. More than once, Mingfei had to come back and usher you forward. He clearly had some sort of plan in mind.

You find out that he hurried was so you could catch the last mountain tram, which was built next to the town's shrine and had a 45-degree angle track that made a staccato sound as you climbed.

    On both sides of the track there are dense trees. These trees cover the track like thick clouds, and it is as if you are walking through a tunnel of ever-changing colors, a tunnel made purely of foliage and flowers.

Both you and Erii are stunned with wonder. You did not have such dense forests like this growing up. The air is full of birdsong and frogs and early season cicadas. You feel someone take your hand. Erii points to your face. A bright tear shone there like a pearl. You didn't know you had shed it.

  "Sakura is not Japanese, right? How do you know such a beautiful place?" Erii wrote in her little notebook.

    "I saw a drama made in Japan. This is a very famous scene from that drama. I saw that drama a long time ago."

    "What was the name of that TV series?"

    "Tokyo Love Story." Lu Mingfei wrote one stroke at a time.

 "I liked that Japanese drama so much that I searched the Internet for all kinds of information about Ehime Prefecture, and finally learned that the ending scene was filmed in Umezuji Town, and that the school and the separate stations in the drama were real. I had always dreamed of traveling to Umetsuji-cho and had done a lot of homework.”

You and Mingfei did not really know each other. You did not think he was this level of a romantic so you didn’t understand why Caesar would want to pair you two. Now it made a lot more sense.

Lu Mingfei took out a handkerchief and blindfolded Erii: "You will see a beautiful view when you untie the handkerchief later."

When he handed one to you, your jaw drops. “I can’t believe you.”

He doesn’t say anything, just ties your eyes. You feel his hand close around yours. You can’t see Erii’s expression. “Erii, I’m so excited. This is fantastic!”

You’re smiling, you can’t stop. The memories of the events of the days before roared like angry hordes of monsters in your mind, but Mingfei and Erii have shut the gates on them. His warm hand in yours, the rhythm of the sun's rays between the trees, the crunch of your footfalls on the trail, the constant sound of birds. It was all so soothing.

 You walk the decades old mountain mining path, a road with uneven stone patchwork. At the end of the road is a long closed mine. In order to commemorate the mine that raised the town, the residents of Umezuji Town donated money to build a wooden temple-style building over the entrance and exit of the mine. Each rafter is hung with carp flags for prayers, and various porcelain dolls are placed under the eaves. This is a local custom. If the town's family gave birth to a boy, they would come here to hang a carp flag, and if it is a girl will put a porcelain doll.

 “It's exactly the same as the Internet says." Lu Mingfei said.

The tracks of the mine car had long been rusted, and weeds grew among the sleepers. You followed the track to the edge of the cliff, and Lu Mingfei helped you to climb a rock that protruded from the cliff.

He pressed his hands on you and Erii’s shoulders and said, "Now you can take off the blindfold."

You untied your handkerchief. 

The sunset blooms full in your vision. The huge sun disc had touched the sea. Ten of millions of tons of seawater slowly swirled beneath your feet. The tide broke into white splashes under the black cliffs. The wind blew endless hectares of forest. The evening woods also look like the sea from a distance, a pale red sea, with thousands of treetops swaying with the wind, forming cascading waves. 

Small towns are distributed along the winding coastline, Lu Mingfei names of them one by one -- below the cliff is the town of Umezuji, a little farther away is the town of Yamamae, Tsukishita Castle Town and Matsuron Town, and further is beyond his knowledge.

    The town's small school was already empty, and the silent playground was empty.

    The Ferris wheel spins slowly but does not carry passengers. The Ferris wheel in Umezuji Town is only a miniature version, but it is magnified in the sunset, its huge shadow cast on the undulating sea of trees.

    On the track facing the sea, the yellow slow train rumbled through the small unoccupied station, which was enclosed by white railings with the signs "Umetsuji X" and "Tokyo X”. You wonder how long it had to wait for a nostalgic and romantic fan like Lu Mingfei. Music starts playing and you can't help but laugh in disbelief.

    Lu Mingfei had pressed play on the theme song of Tokyo Love Story. His phone was the latest and the speaker was good. You couldn't believe it. This nerdy little parrot boy and scared raccoon had somehow managed to comfort you completely. Outside the shadows of Caesar and Chu Zihang, he shined bright. Maybe being on a boat with him would be fun.

Erii held up her notebook. “The world is gentle.”

You look at her, expressionless. She was right. The world in its natural state was quiet and peaceful. You’d fallen asleep in violence and awakened in violence and pain. You didn't get to experience the romantic world like this very much. In your mind, you imagine Renata in her patchwork coat, sitting next to you. In your ears, she whispers. 

You open your mouth, “Make a wish!”

Mingfei turns to you in surprise but Erii follows along, pressing her palms together. You pray.

Renata. I am coming soon. Sorry it took so long.

You sat under the roof of the mine. Erii kept writing questions. Lu Mingfei answered one by one. This girl seems to have saved up a belly of questions, and now they all came out. Mostly they referenced Anime and Manga you have never heard of. That was Erii’s world, a world of cartoon fantasy. He confirmed or denied that reality, shaping and creating the world anew as you watched her listen intently. Lu Mingfei had taken to heart your words and was upfront and simple, not lying or trying to say things she wanted to hear. You nod in approval, your eyes serious. 

The sun gradually sank below the surface of the sea, the last afterglow scattered on the water. Half of the sun and its reflection form a complete circle.

   "So this is what the outside world looks like." Erii wrote to Lu Mingfei to see.

    "Yeah, that's what it's like, no Britannia Kingdom and no Celestial Organization… disappointed?" Lu Mingfei asked.

    "No, not disappointed, like this kind of world, this kind of world is very gentle." Erii used the word gentle once again. You repeated the word in your mind. Gentle. It echoes there. As if without the constant threat of death and adrenaline, there was just empty space.

   "I really like this world." As the sun is about to disappear, Erii wrote to Lu Mingfei. "But the world doesn't like me." Erii went on to write.

You stand up and move to the other side of her. You scoot as close as you can and rest your head on her shoulder. She hugged the huge bear and lowered her eyes like a cat that had done something wrong.

 "I'll be a problem for everyone and I've been a problem for Sakura." Erii wrote again.

  "I was too willful. So I ran away from home."

  "I should have gone back a long time ago but it's still a pleasure."

   "It's beautiful here, I should have known I should have come here on the first day. Thank you Sakura, MC, thank you.”

You lower your hand over hers as she’s writing.

"No."

Erii froze for a moment.

 "No." Lu Mingfei repeated.

Lu Mingfei cocked his head to look at her with a rare serious look: "Don't think you can know what the world is like by coming out to see it. I'm still confused after living in this world for more than twenty years. You've only run out for a few days and you think you understand?"

His eyes look at you too and you’re just as shaken as Erii. But he is right! You never set foot outside the Port of Black Swan and that was 20 years ago. You saw the whole world through that tiny lens and haughtily walked around like you owned the place. You judged others through that same view as well.

  "How big the world is depends on how many people you know, and for every person you know, the world gets a little bigger for you. There are many cities in this world. There are Tokyo, Paris, Cairo, London, Istanbul... but many of them are just names to you, you haven't been there and there are no people there you want to visit, so they don't really belong to your world. There are many, many more people in this world, but you don't know them, and they don't belong in your world. There are also lots of good food and fun and nice things in this world, but the world that really belongs to you is actually very small, just the places you've been and eaten and seen the sunset and the friends who will care if you live or die."

 "Whether the world likes you or not only depends on whether your friends like you or not. Everyone has a few really good friends. They like you, therefore, the world likes you."

The world… was not Tokyo, or Cassell or Hydra… The world was Renata, Caesar, Chu Zihang, Lu Mingfei, and now Erii. You turn your head back to Tokyo, unseen in the distance. How could you leave…?

“What is a good friend?" Erii wrote in her little notebook.

    "It's the kind of friend that's so crazy about that he'll believe in you no matter what, and he'll be with you no matter what.” Lu Mingfei growled low. "If the world really doesn't like you, then the world is my enemy."

    The moment these cold and arrogant words came out of his mouth, you seemed to hear a familiar cold laugh coming from behind you. The demon of the sad world sneering with all its mockery.

Together, you and Mingfei both jerked back, but behind you were only cherry blossoms mixed with fallen leaves swirling in a breeze, and there was no sign of Z. Lu Mingfei stared at you with wide eyes and you stared right back. His mouth opened. “MC. You… heard…?”

    "Wanted: a good friend." 

He turned back to Erii waiting for him with a small book up. 

    "I am your good friend, and you will have more good friends in the future." You say.

    "But as long as we are your good friends, how can we not like you?" He said softly.

She slowly crawled towards Lu Mingfei like a kitten, vigilantly figuring out his look. Lu Mingfei looks petrified and you cover your mouth with one hand while silently cheering, “Kiss! Kiss! Kiss!”

What did he expect? Even your heart was moving and you don’t even like him! Lu Mingfei is sitting here putting Kazama level moves on this girl and now that her arms are around him and her head is on his chest, he looks two seconds away from shitting himself. You ball your fist against your lips and swallow your laughter.

Clouds gathered in the distance and the sun had set, It was time to go. You would have to get up bright and early tomorrow to get on the boat to China. Your heart was relaxed again about Caesar’s decision. After all, he was just doing his best. If you died, you would go to rest. Caesar would be tormented for the rest of his days. He wasn't sending you on the boat to die. He wanted you to live. You still believed the omniscient Z. Leaving Tokyo was a death sentence. But you also believed Caesar had his own parallel script.

It was raining by the time the train came. You stand shoulder to shoulder on the platform. “Call me to wake me up tomorrow.” You say.

 Mingfei lowers his head and laughs.

“Oh you’re planning to oversleep? Once again I have to be the mature one.” You roll your eyes. 

The train splashes up to the platform and you make sure Erii has her ticket. She sits next to the window and stares outside. Much to your surprise, Mingfei sits you next to her. He gives you a fond smile and passes you a note.

  "Dear passengers, this train terminates in Matsuyama City. We are now about to leave Umezuji-cho station. The train is about to close......" A sweet female voice echoed in the carriage. 

The doors of the train close.

You open the note in your hand. The words make you squint.

You have to live.

You and Erii gasp at the same time. Mingfei is not on the train. The doors have closed. And he is not on the train!

You leap from your seat and pound on the glass door in front of the smiling Mingfei. “Where am I supposed to go?” You will miss the boat. You won’t go to China.

Your hands slowly slide from the glass. Erii is pressing her notebook urgently against it.

Lu Mingfei tapped on the window, "Someone will pick Erii up when you get to Matsuyama City. MC, find Ruri Kazama.”

    "Won't Sakura take me back to Tokyo?" Eriki took the small book and showed it to Lu Mingfei.

    "Your family won't like me." Lu Mingfei said.

    Erii hugged the furry teddy bear and lowered her head, her long hair like a colored cloak that enveloped both her and the bear.

    "Sayonara"  said Lu Mingfei.

    Erii nodded, finally realizing that this was their parting. The train ride to Tokyo will take several hours, but Lu Mingfei will not accompany her.

    Lu Mingfei's face was stern and he didn't say anything more. There was nothing more to say. This was the parting, his carefully designed parting. He NEVER agreed to the boat. He NEVER agreed to kill you. He had carefully pulled the wool over Caesar’s eyes and convinced you that he was going to dump you on the boat. You grinned and shook your head. But the train began to move before you could even think of a comeback.

[fvcklila]

More Than A Woman (Intro)

More Than A Woman - After surviving the events of Endgame, Tony Stark has become a recluse. Spending day after day in his workshop without letting anyone in, he finds not only a new way to cope with his PTSD, but something he hadn’t had in so long; a friend. What happens when this new friend develops thoughts and feelings of her own, especially toward a certain super soldier?

A/N: I was listening to More Than A Woman by the singer Aaliyah when this idea came to mind. It’s something that’s lingered in my head for at least a year and now that I’ve got hella free time, I’m ready to give it a go! I hope you guys like the intro! - D. (Sorry it’s so short! Also had to reupload on my phone cause Tumblr flagged it for some reason.)

Pairing - Bucky Barnes x Android!Reader (Fem!Reader)

Warnings: Angst/Mentions of PTSD & Depression/Artificial Humans/ Fluffy ending. (It’ll get smuttier & fluffier at some point lol)

If there was one thing Anthony Edward Stark was good at, it was bad ideas. And it was this bad idea that had been spawned from something oh, so human.

Loneliness.

Ever since the events of that day, Tony had spent his days locked away in his workshop on his own. Tinkering away at anything that took his mind of the constant pain that shot throughout the right side of his body whenever he lifted a single finger. And god, it didn’t look any better. He tried to ignore the constant looks he got whenever he did manage to make himself go outside on the rare occasion.

But this was his way of coping with things and damn it, it helped. Sure, it may not have been a healthy thing. Locking yourself away for weeks at a time and refusing to speak to anyone was a giant red flag for unhealthy tendencies and was certainly not normal at all. But then again, was anything really normal about Tony’s life? His wife, Pepper, was the smartest woman he knew and was far too busy helping repair the world after the snap. His daughter, Morgan, was growing up herself and had Happy to watch over her at the time being. And fuck, did Tony needed this break.

He needed to do something. To build something. Something that showed that no, he wasn’t completely broken and incapable now. He wasn’t just mangled and fucked up for nothing. He could still do something. Anything.

That’s when it came to him.

What if he didn’t have to be alone?

Sure, he had Pepper and Morgan. He had Happy and the team, but given his circumstances, he couldn’t stand them seeing him like this. More importantly, he couldn’t stand the pity he’d get. That’s why he needed someone to vent to. Someone who wouldn’t judge him or see him as a weak old man trying to keep up with the big dogs. No, he needed someone different.

Sitting up in his chair, Tony hastily grabbed the crumpled notepad that had been sitting by his desk for weeks, along with the half-broken pencil and began at his best attempt to sketch a human body.

He started out with a head. dragging his pencil along the paper, outlining the shape of it. He created ears, eyes, lips and a nose. Then came the body parts. Arms, legs and feet. Toes, fingers and nails. All that jazz. Until finally, he had the perfect outline of the person who’d unknowingly would save him from his self isolating turmoil.

Seventy-Two hours.

Seventy-Two hours was how long it took, but judging from how detailed everything looked, Tony would say it was worth it. Every single eyelash to every single fingernail looked so…real. One would think that an actual human being was laying on the table before them if they saw you. It was at this moment that Tony had felt somethings he hadn’t felt in so long.

Excitement.

Happiness.

Ambition.

All the things that made him who he was before and in just a few seconds, his new creation, a new chapter in his life would be opened. As if he were touching the gentlest material in the world, Tony placed his fingers on the android’s chin and tilted its head to the side, revealing a small USB-like port behind its right ear. He reached into the back pocket of his jeans, revealing a tiny microchip – or as he liked to call it, your brain.

His hands trembled with excitement as he slid the tiny metal square into the robot’s head and practically jolted backwards with excitement. And like clockwork, he heard the familiar sounds of a machine turning on, the mechanical properties humming with the sounds of life.

The second you opened your eyes, the first thing you saw was white. You couldn’t register a thing, only the sight of brightness clouding your vision. What it was, you had no idea. Who it was, you had no clue. But within seconds, the bright light faded into something that made your head spin. You blinked rapidly as your eyes took in your surroundings.

The giant fluorescent lights beaming down on you made you wince and for the first time, you felt pain. Even if it was dull, it still felt like something and that’s what made your eyes nearly shoot out of your head with how wide they opened.

Your first breaths were rapid, taking in large quantities of air and expelling it even faster as you experienced your first anxiety attack. Where were you? What was this place? But most importantly – what were you?

Glancing down at your hands, you moved your fingers for the first time in sync with each other, eyes big with disbelief. Moving your gaze downward, you noticed two legs and two feet resting against the large operating table.

“I take it this must all be a bit of a shock to you, hehe.”

The sound of a deep, yet calm voice caused you to nearly jump out of your artificial skin. Sitting upwards in a flash, you opened your trembling mouth as you fought to process what in the world was happening. There you were, cold and afraid and with a strange…thing that looked as though it had the same mechanics, beaming down at you like you were something edible.

“You probably have no idea what the hell is going on,” He acknowledged. “Do you?”

It took quite a bit for you to muster up the courage for you to shake your head and when you did, he let out a nervous laugh. One that you found yourself letting out, too. Surprisingly.

“It’s a defense mechanism, kiddo. Don’t worry, I coded it for you to help you out.” He informed you as he grabbed what looked like to you, was a giant light-up rectangle, before tapping away at it in a haste.

Setting it back down with a small clank, you watched as he grabbed some kind of object with wheels and scooted himself closer toward you, which instantly made you scoot further from him on the table. Noticing this, his smile faded and was replaced with a concerned frown.

“Look, kid. I’m not gonna hurt you.” He reasoned, holding out his hand. “I’m a friend.”

“F-Friend?” You stammered, furrowing your brows. Confusion wasn’t a good experience for you, Tony figured that, so he did what he did best. He improvised. Peering around the room, looking for something that could help him and calculating the reaction you’d have in his mind, he finally broke out into a grin when he spotted the little silver baggie on the desk in front of him.

Picking it up, he slowly and carefully, held it out to you. “Blueberry?”

“What the heck is a blueberry?” You felt yourself blurt out before clamping your mouth shut with your hand. The laugh that echoed the room was something you didn’t expect from the strange man sitting in front of you and for the first time, you felt a new emotion: ease.

“It’s a fruit.” He chuckled, taking one out and holding it in front of you. “Check it out, not only is it nutritious, it’s also delicious.”

You don’t know how or what you were doing when you felt your cheeks move upward and your teeth become exposed to the chilling air in the room, but unlike the first emotion – which horrified you – this one was pleasant. You didn’t mind it one bit.

“There we go! That’s what I like to see.” The man smiled at you pridefully.

“What…was that?” You asked, the smile seemingly glued to your face.

“It’s called a smile, sweet cheeks. Get used to it.” He informed you before scooting closer. “Now, how about we get you a name?”

You paused, staring at him and expecting him to explain what a name was and why you needed one. “It’s what I’ll be referring you as, for now.” Taking the hint, he placed his hand onto his chin, stroking his beard playfully as he stared at you as though you were some kind of painting that needed to be seen from a certain angle to understand.

“Sharon?” He offered.

You winced, shaking your head.

“Lucy?”

You raised an eyebrow. He let out a snort and shook his head.

“What about…. Y/N?”

You paused, this time, you felt something different inside of you. From deep within a place you couldn’t pinpoint. Feeling your cheeks move upward again and your eyes twinkle, you knew whatever this feeling you get when you were called this, it was more than just a pleasant feeling. It felt good.

“I like that name.” You admitted, repeating it under your breath once again and smiling even bigger. “It’s beautiful.”

“And it fits you, too. Way better than Sharon.” He admitted with a dopey smile, one that made you experience laughter for the first time. You decided that that was your favorite one. Laughter.

“Well, Y/N,” He spoke softly, holding out his hand to you, which you reluctantly took, standing from the table. “My name is Tony.”

You finally had a name for this strange man that brought you to life so suddenly and it felt good knowing that you weren’t the only one with a name. You had begun to build a list of questions, ones that you knew you’d need answered. What was this stretchy stuff covering your skeleton? What was the wet slimy thing in your mouth that moved when you spoke?

You wanted to know everything.

“Welcome to life, kiddo.” He turned, showing you his giant room filled with all sorts of trinkets, objects far too advanced for your knowledge at that point, but fascinated you nevertheless. “It’s gonna be a wild ride.”

For the first time, you weren’t the only one that experienced this emotion: Hope.

[trudy-shams]

What we become - part 6

6 months later ------------ You checked out your reflection in the mirror for the 12th time, every 10 minutes in the span of 2 hours. Steve was late today. No!  You were NOT nervous, you just wanted to look presentable. You were a reflection of the place you worked for and you loved Asgard so it was not totally absurd you wanted to make sure you were looking good.

"The blonde boy isn't here yet, please stop wasting time in front of the mirror and take those drinks to table #6" Clint grumbled.

Him sitting in your section 5 times a week and leaving cute notes (and some hefty tips) did not go unnoticed by anyone. And no one was subtle about it. From Loki to Thor to Clint to Gamora, everyone teased you endlessly.

"Seriously, I don't know what is holding you, or him, back. Just go out on a date already" Gamora said while tipping her head towards the door.

And in walked Steve, in all his smedium t-shirt and khaki pants glory.

His eyes immediately found yours and his face split into a big grin as he made his way to a table.

Sometimes you wonder how you didn't see until now how handsome he was, but you know for a fact that your perception of beauty changes as you get to know them better. Sometimes their personality makes them more appealing while other times it's the exact opposite.

You couldn't stop the smile that spread on your lips.

You neared Steve's table "You are late today"

Steve dopey smiled back "I got stuck at an event my father organized but I slipped away as soon as I could and then there was the usual traffic"

"I have told you so many times, we have another branch of Asgard near where you live, you don't have to make the hour long drive just for some beers" You smirked.

The first time you got to know how far he lives, you were slightly confused as to why he would drive all the way. He just shrugged and smiled, saying he liked the ambience of this place better. You didn't really believe him but didn't push him either.

Now? Now you kinda knew why he drove so far. It would be stupid to pretend otherwise but you couldn't pass an opportunity to tease him.

"And I have told you, I really like the ambience " Steve was not the shy fella who couldn't meet your eyes anymore. It took a while but he slowly lost his inhibitions around you.

And you? Well, your perspective of him changed the very day he saved your life. You were so grateful to him.

But as you got to know him better, you felt a lot more for him than just thankfulness.

"So your usual then?" You took out your notepad.

"No, not today. I am already late, maybe I will take a to-go bag for some snacks. Enough for two people" Steve had this look on his face.

You were disappointed and you hoped it wasn't obvious on your face.

"Oh sure, I will bring it up right now" You internally cringed at the high pitch of your voice.

"Oh no, no rush, take your time. I know your shift doesn't end for another 30 minutes" Steve was full on smiling now.

It took a moment for you to realize what he meant and you bit your lip to keep from smiling.

"Well that's very presumptuous of you Mr. Rogers. I might have better things to do then go out on a d.., accompany you to whatever secret cult meeting you drive an hour for" Steve laughed out loud before pressing his hands to his chest.

"The Perseids Meteor shower is supposed to peak today and the sky is clear enough for a good view. It might be something fun to watch "Steve lost steam by the time he finished his sentence seeing your stern expression " it's Friday night so I thought you wouldn't have classes tomorrow and work. The best time to view is after midnight and If you are not comfortable, I understand"

You did your best to keep your laughter in at Steve's rambling but maintained your serious demeanor "We will have a few hours to kill then, do you want to watch a movie"

"I totally... what?" Steve was giving you his signature puppy dog eyes.

You finally dropped the act and grinned "I have been begging Nakia for days but she claims that no astronomical event can keep her from her beauty sleep. I am so glad you asked. It would be so much fun. We can take some drinks too. We can stop by my place and grab a picnic mat. Do we need chairs? Blan..."

"Ok doll breath" the nickname just slipped out but Steve decided to act calm"I have everything ready. We can just pack some food and we are good to go"

You did a tiny jump. "I can't wait" --------------- 12 Months later

"See, both Mr. Darcy and Lizzi are seeing things through their own corrupt lenses" you supplied hazily

The warm weather and shining sun had almost put you to sleep.

Then there was Steve's warmth that radiated from where you were leaning against him. His cologne, his soothing voice as he hummed a tune now and then and the comfort of knowing he  was there with you.

Steve and you were sitting in your favorite park. You, with your books and Steve with his sketch pad, as had become the norm for Sundays. Steve always asked you what you were reading and you always asked him what he was drawing.

Steve would show you his sketch if you would give him a summary of the book you were reading and answer his questions. You borrowed a few books from Mr. Stark's library every time you went home.

There was something about reading a physical book that you loved.

You had grabbed your all time favorite this morning while stepping out to Steve's bike.

"Usually people assume that one character had pride while the other had prejudiced views but I feel that they both had pride and their own prejudices. For instance, Lizzy knows what Mr. Darcy is saying about her family is true and on occasions, she has pointed out the same to her mother and sisters, even her father, but she is wounded when Mr. Darcy states the same. Her mind sees Mr. Darcy is a spoiled rich man with no compassion or heart" you went on, now glancing at Steve "but we should always remember, never judge a book by it's cover... or initial few pages" you stuck your tongue out at your own silliness.

Steve had this wistful smile on his face "Yeah, sometimes the first few pages cannot tell you the full story"

"That's why I read all books that I begin till the end" you all but whispered to Steve seeing how close he had come to you.

"I am so happy that you do" Steve whispered back. Just one inch, that's all you needed.

And then Steve's phone went off.

You both jerked away.

Steve took the call while you hid behind your book for the rest of the day. ---------------- 18 Months Later

"You will call me as soon as you reach" you repeated for the 5th time.

"I will, first things" Steve promised.

Steve had been enrolled in a 1 year MBA from a university in another country, as per his father's wishes. Apparently, it was a rite of passage all children in his father's circle had to go through. You were told by Nat that James, or Bucky as she called him, had been there too.

Like that was supposed to make you feel better.

Not that you could ask Steve to stay. You weren't officially dating.

You didn't know what was holding Steve or you back. Well, you knew what was holding you back. You didn't know what you would do if Steve rejected you.

You were sure he had feelings for you but you still felt that there was a wall between you two and you had solid reasons.

You had never, not once, met any of Steve's friends. Not even as a friend.

He always came to you, the area where you lived. Never the other way around.

He hadn't added you in any social media accounts he had.

There was a small part of you, which was growing everyday, that believed he was embarrassed to be seen with you. Not that Steve ever made you feel like that when you were together.

But then there was this glaring fact that he never asked you out on a proper date. It was always a plan to 'hang out'.

And that he hadn't even kissed you yet.

And now he was leaving for 12 months.

"I will miss you" Steve looked at you with such a rueful smile that you had to look away.

"Well, I will be right here. Literally, I will wait for you right here, at the airport gate, with a bunch of welcome home balloons and a six pack of your favorite. Who knows, maybe I can convince Ms.Hella to start an airport outlet and I will meet you inside, waiting with your regular order as soon as you land" you tried to lighten the mood.

"I will touch down at the airport every weekend then" Steve smiled which did not reach his eyes.

"Don't make promises you can't keep Mr. Rogers" You turned to him and smiled, having reached the security check.

Steve was hugging you the next second. Arms squeezing you tight while he murmured in your ear " I will miss you sweetheart, So much."

You took a deep breath to hold your tears in "I will miss you too".

You stood like that for a moment. You pretended not to notice the way Steve smelled your hair and planted a lingering kiss on your hair.

You both reluctantly parted.

"I will see you soon stranger" you whispered and started stepping back.

You had to let him go before you did something stupid. But ultimately, Steve beat you to it.

He grabbed your arm as you were about to turn away, jerked you forward, and planted his lips on yours.

There was nothing soft about the kiss. It was bruising. It was months of pent up frustration, attraction and tension all coming to the fore.

One of his hands was tangled in your hair while the other was like a steel band around your waist. You didn't know when your hands ended up crushing the t -shirt material around his chest. It was all tongue and teeth and desperation.

When you both came up for air, Steve looked absolutely wrecked.

He held you close and pressed 6 more quick kisses on your lips.

I *kiss* will *kiss* miss *kiss* you *kiss* so *kiss* much *kiss*

With that, he loosened his grip on your waist and hair and stepped back. Hair out of place and cheeks flushed crimson.

He let out a deep exhale and turned around, speed walking through security, not looking back once.

While you stood there, rooted to the spot for a few minutes, trying to catch your breath and quell the butterflies in your stomach, wondering what the hell just happened.

[howtodisassembleyourdeviant]

( gosh I want so many secrets, I want to send them all ) 🙃 🍎 ❤️ 🖤 - ( for both please )

🙃- For a lighter, slightly embarrassing secret

Android: Connor has had to go to the hospital on three separate occasions to have his systems flushed after eating some form of human food. 

Human: Drunk Connor is an asshole to sober Connor. One time, he woke up handcuffed to the metal railing in front of his apartment door. Apparently, Drunk Connor had dropped his keys when he went to unlock his door and couldn’t find them, so he handcuffed himself so he wouldn’t wander off. It took him over an hour to finally reach his fallen keys and find the handcuff keys on them. 

🍎- For something they secretly wish did exist

Android: A way to delete hardwired codes from his mind without risking everything that he is. 

Human: A way to rewrite memories. 

❤️- For a secret crush

Both: Captain Allen. He takes good care of his body and is a good leader. Plus, his ass looks nice in his SWAT gear. Even android Connor can appreciate the aesthetic of the man. 

🖤- For something they secretly wish they could do with your muse

Android: Travel. Thomas is such a man of the world, Connor wishes he could experience that. Nothing permanent, as he still has obligations, but taking vacations to places he has never been. He’s also afraid to and will find a dozen excuses as to why they shouldn't go. Especially if they have to get on a plane. (He’ll probably need to be forced into stasis to keep him from self-destructing.)

Human: Be with him more. Experience life outside the DPD with him. Relearn what it’s like to have a life before he threw his entire being into his career. 

Bonus (All you say? *v*):

🌧- For a heavy, emotional secret

Android: Connor wishes he could exchange his life for all the androids that died while trapped at Jericho when it fell. He imagines the struggle they had faced as it fell, the fear. They thought they were safe, and Connor had broken that. He had inadvertently helped the FBI find them. Even in his rebuilt version of the Zen Garden, under the pond, are android bodies, staring up at him accusingly. They have dragged him under in some of his nightmares. 

Human: Connor believes he is a curse. He only causes pain to those who get close to him. It keeps him from forming bonds and causes him to push those he cares about away. He never says it, but he believes it was his fault that Cole is dead. He cursed the people he cared about, and they paid a high price for it. 

🌟- For a secret wish or desire of theirs

Android: He wishes that the revolution wasn’t necessary. That the humans didn’t feel the need to use force against them. That they were accepted and the laws were changed to include them, rather than struggle to keep making new laws. He wishes the world wasn’t so full of hate. 

Human: That people weren’t so ugly to each other. Life is so hard, and he doesn’t understand why people feel the need to make it harder when a few words can make it better. Why is it so hard to offer a helping hand instead of a closed fist? 

🍏- For something they secretly wish didn’t exist

Both: All the hate people have for what is not like them. 

📲- Talk about someone/something you dislike, but only pretend to like

Android: Fishing. Hank really likes fishing, but Connor can’t stay still for long. When Hank falls asleep, Connor goes for a swim, often scaring the shit out of Hank if the water is clear enough, walking along the bottom of the lake with his thermoregulator turned up, the cold around him keeping him safe from any complications. Of course, what really terrifies Hank is when he comes back to the surface and purges all the water from his artificial lungs that he had used to weigh himself down. He doesn’t like it either, but it’s worth it. 

Human: Cars. As a kid, it was obvious Hank really liked cars, often working on his own. Connor, in an effort to appease his new dad, studied hard on the various vehicles that Hank seemed to particularly enjoy, watching as he did minor repair work. He wasn’t used to not having the strict structure that he had with Amanda, always seeking approval and terrified of punishment. Hank never gave him anything to study, so he found things on his own. In actuality, Connor really doesn’t have the same affinity towards vehicles that his dad has, but he enjoys the bond it created. 

👁‍🗨- Talk about someone/something you like, but pretend to dislike

Android: When someone challenges him. Most of the time, he pretends not to like it, but there is a certain feeling that he gets when he explains why the person is wrong that he likes. However, if the action is repeated, or the person can’t see the logic, it starts to anger him and it can turn to resentment. 

Human: Donuts. They’re unhealthy and just an overall stereotype for his profession. However, he can’t help but look at a fresh box of donuts longingly. 

🍻- For something bad/mischievous you did as a child or teen that your parents don’t know about

Human: It wasn’t necessarily bad, but it wasn’t allowed. He would sneak food. He had to be really careful about what he took, only taking a few small sips from a carton of juice or taking grapes only after Amanda had already opened them and pulled some from the vine. It’s probably the only reason he’s survived. 

🌜- For a ‘weird’ habit or tic that no one knows about

Android: Connor bites his left pointer finger when stressed. Outside stimulus forces his mind to focus on the pain rather than the chaos in his head. As a result, it doesn’t bend as well as the rest of his fingers and is permanently damaged. It’s replaceable, of course, but there’s no point if he’s just going to do it again. 

Human: This one is only mentioned briefly once, but if Connor doesn’t finish his cigarette for some reason, he puts it out by swiping it across the bottom of his palm of his left hand. It started as a way of self-harm in high school, but now it developed into a habit. The skin there is scarred and callous, and he barely feels it anymore. 

💃- For a talent that they like to keep hidden from others

Android: Connor likes to dance and has mastered several easily, thanks in part to both his adaptability and combat protocols. It started with Capoeira and quickly evolved from there. He even knows several seductive dances, such as pole-dancing and belly-dancing. It's something he keeps secret, usually dancing really late at night. 

Human: Connor can play the piano and knows the basics of the violin. He hates them and knows if anyone found out, they would ask him to play something. There was a time he had to go undercover at a lounge, and they asked him if he knew how to play and he said no. He had to work as a busboy/dishwasher for the entire week. 

🏹- For a talent they wish they had

Both: Cooking

👻- For something that scares or disturbs them, but they refuse to tell anyone

Android: Blizzards. He gives off the impression that he wouldn’t mind them, given how much he loves snow, but the second he hears that one is headed for the area, his demeanor changes and he puts in a request for the time off. 

Human: Roses. What kind of person is scared of roses. Well, he is. They dictated his life for the longest time. He was supposed to prune them with shears that couldn’t even cut through a slice of bread. thorns tearing into his skin as he worked on keeping them healthy, removing weeds. If any of them were damaged or he did a lousy job, it was the ‘roses’ choice’ when he would be allowed to eat again. Amanda would make him actually ask them if he was allowed a meal, with Amanda translating for them. 

☢️- For a controversy or scandal they have been able to keep mostly under wraps

Android: Well, Connor knows about Thomas’s red ice, does that count?

Human: Connor lets petty crimes that hurt no one go. He gives people warnings or things like that, but there’s no reason to enforce a law that is there simply to make things harder for the average person.

🐇- For a secret item they keep (stuffed animal, comfort object, etc)

Android: It’s not really a secret, but no one knows about his six-foot long shark that he cuddles with, often keeping it pressed against the back of the bed under his pillows.

Human: Connor made the fox, but before that, He also has a plush shark that Hank bought him as a kid.

📒- For a secret journal/diary they keep (Bonus: Share an entry from it!)

Android:  30.11.2038: Another “Nightmare”. Woke up the Lieutenant again. Decided not to enter stasis anymore.

Human: Connor doesn’t keep a journal. He was told to, but he never got into the habit of writing down his thoughts.

📔- For a secret sketchbook they keep (Bonus: Share a sketch or doodle within it!)

Android:

He seen this dog at the park and the two colored eyes reminded him of Markus. 

Human:

He was bored, doodling on a notepad. 

[the-headbop-wraith]

3_40 Dream Scape

There was a road.  It went on for miles and miles, endless road among a forest of bare trees tangled against a half moon.  The wind strummed its lacy fingers through parched branches, what little grass mingled beside the road, sighed as it bowed low.  Stars dazzled the distant cosmos, as far beyond his reach as the end of the road he courted.  It was a territory he was out of practice with, roads he recalled well but he could not ponder on the specifics of his relationship with a road.  He set foot on the this subdued path and it replayed like a loop, no stone or shrub was ever the same, but the night always limped onward relentlessly.  An eternal night that kept him shackled to a land in the perpetual twilight; teased him with promises of a reprieve within a daybreak that always rose and melted back into dusk.  Half risen suns drowned in an inverted dawn.

By his impression roads were not meant to be this way. A new purgatory, fresh kindling to tend his carefully guarded heat, something about the air stirred him, made him slink deeper into the nuance of wandering.  There was danger in testing boundaries; around him deep within the woods there remained zones he was not welcomed.  But the road was modern and it had cut deep through the earth decades prior, a mile more.  He could always turn back, that was a choice preference.

In the shrouded distance something awaited.  It wasn’t there but it was, he knew it just had to be there ahead somewhere and the sense of it needled at him.  Abruptly the sensation abandoned him altogether but by then it didn’t matter, he knew something tangible was there though he could not see it clearly, but he would arrive on it in due time.  There was no hurry, how long had he been waiting?  It was there and it would not leave, if he wouldn’t allow it.

Even when the sharp slit of light hit the amber edge, he couldn’t hasten his pace.  He could scarcely believe what it was that he had come upon, and the sight of it briefly stumped him.  There. THERE!  

He did not go toward it immediately, but kept his guarded distance on the road and studied the slate of color, the self-proclaimed title that read out on its side MYSTERY SKULLS, bright colors exploding in his mind as if a maelstrom of colorful spectrums had never before been witnessed by his eyes. It was here, a van.  THE Van.

The acuity of ownership, of belonging failed to taint him as he moved closer to the inert vehicle.  It was a place, a mobile station that he had once shared in, yet it was a separate entity from himself.  Another identity.  Nevertheless, he reached his hand out as he neared, but faltered.

__

The rest stop was fifty miles out away from the nearest city, in the midst of jagged rocks speckled by sparse trees and stiff grass stalks.  Several groupings of rocks blocked visual of the main road that bypassed the stop, the road itself was practically deserted but for the stray car that happened by.  

Its late morning and the rising sun moves to hover behind a cluster of impacted rock that rests at the base of a high hill.  A figure picks its way toward the utmost point of the mammoth boulders; its rich pelt is silhouetted by the bold yellow orb trembling behind it, a glossy red sheen coats the ends of its fur.  It turns its head and focuses on the figures far below, seated upon a brick wall that chaperon’s visitors toward the interior of the large, gray stone building.  Red eyes narrow and sharp teeth poke through the sides of the muzzle, the figure draws back its head and unleashes a loud yawn.

Cool wind prickled the ridge of fur that lined his shoulders. Mystery finished his yawn, as he stretched all the way down until his toes reached the edge of his perch and his chest was nearly touching the cool rock under him.  He sat down and put one back leg to work, going to town on the bent and frazzled fur that had tucked into the edge of his ear.  That felt too good, and he nearly couldn’t stop himself. Somehow, he managed.  And picked himself right up and shook out his coat, his collar rattled in that amusing way it did that let everyone know he was just a dog.  Plain and simple.

He adjusted his spectacles with a wrist and once again turned his attention, onto the surviving members of his pack.  If he wanted to he could listen and be aware of what they were saying, but the topic was nothing crucial, remedial chitchat. They could do without his company for a while longer.  He snapped his ears high and raised his snout into the breeze and sniffed.  Leaves, roots, elk, some kind of feline – nothing to fret over.  In these areas a case of abandoned beer or some other rubbish dumped by disrespectful guests, was the vilest threat that could be conjured.  A shame that good people were far in-between and few, if any.

Mystery let his eyes linger a little longer on the two on the wall, talking.  Satisfied, he began to pick his way down the backside of the boulders and crept back into a clutter of trees.  No one was calling for him.  They’d be fine for a few more minutes.

“We’re def. safe, since he only takes victims at night,” Vivi was saying.  The computer was working again.  Nearly fifty-two hours on the road, both batteries gave it up ages ago.  Now was a good time to stop and charge them up. Except…  “I’ve never heard of attendants with sleeping quarters.”

Arthur sat on the same wall several meters away from Vivi in the direct sunlight, and doodled in his ‘company’ notebook.  “It’s his job,” Arthur grumbled back.  Vivi was on the case, and her enthusiasm was becoming a national emergency as far as schedules were concerned.  “We’re miles away from the nearest town, it’s the system around these parts.”  Arthur directed his pen Vivi’s way, and slapped his hand down when his sketch pad began sliding off his lap.  “He’s a government employee.  That’s all.”

“No one looks that pale, ever,” Vivi said, hardly focused on the editing of the document.  A half eaten ‘Texas sized’ cinnamon bun sat on its gooey wrapper, all of this perched on the side her knee; the snacks only companion was a bottle of iced coffee and a bag of popcorn (a ‘light’ snack).  Vivi was ravenous when it came to her excessive sugar intake. “Unless he was some kind of vampire, but he’s out in the sunlight.  Can’t be that, nope.”  The rest stop attendant had given them a wave as he wheeled his beaten metal mop bucket away on the sidewalk outside.  What little hair was upon his gray scalp was scraggly, his arms were boney and his clothing hung over his knobby shoulders; he sort of… slithered on his gelatinous brown work boots.  “How long do you think cadavers can keep for?  You know, people bodies?  You know that stuff?”

Arthur gave Vivi a lopsided grin that revealed the teeth along his cheek.  He coughed and tugged his vest a little more around his chest; no matter what Vivi said, it did keep him warm.  “That’s not a thing I keep track of.  I know how long a person can retain if they’ve drowned in icy water, but not post living stuffs.”  He heaved over and snatched his notebook before it hit the cement below.  With a smooth rocking motion, Arthur reseated himself firmly on the wall and flipped the page of the notebook over with his thumb.

The rest stop had a few external sockets under the roofs eave, near the glass doors that led into a visitors lobby where the bathrooms and concession stands were.  The laptop was hooked up to one outlet, and a separate charger for the laptops additional battery was hooked up to the next outlet, while Vivi had the phones hooked USB hooked to the laptop.  They’d save time, and Vivi swore she could finish the reports with this last charge.

“You’re working too fast.  You use ‘down’ instead of ‘done’ a couple times,” Vivi mentioned, while pointing to the screen (as if Arthur could see from where he was).  “Do you make these errors on purpose?”

“I’m an engineer,” Arthur muttered, with a shrug. “A little gratitude, thank you.”

“Excuse me Mr. inspiration only hits at four fucking in the morning,” Vivi taunted.  For a few minutes she worked in silence, ticking at the keyboard on her lap.  She sighed, and shifted the position of her legs dangling along the side of the walls edge.  “If only,” she whined.  She set the cinnabon onto the keypad where she typed.  “If only this place had wifi, I could check if there have been disappearances along the road here.”

The pen Arthur had been using just leapt from his hand and rolled across the ground.  “Geez, Viv.”  Arthur tossed his notepad aside and hurried to reclaim the pen, before it rolled down the ramp.  “I think I’ve had enough with disappearances for a while.  Getting in too deep like that.  I guess I shouldn’t… talk like that.”  He examined the pen as he returned to his perch, a little closer to Vivi now.  For a short while Arthur sketched in his note pad, a lot of his work was in pen and the bitter odor of the ink hovered around his head.  Vivi was quiet for too long, and this caught Arthur, he stilled his hand from marking the page.

“I never really thought about this,” Vivi murmured. Her hands rest on the keyboard, her thumb picks at one of the keys.  “Misplaced souls, lingering.  That sort of thing.  Maybe it’s just something spirits are compelled to do?  I might be thinking this the wrong way.”  She met Arthur’s eyes and frowned.  “Did he… wander like this before?”

Arthur ducks his head from Vivi’s gaze and puts some meager lines into the side of one diagram and traces it, making the line thick. He shakes his head.  “He didn’t… there wasn’t a reason for him to.”

Vivi resumes typing, laboriously slow now.  “Makes me anxious,” she mumbles.  “Like one day he’ll just keep walking.  Won’t stop, doesn’t think—” Her voice caught, and Vivi swallowed a bit.  She took a swig of her coffee drink and took a deep breath.  “Kind of gets lost.  What would we do?  What?” It takes a second or two for the silence to get to Arthur.  He sets his pen aside.

“Sometimes, y’know.”  Arthur reaches up and touched the back of his neck, and nearly bites his tongue.  “Sometimes, he gets overwhelmed.  It happens. People do that all the time… it’s practically natural!”  Vivi wraps her arms around her middle and frowns.  “Look, hey.  He won’t get himself lost.”  Arthur scoots closer and sets his hand on Vivi’s shoulder.  She doesn’t move but her eyes follow him, and she smirks at the edges of her mouth.  “He won’t do that to you again.  Even if…” This time Arthur is the one to choke, and he has to lean back and look away.  “Even if you have to hunt him down or something.”

That wasn’t what he meant to say, but Arthur didn’t want to tempt… unsavory ideas.  He drew his hand back and gripped at the edges of his empty sleeve with his fingertips.

__

There was so much scenery to see, always different, never the same.  It made the hours on the road tolerable, it was part of what made the travel exciting.

Vivi had her camera with her, she rolled down the passenger window to take some shots of the hill valley below.  The sky on their side was clear, but miles away low cloud cover and a thick fog had trampled the fields in the distance below, highlights of sunbeams accented bellowing flurries and vapor.  Cold air rushed through the open window, despite it whistling through uninvited the interior of the cab retained a comfortable, warm temperature.

The radio bubbled with music, mostly it picked up static this far out from reliable towers.  Around every hour Lewis would flick his hand towards the radio and shift the channel to a weather station, listen to the broadcaster drone out a forecast, then flipped the channel back to the former station.  Whenever the backlash of static buzzed across the radio, Vivi would pause from sightseeing to shoot Lewis a curious glance.  Lewis would smile her way, and Vivi would return the warm gesture, and go back to her comfortable little spot by the window watching the thunderhead pass.  

It was cozy this way, being sealed up in their dry little shell.  Miles away sleet swirled across the roads, the air would be mercilessly cold and brutal. The roads they kept on remained free of water or hazard; the pavement wound around bends and across metal bridges, and cut through a small town built into the hillside.  They stopped for overpriced gasoline, restocked on some supplies, used the facilities, and off they were again.

In this segment of the endless road Mystery took occupation of the cooler back, while his companions stayed crammed in the front seat.  Arthur needed a change of environment and sat in the passenger seat, with Vivi crammed between him and Lewis.  Arthur updated a separate report and Vivi invested as much time as she deemed tolerable, in editing and assembling the joint document portion.  She took frequent breaks to lie back on the seat and just stare at the stars.  It eventually got to the point where she was nodding forward, and Lewis was trying to keep her head up with one hand, least he condemn her face to smash onto the keyboard and do unredeemable damage.  Arthur saved the document before Vivi could break the laptop, once this was all done Vivi retreated into the back with Mystery.  There was bumping and a groggy whimper, before Vivi had nestled down herself. Lewis lowered the radios volume, and drummed silently on the dashboard as he scrolled through the stations for something instrumental.  He could perhaps coax a station from somewhere distant, that should be possible for him?

The hours remained tranquil while the craggy road whirred on and on, its extent inexhaustible.  White pools dotted the landscape around them, the high beams of the van would occasionally glitter over frost on trees that hovered beside the road; the world was different in the headlamps of the van.  Different in the lights of this vehicle, the van.  

Traffic picked up or trickled out as they arrived, and abandoned the larger towns in turn.  On the open road fellow travelers became scarce, and the beauty of the night could be witnessed.  The stars receded to the vibrant colors of dawn, runny maroon light crept over patches of thick woods, a pale fog rippled among the bare segments of meadows and open farm fields.

Lewis glanced over the headrest and checked the back. Vivi was curled up in a sleeping bag, with Mystery tangled up in the same blanket and Vivi’s arms.  It didn’t look like Mystery minded.  “When was the last time you slept?”  

Arthur twitched somewhat to the sudden, even faint voice, when it alit on the close quarters of the cab.  He relaxed after a moment but said nothing.  He pulled the edges of the blanket tighter around his shoulders and shifted his legs.  Lewis hardly moved at all, except to accommodate some sort of body posture or to make room for Vivi.  It kind of unnerved Arthur.  “Before we stopped, yesterday,” Arthur mumbled.  “I sleep when I’m ready.”

“You’re not tired?”  Lewis reached up to the overhead visor and flipped it down.  “Not good for you,” his voice echoed, warning.

“I feel all right.”  Truthfully, Arthur hadn’t slept the previous day either.  “It’s beautiful, the colors.”

“Yeah.”  Lewis picked at the sunglasses in the cup holder.  He didn’t want to push Arthur a whole lot.  “I really messed up, huh?”

Arthur thudded his brow on the cold window and watched his breath fog over the glass.  The lights of some town they bypassed, sparkled in the distance with paling colors.  “Lew, when I… not that.  Um.” He reached up with the blanket, and began wiping little sections out of the fading haze in the window.  “I’ve had a lot on my mind, lately.”

Lewis’ voice hitched, like it popped into the radio and out. “Hm.  Since when don’t you?”

“Heh.”  Arthur’s medicine was in his bag in the back.  It didn’t help a lot with his throat, but he liked to think it kept him awake.  A series of low whimpers came from the behind them, it was probably Mystery.  It was hard for Arthur not to feel sorry for the hound.  A random thought trickled into Arthur’s head, and he snorted with the chuckle.  Lewis looked his way, maybe startled but he didn’t inquire. “Sorry,” Arthur snickered.  “I was thinking of something.  Do you remember that one case, the one where I was begging Vivi:  “Please, please.  Save the villains?’”  Arthur gagged a bit as he sniggered, his nose stuffy.

SAVE the villains?  Lewis couldn’t picture any of them actively making an effort to save those kind of people, if he was rolling on recounted experience.  He shook his head.  Nothing specific came to mind.

“It was the one in the state park that was closed to visitors, and the archeologists… lemme think.  I know… villains, it sounds really hokey, but I panicked,” Arthur mumbled. He rubbed his thumb on the edge of his blanket.  “It was kind of a neat job.  Sacred artifacts disappearing from a just as sacred temple, no solid evidence to who the culprit was, no suspects; I think the lore went that the local god – this bear demon thing – was showing up to punish trespassers.  That thing was terrifying, actually.  It showed up and scared the students, none of them could figure out how or where it would vanish off to.  None of this ringing any bells?”  

Lewis cocked his brow at Arthur.  “I don’t see how that would make you laugh.  Though, there must’ve been something that happened…?” He waited for Arthur to continue.  For a while Arthur sat staring out the window, collected, watching the sun tease gold tendrils through a low hanging haze.

“Something about rival archeologist camp, stealing artifacts to sell off to highest bidders,” Arthur said.  “It took us a while to make progress… those guys.  They figured a way of using the ancient aqueducts to get around, but they were like a maze and people had… gotten lost in them, a lot didn’t make it out.” Arthur went silent when Lewis picked up the sunglasses and put them on his face, effectively blotting out the bright gleam of his ember eyes.  Arthur folded down a little more in his seat, fingers tugging on the pinned sleeve of his shirt.  The thing that always shocked him about that case was the nightmares.  Arthur didn’t dream a whole lot about the demon bear, but he had a lot of those wandering dreams.  The ones where he stumbled into the underground water tunnels, and got lost forever in the dark, the cold.  He shuddered.

“Did Vivi… well, Vivi always does the Vivi yes thing,” Lewis replied.  Once she got an idea in her head, there was no telling what would happen.

Arthur nodded.  “Y-yeah.”  That’s how it went.  Vivi did the one thing the group was not supposed to do, and ran off on her own without a word to anyone.  Inspiration struck, and she was going to slap it back or something.  Thankfully she had not disappeared into the aqueducts beneath the temples, Mystery found her scent easily enough and it led deep into the pine forest.  “There was this little hidden road way out there,” Arthur continued.  “Almost washed out and tricky to hike.  We sort of ‘commandeered’ one of those little off terrain golf carts they had for the tourists.  I can’t believe we did that.”  Arthur maneuvered his arm a bit under the blanket.  He wasn’t cold, but it helped him to have something covering his shoulders.

“Are you sure you didn’t catch this on TV or something?” Lewis said.  “I think I’d remember dealing with a demon bear and artifact smugglers.”

“This was one of our cases,” Arthur insisted, through a half yawn.  He quieted when Vivi murmured something in the back, probably shifted.  It didn’t make sense that Lewis would be the one unable to recall the case, he was the one that was gung-ho about scouring the woods until they found Vivi.   Not that Arthur wasn’t impartial to turning the entire forest upside down to find their lost teammate (and leader), in fact he was more afraid of losing her than the possibility of running into the demon bear out there.  It was a crisis.

“It was hard keeping up with Mystery,” Arthur went on, softly.  “We did find their camp though.”  The smugglers operation was well organized, and they had old military jeeps that they were loading up with acquired artifacts.  That wasn’t the problem though, the problem was that they did find Vivi was there but she was unconscious.  “And you… lost it.  It was spectacular.”

“¿Es de verdad?  Not making this up?” Lewis inquired, once more.  “I can see Vivi charging off on her own and getting into trouble, maybe. Usually though, you’re the one that gets nabbed.”  Lewis raised a hand up to his plush hair, presumably to smooth the pompadour back but stopped.  Briefly Lewis glimpsed his palm before he set his hand back onto the steering wheel.  “You stop to look at something shiny, or it has moving parts.  You— but you, well, you don’t pay attention a whole lot when you should.  De la solapada.”  It wasn’t a challenge to get them all separated, especially if something big and disputably hazardous was chasing them.  Lewis had never really given that consistency any sort of consideration, until now of course.  Huh.

“There was no intriguing machinations to tickle my fancy way out in the boonies.  This time, I stayed with the group,” Arthur grumbled.  “One of the times I don’t get kidnapped and you conveniently forget. It used to be one of our favorite cases too.  We took a lot of pict— Mmm, there was a lot of folklore and exploration.  Vivi got caught up in it, I guess that’s why she took off like that.”  Arthur also didn’t want to mention he was kind of taking it easy after having stitches put in from another incident.  He felt like a burden on this case.  “She loves that stuff.  Anyway, you saw her there, so you bombed the heart of operations and went after those guys… some of them even had guns.  I was terrified.  You - Fucking berserker mode:  Unlocked.”

The corner of Arthur’s mouth pulled back in a grin, and he elevated his hand like a sort of table.  “I was under a jeep, and when I looked up at the commotion I see you with a camp fire at your back.  You grabbed this big cast iron skillet, the really big thick ones that weigh fifty pounds. You went all Star Wars on them – except it was a skillet and not a light saber – and grabbed part of this tent in your other hand.”  Another little giggle burbled out of Arthur as he interchanged hands, between pantomiming Lewis elected weapons.  “Skillet, tent, and when you started taking down those guys, they started to panic and most were trying to book it.  Mystery, he snagged some sort of sacred urn thing – it was kind of important later, but they thought he was gonna eat it I guess, a bunch of them were chasing him all over the camp.  Utter chaos. This was going down, and I caught up with Vivi and was trying to wake her up.  I kept saying… “‘Vi.  Vi. You gotta wake up now, sweety, the villains need saving.’  I didn’t know what else to call them, kooks?”

The music cuts off as the radio buzzes with static; it makes Arthur twitch in his seat.  “Oh wait,” Lewis said.  “I think… weren’t they trying to get the bear demon out there too, when all of that was happening.  They wanted it to – I dunno – mortal combat with me, so some of them could splint with the artifacts they could.”  He direct a finger at Arthur, and smirked.  “Usted. Puedes echar poco, you sabotaged the engines, didn’t you?”

Arthur made a gesture with his hand and tugged the blanket back up over his shoulder.  “Anyone could do that.  I just did it without getting caught… for once.  The movies make it look simple.”  He pulled himself up to look in the back and check on Vivi, still sleeping.  “It was either you or me, but I wasn’t about to trust you sneaking around.  They’d be like, ‘Oh, an eclipse!  The end is neigh, we should have never finagled with the sacred burial site.  Wait-wait, no.  What is that?’  Then I’d be the one with the skillet light saber and a tent flag.  Was that your plan?  Or did you just improvise?”

“My story was gonna be, ‘I’m the new guy for the bear suit.’”  Lewis turned the volume down when the station chewed the static.  He was sure he wasn’t responsible for that.  “Admit it, it could’ve worked.  If it worked and they put me in that suit, I would’ve been unstoppable.  ‘Dangit. Another guy didn’t read the instruction manual.’  I would‘ve warned them I needed extensive practice beforehand, but they could film me and it’d get Vine famous.”

Arthur sniggered in his throat.  “Vine famous?  Oh, you hit your head there pretty hard, huh?”

Lewis reached a hand up and brushed aside some of his bangs and touched his forehead.  “Jeez, you nearly fainted.  I told you it wasn’t bad, head wounds just have a nasty habit of over bleeding.”  He swept that hand across his chest and straightened out his ascot.  “Ruined my favorite shirt though.”

“Dude.  Dude. Spoiler.”  Arthur held out his hand and paused.  Lewis looked Arthur’s way and waited for him to continue.  “It was identical to all the other shirts you own.”

“It was new, that’s the key difference.”  Lewis stiffens a bit, and kind of tilts his head when he looks at Arthur again.  He fidgeted, slipping his hands up to the top of the steering wheel and tightened his grip, the plastic crinkles in his fists.  Lewis checked the back, then returned his eyes to the road.  The asphalt glistened with tones of cinnamon, transparent purples and deep blues ripple as the light singed the darker tints.  A thin mist hung over the tarmac and coiled through the shrubbery nesting beside the road.

“You could have done part time for the Fred Fazbear’s,” Arthur mentioned.  A chuckle lingers in his throat, Arthur winds up wheezing into the fold of his blanket. “Traumatize the little kids.”  A little shiver coils up Arthur’s spine.  He turns to a quiet Lewis.  “Um… that demon bear suit was infinitely less terrifying than those animatronics.  Safer too. They would’ve adored you. Especially your sisters, they always love it when you bring home a souvenir.”  Arthur snapped his mouth shut, his teeth made an audible click.  Lewis was absolutely silent and somehow, it was more unsettling than a disinterested Lewis.

Arthur sank down into his little ball and rested his cheek on his knee.  He pretended to sleep, even if he didn’t want to.  There was no way getting around it.  There were many things that even a skilled mechanic couldn’t fix.

__

The candles lit at his passing, the flame twinkles briefly before the crisp draft of the hall snuffs the light out completely.  A deep, impenetrable black fog hovers in the depths of the corridor, but at his approach it coils back, receding further back through the seclusion that he cannot reach.  This arrangement seems to benefit them both, but he is careful not to hasten his pace.  There is little to see at all, only a hall and a hall, continuous.  It felt like he had traveled it for years, though he knew that was impossible.

There came a corner and around its side was a staircase. His hand slid across the polished banister as he moved by, gaze focused up into the dank shadows above and their secrets.  Roots slithered down from the upper steps; the barest shimmer of candlelight gave an eerie sheen of red to the barks thin veins.  It was difficult to make out but he was almost certain there were branches too, bent and curved down from the ceiling.  That didn’t make sense, they did have trunks.

A black rock coated the floor, smoothed and polished by centuries of rolling water droplets.  The room he was within felt confined, a small table stood beside him with a small candle atop; there was nothing else.  The light the candle offered did little but provide a small parachute of illumination, there were still walls but no more corridors leading nowhere.  It was just a room, a large suffocating room filled with dark.  Someone had traveled the world over twice, collected up all the unsettling shadows that they could wrangle, and stuffed them into this room.  It was oppressive.

From the coarse murk surfaced a wall, an unremarkable wood wall.  At its base rolled up a corroded metal rail track that disappeared beneath the wall. There was nothing else of interest in these odd features, he knew he had seen it before somewhere and that’s why it was here.  The candelabra on the wall flashed with instant radiance, and faded in the same breath as he kept on his way without pause.  He should’ve felt something for the brief snuff of light, but he was numb to it. His whole sense of self felt drawn back, displaced.  It was that same sensation as slipping into sleep, but without losing awareness.  He swayed.

A door slipped in under the sudden pulse of another candle.  The flame steadied and the door stayed where it was, in the wall, watching him.  It felt like the door was watching him, waiting for some kind of action.  Its surface was chipped and tinted red, a black etch was burned into the upper half. From it came a kind of foreboding regret, the sensation of it was so strong he had to pull back from the edge of the candles dome of light.  It was something almost physical, almost visible.  He waited listening to the distant hum, his own heartbeat, on the stale air.  The door awaited his decision as patiently as any regular door would.  

Without further hesitation, he reached for the tarnished handle, it didn’t need to turn, the door opened smoothly and he crept forward. Another room, smaller, he couldn’t tell. The door hissed shut against his palm and he chanced a look back.  A candle sparked beside his shoulder, its light illuminated the glossy surface of a black pool at his feet.

“You fell,” said a voice.  “You fell, and I pushed you.”  

When he spun back, there was no one.  Across from him was a corridor, a lone candle blazed atop the desk by the wall.  He rushed in its direction, and towards the light.

[statistically-unlikely-monster]

Secrets No More

Chapter 3: Trials and Tribulations

Poor Matt is just trying to be a good friend but Tom and Edd are acting weird. (Thank you to thelollipoper for the chapter name)

Edd slipped in the house just before 1:00 AM. All was quiet except for the sound of pittering paws against the floor. A purring ball of fluff rubbed itself against Edd’s leg, green eyes gleaming in the dark.

“Hey Ringo,” Edd whispered, patting the cat’s head, “Can’t play right now. I-” his sentence was cut off by his own yawn, “I need some sleep.”

He crept up the stairs, casting a quick glance at Tom’s door. It was opened just a crack, but he thought better of looking inside. Edd slipped into his own bedroom, hid his costume under the bed, and passed out before he could even cover himself up.

Not long after, Matt woke up, already energized and ready for the day, “Good morning beautiful,” he flirted with himself in the mirror, “Aren’t you the epitome of beaut- AHH!” He was cut off by Tom, who came in without him noticing somehow.

Tom was covered head to toe in twigs and mud. This was the second set of pajamas he destroyed. His old ASDFLand shirt had more holes than Swiss cheese, and his sleep pants were practically shorts. 

“What happened to you?!” Matt shouted.

“…Long night,” Tom muttered, rubbing his eyes, “Woke up in the backyard this time.”

“You and your furry friends need to calm down with the partying. You look awful” Matt commented, grabbing a hairbrush off his desk to comb out the twigs from Tom’s hair.

Tom was too tired to tell Matt to get off, so he just stood still and let it happen, “Gee, thanks.”

Matt chimed, “You know what, I need to make an update on my channel.” He gestured over at his desk. A webcam sat among several different bottles and tools that Tom was pretty sure were for torture despite Matt telling him they were for taking care of the skin, “How about I give you a makeover?”

“Polite pass.” Tom grumbled, pausing to think for a minute before speaking up,“There’s uh… there’s actually something else I was wondering about. Do you know any ways to keep calm?”

Matt’s face lit up in excitement, “Oh, that’s easy! You could do meditation, that’s a good go to. If you’re not into that you can use lavender incense or hemp oil. There’s also something I do as a quick fix. Just try saying the alphabet backwards. You’ll forget all about what’s stressing you out because you’re busy trying to say it.”

Tom nodded, surprised that what Matt said sounded actually helpful for what he was trying to do, “What about staying awake?”

“Like fighting off drowsiness? Usually just drink some coffee and energy drinks-” Matt chirped before interrupting his own train of thought, “Wait, does this have something to do with what’s been going on with you?”

“Sort of.” Tom yawned, rubbing his “eyes”, “Thanks for the tips, Matt” He walked off with a small wave.

“Wait, at least tell me what you’re doing!” Matt called him. He dropped off the hairbrush on his dresser and poked his head out of his room.

Tom shouted at him from the bottom of the stairs, “Nah!" 

Matt just sighed with a shake of his head. He slipped out of his room and went downstairs. Ringo weaved under his legs, almost tripping Matt on the last few steps.

"Whoa, watch where you’re going kitty,” Matt chuckled, reaching down to cradle Ringo in his arms, “What? Did Edd not feed you this morning?”

Ringo mewled as if saying yes, reaching little paws up to bop Matt on the nose.

“Alright, let’s go get you some food.” Matt chuckled, tickling Ringo’s soft belly. He waltzed into the kitchen holding the cat like his baby and froze. He felt a breeze brush past his face. He looked over and noticed that the backdoor was hanging wide open and letting the chilly fall air in,  “Oh Tom, you left the back door open.”

Tom shook his head as he tried to figure out how to fix the coffee maker, “Nope.”

“Wh- oh,” Matt rounded the counter and saw what he was talking about. The back door was technically still closed and locked, but someone busted in the glass to the point there was nothing but a pile of shards right in front of it. A single claw mark was scratched into the metal frame, “Huh…Edd’s not going to like that.”

Tom kept quiet as to how it broke, but he just shrugged and said, “Blame the neighbors?”

Matt nodded, “Blame the neighbors.”

A few hours later, Edd sat at his desk, looking over the fur he found at the scene. It was short and covered in a sticky substance that made it stay together in a spike. As far as he could tell, it was some sort of hair gel. 

Grabbing up his notepad, he took a quick sketch and made a list of what he found so far. 

“Weirdest animal I ever seen,” he muttered, doodling his best guess of what it was in the corner. It looked something like a spiky haired dog.

Just as he got done, he looked back at the fur and froze. The clump was changing color. Somehow it went from a deep, almost black shade of purple to a soft brown. “What in the-” Edd gasped, quickly grabbing his phone and recording the change, “That’s so cool.”

Suddenly he heard footsteps coming toward his room. In a panic he shoved the fur into a desk drawer and flipped his notebook to an empty page. Matt poked his head in without knocking and smiled, “Oh hey, you’re awake! For a second there I thought you were going to sleep all day,” he paused, noticing the nervous expression on Edd’s face, “Please don’t tell me you’re acting weird too.”

Edd shook his head, “No, no, you just surprised me, that’s all.” He hopped up from his desk, grabbed his bag from under the bed, and headed for the door, “Look at the time, I should’ve been up by now. I need to go do some errands. Think you can hold down the fort while I’m gone?”

Matt nodded, “Yeah, should be easy enough. Tom and I were talking about relaxation stuff, so I think he’s planning a spa day for us.”

“At least it isn’t vodka.” Edd commented, “Alright, I’m heading out.” He headed out the front door, grabbing the handles of his bag just to make sure it was still there.

He walked halfway to the police station, stopping in an alley to change and hide his normal clothes. Pocketing his phone, he flew over and stopped right at the door.

The police station was a small concrete building painted bright white. Small hedges lined the front, and around the side were all the squad cars. Poweredd stepped in, immediately greeted by a guard.

“Hello,” He greeted, “I’m here to talk to the police chief.”

The guard looked him over and wordlessly unlocked the main doors leading into the lobby, “Talk to the secretary for an appointment.” The guard stated flatly, waiting to lock the doors behind him.

Poweredd made his appointment, then awkwardly sat around in the waiting room for a bit. Everyone stared at him because of his costume, so he just looked down at his feet and tried to ignore them. He was still a very obscure hero, so except for the select few people that knew him, he was just some weird grown man in a halloween costume.

“Well, well, well, bit early to see you,” The police chief soon arrived, sipping on a cup of coffee, “Come with me.”

The chief led Poweredd into his office, motioning for him to sit in the chair in front of his desk, “Donut?” He offered, holding out the mostly empty box for Poweredd.

Poweredd shook his head, commenting as the chief set the box aside, “Bit stereotypical for a cop to have donuts, don’t you think?”

The chief chuckled, “If I had a dollar for every time I heard that. But aside from that, what made you poke your head out before dark?” 

Poweredd pulled out his phone and loaded up the video from before, “I think I found something important from last night. Here, look at this,” He handed the chief the phone and continued explaining, “I found this on the scene. It’s fur from something, definitely not an ordinary animal though. It’s color changing. Probably why we didn’t find any evidence or even catch the thing. It’s changing itself to blend in.”

The chief put down the phone and stroked his chin, “Well, that does explain quite a few things. But while we’re here exchanging clues, I found a little something while cleaning through the older files.” He reached down into his desk drawer and pulled out a thin file folder, “Call it a hunch, but I don’t think this is the first time that thing showed up.”

Poweredd opened up the folder to find several clippings of newspapers along with a single photo from a traffic cam. Suddenly it clicked as to why he was getting deja vu. Each piece showed the same thing; a large, hulking beast with a single empty socket in its head, two purple horns, and the same short spiky purple fur that he found at the scene, “Wait, that can’t be possible. Edu- I mean Numero Uno defeated that thing.”

The police chief shrugged, “From what I gathered, it disappeared that night without a trace. That thing was probably hiding under our noses this whole time. Why now of all times for it to come back, I don’t know, but it isn’t going to stop until someone stops it.” 

Poweredd nodded, tucking everything back into the folder before handing it back to the police chief, “So what should I do then?”

“Well obviously keep doing your normal work at night, but I think it may also be of benefit to go undercover. Investigate around during the day for any sort of suspicious behavior.” The chief scribbled down his phone number on a spare napkin and handed it to Poweredd, “Report back to me the minute you find anything.”

Poweredd nodded, “Thank you sir. I won’t let you down!”

[kumeko]

breathers

 Characters/Pairings: Naminé/Riku

A/N: Written for the @khrarepairszine charity zine! I picked Naminé/Riku, I’ve had a soft spot for them since CoM. Take a look at the other contributors or pick up a copy. :)

Summary: Naminé had none of Sora’s laziness or Kairi’s relaxed attitude, and honestly, Riku would have left the islands years ago if she’d been around. Still, everyone needed a break, Nobodies included.

…

…

…

…

“Mmmmmm, mmmm, mmmmm,mmm.”

 A delicate humming filled the white house and Riku didn’t have to look to know where it was coming from. He’d recognize Naminé’s soft voice anywhere. Automatically, his feet followed a familiar path to her room. As he got closer, he heard the soft scratch of her crayons, the sharp flip of a page.

 Spotting her familiar silhouette, he stopped at the doorway. As usual, she was sitting at the table, her head bent as she drew scene after scene. The walls were filled with images, with memories, and Riku scanned the colourful pictures. There was the time he raced with Sora, making the raft with Kairi, sleeping under the stars. Other, unknown memories filled with mermaids and warriors and constellations he didn’t know.

 He never did have a chance to talk to Sora after all was said and done, to boast about adventures and swap tales. Quietly, so as not to disturb Naminé, Riku drifted from picture to picture. A boy with a monkey smirked mischievously in one. Another had a bear with his head caught in a honey pot. Riku’s fingers brushed against one of Kairi giving Sora the paopu fruit.

“I had to make sure that memory was returned,” Naminé said apologetically, slowly setting down her sketchpad.

 Resisting the urge to jump, Riku withdrew his hand. “It is an important one.”

 “Yeah.” Pushing her chair back, Naminé slipped off and joined him. Her sad eyes took in the scene and she smiled softly. “That fruit was the basis of everything.”

 “Everything?” Riku asked, cocking his head in confusion.

 “For our ‘friendship’.” She touched the paopu fruit lightly. Her fingers slowly slid off the picture and she turned around and pointed at a few other sketches. The golden fruit was prominent in each of them. “This fruit was important to you. Both of you. So I used that to insert myself.”

 Both of you. Riku didn’t have to ask what she meant by that. It was impossible to forget the sight of his death, of his body choking and gasping for its last breath. “There’s a story on my island, that if two people share one—”

 “Their destinies are intertwined,” Naminé completed. She chuckled at his surprised expression. “You have no idea how often you guys said that in his memories.”

 Riku flushed. Had they really talked about it that much? About this old wife’s tale, with no basis in reality? It was stupid, really. A thing that couldn’t be true in any way. A thing that he spent several years wishing for, a connection that was permanent. A connection that would stay. The dark part of his heart that Ansem had slipped into. “Really?”

 “Really,” she confirmed with a grin, smiling whole-heartedly for once. “You say it a lot.”

 “Not that often,” he disputed, crossing his arms and looking away. “Just to tease Sora with.”

 “Hmm…that may be so.” A serious expression slipped back onto her face and Riku felt a pang of regret. It had been rare enough that she laughed. “Still.” She grabbed his hand and squeezed it. “I’m sorry you didn’t get it.”

 Caught off guard, Riku stared at her. None of his wisecracks came to him, none of his taunts. He was utterly speechless. “I…”

 Naminé said nothing, just giving him a knowing look before letting go. She turned back to her table. “I have almost finished removing the altered memories.”

 Riku glanced at the picture one last time before following her. Shoving his hands into his pockets, he peered at her sketchbook. It was thin now, with only a few pages left. A testament to how hard she worked. “Do you take breaks?” he asked without thinking.

 “Huh?” Naminé blinked, staring at her notepad and then back at him. Confusion shone in her eyes and she cocked her head. “Breaks?”

 “Vacations? Rest? Time off?” Riku rolled his eyes as he clarified. “You’ve been in Sora’s memories, so you have to know what a break is. That’s all the slacker did.”

 “Yeah, of course I do! But…” Naminé’s skin flushed a bright red, and she nervously tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “I just…I didn’t.”

 “After all that work?” Riku raised a brow. Gesturing with his head at all the pictures, he frowned. “No one should work that long without a break.”

 “Oh no, it’s okay. I’m fine.” She rubbed her wrist, her shoulders hunching till she looked even smaller than usual. “I don’t—I don’t need a break. It’s fine.”

 “Everyone needs a break.” Riku reached out and grabbed her hand. Yanking her behind him, he headed to the door. “Even you.”

 “No, I—” Naminé protested, digging in her heels. “I can’t, not after what I did.”

 “You’ve apologized enough for that,” Riku rebutted, firmly pulling her along. “Sora’s forgiven you. And even if my clone can’t, I’ve forgiven you. It’s enough.”

 “It isn’t,” she muttered softly.

 “…don’t you think I deserve it even less than you?” Riku asked, looking over his shoulder. When she didn’t say anything, he smirked. “Besides, Sora likes sleeping more than anything. He’ll be fine sleeping for a few extra hours.”

 She stared at him for a long moment before finally giving in. “There’s nowhere to go, the mansion doesn’t really have that much in it.”

 “Hmm, that’s true,” Riku muttered, scratching his chin. Aside from the basement, the mansion was fairly lightly furnished. Even the garden outside was barebones, and whatever little plants grew there had gone wild. “Then we can explore the city.”

 “The city?” Naminé shook her head. “I couldn’t possibly—”

 “It’s a break,” Riku cut her off wryly. Really, there was none of Sora’s or Kairi’s laziness in her. It was almost refreshing to see someone take things seriously for once. “Where were you when I was making that raft? I would have left the islands years ago.”

 Reaching the front door, he let go of her hand and opened it. Bright sunlight filtered through and he shaded his eyes as he stepped out. A soft breeze rustled his hair, a bird chirped nearby, and he had almost forgotten what spring was like. There hadn’t been much time during his journey to just enjoy the places he went to, the seasons the worlds experienced. Turning back, he held out his hand for Naminé. “You coming or do I have to drag you out?”

 “I…” Naminé hesitated, fiddling with her hands nervously as she stared at him. Biting her lip, she took a step outside. Her shoulders hunched, her body braced for some sort of reaction. For someone to drag her back in and put the sketchpad back into her hands.

 “You can leave the entrance, you know,” Riku encouraged gently, his hands still held out.

 “Y-yeah.” Emboldened when nothing happened, she grabbed his hand tightly and took another step. And then another. She squinted up at the sky, at the clouds that littered the blue expanse. “It’s…beautiful.”

 Riku shrugged. He’d seen better skies on his island. “I guess.”

 “I…” Naminé’s head darted left and right, taking in the tall grasses and wild roses that made up the front lawn. “I’d seen it all from his memories. And I think I might have come through here once. But…I didn’t get to see it myself before. Not really.”

 “Never?” Riku jerked his head to her, surprised.

 “Nobodies, we’re not really born like everyone else.” Naminé stared down at the grass, slipping a foot out of her sandals to touch it. Delighted by the ticklish sensation, she set her foot down on the squishy ground and wiggled her toes. “I kinda just came to be, at that castle. And then I was taken here, but that was through a warp gate.”

 “Huh.” Riku rubbed the back of his neck. They were more similar than he’d thought. “So your island was that castle, then.”

 “Hmm?” Naminé peered up at him curiously.

 He shook his head. “Nothing. Put your shoes back on, we’re going to town.”

 “Right. Town.” Naminé set her jaw determinedly. Pressing her foot one last time on the grass, she slipped her sandal back on. “Ready.”

 Riku resisted the urge to laugh at the image in front of him. She looked so determined, like she was off to fight a battle rather than just walk into a small town. But her hand was sweaty in his, her nails digging into his skin lightly, and maybe for her this was a fight. “Alright. Since this is your first time, I’ll guide you.”

 -x-

 “They have scents.” Naminé stared at the rose in her hand, twirling between her fingers. Raising it to her nose, she sniffed it again. “Actual scents.”

 “And thorns.” Gently, he pulled the flower away from her hand. Luckily, she had gripped the stem at the exact right spot to avoid the sharp defense system. Glancing at the house in front of them, he carefully pushed the branch back in place. “Let’s not invade someone’s garden.”

 Not paying him any heed, Naminé wandered to the house next door, to a creeping vine of morning glories. “This one smells so different!”

 “Did you hear me?” Riku groaned, staring down at the long line of houses ahead of them. Maybe he should have taken a different route into town. Not that it would have made much of a difference, there were going to be flowers no matter what path they took.

 Sniffing a peony, Naminé chirped, “This one too!”

 It was going to be a long walk.

 -x-

 A bird chirped. Naminé cupped her ears as they walked, listening to the sounds around her.  Riku watched her from the corner of his eye as she tried to identify the owners of different sounds: birds, dogs, other villagers. Her head craned left and right, and there was something endearing about how she pivoted at each new sound.

 “It’s so noisy,” she murmured, looking excited despite her words.

 “Compared to the mansion, sure,” he refuted, crossing his arms behind his head as he slowed his pace. “If you think this is loud, wait till you see a city.”

 -x-

 “Here.” Riku held out a popsicle, plopping the other one in his mouth. Immediately, a cold, sweet flavour hit his tongue, with a salty kick after.

 “For me?” Naminé awkwardly accepted, staring at the blue popsicle. The wooden handle was slightly slippery and she pinched it with two fingers, trying to save the rest of her hand from the sticky substance. “A popsicle?”

 “It’s the town’s specialty. Might as well try it.” Riku pulled his treat out of his mouth before he could get a brain freeze. “Take a lick, it’s pretty good.”

 “Alright.” Scrunching her face, Naminé hesitantly stuck out her tongue and licked it. She squeezed her eyes shut, considering the flavour, before opening them with surprise. “It’s sweet.”

 “And at a normal level.” Riku shuddered, remembering the frozen treats Sora and Kairi used to have. It was like having pure sugar dissolve on his tongue. “Though I could do without the salt.”

 “You just want to—” Naminé glanced at him and immediately covered her mouth. It couldn’t completely muffle the sound of her laughter and Riku glared at her.

 “What?”

 “Just…your tongue. And lips.” Naminé’s shoulders shook as she tried to compose herself. “It’s all blue.”

 -x-

 “It’s cold!” Naminé yelped, taking a step back. There weren’t many ways to access the shore in Twilight town; the lack of beaches and frosty waters deterred even the most adventures of visitors.

 Sitting on a rock, Riku raised a brow. “What did you think it was gonna be? Warm?”

 “A little.” Naminé shivered, her feet still in the water. The barest edges of the water. The tide lapped at her feet, tiny waves crashing down on her ankles, and she took yet another step back. Looking back at him, she frowned. “The waters in your home were pleasant.”

 “Yeah, because we lived in the tropics.” Riku rolled his eyes. Then again, Sora had never bothered to pay attention to any class, even geography, so maybe she wouldn’t know that.

 A more powerful wave charged up the shore, enveloping her feet, and she darted back even further. “I’m good for now.”

 “You sure?” Riku smirked, gesturing at the water. “You were only in it for a few minutes.”

 “No, definitely, definitely good.” Naminé broke into a run as another crash sounded behind her.

 -x-

 “I hear this has the best view of the sunset,” Riku explained, opening the door on the top of the clock tower. A soft breeze ruffled his hair and he shielded his eyes as the sun’s last rays hit him. “We’re on time at least.”

 Following him out, Naminé peered around him. “Ohhh.” Amazed, she pushed past him and hurried to the railing. Her mouth slack, she watched as the pink and orange hues bled into the blue sky, the sun heading down into the water. “Amazing!”

 “Yeah. I guess.” Riku had seen this sight more often than he cared to remember. It was strange to watch it alone, without Sora’s stupid remarks or Kairi’s sharp jabs.

 “I didn’t know it could be so beautiful,” Naminé breathed, her eyes fixed on the sun.

 Riku smiled. Right, he wasn’t alone. Not now. Leaning on the railing next to her, he glanced at Naminé. “It?”

 “The sky.” Naminé paused, then shook her head. “The world. Everything, really. I saw them in your memories, but…it’s something else to see them for yourself. I never knew such bright blue existed. Or such soft pinks. What else is the universe hiding?”

 “Underwater worlds, worlds ruled by animals,” Riku listed, ticking them off with his finger. “A lot, really. You’ll just have to visit more worlds. Take more breaks.”

 “Visit…” Naminé mused, lowering her eyes slightly. With a sad smile, she shook her head. “No, this is enough. More than enough.”

 “Why?” Riku frowned.

 “I can’t leave the manor like this again—I have too much to do.” She beamed at him, but it didn’t meet her eyes. “I got a lot of memories from this, it can tide me over.” When he opened his mouth to argue, she covered his lips with a finger, her expression stern. “No, really. Thank you. This is more than enough for someone like me.”

 Someone like me. He hated how much that sounded like a curse.

 -x-

 “Thanks for today.” Naminé stretched her arms behind her as she sauntered into her room. Glowing, she beamed brightly at him. “It was a lot of fun, having a break.”

 “Yeah, it’s not bad every once in a while.” Riku rested a hand on his hip, a smirk on his face. “Just don’t take it as often as Sora does.”

 “Maybe he wanted you to take more breaks.” Laughing, she glanced at one of the drawings on the wall. A picture of a boy sleeping on the sand, without a care in the world. “Or maybe he’s just lazy.”

 “The latter. Definitely the latter.” On the wall next to him, Riku spotted one of Sora’s terrible drawings. A picture of Sora’s and Kairi’s head, a paopu fruit passed from one to the other. It was strange. He felt so detached looking at it now. Yet when he’d first saw it, a tidal wave of rage had overcome him. Enough to destroy his world. Enough to destroy many worlds.

 At some point, the wave broke, the rage ebbing away. All that was left was a sense of fondness, of his two dense, idiotic friends and a scenario he should have seen eons ago. He glanced behind him. Naminé was humming again as she picked up her sketch pad. There was one more thing he could do for her.

 “Gimme a sheet.” Walking over to the table, Riku picked up a golden crayon. He rolled it in his hand; the colour was just right.

 “You’re going to draw?” Mystified, Naminé carefully tore out a page for him. “I thought you weren’t good at that.”

 Riku shot her a baleful glare. The downside of her combing through Sora’s memories—his past was an open book to her. Including all of his art classes. “I’m just not interested in it.”

 “That wasn’t what—”

 “I’m just not interested,” he repeated forcefully, grumpily glaring at her. It wasn’t a lie. He wasn’t good, so he wasn’t interested. There was no point in doing something that even Sora, the class idiot, got higher marks than him in. Spreading the sheet of paper, he stared at it for a long moment. Maybe this was a bad idea. Even a simple shape ended up distorted in his hands.

 “If you say so,” Naminé acquiesced, covering her mouth to hide her laughter.

 Riku peeked at her from the corner of his eyes. Shoulders shaking, eyes full of mirth, Naminé looked like an ordinary girl. Nothing like the sad Nobody he usually saw, counting down the days till she disappeared. Determined, he started drawing, straight confident lines into the shape of a star.

 “So, what are you drawing?” Naminé tried to peek over his shoulder, but he blocked her.

 “Just wait.” Biting his cheek, he glanced at her artwork on the walls. Yep. He was right. He was no good at this and he was definitely never doing it again. Finishing the piece, he instructed, “Hold out your hand.”

 Naminé cocked her head. “My hand?”

 “Just hold it out,” he ordered. When she held out her right hand, he placed the sheet on her hands.

 “What?” Naminé stared at it, realization dawning in her expression. “This is…”

 “You didn’t get one either, right?” Riku shrugged, looking away in embarrassment as she stared at him. “It might not be as good as yours, but even I can draw a paopu fruit.”

 “It’s not that. I…I can’t…” Naminé looked back at the paper, her hand still flat and rejecting it entirely. “I’m…I’m not real. I’ll go away.”

 She really wasn’t like any of his friends: softer, more awkward, more nervous. And completely unable to let herself be happy. “Didn’t I say I wouldn’t forget?” Riku reminded her. He reached out and squeezed her shoulder. Her bones felt fragile under his hand. “You’re real to me. You’re here.”

 Stricken, she shook her head. “But I….”

 He folded the paper and curled her hand over the hard edges. It crinkled at the touch. “And now you’ll always be real, because our destinies are intertwined.”

 She bit her lip before slowly nodding. Wiping a tear from her eyes, she chuckled. “You’re really bad at drawing.”

 “Oh, shut up.” Riku turned around, his ears burning hot. “Like I said, I’m just not interested in it.”

[ryik-the-writer]

Chapter 26 - Temporary Fix

[A03]

Chapter 1: Pan meets a Wendy Chapter 2: Scars (Felix’s Story) Chapter 3: Day One Chapter 4: Revenge and Fireflies Chapter 5: Brighter than Stars Chapter 6: filler: The Tigress Chapter 7: Operation Spotless! Chapter 8: Operation Spotless: Reporters Down Chapter 9: A Dance with the Devil Chapter 10: filler: Felix and the Pancake Chapter 11: The Girl with Blue Eyes pt. 1 Chapter 12: The Girl with Blue Eyes pt. 2 Chapter 13: The Girl With Blue Eyes: Underground Chapter 14. Recovery Chapter 14.2 Recovery some more Chapter 15: Trapped Chapter 16: Filth Chapter 17: Fairydust pt. 1 Chapter 18: Fairydust pt. 2 Chapter 19: The Mystery of the Dead Nun pt. 1 Chapter 20: The Mystery of the Dead Nun pt. 2                                         Chapter 21:  The Mystery of the Dead Nun pt. 3                                         Chapter 22: Reflections pt. 1                                                                       Chapter 23: Reflections pt. 2

Chapter 24: Closing

Chapter 25: Felix is helping Pan

So guess what…

THIS BITCH FINALLY GOT A JOB AND HER OWN PLACE TO LIVE!!

HELL YEAH!!

So slight negative note on that: that kind of means updating is going to be REALLY slow for a while. The place I moved to, while really nice, is kind of out of my budget and I am pulling as many hours as possible to pay for it and such.

On top of that, the place doesn’t have internet and I’m trying to see what my budget will look like after I pay bills so I can consider getting my own (which I really need as a writer and as a journalist).

So just know, I’m not giving up on any of my stories. I’ve just started a new chapter of my life and have to let the ink dry before I can pick up my old interests.

Anyway, here’s Papers and Sleuthers…

-,-,-,-,-,-,-,-,-,-,-,-,-,-,-

Wendy half-heartedly checked that she had her notepad full of her old notes before she locked up to head to Peter’s. If he started acting up she could use her lack of supplies as an excuse to slip out. She truly hoped it wouldn’t come to that. She wanted this week to be a sort of awakening for them, a chance to finally pull the hatchet away from each other’s throats.

She was linked to him now in the worse way. They’d been through hell together so many times but it hadn’t done anything to shift their relationship into a more stable light. Perhaps if they took the chaos out of the equation something would change. Things really needed to.

She found herself checking her hair as she exited her apartment before she chastised herself. This was an after-hours investigation, not a date!

Wendy scoffed as she locked her door. Her and Pan on a date? What a nightmarish thought!

She grimaced when she reached his door, the unpleasant memory of confronting him the day Mother Superior died still vividly fresh.

“Tosser,” Wendy muttered, wanting to call him something much crueler. However, learning to tolerate him now that they were going to be in close proximity for an unknown amount of time might be beneficial.

With that, she took a deep breath and knocked softly on the door.

There was a light thud behind the wood before it opened, a wild Pan greeting her with a sharp once-over.

“You’re wearing that road-kill?” he scoffed, pointing harshly at her feathered sweater that had been more than appropriate for the weather.

So much for patience.

“Shove it,” Wendy hissed, pushing him into his trashed living room.

“The hell happened in here?”

Pan circled her, not answering, and pulled a giant marker board from the kitchen.

“I’ve started putting some notes together,” he said, adding a picture of Cruella de Vil on the board.

“Um…” Wendy started, her heart speeding up at the site of their old nemesis. “Where are we starting?”

Pan pondered at the start of his chaos. “From the beginning. The devil woman is our best bet. Somehow she set all of this off.”

“How do you figure that?” Wendy inquired.

Pan passed a folder over his shoulder to her, eyes still trained on the board.

Wendy shifted through its components, her gut dropping at the various photos of the dog murderer.

Her brow wrinkled in thought as she went through de Vil’s information. Exact date and location of birth unknown, though her last address was in Manchester…with her now-deceased husband. Wendy whistled at the rap sheet of her marriages. Four times, all but her last ending in death (the last abruptly ended in divorce following a major arrest of the husband.)

There was a scan of her passport as well, signifying that she had been in the country at least six months before she kidnapped Storybrooke’s dogs.

“Why here?” Wendy wondered aloud. “Why Storybrooke, and why dognapping? It’s such a cartoonish villain move.”

“Except in cartoons the villains wouldn’t bleed the dogs out and turn their skins into coats,” Pan muttered, back still to her.

“Coats?” Wendy gasped, the mental image making her stomach twist.

“Last page in the file,”

Wendy balanced the folder to find the page and blinked at the printed out copy of a news article before her.

MANCHESTER WOMAN CHARGED WITH 13 COUNTS OF ANIMAL CRUELTY

Wendy gulped at the picture of the drunk-looking mugshot of de Vil, her intense eyes seeming to stare right at Wendy, as if blaming her for her past crime.

 A local woman is being charged with the kidnapping and death of several dogs.

The dogs, all of Dalmatian and mixed Dalmatian breeds, were taken out of the Manchester and Liverpool areas within a three week period, according to authorities.

The woman, identified as 39-year-old Cruella de Vil, was apprehended at an abandoned windmill outside of the Liverpool area where over 20 dogs were being kept. Upon her arrest animal control discovered the mutilated remains of eight dogs. The remaining five dogs very rushed to the Wrightsville Veterinarian clinic for emergency treatment, and are expected to survive.

De Vil is being held at the Wrightsville Police Station without bail.

This story will be updated as more information becomes available.

Wendy checked the date of the incident to find that Cruella committed her first act three years ago. She shifted to Pan’s slightly cleared off the counter to spread out the devil woman’s file and located an additional article.

MANCHESTER DOGNAPPER TRIAL UNDERWAY

The trial Manchester dognapper Cruella de Vil will begin Monday morning.

De Vil was charged with 13 counts of animal cruelty following the torture and murder of several dogs in January.

De Vil’s lawyer originally declined to comment of her client’s state for her case, but De Vil stated to the press before being led to the jail: “I’m not worried, Darlings. Who would sentence a woman in diamonds?”

Wendy snorted. Now that was quality journalism! She flipped to the next article.

‘DEVIL WOMAN’ CRUELLA DE VIL EXPOSES PLOT FOR DOGS DURING TRAIL

Manchester dognapper Cruella de Vil stated during her trial that she abducted the Dalmatians with the purpose of using their pelts for ‘the perfect coat’.

De Vil continued to go into great detail about how she mutilated the dogs ‘when it was their time’, much to the disturbance to the court.

“I took one pup by his stringy little tail and hoisted him up,” de Vil, who was clothed in an elaborate gown and furs, detailed, “The little bugger wouldn’t stop squealing, even after I slashed his throat open.”

Evidence shows that De Vil had dozens of sketches for coats not just for the Dalmatians she abducted, but also for poodle and Shi Tzu breeds. The sketches also showed plans for various muffs, boots, and glove items.

When asked what she was going to do with all the coats, De Vil said, “Why, wear them of course! I’ll be the envy of every bitch at the social club.”

 De Vil's criminal record includes dozens of speeding tickets and two cases of vehicle homicide attempts. Records show that De Vil was acquitted for both cases and never paid off the tickets.

De Vil’s sentence trial will be held in October. Until then De Vil will be held in Manchester Sanitarium for the Mentally Unwell for further observation.

Wendy sighed in exhaustion. What a story! How could someone so heinous be so close to her neck of the woods?

The other articles were faded from an obvious lack of printer ink, but Wendy was able to make out enough from the headlines to guess what happened next.

De Vil was sentenced to two years in a different sanitarium that specialized in disorders like her. She was deemed “cured” after a year and released due to a special project. She left for America right afterward for a “fresh start”.

“Oh she stared fresh alright,” Wendy commented.

“Great,” Pan said from the board. “You’re where I was thirty minutes ago. Let me know when you get where I’m at now.”

Wendy resisted throwing De Vil’s folder at his head.

“I don’t think there’s anywhere else to go with this one,” Wendy pointed out.  “She went crazy, killed a bunch of animals, ran here and started all over again. That’s really it.”

“But the motive!” Pan growled, looking her dead in the eye. Desperate. “There had to be something else. Maybe she was working for someone or trying to start a multi-dognapping franchise here or…”

Wendy edged back at the desperation in his voice. He was grasping at straws, but there were none left for him in this case.

“Pan,” Wendy tried carefully, “There’s nothing left,”

“How the hell would you know!” He shouted.

“Because sometimes people are just bad,” she shouted back. “Sometimes they do a few terrible things just to do them! There doesn’t have to be a reason or a great scheme behind their actions! They just cause chaos and kill over!” with a spike of adrenaline, she stepped up to him, feeling his hearted pounding in the buzzing air.

“Don’t they?”

Pan twitched, glaring at her with a raw sense of hatred.

Wendy thought for a moment he might throw her out, and she really didn’t want him to. Pan had to see logic, had to stop filling his mind with information that just wasn’t there, and she couldn’t just run off and leave him to fill in such non-existent gaps. 

He’s scared. He’s frustrated. He needs to be kept busy.

With a deep breath, she stepped back to locate one of the other boxes on the couch, tensing a bit when she saw Jekyll’s name on the cardboard.

“We can start with him now,” she said, pulling out a folder.

In a flash, Pan slapped it out of her hand.

 Wendy gasped and brought her stinging hand to her chest where a shallow papercut was surfacing, staring at Pan.

“I didn’t mean to do that,” he said, looking just as surprised as she did.

It was the closest thing to an apology she would get from him, she knew, and she expected it, but it still did not stop her from hating him.

“What is your problem!” she yelled as she sucked the blood from her stinging cut.

“Nothing,” Pan defended, though he was tenser than a tightly wound spring.

Wendy looked him over, trying to pinpoint the root of his harsh mood. Of course, going through their old cases was certainly stressful, with the memories that surfaced as they saw photos of their former nemesis faces…

Ah.

She stared at Jekyll’s case box where the corner of his photo was just peeking out, turning Wendy’s stomach.

Gods know what the site of him was doing to Pan.

The journalist stepped away, twisting to pick up de Vil’s box.

“What about her lackey’s?” Wendy inquired, picking through her file.  She didn’t meet his eyes as she dug through the very scarce information. “We don’t know how they play into all of this outside their association with de Vil.”               

Pan looked at her, his expression solid and unreadable, but Wendy swore she saw a glint of something in his eyes.

Gratitude?

No, Peter Pan didn’t thank anyone for what they did, for him or otherwise.

Good thing Wendy didn’t expect it from him, or anything else for that matter.

They began adding Horace and Jasper’s notes to de Vil’s board, though a now were quick glance told Wendy it wouldn’t add much. They were jailbirds on and off as far back as the records could show, became acquainted with de Vil sometime after their most recent parole hearing, and thanks to her and Pan were tucked safely in a Boston prison until they could be moved to one in London. Nothing more, nothing less.

But Pan wasn’t ready to accept that, so Wendy pretended to stay busy until she commented on ordering from the Chinese menu on Pan’s fridge.

Half an hour later they were sitting silently in his living room, munching on greasy eggrolls as they stared absently at the evidence before them.

Fuzz the cat made a lazy trail from Pan’s bedroom to where they were eating, plopping himself next to Wendy.

The blonde smiled, charmed by the odd-looking cat, and reached out to pet him.

Pan readied a warning. Fuzz was known to scratch first-time visitors to bleeding shreds, but with a flash of naughtiness, decided to let the little bird find that out for herself.

However, Fuzz the cat purred in delight at the attention and collapsed next to Wendy, hungry for more.

“You…slut!” Pan hissed at his sorry excuse of a cat.

Wendy’s eyes widened. “Excuse me?”

“The damn cat,” Pan barked, turning back to his food to begin another round of silence.

Wendy shrugged and quietly offered him another eggroll, which he took with no additional fuss.

It was strange, this quiet domesticity. No violence, no fighting, no apprehension of what was to come.

It would have been peaceful if it weren’t for the wave of uneasiness Pan was letting off.

His leg was shaking with antsiness, and he kept making small sounds to break the silence.

I suppose it’s better than him yelling, Wendy thought. Might as well attempt conversation.

“So…” she begun, earning a questioned glare mid-chew. “I…ran into someone today,”

Pan looked up at her, looking slightly bored.

“And?” he shrugged, mouth full.

Wendy shrugged. Of course it was a stupid thing to bring up. Pan probably knew everyone in Storybrooke, and he had little interest for all of them.

“It’s nothing,” Wendy responded. “Just thought he was…” She searched her vocabulary for the word to describe the man with unsettling charming manners.

“Different,”

Pan’s eyes flickered at that.

Wendy Darling was smitten.

“Sounds like a scoop,” Pan smirked. “Let’s go find him.”

Wendy coughed on her fried rice as he stood. “What?” she laughed, truly mystified.

“Let’s go meet this mystery man,”

Wendy blinked trying to comprehend his shift in emotion as he put on his coat.

“Pan, it was dark out, I didn’t get a good look at him,” she explained. “I don’t even know his name!”

“It’s Storybrooke,” Pan waved her off. “We’ll find out who he is in an hour.”

“This is insane,” she barked with a laugh.

Pan wadded up her jacket and threw it at her, earning a yelp.

“Well, I’m bored. Are you coming or not?”

She stared at him, wondering just how high up the cliff of insanity he had already climbed. Boredom was making him scattered-brained and seeking action in the tiniest occurrence.

It was sad, like watching an animal trying to chew its way out of a trap, but also fascinating. Pan needed her, whether he would say it in words or in action. He needed her to keep him from jumping off that cliff, especially when they had no way of knowing what was waiting for him at the bottom.

With an exhausted sigh, she unraveled her jacket and followed him into the icy night, missing his satisfied smirk as he closed the door.

.=.=.=.=.=.=.=.=.

Wendy was having trouble keeping on his heels. It was dark and cold and he was the only one who really knew where they were going.

If he even knew himself.

Pan was all over the place tonight, and Wendy was starting to get dizzy from his back-and-forth.

She was practically having to skip to keep up with him. It was like he was forgetting that she was with him. Already he was trying to focus on something else.

Her loud cobbling seemed to echo through the street of Storybrooke, and in the dim night she felt a wave of paranoia run up her spine. It sounded like there was someone behind them, following them.

“Do you hear that?” she asked Pan.

“No, here we are,”

He stopped so suddenly Wendy ran into him, her face hitting him square in the spine. She gained her balance and glared at him before she stepped to his side, staring into the bright building ahead as it spilled vibration into the night.

“What is that?”

“The Rabbit Hole,” Pan smirked. “Sleaziest place in town.”

Wendy snorted through a shiver. “And you thing the well-polished man I ran into tonight is in there?”

Pan shrugged. “Maybe. Either way I want a drink. Come on,”

Wendy followed him with a sigh. At least she would get out of the cold.

Her ears began ringing as soon as she entered the nightclub, her eyes cloudy from the flashing lights.

“I don’t know about this,” she shouted, her voice lost in the sound.

This time, Pan took hold of her sleeve and pulled her through the cluster of tipsy people.

“Good thing it’s not a workday,” Wendy muttered to herself as Pan pulled her to a cluttered table.

She swept bits of food off the sticky surface, wincing at the music and hard chairs. Across her Pan was staring out into the crowd, his eyes glistening bright as he watched the gyrating bodies.

“You…come here often,” Wendy joked, feeling claustrophobic and savagely out of place.

“Once or twice with Tiger Lily,” Pan shrugged, somehow able to hear her over the music.

“And you’re not deaf?” she shouted.

“It’s not loud enough. It never is.”

“Huh?”

Pan looked up from the dancing sin to stare at her. Really stare at her. Truly look at her for the first time in days.

Her hair was growing out more evenly, her curls had even started to come back.

But the bags under her eyes were darker, hollower. She was tired, and he knew it was his fault.

“You want to dance?”

Pan looked as shocked as Wendy was when he looked back up at her.

“Did I…did I hear you right?”

Pan’s bright red face was hidden by the flashing strobe lights. The fuck did he say that?

“You’re not deaf yet are you?” he smirked, standing. “Let’s go.”

Wendy glanced out onto the dance floor. “I…think I’m overdressed.”

Pan glanced out at the half-clothed bodies and chuckled. He slipped off his jacket and undid the first two buttons of his shirt.

Wendy’s heart leapt and her throat tightened.

“You’re turn.”

Wendy shot from her chair, her clothes suddenly feeling stuck to her skin.

“Oh don’t be so damn modest,” Pan cackled, easing out into the dance floor. These little outbursts were giving him some energy.

Wendy shivered, feeling naked under her multiple layers.

Damn it! Why the hell did he have to get under her skin so easily!

She clutched her sleeves, watching as he began to get swarmed by dancers.

Yet…strangely enough…he was still waiting for her. As if he actually wanted her to come out there with him.

Keep him distracted. Keep him busy.

And he was actually smiling!

Well…leering, but he wasn’t as threatening as usual.

With a groan, she shed her feathered coat and eased out into the crowd, instantly getting sucked into the vortex of sweat.

She reached out for stability, hoping she wouldn’t accidentally grope anyone. Out of the sea of grinders a hand grabbed her wrist and—thankfully or unthankfully, she wasn’t sure yet—she fell into Pan’s chest.

“Bet you didn’t do this kind of dancing in your London prep school,” Pan snarked against her hair.

Wendy detached herself from his chest, getting some much-needed space between them.

“I went to a public school, thank you,” she barked, a smile tugging at her lips. It was hard to find a balance with so many people crushing them together.

“What do we…how…” she yelled, desperate for just an inch for space.

She felt Pan’s laugh rumble against her chest, the feeling much more put-together than the vibrations in the air. His hands snaked up her shoulder and gave them just enough space so that they could look into each other’s eyes.

“Just do what I do.” He said.

I already do.

He took her hands and helped her sway in their tiny space. Wendy could have fainted from the heat and the shock of the situation. Here she was dancing with the biggest arse in the entire world! She must be as mad as he was bored!

Her heart pounded as she copied his movements, almost afraid to let him go. So many people were brushing and bumping into them. She could easily be trampled, and something told her she wasn’t leaving the bar tonight without at least a cracked rib.

She looked up to find Pan watching her. He looked strangely human. Less territorial and ready to fight.  

Like he was actually…enjoying himself.

“Okay,” he instructed, pulling her arm over her head. He began twisting her wrist and Wendy caught on quickly, letting her twirl her until spots flashed before her eyes.

But he didn’t stop, and she kept going, catching the light in Pan’s eyes each time she spun back to him.

And before Wendy knew it, she was laughing, the sound much more soothing than the trash flowing through the intercoms.

For a moment Peter Pan and Wendy Darling weren’t small-town reporters who got into too much trouble far too often.

They were just two normal adults who were having a fun, random night.

Wendy couldn’t remember the last time she did something like this. Perhaps back in college…when she wasn’t as dark, before the bloodshed and the grittiness of the world became part of her daily routine.

And it was nice to be having this fresh taste of life with the person who had drug her into it.

“Not bad, Wendy Bird,” Pan teased as she grabbed on to his shoulder to stop the dizziness.

“Same to you, Peter Pan,

He scoffed, covering the hand on his shoulder and grasping this one.

“Let’s make you fly.”

With that, he pushed into the crowd, anchoring her with the hold on her arm. She spun back into him naturally, howling like a fool.

“Don’t let go if you’re going to do that,” she laughed.

“I promise, I won’t.”

Wendy had to admit, she rather liked this fun side of him. Sure, he was really just distracting himself from his current issues, but he was doing it in a constructive way that was keeping them both out of harm's way…mostly.

She nearly slammed into a dancer during her second twirl. When she spun back to Pan she was ready to tell him to try something else, but he looked so…happy.

She couldn’t do it…and had he had said he wouldn’t let her get hurt.

And she was safe…

Thank you.

Until he spun her out again…

Time to fly.

And let go.

He was gone in the blink of an eye and she stumbled out into the crowd.

The more drunkard dancers shoved her away and she stumbled to find stable ground.

“Pan!” She called out, drowning.

She was wedged between so many people, blind and hot.

“Pan!” She yelled again, feeling for him. “Where are—“

Someone’s elbow pounded into her lip and she flew to the sticky ground. Blood filled her mouth in seconds, and she stopped caring if she found Pan or not and started searching for a way off the dance floor.

Pan had taken them too far out. She had no idea where she was. People were stepping on her like she was nothing. On her hands, her hair.

She was going to die here. Had Pan done this on purpose? Had he really hoped her death would somehow entertain him?

She was going to die and no one would know until the club closed, or morning at least.

She was going to die…

“I got you lass!”

She was picked up effortlessly and drug from the crowd, the person clutching her moving through them like Moses through the parted sea.

A savior, it would seem.

Before her brain truly recognized what was going on, her savior had her outside, away from the noise and her unintentional murderers. Her lungs painfully filled with fresh, icy air and she started coughing up blood from her wound, very uncaring how disgusting she looked to her companion.

“There you go, love,” the savior—a man?—instructed, patting her back. “Get the sin out of your lungs.”

Love…

Wendy brushed her bangs from her eyes and met the haunting blue eyes of her earlier savior, the very man she and Pan had set off to find.

“You!” she gasped, nearly laughing with the insanity of it. “I…we…hi!”

He chuckled. “Hello again.”

She tried to catch her breath as she went back and forth with the odd coincidence and Pan’s disappearance.

Disappearance…or abonnement?

Wendy’s stomach flipped when the idea passed through her mind. It seemed almost too cruel for him to do, yet it seemed like something that he would do.

He was all over the place tonight, jumping back and forth like a frog on a scorching lily pad.

But really, he was always like that, she just hadn’t accepted it yet.

And now he had left her to be trampled to death in a night club, wandering off to gods’ knows where.

And he didn’t care. He just didn’t care.

“Are you alright?”

Wendy blinked, not realizing that her eyes had been misting.

“Yes, of course,” she breathed deeply and stood. “I just…I need to get home.” And get a club, she added to herself.

“I’ll walk you,” he offered immediately.

“Thank you, but I’m fine.”

The man chuckled. “Each time you say that I find you in peril,”

Wendy made a sound, not wanting to be rude but really not wanting to stick around much longer. “Really I’m fine. But thank you.” She nodded at him and began walking away, the raging fire in her heart, melting the ice in her bones.

“Killian Jones.”

Wendy paused and glanced back at him. “What?”

He smiled, at pearly whites and charm. “My name. I think it’s about time, you learned it.”

Wendy worried at her lip, letting the name rest on her mind. It suited him somehow. An old-world name for an old world charmed man. It was an interesting combination.

“I see. Well then, thank you, Killian Jones.” She said with a nod, picking back up her step.

“Wait.”

Wendy halted, slightly aggravated. If he turned out to be a maniac like Jekyll she’d bash his lights out with a chunk of ice.

He stepped forward, his hands resting in his pockets, showing he meant no harm, posed no threat.

“Would you like to get a drink sometime?”

Wendy laughed, her face burning. “That’s…forward.”

Jones chuckled with a shrug. “With your track record, the next time I may see you is in a hospital.”

Wendy shrugged that was true. She gave him another look over. Mysterious creature of the night.

She had learned already that trusting people was too dangerous, especially the kind who lurked in the dark. 

She didn’t know him, and he, despite his multiple rescues, didn’t know her.

“Why on earth would you want to have a drink with a perfect stranger?” she inquired aloud.

Jones cocked his head, his eyes gleaming with intentions Wendy couldn’t trace.

“To get to know you, of course.”

Wendy stiffened, her anxiety rising.

“That’s not a good idea,” Wendy gasped, desperate for space. “I have to go find…” she shook her head, her mind too cluttered to find a definition for her current view of Pan.

“If you change your mind,” Jones called after her. “I’ll be waiting. Tomorrow at the diner.”

Wendy increased her speed, making a direct line to Pan’s apartment.

She was going to kill him. She’d made the threat many times before but this time she meant it.

He left her.

He pulled her into all of this madness, and then just released her to break her neck without him.

Where had he gone? What temporary rush was he following now?

Why hadn’t he taken her with him?

She found his apartment the same way they had left it: locked up and dark. She searched for a spare key in the places anyone else would, but Pan wasn’t like everyone else and thus wouldn’t think to leave a spare key.

Out of aggravation, she picked up a loose brick, check over her shoulder, and hurled it into the glass.

It was exactly something Pan would do, and Wendy couldn’t help the small flame of satisfaction that came with damaging his property—which she had to plan to fix thank you very much.

She stormed in, flicking on lights and opening doors to find him. Fuzz the cat ran out of the bedroom as she checked behind checked in his closet.

“Pan!” she howled, her hands shaking.

Why?

“Where are you?”

Pan wasn’t there. He hadn’t returned to hide from her or even to continue their work. He had vanished completely with no warning for her.

With a stiff sob, she collapsed on the couch, feeling right at him with the shattered remains of his home.

“Peter…”

He left you.

“He left me.”

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.

He wasn’t sure when or where he was.

But it was bright there, and surprisingly warm. It couldn’t be a memory of his childhood. Those were always dark and cold.

But he was somewhere…at least he thought it was him. There was glass in front of him, well-made and clean, and big enough to cover an entire wall.

But he couldn’t see his reflection…

Nor anything outside the window.

That’s why when the little bird flew closer, it terrified him.

“Stop…” he tried to scream just as the bird hit the window.

A loud bang…

It landed at his feet—

Its neck was broken.

He startled into consciousness, his fuzzy mind going into an automatic death mode.

Someone had grabbed him…he thought.

One second he was throwing Wendy out—letting her fly just enough from him—and then she was flying out of his grip while he was being pulled further from her.

He wasn’t sure what happened after that, but now he was tied up in some sort of darkroom, his hands above his head on some kind of meat hook, by the fill of it.

Something equivalent to a lantern was in the corner, giving him just enough light to keep him from going into a state of complete panic.

Jekyll’s prisons were always too bright.

A noise indicated he was no longer alone. A second later a door in the corner opened, and a man stepped in, the light behind him silhouetting him just long enough for Pan to get a good idea of him.

“Good to see you again,” the man said as he pulled a chair up and straddled it.

“Again?” Pan scoffed. “Go to hell, you wanker.”

“That’s captain to you, boy,” he returned firmly. “Captain Killian Jones, if you don’t mind.”

“I don’t care, and know, who the fuck you are.”

“I don’t expect you to,” Killian said casually.

“I tend to forget people who aren’t worth remembering,” Pan smirked, his face warmer from the trail of blood leaking from his temple.

Killian chuckled, charmed. This was going to be the most fun he’d had in a while.

“I suppose it won’t matter anyway,” he sighed. “Not with you knocking on death’s door.”

Pan licked his lips. A challenge at last!

“Oh really?”

“Yes,” Killian said. “You see m’boy, I’ve been sent by someone who really wants you dead.”

“You’ll have to be a bit more specific,” Pan winked.

“No one you’ll need to worry about,” Killian alluded. “Just know that you’ve caused enough trouble that it warrants a very clean—and if you behave yourself—a very quick one.”

Pan scoffed. “If I’m scheduled to die, know that I’ll make my last days your worst,”

Killian seemed unphased by Pan’s threat, and while Pan wasn’t yet worried about it, it did make his gut turn just enough to be noticed.

Then, Killian laughed, and tapped his fingers on the back of the chair.

“You know, you actually gained our attention after that boy with the scar inquired Henry Jekyll’s files,”

Ice…the blood can’t move.

“Oh…I can’t quite remember his name…”

You have to keep count of the spasms…you have to know where the blood is going…

“That’s his benefit I suppose,” Killian smirked, watching as the blood drained from his face.

Felix…oh Felix I’m sorry…

“After all, it’d be a shame if that poor boy succumbed to one of his little fits in the privacy of his own home one afternoon…”

Pan bolted against the restraints, blood raging and teeth desperate to break skin.

“You fucking go near him I’ll kill you!”

Killian grabbed Pan by the jaw and forced him into the wall, pressing his knee into his stomach.

“I’d love to see you try,” Killian husked, his ice blues evenly hitting Pan’s forest greens. “I’d love to see you help any of them. Him, that pixie of a girl who hates you more than life itself…” his grin widened. “And that pretty blonde distraction you brought into this whole bloody mess.”

“Wendy…” the word left his lips before could stop it.

He didn’t know how to protect her the way he did the others.

“Such a pretty name,” Killian gloated. “Such a pretty girl at that. And she’s so desperate to find you, even after to abandoned her on a dangerous dance floor,”

Pan glared at him. “You bitch,”

Killian released him and made his way to the door.

“I’ll take no pleasure from killing her, m’boy,” Killian said, surprisingly quite truthfully. “However, this is as much to do with her as it does with you.”

Pan dug his nails into the cloth binding his wrists, trying desperately to stare a whole through Killian’s heart.

“How quick or how slowly she goes depends on what you can do for me within the next few days,”

Pan winced.

“Goodnight,” Killian winked, turning off the light and enclosing Pan in a blanket of darkness.