#they’re NOT that sharp it’s moreso just shape

[kimaisalloren]

You ever make a drawing just so your Spotify playlist for a ship can have cute art?? I’m obsessed with these two tbh.

[redladydeath]

Okay so before I saw your design for the RAM!AU I’d actually been thinking quite a bit about what Vox would look like in this, so if you don’t mind, I want to write down some of my thoughts about an alt design of sorts for him

I think both his antennae would be bent, like you drew them, since they’re often written to be in some way connected to his thoughts and . Well .

I think his outfit would definitely take after Alastor, maybe even moreso, with a few changes to be more… uh, docile ? Like, his shoulder pads would be horizontal instead of going upwards like Alastor’s do . Alastor’s suit kinda goes into a triangle shape at the bottom, so Vox would have that but it would be shorter . His tie would still be big but it would have the same shape as Alastor’s . I don’t think he’d wear as much blue if he wears blue at all, or at the very least he definitely wouldn’t wear the bright cyan since that’s something he didn’t wear as often back when he was a box-screen . Also, the cross Alastor has on his chest would be replaced with an X because it’s a type of crucifix that’s was specifically requested by someone who didn’t think they deserved to be on the same level as the J-boy himself and, well, we know Alastor doesn’t see Vox as an equal anymore .

Those are the big ones but some others thoughts I had were that Vox probably has like . No edge to him anymore . Because while Alastor sucks at taking responsibility, there are times where even he has to step in and take care of Vox . For example, if Vox ever hurts himself because he, hypothetically, forgets that he’s a demon with super sharp claws that can easily pierce through his screen…. Well, then the easy solution would simply be to file them down, no? Declaw him? (I’ve heard declawing has like pretty bad effects on cats too so . Easy angst for him and maybe indirect angst for Husk who has to deal with like….. phantom limb pains but in reverse ?)

Anyway yeah . Just wanted to say some thoughts I had . Love this AU btw !

Yeah, I thought about incorporating more of Alastor's design elements, but I ended up just kinda not? I did try to make the red in his palette more prominent though.

The similar suits is quite a good idea, but I wanted him in casual clothes– he may want to continue dressing sharp, but he's just not in a headspace where he can wear a suit 24/7 anymore without it being constantly damaged and disheveled. Plus, the design I drew is specifically for the hotel route, so I wanted to keep the outfit more reminiscent of clothes a handyman would wear while still incorporating the 50s aesthetic and keeping it recognizably Vox. I let him keep his little bowtie though, since that's one aspect of his base design that he definitely stole from Alastor, and there's symbolism to be had by leaving it perpetually undone.

But oh man, that declawing idea is deliciously brutal. Heck, Alastor might not have even been the one responsible for it– what if it was Val and Velvette? An act of care gone wrong? I mean, how were they supposed to know that not every part of Vox's body is purely synthetic...

[spottyissleepwalking]

Mr. Ultimate Anime Antagonist

Design notes:

I tried to make his markings as tiger-y as possible, especially around his face, and I’m actually pretty proud of how they turned out!! They’re a little complex, but I’m happy with them!!

Ear spots from Leopardfoot, sharp v-shaped markings from Pinestar.

Slight mullet + mustache markings for Supreme Villain Vibes!

Dude is massive, and I tried to incorporate those vibes into the way his stance comes off. Even then, I like to imagine that due to his stature, he slouches a lot; I think the Erins said he’s one of the biggest cats in the series? So him holding himself to his full height really is impressive and intimidating.

Less of a design note and more headcanon, but I like to think that the scar on his muzzle was from Redtail rather than some warrior in the immediate fray over Sunningrocks. I remember the Into The Wild prologue like the back of my hand, so while I know he got it from some RiverClan cat, it just feels more right that he gets it from Redtail… one of his most prominent scars, from his first victim.

LGBT+ headcanon: I don’t really think much of Tigerclawstar in terms of him as a person, admittedly, moreso as a villain. But after sitting down for a while, I can definitely see him as demisexual, demiromantic, and cis (he/him, or perhaps he/it)!

Plus bonus alts, for white tiger Tiger and regular tiger Tiger! :D

[Image ID: Three digital drawings of Tigerclaw in the same standing, left-facing pose with his head angled right, against translucent backgrounds; each image is outlined in white. His expression is somewhat annoyed, with his muzzle curled back to expose one long tooth, his left forepaw is slightly raised with claws extended, and his tail is curled high over his back. He is a massive, somewhat sleek-bodied, muscular, thick-furred dark brown marbled tabby cat with sharp, pointed, darker markings; he has paler chest fur and at the hind portion of his legs, with even paler markings at his paws, belly, tail-tip, face, and at his throat in a distinctive diamond shape; his right ear is ripped, and his left is full and tufted; his face is marked in a way similar to a tiger, with lots of small, delicate, sharp markings. There are scars at his muzzle, right shoulder, and across his lower back. In the first, topmost image, he is colored in various tones of dark brown with darker and black markings, and narrow, bright amber-orange eyes; along the line of his back is his color palette. Across his side is the stylized artist signature of “spottyissleepwalking” written in faded lavender. The two images below are of Tigerclaw in the same position, outlines, and artist signature of the first. The second image is of Tigerclaw with a different color palette: his body is very pale blue-white, with his markings being very dark, dark blue-black; his eyes are the same amber color. The third image is of Tigerclaw with another different color palette: his body is bright, striking orange, with his markings being black and black-brown; his eyes are the same amber color. Above his head are the words “TIGERCLAW/TIGERSTAR” written in white, all-caps. /. End ID.]

[twistedtranslations]

Rook Hunt - The real culprit is... you!

You can unlock this story by getting Rook’s SSR Dorm uniform

Translation under the cut

Rook calls Epel “himeringo”, the Japanese word for plumleaf crabapple. I shortened it.

As we know already, Epel sometimes slips in his country accent, hence the weird wording.

Chapter 1

Courtyard

Vil: …8…9…10! Next up is the camel pose. Push your chest out and lean your upper body backward. Hold your ankles with your hands and keep that pose.

Everyone: Yes!

Epel: Ugh… Rook…

Rook: What is it, monsieur Crabapple?

Epel: I came to help with the shooting of the next work of the cinema studies club, but… Argh! Why are we doing yoga… Ugh?

Rook: Epel, you know, it's because we wanted you to take part in relaxing activities. If people relaxed, they will become more flexible mentally, and more active in discussions and communication. Yoga is the best exercise to improve your blood flow, metabolism and it soothes your mind. Moreso, your posture and physique will become much more beautiful! That's why Vil does yoga before his cinema studies activities.

Epel: I, I see… Is there…. An easier method?

Rook: By the way, Epel. You should bend your back more if you want to call it a camel pose. Okay, I will help you out and pull your arms back!

Epel: Eh, no, I'm fine- OUCH!!!!

Rook: Hahaha, monsieur Crabapple, you're body is quite stiff.

Savanaclaw Student A: Hey, look, it's the guys from the cinema studies. What a weird-looking pose is that! Man, I'd be way too embarrassed to wriggle like that in front of everyone.

Cinema studies Student A: Why are you guys butting in suddenly? This is just yoga…

Cinema studies Student B: Leave it be. Those muscle brains from Savanaclaw wouldn't understand our graceful bodybuilding.

Savanaclaw Student B: Huh? Are you picking a fight!

Rook: Oh please, there's no need to get angry! Why don't you join us? We can polish our beauty and deepen our friendship with yoga!

Savanaclaw Student A: Who'd do that! Beauty won't fill your belly. C'mon, let's go.

Epel: … friggin' irritatin'. Rook, I don't know how or why you could invite those guys…

Rook: I thought they might understand the benefits of yoga if they did it. How regrettable. Oh, me of all people! While I was talking, I forgot to help you out. My bad, let's continue.

Epel; Um, no, I don't need it… OUCH!!!!

Vil: Epel?

Epel: Ah… Vil.

Vil: I thought I heard a crushed frog's ugly cry, but that was my imagination, wasn't it?

Epel: Ugh… I'm sorry, I'll pay attention to it.

Vil: Rook, I think there will be no problems if you are by his side but… If anything happens, I hope you will "properly" discipline him. Not only does he lack in manners and aesthetics, but many other facets as well.

Epel: Is… that so?

Vil: Didn't you get frustrated when the Savanaclaw students reprimanded you? Do not involve Pomefiore in trivial arguments. Understood?

Epel: Understood…

Vil: Rook. If Epel quarrels with other dorm students during the shooting period… I will expel you two from the cinema studies- no, the dorm.

Epel: … I'm only here because you asked me to help.

Vil: Did you say anything?

Epel: Nuthin’- I mean, I said nothing.

Vil: In any case. Please refrain from idiotic behavior that could tarnish Pomefiore's name.

Rook: Oui, Roi du Poison. Leave it to me!

Cinema studies Student A: Those three seem to get along well as usual…

Cinema studies Student C: Epel and Rook are amazing. Leaving out the fact that they're from the same dorm, they can talk to Vil so casually. Perhaps I'm still too nervous because I saw him on the TV and in magazines before I entered the college?

Cinema studies Student A: Right. They're amazing for being able to to talk with him without constraints.

Interior Hallway

The next day

Epel: Ah, Rook.

Rook: Hello, Epel. You're here early.

Epel: Yes. My class finished early…

Students: Congratulations!

Rook: You guys too… We are the most enthusiastic people in the club today.

Classroom

Rook: Vil isn't here today because of work, therefore I will instruct you on the activities…

Cinema Studies B: … Is something wrong?

Rook: La vache (Oh the cow)… how terrible. Look at that.

Epel: Argh! Vil's clothes are torn into pieces!?

Cinema studies Student A: And it's not only his clothes but also the photo sets on the wall…

Everyone: !!

Epel: The heck, what are those weird words written in red…

Rook: "A defective beauty"… It must be a message from the one who tore up the clothes. Fufu, this is quite a case… And a direct declaration of war on us!!

Chapter 2

Classroom

Rook: Fufu, this is quite a case… And a direct declaration of war on us!!

Epel: Is there anyone in the cinema studies club who’d tear up his clothes with ill intent…? Who would do that…

Cinema studies Student A: Hey, those marks on those ripped clothes… Don't they look like they've been made by sharp claws?

Cinema studies Student B: Claws… Then this could be the work of the Savanaclaw students. But why would they…

Cinema studies Student A: … Could it be those guys from yesterday?

Epel: Do you mean the ones who made fun of us..?

Cinema studies Student A: Yeah. The guys from Savanaclaw said it then, right? "Beauty" won't fill your belly.

Cinema studies Student B: So a Savanaclaw student with a grudge from yesterday wrote a message on the wall and tore up Vil's clothes?

Epel: If they didn't like it, they can face us up front. This is cowardly.

Cinema studies Student A: Epel, you are a good person. Even though you aren't part of the cinema club, you still get angry for us.

Epel: I ain't forgivin' them for goin' behind our backs… I mean, we cannot allow them to do this.

Cinema studies Student C: Yeah. We won't stay quiet about these precious clothes being destroyed!

Epel: Yeah! Let's search for those guys from yesterday and have'm complain to our face!

Everyone: Yeah!

Cinema studies Student A: Hey, wait everyone- ... And they went.

Rook: Oho, everyone seems very passionate.

Cinema studies Student A: Rook, are you not following them?

Rook: The sadness of losing such a beautiful thing stunned me for a moment.

Cinema studies Student A: … I see. I'll stop Epel and the others.

Rook: Oh my, to be in such a situation on the day Vil isn't here. Or to be more precise, "because he isn't here". Moreso… "A defective beauty". I should solve this case before Vil returns. 

Rook: I should investigate to see if I can find evidence that links to the culprit. Let's start at the place where the fabric was torn. …As I expected. It's not a scratch even though it resembles one. They used 25 cm long scissors with 9 cm long blades to cut it. From the angle of the tears, I can guess that the culprit is right-handed. They held it with their left hand by the torso and used their right hand to cut from the shoulder to the waist with the scissors… 

Rook: The culprit is probably around 168-172 cm. That narrows it down a bit! Fufufu…  Even though I've experienced the hunt for an animal's traces many times, it still elates me. Oho, I can't let myself get carried away. I have to concentrate on the investigation… … Aha. I see… Fufu, I have deduced the animal. Now it's hunting time!

Courtyard

Savanaclaw Student A: Shut up! We didn't do it. Who gives a shit about your clothes!

Epel: If there's anythin' you wanted to say, tell 's up front instead of harassin'… you're so unmanly, senior.

Savanclaw Student A: What!?

Cinema studies Student B: If we cannot agree and don't progress then… We will have a duel!!!!

Savanaclaw Student B: Hah, come at me. I don't think you culture boys will be much of an opponent though.

Everyone: HAAAAH!!

/Fighting sounds

???: Stop it!

Savanaclaw Student A: Huh…

Cinema studies Student A: All our magic was swept away!?

Epel: Rook!?

Rook: Turn your magical pen in, everyone. It's forbidden to use magic for your personal struggles. Besides, you’re in the wrong by blaming them. They have nothing to do with what happened.

Epel: Huh…

Savanaclaw Student B: Pf! You got us involved in some weird stuff. We did nothin' so we're off.

Cinema studies Student B: … How foolish! If they didn't do it, then please tell us who did such a horrible thing!

Rook: The cause of this tragedy is deep love. The real culprit is… You!

Chapter 3

Rook: The cause of this tragedy is deep love. The real culprit is… You!

Courtyard

Cinema studies Student B/Epel: Huh…

Cinema studies Student C/D: No way…

Cinema studies Student A: …

Cinema studies Student B: He can't be the culprit, Rook! He's the costumer of the cinema studies club!?

Cinema studies Student A: That's right. You saw it, right? That "A Defective beauty", what a disgusting and criminal declaration!!

Rook: Yes, I saw it. That felt out of place. As the Savanclaw students said, they don't only not care , but even negate the very existence of "beauty". Despite that, do you think they would use an eloquent expression like "Defective"? While I was thinking about that, I inspected the garment that seemed to be torn apart by claws carefully.. And followed the clues to you.

Cinema studies Student A: Why… Me?

Rook: The scratches on the garments. They were cut by scissors in the shape of a beast's talons. And by examining the traces of your cut, I could deduce their height and their dominant arm, which happens to concur with yours. And there's more evidence. What I hold in my hand right now is a piece cut from the garments… Look at the lining?

Epel: The lining? What's wrong with it?

Rook: It's loosely sewn. This garment hasn't been used once for a photoshoot, and it's not the only part that doesn't harmonize well on the camera… Vil is the kind of person who strives for perfect quality from the fabric to the sewing and the accessories. He wouldn't have let this shoddy tailoring pass.

Epel: Um, so someone tore up the garments of the cinema studies club. But it was a fake, and not the real one…? I, I'm confused.

Rook: He hesitated at the moment of the crime when he was about to tear Vil's clothes, so he replaced it with a fake. The essential part is that the fake was made intending to fit Vil perfectly. There are only two people besides Vil that know his measurements exactly. The first one is me. And the other one is…

Epel: The costumer… who is in charge of taking his measurements?

Cinema studies Student A: Ugh…

Rook: I suggest you don't make more excuses now. Won't you tell us your reason?

Cinema studies Student A: I-, I did it because… I was jealous! You and Epel get along great with the esteemed Vil!

Epel: Huh! You think we're getting along great? The only thing he does is scold me though…

Cinema studies Student A: That's plenty! I admire Vil, studied what he likes, and devoted myself with all my might to the cinema studies club! Even so, I never got any closer to him since I enrolled! So I tried to make you two fight the other dorms…  and have you expelled from the cinema studies club.

Epel: Well ain't you a peach…

Cinema studies Student A: … I'm sorry for causing an inconvenience to everyone in the club. I'll take responsibility and quit the club.

Rook: Quit the club? Non!! That would be outrageous, my dear costumer!

Everyone: Huh!?

Cinema studies Student A: W-Why…

Rook: This case. His love for Vil created and destroyed it. Thus… Love only won't make you able to finish a piece that can be mistaken for the real thing. The way your fingers assembled this with thread and needle, it's actually beautiful. If the cinema studies club were to lose a talent like yours, Vil wouldn't be pleased. Your atonement will be your contributions to the club.

Cinema studies Student B: It's just as Rook says. You are the best out of us at dressmaking, if you weren't here it would stump us. Come on, let's go back to the clubroom. Let's repair this garment before Vil comes back from his work!

Cinema studies Student A: ! Y-Yes!!

Rook: Okay! That settles one case.

Epel: Rook! That was splendid. You are so observant, to tell it's a counterfeit just by the seams.

Rook: Ah. That was a lie! No one hand-sews anything these times. They all use a sewing machine. You can't see that with the naked eye, right? It was a trick.

Epel: Huh… Huuuh!? Then how did you know it was a fake?

Rook: Fufufu, the truth is much simpler. Smell. The counterfeit clothes didn't have a single atom of the characteristic and unique mellow fragrance that Vil has, so I knew immediately.

Epel: What!? That investigation method is kinda… gross, you know?

Rook: Listen, Epel. I regard the information you can get by smelling highly, as it's useful for hunting. You can know the places one visited or in this case, the person's characteristics, by the traces of their smell. For example… sniff sniff. What you had for lunch today-

Epel: Argh!? S-Stop this!

Rook: Hahaha! Just kidding. My nose isn't that good either.

Epel: I thought you were amazing like a detective, but… maybe you're really just a weirdo.

[funderberker-thefrog]

More on Hollow Knight

Hiii!!! So I’m here to talk about my playthrough again hehehe. 

Mmm. Where do I begin? I’ve got all the nail arts! and the nailmaster charm! Here’s a screenshot of me sitting with one of my masters🥰 Also I love Sheo, he seems to be having a great time with his painting in the middle of nowhere, almost unreachable. He’s living my dream fr

And speaking of nails, I’ve upgraded my to the coiled nail and I’ve gotten another pale ore from the grubfather. Other Pale ores lay beyond nosk and the colosseum of fools, and I still have to try the second trial of those. But btw i’ve beat the first one on my first try and i’m so proud of myself!!! I don’t consider myself to be a great gamer (i have fun nonetheless), so making it through that was a boost hehe. I am also writing this posts just after defeating the collector just on my second try and obtaining the marks for the remaining grubs which, guess what, were only 3!!! I got 2 already since they were in places I’ve already been in, but the last one is somewhere in the queens gardens, which I haven’t finished exploring yet. I also bought all the maps (see bellow for a sleeping Corny behind lovely Iselda), opened all the stag stations and went to the stag nest. And look at my vessels!!! I’m gaming, guys! I am close to collecting 400 essence, I’ve gotten the first three flames for my grimmchild, and I defeated the Brooding Mawlek (which I expected money for, but well, nothing is perfect) as well as the Pale Luker.

Remember how I had 15 charms more to collect on the last post? Now there’s only 5 to go! I’m trying to remember which ones I’ve gotten, and I recall Sharp Shadow, Heavy Blow, Quick Slash, obviously de Grimmchild and de Nailmaster as I mentioned, probably Shape of Unn was after the post as well... and the Spore Shroom thingy... oh, and Joni’s Blessing! She seems so nice. A nice little spirit.  I know I’m missing the one found in the hive, but I was having a hard time there lol. Not so much bc of the boss itself, but everytime I died and had to go back I could feel my hair going grey. And, to be fair, there’s not that many screens between the bench and the boss, but the enemies there... I just find them to be a pain, really. And like, I take them out carefully and with a lot of patience (which is not rare from me), but the amount of time this took me made it easy for me to grow tired and deciding to try later.  Anyways. I also got the charm with the little hatchlings. THEY’RE MINIME’S!!!!!!! They’re so cuuute (see bellow) 🥺🥺🥺. So cute. They have little wings, like little fairies. Great game. Also, if you’re wondering why I have so much geo in the screenshot, well... I have been getting the unbreakable charms from Divine [tears] [sweat] [blood]. Only the greedy one is left but I am not giving it to her until I get the money lmao.  Tbh, I don’t remember what’s the other charm that I got in this past few weeks rn. But well, it’s not that important I just wanted to name them lmao. Also i got scammed by the bank women but I already got to juggle hair around hehehe that was fun. I still haven’t woken up the other two dreamers left (Teacher, Watcher), despite the fact that I’ve been around and there’s only one boss fight between me and each of them. I just haven’t been feeling bosses that much lately, I’ve been moreso exploring and fiding things. Though Idk how much more is there left to find without a boss blocking me but oh well, that’s life, isnt it.  So, I think that’s it for now? I hope you’re all doing great! I’ve certainly been having fun!

p.s: Zote the almighty? More like Zote the girlfriend stealer. smh.

[governmentintelligence]

happy birthday motherfucker <3

Here is a birthday fic!!

Words: 4910

MASTERPOST OF THE OTHER BIRTHDAY STUFF

KNOX INSPIRED ART <3 <3 <3 <3 GO LOOK AT KNOX ART

~~~~~~~~ no fun sexy linebreak sorry <//3 ~~~~~

It’s a slow mid-afternoon at Pigsy’s Noodles, home of the longest noodles.

Spirit is wiping down the outside tables, humming to themselves as they do. MK is basically laying on one of the tables, legs bent over the side as he scrolls idly through the restaurant’s email. Yes, email—the main network that nearly every business uses has gone down, citing a massive server outage.

“Ugh, no one even uses email anymore, and especially not for food orders,” MK groans.

“That’s not true!” Pigsy and MK had been going back and forth on this for about the past hour, since walk-in orders slowed. It had been almost thirty minutes before someone came in, and while this was an alarmingly slow state, it was unusual for MK to be waiting for orders to deliver rather than the other way around. “People use email for catering events! And if anyone really wants some good noodles, they know they can call in!”

Mei, leaning with her back on the counter, and Tang, sitting at his usual counter spot, share a look. These two had been ping-ponging their argument on and off since the server shut off earlier in the day. It had been demon related in one way or another, another one of Yin and Jin’s hairbrained schemes that MK interrupted before much irreversible damage was done. They’d been hoping to gain control over the city’s main set of servers, used by most mobile apps.

While they’d been swiftly defeated, it still left a remarkable amount of damage on the servers themselves, leaving most of the city’s biggest commercial apps down, including the delivery app.

“Okay, and how many call-ins have we gotten?” MK looks up, only to be met with a glare.

Tang shrugs at MK’s assertion. The argument’s been going in circles thus far; it feels only fair to try and interrupt it. “He’s not wrong. A lot of delivery’s based out of the apps. This is really why having a delivery app trust is helping to wear down independently owned businesses.”

None of us came here for a lesson in market monopolization and trusts, though, readers included. Mei groans, and MK’s arms flop over the sides of the table.

“I’m too bored for a lesson in macroeconomics,” Mei grumbles.

MK, from where his head is leaning over the table’s edge, makes a sound of agreement. Pigsy and Tang share a look, Spirit can see them through the window, before Tang leans back towards MK’s prone body.

“Hey, never too bored to become even more bored!” Tang sounded too chipper when he said it.

That got MK to look up from where he was tangling over the table, giving Tang a glare that mirrored the one Mei was sending him. Even Pigsy stopped stirring his noodle broth, turning to stare at Tang with his eyes squinted.

The silence is moreso what gets Spirit to look up, and once they see everyone staring at Tang, they stare, too. Mostly out of curiosity and partly out of confusion.

They can sense the tension, however light, from a mile away. It makes them hesitant to come back inside, but they have the dirty rags to throw into the laundry bin from cleaning the table. Then, they have to throw the laundry into the machine and change out the cycles, maybe fold the other load of dishrags and washcloths.

Having Spirit’s three extra eyes on him does get a nervous chuckle out of Tang, though. Pigsy spares him the plight of having to redirect the conversation. “I’m still goin’, til closing. It’s slow for deliveries but we’ve been getting some walk-ins and some call-ins. What if a catering order comes in, you know?”

“Aren’t catering orders supposed to come in, like, days before they want you there?” Mei hops over to the counter now, leaning over the side.

That revelation has MK leaping off of the table, landing light on his feet on its surface. Having his various Monkie Kid abilities has helped with some of the acrobatics he does, including his balance. “HANG ON, YEAH!”

He spins around, pointing at the clock on his phone while he flashed it towards Tang, Mei, and Pigsy. “Indoor seating closes soon! And Spirit just finished wiping down tables!”

Mei picks up what MK is suggesting first, throwing her arms up in excitement right back. “CAN WE GO TO THE ARCADE EARLY?”

Her voice is much too close to a shout for Spirit’s liking as they come back in and toss the towel they’re holding. It echoes around the restaurant, likely too sharp of a sound for anyone else here to hear. Mei means well, though, and Spirit knows the conversation doesn’t involve them.

Until MK says, “YES! Hey—Spirit!”

Hearing their name shouted, however friendly, gets their shoulders to hike. They turn around, expression just a tinge wary, and face MK’s excited grin head-on. “Would you want to come with us?”

Leave the restaurant? Well...it was slow. And Spirit wasn’t a cook, they were a waiter and a busser. If people were eating in the restaurant, it would make sense to have an extra hand on deck, just in case.

But right now, the only person eating in-house was Tang, and he’d gotten to the point where he was washing his own dishes when no one else was around. If Pisgy was okay with them going out….but they wouldn’t want to go to the arcade. It was loud and crowded. Many lights and many people and many machines making loud victory sounds. If they could avoid it, they would want to.

They pull at the sleeves of their shirt. It’s a plain white one, the kind that they prefer wearing to work so they don’t get any of their recognizable clothing dirtied. They only have so many sets in purple, after all, and they don’t want to get any dirty here. Plus the black and the white kind of helps to blend in.

“I don’t know. I, um….” They press their fingers together in thought, holding their hands together in front of themselves as they think.

A grunt from behind the counter drew everyone’s attention once more. Pigsy was still stirring the broth with one hand, watching the conversation over his own shoulder. “Maybe not the arcade with Spirit, you know how packed it gets at this time. All the kids getting out of school.”

There was something tender about Pigsy’s concern. Spirit smiles a little, lips pursed tight in the growing tension, and shrugs.

Mei wasn’t about to take a hard “no,” though. She nods to Pigsy’s suggestion that the arcade wasn’t the right place and then adds on, “How about the thrift mall?”

The thrift mall was a new installation of the city. A collection of thrift stores, auction houses, and antique stores all shoulder to shoulder in a multi-story shopping complex. It had just opened about a month ago and reviews were all positive. Plus, the idea of thrifting was returning to popular culture as something akin to recycling, so it would solve some of the fast designer fashion problems.

On a more personal note, too, Mei had been hankering to get a look at the place. She liked adding her own flourishes to the jacket she’d gotten MK years back, so much so that it was a thing she did to her own (to match with her best friend, duh?!) and to almost anything else she could get her hands on. Vintage patches, from the mid 2800’s, even some from as early as the 2500’s, could be found in the backs of antique stories. If she could get her hands on something from even the 2700’s, Mei would lose her marbles.

She’d been dying to go, of course, but every time she and MK were on their way, something would happen. Usually a demon would attack in some way, shape, or form, something small. Once, they made plans, and MK had completely forgotten he was on shift for delivery that day.

Things just kept misaligning, and MK very much knew how desperate Mei was to go to the thrift mall. Sure, there was the repeated asking, and now there were the current puppy dog eyes.

MK, also very much desiring to go, immediately follows suit. “Can you come to the mall with us?” he asks Spirit, bottom lip jutting out ever so slightly.

And now they were faced with two young adults giving them the saddest looks they’ve ever seen.

The thrift mall was new, yes. It was nearby the demon market, actually, and there were even some stores in the mall that were fronts to people whose names were in their book. It would likely be much quieter, no loud blaring music, no smoke machines or flashing lights.

More...agreeable, in a way.

They’re also pretty hesitant to say no to these kids looking at them like that. Not to say that that’s the only reason they’re going! They haven’t gotten a fresh new outfit, rather than clothes they wear to the noodle place or the variants of their own outfit, literally since Macaque took them to the tailor’s way back when. Clothes were just a societal necessity, not something that they cared much about anymore. Though, if they’re going to a store, it could be nice.

But, at the end of the day, how can Spirit say no to the expressions MK and Mei are giving them.

“If you would want,” Spirit answers.

They have no idea how they get themselves into it, honestly. MK and Mei both hiss a soft “YES,” slap palms, and from there, things go quite fast. They’re still in their human disguise, wary of any other humans seeing them in their monkey form, but they find that that’s for the best. Maybe when looking at clothes, though, they’ll change back. They wouldn’t consider themselves vain, but they’d like to see what looks good on both ends…?

Arriving at the thrift mall is interesting, because it isn’t the world’s most distinguishable location. Spirit lets themselves be pulled in behind the two chattering adults, Mei almost bouncing off the walls in excitement as she recognizes some of the stores.

Very immediately, too, she pulls them into a warehouse-looking location right inside the building. It’s lined with racks and racks of pants, and apparently the upper layer is meant for tops. There are many colors, many styles of clothing that Spirit hasn’t seen in fashion for years. They’re not caught up on pop culture in the slightest, but they catch sight of a band shirt that was definitely from the early 2900’s.

Another surprise is that the store is relatively empty. For a newly opened mall, you would expect crowds of people to be trying to pack into the stores, but this one’s labyrinthic nature seems to be separating the groups of people out a lot better than a regular store’s open flooring would be. Less people to run into when there is simply less road and so much more clothing to look at.

Spirit does their best to follow behind Mei and MK as they go up the stairs, into the similarly packed tops section. They weren’t really planning on buying anything, moreso just look and wistfully desire. But then Mei whips around with a purple varsity jacket, a dusty pink-purple in the middle, and whistles.

“Hey, Spirit, it’s a you jacket!” she laughs.

It does fit uncannily well with Spirit’s own color scheme. They look it over and nod slowly. “It is,” they say.

The peer pressure is on now, though, as MK leans over Mei’s shoulder. “Try it on! Let’s see if it fits!” he says.

Well, now….Spirit puts on the jacket carefully, knowing that it’s at least many decades old. It’s surprisingly sturdy and comfortable, likely from being worn by someone ages ago. It’s a little short but, in terms of width, it fits perfectly. They find that they can zip it up with room to move.

“It’s kind of soft,” they say. “I like it. I don’t know where I’d wear it, though.”

“Hey, you never know where you’d wear something until you’re going there,” Mei responds with a wave of her hand. “I don’t think through my outfits every day.”

“You don’t?” Mei looks pretty put together consistently, so that comes at a surprise.

Spirit remembers Macaque telling them that they need a serious outfit to be taken seriously, that their appearance is their first impression. They try to put a lot of thought into the things they wear whenever it’s not

Mei, however, just shrugs. “Nope! I usually just throw on a shirt and then my jacket over it.”

Interesting. And she still managed to look very cool.

Spirit follows Mei and MK through the aisles, watches as MK climbs on top of Mei’s shoulders to grab another shirt, this one with only one strap on the shoulder and a cute tie off. It looked like a very summery shirt. But it was purple, which Spirit didn’t consider MK or Mei’s colors, really.

Until he, still on Mei’s shoulders, leans towards them. “Hold up that one!” he says as he shoves the shirt into their arms.

They catch it and look over the fabric, soft and sturdy. They hold it up for MK and Mei to inspect, both humming in approval.

That was how the mall visit turned into a Spirit-centric fashion show, hosted by MK and Mei. Spirit was just along for the ride honestly, catching the articles of clothing that were just being dropped into their arms. MK and Mei were like a whirlwind, ripping out anything that looked remotely purple and showing it to the other for opinions. They murmured and schemed together, Spirit catching bits of “too rough” and “too loud” to describe some of the discarded articles.

It takes some time, but after about an hour, they’re walking around with a modest pile of clothes. Spirit thinks there’s a dress in there, even which is going to be a very interesting try. They haven’t worn many dresses.

MK and Mei were being intensely serious about this, too. They were inspecting each article before pushing it into Spirit’s hands, showing them to each other for confirmation. Most were actually hung back up, unfitting in some way or other that they weren’t privy to.

That was fine, though, because they don’t think they could have tried on everything that was purple in this warehouse. It was hour two, halfway through the bottoms section, before the tiredness began to kick in. Socializing was kind of hard, after all.

At least they weren’t having to talk for a lot of it. Mei stopped a few times to ask if they were doing okay, MK asked if they were hungry or if they all wanted to take a break, but Spirit wasn’t tired enough to want to leave just yet. And if these two were having a good time, then who were they to stop them mid-shopping.

At least the tops section went a little faster. Most pants weren’t built to handle fur, squeezing a little too tight, with the added limiting factor that MK and Mei were mostly looking for bottoms to match the tops they found.

The accessories section wasn’t as big as the tops or bottoms sections, of course, but there were still a series of wonders. The socks were in here, surprisingly. After one look at Spirit’s bare feet, though, MK and Mei only decided on one pair. They didn’t even glance the shoes section before grabbing what looked like a straw-woven fedora and pulling Spirit towards the changing rooms.

“It’s time to try on all the clothes!” MK proclaims, and Spirit kind of saw this coming, but they’re still confused.

“Why were you handing me the clothes?” they ask.

MK and Mei stop, both turning to Spirit with blank expressions. It must just now be registering that they never actually asked them if they wanted to wear the clothes, because they share a small glance before Mei goes, “Um….for a fashion show?”

Now, that’s interesting. Spirit’s not going to say no, of course not, but…. “Why?”

“Because you would look so cute in these,” Mei says. “I mean, vintage leather is all the rage now, everyone’s got one.”

She points out the purple leather jacket at the top of the pile and points to the fitting rooms. “It might be cool to have multiple sets of clothes that’re kinda, you know. Styling.”

“You’d be a fashionista,” MK adds on, pretending to swoon.

“What an icon,” Mei catches MK as he pretends to fall. “Stellar.”

They both hold pose, too, as they watch Spirit watch them.

And, come on. How can they say no to that.

Spirit gulps, then nods, almost worried. They don’t know what they’ll look good in. According to Macaque, it’s hard to find clothes that look at least acceptable, so they don’t enter the changing room with high hopes.

The outfits are all fairly modern, and Spirit wants to get the socks over and done with first. They pull on the socks, a deep purple with lilac dots, and notice that it’s a stretchy kind of fuzzy. They’re thick enough but hole-y enough to let their feet breathe in. Then, they pull on the cargo shorts, button up the purple shirt, and head on out for Mei and MK’s look.

They’re both sitting on a bench chatting outside of the fitting room, something about something on Mei’s phone. Probably another funny cat video, if we’re being honest. When Spirit walks out, though, Mei shuts off her phone at record speed.

They both “ooo” at the outfit. “Do a turn!” MK says, and Spirit obliges.

It feels comfortable. Almost summer-y in how the outfit was loose, yet contained itself in enough of a way for them to be mobile. The pants are a lot less tight than they seemed, and the whole outfit makes Spirit kind of want to climb something. Maybe a tree.

“You look so CUTE!” the exclamation catches their attention again as they notice MK clapping excitedly, Mei shaking her fists up and down, both unable to contain their excitement.

It was strange to see them so excited over Spirit’s outfit. They weren’t really expecting that kind of compliment over their appearance, especially after how quickly Macaque reminded them that they were hard to dress for.

“Really?” they ask.

MK and Mei nod their heads so fast it’s a wonder they don’t fly off.

“Hell yeah!” Mei jumps up, hopping to Spirit’s side. “I love the button down on you! The white one you wear at the noodle shop is pretty, too, but the color is,” she does a chef’s kiss motion as she hurries around Spirit for another 180 look.

“No one else is around, you could transform! We should see how it looks with all the fur,” MK suggests.

And he’s not wrong, per se. There aren’t any cameras in the changing rooms and there isn’t anyone else back here, not yet. Plus them being a monkey isn’t too big of an issue when they’re out of the restaurant. Some customers can get rude over the potential of fur in their soup and if they don’t have to change, they don’t always want to.

Spirit changes back, fur poofing out, and it surprisingly slots nicely into the spaces between the threads of sock. Their tail swishes right above their pants and their hands shake, almost in excitement, before they quell the movement.

“And it still looks awesome,” MK does a fist pump.

“Did you really have any doubt?” Mei says with a laugh, and MK shrugs.

The confidence almost washes off onto Spirit. Maybe it does, a bit, as they turn back to the changing room they’d exited.

The next outfit is one of the dresses. They’re feeling spicy, what can they say. It has a cute pink collar, a whole second layer of fuschia beneath a dress with semi-shimmering fireworks.

“You look gorgeous! Oh my god!” Mei says when she sees Spirit.

The next outfit is the one with the hat, along with a pair of jeans and the shirt with the tied off shoulder.

“I love that! The shirt looks so good on you!” is MK’s appraisal to that one.

An outfit with the purple leather biker jacket over a pair of black jeans and a pink shirt.

“You’re such a badass, so stunning!”

A dusty purple dress with white scalloped trims.

“That’s adorable, oh my—that neckline, though!”

Spiked cuffs, a choker, and a collared shirt with a smiley face design.

“You look so cool as a punk!”

Spirit was buzzing by the end of it. They hadn’t tried on this many outfits in this quick succession in a while, but every time they changed clothes, they would exit the room and do a spin for MK and Mei.

And every time, without fail, MK and Mei would applaud and compliment, which was the most surreal part. They weren’t used to that, not in the slightest, not when they were so hard to shop for. The last time, with Macaque, that must be….what, centuries by now? Absolute ages.

They’d assumed shopping would be hard, after that. But with MK and Mei’s cheering, they found it hard to be worried.

That didn’t mean they weren’t tired. They excited the changing rooms and began putting the outfits onto the rack to be taken back, when Mei hopped off the bench.

“Aw, did you not like them?” she asks.

Spirit blinks, surprised. “Um, no! They were really nice. I just, um. Don’t know where I would wear them.”

Mei blinks, as if she doesn’t really understand that sentiment. Spirit scratches the back of their neck, watching her and waiting for a response. It must be weird for her to think of that. She and MK hang out every night, once the noodle shop is closed. Mei must not understand that Spirit simply doesn’t have a place to wear them.

“Oh,” Mei hums.

It’s a fight that she doesn’t pick, it seems, and Spirit’s fine with that. MK sighs along with Mei. “Fair enough, if you don’t want them. I think Pigsy’d be okay with you wearing something flashy around, though!”

“That’s good to know,” they say, and they leave it at that.

Neither of the other two butt in, either, which is nice. Truth be told, Spirit’s not sure where they would wear the clothes, other than to the noodle shop. Plus, they don’t really know where they’d store it. Probably at Pigsy’s place. But would they want to take up even more space than they usually do? They wouldn’t want to just have stacks of it sitting by their hammock. That feels unnecessary.

They still leave the thrift mall with an air of relief and contentment. All of those outfits were really pretty. Very different, sure, but very pretty! Spirit could see themselves in them. Gosh, if Red were here, he would have been ecstatic over it. He has an eye for designs, they know.

While they’re happy to move on to the next store not having gotten anything, both MK and Mei keep glancing at them, as if worried. And they don’t really know what else to say, other than what they already have. The looks make them a little nervous, though.

At the very, very least, they spent a good four hours in that one giant store. It seems to be one of the mall’s super stores. Mei and MK bring Spirit around for a small walk at the others, coo’ing in interest at a vintage electronics store they found—Mei finds a perfect duplicate of the phone Spirit used to have, which they chuckle about. They enjoy being able to see the many emojis that everyone uses! Red’s fire emojis pack more of a punch now, as do Mei’s green hearts. They aren’t shocked at all to find that their phone’s dupe is labeled as “ultra rare,” and that it’s priced in the upper hundred thousands.

There’s also a vintage patch and accessory shop that Mei basically drags MK and Spirit into, though that’s not to say they need much convincing. She does buy a few there, too. Spirit just looks at some of the cuter ones, finding a blue skull that looks almost purple. Periwinkle, the store’s representative calls it. They think it’s cute, though they put that back, too. What need do they have for these things?

Sure, they’re pretty, and Spirit thinks it would be nice to own them. But….well. Where are they going to put it? Where are they going to wear it all? Would they have to do laundry more often? They just don’t really know, you know, and it’s not something they want to commit to.

On the ride back to the noodle shop, MK and Mei make jokes about how they should give Spirit’s old phone away to that antique store. The owner would probably lose it to see another one still functioning. Spirit just laughs along, social battery drained after many hours of working at the store and the four hours they spent at the mall. It feels nice, though. They don’t often go out for so long in such an agreeable space.

It’s a nice moment they think back on, and in their sleep, right before it overtakes them, they think of the varsity jacket. It looked a little like Mei and MK’s.

And that’s the last Spirit thinks of it.

Until a few weeks later.

It’s by closing of the shop that Mei approaches Spirit, holding something behind her back excitedly. She hadn’t been in earlier, since noon, and while MK hadn’t said anything about it, Spirit suspected something was happening. Pigsy had asked a few times, surprised to see Mei out doing something else during a time they’d’ve expected her to be taking up the seat next to Tang, and he’d been almost cagey over it. Spirit had just hoped that nothing was wrong.

But then, when Mei got to the shop, she bounded in with a whirlwind of energy right before stopping in front of Spirit. MK, too, hopped off of the chair he’d been sitting in as he listened to one of Tang’s tales.

Spirit, to their credit, was just washing dishes. And now they were, again, being bombarded with puppydog eyes from the duo.

They didn’t even say anything! They just stared at Spirit, who looked to the side at Pigsy, then at Tang, then back at the duo.

“Um, yes?” they were almost nervous now, despite the expressions, so they dried off their hands and stepped around the corner.

A package is shoved into their arms. They jump, taken aback by the sudden movement, but then look at the package. It’s just wrapped in clear plastic, so they can see exactly what it is. It’s the exact varsity jacket from the thrift shop, the purple one. But it has a special patch on the front, the blue skull they’d seen at the store.

Carefully, Spirit unwraps it. As the sleeves unfurl, Spirit notes that there are elongated white cuffs and a white trim along the bottom. Likely to make up for the space it lacks to fit Spirit’s body. Maybe other alterations were done, too, because it does seem generally bigger.

They flip it around and emblazoned on the back is a giant patch sewn on and hand-embroidered of Spirit’s face. There are two circles beneath their hair, too, in the same blue as the skull. They realize it might represent earrings, to the others. To Spirit, it represents something much different.

Spirit isn’t used to. Receiving things. They just stare at the jacket for a second, as if their brain can’t compute that this is a thing for them, with nothing attached. It was like Mei giving them an upgraded phone. But this doesn’t even have any value. This is just something that they saw that Spirit enjoyed, and then got.

“We know you didn’t know anywhere to wear the clothes, and we were throwing like, full outfits at you. But we did want to get you something, you know? No strings attached, I just wanted to get you something to fit with ours, and this one was just too perfect to leave! I loved making it,” Mei explains, hands pressing together as she watches Spirit’s face with her own wide grin.

“So, like, if you don’t want to wear it around, you don’t have to. There’s no pressure, at all! But we thought it’d be cool if you, uh. If you had the option to match,” MK jumps around, showing his own jacket. “Like you’re part of the team now!”

Part of the team.

Spirit couldn’t remember being a part of anything, not for the longest of whiles. Yet MK, the Monkey King’s whole successor, who they really shouldn’t even be talking to if you think about it, is proclaiming to be on the same team as them?

They don’t know what words there are to describe the feeling, but Spirit’s hands ball on the jacket, holding it tight against their chest. They don’t know when they started smiling but now they notice it only because it’s beginning to hurt their cheeks.

“I love it,” their voice is a whisper, almost afraid to raise it. “Thank you.”

[fan-art-ic]

By Chance | DT Secret Santa 2020

A writing gift for @zestyquetzalcoatl who requested a fic with Gladstone and Donald getting along and use of Paperinik for the @ducktalessecretsanta2020 event! Despite how the rockiness of everything that’s happening, I hoped I conveyed that they care about each other. Even moreso, I hope you enjoy this!

Posted on archiveofourown here

Summer, 1999

Gladstone and Fethry’s parents wanted to go on a wine tour through Calisota, so the two of them were dumped on Scrooge McDuck, their barely related ‘uncle’. However, since Scrooge had taken in Della and Donald as his wards, the geezer had become a bit more approachable, a tad more indulgent of his young family. Part of that was giving in when Della asked her uncle to let her cousins stay with them for a couple of weeks during the summer.

Gladstone considers Fethry more brother than cousin given how often their parents had the other family over. Fethry is a good kid, silly but reliable. Della is whip-sharp with all the subtlety of a rocket, but she’s the only one who can prank Gladstone without his luck saving him. It’s unfortunate for his wardrobe, but it makes seeing her so much fun. Donald…

He’s easy to rile up, is all Gladstone can really say. Or is it? That certainly hadn’t been the case earlier.

Scrooge was stuck in meetings the whole afternoon of their first day in Duckburg, so Della and Donald showed their cousins around town. While walking around, they passed an electronics store with a window filled with televisions tuned to the same channel. On the screens was a Kiwi, the name Angus Fergus - Channel 00 visible on the subtitle banner. The breaking news headline was DUCK AVENGER: ENEMY OR FOE?

Gladstone laughed. “Enemy or foe? What kind of question is that?” He watched briefly as a news clip of a dark duck-shaped figure jumped a fence. His cousins stopped so he wouldn’t be left behind and turned to face him.

Donald frowned, saying, “It’s not a question.”

Della jumped in at that point. “That’s the top reporter on the Duck Avenger,” and as she said the name, she moved her voice up and down and wiggled her fingers. Gladstone and Fethry laughed at her antics, and Donald’s shoulders hitched up.

“Top reporter?” Donald scoffed. “The Duck Avenger is only a menace to those who need menacing, and that reporter is a joke. He can’t even write a byline.”

“Do you even know what a byline is?” Gladstone joked and Donald started to grow red. Della jeered at her brother and Fethry mimicked her. Donald’s face darkened.

“Yeah, didn’t you fail that English test, Don?” Della brought Donald in for a noogie, but he escaped it easily. He nearly swung at her, but stopped mid-way, grimacing.

“You okay, Donald?” Fethry asked.

Gladstone watched as Donald looked at the groups of people walking past them on the sidewalk before blowing his emo-long bangs out of his eyes with faked nonchalance. The duck rolled his shoulder and all he said was, “I got clipped by some ninny on a unicycle earlier. Don’t worry about it.”

“A unicycle?” Gladstone and Fethry questioned at once, but were steamrolled by Della’s reply.

“Wow, Don, if a unicycle can take you out you better let me take point on the next adventure,” Della laughed. She then tacked on, “Do you wanna put an ice pack on it back at home?”

“Nah, let’s just keep walking. That new arcade Funzo’s is a few blocks away,” Donald brushed Della off.

While going to Funzo’s had been awesome, especially because Gladstone tried the Big Bass wheel and won the 10,000 tickets (and he played the claw machine, successfully grabbing a toy each time), Gladstone feels...

There’s this niggling emotion in his chest, and as Gladstone tosses and turns in his bed, he can’t help but wonder if there is something wrong with Donald.

Gladstone huffs and drags his luxurious pillow down his face. “This is stupid,” he tells the dark of his temporary room. He flops onto his side and pulls the down comforter over his head. Underneath the blanket, it is pitch black and with each exhale it becomes stuffier and hotter and more unbearable.

He bursts out and pushes the comforter away. Gladstone grimaces and closes his eyes. He opens them and then sits up, grabbing his pillow and pummelling it a few times. He lays it and then himself back down. Sighing, he closes his eyes again.

“Argh!” Gladstone gripes out loud and he beats his fist into the mattress. Why couldn’t he go to sleep? “This sucks.”

This is fine, though. He’ll just drink some water and then fall right asleep like a baby. That’s it, right, his luck won’t let him go to sleep because he’s dehydrated, no problemo-

He turns to the nightstand, where no matter Gladstone stays there is always a glass of water, there’s no glass of water.

“Seriously?” Gladstone squawks at his luck. “Seriously?”

He sighs heavily and glances at the door. “I guess I’ll just go get my own water.” Luckily, by the door are a pair of shamrock green slippers. Gladstone shrugs his bathrobe over his pajamas and finds the slippers to be exceedingly soft when he slides them on.

The door opens quietly on oiled hinges, and Gladstone slowly makes his way out of the guest wing of the mansion to the main steps. He’s certain there are closer stairs that would take him to the kitchen, but he’s yet to learn them. He could probably ask Della or Donald about it tomorrow. He passes by a suit of knight’s armor and the moonlight pouring in from the windows glints off the poleaxe menacingly.

Gladstone shivers and shuffles faster. He can’t imagine living in such a creepy place with creepy things all year. Would make him bananas. All these magical artifacts and mystic doodads must be at least half responsible for Scrooge’s weird habits, Gladstone thinks and then laughs at his own thoughts.

“I’m hilarious,” he says out loud and definitely doesn’t startle when a hushed wailing emanates from a collection of strangely-shaped clay. He shivers again, “Eugh.” Soon he’s at the main stairs and not a single step groans as Gladstone walks down.

A sharp creak snaps through the still air.

He freezes on the stair landing and he looks toward the sound. Towards the steps on the other side of the landing that lead to the west wing of the house, where he was told Scrooge, Della, and Donald’s bedrooms are somewhere located. Gladstone grimaces. On one hand, it’s probably nothing, just some treasure acting up a bit how that pottery had. On the other hand…

Gladstone can’t help but imagine his cousins and their uncle in trouble and somehow unable to yell for help, that creak being the sole sound to alert anyone, and Gladstone had just happened to be nearby to hear it. His hands fiddle with the bathrobe tie, and his head swings to look back-and-forth between the ground floor, just down the steps, and the other side of the mansion, up the steps.

“That didn’t happen, I didn’t hear anything,” Gladstone murmurs to himself.

Thud.

Gladstone glares incredulously. That sound was so soft and distant, but he undeniably heard something thud in the house. Right after he said...nope, no more tempting fate, Gladstone decides. He turns to walk down the stairs, but as soon as his foot touches the first step, he hears another creak. Gladstone huffs and the moment his other foot touches the next step, there is...

Nothing. He didn’t hear anything. That’s good, right?

Gladstone makes it halfway across the foyer before he whips around and races up the stairs. He speed-walks down the hall of the opposite wing, feeling silly as he cups his hands to his ears. He hopes he hears something. He hopes he hears nothing.

There! A muffled yelp pierced the still air and was cut off not even a second later, but Gladstone had heard it. He stops in his tracks, and as luck would have it, he’s in front of a branching off hallway. Gladstone sees a few doors down it, but the main one that draws his attention is wrapped all around in bright yellow CAUTION tape. As he reluctantly walks closer, Gladstone spots a tiny boat sticker on the door jamb.

He nearly sweat drops. Gladstone loves his cousin, but he knows it’d be tempting fate to knock on the temperamental teenager’s door in the middle of the night. And what would Gladstone have to say for himself, that he was worried? That there were some weird sounds that scared him? He’d be very lucky if the only thing that happens is Donald waking up, telling him he heard some spooky artefact, and closing the door in his face.

Oh wait, it slowly dawns on the teenager. He is that lucky! He’s incredibly lucky every single day, why would this be any different? All he needs to do is knock, lay his fears to rest, go to bed, and lay himself to rest. Everything will be fine. He'll go back to sleep and the sun will rise and everything will be fine. Gladstone sucks in a deep breath and exhales in a whoosh. He knocks four times, just enough force to catch attention if Donald is awake, but not raucous enough to wake him. A muffled curse filters through the door. Gladstone frowns and folds his arms awkwardly. The door opens a few inches to reveal the sleep-squinting eyes of his cousin.

“Gladstone?”

He laughs weakly. “Ah! Donald, just the duck I wanted to see…” Gladstone means to say more, but is distracted by the dark shadows under Donald’s eyes. Or, more, around the eyes…?

“Did you need something?” asks Donald. His eyes are looking away from Gladstone’s, and his fingertips around the door are flecked darkly.

Gladstone blue screens for a second before finding some words to say, “I was wondering if you knew anything about the pottery near my room! Such fascinating pieces of, uh, artwork.”

The door shuts without answer and the goose scrambles. “Wait! No, I uh, I actually was, I’m worried,” he stammers out, and the door opens back up, a little more than before. Success. If only it wasn’t at the sacrifice of his dignity. “You see, they’re really freaky, and were making some weird moaning wailing noises? And I just couldn’t get to sleep!” Gladstone grins bashfully. The door opens fully, and there stands Donald, rumpled and grumbly but definitely awake.

“Move to a different room tonight. Tell Uncle Scrooge in the morning about it, he’ll give them a lecture,” Donald advises him, actually more helpful than Gladstone thought he would be. “Go back to sleep, Glad.”

“Well, uh, sounds good,” Gladstone says. The door begins to shut and Gladstone blurts out, “Why are you wearing boots in the middle of the night?” He had barely noticed them at first, but now it’s striking him as super weird.

Donald squawks. His eyes flick down and then back up to meet Gladstone’s. His cousin goes to slam shut his bedroom door, but before it closes Gladstone shoves his hand in between and blocks it. He hisses loudly in pain and Donald’s eyes go wide. The door reopens and Donald starts to reach out to Gladstone, who’s withdrawn the injured hand and stuffed it in his mouth to muffle his yelps, but then the duck aborts the gesture. When Gladstone finally lets go of his bruised hand, Donald flicks the side of his beak.

“Idiot,” he rasps. “Don’t put your stupid hand in the door.”

Gladstone declines to respond because with the door open more, he has a better view of his cousin. Donald’s feathers are badly ruffled, his tee-shirt oddly bulky on him like he’s wearing something big underneath, his black boots dirty and scuffed. Now, Gladstone can tell that his eyes aren’t swollen with only a lack of sleep but also with bruising.

He whistles lowly. “That’s a hell of a shiner, Don.” His cousin’s shoulders jump to his ears and he snarls at Gladstone.

“Shut up! You didn’t see any of this!” Donald stands taller and moves to block Gladstone’s view of the room, but Gladstone uses that to push him out of the way and walk in. As he walks by, he spies a thick piece of blue fabric spilling out the back of Donald’s shirt. He quickly reaches out and grabs it, pulling it closer to inspect. It has more weight to it than Gladstone expected and the underside is a deep coal black.

“Is this a cape?”

Donald whirls around to face him, and man, oh man has Gladstone messed up. If looks could kill Gladstone would be worm food. The duck’s shoulders start to shake and Gladstone can practically see steam whistling out his ears. Oh man.

“Get out of my room! You didn’t see anything! GET OUT-” Donald’s volume exponentially rises and Gladstone rushes to clamp the duck’s bill shut before he grows loud enough to wake up everyone else. Donald shakes in his grasp for a few seconds but regains his calm quickly enough that Gladstone feels somewhat certain he won’t start yelling again. Donald breathes heavily and with a dark look at Gladstone, he turns his back on him and stalks over to his bed. “Get out of my room,” his cousin orders, pulling his blanket over his head. As if that would be enough to dissuade a curious (not scared!) gander. Gladstone eyes the haphazard mess around the room. Piles of clothes, overflowing trash, an open window letting in an unusually cold summer draft. He shivers. Then he looks closer at the window.

Dark, two-toned smudges litter the windowsill. The floor below the window is oddly clear of any mess in a rough circle. Gladstone knows for a fact that there is a climbable trellis right outside Donald’s window. Della had pointed it out during his and Fethry’s first tour of the manor grounds, bemoaning the fact that lame straight-lace Donald got a sneak-out-able window and she didn’t.

Gladstone had laughed then, but now he was severely doubting the idea that Donald never snuck out.

“Donald? Is this…” Gladstone walks closer to the window and bends over. He picks up something small and black, rough in texture and sort of sticky. Spread out in his hands, he can see it’s a domino mask like the ones comic book superheroes wear. His trailing off must have been telling because after a few seconds Donald forcefully tumbles out of bed and snatches the mask from Gladstone’s hands.

“It’s for a school play,” Donald says harshly before shoving him towards the door. “Get out of my room.”

“Is this blood?” Gladstone asks as he stares at the reddish residue on his fingertips. “Donald, I want an explanation.”

“Yeah, well I want a thousand dollars, and you don’t see me getting it,” the duck says brusquely.

“Do you want a thousand dollars? I can give you it.” It wouldn’t even make a dent in his savings with how his parents make him deposit all the twenty-dollar bills he finds and cash prizes from sweepstakes he unwittingly wins.

Donald’s feathers fluff out a bit, and Gladstone realizes that was the wrong thing to say. “I, uh, well I mean, are you okay?”

His cousin gives him a disbelieving look and pauses in his attempts to push Gladstone out. The goose notices a small patch of darkened feathers on the side of Donald’s head. He reaches out to poke it. “You’re hurt?”

Donald bats his hand aside. “Just leave, Gladstone. Forget all this and I’ll let you get away with as many jokes as you want tomorrow.”

Tempting. Very tempting, in fact. For a second, Gladstone wavers. He and Fethry are in the works planning a prank on the Duck twins for the next day, and it’s a doozy of one that definitely would result in getting chased up a tree. His tree climbing skills are lacking…

“Nope!” Gladstone replies. “C’mon cuz! What’s the big secret? Some adventure you don’t want your sis getting in on?” His response gets him a tired look. Gladstone frowns. He’s just getting nowhere tonight. How untypical. This calls for drastic measures.

“Look, Donald,” he says seriously, and steps aside and away from the door. He levels a look at his cousin and is returned with an exhausted, stony stare. “I don’t want in on…” Gladstone gestures around the room, “whatever this is. I was worried earlier, but, eugh, this pains me to say, but I was worried about you.”

His cousin’s stunned expression is enough to make Gladstone continue. “You seemed off earlier, and this is like, REALLY wildly weird, whatever you’re up to, and, I don’t know, are you actually okay?” Donald stares at him, his face closed off and blank. Gladstone fidgets a bit awkwardly; bald-faced honesty is not his usual policy and the longer this silence drags out the heavier the sinking feeling in his stomach gets.

Finally, his cousin sighs harshly and looks him in the eyes before glancing around his owm room. Donald sighs again, but reaches out and closes the door with a click. Gladstone backs up to give him space and sits down in the desk chair to the left of the bed.

“You can’t tell anyone about this,” Donald begins quietly. “Not Fethry, not Della, not Scrooge, not your folks, you tell anyone and not even your luck will save you.” Teenage bravado or not, a shiver runs down Gladstone’s spine.

“Okay.”

“You promise?” Donald marches up to him and sticks a pinky finger in his face. Gladstone curls his own pinky around it and swallows roughly.

“Promise, Don.”

Donald breathes in and it’s like all the tension in him had been cut in two. With a deep sigh, his shoulders sag and the duck stumbles a few steps backward to sit heavily on the bed. He awkwardly draws up one leg and encircles his arms around it, and scratches at his elbow. In the soft moonlight pouring in, Gladstone can just make out a bandage clip peeking out of feathers. What craziness is Gladstone stepping into this time?

Donald mumbles...something into his elbows and knee, his face too buried for Gladstone to hear. “What?”

Donald mumbles again.

“What?”

Donald’s fingers clench. Unclench. He lifts his head to glare at the goose. Reluctantly, as if the very words pain him, Donald says, “I’m the Duck Avenger.”

Gladstone’s eyes bug out.

“WHA-” Donald moves lightning-quick, lunging forward and clamping a hand around Gladstone’s beak. He lets go after a second. Gladstone continues, volume adjusted, “-what do you mean you’re the freaking Duck Avenger? You’re saying you’re a vigilante? Did you hit your head?”

“Yes,” says Donald. “At least several times.” Gladstone has no response to that.

His cousin...is a vigilante. What did Gladstone know about the Duck Avenger? Not well-liked by news reporters, not well-liked by police, not well-liked by criminals. Criminals. His cousin regularly goes out and sneaks around at the dead of night getting...who had Gladstone heard about? The mayor?

“What was the deal with the mayor?” Gladstone asks. Donald frowns and seems a little caught off-guard.

“He was embezzling funds from Duckburg taxes,” explains Donald. “Using people’s money for his own fancy, schmancy pool at his big fancy, schmancy mansion, instead of fixing potholes or funding something worthwhile!”

“You live in a fancy, schmancy mansion with a pool,” Gladstone points out. Donald glares at him.

“It’s not the same!”

“Okay, okay!” Gladstone raises his hands in surrender, and he changes the topic. “So, like, you go out and expose politicians and punch robbers and stuff? Like Superdog or Wonder Warble?”

Donald scratches the back of his neck. “There’s a bit more to it than that, but uh, yeah.” The duck sits taller. “I avenge. I avenge on those taking advantage of those not in power. Or is it I avenge those not in power…” the teenager trails off.

“Neat!” Gladstone interjects as he can empathize with being brain fuzzy late at night; this is all so confusing without thinking about grammar of all things. Ugh, grammar.

“Wait, so how’s being a mysterious vigilante going to work when summer is over and school starts?” asks Gladstone. He starts to spin himself in the desk chair. “Are you going to just ‘avenge’ on weekends and holidays or…?”

Donald shakes his head and then yawns so big Gladstone hears a joint pop. He shivers. Eugh, gross. Whoa, he’s dizzy. He stops spinning the chair and realizes he’s missed half of what Donald has said. “Wait, back up, can you repeat that?”

His cousin rolls his eyes but obliges. “I was saying that I’m gonna go out whenever I can. If I’m not unconscious from the latest adventure or I don’t have a huge exam the next day, I want to be out there,” Donald turns his head to look out the window, “making a difference.”

Gladstone is seeing all sorts of hidden depths to his cousin tonight. Yikes, what to say to that kind of statement, jeez. “We got plenty of time to make a difference, Don, we’re not even out of high school,” Gladstone reasons. “Right now, we’re just learning the ropes and being crazy kids, no need to really stress about it that much. Making a difference is for adults.”

Donald shoots him a sharp glare that settles into a deep scowl. “Of course you’d say that.”

“Of course I’d say what?”

“That we should let the adults handle it. That we should wait to become adults to handle it. Some of us-” Donald visibly bites off the end of his sentence. Gladstone frowns. The duck continues, wrestling with his words. “I,” he stresses, “I am not waiting to do something. That’s not...It’s not something I can do.”

Gladstone stands up from the desk chair and starts pacing. One, two, three, four steps, turn around, walk back. One, two, three, four steps, turn around, walk back. One, two, three, four-

“Glad?”

The goose stops pacing and stands still for a moment. Gladstone ignores his cousin for a second to inspect his hands, where they’d held the mask earlier. He rubs his fingers together and some of the light brown, dried blood crumbles off his white feathers. He turns to look at Donald.

“Donald.” Gladstone hesitates before repeating himself from earlier, “Are you okay?” He hopes his cousin sees it for the out it is. Let Gladstone win once tonight. His cousin frowns and scratches at his elbow. The bandages shift around the arm. Gladstone looks away.  

“Am I…are you okay?” Donald deflects instead.

“I’m peachy keen,” Gladstone replies with pronounced cheer. He rocks back on his heels. “So, you are okay? You’ll live to the morning?”

Donald catches on, frowning at first before finally saying, “Yep, all good. You can go back to bed now.” Gladstone laughs weakly.

“Good to hear! Good to hear…” Jeez, now the duck almost looks downcast because Gladstone wants out of this frankly strange conversation. His stomach churns uneasily and Gladstone really just wants to dart out the door and chalk this all up to a weird dream. He turns and begins to walk toward the door, but before he crosses the threshold, Gladstone spins around and rushes up to the duck.

“Gladstone?” Donald says and then groans, “Mind the ribs!” as Gladstone quickly, tightly wraps his arms around his older cousin. He holds the hug for four seconds before letting go and stepping away immediately.

“Well, goodnight, Don,” Gladstone says. Donald looks back at him.

“Goodnight, Glad.”

The goose nods and then makes his way out of the room. Just before he closes the door, he hears Donald’s tired voice ask, “You won’t tell anyone ‘bout me?”

Gladstone swallows roughly and it takes him a moment to respond. “Your secret’s safe with me.”

“ ‘Kay...goodnight…”

“Goodnight, Don,” repeats Gladstone and he closes the door with care. He walks back to the stairs and goes down to the kitchen. He remembers that reporter, asking if the Duck Avenger is the enemy. The shadowy silhouette of the Duck Avenger jumping a fence. Gladstone pulls a glass out of the cabinet and pours water into it from the pitcher. He sets the pitcher down and there’s a slight brownish tint on the white plastic that hadn’t been there before. Gladstone wipes it away and drinks from his glass. A mayor embezzling funds, that would require breaking and entering to figure out, getting into secured files or going onto the mayor’s, well, ex-mayor’s property, trespassing. That’s just one thing Gladstone knows about, and who knows how long Donald will keep superheroing? If he ever gets caught…

Gladstone finishes off his water and rinses the glass, setting it to dry on the mat beside the sink. He walks back to his room and slips under the covers. He stares up at the ceiling. His cousin the vigilante. Out there, trying to make a mark and fixing injustices. Although Gladstone isn't quite sure his cousin is really old enough, when he thinks about it he can find it pretty cool of Donald. Hopefully, he won’t have to think about it all. Tomorrow, he’ll have to talk to Fethry about changing their prank plans. Maybe something with not quite as many roller skates.

Gladstone closes his eyes and waits for a new day to begin.

[mult1tude]

TWO STARS ✰ AN ETHAN NESTOR STORY — CHAPTER 1

story synopsis: adele belanger, an upcoming star begins to fall in love with a man named ethan nestor after doing a press junket to promote her upcoming series that’s going to push her fame further than she expected. will problems arise?

word count: 3k triggers: none

     adele belanger - the name spoke few and far on the dazzling and glamorous world of hollywood. celebrated for her roles in roles in indie films produced and created in canada, where she was born and raised, she is soon due a big break as she was in the process of getting ready for the rest of the world to know she was starring in netflix’s latest series.

saying the heat resonating from beneath her laptop was hot was an understatement, she didn’t dare to budge or move it in the slightest as she restlessly refreshed the youtube page waiting for the trailer to pop up, almost wearing out the button on her keyboard. the sable black strands at the nape of her neck that had evaded her grasp as she hurriedly tied a ponytail began to itch at her skin but she didn’t have time to fix it, not until the trailer was posted.

after what felt like a lifetime, her eyes were quick to notice a new thumbnail appear on the page and she reactively clicked it, pressing the mousepad button-down slightly too hard out of excitement. the entire video played, a beaming smile was plastered across her face, her dimples displayed prominently as she approached the end of the video. the young actress felt like a firework in a glass jar, so much excitement contained inside of her as she brushed the laptop from her lap, jolted from her rumpled bed and clenched her fists as she excitedly hopped around her tiny apartment and squealed. adele rushed to the dust speckled mirror that was hung near her front door that had a few dozen, in a hyperbolic sense, of her unused coats after moving from canada. she deeply exhaled as she examined her face, noticing her own excitement couldn’t even contain itself as a smile sidled upon her lips as she delicately let out a few words. “i’m going to be famous.”

her emotions shot off again like fireworks, her chest fluttering and her palms tingling and red from the nails she didn’t realise she had dug so deep into her own skin. but it didn’t matter, adele was finally making the biggest leap possible into her career - it was everything she ever wanted.

“ok, i need some water.” she softly spoke to herself, taking another deep breath as she headed towards her apartment’s small open-planned kitchen. her shaky hands picked up a bottle of water from the fridge; she vowed that she would never drink l.a’s tap water after hearing an endless conglomeration of negative things from acquaintances and friends after moving only 6 months ago.

swigging it back and almost completing most of the bottle, she slapped it onto the counter whilst letting out a satisfied gasp for air. a few drops making wet patches on her eggshell coloured sweatshirt that may or may not have a few foundation marks around the neckline. a sudden change of thought, she remembered she needed to send the link to all of her friends and family if they already hadn’t seen it. adele slid the phone from her sweatpants noticing she was already getting congratulatory messages from some of her friends and even people that she hadn’t spoken to in a while. moreso, a lot of the messages from her friends were them completely fangirling over the fact that she had in fact worked with henry cavill.

adele replied to and messaged everyone she needed to before opening twitter and the rest of her social media to find that they were starting to blow up, multiple people talking about how cool the show looked and how excited they were. a lot of them were generic but few mentioned how intricate and interesting adele’s sidekick companion character seemed which made her stomach twirl once more and she felt like she had her ego stroked enough it would last the rest of the week. she put aside her phone and began to practice her bedtime routine before throwing herself back onto her bed where she only was an hour ago. her head smacking her pillow must have activated a switch because adele immediately felt her eyes involuntarily shutter closed and before she knew it, she was fast asleep.

                                                         ✰

today was the first day of recording stuff for the press. needless to say, adele was super excited. from what the actress was able to gather from her manager jenna, since henry cavill was known to be such a huge gamer online, buzzfeed had organised the cast to play the game version of the new netflix series with a few special guests. it was undeniably going to be a great day and a great way to start the press junket as it progressively and eventually got more tiring and mind-numbing. plus, she had gamed a bit before so it would be funny if she were able to show up a few of her cast members, especially henry.

at 8am sharp, the assigned makeup and hairstylist, and wardrobe stylist arrived at her apartment. she was so giddy with excitement that she wanted to run around and shout and tell everyone but she had to sit silently for the meantime as the makeup artist worked on her face. edging elation bubbled through her every vein as they talked about varying outfits to wear, expensive designer brands she was allowed to borrow. she felt like a proper celebrity.

finally, the crew decided on a casual look for today. her slate black, silken hair was bundled in a half-up loose french plait whilst the rest of it waved down just below her shoulders, the front strands falling in front of her face. light and delicate makeup that made her eyes shine and sparkle like a glossy nephrite stone; the minimal makeup also allowed her ubiquitous, chocolate freckles to proudly be displayed on her face. polished, golden dangle geometric earrings to frame her heart-shaped face and overall elevate the look from simple to elegant. an ivory laced-back milkmaid top with puffed long sleeves, high-waisted, sun-bleached skinny jeans with a few sparse rips and shreds, tattered white thread entwined between the tears and loosely hanging like vines. to finish off the look was some pearly white stilettos and few rings as well as a similarly styled necklace to match the earrings.

“i feel, amazing.” adele faltered in disbelief as she longingly stared at herself in the mirror, turning to the crew exhibiting an approving smile. “thank you.” she softly spoke before squeaking with excitement as she danced on the spot causing her team to giggle in response. “time to get going!” she excitedly commanded herself as she made a poor attempt at trying to control her out of rhythm breathing. the exhilaration and eagerness began to convolute into a ball of anxiousness and fret. it was something new and different which was scary but she didn’t want it to hold her back. another deep breath and she made her way to the contemporary, modern lobby of her apartment block where she spotted the black suv through the towering glass front doors in which her chauffeur was waiting for her.

“per jenna’s request,” the chauffeur nodded towards the coffee in the cupholder. adele wrapped her hand around the starbucks cup — still hot. “vanilla oat milk latte?” she asked as she brought the almost searing coffee to her lips, the steam floating upwards and brushing past her skin. the chauffeur nodded as he put the vehicle into gear and started to head towards the destination. effortlessly, the sweet drink passed her lips as she took a few sips before she threw her head back in a satisfied manor. surely the coffee would help with the nerves and just overall elevate her mood. she scoured her social media for a short while, taking breaks to finish the rest of her drink before they arrived. it’s l.a, so it was always bound to take a while even if it just was a few blocks over.

discreetly, the car pulled into the back entrance where she was able to enter without getting noticed and was directed to a very bright and lively reception where the young actress signed in. her heels clicking against the laminated wooden flooring as she followed the operations manager who was indistinctively talking through the black earpiece attached to her ear and was clutching a clipboard to her stomach. a few corridors later they had arrived, the manager twisted the handle to the door and entered, allowing adele to trail behind her.

almost blinding, the room was filled with numerous studio lights. littering the floor almost completely, cables and all different sorts of leads and plugs lay disorganised on the floor. a huge monitor was placed in front of the white screen which was the focus of all the beaming lights. “hey adele!” vocalised the director as he approached her, also bearing a black earpiece. “so the premise of today’s shoot is quite simple. you’re going to be playing the game with our two guests over here,” he briefly motioned towards two gentlemen sat in the corner of the room chatting and chuckling between themselves clearly in a world of their own, “and we’ve paired you with henry because we only have two controllers and we want to get everyone to be involved so the others are being shot later. does that sound good?” he queried, concluded his speech.

“of course.” she eagerly spoke with a grin. “great,” the director spoke as he adjusted his wire-frame glasses, “let me introduce you to the guests. they’re going to be guiding you along with the game,” he spoke, leading adele over towards the boisterous men who were still conversing right up until adele and the director were stood only a few metres away.

“mark?” adele apprehensively suspected as she reached her hand out to his, inviting the suave gentleman to shake hands. “yes!” he answered in a shocked yet pleased tone as he stood to be polite and accepted the handshake with a beaming grin. “i think i watched a bit of your stuff a while back,” adele admitted before briefly catching eyes with the other guy who was staring up at her with gleaming eyes and a dopey yet adorable smile. “i’m honoured,” mark softly spoke before looking down at the other guy who was now standing to follow suit. “this is my friend ethan,” mark continued, placing a firm grip on his pal's shoulder.

“hi, nice to meet you.” ethan spoke in a much more gentle manner than mark did as he reached his hand out to replicate the greeting. “nice to meet you too,” she replied, reciprocating the greeting. “have you watched my stuff too?” ethan asked with a bashful smile as he ruffled his hair with his painted black fingernails. adele hesitantly shook her head not wanting to hurt his feelings, “no, but if it’s anything like mark’s stuff i’m certain it’s great.” she stated looking back at mark who had an affirming smirk on his face as he looked down at his younger friend who’s face had started to flush pink.

“henry is meant to be here right now, but he isn’t,” the director addressed somewhat annoyingly, “i’ll go and have a word to see where he is you can just stay here and talk to each other.” the director stated before hurriedly making his way to the door which adele entered through. she sat down in one of the spare seats that sat opposite the boys as they sat down once more.

“can i just say i watched the trailer this morning and i can’t wait to watch it.” he admitted as he began to pull at the strings of his coal-black hoodie. “thank you, it really means a lot,” adele’s cheeks blushed as she began to fiddle with the rings on her fingers yet still keeping her eyes on the boys. “seriously. we’re not just saying this it looks fantastic,” mark chirped in enthusiastically as he leaned forward in the seat, “i’m never usually this excited about a new series. so congrats!” he admitted with a deep chuckle, looking towards ethan who was nodding in agreement.

the conversation was silenced when a huge figure walked through the door followed by the director and operations manager. the director hastily wagged his fingers at adele and the boys who obediently made their way over. “adele!” henry happily bellowed in his charming english accent as he pulled her into a gentle hug, remembering he probably was over two times her size. “long time no see,” she affirmed as she hugged him back before breaking their embrace. her eyes involuntarily wandered over to ethan as the director began briefing henry. ethan quickly darted his eyes to the director as if he just hadn’t been gazing at her causing adele to grin to herself as she put her concentration back to the director.

“great, so follow me and i’ll seat you.” the director asserted as he walked towards the chairs in front of the white screen, two at the front and two at the back yet not parallel to each other. the front seats were more centred whilst the back two were offset so nobody would be getting in the way of each other when seated.

“adele if you sit in the front left seat, henry in the right.” he requested as he took a step behind the camera and watched the monitor to see if it was what he had envisioned. adele and henry sat which the director reacted with a thumbs up. “okay, ethan if you sit on the left and mark on the right please.” the director concluded as he continued to watch the monitor. the boys did as they were told before mark immediately remarked. “gosh it’s bright behind here,” he joked shielding his eyes as he laughed, eliciting a few giggles from everyone as the director adjusted some of the studio light placement with a few apprentices.

after everything was adjusted to the directors liking, they were ready to roll. the director placed his 3 fingers up as he counted down whilst mouthing the numbers. the thumb was up, which meant everyone introduced themselves and surprisingly it didn’t need multiple takes. “today, adele and i are going to be playing the symbols of shadows game which is very similar to the new series on netflix september 4th.” henry beamed, clutching the xbox controller in his hand as he looked over towards adele. “and i’m going to win. i’m going to beat henry.”

henry scoffed, dismissing adele’s statement as mark and ethan giggled behind them. “we’re also going to try to help, but it looks like they’re gaming experts,” mark spoke, wavering his tone with the last two words as he jokingly mocked adele and henry. “well, there’s only one way to find out.” ethan spoke energetically in a slightly goofier voice than what he was speaking in before. ethan looked at mark before they both turned towards the camera with a raised eyebrow. “okay great. we’ll cut there. let’s load the game up.” the director approved, leaning back in his chair, fixing his corduroy jacket as one of the apprentices loaded the game up and set up the first level. “we just want you to complete the first level so don’t try and rush.” the apprentice handed back the controller to adele as he quickly rushed out of view.

the camera began to roll again and the pair began to get a grasp of the controls and the setting of the game as they intentionally tried to set each other up in the game: pushing one another of the map, friendly fire, stealing points and collectables, and deliberately annoying each other which resulted in many laughs around the room. matter-of-factly, ethan and mark didn’t really do anything to help, however, they did make for a great commentary and supplied multiple belly-aching jokes.

the screen faded to black as they’d finished the first level; mark and ethan clapped and congratulated the pair in between giggles as adele and henry carried on the bit and refused to display any means of sportsmanship. “guys, i don’t know about you but i definitely won.” henry retaliated as adele shook her head and rolled her eyes. mark and ethan were laughing so hard it was almost silent. “this was a team game,” mark giggled as the pitch in his voice heightened. “let us know in the comments who you think won. because it was moi.” adele stated confidently, trying to hide the smile that wanted to appear on her lips so badly. the pair promoted their netflix series as they wrapped up filming. “okay, great. that’s everything. thanks, guys.” the director spoke as he picked up his macbook from the desk and began typing away. “if you just wait here until someone comes and collects you,” the director struggled to speak as he was too busy multitasking. he pressed the side of his earpiece and spoke to himself as he called for the cast to be escorted.

“you’re really good, i was impressed.” ethan spoke to adele softly, as everyone got out of their seats. “you really like to flatter me don’t you.” she joked which caused ethan to halter in his thoughts for a moment. “it’s not a bad thing,” she reassured him, “it’s really nice to hear. especially coming from you.” delicately spoke, eyes quickly moving over to see if anyone was listening but mark and henry were engulfed in their own conversation. ethan’s cheeks flushed pink again as he displayed a meek grin.

he was about to respond when the door re-opened and the manager stepped through, immediately grabbing everyone else’s attention. ethan bit at his lip as anguish washed over his face as he realised the conversation was over. adele was disinclined for a moment, lingering for a few more seconds as the butterflies in her stomach began to fade. “it was nice talking to you. talk soon?” she asked which brightened up ethan’s face as he nodded, “of course. see you soon.” he timorously spoke with a contemptuous smile as he waved goodbye, for now.

[radbeetle]

|Call to Arms|

wow these screenshots are so old. do you know why i’ve been sitting on them for so long? because i wanted to finish the writing about this mission before I posted them

AND I DID. Check it out on AO3 or under the readmore.

“These robots were assaulted by institute synths.”

Katherine scrunched up her face and shielded her eyes as she looked up at Danse , who insisted on keeping his headlamp on.

“Um, sorry, I - I gotta ask… what are… synths?” and what’s the institute, for that matter, she thought to herself, but one question at a time.

“Technological abominations created by the institute, and let loose to run rampant throughout the commonwealth.” Danse’s voice was heavy with disgust, even through the buzzy modulation of his power armor.

“Danse. That’s… I get that you don’t like them, but what are they?” Katherine pleaded. “Just… in simple terms? Please?”

He scoffed. “I would have thought you familiar with them. Most in the Commonwealth seem to be.”

Katherine deflated, shoulders sinking. “Well… just… I’m out of the loop. Let’s leave it at that.”

The blank stare of the T-60’s helmet concealed Danse’s puzzlement. Regardless, he provided explanation. “Robots, built in the shape of man. A mannequin brought to life by machinery. They’re a mockery of humankind at best, and a blight upon this world at worst.”

Katherine bit her tongue, and suppressed her curiosity. As much as she wanted to know more, it was obvious Danse was biased. “I guess things have come a long way from the Mr. Handy, huh.” There was still a little bit of awe in her voice - she very much wanted to see these synths. Truly humanoid robots had always been a lofty goal of the industry… she had heard of RobCo’s Assaultrons, but they were still miles away.

Danse scoffed. “Unfortunately. Keep your eyes open as we move deeper into the facility. It’s highly likely that the Institute’s forces still have a presence here.” The paladin was already moving on, and Katherine was quick to follow.

“Mmm-hmm.” She wasn’t sure how to feel about that. Part of her was brimming with curiosity about these synths… and part of her knew that if they could take down those protectrons, they could take down her.

“This place has really been trashed, huh? What do you think it was like back in the day?”

“Filled with men making poor decisions, I’m certain.”

Katherine pressed her lips. So much for small talk. Thankfully, it wasn’t long before the hallways opened up into another room. Two dust coated windows framed a sliding door, which Danse was quick to investigate.

“This is the way forwards, but it seems to be locked tight. There’s no apparent way to open it from here.”

Katherine straightened up, and holstered her 10mm. “Oh, if there’s no visible controls on the door, they’re likely wired into a local terminal. It’s technically required for them have a way to bypass the lock through the hardware, in case of emergency, but they never make it easy. Security stuff. Uh…” she trailed off for a moment, glancing around the room. There were a few desks still standing on the opposite wall, terminals still intact. “Um, give me a moment.” She kicked a toppled chair away from the desk, and bent over the keyboard. “Mmm, this one’s still logged in. I guess there’s not really time to properly disconnect from your workstation when they’re bombing the city.” she muttered as she scrolled through the inbox.

“Any luck over there?” Danse inquired.

“I’ve got access to the internal mail system, uh, lots of reminders about security protocols and - ah-heh. Automated password change reminder. Looks like it’s for the lab access?” Katherine had a gnawing feeling in her gut that she was over-explaining things. Surely the paladin didn’t care about the specifics.

“That’s where we’re headed.”

“Great, yeah, uh.” She scanned the room again and scampered to the other still functional terminal. “Let’s hope…” she trailed off.

Danse took a few steps away from the laboratory door, turning to watch Katherine with mild curiosity, hidden behind the power armor helmet. She seemed quite at home amongst the terminals and technology. An unusual trait, compared to most of the wastelanders he met. Though he was initially skeptical of her claim to being a Vault Dweller - the Brotherhood had no record of a Vault 111, after all - he wondered if perhaps there was some truth to her statement.

“Hey!” Kate’s head popped up over the top of the terminal. “Got it.”

“Excellent. Let’s not waste any more time. If you could open the door?”

“Oh! Yeah, yeah.” A swift keystroke and the door opened with the whnk-hsss of pneumatics.

Paladin Danse formed around, set once again to lead the way onward, through the facility - but the incandescent blue laser bolt that buzzed his power armor brought those plans to a standstill.

“Hostile detected.” The matter-of-fact statement and computerized voice carried no overt aggression, a sharp contrast to the flurry of laser fire passing through the now opened doorway.

“Synths! Take cover!”

Katherine didn’t need to be told - she dove for cover behind a fallen file cabinet the instant she caught sight of the laser’s flash. Her grip tightened around her pistol as she heard Danse shout - a cautious glimpse revealed that the synths - that’s what he said they were? - were prioritizing the Paladin as a target, paying no attention to her. She wasn’t sure if they had even noticed her.

A dozen thoughts all raced through her head, tangling together as she stared at the machines. Mannequins was the comparison Danse had drawn. He wasn’t too far off. They were battered, damaged, rubber skin torn to reveal steel skeletons and plastic components. Only a moment had passed before one of them turned its gaze to Kate. The faint yellow glow of its eyes and the exposed grimace of its metal skull was an eerie sight - and one that quickly exploded in a shower of sparks and shrapnel.

Danse had taken it out with a single headshot.

The moment was enough to jolt her back into action, and she followed up by returning fire. Her 10mm pistol wasn’t nearly as effective as the AER-9 laser rifle Danse carried, but it did the job.

“Hmph. Sent them to the scrap heap.” He noted the laser weaponry carried by the synths, and had a realization. He glanced at the pistol carried by his current associate, and offered her the backup laser rifle he had brought. “Take this. I’m certain there’ll be more of them, and they’ll be carrying microfusion cells. Energy will be more effective than a weapon of a ballistic nature.” The Paladin tossed the rifle towards Katherine, who caught it with a startled yelp. She turned the weapon over in her hands. She had a passing familiarity with the AER-9 - though she had never personally handled one, she understood the basic mechanisms, and microfusion cells were something she was well acquainted with.

She fastened her 10mm pistol to her belt and kept the laser in hand. Danse had already stepped over the smoldering wrecks of the synths, but her curiosity was too strong. She stopped in the middle of the room, and crouched down over one of the robots.

They had been shooting at me only minutes ago, she thought, and there was still part of her that was worried they might spring back to life. Yet despite that lurking fear, she had to get a closer look.

The situation struck her as a little morbid, perhaps. Moreso than examining a broken-down Mr. Handy, at least.

It was the faces, she thought. The eyes.

The Institute. That’s where Danse said they had come from. Katherine had seen how the world was torn apart, still ruined from the bombs dropped so long ago. But it seemed that somewhere out there, something had not just survived, but thrived. Moved on past the limits of the world she knew, developed things that General Atomics could only have dreamed of.

A weight settled somewhere deep in her chest as she turned one over. An aching sort of sadness.

She didn’t have a chance to process those feelings, to figure out the why behind them.

“What are you doing? Hurry up. We can’t waste any more time.” Danse snapped, irritated by what he saw as Kate’s dawdling.

“Oh.” Katherine’s response was quiet. She got to her feet, gaze lingering on the remains of the synths, before turning away to follow Danse once again, through the ruins of ArcJet.

Katherine was worn down by the repeated encounters with the institute synths - after the first firefight she stuck closer than ever to the paladin - and stayed behind him, too. The power armor could take a laser much better than she could.

She was sure Danse was scowling at her cowardice, under his helmet.

“This way leads to the engine core. We’ll have to pass through here to reach the location where they’ve likely stored the transmitter.”

Danse looked back to find Kate dragging her fingers through the dust on a long abandoned desk, staring at a box of long faded files and folders.

“Everything here stopped so suddenly… how many people do you think made it out?”

He hesitated. “I’m not sure what you mean.”

“When… the bombs dropped.” Katherine clarified, her voice tinged with sadness.

Danse cocked his head. “I couldn’t tell you, and I doubt anyone in the commonwealth has that information, given how many years have passed since those events.” He scoffed. “Regardless, I would suggest against concerning yourself with the people of the past. Their actions brought the war upon themselves.”

Her only response to Danse’s declaration was to go very quiet.

The elevator ride that took them to the engine core was awkward; Katherine pressed herself into the back corner of the car and wondered how much a suit of T-60 power armor weighed. Every time the elevator creaked, or groaned, she flinched. The thought that it had gone two centuries without maintenance scared her.

Kate’s knuckles went white as she clutched the pitted railing, just leaning barely enough over to stare down to the depths of the room. Her eyes followed the length of the rocket booster back up, and turned to look back at Danse, whose attention was drawn upwards, assessing the staircase - and the massive gap where it had broken away over the past two centuries.

It wasn’t filling Katherine with confidence, that was for sure.

–

It was only a short few flights to the floor of the test chamber, thankfully. The ash crunched under Katherine’s feet, and she walked a line around the edge of the room, idly looking over the footprints she left.

Danse placed an armored hand on the cowl of the engine, which had laid dormant for over two centuries. He wondered briefly if the brotherhood would have a use for it.

Maybe if it were smaller. As it stood, there was no way to transport the thing.

“See if you can find a way to turn the power back on. Perhaps redirect it from other parts of the facility.”

“Yeah - yeah sure.” There were only two ways out of the room, aside from the stairs. An elevator, unpowered and unusable, and a set of heavy steel double doors, halfway open and leading to what looked like a maintenance hall, judging by the wires and pipes running along the concrete. Seemed promising - or so she hoped.

There was a… she supposed it was some sort of control room, judging by all the consoles and buttons present, but she didn’t pay much attention to it - another doorway at the rear of the room exposed a fusion generator, and that was much more promising when it came to potential power systems.

Not just one fusion generator, but two - and a terminal at the back of the room. She nudged the chair away from the desk, wheels leaving a trail in the dust. As she settled in, Kate’s fingers ran across the terminal keys. There was no elaborate security down here in the depths. It didn’t surprise her. But it did make her current task easier - and she was glad. She tapped her way through various options, scanning every choice and setting .

Ah. There we go. Auxiliary power. A few confirmations and…

She could hear the power systems coming to life in the walls around her, the faint buzz of electricity through wires, and the hum of mechanical systems powering up. That should have done it, if everything was still connected.

The fusion generators she had passed has turned quiet, and her gaze lingered on the fusion core left inside. Well… if that was no longer connected, no longer needed.

Push, turn, and a click as it disconnected, slipped into her pocket on the way out.

It was the sound of gunfire that made Katherine snap to attention once again. Or, more accurately, laser fire. Flashes of blue and red through the reinforced glass window of the control room.

The paladin’s shouts confirmed her assumption.

“Synths!”

She froze up, eyes darting across the room, tracking the barrage of blue bolts in front of her.

It felt like hours before Danse called out again, directed at her. “Do something, Vance! Don’t just - urgh - stand there!”

It was enough to jolt her into action.

She slammed her open palm down on the big red button on the console in front of her.

The sounds of laser fire weren’t enough to obscure the pre-recorded countdown that initiated.

“Command accepted. Test fire commencing in five… four…”

Katherine’s heart was doing backflips in her chest. “Test fi- oh god oh no job on that’s not -” She pounded on the window. “Danse!”

“Three… two…”

Danse didn’t have time to muster a response, under the onslaught of synths.“

"One. Engine firing.”

The roar of the engine was deafening, and Katherine’s immediate reaction was to cover her ears. The sound was matched in intensity by the engine’s output - even here behind the safety of the blast shield, she still felt the wave of heat.

Danse dropped to one knee, arm raised to shield his face. The steel of his power armor picked up a faint red glow around the edges under the engine’s flames.

The synths weren’t nearly as durable. Any of them immediately under the test engine were swiftly reduced to ash, and those with a little more distance crumpled to the floor within moments.

“Test firing completed with an efficiency rating of ninety-six point seven percent.”

Katherine was already at the blast doors by the time they swung open. Her footsteps crackled in the ash as she ran to Danse.

He hadn’t moved since going down, and that made her fearful.

But as she approached, he groaned, reaching for the laser rifle he had dropped.

“Danse? Oh my god I’m - shit, shit I’m sorry I didn’t know - I didn’t think - *are you okay?!” She was on the verge of panic.

“I’m fine.” Danse grunted, getting to his feet with a little more effort than usual.“Thanks to my power armor. Without it I would have fared no better than those damn synths.”

Katherine reached a hand out, a gesture of support, but as she placed it on his arm…

“Ouch!” She yelped, flinching backwards. The metal still held quite a bit of heat. She shook her hand - that was gonna leave a mark.

“I’m… I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. Maybe it wasn’t the wisest decision, but the results are acceptable enough.” The paladin gestured toward the elevator, where the call buttons were now lit up. “I strongly suggest we keep moving on. I don’t know how many more synths are in this building, or if they’re on their way to us again, and I’d rather not stand around to learn the answer.”

Perhaps it was more of a command than a suggestion, as he didn’t wait for a reply before heading towards the elevator.

“Um…” Kate hurried after him, still worried, though now for a different reason. “How much does that power armor weigh…? Is that going to be within the weight limit? I don’t - that elevator is two hundred years old and I know it hasn’t had regular maintenance, what if it -”

Danse turned around to look at Katherine. Even with his helmet obscuring his expression, she could sense his disapproval.

“Sorry.” She offered lamely, before going quiet and squeezing into the elevator car beside him.

It was a tight fit.

“All the information I’ve gathered indicates that the deep range transmitter is most likely stored in this control room,” Danse explained, “and there’s almost no evidence of scavenger activity in these parts of the facility.”

“What about the synths?”

“They arrived not long before we did, from the looks of things. If the deep range transmitter isn’t in the control room, one of the synths may have taken it. If that’s the case, we should hope they haven’t yet left the facility - if they’re still here, recovering the transmitter will be a simple task.”

“… more gunfights?”

“Very likely.”

Katherine clutched her laser rifle just a little tighter as they made their way towards the control room.

She was very conscious of her choice to keep behind Danse. The power armor protected him - and anyone behind him.

The tinny statement of “Hostile detected.” was the first sign of synths ahead, followed by the pchew of laser fire overhead.

“Contact!” Danse was the superior marksman between them and was quick to take out a trio of synths. They crumpled to the ground in rapid succession, and the third found its plastic skin burnt to ash as it fell.

Katherine was quick to offer fire against the last two synths as Danse reloaded - though none of her shots missed, she was far less accurate. It took more than twice as many shots for her to take them down.

“Well done.”

“Oh - um. Thank- thank you.” She never was great at handling praise, and was quick to scamper off in search of the transmitter, investigating the destroyed synths while Danse searched the room.

A few recovered microfusion cells found their way into her pockets, before a larger item caught her eye. She nudged the synth aside with her boot, uncovering… well, she wasn’t certain it was the deep range transmitter but it did have the look of a very complicated and very expensive piece of technology.

Katherine made her way back to Danse with the device slung under her arm. “Hey - I found this and um. Is this what you’re after?”

“That would be it, yes. Excellent! And it doesn’t appear to have sustained any damage.”

“Yeah, that’s good news.”

“There should be a way to exit the facility from here, so there won’t be any need to backtrack. Follow me.”

Danse wasn’t one to loiter - Katherine found it hard to keep up with him.

“… oh, another elevator.”

The service elevator led to an exit behind the ArcJet building, up a hill, sheltered inside a concrete structure. The commonwealth was quiet - there were no signs of any synths lingering outside. They were both equally relieved by this.

Danse took a few steps past the aged, rusting fence, and turned back to face Katherine. With his rifle holstered he reached up to remove his helmet, tucking it under one arm as he spoke. “well, I’m certain that could have gone smoother, but mission accomplished.”

Kate winced. She really had no frame of reference here. “I’m - I’m sorry. I didn’t…” She trailed off, deflating.

“While the operation was flawed, your contributions were still invaluable. Without your assistance I would certainly have been overwhelmed on multiple occasions. I’m not certain I could have retrieved the transmitter on my own.”

“Oh…!” There was surprise in Kate’s exclamation. She shuffled her feet a bit, awkward. “I’m… glad to hear that. I think.”

The paladin continued onward. “With that said, I believe we have two important matters to discuss. First and foremost is the deep range transmitter. If you’ll hand it to me, I’d like to compensate you for your assistance during this operation.”

“Yeah, yeah okay, here, this is, um. This is yours.” Kate offered Danse the device, which was swiftly packed away and secured.

He unholstered the rifle at his side, presenting it to Katherine. “Here. You clearly have an aptitude with technology - and with energy weapons. I think you’ll benefit from this; It’s my own personal modification to the standard issue AER9 laser rifle.”

“…really? Don’t you need this?” Katherine gingerly accepted the weapon, scanning it. She could see evidence of tinkering - and, of course, the brotherhood’s symbol stencilled along the barrel. She ran a thumb across the paint.

“It’s not the only weapon at my disposal. Besides, I believe in paying my debts.”

“Well then… thank you.”

“You’re welcome, civilian. Now, onto the second matter.”

Kate bit her tongue, unsure of what to expect.

“I wanted to make you a proposal. We had a lot thrown at us back there, and for the most part, you handled yourself exceptionally.”

She found herself wanting to disagree, but said nothing.

“Our op could have ended in disaster, but your determination kept that from happening. I believe that with a bit of training, you could be a valuable asset to the Brotherhood.”

“Erm.” Was she being recruited? She would have flunked out of the pre-war military almost instantly.

“The way I see it, you’ve got a choice. You could spend the rest of your life wandering the commonwealth, scrounging for supplies and trading your skills for a meager reward. Or, you could join the Brotherhood of Steel and make your mark on the world.” Danse shifted his weight, grip tightening on the helmet he still held.

“So, what do you say?”

Kate bit her lip. “The Brotherhood of Steel, huh? You guys are… aren’t you military?”

“Essentially, yes.”

Her hesitation was obvious. “Is this something I can think about? I don’t think I know enough here to, uh. to make a decision so quickly.”

“Of course. It’s a big decision. The offer still stands, and when you’ve made up your mind, you know where to find me.” Danse took a moment to put his helmet on once again, and his voice crackled out from within. “With all that said, I need to return to the police station. The deep range transmitter ought to be installed sooner, rather than later, so we can get in contact with the rest of the Brotherhood. Thank you again for your assistance, Vance. I wish you the best.”

Katherine found herself staring after Danse as he turned and left, heavy footsteps echoing off the hills around them. She shook her head as if to clear it. This whole thing had taken her off track, and she sighed. She had always been praised for her willingness to help, but so often that kept her away from her own tasks.

She certainly wasn’t going to make it to Diamond City today, she realized - the sky was still light, but she knew that wasn’t going to last much longer.

There weren’t enough hours in the day. That had been true two hundred years ago, and it was still true now.

She wasn’t looking forward to setting up camp for the night.

[thejollyroger-writer]

To Serve and Protect - Chapter 2

SUMMARY: Detective Killian Jones has been investigating a stalker-turned-murderer for months by the time he goes home from the bar with Emma Swan. But when he thinks he sees the very man in question outside her apartment, can he separate his feelings for her and his need to keep her safe?

hey, did you guys realize today is Monday? because I totally didn’t. again, I’m absolutely INSPIRED by your responses to this. as a warning, next week’s chapter isn’t quite ready yet, and next week is finals week, 

TRIGGERS: well, this is a fic about a serial killer. mentions of violence and death, with some physical violence/whump coming a bit later. as always, if you need me to discuss this further for you to be comfortable, message me. -- rated teen for later chapters

Prologue // Ch. 1 // Ch. 2 on AO3 

“Oh, this is too good,” he says out loud, the lit end of his cigarette bobbing with the movement of his lips. And then he smiles, for what feels like the first time in years, watching as the dark-haired detective wraps his arm around her shoulder. “Everything is starting to come together nicely.” 

He takes a long drag of the cigarette, watching it light up in his reflection in the window, and flicks the ashes onto the floor beside him. It’s something the boss would yell at him about in his own quarters, he knows, but the empty apartment is far from the lavish house perched at the top of the hill. But he’ll only be here for as long as it takes to complete the Master Plan, which — he huffs out a laugh, an eerie, emotionless sound — is taking shape much faster than he anticipated. 

——— 

What the hell kind of mess did you get yourself into this time? she asks herself, and she knows that she should be more worried about the damn stalker that she apparently has, but that’s not even what she finds herself focusing on. Instead, somewhere far beyond the blank lines of the legal pad on her desk, Emma sees Killian — Detective Jones — his leather jacket and his unnervingly blue eyes and his damn desire to be with her, to protect her. Part of her wishes, almost, that she hadn’t met him at the bar that night, that she hadn’t connected with him so emphatically, or at least that she hadn’t invited him back to her apartment. That she hadn’t learned about the stalker. She almost wishes she could go back to two days ago — less than, really — her life was much simpler, and the biggest problem she had was Mayor Mills requesting files from her office. 

“Emma?” Ariel calls, walking up to the open door of their shared office and peering around the corner, finding Emma staring intently at an empty page of a legal pad with her head propped up on her fist. When Emma still doesn’t answer — just as she didn’t the first two times she tried to call her name from down the hall — Ariel turns the corner completely, propping herself against the doorframe, and tries again, cupping her hands around her mouth in a makeshift megaphone. “Earth to Emma Swan, is anybody home?” 

Finally, Emma looks up from the blank page, meeting the eyes of her office mate. “What? Do you need something?” 

Ariel half-laughs, though still worried about her friend, and walks into the office. “Emma, I’ve called your name, like, six times,” she says, a slight exaggeration, though those are a normal part of her personality. But, leaning on the edge of Emma’s desk, the smile that usually graces her face disappears. “Are you alright? You just seem really out of it today.” 

Emma sighs, dropping her pen on the legal pad so she can hold her head in her hands. “I’m sorry,” she says, shaking her head, but refusing to look up at her friend. “I’ve just got a lot on my mind right now.” 

“Anything you want to talk about?” Ariel asks, her voice soft. 

Yes, Emma’s inner voice screams, There’s so much. But instead, she shakes her head again, then crosses her arms on the desk and rests her forehead against them. “No, I’m just— I just need to find something to distract myself from it, to be honest.”

“Well,” Ariel says, and Emma can hear the smile in her voice before she picks her head up off the desk. “I have some good news for you, then, because Zelena just gave us a whole list of things to do for this new case.”

 ------

“For the record, Jones, I don’t think this is a good idea.” Graham, the sheriff, is sitting on the edge of his desk, the office door closing the two of them from the rest of the small precinct building. 

“Noted,” he comments, leaning back in his chair and resting his boots on the edge of Graham’s desk. The sheriff glares down at them, but makes no move to remove them himself, nor does he ask Killian to do it. 

A beat passes between them. Graham cards his fingers through his hair. Killian throws a rubber band ball in the air and catches it in his prosthetic. 

“Tell me again what happened,” he asks, and Killian rolls his eyes, but tells the story again. 

“I met her at the bar last night. I bought her a drink, we started talking, you know how that all works.” Graham hums in agreement. “I went to walk her home, and I noticed him standing across the street from her apartment. She invited me up, and I figured it would be the perfect opportunity to tell her what I thought she needed to know.”

Graham hops off the edge of his desk and begins pacing in the space between it and the chairs, but with Killian’s feet still propped up on the desk, he can only take three steps in each direction. 

“And you think the best thing to do about this is continue to spend time with her so you can catch this bastard before he has a chance to do anything?”

“Yes,” Killian responds simply, his eyebrows accentuating the word. 

He throws the ball up in the air and catches it again.

“Can’t we just… I don’t know, post a car outside her place? Send someone to watch him? Wouldn’t that make more sense?”

“Graham, this man has only killed his victims after they noticed him and came to us, remember? If he sees someone patrolling her apartment, or even waiting around it, he might get spooked and act faster. Emma works at the law firm across the street from here, so I can pick her up after work and spend nights with her without anything seeming off, especially since he saw me go home with her last night.”

“Wait.” When Graham turns on his heel to face Killian, his eyebrows make a sharp ‘v’ across his forehead. “Emma… Swan? David Nolan’s foster sister?”

“Foster sister,” he says, mostly to himself as he runs his thumb against his bottom lip, since it answers quite a few questions that had come to him since he left her apartment earlier that morning. “That explains the different last names.” Now it is his turn to snap his eyes to Graham. “I always forget that you know David.”

“Yes, he and I were deployed together, but you know that. However, you may not know that I dated Swan briefly a few years back."

Killian tosses the ball up in the air, but it falls to the floor and bounces a few times before Graham stops it beneath his boot. 

If Graham had to describe the emotion that crosses Killian's face, he would name no less than six: surprise, embarrassment, confusion, discomfort, worry, shock. 

“You… what?”

Nodding, he runs his tongue over his bottom lip, staring at the floor again. “Yeah, when I— not long after David and I got back from our tour and I moved to Storybrooke, she and I went on a few dates. Nothing big came of it, obviously, but…” He knocks his fists together in front of him, then leans down to pick up the rubber band ball, turning to Killian to hand it to him. “Yeah.”

A beat passes between them. 

Killian throws the rubber band ball in the air, catches it. 

“And you can keep them separate? Business and pleasure?” Graham turns to him, but his eyes are fixed on the rubber band ball in his hand, and he watches as he grinds his jaw together. 

“This isn’t about my pleasure, this is about Miss Swan’s safety.” 

“That doesn’t answer my question, Jones.” 

His eyes snap to Graham’s, somehow more grey than blue, and when he replies, Graham is almost entirely sure he has never heard more venom in his voice. “Whether you believe me or not, sheriff, I am completely capable of doing my job.” 

Not for the first time, Graham is amazed by his insubordination. But the thing that Graham has learned about Killian Jones over the years is though he might have an attitude, a smart mouth, and a need to speak his mind when he shouldn't, you can't deny his track record. 

The man is a damned good detective, whether Graham wants to accept it or not. 

And, worse than that, he knows it. 

Moreso, Killian is the lead detective on the stalker case and no one knows more about the man they're looking for. There's no reason to turn down his request, Graham realizes, except that he wants to. 

Killian tosses the ball in the air, catches it. 

“Fine,” Graham says finally. “But this is still an open investigation, so you can't tell her more than she needs to know.” 

When Killian pulls his boots off the desk and lets them fall to the floor, Graham can feel his desk rattling from the impact. Running his fingers through his hair, he tugs on the end of it, making some of the strands stick straight up, and that muscle in his jaw ticks again. 

“If this man is after her, then she deserves to know as much as she can to keep herself safe from him.”

“Jones,” he tries, but the detective sitting next to him does not respond, just continues talking. 

“She deserves to know what he looks like, and what he did—”

“Jones.”

“—to those girls, because if she doesn't, then he might just—” 

“Killian!” he yells, and his bright blue eyes snap up towards him as his words stop abruptly. “Don't let yourself go down that path. We'll do all we can to protect her, okay?”

Killian lets out a shaky sigh and covers his face with his hands, but Graham can still tell when he nods. 

“Aye,” he whispers, just loud enough for Graham to hear him before turning his eyes back towards Graham. “That's— of course, yeah.” His shoulders rise and fall with his deep, slow breath. “Any other ideas? Things I can do to try to keep her safe?” 

After a moment’s thinking, Graham nods, pushing away from his desk, heading towards the door to his office.

“Yeah, there are a couple more things. I don't want you to do this alone.” 

Killian sighs, and Graham can feel the argument coming before he even opens his mouth, even with his back to the detective. “I really don’t think—” 

“Honestly, Jones, I don’t really care what you think,” he bites back, opening the door and sticking his head out into the bullpen. “Mills!” he calls, startling his youngest detective from the paperwork that he’s intently focused on. 

“Yes, sir?” he replies, practically jumping out of his seat, and Graham just motions for him to relax. 

“Can you come in here for a minute, please?” 

At this, he really does jump out of his desk chair, straightening the front of his dress shirt as he crosses the bullpen. “What’s going on, sir?” he asks, and Graham motions for him to go into his office. When he sees Killian in one of the chairs, he practically stops in his tracks, and when he raises his startling blue eyes from the ground to glare at Henry, he does stop, pressing back against the wall behind him as Graham closes the door to the office. 

“Really, mate?” he growls, his glare still pinning Henry against the wall. “The rookie? You’re giving me the rookie?” 

“Killian,” Graham sighs, rolling his eyes, but he’s useless against the force of Killian’s anger. 

“I tell you that I have a lead on the stalker, on a serial killer, and you sic the rookie on me?” 

“If you don’t want me, I’ll just—” Henry starts, turning back towards the office door as he tries to hide the embarrassment on his face. Killian has voiced his disinterest in working with him before, most of it stemming from his royal bitch of a mother, he thinks were the exact words he growled from the very same seat he’s in now, though there were quite a lot more people in the office. Sure, yes, his mother is the mayor, and she may have pulled a few strings to get him the job when he came back to Storybrooke, but that’s not to say his academy training in Boston and his time with the Seattle Police couldn’t have just as easily done the same. He’s just as qualified to be here as anyone else, maybe even more, but all Killian can see is who he is, blinded by some kind of vendetta against his mother from way back when he first came to Storybrooke. 

“Stop,” Graham says, reaching out his hand to stop Henry from trying to leave the office. “And you can stop, too, Jones.” 

Killian snaps his mouth closed. Henry leans back against the wall behind him. 

“I know you have something against young Mills here, but he is a highly qualified detective, and you’re going to fill him in on the case over lunch and discuss how you can include him in this whole charade.” 

The muscles of Killian’s jaw jump under the stress of his grinding teeth. Henry bites back a smile. But when neither of them answer, Graham crosses his arms over his chest. “Do you understand, Jones?”

“Aye.” 

“Mills?” he asks, and both of them snap their attention towards him. 

He still has to bite back a smile, but he manages to nod. “Yes, sir.” 

“So, I do have a few orders of business to get through first, if you don't mind?” he asks, leaning closer to her as he drapes his arm across the back of her chair at the bar. 

“Orders of business,” she repeats, mimicking his accent with her eyebrows high, but the smile that covers her face shows she is more humored than upset. “Such technical terms to be using on our second date.” 

Now it's Killian's turn to smile, one eyebrow cocked high on his forehead. “Second date? Did I miss the first? Surely I would remember a thing like that.” 

Emma laughs softly, setting her hand on his arm. “Fine, then it's our first date,” she corrects, but that just makes his smile grow wider, turning down towards his outfit. 

“Well, damn, if I would have known that, I would have dressed for the occasion, brought a bottle of champagne.”

“Killian, get to the point,” she says, rolling her eyes. 

“Sorry, darling.” He tenses, leaning away from her. “I just — Graham doesn’t want me working on this alone, so over the next few days, we have to figure out how to work Detective Mills into this whole plan of ours,” he says, much more serious than just moments before. "If you have any brilliant ideas, I'm all ears, because neither of us could come up with anything when we talked earlier. But, as long as it's okay with you, you'll be under my protection for a while. I'll pick you up from work, drop you off in the morning, and we'll spend some time at my apartment and some at yours to make sure that the man we're searching for is actually after you.” 

Somehow, hearing these words from him makes this whole scenario scarier, though she wouldn’t have thought it possible after the constant spine-chilling fear that has been washing over her since Killian revealed the big news to her last night: she’s possibly being stalked. “Do I— do I need to do anything? Should I tell David, or my boss, or…?” 

“No,” he says quickly. “Keep doing everything just as you normally do. If there's a normal time that you go to the grocery store, to the gym, to David's, then keep doing it, we'll talk more about your schedule tomorrow when we meet with Mills. We want him to think that we have no idea he's watching you, give him no reason to think we're on to him, because that's when he gets dangerous.” 

“Okay,” she says, but fails to hide the shakiness of her breath. “That's…” She really doesn’t even know what she was going to say, her words — hell, her thoughts half formed for practically the entire last 24 hours. 

But when she says nothing else for a few seconds, Killian reaches up and rests his hand against her cheek. 

“Hey,” he says softly, turning her face until she is looking at him, and she doesn’t know exactly what he sees when he looks into her eyes, but something in his makes her sure, somehow, that  he wants to do everything he can to keep her safe. “Emma, I promise you that you will be okay. I am going to protect you, Detective Mills and Sheriff Humbert will protect you, and if we need to, then we will get James and David involved and I am damned sure that they will protect you, too.” 

She attempts to smile, but it is barely fully formed before it disappears.

“Why?” 

He blinks once, then again, his soft eyes searching for meaning in her expression. “What do you mean, love?” 

“Why are you doing all this for me?”

“To be honest, I've been chasing this bastard for six months, have watched as he's killed women that have come to me for help, but I'm going to do everything I can to make sure that you're not next.” 

Her only reaction is to pull her bottom lip up between her teeth, chewing gently on it, but her face is still covered with worry. 

She’s been worried before. Hell, she grew up in the foster system, her childhood was drowning in fear. Both of her older brothers, the only family she ever had, went off to war. She was left, alone, terrified, in a Boston jail by the only person she ever gave her heart to. Sure, she’s known fear. But this… is something else entirely, apparently. This is a fear that somehow even cuts deeper than the fear that overtook her in those few weeks she spent in jail before her lawyer was able to find proof that she was telling the truth. 

He must notice her lost in thought (though there’s really no way for him to miss it, her unfocused eyes, the way her pointer finger moves silently around the rim of her water glass), and he leans closer to her, the tips of his fingers wrapping softly against her shoulder as his lips almost brush the shell of her ear. 

“And believe it or not,” he whispers. “I have come to grow quite fond of you.”

Slowly, the corners of her lips turn up in the beginnings of a smile, and seeing the change in her, he lets his own grow bigger, leaning slightly away from her to better see her face. 

“Now you've intrigued me, Jones,” she mumbles, just loud enough for him to hear over the noise of the bar, thankful for the change of subject even though, moments ago, she would have begged him to tell her more about this case. “Do go on.”

“Why wouldn't I be fond of you? You're funny, strong, adorable.” He leans back towards her, and this time, he lets his lips touch the shell of her ear. “And so god damned attractive that I can't stand it.”

With his breath hot on her cheek, she feels a wave of attraction roll through her, settling beneath her stomach as she turns to him, his pale blue eyes wide and fixed on her face. 

“We need to talk about this,” she whispers, and she can swear that they're the hardest words she's ever had to say. 

He pulls away a few inches, his eyebrows knitting across his forehead. “What do you mean, love?” 

“If you're going to be protecting me, spending time with me, pseudo-dating me, then we should talk about… about us. About what we are.”

He leans back farther, his back finding the wooden back of the chair, but he tightens his arm around Emma's shoulders. “Of course,” he says, trying to hide the pang of guilt that snaps in his chest. He should never have assumed that what Emma wanted aligned with what he wanted— he's been taught to be better than that. Just because he was going to protect her by no means obligated her to return his affection for her. And her actions tonight, looking back over them at this moment, said the same thing. “Tell me your thoughts, love. I don't want to do anything that makes you uncomfortable. Just because I saw him while I was taking you back to your apartment by no means means that I didn't want to be there myself, but I also understand that not everyone wants to have to see their one night stand every day for the foreseeable future.”

“No, no,” she says softly, and he definitely doesn't miss the way she leans into his side, smiling up at him.

“Good thing you're not a one-night stand, then,” she says, almost a whisper, and a smile grows across her face. He returns it, and they sit there like that for a few moments, stupidly smiling at the other, until his begins to falter. 

“Maybe that should be something on your laundry list of business that needs to be discussed.”

“What?”

“We slept together, Emma. That's not something that should be overlooked when you're assessing our situation.” 

Suddenly, her head turns to face him, almost snapping into place, and her eyes are wide. “Please tell me that you didn't tell Graham we slept together.”

Killian can't help but laugh. “Of course I didn't, especially after he told me that the two of you dated a while back.” Though he wouldn't have thought it possible before that moment, her eyes widen further, her cheeks beginning to darken with embarrassment. Killian chooses to ignore it, as much as he wants to press the subject farther. “All he knows is that I went to walk you home when I saw our suspect outside your apartment, so I followed you up and informed you that you might be in danger.”

Her hand finds his on the bar before them. She runs her thumb across the back of his before looking up at him, her green eyes shining bright with excitement and affection and something that Killian can’t quite name.

“Okay. Don't take this the wrong way, Killian. Please. I— I like you. And I don't know about you, but that's sort of a big deal for me. I want to take a shot at whatever this is, a shot at us, but I know that we didn't meet under the best circumstances, so if what you want is different, then I'll just deal with having to be near you—” 

“Emma,” he says softly, repressing the urge to lean forward and press a soft kiss against her cheek. “Of course I want to be with you. I would be an idiot not to, and anyone that looks at you and doesn't realize that is a git."

“Thank God,” she finally breathes, letting out an actual sigh of relief, smiling up at him for a moment before the bartender appears in front of them with their plates.

------ 

tags: @shireness-says​​​ @kmomof4​​​ @thisonesatellite​​​ @let-it-raines​​​ @wellhellotragic​​​ @darkcolinodonorgasm​​​ @profdanglaisstuff​​​ @stahlop​​​ @teamhook​​​ @snowbellewells​​​ @carpedzem​​​ @pepperspotts​​​@imlaxdris71​​​ @gingerchangeling​​​ @lfh1226-linda​​​ @kday426​​​ @scientificapricot​​​ @resident-of-storybrooke​​​ @ultraluckycatnd​​​ @itsfabianadocarmo​​​ @galadriel26​​ @jennjenn615​​ @therealstartraveller776​​ @nightskylover​​ @xarandomdreamx​​ @kristi555 @nikkiemms​​ @vvbooklady1256​​ @withheartfulloflove​​ - if you’d like to be added or removed, please let me know

[zaph1337]

Monster Hunter Rating 7: Hornetaur, the Hidden Jungle Clouds

When I first looked up the weapons for Monster Hunter Rise, I was immediately drawn to the Insect Glaive, both because it was the only weapon class themed after an animal and because bugs are cool. It would seem that Capcom agrees with me, because they have a class dedicated to insectoid monsters. Let’s go over the first one: Hornetaur!

(How it appears in Monster Hunter 1)

(How it appears in Monster Hunter Generations)

Appearance: Hornetaurs are a member of the Neopteron class of monsters, which basically means they’re bugs that would make the Monster Hunter world living hell for entomophobes. But let’s get this out of the way right now: this monster maybe be called “Hornetaur,” but there is nothing hornet or bull about it. Instead, it looks more like a cricket with the head of a Hercules beetle. Except, you know, it’s freaking huge. Seriously, the wiki says that they’re 185.56 cm long, which means that this is a 6-foot bug. Guess the Monster Hunter world has a lot more oxygen than ours. I like the color scheme they went with here; it very much conveys that this is a monster that lives in more verdant areas. It’s also a big bug, which earns it points in my book. 7/10.

Behavior: Hornetaurs may live in swarms, but I hope to God that their numbers don’t even go into the double digits, ‘cause these things are basically 6-foot locusts that can devour entire fields in a single day. If they grouped in swarms as large as the average locust swarm in our world, then they’d have turned the MH world into a barren wasteland a while ago...and probably all starved to death, so I guess it makes sense that their swarms aren’t that big. They’re not very aggressive when compared to some other Neopterans, but if threatened, they attack as a group by...”jumping over the hunter,” according to their ecology page on the wiki. Really wish there was some more detail here. Anyways, if there’s a predator in the same area as them, they’ll slowly stalk it if they think they have a chance of killing it. Which doesn’t sound very likely, because even though they can be hard to hit, these things are apparently so fragile that a single strike from a hunter’s weapon will make them shatter completely and barely drop any usable parts. If you want to get the most from killing them, you should take advantage of their weakness to poison and slowly drain their health that way...unless you’re playing Monster Hunter World, in which case you use something called a “slinger” to ensure that there are some materials to pick up. Anyways, as far as behavior goes, these guys aren’t really any more interesting than locusts, which, to be fair, have a morbid appeal of their own, so I’ll be generous here. 6/10.

Abilities: Being so cricket-like, Hornetaurs are great jumpers that can cover great distances in a single leap. They likely combine this with their sharp horn to basically turn themselves into javelins...but like I’ve said before, the only meaningful experience I have with MH is the Rise demo, so they could very well not do this, which honestly sounds like wasted potential to me, but whatever. Though here’s something interesting: their wings are so sharp that if they come into contact with human skin while flying, they’ll cut through it. Guess Beetle Kirby wasn’t the first one to do that. Aaaaaaaand that’s it. Kinda underwhelming if you ask me, but I’ve seen worse. 6/10.

Equipment: Oh ho ho, now we’re talking! Arthropods are already known for having built in weapons and armor, so there’s a lot of potential here that Capcom thankfully didn’t waste. A lot of Hornetaur weapons have a colorful green gradient and sleek designs (except for the ones from World, but I’ve been told that Monster Hunter World has the worst weapon designs in the series), such as this Lance from Monster Hunter Generations Ultimate called...the Dark Lance. Not very creative, but it’s pretty.

If you’re not familiar with the Lance, that wing-shaped thing is a shield. I don’t see the Dark, but I do see something that would probably cause excruciating pain to whatever it stabbed, even moreso than a normal lance, thanks to the literal barbs along its length. Probably really hard for the wielder to pull out, though. But this next weapon, a Longsword called the Black Katana, breaks the mold for Hornetaur weapon designs a little bit, at least in terms of colors (the thing on the right is a scabbard, by the way):

What? I said it was unlike the other weapons. I didn’t say it looked bad. Now, I don’t know how efficient this would be for slicing things in real life, but this is a video game, so the spikes probably just make it more deadly because video game logic. But does the armor live up to the standards set by the weapons? Here’s the Monster Hunter World set:

HECK. YES. Hornetaur materials may be tricky to acquire, but it’s worth it if you get to look like a chitinous knight of darkness! Kinda disappointed that the girl’s helmet doesn’t have a cool mask, though. I guess Capcom just wanted players to see her face. This stuff looks awesome, and it’s from what I assume is a rather common enemy. I can’t wait to see what the other arthropods in this series have to offer. 9/10.

Final Thoughts and Tally: For our introduction to arthropods, I’d say that the Hornetaurs don’t disappoint. As a monster, their design is the coolest thing about them, which is unfortunate, but their equipment is definitely the best I’ve talked about. It’ll be a bit before the next Neopteron, but I’m looking forward to rating them! 7/10.

[fistsoflightning]

15: a life in your shape

prompt: ache || masterpost || other fills || ao3 mirror

word count: 2517

A’dewah just wants to be loved, no matter how much he’ll have to give. (Or; things don’t necessarily turn out well when you keep falling for guys already in love with your friends.)

Aha....... A’dewah angst.... ‘when the prompt is ache am I just supposed to ignore the very easy path to listen to ‘Strawberry Blond’ for two hours’; the fic.

The first time he realizes, the flowers in his hands are in full bloom; vibrant oldroses and brightlilies from his garden. Summer in Mor Dhona means the gloom clearing, and when Zaya drags him along to Lake Silvertear with everyone else he doesn’t really have the choice to say no, so he grabs his basket and weaves flower crowns by the shore as everyone chases each other around in some chaotic game of tag.

Funnily enough, G’raha breaks away from the crowd to sit next to him, at some point; he starts on a ruby red and white crown for him as he catches his breath. His eyes are bright, mismatched teal and Allagan red, and even though A’dewah hides his odd eye the same way G’raha does he wonders what he might look like with his bangs pinned back.

(That, he thinks, was probably his first mistake: thinking G’raha enjoyed spending time with him as much as he did. It wasn’t that he didn’t, but he’d always had the problem of hoping for more where he didn’t deserve it.)

He looks up, halfway through the crown, and sees G’raha still watching everyone scramble about—in the distance A’dewah can see a gigas, hopefully it won’t come much closer—and even though he knows it’ll break him, he keeps weaving flower stems back and forth as he asks, “Who are you looking at?”

G’raha sighs, unbearably fond, and A’dewah knows the look on his face a bit too well when he looks up. 

“Lunya,” he says, and it doesn’t take a bard to tell that he’s utterly besotted. “How she’s so energetic I will never know.”

Oh, he realizes, fingers stiffening in the tangle of flower stems as he looks back at Lunya—she hardly even spares him a glance, waving only to G’raha. He’d thought he’d done something else wrong, like insulting her sense of fashion—which, honestly, wasn’t a reach, considering his coat and the earring—or being able to heal more than she could, or something even stupider, but this—

Oh, I’m an idiot, he thinks as Lunya looks away and G’raha can’t help but keep staring.

If he finishes up the rest of the flower crown sloppily, G’raha doesn’t say anything, not even when A’dewah carefully places it on his head and runs off, his heart askew.

(He doesn’t even say anything before he goes and seals himself off in the tower—not that A’dewah was expecting anything. He wasn’t a friend, really, so he expected to hear the news from someone else, expected to hear that he confessed just before leaving.

He doesn’t know what’s worse: the fact that he was stupid enough to think Raha cared or the fact that looking in the mirror, seeing one red eye and dark red hair—that it’s enough to make him ache.)

...

The second time—gods, he’s so stupid to have more than one time—the second time, the flowers in his hand are wilting. It’s fall—flowers usually die off sooner, so he’s not sure why the ones he has are simply wilting—but it is also Coerthas, and the chill is enough to make him want to wilt.

So is, he thinks, Haurchefant’s smile. Bright and blinding, full of life.

(He’d known he’d fall from the moment they met the man, after the raid on the Waking Sands and before the fall of the wild roses—he’d known what would happen if he let himself accept the kindness Haurchefant had so freely given, and he’d seen Reese’s reaction to his exuberant greetings. He’d known.

He doesn’t know why he didn’t try to stay away.)

The Vault is a blur; flurries of flame and magicked armor, the Heavens’ Ward, the number of elixirs A’dewah drains to keep up—and even then, he’s only got so much of himself left when Haurchefant falls at Zephirin’s spear, and if it weren’t for Lunya he’d have bled himself dry to save his smile, even when his heart aches at the thought of a knight sacrificing everything for his ladylove.

(It’s terrible, his jealousy, so unwanted and unkind. He does not hate his friends—they’re stronger and sharper than he is, anyways, and if he did actually come to hate one of them they’d surely be able to tell and break his spine for it—but part of him wishes he were good enough to be wanted in their place, and everytime he thinks about it he feels worse than he did the last time.

He’s good for something, sure. Maybe that something is healing. Maybe that something is making his friends hate him.)

Haurchefant survives, of course; Lunya is so much stronger than he is, so stubborn that she wouldn’t have let his tale end here, but even stars have their limits. Right after the Vault, there’s no one left among them with enough energy to keep watch, in case something goes awry. Reese offers to stay, but she looks ready to collapse even moreso than A’dewah does.

When Count Edmont asks who would be keeping watch, A’dewah practically forces himself into their sickroom before anyone else, and keeps himself up that night watching the quiver of their connected aether rather than the quiet burning in his stomach.

He hates himself. He truly does; why else would he stick so close?

…

He doesn’t even remember why he has dead flowers in his hands the third time—something to do with a sudden cold snap killing even the hardiest of flowers around Ishgard, and volunteering himself to see if any plants were saveable under the packed snow—but it’s a halfway decent example of what he feels like when he sees Aymeric and Hanami walking along the cleared path back to the row of minor houses, away from the Last Vigil.

(The fact that he looks at them and wants makes him sick. He should want for nothing—he’s alive, he’s not in a gaol, he’s—)

A’dewah’s not sure he looks back down to the grey dirt fast enough to avoid Hanami’s quick turn, coldfire gaze freezing him in place more than the weather, but he sure as all hells tries. She’s already angry enough at him as is, having heard the truth at the Wall and then right from Ilberd’s lips, the bastard.

(He can’t say he didn’t know before—it’d just sound like a lie, no matter how true it actually was, even with desperation reddening his eyes and leaving tears dripping from his chin. He doesn’t know how to say anything that might make them listen again, doesn’t remember any half-decent apologies that he’d spewed to his sisters—and those never worked, either.

It was easier to let them hate him, anyhow. Better to let a tainted flower die than to give it one last chance.)

He’s not sure what breaks first, when he hears Aymeric whisper is aught amiss and he suddenly wishes (selfishly, horribly, wickedly) that he was the one he was speaking to; his composure, or his heart, but he curls up further into himself anyways until he hears two sets of feet walking away.

(And if his heart bursts open after that, summer rain melting Ishgard’s winter snow, there is no one around to tell him to stop being such a crybaby.)

…

“—keep yer hands pressed down hard, I’ll be right back with a healer—”

“—go, I got it—”

He doesn’t know who’s speaking, head spinning as it is behind closed eyes, and he only realizes he can’t feel his hands when he tries to rub his eyes and finds he can’t.

“Hey,” someone asks—someone from earlier, but A’dewah’s ears ring and he can’t think too hard on it without everything fading, so he just tilts his head somewhat to his left to show he’s listening. “There you are. How’re you feeling?”

What he says, he doesn’t quite hear, but maybe it was something like tired or drunk or… something; he can’t accurately describe the feeling-non-feeling of being unable to move but still there. The only thing he can tell is that there’s a weight on his chest, and that it smells a lot like iron. Kind of like an infirmary, packed with injured, if he thinks about it; too close to Rhalgr’s Reach after the run-in with Zenos.

Right. Zenos. He’d been fighting alongside everyone, sneaking out to the spring night—was it Yugiri that told them the crown prince was here, or someone else—and he remembers the red crackle of his third blade, and the disgruntled groan of—of someone, he can’t remember who, and he’d ran forward…

“Can you focus on breathing for me?” 

A’dewah does; at least he’s good at listening, if not for anything else, his breath evening out. His head stops spinning enough for him to think once he does, but even digging for the name to place to the voice is hard enough. He finally manages to crack his eyes open enough to see past the blur, then, and blinking a few times clears it enough for him to realize two things:

One: Oh. Haruki.

Two: That’s a lot of blood in the towel on my chest.

If he could feel his hands, he might have tried to feel his chest, lay his hands on top of Haruki’s—they’re covered in blood, doesn’t he hate the sight of injuries, doesn’t he hate the smell—but he doesn’t, because his hands don’t move when he tries to. Like a puppet, strings cut, unfeeling. Instead, he just looks down as much as he can, the white coat he usually wears gone and a cut in the black turtleneck he’d been wearing. The lily of the valley from Mune that he’d tucked into the collar of his coat lays at his side, stained crimson. A bit like his hair, now that he looks at the mess; maybe red dye wasn’t the best of choices.

Zenos, his mind supplies when Haruki shifts his hands a little and A’dewah sees the gash. You jumped in front of his sword for someone.

Well, that explains all the blood. Probably. 

(A part of him is disappointed Zenos didn’t cut away enough of him to prove to Haruki that he’s not worth the trouble, that he’s not as kind and hopeful and brave as he used to be, but he doesn’t say anything. He’d just sound pathetic.)

“Don’t worry about it,” Haruki says, even though he looks like he’s about to panic when A’dewah looks back up. His little grin is too sharp, at the edges, glued into place, and even though he knows something’s wrong more than just a lot of blood and an injury he doesn’t fight it. He probably wouldn’t, even if he could. “Just stay with me, yeah?”

Sure. He nods, staring up at the ceiling, and then to Haruki, a question at the tip of his tongue.

“Are…” He coughs, and the way Haruki winces makes him grimace, too. “Are they… safe?”

“...Yeah.” Haruki’s face twists into something strained but fond at the edges, and A’dewah doesn’t like the way his heart skips a beat for it. He can’t—it isn’t. He won’t let his heart ruin him again, even if it means ignoring the way his traitorous ears flick back when Haruki reaches up and brushes his hair out of his eyes, even if there’s still blood stuck on his hands and even if the sticky feeling makes him feel ill. “Dewah, keep your eyes open, ‘kay? Think Tehra’ir’s almost back with someone.”

He nods again, but his vision is already blacking out at the edges—oh, he thinks, blood loss will do that, huh—and when Haruki looks back up at him he’s already got his eyes closed, heart heavy and hearing fading as he starts to fall asleep, even when Haruki calls out—

.

.

.

“Dewah?”

He jerks up, already halfway to standing when his knee connects with Haruki’s ribs; for his merit, he only lets out a small oof before A’dewah realizes where he is. He blinks a few times, just for good measure.

Right. The One Garden. Napping under a tree, flowers (that he wasn’t certain were there when they sat down) blooming around them as the breeze made them sway.

“S-sorry! I didn’t—I thought someone was—” He’s not sure whether to lay his hands over the spot where he’s sure Haruki will bruise or to sit back down and stay still so he doesn’t smack him again, so in his fluster he decides on neither, wobbling back and forth between the two until Haruki pulls him down into his lap.

“No worries, sunshine.” Haruki smiles brightly, and A’dewah’s not sure if he bristles at the reminder of his heartaches or at the gentle touch he puts on his shoulder. “Accident, yeah?”

He nods, face a bit flushed as he tips his head down. There isn’t blood, anywhere—horrible of his head, to throw him back to then rather than letting him dream of something stupid, like Zaya’s oversized sheep and even more oversized yol terrorizing Revanant’s Toll, or singing flowers. 

“So, uh,” he says after a few moments, feeling a bit more himself. “You called?”

“Yeah. You looked—” Haruki pauses, then, to yawn, lifting his hands from A’dewah’s sides to stretch his arms. “You looked distressed,” he says, resting a hand on his head and lightly tracing a line down the shell of A’dewah’s ear with his finger. “Bad dream?”

“A bit,” he mumbles, folding his hands in his lap. Wanting to reach out but a bit afraid to touch, like if he lets himself do what he will this will all fade away into the abyss of his nightmares. Like he’s fooled himself into thinking someone cares, again.

But Haruki reaches out first, raising a hand to scratch at the base of A’dewah’s ear—he should have never told him all those years ago that he liked that, too easy a tell and too easy a cure to his aching heart—and he all but melts into the touch, cooling the skin where the summer sunlight has warmed.

“We still got a few bells; you can go back to sleep, if you’re still exhausted.”

“No,” he says, but he still lets himself fall back onto Haruki’s chest—and, yeah, maybe he’s still tired, because he doesn’t even flush at how close he is to his heartbeat, letting his fall in time to it. It’s a bit strange, how he just… fits, in some way that if he had to describe he’s sure he’d die for good. Even being swept up into group hugs by Syhrwyda and Zaya wasn’t as comforting as falling into Haruki’s cool touch—which, kami above, that’s even more embarrassing to think of. “This is fine.”

“Oh, now it is,” Haruki grumbles good-naturedly even as he wraps his arms back around to the small of his back, and A’dewah giggles—stupidly, maybe, but there’s no one around to judge him for it. “Tell me; what changed from a bell ago to make you okay with cuddles now?”

“You’re warmer now,” he replies, and as the wind rushes through his hair again all he hears is Haruki’s laugh, bright as the sun even beneath the shade of the plum tree.

[my-whumpy-little-heart]

The Zodiac Whumper - Aries

A continuation, and the first real whump piece, from yesterday’s post. I’m glad y’all liked it, and I’m excited to show what I have in store for each of the poor signs! Each one will feature a character drawing like the one up above, and a drabble with whump fitting thematically with a sign’s general theme and temperament that I make way longer than I’m anticipating every time.

Content warnings: choking, creepy/intimate captor (moreso verbally than in body language), descriptions of bleeding, mouth whump

Continued from here (note: “The Zodiac Whumper” is named Zoran now)

Early the next morning, Zoran finally began.

They strolled into the room, a duffel bag slung over their shoulder and a megaphone in hand. Each of their captives still looked to be asleep, but they wouldn’t be for long. 

“Good morning!” They shouted through the megaphone, voice amplified to an almost deafening level in the enclosed space. They saw several flinches around the room, and a yelp sounded from Libra’s cage. Perhaps a few of them had been awake after all.

“The hell was that for?!” The breathless shouting came from Sagittarius who was pale as a sheet, clutching at the bars of her cage like a lifeline. Most of the others were watching at this point too, varied expressions on their faces.

“How else do you expect me to wake you lot up, hm?” Zoran smiled at her, walking over to kick harshly at Cancer’s cage, who was the only one who hadn’t sat up from his curled up position on the floor. He finally blinked awake at the third kick, sitting up drowsily. They looked down at him coldly. “Come on, up and at ‘em Cancer.”

“Whhh? I already told you, it’s Carter. You’re getting mixed up with the, uh, the disease.”

“No, I’m not,” they replied simply, “but if you dare fall asleep during today’s activities, I’ll have you wishing you did have cancer instead of enduring what I’ll do to you.” 

“Activities?” Scorpio butted in, expression leveled in a sneer. “You better hope those activities include letting us out, or you’re gonna be sorry.” 

“Well, I don’t think there’s any reason for me to apologize then. Obviously I can’t let you all out, but you’ll all get your turn in time,” Zoran said. They walked over to Aries’ cage where the occupant had been glowering silently through the conversation, emerald eyes nearly glowing in the low light. They knelt down to the cage, fishing for the key color coded to the red lock, and stuck it in without twisting quite yet.

“Aries, are-” 

“Riley-!” Aries shouted over them.

“Aries,” Zoran repeated firmly, only continuing when they reluctantly stayed silent, “are you going to be good if I take you out of there?”

“Very funny. When I get out of here, you’ll be on the floor before you can blink.” Somewhere in the background, Scorpio shouted a, “yeah, you fuckin’ tell ‘em, Riley!” but Zoran didn’t pay any attention to him. Instead, they dropped their bag on the ground and unzipped it. Aries leaned over to get a glimpse of what was inside, but as soon as they did the lock clicked, the door swung open, and their head was slammed against the wall of the cage. They yelped as their vision went blotchy with black, and when it came back they were staring at the concrete floor they’d crumpled down to, and short platinum hair obscuring the rest of their vision. 

Aries felt their pliable arms pulled sharply behind their back and finally remembered to struggle again, but it was too late. Zoran kept their wrists together and wound something around them with strong, deft fingers, and when they pulled against it again there was the sharp pain that came with the splitting of skin and hot blood trickling down their forearms.

And then they were thrown on their back, a breathless keen pulled from their throat as the restraints tore through their sweater and pressed into the small of their back. The cuts bled on their hands, and the same restrictive wire wound around their ankles and up their thighs. Breathing in panicked gasps, Aries sat up and watched as fucking barbed wire that’s what it was dug into their ankles, their thighs, all the way up until the line of their shorts. 

“What are you doing?!” they shouted, horror and anger mingling together in their cracking voice. They couldn’t help the further struggling that only made the sparks of pain burn across their body. Their hands were slick with blood now, but they would rather that than showing weakness at a bit of pain.

“I don’t know, Aries, what does it look like?” Zoran didn’t even glance up from their work when they said it.

“Well, it certainly looks like you’ve tied me up with barbed wire, but it sure feels a hell of a lot like torture. And, well, I’m really not on board with that, so if you could just put me back on the shelf where you found me that would be lovely!” 

“Someone has a mouth on them! What is this on the nutrition facts label? Short tempered, angry little bitch?” They had the nerve to laugh at that, voice dropping to a low drawl. “Well that certainly sounds like something I’d like to have, so no: you’re not going back on the shelf. In fact, I think I’d like to own you. What do you think about that, hm?”

“I think you’re a bastard!” Aries grunted, trying to buck off the foot that landed on their chest, wriggling against the floor as the heel ground down. Each movement with the added pressure only shredded their lower back further, barbed wire slicing paths through marred skin over and over again. Their sweater was hopelessly ripped and stained by this point, and somehow they were worried more about that then the amount of blood loss they were going to suffer.

“Thanks for your input, but I think you talk just a little too much for your own good. Take notes, Scorpio.” And it was at this point Zoran finally lifted their head to address the rest of the room, most of which was watching in stunned silence. “In fact, everyone better be looking right at what I’m doing right now. That includes you, Libra, Pisces, Taurus…” Each name was growled with an unspoken threat that each pair of watchful eyes seemed to understand except for Taurus, who continued staring resolutely at the wall. 

“Stay still for a moment, will you Aries? I’m sure you won’t have any trouble with that,” they snickered, strutting over to Taurus’ cage and rattling the cage door with a well aimed kick. He flinched at that, but didn’t dare look at the source of the loud noise.

“Taurus! Darling. Look at me.” A pause. “Taurus, look at me now or I will make you regret it.” Soft black eyes glanced over, and even in the low light Zoran could see how they glimmered with unshed tears. 

“Oh, you poor thing. Is this too much for you?” An eyebrow raised silently back at them, and it would have communicated disinterest if not for the tear tracks now running down his cheeks. “Well, I’ll have you know that you’re next.” That got a reaction out of him. A flinch, a gasp, and a subconscious attempt to scoot backwards before he stopped himself.

“Yes, and you really should be scared. But if you don’t watch the entire time I’m torturing Aries, I promise you that you’ll be hurting far more than they’re about to be. Got it?” A slow, slight nod satisfied them, and they walked back to their current project who was still right how they left them, if only with more blood pooled on the floor around them. 

As they bent closer, they could see Aries muttering insults at them under their breath, which shook and shuddered with continued pain as they struggled. Zoran prepared another length of barbed wire, now kneeling over their chest with it poised over their still moving lips. It only took Aries a second to see what they were planning to do, and shut their mouth firmly, a glare locking on the offending piece of wire.

“Oh, come on now. Aren’t you only delaying the inevitable?” Not a word parted their lips, and Zoran sighed dramatically. Their hand wrapped around their captive’s throat, pressing down hard and immediately halting their breathing. Green eyes went wide with anger and fear, short gasps through the nose taking no air and mouth refusing to even try. 

Slowly they became more desperate, body struggling languidly in an attempt to dislodge the restricting hand, mind racing because there’s no air I’m going to die they’re going to kill me I’m going to die I’m going to--and pure desperation pried their mouth open wide hoping that the further apart their lips went, the more air they’d find. But nothing came except for sharp bits of metal pulling around their head and wrapping through their hair over and over and over again.

And finally when Aries was bleeding and losing the spark of hope deep within them, sweet blessed oxygen was back in their lungs, and they were gasping so hard they nearly passed out at the sudden influx of air alone. Sharp prongs dug into their tongue, their cheeks, their scalp, tightening at every movement of their mouth. They tried to speak, but they couldn’t make proper sounds around the rudimentary gag that only bled them further, and nearly choked them on the blood running down their throat.

“There. I trust you’ll be a little quieter from now on?” Aries yelled desperately in response, no shape around the sound that came raw from the back of their throat.

“Oh, well that’s fine though. I don’t mind you making noises, just so long as they aren’t words, yeah?” The sound this time was more of an exasperated whine, and Zoran was sure they’d be begging now if they could. “No, of course I’m not taking the gag out. It’s serving its purpose quite well, really. I mean, just listen to yourself.”

Aries stopped making noises and went back to controlled breathing, trying to erase the hitch in their breath the choking had created.

“Though, now that I’m thinking about it, this isn’t quite enough for you, is it? You’re still yelling at me in that dense little brain of yours, and still hoping you can get out of here. Just look at the mess you’ve already made trying to! You really did my work for me, digging that wire in as far as it’ll go. That’s gonna hurt a lot more to get off than it did to get on, you know.” They whimpered at that, but only because Zoran paired it with a shoe digging between their thighs, pushing them against the barbed wire and reigniting the wounds all over again until Aries was shrieking and writhing under their hands.

“That’s what I’m talking about! Spontaneity like that without overthinking it first is the spice of life, babe!” They smiled, and their enthusiasm was so palpable that it was terrifying. “If you’d just stop thinking about how upset you are with me, that headspace you were just in could get us so much farther.”

Aries very much did not like that headspace they were just in, but they couldn’t voice any of that anymore: especially not when a fist came crashing into the side of their face. Their head whipped to the side, left cheek slammed into the floor along with the wire that just dug deeper into their cheek. Another hit came, and another, and it was hard to count or think after that. Their skull was rattling around inside their head, and they were vaguely aware that every vulnerable noise they would have normally held back was coming out unrestrained, singing like music to Zoran’s ears.

After long enough, they felt that familiar pressure against their throat once again, cutting off air and coherent thought for just long enough to scar the deepest recesses of their soul before letting up and letting them breathe precious air for a few seconds before it was right back under. 

At one point, without warning, a burning pain slipped under the neckline of their shirt, pressing hard against their skin and smelling of rotted flesh, and they’d screamed their throat raw for the eternity that it had laid there, and even louder in the seconds after it ripped away.

And when all sensations of new pain finally left, and everything else only lingered like a bad memory, Aries found that they could hardly think at all.

Next Part

[lightumbra-a]

@gerudosage​ said:  06 / eyes & 10 / lips !

zelda’s eyes area absolutely gorgeous. hands down her best feature.

they are a soft shade of pale blue, something similar to sea lavender, round in shape, and upturned in such a way that gives this illusion of sharpness to them. long, dark lashes frame her eyes, giving her a decidedly dramatic look to her. there is a real intensity to her eyes, a sense of determination that gives off the impression that she can (and will) charge through any obstacle in her path.

she wears very subtle, ‘natural’ eyeshadow and dark, decidedly not natural eyeliner. sharp and striking wings are her absolute favorite and she will not be turned away from that.

as a child, she was definitely more wide-eyed, with a curiosity to her gaze that just exuded a sense of innocence. during and after the events of twilight princess, although the intense determination remains, there is also a sort of...sadness in her eyes that does not seem to go away, even when she smiles.

her lips? exceedingly soft and kissable.

she is full lipped, with her bottom lip being somewhat moreso than her upper lip, and with a cupid’s bow. they’re pale pink in color and soft and don’t...really give away a lot.

though she does smile, the way she does so is always very subdued and sometimes hardly noticeable. the pull of her lips is subtle and so people so rarely see when she’s actually happy. the same is true of frowning and other such displays of emotion; it’s always very slight and very careful, the difference in expression is not easily seen, and this contributes to the stern appearance she seems to have.

though it is very, very noticeable when she’s thinking. when searching for words during a conversation or trying to figure

closeup headcanons | accepting!

[saveonesouls]

Chapter 5 of The Gods Aren’t Dead is out! Feel free to read it on AO3 and also I have posted it under the read more below! Feel free to like, reblog to share it around, and send messages and whatnot of what you think of the story so far and what you think might happen next :D

Charlotte was the first to appear near the scene in France, being able to successfully teleport near the scene and walk the rest of the way. She was fortunate that her abilities still worked just as good as they did before. In a way, it was like they never were gone, like they never were shut off.

Charlotte walked near it and passed some pedestrians, heading to the front to see the damage. Her blue eyes gazed at it all and she let out a breath. It was bad. A building lost, people being put in ambulances, people being covered by white sheets. She clenched her fist. She was angry, mad... livid. She wanted to find Gaia and give her a piece of her mind for messing with the mortals, for causing damage. She turned and walked away from the crowd, touching her phone screen and pressing a few numbers before it began to ring.

“Hello?”

“Sasha, it’s me.”

“What’d you find?”

Charlotte sighed as she stopped and looked over at the crowd and around at the damage. “It’s bad. She had to have done this. It looks like an earthquake than a landslide, though. Where the building is has fallen than look like a slide, though I can’t be sure. There’s too many people around for me to look.”

“We’ll have to check when it’s dead of night.” She heard Sasha sigh. “Meet me at Tyson’s place. He has it all set up and Bayley is there picking her weapon of choice.”

“I’ll be there soon. I’m going to check more of this place out. See if any of them are lurking or what other evidence I can find. Have you talked to Vince yet?”

“Other than this morning? Yes. I’m going to text him your updates now, but he’s... Well let’s just say that Florida is about to get a thunderstorm.” Charlotte sighed heavily as Sasha continued. “Mother will talk to him.”

“Mother wants nothing to do with him. You heard her last time. She told him she was going to chop his balls off because he keeps trying to sleep with other women.”

“Well, it’s dad and mom finally figured out to stop taking his shit like we’ve told her many times.” Sasha huffed. “What do you expect? I will get her to talk to him, but I know it’s no promises. Now, get to Tyson’s. I will talk to you then.”

“Alright.” Charlotte hung up and sighed as she looked back at the damage. It worried her how bad this was getting already. This was the very beginning of what was going to be a war on Earth and Charlotte knew it. Turning to walk, she took a few steps to make sure she was not in people’s view before she disappeared and reappeared by Tyson’s training facility for them. It was dressed up like a warehouse, but inside was a different ballgame. She walked inside and already could see a few people, Becky and Asuka to be more exact, sparring each other. It made her smile as she walked in. She even saw Bayley with Tyson looking at what seemed to be a bo staff of sorts, which had her curious to that choice. Though she knew Bayley had her reasons. Maybe not to slice through something or someone. Who knew, honestly besides Bayley.

“Charlotte.”

Charlotte turned and saw Becky walking over with Asuka. “Hey you two... I see everything is looking pretty great here.”

“Oh yeah. Tyson really pulled things together and got this place to tip top shape.” Asuka said softly with a grin on her face. “I have to go” She looked at Becky and patted her shoulder. “Great sparring today. You haven’t lost your touch.”

“Neither have you, old friend.” Becky grinned as Asuka walked away and then she turned her attention to Charlotte. “What did you find at the sight?”

“You haven’t spoken to Sasha yet?” Becky shook her head and the two started to walk in the direction of Bayley. “It’s Gaia. She somehow managed to move the earth under the building and pulled part of it down and caused tons of damage.”

“People are dead I assume and injured?” Charlotte nodded and Becky sighed heavily. “So what is it that we do?”

“I do not know yet. Sasha has to talk to Vince about it to see what we should do because in all honesty we cannot go out and start using our abilities like we used to. The people only know us as myths, as stories.”

“And to show them that we are not would be a bad idea.” Becky sighed as they stopped right behind Bayley and she spoke to her. “So the staff, huh?”

Bayley turned to look at the two and she smiled a little as she twirled the staff a few times. “Yeah... Is it a bad choice?”

“Not at all.” Charlotte shook her head. “It can do decent damage like a sword or a bow. It won’t make any piercing damage, but you can break a few bones with that thing in all honesty.” She looked at Tyson who she gave a light smile to. “As usual you never disappoint with good work.”

“Thanks, Charlotte.” He said and he turned and grabbed what was Charlotte’s sword and handed it to her. “This is yours. I’ve upgraded it a bit to be stronger and not break so easily. I also have used a bit more gold and some blood red on the hilt of the sword.”

Charlotte grabbed it; her eyes widen at the sight of the artistry of her sword. She pulled it out of the sheath and everyone just watched her quietly. Charlotte was like a kid in a candy store with her sword as it had been years since she needed it, since she had to ever use it. It shined bright of the steel reflecting the light in the warehouse, the hilt being a mixture of blood red and black like Tyson spoke about the and gold... Charlotte loved it. She could never hate anything Tyson did when it came to his artistry of weapons. Though this, Charlotte teared up at the sight.

“Ptolema...” Charlotte whispered to the sword as she ran her finger lightly on the sharp edge of it. “I missed you so much... We have so much work to do, so much to catch up on.” Charlotte sheathed the sword before she wiped her eyes and looked at Tyson. “I thank you for bringing her back to me.”

“Of course, Charlotte.” Tyson smiled and held out her shield next and what seemed to be a spiked headband. “Your shield and this... Father stated that in modern times your helmet would be seen as too back in the day. So, I made you a spiked headband that is moreso like your crown. Your shield will have your helmet symbol to show who you are and what you represent of course, but this--”

“--Will fit me currently.” Tyson nodded and Charlotte didn’t hesitate to slip on the crown headband within her blonde locks. She stood there now with her shield in one hand, her sword in the other and she looked at the three before her, especially Bayley who seemed to have this bright smile on her face. “Why are you smiling?”

Bayley saw everyone look at her now and she smiled more. “Because you’re happy. I can see it.” She gave a little nod. “You’ve been waiting for a moment like this to be back to you, we all have. Though we’ve been forced back into this way, we all are back to ourselves in full force and it’s what we need.”

Charlotte grinned at the brunette and at Becky who nodded in agreement. Then they heard clicking of steps after a door was shut and she turned her head, seeing Sasha walking in. “Good timing.”

“Good timing indeed.” Sasha smiled at her blonde-haired sister and nodded. “You look good.” She looked at Tyson. “I assume you have my things as well?”

“Of course. Let me grab them out of the weapons closet.” He turned to go into the separate room.

Sasha looked at Becky and grinned. “Your sword fits you. Glad to have it back?”

“Of course.” Becky smiled happily. “I think we all are happy to have our weapons back and acquiring one” She briefly looked at Bayley. “Charlotte here had tears in her eyes.

Charlotte rolled her eyes. “Shut up.” She said with a breath and looked at Sasha. “What did Vince say?”

Sasha sighed heavily. “He’s asking us to keep an eye out for other issues on the news. He doesn’t want us attacking yet but to prepare.”

“They’re just going to keep killing more people and recruiting the mortals for their cause.” Bayley said as she leaned on the table Tyson was near. “We can’t be holding back like this. Not when they think we aren’t here and they can take over the world as how they wanted it before Vince took over.”

“I’m aware, but that’s what Father said. We have to respect it for now.” Sasha shrugged before looking at Charlotte. “I need to ask you something.”

“Okay...” Charlotte furrowed her eyebrows confusingly. “What is it?”

“If you did something like what Gaia did, what would you do next?”

“... You’re asking me because I am basically the chaotic one in this group, aren’t you?”

“That and because you are the more aggressive one than I and I would do something more strategic and not something... chaotic.”

“Well” Charlotte put her sword and shield down on the table and turned to Sasha, leaning against the table. “What would you do then?”

Sasha paused a moment, thinking and analyzing solutions in her head. “I would see if I could track one of us down and attack. Either that, or go to Greece and destroy one of the monuments.”

Charlotte nodded. “Either would be logical and smart. If they wanted to be chaotic to the point where they want to cause pain instantly? I would find out if the gods and goddess of our circle are alive, but get the less important ones.”

“Like me.”

They all looked at Bayley, her looked uncomfortable and worried.

“Well... Yes, but you and Becky are surrounded by me and Sasha so they wouldn’t dare try.”

“They don’t know that though.” Sasha said with a sigh. “Wouldn’t they want to try and start a war or something?”

“Why? There’s two already happening.” Charlotte said before Tyson walked out and held out Athena’s shield, sword, her own headband that was golden leaves and olives on it, and what seemed to be two pairs of armor. “I assume one is mine?”

“Yes. I almost forgot to give it to you.” Tyson said and handed it over. “I tailored it to fit your female frame by making it a little smaller. If it doesn’t fit, I will adjust it.”

“Thank you, Tyson.” Charlotte and Sasha said at the same time before Charlotte started to speak to Sasha. “We need to make sure to warn everyone about what’s to come and I mean everyone. We can’t be holding back any information because we are all in danger.”

That’s when Becky chimed in. “I’m meetin’ some of them at Hunter’s bar. I’ll let ‘em know what’s going on and make sure they stop by here to see Tyson about weaponry or whatever they may need.”

Bayley lowered her gaze as the three spoke and she looked at Tyson who merely grinned at her and she grinned back before she ehard her name. She looked over at blinked. “Huh?”

“I asked if you’re ready to head home.” Sasha said softly. “Bex has to go to work and Charlotte has a fight tonight so I thought we could ride together.”

“Oh! Sure!” Bayley smiled warmly. She then looked at Tyson. “Is there a way to... hide these things?”

“Oh of course. Just have to utter krymménos, hidden in Greek, as you hold it or looking at it and it while be invisible as if it wasn’t there. You also can do the same and tell it to appear somewhere else, like your home, and it will be there.” Tyson explained with a nod. “I had to work with Naomi on getting that done with all the weapons. Didn’t take long, but it was rough to speak with her about it.”

“Not surprised...” Charlotte said with a sigh. “Anyways, we should all go. Thank you again Tyson.” Tyson gave a brief bow of the head and the four went their ways: Charlotte went off to the house by teleportation, got in her car to head to her match, Becky got into her car that was at the place and headed off to work, and Sasha and Bayley drove home.

It was a mostly silent drive other than the music playing off Sasha’s phone, which happened to sound like and positive with some not having any vocals at all and still gave that power and uplifting feeling. To Bayley, Sasha weas the one that was most positive when it came to many things besides herself, and she loved that about the other more than anything. They bounced off the positivity when it was really needed.

Once they got home, they put their weaponry in a locker and Sasha put a lock on it and put in the passcode, which she told Bayley what it was and was going to tell the other two when they got home. She stated “it’s better to tell them in person so no one hacks into their phones and somehow gets it and takes the weapons. They’re basically artifacts to the modern world and we do not want anyone or anything taking them from us”.

Bayley let out a breath as she crashed onto the couch and put on the TV, instantly going to the news to see if anything new came up about the Titans causing trouble, but it was everything normal, nothing too out of the ordinary. She sighed heavily, wishing she could just go out there and actually do something about all this. The fact that she read so many comic books and learned about superheroes really got her into the idea that that’s who they really were going to end up being: The real-life superheroes to the modern world. They were the gods and goddesses that ran the world the best they could and they evolved into minds much greater and wiser and that meant they had to as well, which they did. Now, with everything going on and the Titans causing a hassle, it had to be time right? In Bayley’s mind, this was the perfect time. This was the best time to do that. No one knew exactly what to do other than to prepare and ready up, but Bayley wanted to do more. They needed to do more!

“You’re thinking too much.”

Bayley jumped as she snapped out of her thoughts and saw Sasha walking into the living room with a glass of water and sat on the couch next to her. “H--How do you know?”

“Your face. You looked super serious as the news was talking about the oldest dog in the world is the tallest dog in the world. I don’t think you’d look so serious over that and more “aww” and cry of how good of a puppy he is.”

Bayley rolled her eyes and sighed.

“Thinking about the Titans?” Bayley nodded. “We’ll get them. It may be a while, but we’ll get them.”

“But when? We should start acting now. Form a group and just... go after that, protect this world, our mortals.”

“Protect? You sound like you’ve been reading too many Spiderman comics again.”

“M--Maybe I have, but the comics have a point in our situation. We have these abilities no one else has because we are immortal Gods and can only die by each other’s hands. The Titans may find us and kill us and then what? They take over. We should be... I don’t know! Like the Avengers! It’s time to avenge and protect our planet.”

“Our planet is fighting against us, Bay. You know, Gaia and all.”

“She’s not our planet. She stopped being that the moment she decided to hurt it.” She saw Sasha smile and she knew she was right and made a good point. “It’s time, Sash. All that talk I’ve said for the past couple years, it’s time.”

Sasha sighed and looked away. “I’d have to talk to Vince, you know that. Everything we do, I have to go through him and--”

“Talk to Hunter or Roman.”

Sasha raised an eyebrow, her face scrunching in confusion. “What? Why our them?”

“Hunter and Roman know how to get through to Vince better than you, no offense.”

“None taken... You’re right, but he’ll want my opinion on it as well.”

“Then the three of you can talk about it.”

Sasha nodded, knowing Bayley made a valid point. The three of them really could get Vince to just sit down and chill. Though, at this rate the old man was not chilling any time soon. In reality, Vince never was one to chill, not even when he was sleeping around and causing terror back in the Ancient Greece days. It is what made her mother, Lacey, be her own version of a calm before the storm situation. Athena didn’t blame her mother in the least bit. Though sometimes the anger went to her and the others, but with the women Vince went around with, they got more of the pain and anger. Just that thought made her shake her head and she looked away from Bayley.

“So you know I’m right?”

“Yes.” Sasha sighed. “I will speak to them at another time. Right now, we’re all on edge on who did it in the first place and since no one is blaming Charlotte for it, the blame is shifting to who knows who else on the spectrum of us.”

“I still like my own theory better.”

Sasha looked at Bayley. “Which is...?”

“They got out themselves. Charlotte had a point, Vince forgets to do certain things and we’ve had to pick up after him a few times. Maybe he actually did forget to close the gate and this is the time that the moment he did, they took over.”

Sasha sighed and looked at the news for a while, seeing something about a fire and she just stared at it for a while, which got Bayley staring too.

“... You think they caused that?”

“I don’t know.” Sasha leaned forward to focus on it and she sighed. “It’s hard to tell because they could do anything. They haven’t been around this world so they view is a different. For all we know, they don’t know what’s going on and are ruining it because they think it is an illusion.”

“I think they’re doing it because they think this is our handiwork of making the world like this when we haven’t done anything. We let them do it and we work with them with minimal skills.” Bayley shrugged. “I’ll text Becky to see if she can find out about that fire since it’s in the city. Maybe something in the police report can give her an idea on if it is them or just an average fire caused by mortals.”

Weeks started to pass and it seemed that things were escalating and Sasha was the one to get all the questions, but then the end of the month came and that’s when the mortals found out about the Titans. They revealed themselves to easily that it was no joke.

Gaia, was there causing an earthquake after she and Cronus, had appeared in front of national television. The announced who they were and the whole press conference was cut short as they saw Hyperion appear. He used the light to set the room aflame and cut everything short. That’s when the four women looked at each other with shock on their faces.

“We are the Titans and we have returned to claim what is ours! We are your rulers! We are your dictators! You mortals stand no chance when your Gods are dead! Zeus, Hera, Artemis, Apollo, Athena, Ares, Hecate, Poseidon, Demeter, and Hades... They are gone and they have been for years and now? It is our time to rule.

“It is our time to take back what’s ours.”

[horrible-on-main]

They put Ariadne in dress uniform for the ceremony. The finished effect is the product of several hours of confusing scrambling that somehow manage to be both ceaselessly frenetic and deeply tedious.

The jacket and trousers come out of some storage closet in the bowels of the facility. The fabric is clean and crisp, but smells faintly musty, and of chyms she doesn't recognise. She tries on two jackets that are the wrong size and three that, in her opinion, are absolutely fine, before Lev is happy with the fit. The boots are exactly the same as her usual pair, except not yet broken in to her feet. They're already glossy black, but Lev pushes a cloth and a pot of polish into Ariadne's hands and tells her: "You should be able to see your face in 'em." So she polishes diligently while Lev brushes out her hair and pins it up in a neat bun high on the back of her head, so tight that it makes her scalp ache.

It's like graduation all over again, but moreso. When she's finally ready and allowed to see herself in the mirror, she grins. She looks smart, and dangerous. It brings back the fond memory of getting her daily uniform for the first time. She felt desperately dashing in that too, but the thrill has faded into normality.

It's funny, really, how easily she got used to it. She rarely bothers to change out of her uniform at end of shift any more when the squad go to get drinks. She likes the respect it gets her. People move out of her way, and they rarely mark her chits more than once for the evening's drinks. No one wants to tangle with an off-duty enforcer. And besides, her old clothes are getting decidedly tight in the shoulders.

Ariadne stands at attention without needing to be told, and Lev claps her firmly on the back. "I hope you've got your standing legs on," the officer jokes, "Don't you dare faint!" "I'm not gonna faint," Ariadne retorts. "What do you take me for?" And then it's back to urgently waiting, shepherded from room to room only to stand around while nothing continues to happen. Menos joins her eventually, looking equally sharp and equally hassled. He flashes a grin when he sees her and wolf-whistles. She laughs.

At long last, they're on the move. A precinct vehicle takes them to the main elevator - no crowded shuttle-car for them today - and the huge doors rattle open to let them pass. "I've never been higher than Delta," Menos confesses in hushed tones, leaning across the back seat as they wait for the vast elevator platform to finish loading and start moving. Ariadne thinks of climbing and climbing until her arms trembled, peering out through the locked hatch into clean, brightly lit streets full of strangers who didn't all wear the same clothes. She remembers breathing deeply, tasting the strange air. And she remembers the fear of being caught looking into a world where a scrawny, ration-fed child like herself clearly didn't belong. "Me neither," she says.

When the elevator does move, it’s not as dramatic as it feels like it ought to be. The turning of the great gears is loud, and Ariadne murmurs "Ave elevatus," under her breath in gratitude to the machine. But otherwise it feels a lot like any other elevator ride, if a little longer. And then the doors reopen, and the white light spills in. "That's bright," observes Menos nervously. "Yeah," she agrees.

It's many more minutes of waiting before the exit is clear enough for their autocar to pull out into the streets. Gazing out of the reinforced windows, Ariadne finds herself transported back to that memory. The road is clean. The building facades are clean. How much work must it take, scrubbing away at the surfaces, to keep it that way? No one bolts for cover on sight of the enforcer vehicle. The locals are calm, barely paying attention to the autocar, going about their lives without a care. They dress in outlandish clothes - all kinds of cut and colour, with high collars and shaped sleeves and decorative embroidery far more intricate than anything she or her friends ever worked onto their own garments. Do the different colours mean something, or are these people free to pick and choose as they please?

"Don't stare, kids," Lev reminds them, "You don't want to look like downhive know-nothings." "Not a kid," Ariadne returns, out of habit. Right now, she feels like a kid, gawking at the unknown. ”Still a kid for a few hours yet, kid.” ”Ha.” Lev calls all the trainees ‘kid’, though they aren’t legally. It’s strange to think that soon that might stop. Ariade wants to wind the window down and breathe the sweet, clean air. But she turns her face forwards and pretends indifference. Menos hesitates, still gazing in shock and wonder at the world beyond the glass, but he follows her lead.

Their destination is hard to miss. Tall, intimidating walls are topped with tangles of spiked metal. Ariadne's idle thoughts automatically start assessing ways to clear those walls - but she's out of practice, she hasn't been climbing in too long. And it would be a very bad idea besides. The gates are huge too, the bars close and spiked to deter climbers. She's put in mind of the famed Fortress-Precincts of the Adeptus Arbites. She knows from her reading that their strongholds are orders of magnitudes grander, in reality. But even this seems very impressive to her. Gargoyles and stone saints leer down at the car as local enforcers in uniforms not too dissimilar to hers check them over, then wave them through. The massive gates swing open soundlessly, operated by some diligent machine that must be out of sight, built into the walls or floor.

When they are finally parked, Ariadne throws open the autocar door eagerly. The strangely-scented air washes over her as she steps out, just like she remembered. She breathes deep. It feels good. But she feels a sudden pang of jealousy. She'd bet a month's luxuries that they never have choke days up here, where the air is hard to breathe and murky with smog, and the whole layer get sluggish and irritable from shortness of breath. It’s not fair. She wants to live like this, or better. She wants the best of everything. Clean air, plentiful hot water, clothes in exotic colours. Real food for every meal, never mealmix again.

And she's going to get it, she reminds herself firmly. Today she gets her officer's stripes. With those, she can start her application to the Adeptus Arbites. And if they accept her for training, they'll take her off this planet. For good.