#you can send an ask but chances are ill be more cryptic about it

[sockfizz]

My hungry ass wanting to beg mutuals to tag me in f/o stuff Versus the Fear

[rons-hermiones]

Come Find Me

by rons-hermiones

Summary: Unplanned, Hermione is forced to spend Christmas at the Burrow due to her grandmother falling very ill. After being ignored by Hermione for weeks, Ron is determined to show her how much she means to him. Just before he gets the chance to tell her, Bellatrix Lestrange shows up with other plans for Hermione. Can Ron get to her before it's too late? (Ron/Hermione Half-Blood Prince AU)

Rating: M for language & dark themes in later chapters.

Chapter Thirty Seven

“Ron?” A voice broke from the doorway. 

He glanced briefly but was sure to not loosen Hermione from his hold. 

“Ronnie,” Bill began in a soft tone, “I’m not sure if holding her like that is-” 

“She knows Bill.” He whispers before his brother can finish, “About her parents.” He tells, ignoring the cotton building in his throat. Instead he strokes her hair lovingly, eyes never leaving her still form. 

Bill looks at a loss for words, face scrunched in confusion, “What-how?”

He shrugs, “They must’ve told her… there.”

He steps closer to the bed, looking down at the teenagers, “but that means she remembers something then?” Bill tries hopefully. 

Ron sighs, “I wouldn’t call it a victory Bill.” His oldest brother looks guilty, “Anyway, it wasn’t much really, she asked for them, sort of, and then it’s like she could just read me and I couldn’t lie to her. Not again. Never again.” 

There’s a silence for a moment, “what do you mean ‘sort of’?” Bill wonders. 

He gulped, “it was like she couldn’t speak. Like everything that she tried to say- like it hurt her. Almost as if a first year tired casting a silencing charm.” 

His brother looks crestfallen, “I read it’s common for the Cruciatus-“

At this something roars within Ron. He doesn’t care what's common or whatever explanation because this was never supposed to happen. 

“I don’t bloody care!” He yelled, unknowingly making Hermione groan at his volume. 

Bill does notice. “Ronnie-“ he begins to warn. 

“No! None of this is normal! None of this was supposed to happen, and here you are-“

“S-st…”

He stops at her mummers.  His eyes flick to Bill’s whose own are full of pity. His heart aches knowing he caused this newfound discomfort at his burst of anger. 

Then her body gave a horrible twitch. 

Ron watched in horror as her lips upturned into a slight smile as she spoke clear as day. Except, she didn’t sound like Hermione. Not at all. 

“That’ll teach you to keep your mouth shut muddy!”

For a horrible moment he thought Bellatrix Lestrange polyjuiced into his Hermione. 

He knows this isn’t the case as she soon twitches again and silent tears streak her face. Her lips begin to quiver as her brow furrows, clearly showing how distressed she is. 

It makes him ill. 

Literally ill. 

Before he knows it he’s sprinting to the loo, a door in the corner of her room. He slides on his knees to the toilet, coughing up the bile and dry heaving after the fact. Hot tears stream his face from the discomfort of the action and fear for Hermione. 

Soon enough he feels a familiar hand rubbing circles on his back. 

Turning to his older brother he suddenly feels small again. Like a curious child wanting to know the inner workings of quidditch. Like he was completely innocent and oblivious to the world. 

“W-what was that?” Ron asks groggily, wiping at his mouth. 

Bill sighs and waves his wand, casting a cleansing charm on Ron. As he looks up from his work, his eyes become glassy after looking at his little brothers. 

“That was dark magic Ron.” He informed regretfully

Ron of course knew that Hermione had been affected horribly by many spells, jinxes, curses, and unforgivable, but he had yet to see the severity first hand and how it impacted her. 

It tore him up. 

After a moment Bill whispers something else. Something they’ve all been thinking, but aren’t brave enough to admit yet. 

“That's some of the darkest magic of all.” 

...

After the incident Ron joined Hermione’s side again. Watching over her as she slept, prepared for when she left the horrors of her mind, to the terrible reality of this world. One without her parents. One where she couldn’t perform magic. One where it seemed a part of her mind was inhabitated by Bellatrix Lestrange like a fucking parasite. 

He would kill the witch if it was the last thing he ever does. 

He’s broken from his angry thoughts when Bill saunters in, “I told the healer about what happened. Says he needs to check a few things out.” He said nervously. 

“Dunno how if they can’t use any bloody magic.” He grumbled. 

His older brother’s lip twitches, like he wants to smile but doesn’t know if it’s appropriate. “They said it could mean good things for her mind.” 

Ron just knew Bill wasn’t here for that, not after his explosion earlier. 

“Why are you here Bill?” He asks knowingly. 

He sighs, “Someone’s here to see you. He sent me to ask if he could come in.”

The younger of the two scrunches his brow. Surely his family, Harry, or Neville didn’t need his permission to come in and see him. He doesn’t own the bloody room. 

Bill breaks the silence, “I’ll send him in.” He said before vanishing out the door. 

“It’s a bit hypocritical isn’t it?” Ron whispers to Hermione once he’s sure no one can hear them. “I’m so effing annoyed everyone is treating me like I’m gonna lose it at any minute, but I reckon I’m doing the same to you. I just want you to be okay Mione.” His voice breaks. “I could give a shite less about me right now.” He whispers, stroking the back of her small hand with his thumb. 

“You have quite the colorful vocabulary Mr. Weasley.”

His head instantly whips around to the door at the voice. 

He internally groaned at who was standing there. Not really in the mood for cryptic riddles at the moment.

“I talked to Harry on my way in. He tells me you haven’t left this room.” Dumbledore points out, stepping further inside. 

“With all due respect sir, if you’re here to bring me back for a potions lesson, I’m not leaving.”

The old man chuckles, “That’s not what I’m here to do Ronald.”

“Then what are you here for?” He can’t help but ask. 

“To see you of course.” Dumbledore says without missing a beat. 

He can’t help but just stare at him in utter confusion. 

“I’ve heard a lot of things and I thought to myself, who better to ask about it than you?” 

“Well I’m not sure what you want to know sir.” 

“How is she?” The headmaster asks, stepping next to Ron’s chair. 

“Not great.” He says honestly. Someone like Harry or Ginny, he’s willing to try and spare their feelings. However, Dumbledore always knows the truth so there’s no way around it. “I can’t imagine the kind of pain she’s in- she knows about her parents, she can’t seem to escape, not even when she’s sleeping.” 

The old man sighs, “Our most haunting thoughts are those that come when we aren’t thinking.” He interjects. 

This is exactly what Ron did not want to deal with. 

“No you don’t understand,” He begins in a whisper, not wanting a repeat from earlier, “she- it was like she was possessed. It was like Bellatrix Lestrange was inside her head.” 

“She is.” Dumbledore said, like it was simple, like it wasn’t a problem. Sensing Ron’s unease he leans forward, “They all are now. Your job is to help direct Miss Granger to focus on which voices to listen to, which to drown out.” 

“So you’re saying her mind- it’s not okay?” 

“She’s just as sane as we are. The only difference between her and us Mr. Weasley, is that she has less to be sane about, or so she may think. That’s why she needs you.” 

Weasley groans, “Everyone’s talking like I’m this great almighty thing, like I can fix this.”

Slowly the old man shakes his head, “The only person who can truly fix this, is Hermione, but she won’t be able to do it alone. She needs all of you, she needs you, now more than she ever has. Always an independent one Miss Granger is. She’ll think she’s a burden, you’ll need to remind her she’s not.” 

“She isn’t.” Ron says suddenly. 

Dumbledore lets a ghost of a smile find it’s way across his aged face. 

“Hermione’s own worst enemy is herself.” He says before walking toward the door.

Thinking that was the end of that, Ron redirects his attention back to Hermione’s sleeping form, continuing to stroke the back of her hand tenderly. 

“Oh and on that thought about enemies,” Dumbledore begins from the doorway, making Ron turn, “always remember Mr. Weasley, those who you think may be your enemies, you may have more in common with then you once thought. Good day.”

If Ron has learned anything, it’s to never think about what Dumbeldore says too much, it just makes you barmy. Somehow, someway, it always goes back to something. 

But if the old man was implying Ron and Bellatrix or You-Know-Who were gonna sit down over tea and bond about the war, then he was truly mad. 

Choosing to ignore that part for now, he remembers what the Headmaster said about being there for Hermione. He would be until his dying breath. 

“It’s just me and you now Hermione.” He whispers softly. “No Death Eaters. No Lavender. No McLaggen. Just us.” He swears. 

“And I promise you this darling, I’ll never let anyone take that from us again.”

...

It wasn’t until hours later, hours left with nothing but his thoughts and whispered promises did Ron finally break from whatever daze he was in. 

“Here’s the wand back.” He heard a familiar voice from the hallway say. 

Quickly, he glanced at Hermione and noted her sleeping form. Slowly, he unraveled himself from her and stood up, doing his best to not go rushing back when she groaned at his absence. 

“I don’t understand…” Arthur began. 

At this, Ron crept closer behind the cracked door. Concealing his form behind the old wood. 

“The big guy told Kingsley to keep it hush hush within the Ministry for now. He thinks maybe if Hermione sees it, maybe even tries to use it-“ The youngest Weasley male cringes at the statement. Tonks seems to have caught herself as she stopped speaking. “Eventually.” She soon added, “then it may get her talking.”

No words were exchanged, but knowing his father to be a man of few words, he would bet he just nodded. 

“So it’s true then, she can’t speak?” The woman couldn’t help but ask quietly.  

Mr. Weasley sighed, “she’s been in and out. Ron has told me she can’t really string along a sentence, just words that are more like grumbles and she stutters. I witnessed it myself once, the act of talking for her seems so painful, like she’s scared.” 

He chooses to leave out the incident Bill told him about, not wanting to worry Tonks and The Order further. Hoping it was just a fluke. 

“Oh no.” He heard Tonks whisper to what seemed to be herself. 

“Jamison said he’s found no physical injury to her throat or vocal cords that would affect her in that way. He reckons it’s a result of the cruciatus or trauma, or both. We just hope it’ll resolve itself over time.” He explained. 

“I just hope something helps. Your boy hasn’t left? I’m surprised Molly hasn’t dragged him back to Hogwarts.” 

Arthur chuckled, “you and I both, but she knows that he needs to be here right now and that Hermione needs him here. It also helped that Dumbledore said Ron should stay. It eased her into knowing it was the right thing for everyone.” 

What the hell? Dumbledore? He said he wasn’t dragging him back… for now. But he never thought he’d convince his mother of that. 

“He really cares for her. It is what’s right.” Tonks assures

“Mmhm.” The older man hums in agreement. 

“I just hope this wand does something. More harm than good. I’d hate for it to upset her.” The auror says worriedly. 

There's silence for a moment. 

“Any word on Narcissa’s whereabouts?” He asked. 

“No sightings. Cissy is rather…”

Tonks keeps going, but Ron doesn’t listen. 

Cissy. 

That word she’s been groaning. 

“Cissy?” He bellowed, pushing past the door and into the hallway. 

“Ron? How long have you-“ Arthur doesn’t sound angry but startled, but Ron can’t seem to care. 

He shucks it off, “Cissy?” He repeated staring Tonks down. 

And Tonks, an auror who's seen a lot, shrinks a little under this teenage boy's gaze. The look is so fierce, so full of silent commands. 

She slowly nods, “my Mum calls her that, it’s short for-“

“Narcissa Malfoy.” Ron breathes. 

Narcissa Malfoy, who was in that place with Hermione. 

That’s who she’s been groaning about. 

Merlin, if he ever saw her- well, he shouldn’t be surprised given her sister, husband, and son, but to know Hermione mumbles more about her than the likes of Bellatrix. He can’t imagine what might’ve happened. 

And she always groans it when a door sounds, that must mean something. She must think she’s coming for her. 

Bloody hell. 

Arthur seems to put it together as his eyes slightly bulge. 

“What? What is it? Is Hermione alright?” Tonks asked worriedly. 

Ron is still reeling so he doesn’t speak. Arthur was hesitant not knowing if that’s the direction this was headed. 

At the same time Mr. Weasley decided to speak, Tonks decided to take matters into her own hands and check on Hermione with her wand drawn just to be sure. 

“It’s Hermione, she says that whenever someone opens-“

The creak of the door squeaks loudly. 

“Cissy.” The young brunette groans. 

“-the door.” Arthur finishes. 

Tonks stared down in shock, Ron can’t understand why until he peers at the bed himself. Hermione is awake, eyes wide and completely and utterly focused on one thing. 

Narcissa Malfoy’s wand. 

...

The door opened as Narcissa was met by a familiar, but confused face. 

Instantly, that who she sought out, lunged toward her. For a moment the blonde feared it was out of anger. 

But no, instead, she was embraced by nothing but pure love. 

She dropped the book under her arm and accepted the gesture with open arms. Literally. 

“You’ve come home.” 

They were both crying. 

“I am. I’m so sorry it took me so long. I’m so sorry.” Cissy sobbed into the slender shoulder. 

The hug was broken as they stared into each other’s eyes. 

“All that matters is that you’re here now. Nothing else.” They promised, wiping some of her tears and ushering her into the cottage. 

When the door clicked shut, Narcissa surveyed the space. It felt so much like a home. Nothing like that awful empty feeling she got while at Malfoy Manor. 

“They’re looking for you. It’s all over the papers. There’s reports your wand went missing.” Though posed as a statement, Narcissa felt as if she was being asked something. 

“It’s true, all of it.” She nodded. 

“But you know where your wand is don’t you?” They asked knowingly. 

A small smile drew across her lips, they knew each other too well. “I do, I need your help to retrieve it. There’s someone I need to see.” 

“Draco?” 

Cissy shook her head, “no. He’s at Hogwarts, so I can’t risk it. He knows I’m safe, though. It’s someone else.” She explains. 

“Who?” 

Narcissa sighs, not wanting to explain it all. However, she knows what she asks next will warrant many questions. 

“Tell me, you know a way into the Weasley’s home? The Burrow?” 

Andromeda’s eyes bulged.

[dear-yandere]

—ask collection!

a collection of mostly very old chats and sweet asks that i never got around to answering! thanks for the patience and love!! 

beware, fairly long post... woops....

chat asks.

darling: Eu-jin is best boy. Change my mind.

vanya: i am physically incapable of fulfilling that request, how dare you do that to me... i’m biased since he’s my own oc, but i would die for my (very best) boy eu-jin... who can resist such a gentle yandere that loves you so whole-heartedly?

that reminds me! he’s actually based off of kuroyuki and gekkamaru from the otome nightshade, so if you want similar characters by any chance, do check them and the game out ♡

darling: I was watching the dub for Part 5 of JoJo's Bizarre adventure yesterday...Mista called himself Daddy and I like- sdfghjfgsdhnhnmj!! My heart can't take this--

vanya: WAIT HE DID???? i’m not even big on daddy kink and reading that made me go 😳 this is vital information to know... what episode was this??? for research purposes, of course. gotta perfect my yan! mista, after all~...

darling: for yandere songs, have you heard of the major to minor covers by chase holfelder :O? the way he delivers the lyrics in some songs (betty, all i want for christmas), added with the key changes to minor, is really fantastic, and gives a stalker-ish vibe imo! and he's a really good singer in general

vanya: i have!! a good chunk of them are actually on my personal yandere playlist, so i end up hearing them frequently when i’m writing!! i haven’t been keeping up with his uploads recently, so ‘betty’ is completely new to me and just, wow???????????? this man is an absolute god send for us “romantic” horror fans... ♡

this ask gave me such a lovely idea, though, darling: assigning yandere types/mbti based off each of chase’s minor key covers. i think i’ll do that just for you. ♡

darling @blossomiich​: I reread some of your old character interaction asks and saw the one with Jotaro hugging his Darling after a panic attack and the elephant seal plush reminded me of the iconic C H O N K Y ringed seal plushie that was kinda trending and I can totally imagine Jotaro having one of those >w< that's so adorable!

vanya: i honestly don’t remember that interaction, but then again i don’t remember most things hmghng so i looked it up and

j...just imagine star plat hogging it and not letting joot cuddle with it 🥺 the duality of man...thank you for this cute image...

darling: Umm, sorry for asking this. I'm just curious because of your bio language in your header. Are you Chinese too, perhaps?

vanya: no worries!! i’m mixed guyanese (indian, chinese, & possibly black and/or portuguese), but my family only celebrates (or rather, acknowledges?) our indian descent, since the majority of our family is predominantly east indian. 

my header is actually a quote from a danmei novel (and one of my all-time favorite fandoms), tiān guān cì fú (heaven’s official blessing)!

darling genki stan anon: Omg you're writing for free now, i didn't expect that one lol. It's a cute show innit? Not a nagi stan but I feel like nagisa has that kinda unsnapped personality that would make him peak delusional yandere material lolol like oikawa but less threatening and without his head being up his own ass 😂. Hope you're doing well!! -gsa

Gdjsjs im such a fool, i think my last ask said something about not thinking you'd write for free when i literally just pointed out kisumi on your sideblog LMAO my bad 😅 😂 also ill hold back on the gen chan requests because ive already asked so many in the past! Thank you though 🥺. Also feel free not to post this, it can just dip into my onesided chats with my lil flower 💐 so long as you receive them im fine 😌 -genki stan anon

vanya: nagisa isn’t my favorite (kisumi is), but gods if he wouldn’t make a great yandere. honestly, out of the iwatobi boys, nagi is probably the most unhinged. i wouldn’t peg him as delusional, at least not at first; i think he’s very lucid and knows exactly what he wants and how to manipulate people in order to get it!!! kisumi is fairly similar now that i think about it... i might... have a type...

please feel free to send in gen-chan requests whenever you want!!!! i’m kinda super asocial, so it’ll take me a while to answer, but i love getting asks from you since you’re so sweet and excitable!!! your little flower reads and cherishes them all!! 🥺

also darling genki stan anon: Sorry for spamming you with asks hdjkdks, u dont even need to reply im just kinda brain empty venting here whether you recieve them or not 😂 i just needed to confess that while yes i am #1 gen simp, and he is undoubtedly my fave oc of yours but that Ilya tentacle smut had me very much so highkey kinda 👀, had to re read the genki oral style drabble to bring my head back. He dont even need to worry about luca bc that man a thot. I think therin is a thot too but like lowkey, a classy thót -gsa

vanya: omg i’ve kept this one for forever mnmghngh i might’ve even answered at some other point, now that i think about it... but i just 🥺 gosh i hope i find my muse soon, because i really wanna write you a genki fic 🥺 hhhh

the ilya tentacle smut was so in character for that boy... i have no clue how to write monsters, much less tentacles, but i’d honestly do anything for him 🙏 kinky russian boy...

therin is definitely a classy thot, the kind that only bangs the finest concubines then turns around and slut shames you for banging the very same prostitutes gbfmngnfg rules don’t apply to him, in his kingdom...wish that were me tbh ✊😔

sweet asks.

darling one: i've read almost all of your dazai and chuuya fics and i love them so much!! your formatting is also super aesthetic just a question, i saw on your kofi that you also draw so i was wondering if you drew all the header arts?? bc they're all super pretty :) have a great day!

darling two: Just wanted to say love the writing and the way your format your posts is so aesthetically pleasing. One day I hope my posts looks half as good as yours because I legit can't get over how pretty and organized it looks.

vanya: omg thank you so much!!!! one of my bffs, yue, is to thank for the formatting and aesthetic choices, really! if you wanna see more of her aesthetic formats and posts, she actually runs a few blogs! you may know her as @milkscafe​, formally @milkaaton! i adore her and her aes choices so much 🥺

as for the headers, i don’t draw 99.98% of them! i have drawn a couple, but they’re so few and far in between since i almost never finish my art wips haha... my older posts are lacking proper credits because i’m an absolute idiot, but i’m slowly working my way backwards to credit them all where possible! they’re all indeed super pretty!!!

have a great day yourself, my love!!

darling: THEY’RE NOT BAD CONTENT, I LOVE THEM ALL

vanya: this was in response to a now-deleted lil blurb but i kept it in my inbox because i wanted to say i love u very much and seeing this ask each time i open my inbox makes my heart skip a beat ♡

darling: Listen I love your writing, you inspired me to start it myself! I've always loved to write, and read of course but your style and concepts just stick with me. If you where to write something besides Yandere content/fandom content and started your own series? I would read the shit, out of it. I'm always nervous to interact with my favorite writers because you know, I'm afraid of the impression I'd leave but I just wanted to say this anyway! 💞💞💞🔫😳

vanya: wowowow fgfnmgnfmngfg that’s such a high compliment my brain just gmfnbgmnf go boom fogjfngnfg and thank you for the interaction, us writers truly appreciate it no matter how awkward or nervous you think you may be / come off!!!

darling one: As a writer, your post struck a nerve with me. I don’t send feedback to writers I like nearly as much as I should (and certainly not as much as I’d like in return as a writer). So, as such, I’m going to start doing that when I can, starting with you.

You are an incredible writer. You were one of the first yandere writing blogs I found and you’re still one I check in on regularly to see what you have been working on. You can portray a sense of suspense and intrigue in a natural way that many other writers - published ones included - struggle with. You delve into the darkness without it feeling forced, and you have an amazing grasp on the psyches of the characters you write for (which is a quality I adore in writing and strive toward myself).

I’m not great at ending these things so I guess.. you keep doing you? Because the you is great and I appreciate it.

darling two:  hey. i'm here to tell you that from the bottom of my heart i love you and your writings. i really admire your writing skills. you inspire me. one of your posts once saved me from a nervous breakdown. thank you for everything you do. you're a wonderful person. good luck!

darling three: I wanted to tell you that thank you for writing such wonderful beautiful writings and that you take time to edit and write I hope you are taking care of yourself 💖❤

darling four: Thanks. I was having a hard time and deleted all my apps, but as soon as i opened my phone my first instinct was to look at your blog and i got my motivation back. Thanks (:

darling five: Hi ! I just wanted to say I really enjoy the stories you write and how they are detailed so well ! Stay safe and I hope you have a good day/night ! ლ(╹◡╹ლ)

vanya: ahhhh, these are very old asks mostly dating back to my “tumblr writing community is dying” post, and i’ve kept them this entire time because i’m just so starstruck. i have no clue how to reply to compliments, so i’m not sure what else to say besides that these asks made me very happy and got me through a few insecure moments!!! i’ve actually been feeling a little down about my writing recently, mostly because of lack of motivation / inspiration, so revisiting these really warmed my heart, so thank you truly ♡ i’m certainly keeping the originals in my inbox until the end of time!!

darling @monstrously-obsessed: psst, this local cryptic mom thing send all of their love for you 💕

vanya: your local herbo says she loves you very much momster 🥺 mwah

also, to the anon worried about my safety:

thank you so much for pointing that out!!! it hadn’t even crossed my mind when i made those ocs, so i appreciate your concern! i was contemplating revamping those two as is, so this is a great place to start! thank you again!!

[ganderinggoosie]

Would you break down Kylo Ren, please?

Boy can I anon! :) Apologies as well for the late reply, i wanted to take my time for this one.

essentially the TL/DR version is: this character has been neglected and abused his entire life, believing he didn't belong anywhere with anyone. only after realizing his parents and Rey actually care about him does he gain the courage to “do the right thing.” He’s then written unceremoniously out of existence after saving and kissing Rey, only being happy for 10 seconds in hid entire life. Aint that dandy! :)

Idk how short of an explanation you want, but i also decided to list all of his major character arcs within his lifetime, simply because i care about this character A LOT. I haven’t written anything like an essay in a while, so i really couldn’t help myself haha. This list is also chronological, but ill keep it under a read-more for easy scrolling.

PRE-TFA

Literally been toyed with and corrupted SINCE BEFORE BEING BORN

A happy toddler who loved his parents and "uncles"

His parents loved him very much but didn’t treat him as a priority. Leia tended to focus on her political career and Han couldn’t shake his old nomadic ways. As a result, Ben ended up very isolated.

As he grew stronger and keener to the isolation, his parents feared him and his emotions. Leia sent him away to Luke’s academy, despite Han not wanting Ben to go.

Made friends in the academy, but still a loner. All the while the voices in his head (Snoke/palpatine) are growing louder and louder

Luke forcibly saw into his mind, intent on ending ben’s life until changing his mind. Naturally this upset Ben, seeing as he figured what was left of his family that cared about him wanted him dead. He then collapsed the building, trapping Luke inside.

While deciding to run away, a storm (inferably caused by Snoke/Palpatine) struck fire to the Jedi Temple, killing the students inside. Ben attempted to save a few, but failed.

Ran into the arms of the First Order and the Knights of Ren, since snoke gaslit him into believing it was the only place he could be.

Trained under The KOR and Snoke as a dark side force warrior. Mainly used asa spiritual tool to snuff out Jedi rather than a political tool for the FO.

Tasked with finding Luke Skywalker, sets the beginning of TFA in motion.

TFA

Demonstrates his capability in dark side tendencies by torturing Poe for information

Chooses not to acknowledge Finn’s deflection

immediately gets distracted from his mission of finding bb8 once learning there is a girl involved with this situation.

remains primarily on the defense while subduing rey, carries her away manually to his ship for interrogation. its notable to mention that Han was completely unworried for rey as she was being taken; he knew rey was strong enough to resist and he knew his son’s shortcomings. 

willingly unmasks to rey while interrogating her; this is to show the audience that not only is he making himself more vulnerable and relatable to rey, but also to show that he’s completely opposite to what rey was expecting.

Their connection is formed as they push into each other’s minds

snoke tells him to kill his father in order to complete the training. ben loves his father dearly but genuinely believes he’s too far gone to do anything contradictory to snoke’s orders.

senses it when han arrives at Starkiller, and ignores him. referential material implied that kylo wanted to give han the chance to escape, but when Han sought him out then he reacted.

kills han, the deed “splitting him to the bone” 

survived, but gravely injured by Chewbacca’s bowcaster blast (shown previously blowing up 6 troopers at once). Sees Finn and Rey, becoming enraged, and follows them.

intercepts rey and finn in the forrest. angrily taunts them while beating his wounds. sends rey back into a tree in self-defense. demands to take the legacy saber, fighting with finn in the process. its notable that his fighting style while on the offensive is extremely akin to a berserker method; precise and accurate but brutal and excessive. ends up slashing finn and rendering him unconscious.

is in awe of rey’s ability to call the saber to her, fights her less-aggressively in order to corner her and offer her guidance. naturally she refuses, and taps into the force to overpower him and leave him bleeding on Starkiller as her and Finn rejoin the resistance.

TLJ

approaches snoke in his throneroom, visibly injured and emotional as a result of his fight with rey and the death of his father. snoke mocks his “weak” emotional state and calls him a “child in a mask.”

is hurt by snoke’s remark, an destroys his mask in a rage.

leads an arial attack on the Resistance ships, demonstrating his skills as a pilot. When he has an opportunity to blow up his mother’s ship, he doesn’t; he loves her far too much and cant physically bring himself to repeat the horror of killing Han. Unfortunately, one of the TIE pilots do instead. (later he is relieved to still feel his mother through the force.)

while in a medbay getting treatment for his scar, the force connects him with rey for the first time. both are surprised by this turn of events, and Kylo is more curious as to the logistics of the connection rather than being angry at the sudden appearance of his enemy.

connects with rey again as she is in the rain, still fascinated by how exactly the bond works. rey is still enraged by his presence as he casually mentions that Luke isnt the saintly figure she sees him as. Agrees with her as she angrily calls him a monster; instead of a taunt its actually a display of self-loathing. he then wipes his face after their connection ends, demonstrating that the bond they share permeates a physical space (as well as being a metaphor of the palpable tension between him and rey).

connects with rey again, this time with him in a state of partial undress. rey asks him if he could put a shirt on and he doesn't, despite the fact his shirt is on the desk a few feet away. the narrative purpose of this introduction is to show that rey is physically attracted to him and he knows it.

tells rey his story of Luke attempting to kill him, then tells her his nihilistic outlook of “letting the past die.” they disconnect, but rey ends up following his advice and explores the darker part of the island (a metaphor for HER darker side).

Later connects with rey again as she tearfully tells how alone she felt while in the cave attempting to find herself. Him, visibly touched by her story and the fact she trusts him enough to confess something so personal, tearfully tells her that she’s not alone. they then touch hands, doing so granting them visions of the supposed future. Luke angrily blasts apart the cabin, forcefully ending their connection.

Rey flies to him on the Supremacy, and he cuffs her to take her to snoke. (It’s important to mention that in the novel adaptation of the movie, it’s more of a playful and flirtatious banter between the two instead of a prisoner/hostage situation.) While on the elevator rey begs him to join her, as he counters and says that she’ll eventually join him instead.

While in snoke’s throne room, Kylo submissively kneels as snoke tortures rey for information. he occassionally looks up woefully at her, and eventually turns the saber on snoke after saying “he knows what he has to do.” He and rey team up to fight the Praetorian Guards and end up defeating them together.

Pleads with Rey to join him in leading the darkside as rey pleads with him to save the resistance fleet. Kylo tells her that he saw who her parents were and that she was nothing to them and had no place in that particular story. he then clumsily adds “but not to me” and begs her to join him again. the two then fight over the legacy saber, only to have it explode and knock them both back.

passed out from both the blast of the saber and Holdo blasting through the ship, kylo awakens to find rey gone. heartbroken and furious at her supposed betrayal of his trust, he violently declares himself the new Supreme Leader and orders an attack on Crait.

on Crait, he shows that not only is he deeply impulsive, but also an ultimately poor leader. he’s fine until noticing the millenium falcon, then finally loses it in a fury of rage and heartbreak. Luke skywalker understands the irrational state his nephew is in, and takes advantage of his irrationality to aid the resistance. his fight with luke was simply a distraction and taunt, resulting in a massive tactical failure.

kneels in defeat while clutching his father’s lucky dice, only to be connected with rey one more time. she distainfully “shuts the door” on him, and he recoils sadly as the dice disappear.

PRE-TROS

featured in supplimental material as a ruthless leader, hellbent on finding the resistance and eliminating threats to the First Order.

is shown to take plenty of self-assigned solo missions, implying that he doesnt truthfully care about the governmental aspect of being supreme leader.

TROS 

Begins the film on Mustafar, fighting a band of cultists dedicated to Darth Vader, taking the wayfinder they were protecting. in earlier drafts of the movie (as well as probable deleted scenes) Kylo then sees a character known as the Oracle on Mustafar, who cryptically tells him about Palpatine, Rey’s heritage, as well as his affection for rey that he attempts to deny.

he flies to Exogol, where he discovers that it was actually palpatine whos been manipulating him his entire life. threatens to kill palpatine but humors him as palpatine offers promises of utter domination if kylo could kill rey. naturally he has no intention of doing so.

Later connects with rey as she is training. its unclear if hes the one making the training droid react negatively to her or if hes simply observing her and attempting to catch her off-guard.

unites with the knights to rebuild his mask (for some reason).

informs the First Order officials he knows one of them is a spy (for some reason). 

connects with rey as she’s on pasaana, taunting her and stealing her necklace in order to track her location.

arrives to pasaana and witnesses rey trying to drag a ship down. holds back the ship in order to see if she’d tap into the dark side to bring it down, which she does.

follows rey to kijimi as she boards his ship and steals the dagger he has. tells her the “true history” of her parentage while also stating that he’d never lie to her. they fight (him on defensive) and she destroys his room. they meet again in person, him unmasking to show hes being sincere in proposing to her again; saying they’re a dyad and they belong together. she denies, again, and flees. 

meets her again on the Death Star, remarking that neither of them could return to the light since the pair of them are too far ingrained into the dark. He destroys the wayfinder she found, believing they’ll only get to Exogol together. they fight, again, with him on the defensive, again.

towards the end of their fight its clear that rey is exhausted, so he backs away and lowers his weapon. however, at this exact instance, Leia chooses to call out to him via the force. (it is unclear if she does this to distract him or if she does this because she knows she’s ill and wants to see him before she passes.) While he is distracted, rey grabs his saber and fatally stabs him. he collapses, feeling his mother’s death and the resignation that the woman hes in love with ended him. However, rey immediately regrets hurting him and uses the force to heal him. she confesses that had he been Ben rather than Kylo, she would’ve taken his hand. 

While gazing out to sea alone, Kylo hears the voice of his father. He turns, and it met with a vision of Han. Han tells him to “come home” and that the light within Ben was always there. Han caresses his cheek like he did in TFA. Ben, crying, starts to say something but is so overcome with emotion that all he can manage is “dad.” Han smiles and says “i know,” a callback to his line to Leia in ESB.  With the forgiveness of his father and the newfound strength and motivation, ben throws his saber into the ocean, effectively cementing his persona Kylo Ren officially dead.

as rey is in danger on Exogol, Ben flies an abandoned TIE (inferably left in the Death Star wreckage) there and sprints, armed with only a blaster, and launches himself into danger to help rey.

their bond connects as she’s about to pledge to the sith and as the knights of ren are about to kill him. he wordlessly assures her that he’s there for her and that its ok to reveal that shes part of a dyad. she agrees, passing along her saber to him through their bond. Ben kills the Knights as rey kills the sith guardians.

the pair of them reunite, but only for palpatine to sap their life force, made more powerful due to them being a dyad. once significantly weakened, Palpatine launches Ben into a pit. 

After defeating palpatine, rey dies. Ben manages to climb out of the pit and crawls over to rey, severely injured. he then embraces her lifeless body and cries for her, knowing then what he needs to do.

Ben heals rey with the force, bringing her back to life. Rey, elated to see him, cups his face as he cries and smiles feebly. she kisses him and caresses his face again, him smiling and chucking for the first time the entire series. At peace and healed by the redemptive power of being in love and having that person love him back in return.

he then immediately falls over dead and disappears into the force, thereby ruining all semblance of a skywalker legacy and redemption arc. FOR. SOME. REASON.

[pellelavellan-a]

Pelle’s Companion Verse

Recruitment:

Must complete What Lurks in the Shadows Quest. Pelle is opened as a companion option after leaving the area and completing two other quests. The quests are of no significance at all and can be any two quests in your Journal. Once two more are completed the next time you enter Skyhold a cut-scene will be unlocked where Pelle is standing in the war room with Leliana and three other scouts. Leliana informs the Inquisitor that she found Pelle standing near the gates of Haven looking quite obviously lost. Once Pelle explains that he changed his mind about his refused recruitment earlier at the end of What Lurks in the Shadows you are given the option to turn him down or to recruit him. 

Upon recruiting Pelle, an NPC will automatically appear in Haven in the Chantry, Faolan. While you can ask Pelle about his clan he does not speak in any great detail about himself. Mostly Deshanna, his people, their village, and the time they spent in Orlais.

Speaking to Faolan reveals more about Pelle personally. His childhood, his personality, his passion but also his flaws. More is revealed about Pelle’s personal life can be later revealed from NPCs Talwinne, Maevis, and Durgen who will appear after Calling in a Favor if they survive.

Approval:

General Approval:

Helping people, finding elven ruins, mage rights, speaking well of the dalish, history knowledge dialogue options, often approves of the most peaceful option in problem solving, learning about the inquisitor before they were inquisitor, asking him questions about the dalish, kindness, honesty, flirting (conditional)

General Disapproval:

Violent or aggressive actions/dialogue, lying, destroying elven graves, anti-mage rights, negative Dalish comments, racism, making anyone tranquil, disrespect or disregard for other’s religions and culture, Orlesians, killing judged characters, fliritng (conditional, it’s really about the timing of it)

Mages or Templars:

Inquisitor Sides with Mages : Greatly Approves

The Inquisitor Sides with Templars: Slightly Disapproves

The Inquisitor Recruits Mages as Allies: Greatly Approves

The Inquisitor Recruits Mages are Prisoners: Greatly Disapproves

The Inquisitor Recruits Templars as Allies: Disapproves

The Inquisitor Recruits Templars as Prisoners: Greatly Disapproves

Skyhold Hiding Place: Skyhold Garden

Here Lies the Abyss: 

Inquisitor Exiles Wardens: Disapproves

Inquisitor Recruits Wardens: Approves

Wicked Eyes Wicked Hearts:

Celene rules alone: Neutral

Celene and Briala rule together: Greatly Approves

Public Truce: Slightly Approves

Gaspard rules alone: Greatly Disapproves

Gaspard and Briala rule: Approves

What Pride Had Wrought:

The Inquisitor performs the rituals: Approves

The Inquisitor does not perform the rituals: Greatly Disapproves

The Inquisitor Allies with the Sentinels: Greatly Approves

The Inquisitor does not ally with the Sentinels: Disapproves

Breaking Samson’s armor: Approves

Sparing Calpernia: Approves

Fighting Calpernia: Greatly Disapproves

Drinking from the Well: Greatly Disapproves

Morrigan Drinks from the Well: Disapproves

Base Quests:

Calling in a Favor

Location: Skyhold

THIS QUEST HAS TWO ROUTES

High to Neutral Approval:

After Skyhold is unlocked, Pelle will approach the Inquisitor about a letter he received from his Clan near  regarding their safety. He will express that they are in danger and could potentially be killed if something isn’t done to help them. This unlocks a war table mission where you can choose to send troops, spies, or an ambassador to Pelle’s clan in order to help defuse the situation between the elves and the nearby humans.

Regardless of choice, the clan faces near extinction though the reason why is different based upon the choice. Even though his clan has been mostly killed, Pelle holds himself responsible for their fate and thanks you for trying to help them. He will then ask to be left alone for a little while. You can talk to him again after leaving the Skyhold for a bit and returning.

Three NPCs will appear in Skyhold after the completion of this mission named Talwinne, Maevis, and Durgen. All of them can be spoken to and interacted with and will provide extra information about Pelle.

Talwinne: Tells childhood stories about himself and Pelle, will talk about being a hunter, his father and blacksmithing, minimal dialogue about Aela.

Maevis: Will talk about how she became Pelle’s apprentice, minimal dialogue about her feelings about the clan being attacked. She will also talk about Deshanna’s last days after Pelle left home. 

Durgen: Will defend Pelle against Maevis’ claims that the massacre was his fault. Will ask any Inquisitor about themselves. He talks about his family that he lost save for his father who he left behind after a disagreement. Speaking with Durgen will also reveal information about Pelle having a lover prior to joining the Inquisition who died six months prior in Orlais. 

Very Low Approval

Pelle will assume that the Inquisitor cares little for the Dalish or for his concerns. Instead of asking for help he will take matters into his own hands and forge commands for soldiers to help his clan. The whole clan is murdered as well as the soldiers and Pelle comes clean to the Inquisitor about his crimes.

Pelle will insist upon being arrested and will become open for judgement. At judgement you will have the option to Free Him, Kick him out of the Inquisition, or Kill him.

Free Him - Disapproves

Kill Him - Approves

Kick Him Out - Slightly approves but is no longer an available Companion for the remainder of the game.

Romance:

Pelle can be romanced by any male Inquisitor regardless of race. While you can flirt with him in Haven he is cautious about getting close to the Inquisitor at first.Bringing him along in the party helps by unlocking banters in which the Inquisitor can occasionally interact with Pelle and another companion.

Once you have unlocked Skyhold, if your approval is high enough Pelle will approach the Inquisitor about the situation of his clan unlocking the Calling a Favor quest which can be completed at the war table. Once that is completed you have a chance to talk to Pelle about the result and console him about his clan’s fate. Flirting in this scene would be ill advised as he gets a little upset.

Once this quest is completed you may continue to flirt with him in casual conversations. After leaving the area and returning you unlock a cut scene where Pelle confronts the Inquisitor about the flirting. He seems a little uncertain and troubled. He will say cryptic weird things about whether or not what they’re doing is right. He will admit to liking the Inquisitor more than he should but that he does not know if becoming closer will be a mistake in the future. He will also ask that if the Inquisitor is just playing with him to simply tell him now rather than break his heart later.

If the Inquisitor says it’s simply casual: Greatly Disapproves

If the Inquisitor ultimately goes nevermind: Slightly Disapproves

If the Inquisitor pursues him anyway: Approves

The romance carries out from there on out and he will ask the Inquisitor how they feel about a little scandal (aka dancing at the Winter Palace)

His romance quests are unlocked after completing Wicked Eyes and Wicked Hearts,

if you do not complete Calling in a Favor before completing Wicked Eyes, Wicked Hearts his romance will be locked and you cannot initiate it.

High Approval/Romance Quests:

Making Amends ( War Table Mission)

Dust to Dust

Continue reading for Quest Descriptions

Making Amends 

Quest can only be unlocked after completing either Wicked Eyes, Wicked Hearts,

Location: Skyhold

Quest can be initiated after overhearing Pelle and Maevis bickering in the gardens. If you speak to Pelle after leaving Skyhold and returning he will confide in the Inquisitor that he has been arguing with his apprentice Maevis a lot lately and that she is very upset with him for joining the Inquisition. If you press for questions Pelle will tell you more about Maevis. Pelle generally expresses a deep concern for Maevis and her temper and notes that she is not adjusting well.

Finishing this conversation opens up a war table mission where Maevis and a few other scouts are said to have gone missing during their last mission. Leliana is the only option in learning the whereabouts of Maevis and the scouts. Once they are found you have the option to retrieve Maevis without Pelle or to tell Pelle and take him with you.

Dust to Dust - TWO ROUTES

Location: The Emerald Graves

You gain approval for telling Pelle about Maevis and the scouts. He will then suggest you go together to find all of them and bring them back to Skyhold.  There is also an option of this quest where you can neglect to inform Pelle and retrieve Maevis without him.

Looking for Maevis will reveal bodies of dead elves who appear to simply be peasants. The dead elves vary between men and women. The last dead elf found appears to be an Inquisition scout who appears noticeably younger than the rest. 

Once you locate Maevis and the scout’s whereabouts you are met with the body of two dead scouts and three thugs. The further you follow the path into the cavern the more dead bodies you find.

If Pelle is in the party he will at first be worried that Maevis may also be dead, but his concern shifts halfway from Maevis is hurt to Maevis is behind it.

Maevis is found at the end of the cavern, this initiates a cut-scene

If Pelle is in the Party: Maevis will beg for Pelle to stay away from her and claim that she does not want to harm him. When he presses on she becomes furious and demands he stay back a second time. Pelle will insist that he only wants to help her and will approach her directly. 

If Pelle is not in the Party: Maevis will ask where Pelle is. She will instantly becomes upset at Pelle and start to say that Pelle did not even care to notice she was missing and had as much resolve to find her as he did to help the Dalish.

If Pelle is present he is able to talk Maevis down. She tells him about the band of thugs who were murdering elves for sport who killed her friend and the other elves you found out in the graves. She confesses to letting her anger get the better of her but that the men deserved to die and that she intended to teach them. But what is more troubling to him is that she has made a deal with a rage demon and that she is very scared. He will try to reassure her that he will do everything he can to help her and will offer to take her back to Skyhold.

If the Inquisitor expresses any form or disgust with Maevis, or calls her an abomination, Pelle will become very angry with the Inquisitor and says they will have a discussion when they return to Skyhold.

If Pelle is not brought along,  Maevis’ rage slowly begins to shift until she is revealed to have made a deal with a demon and transforms into an abomination. At this point you are forced to kill Maevis. Upon killing her, her journal is found as a drop item.

When you return to Skyhold:

If Pelle was there and was able to talk Maevis down and everything went well. He will thank the Inquisitor for helping him find Maevis. He will also say he owes the Inquisitor, and that if the Inquisitor ever needs anything they need only ask.

Additionally he will ask the Inquisitor what he thinks of what became of Maevis now that she is out of ear shot. He will also confess to be left at a moral loss as he does not know if what she did was right or wrong.

If he was brought along but the Inquisitor expressed any disgust with Maevis or even so much as hints that Maevis is an abomination, Pelle will confront the Inquisitor about it back in Skyhold. He will tell the Inquisitor how insensitive it was to say to Maevis when she was in such a vulnerable state. Based upon how the conversation carries out Pelle will either let it go and give the Inquisitor the benefit of the doubt that they put their foot in their mouth, or if the conversation goes south he will break up with the Inquisitor terminating Pelle’s Romance.

If Pelle was not in the party, you will have to return to Skyhold and return Maevis’ journal to him to complete the quest. If this route is taken, Pelle is furious with the Inquisitor for not only taking such a personal matter into their own hands but also murdering his apprentice in the process. This route results in an immediate termination of Pelle’s Romance.

Additional Facts:

If Pelle is broken up with, he becomes very curt with the Inquisitor and is not usually willing to talk. It unlocks some banters involving Pelle and Cole in which Cole will express Pelle’s feelings of shattered trust in the Inquisitor. While Pelle’s approach to the Inquisitor is often abrasive and short, listening to Cole address Pelle’s feelings about their relationship shows that Pelle is actually very sad.

If Route B of Calling In A Favor Occurs and Pelle is not killed or imprisoned, it also unlocks Cole and Pelle banters where Cole is reading into Pelle’s mind about the guilt towards what happened to his clan, and the fact that he was simply walking a free man despite having killed so many people.

Pelle’s “Romance Scene” cannot be unlocked until after Dust to Dust is completed. It will only be activated if A.) Maevis is rescued and returned to Skyhold with no complications, or B.) Maevis is rescued and returned to Skyhold but Pelle confronts the Inquisitor about their behavior and forgives them.

Pelle’s staff is not able to be unequipped, it also cannot be modified. The stats of his stats improve with him as he levels up. This is because he is very stubborn about anyone handling Deshanna’s staff except for himself. 

Should Pelle and a romanced Inquisitor part ways after Trespasser he will gift them his Keeper’s Ring as a promise ring. 

[ionizedyeast]

Title: 0180304 - Workplace Relationship Part 1/2 “Statement of Nelson Briar, Head of Folklore and Legend Research of the Magnus Institute, and his relationship and events surrounding Michael Shelley prior to becoming the Distortion. Statement given --.”

“That’s enough, let’s get right to it, Jon. You know, I’m the reason Elias had to start being more lax about employee relationships within the Institute. It’s not like we had been keeping anything secret, though. Gertrude knew before anyone else and then Diane did. And as far as I know, we were close to being the primary reason for gossip. But you’re not here to listen to me talk about the watercooler chatter of the Magnus Institute. You want to know what happened with me and Michael before well. . . Before I lost him.

I came here from the States back in late 2006. I had just started a Master’s program and had been working in the Usher Foundation back in DC since I was an undergrad. My area of study was well received by the Foundation and thankfully the Institute was more than willing to have me as a grad student in residence. I would have the chance to utilize any of their resources for my studies. Well, not any. It’s funny, knowing what I know now about the Institute, I’ve got to say there were loads of red flags about me coming out here. Probably starting with the fact the Lukas family funded my transfer and were going to cover my education. But I didn’t know anything about the Lukases back then. We have our own cryptic families back in Washington and as far as we were concerned, the Institute had a keen grasp on whatever the Lukases were doing, and weren’t our problem.

You had just started around that time too, hadn’t you, Jon? Wasn’t I your immediate superior for a while? I forget, I still can’t quite figure out the hierarchy here. You’re Head Archivist. I’m Head of Folklore -- are we equals in the Institute or are were on completely different levels. Ah, nevermind, we can talk about that outside of the recording. Reminiscing can wait.

I was, I think I was the third in residence student-employee the Institute had taken in. My predecessors had long since finished their studies and moved on elsewhere. South Africa and Russia, if I recall. I never had the chance to meet them, but as far as what Elias had told me in during my orientation, that’s what I had gathered about them. Wonder what they’re up to. . . But I digress. I was the third, but I was the first that was actively using the archive statements as fodder for my research. See, my focus area was in covering unifying themes throughout world cultures through the means of folklore. Obviously we’ve got the standards -- creation myths, the afterlife, explanations of nature, harvest -- the usual. But my studies were taking me elsewhere. To concepts that overlapped and had uncanny similarities, even when the cultures were worlds away. Some could be explained as just the natural need for humans to find comfort in what they didn’t understand. Death and the dark were most common. I could always figure out ways to connect these points, even if the cultures were wildly different. What was the geography like? The weather during this time period. How were their relations with nearby enemy and ally communities? I could usually pinpoint what needed to be explained and tied together. But some things I never could quite get a grasp on.

You see, Jon, in my decade plus at the Institute, I’ve probably dug too deep for just a simple scholar. I don’t study to know things for a sense of omniscience. I study to satisfy my own curiosity. While it’s always a thrill to share my academic findings with anyone who will listen, it’s always been primarily a personal gain. So I suppose that was one reason why Elias ended up granting me permission to study the archives. With limitations of course. Gertrude wasn’t the most thrilled about it. But I was not prying through with the intentions of exposing the secrets I uncovered to the world. No, it was for myself. And somewhere down the line, well, I wouldn’t call myself an expert by any means. But I did find myself very familiar with some common trends. Of course this wouldn’t all come in to play until some time after Michael, er, vanished.

Michael and I met sometime in early 2007. I had been here for a few months and I was bouncing between working as a shelver in the library and a research assistant -- we briefly were colleagues at this time, though back then we never really spoke to one another. What a shame. Imagine how close we’d be now if we had. 

It wasn’t exactly what I would call a remarkable meeting. Gertrude had sent him to the library to have access to our private records for some sort of report but we didn’t have anyone to accompany him at the time so we just talked. I called him enormous or something to that extent -- I’m a small guy, Jon. I’m easily astounded at tall people -- he found my reaction funny. Somehow or another he mentioned the kind of research he was conducting for Gertrude and it was actually something I had quite a bit of experience in. I’d just had an article get published about the topic, so I talked his ear off for a bit before Diane came to take him to the back. Michael came back to the library at the end of the day and asked I’d like to get a coffee with him sometime. Didn’t realize it was a date until the third time we’d gone out for coffee and he started buying. It was casual dating, you know what I mean? The kind where you spend the first few dates just getting to know one another. Talking about what you had in common. What hobbies you had. Your friends. Family. Rather commonplace stuff just to test the waters. And while we had a few disagreements in interests, we kept coming back to the things we did have in common. You’ll have to forgive me, but when it comes to other people’s perceptions of me, I am very dense. Beyond the surface level of ‘this person likes me’, ‘this person tolerates me’ and ‘this person dislikes me’ I have an incredibly difficult time reading people. Even when Michael was holding my hand on our forth date, I still kept telling myself, “Oh Nel, he’s one of those people that uses physical contact to show he’s engaged in conversation.” And frankly it wasn’t until I started sleeping with him -- oh, christ, too much? Sorry, not really the right sort of content to be sharing. But you see my point. I didn’t realize Michael and I had been legitimately dating for nearly eight months. Sometimes I wonder if perhaps I’d realized sooner, he wouldn’t have -- you know what, nevermind. There’s no use dwelling on it. Michael is dead. He gave himself up to stop the Spiral’s ritual and that’s all that matters. He did us a service but well, it put me into a bind. Kind of literally. I’ll fast forward through our relationship -- we were all but short of living together. My apartment was too small. Would you believe it was Lukas housing? And he was living too far for me to comfortably be able to commute after my longer days. He was something of a rock for me on my rough days where I’d be at the Institute well into the night. I didn’t like being there late. Always felt like someone was watching me. Heh, well, it wasn’t paranoia. And present me is glad to reassure past Nelson that no, he was not being an anxious mess. He really was being watched. Some nights Michael would stay with me until I finished what I had been working on. Other nights he’d make a point of coming back later in the evening to check on me only to have to wake me up and send me home. Sometimes I wonder if he had ever actually gone home those days. He’d become wrapped up in his own studies under Gertrude. It wasn’t my business so I never asked unless he chose to share.

That’s a lie, and you know it, don’t you? I was a snoop. I would hear Michael mentioning things some nights when I stayed at his place. Whatever it was Gertrude was having him do, it was eating at him. He talked about always being afraid he was taking the wrong door when he was going places. He’d started taking photographs of the doors he used most often. Told me to make sure it was so he wouldn’t get lost. He didn’t want to go somewhere he couldn’t leave. I suggested he put something on the doors he used most so he wouldn’t get confused. But it didn’t seem to reassure him. Some nights he didn’t sleep at all. He’d either just lay in bed with me until the sun came up. Some mornings I’d wake up to find him facing a wall, hand outstretched as if he were taking a doorknob. He would always be so relieved when I called out to him. He’d always settle into bed next to me and he wouldn’t speak. He would just hang tight on to me and just remain still and silent. Now, trust me, Michael was not mentally ill. I mean, your standard depression and anxiety like nearly everyone our age, but he wasn’t unmedicated, nor was he struggling with anything else. Or maybe he was and he just didn’t know. But I genuinely believe -- no, I know -- that how he was acting was not a sign of mental illness. Something had him. I can only say now that I know something had him, because I know what happened now. He only started acting himself again in the days before he and Gertrude left. He was excited. Talked about how thrilled he was to be needed for something so important. He loved his work and he was very dedicated to aiding Gertrude in her work as well. And he was himself again for a short while. We’d been together I think a little over two years at this point. Longest I’ve ever been with a man. Most men get turned off by me being trans so early in the relationship, but Michael didn’t mind. He just liked me and I have to say, hiccups in his health aside, I think we were very happy together. He was so optimistic that week before -- said that he thought that it was time that we moved in together properly. He said he’d seen some places for rent a bit closer to the Institute that on our combined income would be a walk in the park. He wanted to know if my parents were ever going to be visiting London again because he felt he was ready to meet them. After two years together of us being content in our stations, suddenly he was ready to make more of these commitments with me and honestly. . .I couldn’t have been happier. I was half expecting him to mention marriage at some point, but it still seemed a bit soon for that. But I wouldn’t have said no. We were happy. And when he woke me up before leaving for his flight, kissed me and told me he loved me -- I was sure I had such a bright future to look forward to. I was absolutely in love with Michael Shelley, and. . .

You know how the Spiral is the concept of the fear of lies and deception? You know how it alters your perception of reality? You know how it twists and writhes and fills you with doubt and frustration? With how it makes you question anything and everything in your life? Imagine all of that culminating at once. Imagine suddenly being stricken by the anger and betrayal of whether or not this man you absolutely adored was lying to you. Betrayal of ones feelings I think might be the absolute worst thing you could ever experience.

I had eagerly counted down the days of Michael’s return. It was all I could hope for. I had found a few places I wanted to look at with him. I’d even called my parents back in Massachusetts to tell them the good news. And when Gertrude came back alone? She pulled me aside and told me at the very least she owed me some sort of answer. I had thought Michael maybe had just gone straight home and gone to bed. He probably had some sort of jetlag and needed to rest. But all she told me was that Michael would not be coming back. And she wouldn’t say anything more.

I found out what happened on my own. Though I think Elias may have had something to do with it. Who am I kidding, I know he had something, maybe everything to do with it. My access to the archives was cut off after Michael left. I wasn’t allowed in unless Gertrude saw it absolutely necessary and I was under strict supervision. In the past she’d noticed that I’d swipe the occasional statement for a few days before returning it and she wasn’t...too fond of that. Or me in general. I think her general dislike of me is half the reason, if not all the reason I never joined the archives team, despite being a perfect fit for the position. No, it wasn’t just Elias. Michael I think left me hints too. I had gone to his apartment after a week thinking maybe he might have actually needed some space before we moved in together and that’s why Gertrude was being cryptic because she didn’t know herself. But when I got there, the apartment had been untouched since I’d left for work the morning of Michael’s departure. Everything was in its place. I spoke to his landlord, mentioned that he had disappeared and that the place needed to be cleaned out. But as it were, before he left he’d put my name on the lease somehow. It had seemed he might have actually prepared for this. I mean, I know now that he had. But back then I was so angry. But I couldn’t just express it. I felt like nothing made sense. I felt like he had abandoned me, but in such a way where he wanted me to be taken care of in his absence. I didn’t understand any of it. Rent had been paid up for the next few months and I was able to use this time to take care of my own affairs. I moved in to Michael’s apartment. I kept his name on the least just in case. I decided I’d rather have a longer nightly commute home than live in that lonely apartment of mine. I’d like some sort of company even if it was in the form of Michael’s belongings. The unfortunate side was that the apartment now had twice as much stuff and I had to do some cleaning. It was while I was cleaning, I found some of Michael’s hints. Statements that I had never laid my eyes on. Photocopies of ones that were likely still in the archive. In truth, Michael had been lying to me. More than he let on. But now I realize it had been a lie to protect me. He could only do so much for me while he was around though, ‘cause before you knew it, I was absorbing as much information as I possibly could about what he’d left behind for me to read. It was astounding. What he’d left for me perfectly summed up so many of the connections in the study I’d been finishing for my grad studies. Who would have guessed that my own boyfriends disappearance would have led to me completing my degree! I say this happily, but it’s breaking my heart to do so. I really loved Michael, you know. I couldn’t really bear the idea of being without him. Maybe that’s what pushed me to start breaking into the archives late at night. Maybe that’s how and why Elias started watching me. I don’t know if it was because he disapproved of what I was doing, or if he was just curious. I, uh, I don’t know if you’ve caught on. But Elias doesn’t watch all of us. Just those he thinks have some sort of weight. It probably had to do with how much I buried myself in what Michael left behind for me. After I obtained my degree all I could do was start researching. In hindsight, I probably shouldn’t have signed the proper employment contract. 20/20 as they say. I was obsessed, Jon. The moment I found out Sannikov Land wasn’t real, I lost myself. I tore apart the myths and legends I’d been studying my entire life to find some sort of hint or connections between what Michael left for me and the truth of it all. You’ll um, have to forgive me a bit if the rest sounds a little disjointed. Between Michael’s disappearance and Gertrude’s death, my grasp on reality started to. Slip? None of my memories connect smoothly. There’s patches. Blanks in time. I can only take a guess that these were from periods where I was lost in my own mania.

I wouldn’t say the Spiral had me yet. But it was definitely effecting my daily life. Like Michael, I started to see the doors. I started to find myself caught in lies and deception and doing whatever I could to find answers. I was living to deceive as long as it benefited me and my search. And like it had always been. They were selfish pursuits. It was knowledge I had to know for myself. It was knowledge I needed to obtain because I needed to find out what happened to Michael. Elias never intervened. He never tried to stop me. I have a couple memories of him pulling me aside and supplying me with some information that might help steer me on the right path. Or maybe the wrong one. I don’t know. Like I said. Those years were hazy. But he always seemed so pleased by my progress. He knew then. He had to know. This is Elias we’re talking about. He had to have known where I was headed. Jackass... I don’t have much clarify until shortly after Gertrude died. I had been in the halls. I was staring at something on the wall -- probably a door. I passed Elias. He didn’t look right. He looked like he was staring through me. Said something about how someone should lock the archives. Gertrude had passed away and he needed to make sure the room was locked up until someone new was hired. He handed me a key and sent me on my way. I think he was telling me to take what I needed if it would help me in my search for Michael. Whatever it is I had found, that was when I think I had finally succumbed to the Spiral’s influence over me. 

You know the funny part about this. . .We didn’t hear that Gertrude passed away for another three days. I suppose that’s the funny thing about being touched by the Spiral. You just accept the falsehoods, even when you know they’re falsehoods. And in the end? It benefited me. Just as I always wanted.

Since I’m being honest here. Being in that labyrinth was the first time in years I actually didn’t feel like I was losing my mind. I wasn’t scared. In fact it felt like taking a walk in the park. I held a large armful of folders of statements in my arms. And all I did was walk. I passed countless doors and passages and turned through winding corners and corridors and nothing about it filled me with any dread or unease. It felt like I belonged there. I say this knowing full well that my comfort likely had something to do with being in the domain of what had been driving me those past few years. I don’t think the Distortion liked my reaction, though. At one point, I found a dead end. There was only one door, and when I opened it, I was back in my office.  I didn’t imagine it, of course. That wouldn’t be the first time I ventured there. I usually went in of my own volition. I don’t know if the Distortion found me to be a nuisance or not. But whenever I saw a new door, I simply would knock first and announce I was coming in. And whenever I went in, it was just the same. An odd comfort like I belonged there. I felt like a visitor in someone’s home. It was like when I first started to spend the night at Michael’s. It was as if the halls were no harm to me, even though it was not my dwelling. I was allowed to be there. Perhaps I was even being invited. But if the Spiral disliked my presence, it never did so in such a way that caused me any fear or harm.

 It was my third time within the Spiral that I started calling out.

I had done enough research by now and learned enough to know what the Spiral was. What it could do. Where it was leading me. And to know all about Michael’s connection to it. And I started to call his name, hoping I might hear him respond. I didn’t want to believe he was dead yet. I wanted to believe he was somewhere within these halls and he needed to be found. Even at the cost of myself, I wasn’t going to leave him. And then, it hit me. The more I called for him, the more welcoming the halls became. The more I began to find that I wasn’t just comfortable. I was welcome. I was able to spend more and more time in the Spiral each time. I knew quite well that I was likely losing more and more of myself with each trip. I would talk to no one, or perhaps someone, whenever I was there. I would have conversations with whatever was residing in the halls. Like I was spending my time with a friend. Like I was talking to Michael. Maybe it was something I did to keep myself grounded the deeper I ventured. When I came out, I often could not sleep. I wouldn’t show up to work for days at a time, either due to the passage of time itself in the Spiral, or just because I couldn’t find the strength. My visits only began to slow when I started to notice the door in Michael’s apartment. It had stopped appearing anywhere else. Just Michael’s place. There had been something etched into the door. The method I had given Michael about how to be sure the doors he used in his regular life were the right ones. There had been a slight carving around the doorknob. I had etched it into the door of Michael’s apartment back when he first started to show signs of concern. It was his door. But he was not here to open it. It sat across from our bed, like it was waiting for me. It wanted me to open it. But this time, I was not invited to come inside. So I did something else. I just opened it. I opened the door and I left it open wide. And I said that whatever was in there that wanted to see me so badly could come out. This was a new behavior. And I welcomed it, just as it had welcomed me. That was when I met the Distortion.

It didn’t look like Michael when I first met with it. It looked like a young woman, maybe late teens. Dark skin and hair but her shoulders were unnaturally hunched up and her hands. They were so long and spindly. She was dressed in gym wear, a loose, cut up t-shirt and yoga pants. And she sat on the bed in front of me. I left the door open. Day in, day out. I had left an invitation for the Spiral to come in to my residence and it took a week or so before it took form and visited me. I had managed to be sleeping that night, but something stirred in me and caused me to wake up. And I found it sitting cross legged on the bed. Just staring at me. I don’t think the Spiral had decided to use Michael’s form yet when it came to mingling with people yet. Maybe I was the reason it started to, but I wasn’t sure. Still not.

It asked me a question. It’s voice unnerved me and it smiled at me as it spoke and there was something so wholly unsettling about that smile. Like my head was aching from just looking at it. And it asked what was so important that I was always coming in its doors. It told me it was quite bothered by my coming in and making no means of trying to escape, or find its center. It didn’t like that I was searching for someone rather than something. I told it that I was looking for my boyfriend. He was inside there somewhere and I was going to bring him out. I’m not sure if it liked that response but it left after that. Not for good, because a few nights later the same thing happened. But this time, it sat in the form of a man. He was about forty or so, olive skin, light hair with a stern, crooked nose and a scruffy beard. It asked if this was the person I had been looking for. And I said no. And it was gone again. This went on every few nights for, god, close to a year. Each time I would give it another bit about how Michael looked. I tried to show it a photograph before but when it looked at my phone, the screen just went fuzzy and I had to restarted it in order for it to work right again.

Until one night it got it right. It spoke in the same voice, although there was a different, almost feedback like twang to the way it spoke to me. And when I awoke, the Spiral had gotten it right. I saw my Michael sitting on the bed in front of me and the sight of him was enough to get me to throw off my covers and kneel in front of him, hands upon his face. I must have been crying or maybe it was looking straight at the Spiral, but I couldn’t get a clear look at him. I told it that it was right and this was the person I was looking for. And I needed him back.

And you know what it said?

‘No, I don’t think so.’

I don’t think I had ever been so scared to see Michael’s smile. It just smiled at me and it ran the tip of one of those long, spindly fingers under my chin and I hadn’t even registered that it had made me bleed. And it just said ‘No, I think I shall keep this one a little more. See how far you’re willing to go to get him back.’

And it went into the door again. This time it smiled the whole way. And when the door closed. I was immediately on my feet to run at it to chase it down. But the door was gone. 

I took something equivalent to a sabbatical a few weeks later, Jon -- it was around the time you started as archivist. Tim had been working beneath me before my sabbatical and I think that’s part of what drove him to join your team. I was going to be gone for a few months and I wouldn’t have the chance to give him any work to do. Elias was more than happy to give me the time off, but he did something to me. I think as assurance I wouldn’t go running away forever. I think I had started to become a threat to him in some way. Not sure how. Still not. Part of me is somewhat convinced that Elias was planning on using me to get the Spiral to touch you, but I don’t things went exactly as he expected. Especially considering the Spiral had plans of its own.

I was on leave for about three months. I took a few weeks to fly back to the States to visit my parents and check in with the Foundation. I checked in with the archive staff there to see if I could scour some of their resources for what I had been experiencing. But we were never as well equipped with statements as the Magnus Institute. I found a lot of my efforts there weren’t really worth my time. Although I did learn a little about a few groups in North America that had their eye -- Jon, keep an eye out on the Codley family of New York. They’re a cult family, but I wasn’t able to pinpoint of what exactly. If I find out more, I’ll let you know.  I only met one person back at the Usher Foundation that knew anything that might help me. In fact, it was their own archivist, man by the name of Warren Chase. I’m actually still in touch with him, if you ever want to meet him. He seems to be following your accounts pretty intensely. Said that he’s been having duplicates of your statements and recordings sent to him. We know who’s to blame for that, obviously. Truth be told, he’d asked me to come back to the Foundation. He wanted me to join his team, but I had to decline. Work here is far too time consuming. But, you see, Warren hadn’t been touched by the Spiral, but he’d been touched by the Stranger. Stranger apparently is very tied in with the Foundation. Something to do with the number of secret organization and secret government activities happening back in the States that there are people within our own organizations that are not what they seem to be.  Now, Warren seemed to be far more optimistic about my situation than I was. Told me that if one can keep their head when dealing with these entities, you can retrieve someone lost to them. I mean...you were able to bring back Daisy. I’ve had no such luck.

Jon, I know Michael’s gone now. The Spiral swaps its forms whenever it so chooses and I know it discarded Michael’s form when I. . .When I took too long. I’ve met it as it is now. Helen is the name of the woman it appears as. It’s told me that I knows me, but it has no attachment for me now like it had when it was Michael. It knows Michael had loved me. 

But it was the time that the Distortion was Michael that was what ultimately brought me to where I am. I’m just one foray or so away from becoming its next avatar at this point and I mean it when I say that I am absolutely fine with that.  I spent the time of my leave looking for those doors. Looking for how to get into the Spiral from other entrance ways and other methods to get myself lost in those halls again. This time from a new vantage point, from a new perspective. I was going to find Michael and I was going to bring him home! And I like to think that I nearly succeeded. It might sound absurd to you but, I think I had become something like friends with the Spiral by the time I had figured some things out. It probably started when I had encountered it behind a bar during my last few days in the States before returning to London. It was preying on this young woman who was trying to tell her friends about this store she’d kept passing each day on her home from work, and each time she would try to take someone there it was always an old butcher’s shop, long since closed down. I had noticed the Spiral lurking around and when I found myself in the men’s room looking at what appeared to be a door to the outside, I stepped out of the room and found the actual entrance to the back of the bar.  The Spiral had been waiting for me, wearing Michael’s face as it had grown fond of doing. And I told it that I had figured one thing out. I knew that just because it looked like Michael, it was not Michael. And I think that curried my favor with it a bit. It liked that I was playing its game and calling its bluff. And it became just that with me and the Distortion. A game between the two of us. The Spiral in its own way was entertained by my dedication. And somewhere down the line, I think we became, well, I like to think we had become friends. Or as close to friends as you can be wit the entity of Deceit.” And Nelson stops, and he stands up and smiles at Jon. “I think this is where you say ‘Statement ends’ isn’t it?” The recording does not stop, but Jon looks up at the researcher who has now raised to his feet and offered a smirk to the archivist. “You’d be surprised how many of us can be touched by our host without losing our wits. Maybe I’ll indulge you with the rest sometime. Take care, Jon.”

[buckybabybaby]

Mr Hollywood (Chapter 9)

Summary: Bucky Barnes, an underpaid teaching assistant in a small English village, dreams of a movie career back in his home country of America. He finally gets the break he's always wanted, and if it wasn't for you, his best friend, he wouldn't have been able to take it.

But is that fact enough to save your friendship when it's tested by the pressures of Hollywood?

Pairing: Bucky Barnes/Reader (Gender Neutral)

Word count: 2089

Chapter summary: The summer fête is upon you! And Bucky returns again.

Warnings: a little bit mpre angst...

Previous: Chapter 8

Mr Hollywood Masterlist | Main Masterlist

*****

The day of the fête dawns bright and breezy. Perfect conditions, you couldn't really ask for more given the time of year, but that doesn’t stop the scowl forming on your face as you make the short walk to school. Going in to work on a Saturday always feels somewhat wrong, and that uneasy feeling is multiplied ten times knowing who's going to be there.

It's been a tough week, hiding how you actually feel about Bucky returning when the children are besides themselves, excited to welcome back such a star. Everyone remembers how inseparable the two of you were when he worked here, and as far as they know, nothings changed, so there's been a few awkward conversations in the past days where you've not known if your fake excitement has been believable. Only Peggy knows the truth. Edwin has his suspicions, you know, after witnessing your less than enthusiastic reactions to the prospect of your supposed best friend visiting, and he'd patted your hand gently when you'd slumped next to him in the staff room one lunchtime.

“Coming back home helps people realise what they've missed,” He'd said cryptically, leaving you to your sandwiches. A tiny flicker of hope had flared at his words, one you'd quickly push down. Edwin hadn't heard Bucky that day, didn't know how vicious he'd been, or the cruel look in his eye as he'd broken your heart. Your colleagues kindness is appreciated, but at this point there doesn't seem any chance of saving what you had.

*****

Reaching the school, you breathe evenly to keep yourself calm. Somebody’s got hold of a cardboard cut-out of Bucky's character, whatever his name may be, and it's currently resting in the entrance hall alongside the crates of bric-a-brac and sweets for the tombola stand you're tending.

Just looking at his picture makes you feel sick. It doesn't help that his face has almost the same look on it as last time you saw him, that piercing glower sending a shiver through you. From what you've overheard the programme he's in is a sort of comedy drama, based around comic book characters, which explains his metal arm and combat gear, and the dramatic, side on pose, that you would have teased him about in better times.

Peggy brushes past you, breaking your staring match with the two dimensional image of Bucky as she grabs a box. You also pick one up, following her out to the table where a Year Three is carefully arranging the prizes on your stall. It takes a while to organise all the items neatly, and you get so sucked into a conversation with your little helper, Edwin's oldest daughter, Isabella, that you nearly forget why you were dreading this day.

A laugh, so recognisable, floats across the playground in your direction and you drop the saucer you're holding. Thankfully it doesn't shatter, and you turn your head subtly to look over, breath hitching as you catch sight of him, flanked by the head teacher and too many students to count. Isabella clearly wishes to join them, and you let her go, needing a little time alone to process his presence.

Your hands are visibly trembling. If you thought you felt ill earlier it's nothing compared to now, you haven’t prepared yourself to actually be within eyesight of Bucky again, and you sag, taking a seat before your legs give out. Peggy passes by, spots the source of your terror, and squeezes your shoulder comfortingly.

“I'm okay.” You smile through your lie, staring over at the growing group of children wanting attention from Hollywood's newest heartthrob. Bucky runs a hand through his hair, a nervous tick of his you remember well, and you notice that the length of his waves is much shorter than in all the promotional pictures and videos.

“I didn't even spot that. Must be a wig.” Peggy muses, thinking along the same line as you. “Why don't you ask?” She looks at you expectantly, remaining confident that you and Bucky can sort out your differences.

Glaring, you choose not to reply. You're still annoyed at her for letting this come to be, even though you know it's not her fault. Realising you're not in the mood to hear her thoughts, she part ways silently to attend to her own duties, leaving you alone to spy on Bucky from a distance.

He appears to be being as friendly and patience with the children as he always was. Watching him smile as they congregate around his feet, he looks so far away from the man who caused you so much pain just a couple of weeks ago.

The student given the honour of showing him around starts to lead him towards your side of the field and you panic and do the one thing you can, slipping off your chair and under your stall, pulling the billowing tablecloth back in front of your body. Keeping quiet, you wait in the shadows feeling like a coward. The group roams by the cave you've made for yourself, and you breathe again, reassured that he's going to be busy officially opening the fête in a couple of minutes. Taking a second to make sure he's long gone, the last thing you expect is anyone to find you.

“Why are you hiding?”

Jumping in shock, you hit your head on the bottom of the table as you're greeted by the face of Isabella again. She's observing you with a slight frown, crouching down to sit opposite you. Rubbing the sore spot at the top of your head, you think of how to excuse your strange behaviour.

“Is it because Mr Barnes is someone else's best friend now?” She asks bluntly before you have a chance to explain yourself. “Or was he mean to you?”

You laugh in surprise, shaking your head at her forwardness. She's spot on somehow, and then you remember meeting her mother and it's obvious where she gets it from.

“He wasn't mean to me. Look.” Shoving a postcard in your face, you take it from her. It's the same picture of the two characters that has been everywhere for the last month, this one scribbled across with a black pen, a rushed copy of Bucky's signature. Not the one he uses for official paperwork, you can see, rather just the first half in a fancier script, and with a smiley face at the end.

The sight brings a lump to your throat.

“That's lovely, Isabella.”

“We always thought you'd get married to him,” She whispers conspiratorially.

Biting your tongue to stop yourself swearing in front of a seven year old, and a pupil, you struggle to find the right thing to say.

“Oh really. And who's 'we'?”

“Everyone. Even Daddy.”

Blinking, stunned, you diffuse the situation quickly, rising from under the table and brushing yourself down as you help her up too.

“I've just had an idea. Wouldn't your parents like to see your signed poster? Look, there they are,” You point her in their direction, “Why don't you go show them?”

She skips off happily and you rest your weight on the edge of the table, overwhelmed. How you were unaware of everyone's gossip about your relationship with Bucky, you don't know, and it must be bad if even the younger children are involved.

Pressing your fingers into your temple, you sigh, longing for this day to be done with.

There's a shuffling in the deserted vegetable patch at the back of your stand, probably another teacher taking a break from the mayhem of the day, and you pay them no mind until they come to a stop behind you.

“Y/N.”

Closing your eyes, you don't need to turn around to know who it is. The universe just doesn't want to give you a break today. When you continue to face away from him, he squeezes between your tent and the next until he's standing directly in front of you.

“Hello.” Bucky offers you a small smile and you gawk at his nerve.

What is he trying to achieve here? Hasn't he hurt you enough? There's nothing you want to say to him, not here, not like this, so controlling your expression you coolly meet his gaze.

“James.”

He winces at the name. You haven't called him that for years, he only allows close friends and family to address him as Bucky, and it became apparent you'd be one of his closest very early on.

Despite your attitude, he pushes on. “Can I talk to you?”

“I think you've done quite enough talking,” You mutter under your breath. He hears, evident from the shock flashing over his face, and you feel a jolt of spiteful joy at the way he takes half a step back.

There's currently no one looking to buy a ticket for your tombola, which you use to your advantage. “Got to get a drink, sorry!” You call over your shoulder, keeping up the pretence of still being on good terms, for the sake of the students.

Bucky moves to pursue you with a desperate cry of your name that you ignore, escaping as he's once again mobbed by his new fans.

*****

Later, as you pack up your stall, it's apparent Bucky doesn't want to talk to you that urgently, as there's no sign of him now the crowds have gone. You don't know if you feel relieved or disappointed. You'd sent Isabella back to her father, mostly to let her enjoy her weekend, but also because you don't think you'd survive another round of her questioning. For a seven year old, she is remarkably perceptive, and her age means she still lacks the social graces to know when to stop.

You've made quite a bit from your sales, the amount in the cash tin picks your mood up, and as a treat for surviving being in the same location as Bucky you buy the biggest cake you can from the catering stand. Today has been exhausting and you crave a little solitude to unwind.

*****

That night, you can't sleep again. The winds picked up during the evening, throwing branches from the small tree in the front garden against your bedroom window, but that's not the sole reason you're awake. Your mind hasn't stopped racing since your interaction with Bucky. Why did he have to come back and confuse your feelings further? Your head hurts, and not from the bump earlier, the swirling emotions preventing you from relaxing enough to get any rest.

Admitting defeat, you sit up and stare at the wall. The clock on your bedside table reads two forty seven, and you decide that that is an excellent time to go for a walk down the lane. Sliding your feet into the easiest shoes you can, your gardening wellies, you pull on your coat and pick up your keys, quietly opening and relocking your front door as you embrace the fresh air. Wandering with no particular destination in mind, you find yourself pausing in front of the school. The pass-code is entered into the side gate before you can really think about it, and you slowly crunch along the gravel path up to the adventure play area.

That's when you see them. Your blood runs cold as you freeze, cursing yourself for not bringing your phone with you, the figure sitting on the swings resembling something out of those horror movies you've always avoided. Assessing your surroundings, you consider the option of blending into the bushes nearby until the stranger has left.

Then they move and you nearly cry in relief that it's not a serial killer out to get stupid teachers breaking into school in the middle of the night. There's no mistaking that hair, even in the artificial orange glow of the street lights, and your heart rate remains at the same frantic pace as a new fear over takes you.

You could walk away, pretend you haven't seen him, and just get on with your life knowing you won't have to talk him ever again if you wish. Or you could confront him, and maybe get some answers to your many questions. The second options wins, even though the thought of your warm, safe bed, that doesn't hate you, is very tempting, you know you won't feel right until you've had it out with him.

Pulling your coat tighter around your front, shaking not just from the cold, you approach Bucky, preparing yourself for a conversation you probably won't like.

*****

A/n: Bucky answers for his behaviour next chapter, promise!

Chapter 10

[daddyzarc]

But wait. What about Don Thousand? He's a barian too. AND cleraly a predator.(Although, you could argue that's because he was originally an Astral being). But what about Fearsome Four? They have mouths too in their barian forms.(Although, Kaninja and Semimaru's mouths are that of the insects they are based on.) So not all barians are innocent. Only the Seven Emperors.

(you asked for this anon ~ love Dyzarc)

I apologize for not delving into Don Thousand in my previous analysis, but in my experience, I was strictly taught that my papers should get to the point with the arguments being clear and concise. This includes omitting irrelevant information that adds nothing to the thesis. Don Thousand is certainly an interesting case in the Barians (and I’ll gladly talk about him this time) but originally, he didn’t fit into the analysis. Every point I wanted to cover was better done using the Seven Emperors — the acid sea, the predator, carapaces, molting, ect — and throwing Don Thousand into the mix would have bloated up the analysis with redundant data. Furthermore, if I wanted to talk about Don Thousand, the analysis would end being twice as long. And I’m sure none of you want to read that.

However, anonwhoshouldrevealthemselfsowecanmeetbehindadarkallyway, I take the full blame of overlooking the Fearsome Foursome as you will take the full blame of allowing Dyzarc to do this. This particular group of feral Barians are a very unique case in Barian Biology since, well, look at these ugly fuckeroos

And since they differ from the Seven Emperors to a high degree, I will certainly go in-depth on these Barians.

DISCLAIMER: If you didn’t read the previous post, please feel free to do so. I’ll expand and refer to certain points in there, so you might be scared confused if you don’t. Also, I will not be primarily addressing their incapability or capability to vore. Everything I mentioned previously continues to hold true for the most part, and it can be applied to all five of the unaddressed Barians. However, there are some abnormalities present that I wish to discuss (Chironex and Mr. Heartland, for example). This post will mainly be explaining their anatomy and so-forth rather than focus on why they absolutely cannot vore. Furthermore, these Barians do function a tad bit differently than the other ones, and I’ll talk more about this later. There will be a section at the bottom that focuses on the vore issue since I KNOW that’s what you folks are here for, but other than a sprinkle of discussion (mostly in relationship to their predator) throughout the passage, it will be vore-free. 

Forthemostpart so let us begin

Zarc N’ Pals Installment 1, Detour 1 GO!

So now that I am given the opportunity to talk about Don Thousand, I’ll fucking talk about Don Thousand. I have a lot to say about Donny, so if you only wanna see my discussion on the Fearsome Foursome, move your cursor to the scrollbar and pull down because you won’t see the end of this for miles. 

Don Thousand is the Gustave of Barians. He is HUGE. An absolute unit. I’m not even joking.

These are some standard-sized Barians:

This is Don Thousand:

Ho-leey shit

So Don Thousand…

Don Thousand is one of the most mysterious Barians mostly attributed to his large size. Since sightings of Don Thousand are far and few between, there is actually an on-going debate in the Barianologist community centered around his true height. Here are some assumed height based on previous encounters:

Smol Don, approximately 10ft or 3m tall, larger than a standard Barian but not by much:

Tol Don, approximately 40ft or 12 m tall much larger than the standard Barian:

Big Boi Massive Don, approximately 150ft or 45m tall, outed as a hoax at the moment but possible if Don Thousand is given more time to grow:

So far, the most agreed-upon and plausible size for Don is the “tol” variant for a number of reason. First off, the few people that encountered this Barian noted that he was much larger than the average Barian, but not towering by hundreds of feet tall. (plz for the love of god, imply square-cubed law doesnt apply for my sake im so tired) Secondly, despite not having consistent sightings of Don Thousand, there have been evidence of his carapaces, or the outer coverings:

Depending on when and where the carapaces were discarded, along with the usage of other trace evidence, such as tracks on the sand or cleared pathways among the crystal forests, safe estimates could be made about his size. 

Okay, but why is there even a debate on the size of a Barian? Especially if he is so large, shouldn’t it be a lot easier to spot him than the other, much smaller Barians?

Yes, Don Thousand is huge, but it is incredibly important to consider the type of environment he lives in. Earth is covered in cities and civilization, as well as satellites that keeps in eye on Earth’s surface. There are eyes everywhere, human or otherwise. If you plop a creature as large as Don Thousand onto Earth, he will be detected in a matter of minutes. On the other hand, Barian World is barren. The only thing on it is the vast acid sea, large crystalline structures, deserts, caves, and clumps of the dwindling Barian population. Not a lot of equipment is readily available to find Don Thousand either. He could be hidden within the acid sea or burrowed deep underground in molt. He could also be hidden in the fields of crystal trees, which are still large enough to hide a Barian his size, or buried under a layer on sand in the desert. Not to mention that Barians could grow, although rare, Don Thousand’s actual size could be changing as we speak. He may as well be a big boi massive since the last sighting. Unless we constantly send expeditions onto the hostile environment, Don Thousand will remain forever elusive and cryptic. 

There is also a plethora of other factors that make this more complicated. His size, again, contributes to this. Going back to my previous analysis where I mentioned that Barians grow or repair using molts (in this case, the rock cycle), molting is a process where its usage and speed depend on the size of the molting creature. Look back to the hermit crab, who I relate the Barians to often, for the size disparities.

Like Barians, hermit crabs have large and small sizes as well, which isn’t strange for most arthropods. A mature hermit crab could be much smaller than another mature but older hermit crab. In the case of the Barians, a Barian like Nasch is mature but he isn’t large like Don Thousand. This isn’t to say that Nasch can’t grow large like Don Thousand, and he might as well in the future, but Don Thousand went through hundreds of molt cycles before he reached that size. He may continue to grow until his size becomes a major deterrent to his survival. 

What makes this hard for us is that molting tends to be a process that gets longer the larger the creature is. For example, hermit crabs (Coenobita clypeatus) average molting times relative to their size in inches:

Micro/Teeny: Less than 1.0″ -  1 week

Small: 1.5″ - 3 weeks

Medium: 2.5″ - 6 weeks

Large: 3.0″ - 8 weeks

Jumbo: Greater than 3.0″ - 16 weeks

As you can see, the larger the crab gets, the more time it takes to complete a molt. Now if we consider that a Barian undergoes a similar process, ie the larger Barians take much longer to complete the rock cycle, it isn’t hard to believe that Don Thousand could take decades, perhaps centuries to molt. Which, may I remind you, is a very long time in the eyes of a dragon. It is easy to understand why Don Thousand is seldom seen or studied. But assuming that he stays above ground between molts (which means he stays above the crust for three times as long as he stays under), there should be a long period of time where he can be easily found, right?

This is where things get a little muddied. Due to his massive girth and thick, rocky shell, Don Thousand can stay submerged in the Sea of Ill Intent for a much longer period than a regular Barian (their shell could still be dissolved, yet the thickness relates to how long they can stay). This means that even if he finishes molting, he can remain hidden within the acid for an indisputable amount of time.  

So all of this discussion about his size… What does this have to do with his ability to vore?… 

Why plenty, in fact.

In nature there are certain animals that have natural predators when they are small/young (sally lightfoot crabs, elephants, rhinoceros, alligators, ect.) but as they grow larger and larger, they slowly lose that disadvantage. And guess which Barian is the biggest one around — yup, Donny K

By nature, Don Thousand is just an absurdly large prey creature.

His size alone is a deterrent against predators that want to challenge such a massive beast (except astrol). Even if an Astral Being, or many Astral Beings, attempt to harm him, he can easily swat them off since he is so big. And as previously mentioned, he can stay within the Sea of Ill Intent to avoid the deadly predators if he really don’t want to be bothered. To summarize, Don Thousand is highly undesirable prey who is much more trouble than he’s worth. 

Understanding this, the other Barians do not follow in Don Thousand’s footstep for a couple of reason:

1) Consistent shape and size means they don’t need to constantly get new carapaces. Every time a Barian makes a drastic change to their body, they must find or create new carapaces that will fit their new form, either by carving a completely new piece or altering their old one. Unless they prepared it before going underground to molt, the Barian will be without carapaces (which protects them from predators) for an unreasonable amount of time, increasing their chances of being killed.

2) Cost of maintaining a body that large is very high. We do not know what fuels a Barian, but the cost of making/transporting energy through a lengthy body, moving high-density limbs, and molting is very high for such a large Barian. If they expend all the energy inside their core without replenishing it somehow (solar power?), they might die of exhaustion.

3) Molting is dangerous but necessary to an extent. It consumes a lot of energy to dig down, melt, reform, rack-build, harden, and dig up, and this process is only harder as the Barian grows bigger. They can also face other dangers in mid-molt, such as being uplifted or disturbed by another Barian, and as the longer they have to stay underground, the chances of being disturbed only increases. For arthropods, interruptions during molt could be fatal or leave them deformed until their next molt. For Barians, molting should only be deployed if they need to repair their shell or work on their rack to ascend in their pecking order. Larger size is not a necessity nor is it worth it most of the time.

The large size is useful as a defense mechanism and trait for the pecking order, yet overcoming the threshold to reach that size is difficult and more trouble than it’s worth, especially since most Barians already have an adequate defense mechanism. Don Thousand is one of the few, perhaps only, Barian that chose to go the “larger size” route. This is made possible for one very critical reason — where he chooses to molt. It is difficult to pinpoint this incredible fact, but Don Thousand molts under the Sea of Ill Intent. 

The image below shows a crack on the seafloor, exposing a hotspot that Barians could use to burrow into and molt.

And the most conclusive evidence that Don Thousand specifically molts around here:

See that thing at the bottom of this hole? That is one of Don Thousand’s carapaces, located under the ocean, hidden in a whirlpool of acid and lava. Most Barians leave their carapaces close to them while they molt, usually several kilometers above the melting point to preserve it or prevent its destruction. The fact that a Don Thousand carapace can be found under the sea strongly suggests that Don Thousand is located very closely to this spot, several kilometers deep into the ground. 

Doing this solves some of the issues stated above:

1) Consistent shape and size means they don’t need to constantly get new carapaces. With Don Thousand’s size, he is able to stay in the acid for a long time without feeling substantial damage to his vital organs. Since the acid will protect him from being attacked while he is carapace-less (not that he has to worry about that), he is given plenty of time to make new ones before he needs/wants to emerge.

2) Cost of maintaining a body that large is very high. The cost of maintaining the body is still high. However, I believe that the effect is mitigated since Don Thousand may be a Barian with a lot of energy to begin with. His core energy (or rate of photosynthesis) may be unnaturally higher than the rest of the Barians, thus he is able to grow large to begin with. Furthermore, Don Thousand doesn’t need to worry about predators at that size. He wastes little energy dealing with them (fleeing, defending, fighting, ect.) and this is the trade-off he chooses.

3) Molting is dangerous but necessary to an extent. The acid sea deters offensive Barians and Astral Beings from harassing him while he is molting, unless they want to venture far and deep into the ocean, risking their life in the process. Uplifting will also only bring him in contact with the acid, where he can promptly dig back down. This is much safer in comparison to being exposed to predators on land.

^The above ends up creating a simple positive feedback loop where his large size prevents the acid from harming him, allowing him to molt into a larger size, which in turn protects him from the acid even more.

(Smaller Barians have a hard time breaking into this loop.)

Taking into account that his massive size will quite easily place him on top of any pecking order based on that alone, where exactly does Don Thousand fit? I’ll get into the idea of “Barian Colonies” in my discussion of the Fearsome Foursome later, but adding Don Thousand into a pecking order isn’t as simple as it seems. Actually, it is really simple, but there are some factors that complicate the issue. 

Due to his large size and the circumstance of his molting, Don Thousand seldom spends any time with the other Barians. If he isn’t in molt, he most likely spends his time within the sea. It takes a lot of energy to move around and if there isn’t an urgent need to emerge from the acid, he will stay submerged until the next molt (the only reason I can think of as to why he would emerge would be to photosynthesize, if Barians do that, or maybe harass the local Barian population). This means that Don Thousand is severed from the Barian pecking orders for the most part, but I assure you that if he does show up, he could effortlessly establish himself into the society for more than just his ginormous girth.

So this brief overview covers a couple of things about Don Thousand that is, in my opinion, highly fascinating. Although it isn’t clear yet, Don Thousand’s rocky shell and carapace borrow certain unique elements from the other Barians. Examples of shared defense mechanisms include:

”SWISH” mechanism* —> Scritch, Erazor, Mr. Heartland (FF)

Talons capped with carapace —> Scritch, Mr. Heartland (FF)

Insignia* —> Unique to Seven Emperor Barians (SE)

Center eyeball —> Mr. Heartland (FF)

This tells us a couple of things. Either the smaller Barians adopt traits from Don Thousand and incorporate it into their own body plan… OR Don Thousand incorporated some of the best defense mechanism of the smaller Barians into his form, thus increasing his overall fitness by being the best of the best, drastically reducing any chance he has of being killed. The implications of this is that Don Thousand doesn’t belong to one Barian group but to many Barian groups, and he reigns over all of them whenever he emerges from the ocean. Think of Don Thousand as a “God of the Barians” if you will. He will always be at the top of the pecking order (although the presence of an Insignia* suggests that he is closest to the Seven Emperor Barians).

*Further explanation in latter half 

Final Consensus: Despite being as intimidating as a predator, Don Thousand is still a prey Barian who utilizes his large size and in-common traits to avoid predation. He’s just very large.

heyyo fearsome fucksome time mothertruckers

Moving on from the God that is Don Thousand, let’s examine the Fearsome Foursome.

I know what you want to hear. “Dyzarc! What the fuck are you doing. Where in the world does the Fearsome Foursome fit into the Barian pecking order?? Does Nasch get dethroned by these buggy barbarian bozos?” 

To begin, upon looking at the two groups below:

I do not believe it is logical to integrate the Fearsome Foursome into the Seven Emperors pecking order. 

Why?

Simply put, these Barians groups do not belong together. Barians are similar to orca pods on Earth.

^^Example of different orca types due to regional differences. The same concept applies to Barians, but they show more severe variation due to the differences in their environments as well as natural variation as a direct result of unique rack-building and inconsistent molting environments. Different cultures also mean that the groups are not exactly equal to each other*

*This is not to say one group is inferior or superior to the other, but they are built for different purposes and thus are not comparable 

To be frank, the Seven Emperor Barians are actually very easy to distinguish from other groups by examining their physical appearance alone. The most concrete evidence of a Seven Emperor Barian is to look on their chest for a distinctive carapace, an Insignia, seen here:

SIDE-NOTE: Another Barian with an Insignia is Don Thousand. This provides further evidence that he may be a part of the Seven Emperor colony or allude to the idea that Don Thousand is truly the “Barian God” that presides over every Barian colony, thus adopting the customs and traits of each group (Ex. Wings and Needle (swish) of the Fearsome Foursome) in order to better his survival rate. 

Habitat and behavior also plays a major role in separating the groups, which applies more to the Fearsome Foursome due to their unique circumstance, but to simplify the topic, a general rule of thumb is: 

Insignia = SE

No Insignia = Not SE

The Fearsome Foursome Barians all lack an Insignia and therefore should not be included within the Seven Emperor pecking order. Instead, they have their own pecking order established, which relies on different traits than the ones of the Seven Emperor Barians.

Of course, a difference in body structure doesn’t inherently discern a Fearsome Foursome Barian from a Seven Emperor Barian, but these physical characteristics (just look at them and you can see that something is amok) tells us that the Fearsome Foursome Barians are reacting to something that Seven Emperor Barians are not. However, since their body plans stem from the presence of Astral Beings, a rather uniform factor all things considered, this tells us that the Fearsome Foursome Barians are tailoring their form in response to the Astral Beings specifically.

But how could this happen? A Barian is a Barian is a Barian. Shouldn’t they all be a single entity/rely on the same mechanisms since they live on the same planet?

It isn’t completely clear what truly distinguishes a Fearsome Foursome Barian to a Seven Emperors Barian (and any other colonies) aside from the Insignia or why the Barians separate themselves into colonies — although it could be due to a high territorial drive, since Barians need a lot space to molt, and the more populated the group, the harder it is to find a good spot to repair and regrow their form; creating colonies is a good way to ensure good molting locations or a safer place to live — but the best place to look is:

A) Where they live and What is the end goal of their body plan. These two are not mutually exclusive to each other.

(Note: SE has more territory due to being a larger colony than the FF; larger colony = more space required for molting)

For the Seven Emperors, their habitat range is located here:

Along with residing in the enclosed forest, the biggest takeaway from this is that the Seven Emperor Barians live very close to the Sea of Ill Intent. As previously discussed, the acid sea allows for the Barians to effectively retreat into the acid from a pursuing predator. Once in the acid, they are generally safe from harm and it is highly unlikely that they will get killed. For the Seven Emperors, since they reside very close to the Sea of Ill Intent, when they are in danger, they can easily flee into the acid to protect themselves. As long as they do not wander too far from the sea, their primary defense mechanism is the Sea of Ill Intent.

This also supports how Don Thousand, a Barian who frequents the Sea of Ill Intent, has an Insignia that belongs to the Seven Emperors on his chest. Since Don Thousand and the Seven Emperors live in the same general area, by being in close proximity alone, Don Thousand is most integrated into the Seven Emperors colony and uses the Insignia (which does little for protection; used more for aesthetic/pecking order) for no other discernible reason than to just have it.

Now note where the Fearsome Foursome live:

They are not near the sea. They live further inland within the crystal pillar forests or at the edge of the great Barian Desert, therefore they do not have a go-to “safe-zone” to retreat to if they are attacked. Their defense mechanism comes from whatever ingenious way they designed their bodies to protect themselves. I will cover these mechanisms later. 

(Think of these as the differences between bonobos and chimpanzees. Different species, yet they are very closely related. The discussion of these two species is intriguing on its own, but what I want to get across is that bonobos are less aggressive than chimpanzees. This is mainly due to the environment they evolved in, where the bonobos’ ancestors came from a place of “paradise” or abundance in food while the chimpanzees’ ancestor came from a place of scarcity. To survive in the hostile and tough environment, the chimpanzees became more aggressive/ingenious, as in they have territorial fights, engage in hunting activities, and use tools to find food.)

The analogy above can be used to describe why the Fearsome Foursome are so different compared to Seven Emperors.

For the Seven Emperors, the end goal is to create a body for placement in the pecking order. They use a rack system to establish pecking order (which is more for aesthetic when compared to the utter shit the FF put onto their bodies). Although they can use the racks to protect themselves, the usage of a huge rack shows that they devote valuable resources (or have resources to spare) to make themselves more aesthetically pleasing. In a sense, the Seven Emperors are living in a more calm, less hostile environment.

For the Fearsome Foursome, the end goal of their body plan is to make anything worthwhile in terms of defense to make up for the lack of Sea of Ill Intent. Most of their molting energy is devoted into creating a body that will protect them from a gruesome death, which means they have less resources for rack-building. In a sense, the Fearsome Foursome are living in the more hostile environment.  

Now that we covered why the groups are different, let’s examine what these differences are starting with a commonly shared trait among the Fearsome Foursome.

Aside from living in the same range, the clearest answer that links this diverse cast of Barians (Scritch, Chironex, Mr. Heartland, and Erazor) into the same category would be their usage of an elaborate Defense Mechanism. The Seven Emperors have a rocky shell and carapaces as their defenses against Astral Beings, and so do the Fearsome Foursome. Yet, the Fearsome Foursome Barian include those basic characteristics with the addition of something else. This could be seen in the carapaces alone.    

Even when excluding the Duel Disks, notice how heavily fortified the Fearsome Foursome Barians are compared to that of the Seven Emperors Barians. The Seven Emperors usually have smaller, one-sided pieces covering their shoulders or torso while the Fearsome Foursome’s carapaces tend to wrap around their entire body and more. This is one example to show the difference in defense mechanism between the two groups, but obviously the Fearsome Foursome goes further with this concept. 

So back in the Don Thousand breakdown, I mentioned something called the SWISH. Swishing is a type of defense mechanism.

To “swish”, one will need a frontal protection and a dorsal protection. In the case of the Fearsome Foursome, they use a frontal needle and dorsal wings. Barians are extremely heavy and do not require food to survive, so it is very unlikely that the needle belongs to a mouth piece and the wing pieces aid with flight (so far, there has been no accounts of True Barians in flight). Therefore, the wings and needles serve another purpose.

Okay. So how does SWISH work? 

(Simulation; no Astral Beings were harmed in the video above)

Standing for SWord/needle and SHield/wings as well as the noises it makes when a Barian starts flapping or stabbing (use your imagination) and found in ¾ of the Fearsome Foursome Barians + Don Thousand, this is a basic but effective defense mechanism witnessed mainly in the vulnerable Fearsome Foursome Barians. The wings on the back provide backside protection. The Barian can also rapidly flap the wing pieces in order to shake off any Astral Being latching onto its backside. If the Astral Being tries to attack the Barian from the front, it must deal with a piercing needle constantly jabbing at it. This means that if an Astral Being wants to access the Barians’ core at all — which is located at the center of their chest — they must deal with the swish. Compared to the defense mechanism of the Seven Emperors, this is a very elaborate gimmick.

And speaking of elaborate gimmicks, I am going to focus heavily on Scritch and Chironex’s gimmicks for two reasons: they both have fascinating defenses, and  Erazor and Mr. Heartland main defense strategy is “cover in spikes and carapaces” along with the swish mechanism. Overall, they are far less complex than Scritch and Chironex. 

(Also I am a duper lazy dragon and feel like this torture is long enough and I really dont want to stare at barian heartland and erazor for another 2 hours.)

Let’s first look at Scritch, who is my new adopted son btw. Scritch is one of the most intriguing Barians out of this group, and this isn’t my personal preference towards him playing a role into this. Despite not being the most complex Barian, he certainly employs an interesting tactic (if my theories are correct). 

Taking a glance at his coloration reveals a couple things about his mechanism, especially if we compare him to some similar species found on Earth. 

This banded coloration is a product of a variety of things, such as the Barian utilizing disruptive coloration or warning colors. In this case, the Barian environment consist mainly of shades of reds, thus the disruptive coloration may not be very useful to this Barian. But what is useful? Warning colors. This is a commonly-used tactic in animals with brightly colored or flashy skin, such as poison dart frogs. The bright and striking bands on Scritch will make this Barian an easy target to spot and kill in the reddish tint of the planet, yet it could also be a signal to the predators that he is “not a good meal to eat”. 

On one hand, the colors could be nothing more than a bluff, and it wouldn’t be too surprising if Scritch used the colors as a facade to scare off predators. But I think otherwise. If it was a bluff, Scritch wouldn’t have survive this long against bold or unaware Astral Beings, nor will his facade last if enough predators keep pestering him. My theory, and it is only a theory with no other evidence to back it up other than logic maybe, is that Scritch has pockets of some Alkali metals (pure sodium, for example) located in parts of his body like behind the mask carapace or within the bright red claws. For those unaware, Alkali metals are highly reactive to water, which is what the Astral Beings are made of, and can explode if they make contact with it. If an Astral Being attacks him, he can deploy the metals, harm the Astral Being, then skedaddle away while the predator is disorganized. 

This could heavily damage the Barian in the process, but since they could always molt: temporary losing a limb > death. The banded coloration on his body signals to the Astral Beings to back off or else they’ll eat a face-full of sodium. This is only a theory however, and I cannot prove it unless we throw water at Scritch to see if he can explode. Which I absolutely cannot legally do because the Fearsome Foursome Barians are critically endangered (some problem with an invasive species, but the less we talk bout those three hooligans, the better) and I should not make Scritch explode. 

Lastly, let us discuss a Barian who most likely won’t explode if water touches him.

Chironex is another Barian with the presence of a fully-mechanical mouth. As with the other Fearsome Foursome Barians, Chironex doesn’t follow the body plan of a Seven Emperor. His body is covered mostly in thick carapaces, which is similar to the other Fearsome Foursome members. However, his physical appearance is drastically different than the other Fearsome Foursome Barians as well, such as the lack of protective wing pieces and needle-nose for effective swishing. At first glance, it’s difficult to tell where this one belongs. Based on his physiology, he doesn’t look anything like Fearsome Foursome or a Seven Emperor. He could’ve belonged to his own colony altogether. 

This is a case where the similarities goes beyond their physical appearance. Take Canis lupus familiaris, for example, where the physical differences among each breed can look drastically different from one another yet they still fall under the same species (for dogs, they are considered the same species since most breeds can produce viable offspring if mated and they still have an exceedingly similar genome). 

Like a breed of dog, Chironex is a Fearsome Foursome. Chironex lives within the boundary of the Fearsome Foursome range, interacts with the other Fearsome Foursome Barians, and his behavioral patterns follows that of a Fearsome Foursome. He also has a valuable place in the Fearsome Foursome pecking order. Despite not looking like one, Chironex is most certainly a Fearsome Foursome.

So knowing that, about his gimmick…

Chironex has a gimmick alright. And boy is it a gimmick. I want you to look at this image. 

Note what the carapaces cover and what lies underneath the carapaces. 

Now here’s our high-quality artist rendition of Chironex without his thick carapaces:

And here he is standing next to an Astral Being for comparison:

Notice something peculiar about this situation? 

As you can see, the base form of Chironex (aka a Chironex without the layers of carapa—naked, i mean hes utterly nude) looks strikingly similar to the form of an Astral Being. Very smooth with a bluish tint, and a mouth, which is an extremely important body part on an Astral Being. And it is absolutely no coincident that Chironex looks like an Astral Being. 

It is completely deliberate because Chironex uses a very advance form camouflage — mimicry. Not only does his defense mechanism involve mimicking another species but he is mimicking his predator species. This means his facade has to be very convincing if he wants to survive. Impressively enough, the behavior of this Barian also changes in order to aid his survival, such as his fascination with water and so-forth. Furthermore, Chironex’s base form has a very “jellyfish” feel to it. This is noteworthy because jellyfishes are comprised of 95% water, give or take, and basing himself around jellyfishes add more layers onto his mimicry. 

The change in behavior coupled with well-done mimicry is one of the most elaborate defense mechanism in the natural world, so Chironex obviously has a good place in the Fearsome Foursome pecking order.

*In my opinion, I find the idea of exploding Scritches to be a lot more interesting than mimicry but y’kno how it is.

Here is the pecking order of the Fearsome Foursome:

And here is the pecking order of the Fearsome Foursome + Seven Emperors + Don K. for those curious on how the Barians compare to each other (if they had to beat each other up or sumthin idk)

And here’s the pecking order based on what I think the pecking order should be. No bias or anything, just based on logical progression

OKAY. If you’re still reading this, congrats! I love you.

We are on the final topic of this discussion. The VOREeee. Or are all Barians innocent or are only the Seven Emperors innocent?

Let’s look at the candidates for this:

Seven Emperors - Previously discussed 

Scritch and Erazor - SAFE*

Don Thousand - SAFEish** 

Chironex and Mr. Heartland - UNSAFE feel free to vore with em you sick fucks i know i will***

* Scritch and Erazor lack a visible mouth like the rest of the Seven Emperors, so they do fall under the “innocent” Barians.

**Don Thousand is a strange case due to one specific scene.

Right here, Don Thousand’s lowest eyeball turns into a gaping hole and proceeds to inhale Vector into it. This is clearly vore in some sense of the way, which I will not deny. HOWEVER, this opens the door to the concept of eye vore (not strange considering that anal vore, navel vore, cock vore, you-name-it exists) and since all the Barians have eyeballs, or what appears like functioning eyeballs, they are all capable of performing eye vore. wtf i didnt think of that and I do not know what to do with that information except say go nuts.

***With Chironex, I am willing to let him off the hook since he is involved in the act of mimicry, so the mouth could be false. This doesn’t let him off the hook for vore, of course, but my explanation is that the mouth is non-functional because it is the sole result of a mimicking disguise.

With Mr. Heartland…

uh his mouth is a…

oh god jesus chrisus hold up,, let me check my notes

[ciestessde]

Phantasma Magica Ch. 5

STORY SUMMARY

Clockwork and the Observants send Danny to Hogwarts on a special mission. But, cryptic as ever, that Old Stopwatch never actually told him what would happen on it!!! “All you need to do right now, Daniel, is stay focused on your mission. And remember, the-” “‘The Lions with the time-turner, lightning-bolt scar, and hair like fire are friends; watch out for the rat; and the black dog is not a threat.’ Yeah, you’ve only repeated that a few dozen times today.”

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Harry was stuck, by order of the school nurse, in the hospital wing the rest of the weekend after his fall. Which was fine by Danny -- Harry was the only overnight patient, so, other than the occasional visitor and the nurse, the hospital wing was empty most of the time. Which meant, with Danny able to turn visible when needed, he could spend the entire weekend guarding and visiting with his friend. (A fantastic balm to his newfound paranoia!)

Harry didn’t seem to mind the company, either, filling Danny in on various things about the wizarding world. … Well. He mostly talked about Quidditch -- the upcoming rematch occupying the boy’s mind. Danny was an expert on the sport by Monday morning. And (despite his aversion toward sports in general) Danny found he was looking forward to watching Harry play -- without rain blocking most of his vision. But the entire weekend -- even though spending time with a friend did much to calm him -- something kept bothering Danny. That taint in Harry’s metaphorical “smell” kept itching at his nose…

Even after his release, Danny decided to continue prioritizing Harry’s safety -- only resting when he knew Harry was in a safe environment. And with all the practice he got following Harry around, Danny finally perfected the art of concealing the chilling effect of his aura. ~Poor~ Malfoy, though, was unaware of his nemesis’ ghostly bodyguard, and had decided Harry’s weakness to the dementors was hilarious. If he had known… perhaps he wouldn’t have decided to make fun of Harry during potions… and maybe he would have avoided having his stool, and a bit of the table in front of him, turned intangible -- covering him in his unfinished potion… (Much to Danny’s annoyance, Snape didn’t take any points from Malfoy’s House. He considered pranking the professor as well, but didn’t dare risk it. … Yet.)

Because he was prioritizing Harry’s safety, Danny found himself staying with him when Lupin asked to have a word after class, too. Once all of the students had left, Danny went ahead and turned visible. “I heard about the match,” Lupin addressed Harry, “and I’m sorry about your broomstick. Is there any chance of fixing it?” “No. The tree smashed it to bits.” Lupin sighed, beginning to prepare for the next class. “They planted the Whomping Willow the same year that I arrived at Hogwarts. People used to play a game, trying to get near enough to touch the trunk. In the end, a boy called Davey Gudgeon nearly lost an eye, and we were forbidden to go near it. No broomstick would have a chance.”

Hesitating, Harry asked, “Did you hear about the dementors too?” Lupin paused, glanced at the phantasm floating in the corner -- then looked back at Harry. “Yes, I did. I don’t think any of us have seen Professor Dumbledore that angry. They have been growing restless for some time… furious at his refusal to let them inside the grounds… I suppose they were the reason you fell?” “Yes,” said Harry, hesitating again before, “Why? Why do they affect me like that? Am I just-” “It has nothing to do with weakness,” Lupin interjected sharply. “The dementors affect you worse than the others because there are horrors in your past that the others don’t have.”

As Lupin explained the horrible creatures that were dementors again, Danny was bothered by the mystery that bugged him all weekend -- the tainted smell of Harry’s soul. There was another piece of the puzzle. He could feel it, just out of reach… “When they get near me--” Harry’s throat tightened, “I can hear Voldemort murdering my mum.” Lupin moved as if to comfort him, but stopped. There was a moment of silence.

“-Why did they have to come to the match?” Harry said bitterly. “I expect knowing a phantasm was nearby agitated them. But mostly -- they’re getting hungry.” Lupin shut his briefcase with a snap. “Dumbledore won’t let them into the school, so their supply of human prey has dried up. … I don’t think they could resist the large crowd around the Quidditch field. All that excitement… emotions running high… it was their idea of a feast.”

‘--Wait…’ Danny thought, ‘... If it was the crowd that drew them -- why did they target Harry? And… I get reliving bad memories is common around them, but -- Harry was a baby when his mother was killed…‘

Finally, something clicked: This wasn’t the first time the dementors had singled Harry out; reliving a memory he shouldn’t have; the tainted “smell.” … Danny’s mission -- Clockwork’s clues… An idea -- which seemed almost impossible -- occurred to Danny: ‘What if… Harry is a horcrux…?’

Now that the idea had occurred to him -- -- It was unmistakable. Danny’s senses honed in on Harry’s soul without his volition -- and there it was. Like an infected wound, or a parasite -- a piece of a soul reeking of death clung to Harry. It’s essence seeped out of his scar, right where they had said Voldemort’s curse rebounded. For the first time since becoming a phantasm, Danny genuinely felt cold.

But he couldn’t dwell on this. What felt like hours to Danny was only a couple seconds -- before the name “Sirius Black,” and the abrupt motion of Lupin almost dropping his suitcase, pulled him back into their conversation.

“Yes, Black must have found a way to fight them. I wouldn’t have believed it possible…” Lupin said. ‘But Harry wasn’t on the list of objects!’ “Dementors are supposed to drain a wizard of his powers if he is left with them too long…”

‘Harry’s my friend -- I will NOT attack him!’ Harry interjected, “You made the dementors on the train back off.” ‘Oh, of course Clockwork didn’t tell me, he knew I wouldn’t-- no… Waaait. He said that Harry was a “friend” …’

“There are -- certain defenses one can use.” ‘That old- He manipulated me! --Not that… I didn’t know he was doing that... --but STILL!’ “But there was only one dementor on the train. The more there are, the more difficult it becomes to resist.” ‘Okay. Breathe. Calm down.’

“What defenses? Can you teach me?!” ‘Clockwork didn’t put Harry on the list.’

“I don’t pretend to be an expert at fighting dementors, Harry… quite the contrary…” ‘That means I don’t have to do anything.’

“But if the dementors come to another Quidditch match, I need to be able to fight them--”

Lupin hesitated… ‘And if Harry knew… He’d freak out…’ “Well… all right. I’ll try and help.” Danny was trying his hardest to not freeze the walls behind him. “But it’ll have to wait until next term, I’m afraid. I have a lot to do before the holidays.” ‘If Clockwork didn’t mention this… Yeah--’ “I chose a very inconvenient time to fall ill.”

‘--Harry doesn’t need to know.’

He was about to follow Harry out of the room -- still visible -- when Lupin called, “Danny?” His gaze jerked around, his mind still reeling. Lupin locked eyes with him, concerned. “I hope this isn’t over-stepping, but… Are you alright?” Danny didn’t know how to answer that. He wanted to trust this teacher -- he really did, but… He smiled, “Yeah, I’m fine.” Lupin couldn’t have missed the pause if he had tried. But he continued on, “Well, I was wondering if I might have that interview tomorrow. During lunch, perhaps?” Lunch was safe. Harry was surrounded by other wizards -- Hermione and Ron, other friends -- during lunch. “Yeah, that works for me.” Danny’s desire to protect his young friend was stronger than ever. And the more positive relations he could build in this unsafe environment -- the better.

So as promised, he met the professor in his office the next day. He asked mostly standard questions… Which was rather awkward for Danny. “What do phantasms eat?” “Uhhh… Well…” Only the first question -- and he already wanted to fly away. In his defense, he thought they already knew AT LEAST this much!? “We-I mean, they eat mostly… ummm…” ‘How do I answer this without freaking him out?!?!’ Resigning himself, he sighed. “Phantasms eat... souls.”

Lupin almost dropped his quill. He stared at Danny, certain he had misheard. Danny quickly added, “But- I don’t! I eat -- My guardian, he makes this substance. A substitute for souls. I- Here, let me show you!” And like that, he darted off, grabbing them from where he had stored them in the system of giant-unused-wall-pipes. Lupin was fascinated by the glowing green bottles, and Danny agreed to let him have one to study.

““We were aware that phantasms were capable of sucking out souls, of course, but… I never thought a creature would use it as their primary food source. I wonder-- is being a soul eater--” “--‘Spirit-eater’--” “--what causes the space around both species to become cold?” “I… don’t know. Maybe?” “Now, I know this might be uncomfortable, but… What about reproduction?”

And so the interview went. Many awkward questions, many not. Some curiosity easily satisfied: “I see. You can spread your aura into it to turn another object invisible or intangible as well!” And many questions he didn’t have answers to: “How do you switch between a corporeal and intangible form?” By the end of it, Lupin seemed to have lost any remaining reservations he had towards Danny, and Danny had decided that Lupin really was a good guy. But still… a good guy or not, Danny didn’t know whether he could trust Lupin with his mission. Not just yet…

  Before classes were to end for their winter break, another Hogsmeade trip rolled around -- with the promise of Danny and Harry being stuck, once again, inside the castle. But on the way back to Gryffindor Tower, Harry was lured into an empty classroom by Ron’s twin brothers, Fred and George.

“Early Christmas present for you, Harry,” Fred pulled a worn, blank piece of parchment from inside his cloak, and, with a flourish, laid it on a desk. “What’s that supposed to be?” “This, Harry, is the secret of our success.” George patted the parchment fondly. “It’s a wrench, giving it to you, but we decided last night, your need’s greater than ours.” “Anyway, we know it by heart. We bequeath it to you. We don’t really need it anymore.” They explained they’d gotten (stolen) it from Filch; a drawer in his office labeled “Confiscated and Highly Dangerous.”

With a tap of George’s wand and the words “I solemnly swear that I am up to no good,” ink spread out on the parchment forming a map with the title:

Messrs. Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot, and Prongs Purveyors of Aids to Magical Mischief-Makers are proud to present THE MARAUDER’S MAP

It showed every detail of Hogwarts and its grounds (‘Where was this when I needed it?!’), even -- with a moving dot and a name -- where people were inside it. For an instant, Danny and Harry’s pulses raced. But they quickly realized -- Danny wasn’t there. They were both just as confused as they were relieved. (Danny even more so when he saw the names of the Hogwarts’ ghosts and Peeves were shown on the map.)

Fred traced a secret passage on the map with his finger, “Right into Hogsmeade. There are seven in all. Now, Filch knows about these four,” he pointed to them, “but we’re sure we’re the only ones who know about these. Don’t bother with the one behind the mirror on the fourth floor. We used it until last winter, but it’s caved in -- completely blocked. And we don’t reckon anyone’s ever used this one, because the Whomping Willow’s planted right over the entrance…” ‘That… Doesn’t make sense. Of course it was used! It was built, so -- oh, y’know what, forget it. I’ll investigate it later.’

After the twins left, Danny turned visible. “Danny look! If the twins are right -- and I’m sure they are -- I can get into Hogsmeade!” “Yeah…” Danny hesitated, while Harry studied the map more closely. He knew he couldn’t stop Harry if he really wanted to go, but… “Hey, uh…” Harry looked at him, grinning. Danny smiled back. ‘I’ll just have to go with him.’ “If you’re going to do this, you should probably grab your coat and invisibility cloak first.” “No, I’ll be fine. I don’t want to wait any longer.” And like that, he took off. Danny sighed, but smiled. It was good to see Harry so happy. He had been in a slump ever since losing his broom. Some fresh air and new sights would probably do him good.

Danny followed at a distance. Harry met up with Ron and Hermione right away. Hermione did not approve of Harry being there, of course. Ron, though, pointed out a notice pasted on the door of the shop the secret tunnel had let out in, which said that dementors were patrolling the streets of the small town during the night. ‘Only during the night, huh…?’ Ron’s point was that Sirius Black couldn’t get into the town because of these patrols. Danny disagreed (he’d gotten into the school, hadn’t he?), but he was relieved that he wouldn’t have to deal with the creatures here during the day.

  After buying some candy from the shop, the trio made there way to a small, warm pub/inn called the “Three Broomsticks.” Things were going well. Ron even got Danny his own mug of “Butterbeer” -- a non-alcoholic beverage which, Danny decided (though not as good as hot cocoa) wasn’t half bad. He floated above the table, drinking from his invisible cup, when he noticed a group of teachers headed towards the building.

Danny reached down and turned Harry invisible with him. “Danny?” asked Harry. “What’s wrong?” Hermione looked around, quickly spotting their professors and the other adults coming inside. ‘Oh, this is going to be another long day, isn’t it?’ He resigned himself to it when they sat down at the table right next to theirs. Apparently, one of them, a man he didn’t recognize, was actually the “Minister,” and they even invited the waitress, Madam Rosmerta, to join them. The topic of conversation was, of course, Sirius Black. But… things turned personal.

Well… even more personal than attempts on Harry’s life. Danny was worried he’d have to restrain Harry. He almost had to restrain himself.

Black was Harry’s godfather. He’d been Harry's father’s best friend! But even more than that…

“... Dumbledore told them that their best chance was the Fidelius Charm,” the Minister said. “How does that work?” asked the waitress. Professor Flitwick (the teacher of the Charms class) filled her in. He explained that it hid a secret inside a chosen “Secret-Keeper’s” soul so that, unless revealed by the Secret-Keeper, it would be impossible to know or find out -- even if the “secret” was directly in front of you. Black had been chosen as just such a Secret-Keeper to hide the Potter family’s location from Voldemort. And, seeing as they were murdered barely a week after he became their Secret-Keeper…

Danny struggled not to freeze Harry’s shoulder, but managed to control himself. Their story wasn’t finished, either. Soon after Voldemort “died” (as Danny knew better), another friend of Black and Harry’s father, “Peter Pettigrew,” confronted Black. And Black didn’t just kill him -- Black blew him up! ...

  After making sure Harry and the others made it back to the castle safely, Danny flew himself down into one of the rare places that could provide the space and privacy he needed right then: the large underground room he had found connected to the pipes. (He had been mildly concerned by the gigantic snake carcass that was down there when he first found it -- but he didn’t even spare it a glance.) He spent that night and into the morning letting off steam. The snake’s body was frozen solid and shattered into millions of pieces, the walls were scorched and scarred by ethereal fire and his sonic attacks (as loud as he could make them without drawing attention down there).

It was like his mind was racing -- but had nowhere to go.

He wanted to find this Sirius Black and kill him -- No, he wanted to protect Harry, to make sure no one hurt his friend --

Harry must be feeling even worse right now, he should be comforting him -- No, Ron and Hermione were closer friends to Harry, and there was nothing he could say or do that could help --

He could kill Black, that would help his friend -- ‘I WILL NOT KILL!’ --

-- ‘But I want to protect them…’

~~~~~

If you like this, please REBLOG!

(Updates every Wednesday until completion.)

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[aliceslantern]

Beyond this Existence, chapter 16

Summary:  After Xehanort's death, Demyx finds himself unexpectedly human in Radiant Garden. With nothing but fragments of his past and a cryptic statement from Xemnas, he's left to figure out who he is. When Ienzo asks for his help with a project, the two find common ground, but the trauma and secrets in both of their pasts could tear it apart. Zemyx (Demyx/Ienzo), post-KH3 canon compliant

Read it on FF.net/ on AO3

----

Excerpt of an audio recording from device 5.875.32.852 (admin is registered as EVEN [surname REDACTED]. Transcription programs recognize the speaking voice of the admin as well as one other distinct voice. Transcription errors due to colloquialisms, slang, accent, muffled speech, etc. are acknowledged and will be used in further evolutions of this program.

Recording commences at 16:03.

--I hope you do not mind that I am recording this. I assure you any we can redact any exceedingly personal information. This is for my edification only. I would never dream of letting it fall into unsavory hands.

--Uh. Sure.

--Can you state your name and age in its entirety?

--Yeah. I’m [birth name and surname REDACTED]. I still go by Demyx. I’m twenty-two.

--That’s your name? That’s not what I thought.

--Yeah, well. It seems like I’m full of surprises. I don’t care who knows it, but it doesn’t seem to fit right anymore. You know?

--I suppose. So. Can you tell me what you remember, as far back as you can, as comfortably as you can?

--I’ll try.

----

These memories don’t feel like mine.

It’s weird. I guess it’s more like I’m reading a book, or watching a movie.

“It” started, if by it you mean all this Keyblade crap, when I was five. I was my parents’ only kid. We were broke. Like, squatting and going to soup kitchens broke. There were the early days, when the Foretellers--the five chosen ones or whatever--were just building their unions and preaching about their ideas in the plaza. I’m honestly not sure if they were the first wielders, but they were definitely the ones that made it a thing, That promised this as the way to seek the light.

Heartless started coming--from the future, or so they said in the square. We needed a way to defend ourselves. So they started testing people for worthiness. Kids were always easier. Less corrupt. More full of light.

More manipulable.

They said they would take the kids from more troubled circumstances, and give them what they needed to survive. In my parents’ eyes, food and a place to live. The luckier ones could stay at home. So that caused a big influx of poor people sending their kids in to be tested and trained. While some of the better off ones saw it as a sign of honor, everyone else wanted to keep their kids safe. Even the ones with Keyblades were dying.

My parents figured Heartless were better than me starving to death. So they sent me, by myself, for the test.

The older ones could pick their unions, but the real little ones like me they chose a more “organic” approach. They take you inside, and there the Foretellers are with a little table of five toys. Apparently picking one shows some intrinsic quality they’re looking for, or whatever. I got chosen to be in Ursus. And just like that, my mom and dad hugged me goodbye and left me there.

It was hard. Physically, mentally. I missed my parents. The training was grueling, and it hurt. But whenever I would cry or get upset either Master Aced or one of the older kids would tell me to be quiet. Because I was lucky. And I had a chance to be something.

But you see, Even, it doesn’t matter how lucky I was. I was still getting razzed by Heartless, getting thrown in and out of time to these worlds, getting reprimanded for bunging off quests or not getting enough lux. I got kicked out of a few parties for that. Making friends wasn’t so easy when I got a reputation for being a crybaby and a coward, even though I was six or seven.

I still tried to see my parents when I got a chance. They moved around a lot. Dad tried to get steady work a few times, but I think he had some kind of mental illness or something, and he could never be on time, or do what he was told, or get out of bed, so they lost their apartments a lot. Mom was a street musician, and she took in students sometimes, but it wasn’t enough money.

She taught me, too.

Compared to Keyblade stuff, music was so easy. I was so good at it. Knowing I wasn’t terrible at everything gave me strength to go on. I had a way to take all the bad feelings, all the nightmares, and make something beautiful out of it.

I tried to quit the union.

You wouldn’t believe the telling off Master Aced gave me. “Why was I ashamed of my heritage”. “Why wasn’t I doing my part.” “What did I think I would become otherwise, I came from the gutter.” It was devastating. Without the Keyblade, they said, I was worthless. I didn’t want to believe that was true.

As the years passed, and this all kept happening, I tried to study music on the side. That’s when I started keeping the diary. I wrote these weird avant-garde compositions, but that wasn’t enough to salve the pain. So I wrote how I felt, and if anybody found it, I’d just say it was nonsense. But nobody did, though. During that time the tensions between the unions started to grow, mostly over who was getting the most light. Kids were fighting in the streets. Killing each other’s Chirithys--that’s how I lost mine. Even the most legendary parties fell apart. People were still dying.

One of these days, when I was almost seventeen, I was going back to the dorms after another quest. Master Ava--Vulpes’s leader--stopped me. She said she’d heard about me, and I braced myself for another lecture like the ones Aced liked to give. But it was my focus on the bigger picture of my life she liked, she said. She wanted me to join a special union she was building.

The Dandelions.

The reason she built this union was because she feared there would soon be war between the others, and that war would escalate to apocalyptic proportions. Remember, we’d all been training for years at that point, we all had way overpowered magic--even me. But because we had no foresight as to anything other than collecting lux, nobody could see the consequences of fighting.

She was going to take this special union, and she was going to teach us how to escape this world altogether, just to make sure somebody survived.

I know you’re probably dying to know how we did it, but I honestly can’t remember. It was some kind of spell, for sure. I know that each of us cast it, and we were all supposed to go together. But it’s one of those things too slippery and powerful to hold onto for long. Not to mention, this travel was supposed to wipe our memories of the trauma and give us a fresh start. So she said.

The war started earlier than expected. The only reason I went to the battle was to find the other Dandelions so we could leave. But I’m not sure if I missed a memo or something. They were gone. Then again, there were so many bodies that had been just so completely fucking destroyed that they could have been some of these people.

…

…

…

[Audio muffled or indiscernible; external knowledge of social cues suggests emotional distress.]

People were just fucking killing each other. They… they tried to kill me, too. I remember Keyblades hitting my armor and I panicked. And I guess instinctively I cast the spell and got out. Got somewhere, or I guess some when is the better word. I ended up in the same place, just later, surrounded by all these rusting Keyblades, my memories completely cleaved and running through my fingers like sand. I remember that, feeling it all drain away like a dream.

That’s when Xemnas found me. When things started to hurt. The shock and the armor made it hard to tell, but someone had stabbed me clean through the chest.

He was nice to me, too. He said he’d been waiting for me and that I was going to be okay. He could give me purpose. My wounds would heal.

I died, and Demyx was born. Memory-free.

You know the rest.

End recording, duration--25:17.

----

“Goodness gracious. ” Like a child listening to their favorite story, he’d been leaning forward attentively. He’d even started recording it on his gummiphone, which Demyx initially felt was a violation of his privacy. But considering how close-lipped Vexen had always been about his experiments, he knew, if anything, his words would be safe in Even’s hands. “This is a window into our history.”

“Yours, maybe.”

“You simply must tell me more about these Foretellers. How is this organization structured? What was their training regimen like? Who was their leader--did they have a leader?”

“It's a lot to talk about." His throat was dry from talking for so long.

Even exhaled. He paused the recording. “I suppose you’re right. Of course you must be very tired. It’s been a long day.”

“Yeah. Yeah, I would say so.”

A beat of silence.

“Thank you for sharing this with me,” Even said. “I realize… it is not easy. Especially given our past relationship.”

“Like you said. Forgiveness.”

He nodded once, curtly. “Would you like something to help you sleep?”

“I think I’ll be okay. But thanks.”

“Well. Don’t get too used to it.”

Demyx looked at him. He didn’t know how else to be kind, Demyx realized. It must take immense effort. “Wake me up if anything changes with Ienzo,” he said. “Please.”

“You can be sure of it.”

----

The next several days, he felt utterly hollow. Demyx slept a lot. This was a sort of mental exhaustion. He was afraid to stray too far away from Ienzo’s side, but his condition remained unchanged. Guilt clung to him. He wasn’t really sure what to do with himself. He cleaned his room, which took all of ten minutes considering his lack of possessions. Did laundry. Found a couple books to read which weren’t half bad. It was a toxic combination of boredom and stagnation. At the end of the first week of this, Dilan asked him to come play cards.

“I figure you could use a bit of a diversion,” he said. He offered a smile.

“I guess I’m being pretty pathetic, huh,” Demyx said. He forced a laugh.

“Given the circumstances? No. But wallowing must be horrifically boring.”

Dilan’s quarters were even smaller than Even’s. He and Aeleus shared a sitting room and kitchenette. A faint smell of garlic lingered in the room, along with something like eucalyptus. He had a small herb garden, each one meticulously cared for. Near this was a pile of puzzle boxes.

Dilan took out a pack of cards. Demyx sat gingerly on the couch. It was less stern than the other furniture, a bit more comfortable, a soft velor that felt good to touch. He was becoming increasingly reliant on the tactile to stay grounded. He didn’t know if this was one of his myriad issues, or an effect of being overwhelmed.

Dilan crossed to a small glass cabinet. “Would you like a drink?”

“God. Yes.”

He poured them each a few fingers of whiskey into small crystal glasses. It burned when Demyx sipped it, but he liked it. “What shall we play? It’s a shame we’ve no third. I’d rather have liked to play Blackjack.”

“It’s not like I have anything to bet.”

“Too, too true.”

They settled on Hearts. Demyx didn’t know what to say to Dilan. After winning the first game, Dilan got them another drink.

“I’m not sure how I feel about your newfound reticence,” Dilan said. “It’s so odd, to see how humanity has changed you youth.”

“How so?”

“You were hardly ever so reserved. Ienzo was never so friendly. You should have heard him, chattering away to Sora. ...I’m sorry.”

“It doesn’t bother me. To hear his name. Either of them, I mean.” He felt only a shadow of the ping of anxiety he got when thinking about Sora. Of course, knowing what he knew now, it made sense that Sora’d had to strike him down. Psychically, there were bigger fish to fry.

“You’ve got a focus to you. An intensity. It’s like you’re more present.”

“I don’t feel very present.”

“Well. We’ve all received some shocks recently.”

The alcohol was making him warm and a little dizzy. Demyx wasn’t sure whether or not he liked the sensation. He slipped off his shoes and pulled his feet up under him. “Why did you become an apprentice?”

Dilan thought for a moment, shuffled his cards, and then drank down the remainder of his whiskey in one swallow. “Why indeed,” he muttered. “I was only a boy at the time, a bit younger than yourself. I needed something to do with my life. I’d always liked creating things. Building things. Ansem had passed some initiatives to make Radiant Garden a haven for the sciences. I applied to study engineering under him, and was accepted.”

“Just like that?”

“Just like that.” He chuckled. “Why did you choose to become a Keyblade wielder?”

“I didn’t,” Demyx said. “It chose me. I was poor. Being a wielder was pretty much the only way to survive.”

“I abhor such economies,” Dilan said sourly. “I cannot understand how some leaders will let their charges suffer for basic human rights.”

“I can’t really have a realized perspective of it. I was still a kid when I left.”

“What will you do now?”

“What will I… do?” Demyx repeated numbly. “Frankly, I didn’t think I’d get this far.”

“You and I both.”

He continued to pet the velor. He was feeling dizzier still, and heavy. “I want to be with Ienzo,” he said. “And I want to make friends. Real ones. But I don’t know where I’d fit.”

“What’s that old adage? “Be yourself?””

“Hasn’t exactly worked in the past.”

“It is a theory of mine that becoming a Nobody worsens one’s flaws and insecurities.” Dilan poured them another drink. “Our personalities devolved and repelled. Fed by darkness. Take your time. Be honest. That’s all.”

Demyx picked up the crystal cup and swirled the amber liquid around a little. “I guess.”

“What about that guitar of yours?”

“Sitar?”

“Yes. That.”

“I don’t know,” he said. “But I’ll find out.”

---

The next day, it sleeted. The echo of the splotches of snow piling up outside was audible within the confines of the castle. Demyx went to the library, armed with a cup of coffee. He lit a fire in the hearth. Once it was large enough to tend to itself, he sat down cross legged in front of it.

For some reason he was nervous. This was akin to stage fright. He’d much rather be worthy of Arpeggio than the stupid Keyblade.

Demyx held out his hands and pulled from within. The Keyblade appeared. He sighed. “I don’t want you,” he muttered. Let it disappear. He remembered the way the sitar had felt, the perfect weight of it, the smooth varnished wood.

Keyblade again. Demyx had to resist the urge to just toss the damn thing. He stared down at it. Traced the smooth shaft, twisted the links of the chain.

“Please,” he said to it. “I don’t want to fight. I just want--”

Not to be an idiot talking to an inanimate object?

Vanishing. Reappearing. It didn’t matter how long he thought about his Nobody memories, of all the music he’d ever made with Arpeggio. Of the fights or occasionally lack thereof.

“Are you mad at me?” Demyx asked out loud. “I didn’t ask for this to all happen.”

Hadn’t he?

Oh, we do too have hearts. Don’t be mad.

“Shut up,” he hissed at himself.

The fire popped as a log settled, startling him.

“Is it because I’m not him anymore?” he continued. “I’m still the sa-- no. I’m not.”

Demyx lay back on the plush carpet.

Remembering death was not easy. Doubly hard now that he knew it wasn’t the first time he’d been slain with Keyblades. Some of them were sharp, most blunt. You’d crush your ribs before you drew blood. Which was what happened. He rested his palm on the spot were the scars were.

Sora, Donald, Goofy. So much rage. Realization that this was a murder-suicide. He was able to pin Sora twice before the pain was too much. Before fading. Before waking up. Before Braig, with a soft smile, and a boy with silver hair, and a hot stab to the chest. What would have happened, really, if he hadn’t been turned into a vessel? What would he have done? Run away? Spent his life friendless, unloved and alone?

Without Ienzo?

He needed connections. Without them he could never hope to be whole--at least, figuratively. He had to do better. To be better. But how? Fancy displays of heroism were functionally worthless if there was no real intent behind them.

Demyx stood. Despite it all, he sort of had an idea.

----

The winter coat he had was warm enough, but it was not quite waterproof, and by the time he’d waded through the slop he was damp and chilly. When he reached the door of the committee’s headquarters, though, a knot of anxiety overrode his physical discomfort. Demyx stood for several moments at the door as wet snow piled on his hat, unsure of what to say. Several times he reached up to knock and withdrew his hand. He had barely placed his palm on the doorknob before it opened of its own accord.

“‘Could’ve finished War and Peace in the time it took you to make up your mind,” a middle-aged blond man said gruffly. “Come on in, kid.” He was smoking a cigarette, and its smell mixed with the ambient woodsmoke. “Don’t think we’ve formally met. I’m Cid.” He offered his hand. “Saw you unconscious, but I don’t think you remember that.”

“Not--exactly--” Demyx shook his hand.

“Let me take your jacket before you get snow everywhere.” He took the wet garments and hung them on a coat rack.

“It’s warm in here,” Demyx said, half in wonder. He was so used to the drafty castle that he’d forgotten what adequate heating felt like.

Cid raised an eyebrow. “‘Course it is.”

“It’s, um, the castle. Heating’s not very good.”

“I imagine it wouldn’t be.”

A beat passed. Demyx felt his anxiety rising and floundered for things to say.

“I’m guessing you’re here for Aerith?” Cid asked. He stubbed out the cigarette in an ashtray.

“Well. Sort of. I want to help.”

“With what,” he said blankly.

“Anything. I mean I--” Demyx could feel himself turning red.

“In the middle of winter?”

He bit his lip and looked down.

Cid chuckled. “I’m messing with you, kid. We’re always happy to have an extra pair of hands. Any of ya’ll got a sense of humor over there?”

“Let’s just say it’s been a tough week,” Demyx said.

“I’ll say. Weather’s been driving us mad. I finally kicked out Yuffie and Leon to get some peace and quiet.”

“...Er. Sorry about that.”

He shrugged. “I’m sure one or both of them will be back soon. They know a bit more about the operations stuff than I do. Why don’t you have a seat?”

Demyx perched in one of the folding chairs. Cid sat back down at a computer and began absently writing code. He wondered if he should say something. Anything. Ask questions. He kept his hands knotted in his lap.

A door he hadn’t noticed previously opened, and out came Aerith, drying her hands on a towel. “Demyx? What are you doing here? Is everything okay?”

“Fine--well, enough. I’m here to help.”

She crossed over a plant on the table and cut off a few of its leaves. “Can’t do a whole lot in the winter other than plan, unfortunately.”

“What are you doing with those?”

“Making medicine.” She nodded her head towards the other room. “Want to see?”

He followed her. It was a small, narrow room, with a cot up against one wall. The other wall was lined with cabinets and some counter space. A few different types of dried leaves and blooms were stuffed in the myriad little drawers. She took the leaves, scattered them into mortar. To Demyx, the mix looked like a salad more than a medicine. She crushed it down, whispered a spell, and then with an odd little device began packing it into capsules. “Pectin,” she explained. “Goes down easier than the raw leaves. And doesn’t get stuck in your throat.”  She held up the tiny pill so he could see.

“What does it do?” Demyx asked.

“Cold cure,” she said simply. “We need lots of it this time of year. And colds always change. I’m forever tweaking it.”

A memory he hadn’t fully process washed in. He’d never been the best fighter in any of his parties, often left to provide background support. The spells then he’d used had been barbaric in comparison, but at least it kept people alive.

“When did you learn how to do all this stuff?” he asked. He was feeling odd.

“Oh, ever since I was a kid,” she said. “My mom and grandma before me were healers. They sorta taught me what I know now. And I’m also teaching myself.”

“Do you think it’s possible for someone else to learn?”

She crushed more herbs. “I’m sure it is. It’s magic like anything else.”

“What about--say--me?”

Aerith turned slightly. She appraised him.

“I’ve been wanting to help people and I don’t know how. You saved me. You saved Ienzo. I can’t do science, and I’m not a good fighter. But I have a good memory.” He considered the irony of that statement. But he’d always been good at memorizing.

“It’s a long road. This isn’t something you can do halfway. People’s lives could be at stake. But you know that.” She smiled a little. Tapped her forehead. “You’ve been through a lot in your life. Seen a lot of suffering.”

“Haven’t we all,” he said dryly.

“That’s… right.” She dusted off her hands. “It’s not that I don’t trust you, or believe you can do it. But you’ve gotta have a certain kind of tenacity. An ingenuity. Tell you what. Why don’t you read some base healing theory? There’s no way Ansem doesn’t have books about it. If that doesn’t send you running for the hills, we can talk.” She winked.

Demyx nodded. “Okay. Sounds good.”

“Good luck.”

He stood.

“Was that the answer you needed?” she asked.

“I think it was.”

----

A week or so passed. He tried to do what Aerith said, and study. But Demyx had never been the most studious, and almost everything he learned sans the very basics he’d learned in the field. He spent these minutes and hours alternating between the text and the dictionary. Why were academics such bad writers?

Sometimes he studied near Ienzo, sometimes he didn’t. Ienzo slept and slept and slept. Demyx could feel the utter lack of presence like a missing tooth. Honestly, being around him and not being able to talk to him was nearly painful.

During one of these marathon reading sessions, Even came in to check Ienzo’s vitals, as he did several times each day. “EKG activity is still fairly limited. But improving. He must be dreaming.”

“About what?” Demyx asked.

“I’ve no idea. ...What is that?” He reached town and felt at Demyx’s temperature. “Are you quite alright?”

Demyx sighed, marked his place in the book, and shut it. “I’m studying. Sue me.”

“But why?”

He drummed his fingers on the desk. “You’re just going to make fun of me.”

“I will… not,” Even said with great restraint.

Demyx raised an eyebrow.

“I must admit I am still getting used to the new you. Tell me. I will withhold judgement.”

“I’m thinking of learning to heal. Like. The magic.” He braced himself.

Even didn’t laugh. “Really? Why is that?”

“I want to help people. And this seems like something I can actually do.” He sighed. “I hate feeling helpless. If I can help someone not feel that way, it’d be nice. You know.”

“I admit I never put much stock in such magic initially. But seeing how that woman has cared for the two of you, I’m starting to change my mind.”

“Do you think I can do it?”

Even considered this. “You had a fairly potent magical ability in the Organization. I don’t see why not.”

“You don’t think I’m too stupid?”

He scowled. “I find it stupid that you hold my opinion in such high esteem.” Then, softening. “As you said. You’re not a scientist. But that really has little to do with practical intelligence.” He picked up the tome. “I’d be glad to help you, should you so want it. These aren’t exactly light reading. It’d be convenient to have another pair of hands.” He picked up another bag of saline. “Well. If you’re so interested, I might as well teach you how to do this much.” He showed Demyx how to change the IV and how to take base vitals. “I’m hoping we won’t need to do this for too much longer. But that’s all up to him.” Even patted Ienzo’s head.

“I miss him.” He felt tears in his eyes.

“As do I,” Even said softly. “Come. Are you hungry?”

---

The more Demyx studied, the more his memories became clearer. In those first shocked days, it had been hard to focus on any memory for very long. Now, not so much.

He’d been a healer then, but not a very good one. He’d still been a coward. More than once someone had gotten egregiously hurt because he hadn’t been willing to step up. He’d been kicked out of multiple parties that way.

He didn’t want to be a coward. It was time to be mature; a grown up. Deal with grown up things in a grown up way. Don’t run. Face it. The hurt will be over that much faster.

For the first time, he tried to summon the Keyblade because he wanted to. But that wasn’t what happened. Instead of cool metal, there was warm, varnished wood. Familiar. Well-worn. He held the sitar tenderly. Cried a bit out of relief.

He was still, despite it all, himself.

[balladserial]

Episode 1: Part 4

“Alright,” says Captain Warring, placing both hands firmly on the handrail that guards the ledge she’s standing on, above the rest of the crew.

It’s an unseasonably cold night, and the wind rushing by the ship doesn’t exactly help matters, but Captain Warring looks unfazed as always. The cold wind doesn’t even seem to rustle her hair as she speaks. Cold as ice.

I put down my bow and lower my fiddle to my side, and the rest of the crew assembles. Clairvoyance is here, in a hulking squarish body built for muscle over anything else, along with Gratitude (clutching his wool cape around him for warmth), Mikael, and Athens. It’s hardly the warmest place for a crew meeting, but hey. I can’t say I don’t appreciate the gravitas.

“Alright?” Athens echoes, her tail whipping just a bit from impatience.

Apparently, the captain has been no less cryptic to her first mate than to the rest of us.

“So,” Captain Warring continues, unfazed, “I’ve touched base with one of my contacts inside the Guard, and they confirmed, more or less, what was on the note Joane recovered during yesterday’s…hubbub. There is, indeed, a transport vessel by the name of the P.A.S. Condor docking in West Compassion at the end of the week. I wasn’t able to get a good report on what, exactly, the Condor is carrying, but it appears to be ammunition of some kind, headed for the capital. Whatever it is, the haul could be worth a killing. No word on what kind of security we’re looking at, but I know the Principality. The possibility that someone might intercept their secret shipment probably hasn’t even crossed their minds.”

Clairvoyance leans forward a bit, resting her chin on the back of her hand.

“You want this to be our next job,” she observes with a hint of a smile in her voice.

I don’t blame her. I trust the captain and all, but I think we can all tell we’re in desperate need of some profit.

“If it’s only munitions, I suppose it’s not so bad,” muses Gratitude out loud, his discomfort plain for all to see. I nudge him a bit, and he shoots me a glare.

“Well,” I chip in, “I, for one, think it’s a great plan. And Captain, if you’re open to it, I think this could be an excellent time for me to get in some real ground work-”

“Absolutely not,” says Captain Warring flatly, and I wince.

“Captain,” I say softly. “I know I’m still, uh…in trouble, but I was the one who got the intel in the first place, and I really think I’m ready-”

“You also got yourself hurt and got separated from the rest of the crew,” she points out, unmoved. “Joane, we’ve discussed this several times, and I still don’t think you actually understand why you’re in trouble.”

Despite my best efforts to keep my cool, I can feel hot blood rushing to my face. My grip on the neck of my fiddle tightens.

“With all due respect, Captain,” I say slowly, between clenched teeth, “I wouldn’t be such a liability in the field if you ever actually gave me the chance to hone my skills.”

“Tal,” Gratitude interjects with an air of detached politeness that makes me want to leap out of my skin, “I think perhaps what the captain is saying is that your problem is not your inexperience, but your abject recklessness in the face of danger and your complete inability to plan ahead.”

“Fuck off, Gratitude,” I snarl. “What do you know, you grew up in a convent.”

“A better upbringing, I’d say, than living amongst the gutter trash.”

My hand balls into a tight fist, but before I can slug Gratitude in the face, a firm grip closes around my wrist. I glance up.

Athens is standing there, her usual cocky grin replaced by an air of thick disappointment. One hand is restraining my punching arm, while the other maintains a tight grip on Gratitude’s shoulder. If looks could kill, hers would be drilling a coin-sized hole through the center of my skull.

“Actually, Captain,” she says sweetly, turning her attention up to where Captain Warring is standing, massaging her temples. “I have a much better idea of how to deal with this situation, if you’ll allow.”

Captain Warring looks up, and the dark circle under her eye is more visible than ever.

“I’m listening.”

“Fuck this,” I moan, pulling the brim of my Principality Navy regulation hat down over my face. If the other night was unseasonably chilly, midday at the docks of West Compassion is overbearingly muggy. If Arcadia V really does have a living spirit, as some claim, clearly She missed the memo that it’s supposed to be September.

“Language,” Gratitude mutters next to me.

Not that he’s in any place to judge. He’s doing no better than me, judging by the irritated way he keeps tapping his foot on the rough cobblestone of the harbor. His Navy uniform is a tad ill-fitting; the shoulders hang a bit loose and the double-breasted jacket doesn’t quite sit right. I imagine mine doesn’t look all that good either, if the tightness around my hips is anything to go by, but I suppose that’s what you get out of last-minute disguises.

West Compassion is a small city, only about a day’s trip from Greater Mercy. By and large, it’s a trading outpost, and few people aside from an odd collection of merchants, traders, and those who make money off travelers actually live here. But the view from the harbor is extraordinary. Even with the sunlight beating down in waves on both our heads, it looks just as lovely glinting off the clouds below the jutting, stone docks, making the sky below shine just like I imagine the real ocean might. And all along the way, rows and rows of airships line the docks, ranging from small birding vessels to enormous, hulking freighters. And in front of us, an iron-sided freight ship, held aloft by a large and unwieldy balloon, with its name stamped in regulation type on the side.

The P.A.S. Condor.

“Welp,” I say with as little enthusiasm as possible. “We better climb onboard. We’re going to miss orientation.”

Gratitude swallows and pauses to adjust his head covering (the ornate veil swapped out for a simple blue bandana) before stepping forward onto the dock. A long moment passes where there’s no conversation but the faint sound of feet on stone, the cries of cliff-dwelling birds and the whistling of the wind.

“I imagine you’re also mad at me over this Hellfire business,” Gratitude says finally.

I frown.

“No,” I reply. “Why would I be?”

Gratitude gestures vaguely in the air, as if grasping for the words he needs floating around his head.

“You...haven’t exactly made a secret of your disdain for me, and given our…incompatible faiths, it seemed pretty obvious that you would side with Athens on the matter.”

I roll my eyes.

“Gratitude, I don’t not get along with you because I’m Jewish.”

“That-” He stumbles over his words quickly. “Tal, that is not what I meant. I just thought that-”

I smirk a little and shove him, making him windmill a little to avoid falling into the guardrail. He exhales in a little puff of irritation.

“I understand,” I say. “You figured that because I don’t share your religious beliefs, I’d be totally gung-ho to jump in on ‘bash the Exodist’ hour. Rest assured, buddy. I don’t care even a little bit about Hellfire except that I’d prefer not to get killed by it. Hell, there are places where fire is really important to Jewish worship. So like. Keep your weird magic god fire, I really do not care.”

“It’s not my-” Gratitude mutters. “It’s not like I can summon it-”

He clamps his mouth shut as we finally approach the gangplank at the end of the dock. The Condor looms above us, and I find myself correcting my posture instinctually. There’s something about a ship like this that really makes you wanna play soldier. Luckily, that’s exactly what we’re here to do.

We stand at the foot of the plank for what feels like forever until we finally hear the unmistakable sound of heeled boots on metal approaching us. Out of the shadows, we can see a figure climb down the ramp and set foot, finally, in front of us.

The figure is a woman, seemingly, tall with light skin and amber eyes, and a spattering of freckles across her long, sharp nose. She looks in her early thirties if I had to hazard a guess, and her sandy brown hair is swept into a neat style at the back of her neck. Her clothes look...decidedly unlike the standard naval uniform of the Principality: a slightly open white button-down shirt with an unbuttoned brocade coat that sweeps behind her as she walks. Her trousers are high-waisted and adorned with brass buttons that look...pretty expensive.

“You two the ballast we’re picking up here?” she asks flatly, fiddling with a toothpick in one hand. “I gotta say, real weird that the Principality is sending its goons to babysit us, but as long as we get the paycheck…”

I glance sideways at Gratitude, who is already glancing at me. I shrug.

“Um,” I say eloquently. “Yes sir. I’m Ensign Lee Mirage, and this is Ensign Merriment Sign-Your-Agreement-Eternally-Binding.”

The woman raises one thin eyebrow.

“I’m, er, I’m a medical officer, sir,” says Gratitude. “Here are our papers, they should check out alright.”

Gratitude hands the woman a brand new set of fakes, which she scans quickly. She exhales, seemingly satisfied.

“Sir,” I venture. “I apologize, we were under the impression that this was a Principality naval vessel.”

She laughs out loud and hands our papers back to Gratitude. The sun glints off something shiny in her mouth- a single gold tooth.

“Aw, sweetheart,” she says with a hint of glee. “They really don’t teach y’all anything over there.”

She sticks out a hand, and I shake without thinking. The enthusiasm in her handshake nearly pulls my arm out of its socket.

“Mirage, Merry, it’s good to meet you. My name’s Adonis Fleetfoot, but that’s Captain Fleetfoot to you.” She grins. “Welcome aboard the Condor, and welcome to my privateering crew- the Last Stand of Dignity!”

Gratitude and I shoot each other another bewildered look.

This is gonna be a long mission, isn’t it.

[Episode 1 Part 3] - [Episode 1 Part 5]

[slayercordelia]

Omg, number 24 for the bellarke prompts please!!!!

gosh, the twenties are quite popular aren’t they :) thank you so much for sending in this request it makes me so happy !!!

24 - “you’re the only one i trust to do this.”

It was nine thirty-five on a Monday morning when Bellamy Blake got a call from Clarke Griffin.

He was greeted by a cough, sniffle and “I’m sick!”

“Well I would offer to look up your symptoms on WebMD but it seems all that knowledge from the half of your pre-med course you actually did take have helped you work it out yourself,” he said, smiling cockily, he was pretty proud of that little burn.

“Ha, ha!” she coughed out in a dull, unamused monotone. “Well I’m sure that brilliant fully completed history degree you got there will really come in handy when I get all the good articles and you end up writing, yet again, about Mrs. Smith across the road’s terrible disdain for modern technology. I’d love to see you put yet another spin on that one,” she grumbled back.

Being sick may have made her sniffly but it in no way deminished her ability to completely and utterly destroy him.

“Ouch, did you call for any reason other than to make me feel bad about all my life decisions up until this point?” he asked, tapping his pen on the desk.

“Not all, I did like that one decision you made last week when you got me a coffee on Thursday morning, that one was nice,” she said in joking contemplativeness.

“It was buy one get one free, Clarke.”

“Okay, well whatever. I’m calling because I kind of need you to cover my Person of Interest interview for me today?” she asked reluctantly. He could practically see her wincing on the other end.

“Claaaarke-” he groaned, tipping his head back in his seat, but he didn’t get a chance to launch into a full grumble-rant. She knew the tell-tale signs by now, and how to avoid at all costs.

“Look, I know this isn’t ideal I get it you have a life too surprisingly enough, but you’re the only one I trust to do this. Please Bellamy,” she whined, a sound made ten times more unbearable than usual with her croaky throat.

He sighed loudly so he knew she could hear it. “Are you sure there’s no-one else?” he asked, strained.

He knew there was nobody else in this office she was willing to even contemplate giving such a responsibility to. She trusted him and him alone, they were a set, the ‘wonder twins’ as their Editor-in-Chief Marcus Kane liked to say.

“Oh, yeah, and allow our resident “Cheech and Chong” impersonators Jasper and Monty double-team the youngest CEO in the history of the city?” she exclaimed incredulously. “Seriously! Think about it! There’s a reason the two of them have been banned from doing a Person of Interest interview ever again, even individually!”

It was a funny image, and he did let out a few chuckles while playing out the scenario in his head. They were talking about the same two guys that had asked the Mayor if he had got divorced because of his apparent gay affair with the Seahawks coach on the grounds that ‘the people wanted to know’. THE MAYOR! They were lucky he thought it was a joke about their friendship and didn’t truly understand quite what they were getting at. The idea of letting them talk to a professional businessman at all after the bollocking they received was enough to make even Roan smile slightly.

“Okay, but are you really sure it has to be me? There’s really nobody else?” he asks, biting his lip.

“Nobody but you Bell, it has to be you, you’re the only one I can count on,” she said and he didn’t even try to hide the beam on his face (of course, if she could see him, it would have been more of a small contemplative grin because of course he didn’t care whether she depended on him alone or not).

“Besides,” she started, “it could get all 50 Shades you know, young CEO, she’s attractive too. Oooh, but wait you have to be okay with bondage because otherwise it could be a deal-breaker,” she chuckled lightly which came out as more of a crackle through his shitty phone.

“Ha ha!” he replied monotonously like she had done.

“I’m serious!” she giggled, “you could meet the Christina Grey to your Andrew Steele.”

“Well I’m glad the tapes of my kinky interview with your sex-fiend CEO will bring you great pleasure to listen back on.”

“So is that a yes?!” she squealed and he moved the phone away from his ear.

“That’s a yes Griffin, I’ll have the tapes on your desk tomorrow morning,” he sighed, smile still prominent.

“Gosh! Thank you so much! You’re a life saver!” The relieved grin was pretty much audible.

“Oh, and Clarke,” he started, smug smile now slapped across his face, “I would have done it as soon as you asked. It’s just nice to know that I’m ‘the only one you trust’ and ‘the only one you can count on’.”

“You bastard!” she laugh coughed.

“So you leave your big profile in my apparently extremely dependable hands and then call me a bastard? That’s not very polite.”

“I’m hanging up now!”

“See you tomorrow Griffin.”

“Later Blake.”

Around four hours and ten episodes of The Office later, there was a knock on Clarke’s door. She groaned as she pushed herself up from her sofa and pulled her duvet tighter around her shoulders.

“I swear to god if you’re trying to sell me more cookies this isn’t going to end well!” she shouts, unbolting the door.

There, in her doorway, holding a red container and a tape recorder was none other than Bellamy Blake.

“Sorry, I think girl scouting ended last week, but can I interest you in a tape recording of a particularly saucy interview I just partook in?” he grins.

She groans, rubbing her eyes. Yup, he was still there. “What the hell are you doing here?”

“You’re sick so… I brought you soup! My mum always made me leek and potato soup when I was ill, and I always made it for Octavia. Guaranteed recovery within a day, the Blakes swear by it,” he keeps flashing her that winning smile.

“You brought me soup?!” She chuckles slightly in disbelief and there’s a smile on her face, the kind that only comes with the overwhelming surge of appreciation when those you care about care for you. And it doesn’t go unnoticed by Bellamy.

“Well, the soup and the interview, I thought you’d want to review this footage immediately,” he grinned like he was telling a joke she wasn’t supposed to understand just yet, “oh, and also, the soup’s cone cold. Turns out I don’t actually own a flask.”

He holds out what he brought her and instead of taking them she widens her door, “Well since you went to all this effort to get this to me, you should get to enjoy the miracle soup too. The stove’s in the kitchen, I trust you can reheat it yourself? I’m simply too ill,” she grins, coughing for dramatic effect. He half-sighs through his smile as he steps through her doorframe and over to her kitchen.

“Of course, I’d never want to put you out of your way Princess.”

She turns on the cooker for him and hops onto one of the barstools around the surface in the middle of her kitchen.

“Well… you were right,” he says, pouring the soup into a pan.

“Hmmmnn, I usually am but about so many things, you’re going to have to be more specific,” she says, tracing spirals on the counter top.

“The CEO,” he says, like he really doesn’t want to have to elaborate.

“Still lost here Cryptic Christopher, if you hadn’t noticed I’m slightly ill and my brain isn’t working at it’s usual capacity.”

“She hit on me,” he says with a slightly embarrassed chuckle of disbelief. He had his back to her so she just had to imagine the blush on his cheeks (it wasn’t difficult).

Clarke’s so stunned her head snaps up and she actually has a coughing fit, “No way!”

“I know,” he said, scratching his neck with his free non-stirring hand.

“Well, what did she say? What did you say? Was she nice? Is there a future? Shall I start the wedding plans?” she questions, bewildered with a touch of… something.

“I’m not giving you any spoilers, you just gotta listen to the tapes,” he teased.

“Oh, Blake, come on you can’t do that to me!” Now it’s her turn to grumble.

“Oh, Griffin, yes I can,” he mocks. “All I’m saying is… there’s a higher comedic value if you listen to it without any prior knowledge.”

“Oh God, that bad?”

“No spoilers!”

“I can’t wait!” she grins, the grip of the something gone.

“Careful with that,” he almost scolds, pointing at the spoon full of soup in her hand once he’d served it up into two bowls, “you gotta blow on it before you put it on your mouth, it’s too hot otherwise.”

“That’s what she said,” she states proudly and bursts into laughter.

He gives her a disbelieving smile which makes her laugh even more. “You… are two years old. Are you sure this cold hasn’t got serious neurological repercussions?”

“Sorry, it’s The Office, I’ve been rewatching it all day. There was nothing else to do.”

The disbelieving grin intensifies.

“So you mean to tell me that while I’ve been slaving away doing all your dirty work like a bitchboy, you’ve been sat on your ass watching Michael Scott make an idiot out of himself over and over again.”

“Maybe?” she says, more like a guilty rhetorical question, stirring her soup.

“Well that is just not acceptable, which Jim prank are we on now?” Bellamy asks, looking over at the screen and picking up his bowl to move to the sofa.

She follows him, filling him in on where she’s at and bringing the pan of soup to the coffee table.

It feels natural. Her and him, him and her. Sat in the middle of her beaten leather sofa reciting iconic lines, eating magical soup, comparing the characters to their own unbelievable colleagues (Miller was a definite Stanley). It’s comfortable, like they should have been doing this all along, and when Wells slams the front door shut as he gets home from work and she wakes up with her head on his shoulder and his hand resting loosely round her shoulder it doesn’t feel uncomfortable at all. Which is saying something because Bellamy Blake is possibly the most awkward person she’s ever met.

And after he leaves when he sees the time she feels a little better than before.

But we’ll credit that to Blake’s miracle soup.

read more of these two idiots working together here

hit me up with a number (or if you’re feeling extra funky, come up with your own prompt) and i’ll write you a hopefully satisfactory co-worker drabble :)))

[sunshinemiranda]

First Impressions - Lin-Manuel Miranda x Reader (Chapter II)

Summary: Jasmine is invited to Netherfield, but becomes ill. You go to stay and take care of her, resulting in some oddly civil interactions with Mr. Miranda and some, not so civil ones. 

Warnings: None!

Word Count: 2,434 (I KNOW)

A/N: Here it is, the second part to the Pride and Prejudice AU! Since this is a changed up version, this series won’t follow the original storyline exactly but it is inspired by Austen’s novel. Anyway, I hope you like it! (By the way, I do take requests! Don’t be shy!)

askbox | masterlist

After a night full of excitement, you had thought that the following morning would be deliciously lazy, and slow. To say so now would be laughably ridiculous. Breakfast had only just landed on the table and already Mandy was banging out chords on the piano, your mother had cracked a raw egg for her “slight hangover”, and Lexi had talked so endlessly about the ball that you were surprised she had any breath left at all. The room was filled with a hundred conversations at once.

“I want my bun toasted!”

“Papa, is there something other than syrup for the gruel? It makes it runny.”

“Runny is hardly a problem big enough for our help to run to find you some brown sugar, Sasha.”

“Daisy! Come here, girl! For the last time, stop chasing the cat!”

“A letter, ma’am, for Miss Jasmine Bennet from Netherfield Hall.”

The entire table froze at that. As daughters, your first and foremost goal in life was to marry, and to someone rich too. The notion of Jasmine being sent a request from the Ramos’ sent a thrill of excitement and shock through the whole family, but you were not surprised. You had seen the way Anthony looked at her, and it matched the way Jas gazed at him. It was a rich marriage, yes, but one that included two people who, fortunately, liked each other very much. Carrie, the maid, had a letter in one, outstretched hand.

“Goodness, I need to retrieve my old wedding dress and get it fitted for you, Jasmine, my dear.” Your mother breathed.

A chuckle at your mother’s ridiculousness ran through the children.

“Blossom, one can always count on you to assume the extreme.” Your father remarked drily and you laughed when your mother emitted an offended gasp.

“Go on, Jas!” Lexi was practically trembling with excitement. “Open it!”

And so she did. Her brown eyes skimmed over the page, alight with excitement. The Bennet family held its breath.

“Caroline Ramos has asked me to dine with her.” Jas murmured, a blush encroaching on her cheeks at the very mention of the last name.

Lexi squealed, grabbing onto Sasha’s hand. One could always count on her to assume the extreme, too. She was, after all, her mother’s daughter, and Mrs. Bennet’s favourite of all her children.

“Anthony will be dining out.” Jas’ brow pulled together immediately.

Your mother made a sound of indignation and snatched the letter from Jasmine’s hand immediately, reading it quickly with the fire of scandal.

“Dining out? Well, I never!”

“Mama, may I take the carriage? The walk is too far.”

“Dining out indeed. And how dare she-“

“Mama.” You interrupted, taking charge. “Carriage. For Jasmine.”

Your mother huffed, then glanced out the window, where sheets of rain were falling from the sky, a sky that was covered in grey cloud and not a patch of sunlight. To walk to Netherfield in that weather would be treacherous.

“No, no. She’ll go on horseback.”

“There is no need to worry, I am in such wonderful, caring hands here,” you read out from Jasmine’s letter. It had reached Longbourn a half hour after her leaving for Netherfield. “My symptoms are only a fever, sore throat, and cough.” You stared at your mother in disbelief.

“Mama, this is ridiculous! How could you send her on horseback? She’s caught her death out there.” You clutched the letter as you stood, pacing the small kitchen.

“Yes, precisely as I planned.” Your mother chuckled. “She’ll have to stay the night. After tomorrow, he’ll be half in love with her already!”

The sheer audacity of saying such a thing hit you hard, and your mouth fell open, quite unattractively. This was your mother’s daughter in question, sick in bed in the bed of some acquaintances. Did her compassion really fall short for her lust for finding suitably rich men to willingly give her daughters to? Your resolve steeled with every thought and you turned to face your mother abruptly. 

“That’s it. I must go to her.”

“But Papa has the carriage!” Lexi called as you stepped to retrieve your coat.

“I’ll walk.” You nodded, voice determined enough to stop you from questioning the incredible distance you would have to travel.

“Poor Jasmine. She’ll die prematurely, without knowing that her lovely Mr. Ramos planned to propose to her, this very day! How very sad.” Lexi sighed.

“And romantic.” Sasha added.

“Nonsense, girls.” Your mother chastised. “There is no such thing as dying from a cold.”

“Ah, yes.” You agreed, pulling your coat on. “But death by embarrassment of having such a mother is completely possible.”

The weather had cleared by the time you left for Netherfield, and the sky was peacefully blue. A slight breeze ruffled your skirts, and the mud on the road covered your petticoats, but you paid no mind. The walk, though long, was invigorating and pleasant. You had been needing a while to your own thoughts for a while, and this would be a perfect opportunity if the thought of Jasmine’s wellbeing didn’t weigh on your mind so heavily.

Upon arriving to Netherfield, the butler showed you into a grandly decorated room, and you saw Caroline Ramos, and Lin-Manuel Miranda sitting for a meal; two people you had hoped to avoid for as long as possible.

“Ms. (Y/N) Bennet, sir and ma’am.” The butler bowed, and stepped out.

Caroline lifted a cryptic brow at your dirtied skirts. “Miss Bennet, what a…pleasure. Did you walk here?”

Intent not to rise to her obvious displeasure, you smiled mildly and replied with a civil, “Yes.”

A silence passed through the room and you found that same pair of intelligent brown eyes trained on you. The familiar spark of annoyance that flared to life in your chest when you looked at such a man as Mr. Miranda appeared again, and you stood a little straighter, tilting your chin up, keeping your dignity no matter what.

“I’d like to see my sister, please.”

Before Caroline could possibly comment something else about the dirt on your hems, Mr. Miranda had risen from his seat.

“I will show you to her.” He walked purposefully toward the door to pull it open, gesturing with a hand to let you through first. A little shocked at his offer, you quickly curtsied and walked into the hallway. He fell into step beside you.

You had expected an even worse silence than the ones at the Goldsberry ball, but instead he turned to you with an interest in his voice; or at least, a very good pretense of interest.

“And how is your family, Miss Bennet?” His voice was soft and nothing like the clipped tones you had heard from him before.

“They’re well; but for their worry for Jasmine.” You replied, all civility. You hadn’t meant to sound quite so cold but you were wary that his own coldness and disregard would soon return.

“She is welcome here, on behalf of Anthony and I, as well as Caroline.” He bowed, directing a hand toward a bedroom door. “Stay here as long as you please. If you feel the need to stay overnight, there are many available rooms.”

You turned to thank him, but his long strides had him walking back down the hall before you could even open your mouth. A little shaken and in a whirlwind of thoughts about the moment shared, you pushed through the door to ground yourself with the sight of your sister.

She was covered in a mound of quilts, curly hair spread out on the white pillow. Her face lit up at the sight of you and she moved to speak a greeting but was attacked with a fit of coughing instead. You rushed to sit next to her, handing her the glass of water resting on the bedside table.

“Oh, Jas. I am so sorry our mother has condemned you to this.” You sighed, reaching to lay a hand on her arm.

She smiled weakly, lying back with a sigh. “It is no inconvenience at all. They are being so kind to me.”

As if on cue, a familiar head of curly hair and a pair of green eyes peeked into the room, carrying a tray of tea.

“Hello,” Mr. Ramos spoke sheepishly. “I thought some tea might help. And I am so happy you’re here, Miss Bennet. I’ve been trying my best, but I’m sure you know a thing or two about recovery, which is more than I do.” He chuckled good-naturedly, setting the teacup down on the table.

“Not at all, Mr. Ramos. I have complete faith in you.” You smiled and he returned it, going to leave.

“Thank you, Anthony.” Jasmine murmured, and he blushed a bright pink.

“Of course, of course. It’s a pleasure to have you here. Not that I take pleasure in your being ill!” His words increased speed as he noticed his mistake. “No, not at all. Your presence is simply…enjoyable, is that the word? Ah, um, I will take my leave. Again, it is nice to see you, Miss Bennet.”

With that flustered ordeal, he left the room as quick as possible and you burst into a fit of giggles, as did Jas.

“Anthony?” You questioned, raising a brow.

Jasmine flushed and gave a shrug, turning her head to look at the tea next to her fondly. You responded only with a laugh, and stood, murmuring to her to sleep and left a kiss on her forehead before exiting the room.

You were struck with the utterly alien location as soon as you closed the door. This was not your home, and there was not a chance you would leave before Jasmine was strong enough to travel back home. Your only option was to wander the halls. Sounds of teacups and conversation wafted from an open doorway and you leaned in to see the Ramos siblings having tea, and a sullen Mr. Miranda reading a book in the corner.

“Miss Bennet!” Anthony smiled, standing. Bless him, you thought. He was truly the only good person here. “Come, please do join us for tea.”

You thanked him, smiling and went to sit, a maid pouring you a cup and setting a plate of biscuits down in front of you.

“Is your sister feeling any better?” Anthony inquired, frowning with concern.

“Yes, she is. Rest and nutrition is all she needs to heal. Thank you again for letting us stay here.” You replied.

“Believe me, you are both welcome when you feel the slightest bit ill.” He grinned.

“Yes,” Caroline interrupted with a cold smile. “I do adore your sister’s presence so.”

Fighting the urge to scoff, you simply nodded. Comfortable silence fell for the first time, and you turned your gaze to the quiet man in the corner. His gaze flickered over his book to meet yours and you hurriedly looked away, cursing yourself and blushing badly. Trying to forget the shock of his eyes on yours, you stood and stepped over to the shelves of books lining the parlour. His eyes were still trained on you.

“Are you looking for something specific, Miss Bennet?” He murmured, not bothering to close his book.

“No.” You replied truthfully. “But I couldn’t help but notice all the Shakespeare on these shelves. Mr. Ramos, I had no idea you had a love for the bard.” You grinned, turning to Anthony.

“Alas, those do not belong to me!” Mr. Ramos smiled. “They’re Miranda’s. He is intent on bringing his plays with him everywhere, whether that’s here at Netherfield or at his home of Pemberly. Isn’t that right, Lin?”

Shifting uncomfortably at the sudden attention, Mr. Miranda nodded wordlessly. 

“Oh, dear.” You laughed lightly. “I cannot tease him about that. I’m afraid I have quite the soft spot for him as well.”

Mr. Miranda’s eyes shot to you as you trailed your finger over the selection of books, and he lowered his own volume to leave it on the table beside him.

“I must admit that is surprising.” He said.

All of a sudden offended, you turned, glare cold. “Why do you say so, Mr. Miranda?” This was all said with an unfeeling civility.

“I do not know many…members of your sex who have a taste for his works.” He spoke carefully.

Your flare of annoyance was back and burning brighter. “Then you must not know many women, Mr. Miranda. We are all quite well read and satisfied with our abilities to have such taste.”

Anthony laughed at that, and you felt a triumphant feeling ring through your body, before you excused yourself with the idea in min to visit Jas again.

Your stay at Netherfield lasted two more nights and for both of those days, Mr. Miranda avoided conversation with you as if you were a plague. To say this bothered you would say that you particularly enjoyed speaking with the man, which was completely untrue. It was simply the painfully awkward silences that got on your nerves. He could deign to say good morning at least once, right?

However, there was no need for that. Jasmine was finally feeling better and Lexi, Sasha, Mandy and your mother came in the carriage to pick the both of you up. Outside, Anthony helped Jasmine into the carriage and you saw the way they blushed at each other. Perhaps your mother was right in thinking a wedding was near. After thanking Caroline mildly for her “hospitality”, you reached to step into the carriage and a hand took hold of yours to help you in. Shocked at the sudden contact, you turned to see Mr. Miranda standing at your side. As you sat, he nodded curtly and turned, his long strides leading him to disappear into Netherfield Hall in a second. You shook off your thoughts, but not before your mind managed to over-analyze everything to the point of breaking.

Not even four days had passed back home at Longbourn before Jasmine received another letter from Caroline Ramos. She turned an unhealthy pale as her eyes read through words of script.

“Jas?” You asked, alarmed. “What’s wrong?”

She handed the letter to you mutely and excused herself with a word, retreating to the room you shared. Quickly, you unfolded the letter and read as fast as your eyes would allow it.

The Ramos’ would be leaving Netherfield the next morning. False hope had snatched your sister’s heart under the name of Anthony. You had found a new disdain for Caroline Ramos and yet another trait to abhor in a man such as Lin-Manuel Miranda.

[the-spoony-bard]

A Matter of Leverage - 12

Fandom: Fire Emblem Awakening

Style: Leverage!AU; modern setting; adventure/drama

Word count: 3166 words

Read on Ao3

“I am really starting to think you are crazy, Bubbles,” Gaius accuses as soon as the hotel door is closed safely behind them.

 “We had the money for Donnel and you just threw it away!” Nowi adds. “Money! Beautiful, green money!”

 “T-this is b-bigger than just Donnel now,” Olivia says, coming to Robin’s defense.

 Robin, for her part, ignores the chatter as she pours herself a drink. Olivia turns on her as she does so.

 “Robin, please!”

 “You’re right, Olivia.” Robin turns around slowly, carefully swishing the glass around and watching the clear golden brown waves. “This is bigger than just one client. Four hundred homes… this is a chance to give a voice to so many more victims.”

 “It’s also a chance to get caught by the cops,” Lon’qu cuts in, eyes narrowed. “There’s too many ways this can go wrong with them involved.”

 “But if played right, it can go even better.”

 “What are you talking about?” Nowi laughs uncomfortably. “You’re always so weird and cryptic when you’re drunk. And you’re always drunk, so…”

 “Nowi,” Olivia cringes.

 “We’re going much bigger,” Robin presses on, ignoring the dig at her alcohol problem. “An even bigger scam. So Norris likes to invest in people’s misfortune? Let’s see how willing he’d be to invest… in death.”

 Silence reigns in the hotel room as Robin stares pensively out the window. Nowi takes a deep breath.

 “I’m sorry, you said invest in what?”

 ○

 “You see, it’s very simple,” Robin spreads out her arms to her audience of two: Olivia and Norris, sitting together in the office at Roddick’s house. “You have your average run of the mill person. Hasn’t done anything too extraordinary. Except now, they figure out they have a fatal disease with only months to live, if that. What would you do in a situation like that?” Robin pushes her chair back and stands. “You want to live even more! Travel the world, spend more time with the kids, things like that. But see, most people have no savings left after preliminary treatments. So you’re let knowin’ that you’re gonna die, and on top of that, you’re broke.”

 “Okay,” Norris says, hardly convinced, instead glancing down at his phone.

 “Now here’s where it gets interesting.” Robin points at Norris, attracting his attention again. “Your big juicy insurance policy is just sitting there with nothing else to do. So what we do, our group—” she gestures to Olivia “—we buy their policy. They get a nice chunk of change now, and we can get our pay after they kick the bucket. It’s a win-win for everyone. They get to enjoy their last days, and we get a healthy profit from the exchange.”

 “Lyn’s been in insurance for over ten years now,” Olivia explains. “She approached us with some… insider information.”

 “You wanna know what I got?” Robin asks enthusiastically, clapping her hands together. “I’ve got databases full of sick people and some specialists with detailed reports that helped me compile a short list of people with fat policies and less than six months to live.” Robin leans forward conspiratorially, passing the list to Norris. “Do you have any idea what I’ve just handed you? This is a game changer, my friend. This, well… this will triple your money or more.”

 “Lyn has a select number of investors already,” Olivia inserts smoothly. “With your contribution, we could buy even more policies.”

 “Eh?” Robin grins expectantly.

 Norris glances over the list before shaking his head, handing it back.

 “No. It’s too risky. You can’t control when someone’s gonna croak.”

 “Are you not listening?” Robin replies with a half laugh. “This list is our golden goose! I mean, just look at it.” Robin clears her throat before reading with gusto, “here we go. Lung cancer, middle aged man in Renais. Non-Hodgkin’s lymphoma, twenty-something in Gallia. Do you see this Rolex? Yeah, this baby’s all thanks to some sucker’s melanoma.”

 “Alright, alright!” Norris relents. “But I want independent confirmation myself with a doctor of my own choosing.”

 “Hey, fair enough,” Robin grins. “But…” she pauses as she picks the list back up, swinging it back and forth in the air. “We do have one condition. No one gets a look at this list without a little buy in first. Ten thousand up front.”

 “Of course,” Norris snorts.

 “Of course,” Robin replies as they shake hands. She hands him back the list. “Take your pick, my friend. Take a good, long look. Pick a patient, any patient…”

 “Uh… okay,” Norris points to a name. “Sain Kent, inoperable brain tumor. He’s even nearby.”

 “Well…” Robin smiles humorlessly. “Nice choice. I’ll set it up. You bring your doctor.”

 “Alright,” Norris makes a note of it as the phone rings. “Oh, this is gonna be good,” he snickers at the caller ID. “Florina!”

 Olivia hurries over as Norris answers, putting the call on speaker.

 “You damn weasel!” Murray exclaims without preamble. “You had one job, man. All you had to do was write the check!”

 “Oh, but I did. Just ask our friend Florina.”

 “What? What’s she doing there?”

 “Oh, I’m sorry, darling,” Olivia cuts in. “We just decided to… go in a different direction.”

 “What—what did you say to her?” Murray shouts.

 “Oh, I wouldn’t know. I just sit alone in my office all day counting numbers,” Norris returns in a mocking impression of his brother. He and Olivia share a laugh.

 “Norris, you little asshole!” Murray thunders. “We’ll see how happy you are when dad hears about this!”

 “Sorry—kssshh—you’re—kssh—breaking up!”

 “Norris, you fu—”

 Norris hangs up, then spins around in his chair to look at Olivia.

 “Oops.”

 “Now that is what I call control,” Olivia chuckles. She looks up and meets Robin’s eyes. “We’ll meet you later at the hospital, then.”

 “Yeah. I’m looking forward to it.”

 “I’m looking forward to a prosperous partnership,” Robin says, shaking Norris’s hand.

 ○

 There’s something relaxing about driving with no destination in mind, even more so when Robin thinks about all of the griping she faces back at the hotel. Between Olivia’s attempts to talk about Robin’s reasons for drinking and the other three still hung up on the decision for Olivia to refuse the check, being alone on the road with vodka in a water bottle sounds like the better alternative. Robin pauses at the flashing red and blue lights in the mirror. Confused as she is, she pulls over, stashing the vodka safely away and shoving a couple mints into her mouth in an attempt to mask the smell. She rolls down the window.

 “What seems to be the problem, offi—”

 The man opens the back door and sits down behind Robin.

 “Ah. Judging by the ill fitted suit…” Robin chuckles despite herself. “Now, what would the state police want with my business, Lieutenant…?” She pauses for the name.

 “Deen. Racketeering and Corruption Task Force. What business do you have in Alabama?”

 “Oh, you know, I just like the country side.”

 “We know you came from a meeting with Norris Roddick. Now, what I want to know is why an ex-insurance agent is trying to make a deal with that family?”

 “Racketeering? That’s what you’re trying to get them with? I realized that you couldn’t get them on the fraud, but… you must be pretty desperate.”

 “We’re going to get the Roddicks.”

 “Oh, of course.”

 “Now, if you and your people still happen to be around when that happens, well… we’re not going to stop to sort all of that out.”

 “Yeah, well, you wouldn’t be talking to me right now if you had anything. You’re fishing.” Robin looks at him in the rearview the mirror. “I must have hit a nerve. Either way, two days. Two days, and the Roddicks will have made a mistake, and we will be gone and out of your way. Just keep your eyes and ears open, and they’ll be yours.”

 “There’s no reason I should trust a drunk.”

 “Your choice, Lieutenant.”

 The lieutenant leaves without a backward glance. Robin watches the other cars go by for a while before she pulls back onto the road.

 ○

 “How are we going to do this? It’s not like any of us have any brain tumors,” Gaius quips, rolling a lollipop from one side of his mouth to the other.

 “Nowi, would you be able to edit the image on the computer?” Robin asks.

 “I don’t think so,” Nowi replies from her seat on the bed of the medical scanner, legs swinging back and forth as they dangle over the ground. “Not easily, anyway. The images from the brain scan go directly from here to the computer, and trying to make any adjustments between the two could get messy. I don’t do messy!”

 “Sure…” Robin trails off, recalling all of the times Nowi’s visited her apartment.

 “Not in my work anyway!” Nowi adds with a pout.

 “So our only option is to scan a brain with some sort of artificial tumor that we plant in there directly.”

 “Yeah… no,” Gaius cuts in. “I am not risking permanent brain damage for you, Bubbles.”

 “We’re obviously not going to put anything in your brain. We’ll need another one…”

 “Creepy~” Nowi sings.

 “Even if we get another brain, how will we scan it if Gaius is in this one?” Lon’qu says from his spot near the door.

 “The computer from this bay doesn’t need to be attached to this scanner,” Nowi grins.

 “There’s another bay next to this one,” Robin says thoughtfully. “Nowi, if you could cross the wires and send the scans from the other scanner to this computer, we can get through this without having to kill Gaius.”

 “Why do you always talk like you have plans where I die?”

 “Don’t ask question you don’t want the answers to.” Robin favors Gaius with a sly grin.

 “Creepy~” Nowi sings again.

 “Well,” Robin takes a deep breath, clapping her hands together. “We need to secure both rooms and a brain for tomorrow morning. Let’s get on it.”

 ○

 “There you are!” Nowi calls, jogging forward to Lon’qu pushing a table with a sheet covering what can only be a body.

 Olivia jumps in surprise as they burst through the door together. Her eyes zero in with horror at the motionless lump underneath the sheet.

 “Do—do I w-want to ask wh-where you…?”

 “No,” Lon’qu answers.

 “Olivia,” Robin says from the earpiece. “Norris should be here soon. Could you join me in the waiting room?”

 “S-s-sure!” Olivia scrambles out, giving the body a wide birth.

 Lon’qu pushes the table next to the bed then slides the body over. He flinches as he notices how close Nowi hovers behind him, though she seems not to notice.

 “So what do we have?” she pulls back the sheet and immediately jumps back, throwing her arms in front of her face. “Oh gods! Gods, so icky!”

 “What were you expecting?” Lon’qu asks dryly. “This is even a clean corpse.”

 “It smells!” Nowi protests, two fingers pinching her nose closed to accentuate her point.

 “Just do it,” Lon’qu sighs, grabbing the injection from the nearby table and holding it out.

 “No!” Nowi cries, recoiling as if struck. “You’ve killed people before! You do it!”

 “I’ve never killed people by sticking giant needles into their cranial cavities,” Lon’qu says, an edge of discomfort in his voice.

 “Excuses, excuses!” Nowi says shrilly, attempting to push away the needle that Lon’qu still holds out to her.

 “One of you is going to do it or I’m coming up there,” Robin threatens in a voice so stern and threatening that only a mother can really manage it.

 With a shudder, Lon’qu jams the needle in. Nowi spins around, making gagging noises.

 “Worst job ever! Worst job ever!” she cries, not even looking at the garbage bag that she holds out for Lon’qu to deposit the evidence into.

 “Hey, guys!” Gaius opens the door and pokes his head in. “Which hospital gown should I wear? Dead inside off green, or borrowed time rose gold?”

 “Pink! Pink!” Nowi replies.

 “Really? I thought the green brings out my eyes better.”

 “Just pick a dress and put it on,” Lon’qu deadpans, brushing past him into the hallway.

 “Norris is here,” Robin reports. “Get in position.” She steps forward with Olivia, shaking hands with both Norris and the doctor he’s brought with him. “A pleasure,” she smiles once introductions have been made. “Shall we?”

 A few minutes later they stand in front of the glass window as Gaius is shown in by a rather disgruntled looking nurse Lon’qu. He looks blankly ahead as he is directed to the bed.

 “That’s Sain Kent?” Norris peers inside as his doctor preps the computer to receive the scans.

 “Yes,” Robin replies. “Poor guy.”

 They watch in silence as Gaius is laid down on the bed, then slid inside.

 “I’ve got our other brain scanning in here,” Nowi reports from the room next door. “And we’re sending you our other brain… now!”

 “Well… what do you think, doctor?” Robin asks the balding man Norris brought with him.

 “Oh, he’s terminal alright,” he replies, leaning forward to better view the screen. “It’s almost too large to believe… he has weeks left; a month at best.”

 “There you have it,” Robin says to Norris after the doctor had been thanked and sent on his way. Norris smiles, half chuckling as he stands in a quiet hallway facing Robin and Olivia.

 “I had my doubts, but yeah,” Norris concedes. “So, what’s my cut?”

 “Your cut? Oh,” Robin laughs. “That’s it?”

 “Yeah, I put my money in, now I want my cut.”

 “Fine, fine,” Robin holds her hands up in surrender before pulling out her checkbook. “Gone scared on us. Can’t say I’m surprised; you don’t look like the sort willing to take a risk. Let’s see, first stage investor?” Robin pauses to give Norris an appraising look. “One hundred grand?”

 “What is wrong with you?!” Gaius howls from over the coms. Robin doesn’t even flinch.

 “This just might work out after all,” Norris whistles, looking up only just in time for Olivia to recover from her grimace.

 “Yes,” Olivia chuckles woodenly. “With this money you could even start your own company and leave your father entirely.”

 “Yeah,” Norris says, perking up. “Yeah, it would be easy. I just need to move some accounts around and—”

 “What?” Robin cuts in, flinching away. “Moving some—moving accounts? What sort of… who do you think we are? We don’t operate this way!” She whirls on Olivia as she throws her hands up in the air. “What is this nonsense? Who did you bring me to?”

 “You don’t understand, I just—”

 “No, you don’t understand,” Robin interrupts Norris, turning away to storm down the hallway. “I can’t help you, sir. You just don’t get it. It’s fine. Keep the money. We don’t need you.”

 “What is she…?” Norris looks helplessly to Olivia.

 “It’s okay, it’s okay, I’ll talk to her,” Olivia says hurriedly before rushing after Robin.

 “I want serious investors, Florina!”

 “Lyn, a word?” Olivia chases Robin around the corner into one of the dark hospital rooms.

 Robin is met with three intense glares as soon as the door is closed securely behind them.

 “I know,” she says evenly, not intimidated in the least. “Save it until we’re back to the hotel.”

 She receives nothing but more stony glares as she leads her team back to the van.

 ○

 Nowi immediately races to her laptop as soon as she steps foot inside the hotel room.

 “I’ll have the payment canceled in a jiffy!” she announces with forced cheerfulness amidst the general animosity directed towards Robin.

 Robin, for her part, remains unfazed, already reaching for a bottle and glass.

 “Just let it go,” she remarks, settling down in a chair as Gaius stalks over to her, brows angled downward over his narrowed eyes.

 “Let me just get this straight so you get how stupid you are, Bubbles. We had half a million dollars, and you tossed that away. That’s enough on its own. Now you’re offering up a hundred grand of our money. Our money.”

 “Please, you know how this works. It’s just a stall.”

 “You use a stall when you have someone on the hook.”

 “Guys, please. I know what I’m doing. You’ve got to trust me. You’ve trusted me before.”

 “Not when you’re drunk like this,” Lon’qu cuts in.

 Robin pauses for a long moment, matching Lon’qu’s look with one of her own. She sighs when he shows no signs of backing down.

 “Please,” she scoffs, aiming to play it off when no other argument can be found.

 “Robin…” Olivia starts uncertainly.

 “Listen,” Gaius cuts in, pacing back over. “You’re welcome to drink yourself into a stupor for all I care, but I’m not going down with you.”

 “Pfft,” Robin tips her glass back with a snort. “I shouldn’t be surprised. You’re all exactly the same as you were before. Always caring about nothing but yourselves.”

 “I need to speak to Robin alone!” Olivia blurts out suddenly, standing between Robin and the others.

 “Good luck with that, Twinkletoes,” Gaius mutters, shoving a chair aside roughly on his way out. Lon’qu and Nowi follow him in similar humors.

 Olivia moves only once they are alone, turning around to face Robin in silence. Robin rolls her eyes, swirling her glass around moodily.

 “You’d better not give me some kind of ‘but we’re all family’ speech.”

 “No speeches,” Olivia shakes her head, looking down pensively for a long moment before raising her gaze to look at Robin’s eyes. “Just… a question: is this helping you?”

 Robin silently watches her bourbon swish around in her glass.

 “I-if you help Donny and his mother to keep their home and stay together, will you find some peace?”

 “Olivia, you know me,” Robin says, though she finds herself unable to meet Olivia’s eyes. “You know I can do this.”

 “I knew you two years ago, Robin.”

 “I’m still the same person.”

 “N-no. No, you’re not.”

 Robin pauses, at last tearing her eyes away from her glass to look at Olivia. The usual pity is gone from her eyes, replaced by a grim sort of acceptance. Robin lets out a sigh, feeling those two years all too well as their weight settles down in her bones.

 “No, I’m not.”

 They lapse into silence, neither one wanting to broach all of the unspoken thoughts and questions hanging between them. It’s Olivia who breaks the spell, averting her eyes as her cheeks flush pink.

 “…Sorry.”

 “It’s fine,” Robin says, though she feels far from it.

 “I-I’ll… let you sleep.”

 Olivia slips out of the room as silent as a ghost. Robin watches her glass of bourbon again for a few moments before setting it down on the counter. Slipping off her shoes, she shuffles over to the bed and falls face first into the pillow.