#rather than picking between all the possible spaces (which would weight it towards the bigger plots) it... probably does not do that

[hongism]

mists of celeste ➻ 31

➻ pairing: ??? x fem reader ➻ genre: space au, pirate au, space pirate!ateez, angst, smut ➻ Word Count: 9.4k (._.) ➻ Rating: M ➻ Warnings: language, violence, guns and weaponry, blood, future warnings tba ➻ summary: Sneaking aboard the ship of a renowned space pirate may not have been the best idea, but you’ll have to make do with what fate has handed to you

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✧✧✧ act four ➻ part six

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“Need help with the dishes?” The voice catches off-guard, and you nearly chuck the ceramic plate in your hands across the cramped kitchen in your surprise.

“Shit, you scared — oh.” You don’t mean to sound so shocked but seeing San standing beside you at the sink is the last thing you were expecting. He just offers a weak smile, one that is strained and wavering but present nonetheless, and that gives you a little bit of hope about the ensuing conversation. He has effectively cornered you, and while you could make a daring escape and leave him to do the dishes on his own, that would be both suspicious and unnecessary when San isn’t showing any signs of anger at the moment.

“Is that a yes or no?”

“Oh, um, be my guest, yeah. I’d… I’d appreciate the help,” you mutter, pulling your chin forward again to focus on the steady stream of water from the faucet. San settles next to you without missing a beat; he snatches up a dish towel and begins to take the dishes you’ve set out on the drying rack, carefully drying each one with methodical twists of his wrists. You aren’t sure how best to make conversation with him given the tense exchange you had earlier, so you opt to say nothing at all in hopes that San will be the one to initiate the confrontation. It works in your favor (the only thing on your side at the moment it seems) and after a few minutes of awkward silence, San finally speaks up.

“Earlier… when we were on the mission, I – I was unfair to you.”

“You were well within your right, San,” you respond as quickly as possible, not giving yourself a chance to think twice.

“That doesn’t mean it was right.”

“I don’t hold it against you.” You pause to heave a deep sigh. You’re running out of dishes far too quickly which means that you’ll actually have to face San rather than hiding as best you can with the dishes in the sink. “To be frank, I figured you would still be upset with me.”

“I don’t think I realized the weight of the decision on your shoulders,” San explains. Ceramic hits metal before he can speak again, and you both tense from the sharpness of the sound. San inhales with the noise then shifts the plate he just hit on the side of the counter to set it down properly. “We put the responsibility on your shoulders because you’re the only one who knew of the serum and experienced it firsthand. Looking back, it seems foolish of me to say that I should make the decision rather than Mingi. Not because he made the decision I wanted but… because the moral weight of choice is heavier than what’s good and what’s not. At least it should be.”

You set the plate in your hands down to face San, twisting at the waist at the same time he does, and the sudden eye contact causes your mind to go completely blank in the blink of an eye.

“Uh…” Squeezing your eyes shut, you desperately attempt to bring the thought back but it’s already too far gone and you’ve forgotten it completely. San offers a patient and gentle smile, eyes folding into soft crescents as he does, and a quiet laugh slips from his lips.

“Sorry for hitting you with the heavy stuff right after dinner. I just didn’t want to let it sit and stew for too long.”

“No, no, it’s fine, I don’t mind. I’m – well, I’m a bit curious about something.” you shut the water off for the time being so that you can better focus on the conversation at hand, and the remaining dirty dishes lie forgotten in the sink.

“What’s that?” San tilts his head to the side. You find yourself distracted by the way a few strands of black hair slip to frame his forehead and how his dimples slip away as his smile fades a bit, but you’re quick to pull yourself back.

“Yesterday you asked me whether I would be okay with using the serum if you asked for it. But I wanted to know… if our positions were switched, would you be okay with it?”

“You mean if I were the one who had already taken it once before?” San inquires, head falling further to the side. You’re quick to nod in response, and he follows up with a gentle hum. “I can’t pretend to know what that experience was like for you or how deeply it affected you. If I were the one who had used it before, and I was aware of it like you, I know that I would be selfish at the end of the day. I have mentioned it before but I wish to cling to you for as long as I can. And though it’s – though it goes against my morals, I would not want you to take the serum because I can’t bear the thought of you forgetting who I am and how I feel about you. I know that sounds a bit bold, especially given your relations with Seonghwa, but… I would say the same to any member of the crew — save for Yeosang perhaps. You all are special and valuable to me in unique ways, and the thought of any of you losing any memory we share is too much for me.”

Your breath catches a bit in your throat, and San’s kind smile returns in full force. When you next speak, it doesn’t feel as though the words are coming from your mouth at all, but more like someone has taken over your body and decided to say them instead.

“Would you expect the same of me in return?”

“I would only ask that which I would ask any of the crew. To do what is right by your own standards and not by anyone else’s. We’ve all been slaves to other people’s whims and desires for too long. I would never wish to put anyone through that again, and even something as simple as pushing my opinion onto you would be unfair. It may be in our nature as living, rational beings to seek out the things that bring us the most comfort and to try to create a space around us that provides that comfort. Thus we are by nature selfish and striving towards personal satisfaction. We can’t break free of that selfishness unless we really stop to think about things. Hongjoong told me that once, and it hasn’t left me since.”

“Ah, so he can be reasonable,” you remark through a small smile, breaking a bit of the heaviness lingering in the air around you two. San laughs in response.

“Only when he’s sober and fully rested, but he’s rarely not one of those things.”

“Hey, Y/N, I brought more dishes for you to—oh I didn’t know you were in here too.” Both you and San whip to face the newcomer as he steps into the already cramped kitchen.

“Oh, hell no, Choi Jongho, I am not washing all those dishes for you!” You protest immediately upon seeing the stack of plates and bowls in his hands.

“What do you mean you won’t? It’s not even that hard! Seonghwa’s food doesn’t stick to the plates. All you have to do is give it a quick scrub!”

“Okay, then you do it!”

“Why would I do it?”

“You just said it’s easy! That’s basically signing up to do dishes.” You jab a finger in Jongho’s direction before he can say anything else and effectively shush him.

“She’s got you there,” San chimes in. Jongho rolls his eyes in response but comes closer to the sink to take your place.

“This is just mean. I’m the only one here who hasn’t had a nap today, and yet I’m being forced to stay up later? Disgusting,” Jongho huffs through his teeth. You pat his shoulder with a thin smile before stepping around him to leave the kitchen.

“Don’t pout so much, Jongho. I’ll stick around to dry the dishes for you.” Jongho merely grumbles in response to San’s offer, earning himself a sharp slap to the back of the head. “Ungrateful little shit.”

“Bigger than you th–”

“Oh, so you want to do them alone now?” San scoffs. You laugh over your shoulder before stepping out of the kitchen to return to the mess hall. It’s cleared out considerably already; Wooyoung and Yeosang have disappeared, as has Mingi, and the only two left are Yunho and Seonghwa, who stand at the edge of the room engaged in a conversation that’s loud enough for you to hear even at your distance from them.

“Would you go up to check on Hongjoong? At least make sure he sleeps even for an hour tonight?” Seonghwa asks, jerking a thumb over his shoulder in the direction of the bridge.

“You’re not going back up tonight?”

“No, contrary to popular belief, I actually need rest too so I’ll be turning in earlier tonight.”

“Hm, unbelievable,” Yunho huffs, but there’s a small smile pressed over his lips as he says the words. His gaze flits away from Seonghwa’s face to find you standing at the edge of the kitchen, and in an instant, his expression shifts to one of surprise then a hurried glance down to the floor the moment you make eye contact. Seonghwa mimics the motion of his eyes, following their path back to you. He passes you a soft smile, and you return it with your own strained one, too focused on Yunho at the moment. The doctor continues to avoid your stare though and drags his attention back to Seonghwa instead. “Um, yeah, I’ll go up and see him. We’re long overdue for a talk anyway.”

“A talk?” You can’t see Seonghwa’s expression but the tone of his voice tells you enough, and Yunho sucks his lower lip between his teeth before tilting his head to the side.

“Is that jealousy I hear, Lieutenant?” He arches a brow as he speaks, arms coming up to cross over his chest in an almost defensive manner.

“Are you trying to pick a fight, Healer?” Seonghwa counters. The lightness in the conversation disappears in an instant, and Yunho’s eyes blaze at the accusation hurled his way. “I’d advise you not to comment on things you don’t understand, Yunho. You might be a doctor, but that doesn’t mean you know everything. It’s no good to be so deceived by those things, no?”

“If I didn’t know any better, I would say that you’re the one trying to start a fight, Seonghwa.”

“Merely reminding you not to cross certain lines. I believe we had discussed that in the past already, and yet… here we find ourselves having to have this conversation again.”

“And I thought you learned your lesson when Hongjoong threatened to put you out the airlock.” Yunho’s tone is far too hot and scathing for your liking, and you shrink further back against the wall in an attempt to hide yourself as best you can. He seems to have forgotten about your presence already in the heat of the argument, which you’re thankful for but you don’t feel any more comfortable being stuck in the room. Especially because of what happens next when Seonghwa’s hand darts out to catch hold of Yunho’s collar. He swivels the taller man as though he weighs nothing and presses him hard against the wall. The impact is enough to draw a grunt out of Yunho but he keeps his head up to glare back at Seonghwa.

“I wasn’t the one who started fucking someone else less than a month later. I guess you both have that in common then. Did you even wait for the ashes to grow cold before you were rolling around in the captain’s bed like some cheap wh—”

Seonghwa doesn’t get to finish the thought, and part of you is grateful that you don’t have to hear the rest of it. The other half is horrified because Yunho’s fist careens into Seonghwa’s jaw, knocking him off the taller man. Yunho swings a kick at Seonghwa’s feet next to push him all the way to the floor, but the other man is too quick and shoves Yunho’s leg away before it can hit him.

“I’m not going to fight you, Yunho,” Seonghwa hisses, slipping further back to put more distance between him and the healer.

“Then let me beat you up for having the audacity to act like you know what I was going through!”

“Yet you stand here and act like I’m the bad guy and the one who did the wrong thing  in saying that his obsession was killing him.”

Yunho forces his way back into Seonghwa’s personal space, chest heaving as he brings his hands up to the other man and shoves harshly. Seonghwa manages to maintain his balance and stay on his feet despite the force behind the attack, but that only serves to anger Yunho more because he sneers and repeats the motion once more to knock Seonghwa into a table. Seonghwa grabs onto the edge of the metal to stabilize himself. Yunho takes advantage of the distraction and swings his fist back into Seonghwa’s face, hitting him across the cheekbone this time, and the hit is so hard that blood comes off on Yunho’s knuckles when he pulls his hand back.

The sight of crimson spurs you into action, and you push off the wall to rush over to where Yunho has Seonghwa pinned against the table.

“Yunho, that’s enough!” You cut in, reaching out to snatch Yunho’s arm before he can deliver another hit. He fights against your tight grip to the best of his ability and manages to pull free only to swing his hand back at you. You barely register what happens next but Seonghwa’s reaction is clue enough to help you figure it out, along with the burning sting across your left cheek. Seonghwa shoves Yunho’s weight off him, and the taller man stumbles back in shock. He blinks down at his hand as though he can’t believe what he’s just done, but you have no time to pay attention to that because Seonghwa steps in front of you, hands coming up to cradle your face.

“Are you okay? Are you hurt? Do you need ice?” He rambles as he examines your cheek with a worried gaze. It’s as though the blood on his own cheek doesn’t exist and he just continues to thumb over your face.

“I-I didn’t mean to — I swear, I promise I wasn’t thinki–”

“Fuck off, Yunho,” Seonghwa hisses over his shoulder. “Before we both do something we regret.”

Yunho leaves the room in the direction of the bridge in a way you can only compare to a wounded dog scampering off with his tail between his legs, and once he’s completely gone from sight, the adrenaline of the moment begins to wear off. You release a shaky exhale, nearly trembling in Seonghwa’s grasp. He swallows once.

“You shouldn’t have gotten involved,” he murmurs a few seconds later.

“And let him beat you to a pulp the day before a mission? I think not.” You reach up to grab onto one of Seonghwa’s hands, pulling it away from your face.

“I would have been fine. You, on the other hand—”

“What?” You interject. You have to bite back the sigh that threatens to leave your lips. “On the other hand what? I’m fragile?”

“That’s not – I didn’t it like that. Please… Y/N, please don’t fight with me on this. That’s not my intention.” Seonghwa clenches his fingers around the ones that still reside against his palm, and you let him cling to you without complaint for the time being. “Had he done anything more to hurt you, I fear what I might have done in response, and I – I truly did not want to fight with him. I let my emotions get the better of me in the heat of the moment.”

“What’s done is done, Seonghwa,” you mutter in response. “Let me at least clean your cheek and get some ice on it. It’ll do you no good to have a swollen face tomorrow.” Seonghwa huffs out a laugh but lets his hands fall away from you and rest limply by his sides.

“If it makes you feel better, then you can do whatever you like.” You can’t keep from smiling at his words, the soft smile he wears easing your anxiety quite a bit, and you shake your head.

“Don’t tell me that. Who knows what unsavory things I could come up with?” You tease through a laugh.

“I’d hope for at least a few ideas.”

“Okay, tiger, maybe you got hit a bit too hard.” You swat weakly at Seonghwa’s arm as he just chuckles and pulls away to move towards the exit. You fall into step with him, gnawing at your lower lip for no other reason than to busy yourself as the two of you walk to the medbay. “You don’t—” you cut yourself short before the thought can finish and bite down hard on the tip of your tongue. Seonghwa blinks down at you with expectation shining clearly in his eyes. “You don’t have to tell me anything if you don’t want to but… what exactly was it you two were arguing about?”

Seonghwa hums to himself and glances down at the floor for several moments before lifting his chin again.

“I have never attempted to purposefully hide it from you as that would hardly be fair to you. But I can explain things better once we’re in the medbay.”

You nod quickly, gaze trailing over the side of Seonghwa’s profile in your peripheral. He doesn’t offer further conversation, but it’s clear that that is only because he is deep in thought on the short walk to the medbay. Even as you step into the blindingly white room, he stays quiet and seats himself on the edge of one of the beds while you busy yourself with searching for supplies to clean his bleeding cheek. You come back to him after grabbing some soap and a bottle of water then set a pack of white cleaning pads next to him on the bed. He shifts his chin to expose his cheek further to you. You murmur a quiet thank you, fingers dancing over his face to keep him in place. Whether by instinct or intention, Seonghwa’s hands dart up to secure on your hips. He keeps you firmly set between his knees, and you try your best to ignore the sudden tightness in your chest as he holds you.

“Hongjoong and I…” Seonghwa starts, his tone so quiet that it is nearly drowned out by the hum of the air conditioner. You wet one of the cotton rounds in silence. You don’t dare to look him in the eye, focusing on the task at hand while he continues to speak. “We used to be in a special sort of relationship. We weren’t romantically or sexually involved right off the bat – it took quite some time for that to happen. In fact, it was only after there was a mutiny that we decided to explore those parts of our relationship, and initially, it was just my way of offering him comfort in the aftermath of that mess. Things, of course, got more complicated as feelings arose on my side. I found myself to be quite jealous in certain regards, and that jealousy blinded me to the bigger picture more often than not.”

You drag the damp round over Seonghwa’s cheekbone, and he winces from the impact.

“I’m sorry,” you mutter quickly, pulling your hand back, but Seonghwa reaches up to guide your hand back to his cheek.

“It’s fine. You can continue.” You nod through a rough swallow. As you continue to wipe at his cheek, Seonghwa continues with his story. “The man who led the mutiny was… Hongjoong’s lover to put it simply. I had always loved Hongjoong but it wasn’t anything more than a platonic love until after we started having relations. He wasn’t ready to let go of the past though, and I-I was blindsided by jealousy one night to a point where I threw out some of that man’s belongings one day. When Hongjoong found out, he was furious, of course, and that was the first and only time we had a physical fight. That’s what Yunho was referring to when he mentioned Hongjoong threatening to kick me off the ship and into space. Even after we recovered from that struggle, it never stopped because Hongjoong would tear himself apart over the mutiny. He got more and more obsessed in the next couple of months, and I decided that I couldn’t handle it any longer. So I gave him an ultimatum: stop being sexually involved with each other or stop being involved altogether. It’s clear which option he chose.”

“I sense a ‘however’…” You murmur, leaning back to admire your work on his cheek. Seonghwa huffs out a laugh, and his fingers twitch against your waist.

“Less than a month later Hongjoong was fucking Yunho right under my nose without a care in the world.” You inhale sharply, fingers wavering against Seonghwa’s jawline. “Didn’t even care that I knew, didn’t care to hide it from me, didn’t see any issue with it at all. On one hand, it felt like a jab at me for catching feelings the way I did because he could just… fuck around with Yunho and separate emotions from it whereas I couldn’t. But then I confronted Yunho about it, and he told me that Hongjoong only ever asked for sex when he couldn’t get out of his own head. Needed someone to fuck his thoughts out of him. I was glad that I didn’t have to be that person for him out of a selfish desire to preserve myself but… I was used to being the one who had the duty of protecting him and helping him through whatever issues he was having. It just took a look time to work through that on my own, and I couldn’t very well ask Yunho to talk about it with me because of a misguided arrogance.”

“Do you…” You lose confidence halfway through the question, and your tone falls flat. Seonghwa waits without saying a word for you to continue the thought. “Do you still love him?”

“Not in that way any longer,” Seonghwa whispers. His lips barely move, but you hear the words as clear as day. “I see the parts of him that I loved elsewhere now… but I’m quickly finding new things to love in that same place that I couldn’t see in him.”

Your jaw stutters dumbly as you try to process the words.

“Oh,” you exhale, too overwhelmed to come up with anything else.

“And if she would let me, I would do my best to show her new things to love in me as well.”

“I… is there another w-woman on the crew I don’t know about?”

Seonghwa smiles. His teeth bite into his lower lip as he struggles to hold back a smile, and his hands slip further around you to hold you tighter. You only realize how dumb your question sounds at that moment.

“I, um, I me-meant tha—” The tightness in your chest is too intense for you to finish your sentence, and the weight of his words hit you full force at last. You don’t even realize that tears have begun to fall until Seonghwa’s brows knit together in concern and one of his hands reaches up to brush them off your cheeks.

“Shh, shh, you’re okay, Y/N,” Seonghwa murmurs. “What’s wrong? Talk to me, Y/N, what’s going on?”

You need to communicate, to explain to him what’s going on in your head in words and be honest with him, but every word feels like lead on your tongue. Your lips are wobbling as you cradle Seonghwa’s face in your hands, eyes scanning his face in search of answers to all the questions running through your mind. At one point you truly thought that you saw Jisung in Seonghwa and that that was the only reason you felt yourself so drawn to him. Yet standing here the way you are now, you cannot see even an ounce of similarity between him and Jisung. Even the endless care Seonghwa provides for you is far different than the kind Jisung gave you. You cannot reason why Seonghwa pulls your heartstrings in such a way, but it’s only now that you realize that it has nothing to do with Jisung in any way.

“A-As much as I – as much as I don’t w-want to let go of the past, I… I find myself wanting to move forward… to you. I want y-you.”

“Then I’m yours for as long as you want me, and I won’t go anywhere until then.”

“I swear on my life that I’ll never leave you.”

“Don’t promise not to leave.” Your words come out in a rush, but Seonghwa understands them nonetheless. Your eyes flutter shut as you speak your next words. “Don’t make promises you can’t keep, just… tell me that you’re here. For now. For as long as it lasts.”

Before you know it, Seonghwa’s breath invades yours, and you feel the heat of his lips centimeters away from yours.

“I’m here now, Y/N.” You can hear the unspoken words on his lips, the promises that wish to spill out about how he won’t leave you and how he will stay, but he does exactly as you asked him to do and doesn’t let those empty promises reach the air between you.

“Show me,” you whisper without hesitation. That’s all the incentive Seonghwa needs to slot his lips against yours and suck the breath from your lungs as you exhale into his mouth. And when his hands slip down your back to hook around your thighs, you welcome it, letting him pull you forward until you are seated comfortably on his lap. You can’t even bring yourself to care that you are in the medbay of all places — a place far from the security that a bedroom would provide — but the enticement of Seonghwa’s lips pushes that thought out of your mind.

It’s almost poetic in a way: the way Seonghwa shifts to ease you back against the pillows of the bed and snakes his hands down to the band of your pants, tugging them lower and lower until you’re shed of them completely. It’s just as your first time together and yet the feeling behind it is so vastly different that you can hardly wrap your mind around it. And while he doesn’t take the time to drag his tongue over your folds this time, he does pepper the insides of your thighs with endless kisses and press two fingers to your entrance once he has rid himself of his own pants as well. Once he has pushed himself back up to be eye level with you again, you greet him with a kiss, tongue slipping between his lips in a rush to taste him. He hums into your mouth, and you can feel the corners of his mouth pulling upward as he smiles a bit.

“Hurry up,” you mutter, separating your lips with a wet pop.

“Always in such a rush, princess.” The nickname sends a surge of warmth through your chest, and you can’t keep from huffing out a laugh.

“You only say that because you’re so slow, pretty boy.” Seonghwa presses his lips back to yours as a counterattack, and he slips his fingers out from your core. Next thing you know, he is teasing your folds with the head of his cock, lips leaving yours for a moment as he hesitates there.

“Give me permission,” he murmurs. His eyes search yours for any sign of denial, and you hook a hand around the back of his neck, pulling him down until his forehead collides with yours.

“It’s already yours.” With that, he buries himself all the way to the hilt in one quick thrust, and your lips part to release a silent cry of pleasure. Seonghwa braces his hands on either side of your head, palms sinking into the pillows and causing you to sink further back against the bed. He moves with you, and his weight pins you to the mattress. You give him a breathless command to continue his movements, which he follows like it’s the only thing that matters. And in the moment, it does feel like it’s the only thing that matters because all you can feel is Seonghwa. He rocks his hips against yours, member sliding over your velveteen walls with just the right amount of friction, and each thrust puts stars in your vision.

It’s a blinding pleasure that the two of you chase, a pleasure that is only heightened by the warmth of the emotion in your chest, and Seonghwa lets his eyes flutter shut as he fucks you. Whispered praises fall from his lips, and they’re spoken with such care and gentleness that you almost find yourself getting emotional again.

“So beautiful–” he shifts to kiss the apple of your cheek “–so, ah, perfect. You’re so so perfect, princess.” You moan loud into the shell of his ear, a sound that causes visible goosebumps to rush over his skin and a throaty groan to tear from his lips. The slight growl to his tone has you clenching hard around his cock, and a burst of arousal shoots through you. It nearly brings you to the precipice of pleasure but you force it down so that you can hold it off just a little while longer. Seonghwa sits up, and the warmth of his body leaves yours as he slips his hands down to your hips and kneels over you. He pulls your body up to meet his thrusts, and you can do nothing but cling to the bedsheets and release small whimpers of pleasure as he hits deeper with each drag of his member inside you.

“S-Seonghwa, oh fuck, I – I’m close, I’m close, I’m close,” you babble, back arching off the bed. Seonghwa dips back down to press a kiss to your sweat-slick temple.

“Cum for me, princess. You have permission.”

“Thank you, th-thank you, thank you.” You fall apart under his touch, eating up every breath of praise he showers you with as you reach your high, and your orgasm crashes hard over you. The clenching of your walls around him spurs him to cum himself, and he exhales a shaky groan as he does. The strength leaves his body at the same time. You can only huff out a gasp as his chest hits yours, arms reaching up to wrap around his neck and hold him close to you in the aftermath of your orgasms.

It creeps up on you as you’re lying there basking in the glow of pleasure. Whereas before you thought you never wanted to experience the feeling again, this time you welcome it and let yourself be surrounded by the warmth it provides along with Seonghwa’s presence filling your every sense. You tangle your fingers in Seonghwa’s hair just to pull him back so that you can look him in the eye.

“D-Do you feel that?” He looks confused for a moment, unsure of both what you mean and what you are trying to say. Then you reach down to place a hand over Seonghwa’s heart that’s guarded by his shirt still, and he seems to understand what you’re after. A gentle smile overtakes his lips.

“I’ve felt it for a long time, Y/N.”

…

Nothing about the situation feels right in the slightest. The tension in your shoulders has reached impossible levels, and you can’t sit still for the life of you even with Wooyoung’s hand gripping your thigh like a vice. Yunho sits to your right although you can’t even bear to look in his direction at the moment, the heated embers from your argument yesterday still smoldering in your gut to a point where you can’t even hear him breathe without feeling enraged. But Wooyoung hasn’t let you go since the moment you sat down, and you can’t blame him because the scenery is far from pleasant.

You have never been to such a place — the arena looks like something straight out of myth with its climbing walls and seats that line the whole circle in rows. Carnage lies far below you, and you are grateful that Hongjoong didn’t ask you to move any lower than you have: a safe midpoint in the seats with a canopy above your heads to shroud the blinding daylight from your eyes. San and Jongho are somewhere across the way, lost in the mess of the crowd and bodies, and Mingi is safely secured in the bunker Seonghwa mentioned previously, according to Jongho. The older Berserker was also apparently more than happy to stay put there but only after Hongjoong agreed to let him have an earpiece of his own so that he could hear what was going on during the mission. While there was no shortage of doubts about that idea, Mingi had assured Hongjoong that he would be safely locked inside the bunker with Bloodletter crew guards just outside the door, and that was all it took for Hongjoong to relent a bit.

The final trio of Yeosang, Seonghwa, and Hongjoong reside closer to the upper edge of the circle. Even at a distance, you can clearly see the wide, extended platform that stretches forward into the arena. It bears a tall gilded throne square in the middle of it, and you’re positive that the man with long white hair sitting atop it is none other than Vladimir the Bloody. He looks quite different than the time you saw him last with his face etched messily onto a bounty paper and dropped before you prior to a mission, but no one else would put himself on such a pedestal other than that man.

“You haven’t aged a day in years, Vlad. I see life has been treating you well then,” Hongjoong greets after a few breaths of silence over the comms channel. He receives a loud scoff in response, and that’s the only sound that echoes over the earpiece for quite some time, nearly drowned out by the ruckus bubbling around you.

“Save the niceties, Kim.” Vladimir’s fingers drum against the side of his armrest, long nails tapping along to no particular rhythm. “You wouldn’t come here for anything less than business.”

“I can’t pay an old friend a visit now and again?”

“Not with those two at your side… tell me – where is your prized Berserker?”

“You’ll have to be more specific than that.” Hongjoong’s voice comes across a bit more guarded this time, and it’s more than clear who Vlad is referring to despite Hongjoong’s question.

“Come now. We both know which one I’m referring to. Look around us, Hongjoong. This arena, these people, my fighters – they were all built on the blood and bones of the Brute of Kebos. Did you by chance bring him along with you? Or is it merely the three of you?” That last question causes your breath to hitch, and you stop yourself from reaching for Wooyoung’s hand at the last second.

“Of what interest is that to you, Vladimir?”

“Curiosity. Merely that and nothing more.”

“He doesn’t know we’re here,” Wooyoung whispers, leaning closer to you to keep the words as hushed as possible. You shake your head in agreement with his statement, but something about the way Vladimir’s head shifts tells you that he’s searching the arena for any sign of a familiar face amongst the crowd. As do the guards lingering near the edges of each row of seats. You can’t possibly feel safe yet – not when he has so many men watching and lurking around you.

“You’ve done surprisingly well for yourself, I must say.”

“Rearing a new generation of arenas?” Vladimir chuckles as he says the words, white hair billowing around his head. It looks almost transparent in the gleam of the sun, and the canopy above his head must have a hole in it because of the way the light trickles through.

“Striking a deal with the military is far more intriguing,” Hongjoong remarks without missing a beat.

“Look at these people, Hongjoong. They all claim to hate fighting, to run away at the sign of conflict, not be able to stomach the sight of blood, and yet they all find themselves here. Why do you think that is?”

“Because they crave it?”

“They crave control. They see me standing in a place of power, with a grip over life and death… and they crave it, Hongjoong. Just like you and me.”

“You think it’s control I seek?” The question is a farce and you know it, but something tells you that Vladimir is aware of it as well.

“Would you be searching for your mutinous crewmate otherwise?”

Mutinous crewmate.

“There was a mutiny,” Hongjoong states as if it’s the most normal thing in the universe. “They thought that I couldn’t lead and wasn’t suited for it. Mingi killing Cass only solidified those feelings. My highest in command after Seonghwa led the mutiny. Before he left the ship with half the crew, he swore that he would get the treasure first along with the Sirens.”

“I need information. I need to know who my information broker really was, why they lied, why I was given a dead lead, and where the hell Jin is right now. Be it luck or fate, Y/N has given us precious time to get the answers to these questions. If anyone is going to have those answers, it’s going to be Vladimir.”

“Ah, so you do know why I’m here.”

“As unhappy as it might make you, you are quite an easy man to read, Kim. And yet despite all your desires for control, you still fail to grasp it. I wonder — is it because you’re a failure? Or because of something else?”

You can’t see what Hongjoong is doing from your vantage point, but he doesn’t offer up a response. Yunho shifts beside you, a creak to the wood legs of his chair and gaze still glued to anything but the arena down below. Then —

“After all this time, you still look at your damn lieutenant the same way.” A breath of hesitation, and you choke on air at his next words. “Like he’s your treasure.”

“I came here for business, Vladimir,” Hongjoong hisses out, but it’s too late to keep anyone from hearing what Vladimir has said.

“I know you did. You want information. Information I cannot provide.” Hongjoong scoffs at that.

“What’s your cost? Name the price and it’s yours.”

A shrill laugh echoes through your headset. The hand clasped over your thigh tightens a little, and you find your own hand sneaking towards it with a sudden churning of anxiety in your gut.

“What I want isn’t money, Kim. What I want is your prized Berserker down in my arena.”

The pit in your stomach deepens to an impossible degree. Wooyoung stretches a hand towards yours, moving off your thigh to clasp your palm tightly.

“No. Not a chance.”

“Then I suppose your information isn’t so valuable after all.” Vladimir leans back in his throne, dipping out of the streams of light to be concealed by the shadows once more.

“Why do you want him so desperately?”

“Because, Hongjoong, I am just like each and every single one of these people. I crave it. To control that beast.”

“He isn’t yours to control.”

“And I suppose he is yours? Hongjoong, you’re a mystery to me. I’d think that after all those years in chains, you would see freedom differently.” Vladimir sighs a clear and defined sound that comes across in an almost condescending way.

“Freedom is a farce.”

“No, freedom is what you make of it. In my eyes, only one thing can truly be freedom, and that is death. We are never free from our chains, Hongjoong. They stay with us until we die. That’s the meaning of freedom and the meaning of death.”

Vladimir moves slowly, but his bright regalia gives away his shifting feet as he stands up and approaches the balcony, red cloak billowing behind him like a bloody shadow. A dark hand rises, glove masking the skin underneath, and he extends it out towards the crowd.

“Would that I could grant everyone that freedom.”

The cacophony of shouts heightens as he draws all fingers into a tight fist and straightens his thumb.

“You expect me to be cruel, Hongjoong, because you believe everyone to be cruel. You hope for them to be cruel so that you can have an excuse for being that way yourself. I’m afraid life doesn’t work that way though. I am not cruel. I am the body and the hand of the people. An instrument of their desires.” He tilts his hand, a blurry and hazy movement given the distance. “Their song in the silence.” The screams halt as though by cue. Bated breaths holding onto nothing except one man’s hand. “Their light in the darkness.” He jerks and points his thumb to the ground. The din resumes in an instant. “I am their voice, Hongjoong. Merely that and nothing more. Whether you consider that to be cruel or not… it is on your shoulders.”

“If it is blood you want, then put me down there.”

Yunho looks up for the first time, eyes staring directly at the seat where Hongjoong sits as still as ever. Wooyoung lurches as well, and his hand squeezes almost painfully around your thigh.

“Hongjoong, no–” Seonghwa’s voice is the one to cut across the feed, but Hongjoong doesn’t let him continue the thought.

“Take me in Mingi’s stead.” The words feel almost heavy on your ears.

“Ah. What an intriguing turn of events. What could you possibly offer me that that Berserker could not, Hongjoong? Do not pretend to be anything more than an ant among giants when it comes to my gladiators.”

“You said it yourself. It’s about control. Not about winning or losing. Control.”

“You would hand your life over that easily? I should’ve tried this years ago.”

“When I come out of there alive, then you will give me every last bit of information I desire,” Hongjoong demands, not wavering in the face of Vladimir’s mockery.

“That confidence hasn’t left you a day in your life, has it? Still… I’ll accept your offer.”

“No,” Yunho exhales, hands gripping the arms of his chair so tight that his knuckles go white. “He can’t be serious. He can’t be doing this. It’s – it’s suicide.”

“Come out alive, Kim Hongjoong, and I will give you all the answers you seek. Should you die, I will grant the rest of your crew safe passage back to your ship, as well as deliver your body to them untouched. Would it be that this is a fitting end for you, Scourge of the Black Sea.”

“We have to go. We have to stop him before he does this!” Yunho exclaims. He pulls himself to his feet, forgoing the people around you in favor of his urgency.

“Yunho… we can’t,” you utter. Defeat radiates through your tone. The odds of Hongjoong coming out of that hellhole are slim to none. Yet the odds of you guys stopping him from going in there are even lower.

“My men will escort you down to prepare for your fight. Do not expect me to be easy on you when I select your opponent.”

“That’s the thing, Vlad. I have your gladiator.”

“What is he saying? Has he gone fucking insane? Is that what this is?” You tug on Yunho’s sleeve gently in an attempt to urge the man to sit back down.

“I will fight for myself down in the arena, and my opponent shall be my own Berserker, Jongho.”

“You've truly lost your mind then, is that it? You would pit yourself – someone as weak and fragile as yourself – against a Berserker? Not only that, but one of the most dangerous Berserkers in the universe?”

“Yes, I would. Because that's the only way you would agree to these terms, isn't it?”

“How very insightful of you, Hongjoong,” Vladimir hums. “You are absolutely correct.”

“My men and I will be heading down now. You can save your escorts for our return.”

“Hm, I would advise you to be wary, Kim. An ego like that makes for an even harsher fall. You would be wise not to gloat too much before your fight. Nonetheless, I look forward to seeing you test your mettle in my arena. An ode to older times, no?”

Hongjoong leaves the man without another response, and Vladimir must not be pressing for one because he lets Hongjoong turn on his heel and leave without a fight. The silence that ensues is so thick and palpable that you nearly choke on it, and it lasts for far too long before Seonghwa’s voice is ringing harshly in your ears.

“You have legitimately lost your mind this time, Hongjoong,” he hisses out, and though the words are spoken in spite, you can clearly hear the wavering tone of worry in them.

“I have a plan.”

“To die?”

“Teams, reconvene at the base tunnel of the arena. Just follow the smell of blood and you’ll be able to find it without any trouble.” That order brings you to your feet in a heartbeat, and Wooyoung’s hand falls away from your leg as you rush to stand up. He stares a bit blankly up at you, body refusing to move from its place on the bench, and you grab for his hand to yank him upward.

“We have to go, Wooyoung,” you urge. Wooyoung nods but still he doesn’t budge, eyes glazed and hazy as he struggles to come back to reality. “Wooyoung, please.”

“I… Y/N, I-I…”

Whatever thoughts are running through his head die on his lips because he can’t manage to finish the sentence. You tug him to his feet with a bit more force, and he finally relents enough to get up and follow you. Yunho has already gotten to his feet and started making his way to the end of the row, and you trail after him with hurried steps. Your heart is thrumming hard against the confines of your chest, beating like a drum in your ears. All you can see is the broad expanse of Yunho’s back as you walk behind him, and you frankly have no idea if he knows where he’s headed but you still follow him blindly. Wooyoung shifts his hand to fit into yours. His fingers slip between yours, and you cling to the warmth just as hard as he does. It’s only when you start descending the stairs to reach the place where you entered earlier that Wooyoung decides to speak again, although part of you wishes he hadn’t said anything simply because of how heartbreaking his words are.

“I c-can’t watch him die, Y/N.” You twist to look him in the eye, regretting it in an instant, but you push through the pain of seeing his trembling lip and watering eyes.

“You won’t have to.”

It could be a lie for all you know but it’s enough for the time being, and Wooyoung falls silent to let you continue to pull him along. San and Jongho are waiting for you at the mouth of the tunnel, eyes wide and unblinking as the three of you step down the last of the stairs to meet up with them. There is no sign of Hongjoong and the others yet, but you know that it’s only a temporary relief for whatever hell is about to come.

Yunho steps in front of Jongho, hands coming to rest on the young Berserker’s shoulders. “Jongho—”

“Don’t,” Jongho interjects. “Don’t even try to say anything.”

“No, it isn’t fair of him to put you in this position. He shouldn’t—”

“Shouldn’t what?”

Again Yunho does not get to finish the thought, but this time it isn’t Jongho who interrupts him. You turn to face the source of the voice, knowing full well who it is, but seeing the captain standing at the edge of the stairs with his hand loosely gripping the wall does nothing to ease your worries. Yunho’s gaze softens minimally upon seeing Hongjoong. He doesn’t let it last long before the fire returns to his stare. Hongjoong doesn’t waver in the slightest.

“Shouldn’t force Jongho to fight you like this!”

“You think we haven’t had this conversation before?” Hongjoong asks, arching a brow in Yunho’s direction. He steps closer to the five of you. Seonghwa and Yeosang trail in behind him, and the moment the latter comes into sight, Wooyoung drops your hand to rush to his side. He hits Yeosang hard, nearly toppling him over with the force of his body, but the blond manages to catch his weight with little struggle and latches onto his waist with one arm. Hongjoong motions towards Jongho – a single dismissive wave that lasts less than a second. “We discussed this yesterday after you all left the bridge.”

“And you didn’t think to tell me — the rest of us?”

“As far as I’m concerned, this only truly affects Jongho. The rest of you will remain here and not be able to see what’s going on inside the arena until we both come out — alive. This is a show, Yunho. I’m not asking you to understand or agree with my reasoning, but I am asking you to comply.” Hongjoong steps around Yunho and continues down the tunnel, moving on towards the center of the arena, and he beckons for Jongho to follow him with a single finger.

Yunho darts a hand out to block Jongho’s path before he can follow after the captain.

“Vladimir won’t give you anything if both of you come out alive!”

Hongjoong comes to a halt where he is, and he heaves a deep sigh before turning around to face Yunho once more With several hesitant steps, Hongjoong returns to stand in front of the healer, eyes blazing as he reaches into one of his pockets and pulls out a small lidded vial that has a murky white liquid in it. Yunho blinks down at it for a few seconds before he seems to recognize what it is.

“The hyacinth root? When did you…?”

“After you mentioned bringing some back from the market.” You hardly remember that day in the marketplace since it seems to have happened so long ago, but Hongjoong’s words jot your memories of what Yunho had told you that day.

“You can crush them up with peppermint leaves to create a paste that, when consumed, will slow your heart rate but keep you alive. It makes you seem dead when in actuality, you aren’t. It typically lasts between seven and ten minutes. Good for getaways or dupes.”

“Hongjoong, I don’t have the supplies for this. I won’t—”

“Yes, you will. The second we come out of there, Vlad’s guards will hand over Jongho’s body to you. Seonghwa will accompany me back up to see Vlad, but Yeosang must stay down here with Jongho’s body, or else they’ll be more suspicious than they already are. It’s just like what you did on Yuki—”

“I had supplies then! I was prepared for that! Not to mention I almost failed last time, and you nearly died, and that was when I had all the necessary supplies.” Yunho exclaims. “I can’t get the paste out of him without a decoction of violet stems and at least three other seeds and ground spices. I don’t know how you expect me to get it out of him in time without those things, and I especially don’t understand why you failed to mention this last night!”

“You say that like I didn’t try to mention it. You’ll have plenty of time to figure something out while we’re in the arena, but now we have to go before Vlad’s men come get us.” Hongjoong slips the vial back into his pocket, and this time when he turns, Yunho doesn’t try to stop him – either because he’s conceding or he truly doesn’t know what he can say to stop Hongjoong. Jongho steps around Yunho’s outstretched arm and follows after the captain without a word. He doesn’t wait for them to be out of earshot before whipping around to glare Seonghwa down with fire in his eyes.

“And here I thought your duty as lieutenant was to prevent him from doing stupid things.”

“Now is not the time for this,” Yeosang says, pulling a bit away from Wooyoung to step between the two.

“Preach all you want about how much you care about him and how you would sacrifice anything for him, but the reality is that you don’t give a shit about his well-being!” Yunho continues to berate Seonghwa and pays no attention to Yeosang’s interruption. He jabs a finger at the lieutenant’s face, but Seonghwa reaches up to sway the offending hand away in an instant.

“Sacrifice and trust go hand in hand,” Seonghwa says, managing to maintain a surprisingly steady tone in the face of Yunho’s rage. “I would not let him set a single foot in that arena if I did not trust his promise to come out alive. And would he let me, I would be the one going in there.”

“Vladimir expects them to tear each other apart!”

“These risks are no greater than the ones we have experienced in the past. They will both come out of there.” Hongjoong must have said something to Seonghwa on the way down for him to suddenly be so sure of this. Either that or Seonghwa is forcing the words out in a desperate attempt to believe it himself.

“And do you not care that this could kill Jongho? If I can’t figure something out before they drag his body back in here, he will die because of this!”

“Then you ought to stop arguing with me and start thinking of a solution to this issue.  Or perhaps you should have listened to Hongjoong last night when he tried to tell you what the plan was.”

“When he dies, the blame will be on your shoulders for not doing more to stop Hongjoong,” Yunho hisses.

“How so? You’re so quick to push the blame off yourself already, yet the responsibility to save him falls on your shoulders, Yunho. I’m not going to stand here and fight with you over this. You have the ability to save Jongho even without those supplies. The only person doubting you right now is yourself.”

“I don’t doubt my own abilities. Jongho will not fight back in there. Don’t you realize that? In order for this to be believable, Hongjoong will have to beat him down to near death. Jongho’s body will reject whatever treatments I try to give him without the decoction as a method of protection, but that will only end up killing him because I won’t be able to get the hyacinth paste out of him in time.”

“Captain won’t hurt him.”

You don’t need to turn to see who has just stepped in, but you do nonetheless at least for the smallest semblance of confirmation. It doesn’t make it any easier to see who stands at the edge of the tunnel, bright light cascading around his tall form and casting crude shadows across the floor as he walks closer to the group. You swallow around nothing in anticipation although nothing could prepare you for what Mingi says next.

“Because I’m the one going in there, not Jongho.”

✧✧✧ a/n: yall idek what even happened to be honest my brain is NUMB also i wrote the smut scene last so if it’s a lil bit weak im sorry T-T also lemme know what you think a whole lot happened again :o

taglist: @faeriewoobin​ @sugarrimajins​ @atinyinwonderland​ @2504-life @lil7bluedragon​ @sparklychangbin​ @jeong-uwu​ @jeonartemis​ @anothershorthuman​ @xxbluestrifexx​​ @haotheheckk​ @noonawriter​ @lostscenarios​ @nlost21​ @mirror-juliet​ @okokokok123-45 @purple-aeon @theoinkypiglet @toothlessshiber @atinyarmyx1 @simpforhyunjin @hwangwoosan @takitaro @vampire-jimin @softyubi @drumboydowoon @chatsgotmytongue @just-a-starfruit @babydolljo @scintillating-souls @khjssss @felixity

This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivatives 4.0 International License.

[haledamage]

Coming Home

I'm a day late because this thing got much bigger than I expected, but better late than never! This is for @shepherds-of-haven Shepherds Summer 2021! The prompt was Pacific Rim AU!

Some of the backstory stuff is from this post here. Some is just pushing ShoH canon slightly to the left so it fits better in a Pacific Rim setting. Some is the result of reading ShoH and watching PacRim at the same time and then taking a nap to see what seeds got planted. There will be a part 2 to this because I had to split it up in order to finish it on time and then I was late anyway.

Shepherds of Haven/Pacific Rim AU. Iorwen Emroth/Blade Bronwyn (well, hints of it. more in part 2)

---

The Haven Shatterdome looked very small from overhead. Iorwen watched it loom closer with a trepidation somewhere between “being late for an important exam” and “being read her last rites.”

It had been just over two years since she’d last been this close to a Jaeger, half a world away and in a different life, but all the Shatterdomes looked the same after a while. Steel and glass and everything painted in olive drab, black, and safety yellow. 

Part of her felt like it was too soon to walk into those hangar doors again, the empty space at her side where her partner used to be still a raw, open wound. She couldn’t even think xer name yet without feeling like she couldn’t breathe. Returning to work felt like a betrayal of xer memory.

Another part of her, louder with every passing minute, was just so happy to be home again.

"Wen!"

Iorwen had barely stepped out of the helicopter when she heard her name called and turned to see Red jogging toward her. He looked more tired than she remembered him, but his smile was as bright as ever, his hair vivid against their otherwise drab surroundings. She’d known he was here - he’d transferred to Haven shortly after she left Capra - but hearing it and actually seeing him were two very different things.

She dropped her bag carelessly to the tarmac and ran to meet him halfway, throwing herself at him as soon as he was close enough to wrap her arms around his neck. He hugged her back without hesitation. They were making a Hel of a scene in the middle of the landing pad, but neither of them really cared.

"I knew you'd come back," he mumbled into her hair.

"Had to." She finally pulled away, stepping back just enough that she could see him. "You can barely tie your shoes without me, Liefred."

He only laughed before leaving her side just long enough to grab her bag. He slung an arm around her shoulders as he rejoined her, dragging her towards the hangar. "Welcome home."

She stared up at the Shatterdome, hangar doors towering over them. It didn't look nearly as welcoming as Red seemed to think it should, and was much more intimidating than it had been from the air. It still smelled like blood and motor oil - or maybe it was her memory that did.

She tried to put on her best smile anyway, for his sake if not her own, and let him drag her inside.

They stepped into a hive of activity, the sounds of machinery and voices echoing off the walls, laughter and shouting and clanging metal rising up to greet them. She tried to stop and take it in, but Red was still dragging her along with him out of the main hangar and into a labyrinth of hallways; she probably could have escaped him if she tried, but she didn’t really want to.

“Have you met the Marshal yet?” he asked, once they were in a quiet enough place that he didn’t have to yell to be heard.

“Not yet. Mostly talked to his second so far.” Trouble Alder had, in fact, shown up out of the blue one day three months ago, sitting on her front porch with a stick of charch between his lips and looking completely at home. He’d revisited her every day for a month until he’d finally worn her down enough to convince her to come home. Stubborn bastard. “What's he like?”

“Intense,” Red answered almost immediately. “Most of the younger crew are terrified of him. He doesn't like me.”

Iorwen scoffed. “Bullshit. You’re the most exceptionally likeable person I’ve ever met. Everyone likes you.”

“He doesn't.” 

They stopped in front of a door in what was probably the barracks, the walls lined with identical doors on either side. Sure enough, there was a simple bed, a dresser, and not much else inside. Iorwen didn’t mind; she didn’t need much else.

Once she’d dropped off her bag and they started down the next hallway, Red continued, “I don't know if he likes anyone. He barely says two words to anyone but Trouble.”

She was still skeptical, but didn’t push. “Well, he must be doing something right. Look at this place. Capra barely had a skeleton crew compared to this.”

“It’s amazing!” Just like that, Red lit up again. “Some of Blest’s best and brightest are here. Pilots, mechanics, scientists, strategists, you name it.”

“And which of those are you? All of the above?”

“Mostly scientist, I think,” Red rubbed a sheepish hand over his hair. “There’s better pilots. Pan, Neon, and I serve better in the lab than on the field most of the time.” He paused, watching her cautiously, before adding carefully, “And… which will you be?”

“I’ll be working in the clinic,” she said quickly. “As a Healer. I’m not… ready to be around Jaegers again. I might never be.”

“I understand,” he assured her, reaching out to put a comforting hand on her shoulder. “We all do.”

They fell silent after that, and stayed that way until they stopped in front of a door labelled Administration. “This is Shery’s office. She’ll get you all set up.”

“Thanks, Red.”

“Anytime.” With one final quick hug, he turned to leave, only to stop halfway down the hall. “Oh, and Wen?”

“Hmm?”

“Welcome to the Shepherds.”

---

It was two weeks before Iorwen finally met the Marshal, and it happened entirely by accident.

She had just finished a shift in the clinic, patching up minor burns and bruises on unlucky mechanics and restless pilots. The silence between Kaiju attacks left everyone on edge, and that led to carelessness, which inevitably meant stupid injuries. She didn’t mind. All things considered, she’d rather have the silence.

As she turned a corner, she noticed a light was on in the training room, and curiosity led her there without much input on her part.

She recognized the man in the room easily enough. Even if they’d never spoken directly, she’d seen him around enough to know who he was. He commanded the attention of a room like no one she’d ever met before. He was hard to look away from, even here, out of uniform and either unaware or uncaring of her presence.

Magnetic. That’s what he was.

He was also much younger than she expected for a Marshal. He was close to her own age, or at least she assumed he was. She wondered about the story there - obviously there must be one - but knew better than to ask the rumor mill. Gossip was like dust: inevitable, everywhere, and harder to see through the more you stirred it up.

The Marshal’s back stiffened, and Iorwen knew she’d been caught staring even before he glanced over his shoulder in her direction. She stepped into the room as casually as possible. “Hello, Marshal.”

He simply nodded, dark eyes unreadable. “Ranger.” She bit her lip to stop herself from correcting him. “Emroth, right?”

“Yes, sir.” She approached until she could finally see his face. “Iorwen.”

Another nod. “Blade.” She thought he would leave it there, but after a moment, he spoke again. “Antiqua speaks highly of you.”

“Of course he does. He's biased.” She laughed, rolling her eyes at the idea that Red was going around extolling her virtues to anyone who would listen. When the Marshal - Blade, she mentally corrected herself - gave her a look that she interpreted as curiosity, she elaborated. “We trained together as cadets. He was my first Drift partner actually.”

“But you never piloted together?”

“No. It…” Iorwen broke eye contact, the floor suddenly fascinating. “It didn't work out that way.”

“It's not too late,” he said, almost softly.

“Yes it is. I'm not a Ranger anymore. Not after…” Xer name got stuck in her throat, like it always did. She took a couple of deep breaths until she could comfortably breathe around it again, but her smile was still sad. “I'm happier on the ground. I'm a good Healer. It's where I should be.”

She could feel Blade’s eyes on her, but she didn’t look back up to meet them. Eventually, all he said was, “I see.”

He turned his back on her again and it didn’t take long before her gaze was drawn to him again. He was wearing a tank top, like most people did when they came here to train or spar, and standing this close she could clearly see the web of electrical scarring trailing over his arm and shoulder.

She knew those scars well. The scars of someone forced to solo pilot a Jaeger. She should know, she had a matching set.

Blade did an admirable job of pretending he didn’t know he was being observed, but he moved too carefully for it to look entirely casual. Or maybe he just always moved like that. He picked up a bo staff and tested the weight of it.

Iorwen took the opportunity that presented without thought or hesitation. “Looking for a dance partner?”

The briefest flash of surprise crossed his face before his expression smoothed back out. “Are you… sure?” he asked carefully. If she didn’t know better, she might say he almost sounded nervous.

She found it charming. She found him charming, with his not-quite-smile and his cool confidence, this magnetic man who could simultaneously terrify the cadets while inspiring absolute loyalty in them.

But she didn’t tell him that, of course. She just grabbed a staff of her own and grinned as she lifted it in a fencing salute. “On your guard, Marshal.”

---

After that first night, it became a regular thing. Not every day, not even on a set schedule. But sometimes after she was done in the clinic or in the garage, Iorwen would stop by the training room, and sometimes when she did, Blade would already be there. Not waiting for her, not exactly, but never surprised when she arrived.

He never really said much, but she didn't mind talking for the both of them. She could tell he was warming up to her, as the weeks passed; his silence felt much less formal and stiff and more cordial. Eventually, even friendly.

Two things were apparent from the very beginning, though. Well, three things. The first was that Blade, as a fighter, was completely out of her league. She never stopped by with any expectation of beating him; she was content to follow his lead. It was nice to be active again, to feel the familiar burn in muscles left dormant in her self-imposed retirement.

The second was that they were extremely drift compatible. While Iorwen could never beat him, she could consistently predict him. They could both be blindfolded and still know what move the other would make. There was an effortlessness to the way they understood each other that bordered on the supernatural. It was a kind of connection that she hadn’t felt since Zori had been killed.

The third thing was that neither of them were willing, in any way, shape, or form, to admit the second thing.

It was barely a week before Red found out.

He flopped down on the bench next to her in the cafeteria. “I brought those papers you were looking for to your room last night, but you weren’t there.” He didn’t say it as an accusation, but it still managed to feel like one.

“I spent a couple hours in the training room,” she said as casually as possible. “Trying to get back in shape.”

Red blinked a few times, letting that sink in, before smiling wide. “That’s really good. Let me know if you ever need a sparring partner.”

“I kind of… have one?”

“You do?” His smile went from friendly to devious, the look of a man who had four sisters and was willing to tease her as if she was a fifth. “Who?”

Before she could stop herself, she looked across the room at Blade. He sat at a table with Trouble, whose laughter was loud enough to reach them even from the other side of the busy cafeteria. The Marshal’s face remained impassive, looking like he wasn’t even listening, but Iorwen knew him well enough to tell he was amused.

As if he could feel her watching him, his eyes snapped up and locked on hers. She smiled at him; he nodded almost imperceptibly.

Red cleared his throat, and she looked away quickly, turning her attention back to the smugly amused grin of her best friend. “Well, I guess maybe it’s not everyone he doesn’t like.”

“Guess it’s just you.” She nudged his shoulder and he rubbed at it as if she’d hurt him. “He’s not as bad as you made him out to be.” She couldn’t stand his knowing look anymore and turned away, but doing so led her eyes right back to Blade. “He's nicer than he looks. And surprisingly funny. He doesn't treat me like I'm fragile. Like I'll break if someone talks about… Zori.” 

Mentioning her former Drift partner and copilot didn’t hurt as much as she expected it to this time. Less like twisting a knife in her heart and more like being poked in a fresh bruise.

Mentioning xer also stopped whatever comment Red had been about to make right in its tracks. He studied her with obvious curiosity, mouth still half-open in surprise. Whatever he saw on her face had him leaning forward and tapping his forehead against hers, a quick gesture of affection and understanding. She leaned into it until he pulled away.

And then his teasing smile was back as if it had never left. “Plus, he's handsome.”

She eyed him warily, but let him have the subject change. “That too.” She picked up a piece of fruit from her plate and popped it into her mouth. “Please don’t say anything about this to Pan or Neon.”

“Scout’s honor.”

“I mean it, Red. Not a word.”

---

“So I hear you and the Marshal have a thing.”

Iorwen sighed from the very depths of her soul. “I hope Red knows how very dead he’s about to be.”

Panrachus looked legitimately confused at her response. “What? I didn’t hear that from Red, I heard it from Caine.” Then he gasped, eyes widening with sudden, delighted recognition. “What does Red know?”

She only barely bit back a groan. “Why are you even here?”

“Right! We’ve got something you oughta come see.”

She followed him, with more than a little trepidation, out of the clinic, through the office labyrinth, and out into the hangar. It took her a few minutes to get her bearings and realize where exactly they were going. “Why are we going to the Jaeger bays?” He didn’t answer. “Pan?”

Then they turned the corner, and she had her answer.

Looming over her was a Jaeger unlike any she’d seen before. It looked almost lanky, the proportions lean and sleek instead of the more familiar bulky designs. It would be unbelievably fast with the right pilots; she could tell that just from looking at it. From the top of each wrist, a wicked-looking blade extended over the hand, almost long enough to drag the ground. It was painted black, navy, and silver, but its eyes glowed bright blue.

From the ground, it almost looked like iladrin. Like the same blue light that lit Iorwen’s own eyes.

“What’s her name?” she whispered, unable to tear her eyes away from the Jaeger.

“Stellar Enigma.”

“Who’s piloting her?”

“You are.”

She jumped at the unexpected voice behind her and turned to see Blade, Red, and Trouble approaching, along with an entourage of what looked to be equal parts Shatterdome leadership, actual engineers, and nosy onlookers.

“You are,” Blade said again, quieter, softer, “Ranger.”

“Blade, I--” Iorwen started, but she wasn’t sure what she actually intended to say.

He reached up and lightly pinched her cheek, a faint smile on his lips. “You’ll be alright.”

Before she could reply, Trouble gently but pointedly cleared his throat, reminding her of their audience. She glared his way, just for a second; he grinned back, unabashed and unrepentant.

“Who’s my copilot? Sir.” She added the last as an afterthought, trying to act some semblance of professional.

“I get the feeling you already have someone in mind.”

She couldn’t help but laugh at that. “Bit early to be reading my thoughts, isn’t it, Marshal?”

---

Iorwen’s suit didn’t fit as well as she remembered. Tight around the shoulders, too loose at the waist. Like it was meant for someone else, no matter how many things tried to tell her otherwise.

Blade’s fit him like a second skin. He looked like a Jaeger cockpit was where he was always meant to be. Like it was the rest of the world that didn’t fit him right instead.

She met his inscrutable gaze before ‘admiring’ could cross the line to ‘ogling’. “You look good.”

He paused for a long time, staring back at her in silence, before finally clearing his throat. “You too.”

She grinned, both at the compliment and at the sight of the Marshal so off-balance, but she took pity on him and changed the subject. “Do you want the left or right?”

“Right.”

“Good. I prefer left.”

They didn’t speak anymore as they connected to their harnesses and their suits started interfacing with the Jaeger, the computerized voice talking them through system checks. It took longer than Iorwen remembered, but it had been a long time since she last Drifted with anyone, let alone with someone new.

“Are you sure about this?” she asked, once their helmets were in place and they’d run out of checks to do. “I’m not--”

“Yes,” he interrupted sharply. “You’re ready. We both are.”

There were a lot of things she wanted to say. To thank him, mostly, for a list of things that seemed to be growing bigger by the hour. She kept quiet; he’d hear it in her thoughts soon enough.

“Initiating neural handshake in 5… 4… 3… 2… 1… neural interface drift initiated.”

Between one breath and the next, she was somewhere else. Images flowed over her, some familiar, some new. She did her best to let them pass, to not cling too hard to any of them.

The destruction of Drummond's Point, the first attack the day the Kaiju came. Iorwen, dragging Zori's unconscious body out of town as fast as thirteen-year-old legs could carry her. Blade, stern and silent even as a child, a soldier from the day he was born. Zori, tears at the corners of xer eyes as xe laughs at a joke Pan told, Red and Neon joining in, the three of them always together even then. Blade's older brother, startlingly similar to him in appearance and demeanor, the two of them either sparring or fighting; for them, there had never been much difference.

Zori's scream as xe's ripped out of the cockpit. Gladius didn't make a sound as he met the same fate.

Iorwen's grief washed up against Blade's, soothing in it's familiarity. A gentle reminder that they weren't alone anymore, that thanks to the Drift they'd never be entirely alone again.

She saw him in her memory of their first meeting. Stern, aloof, but warm underneath, like a fire behind frosted glass. Captivating her before he even so much as looked at her. 

And then herself through his eyes at that same introduction. Sad, withdrawn, but still burning bright. The embodiment of stubborn hope, like a flower blooming in a snowy field.

And then they broke through the surface, both gasping as they came up for air. Below them, Stellar Enigma came to life. The rush of memories and emotions settled into the background, present but no longer demanding attention.

“Pilot connection stabilized.” It wasn’t the computer’s voice this time, but Shery over the intercom. “How do you feel?”

Moving as one, Blade and Iorwen lifted their hands, right fist resting on left palm, and bowed. Stellar Enigma did the same, moving as smoothly as her pilots did. Iorwen couldn’t tell which of them the wave of elation came from, but it burst out of her in a laugh.

“It feels like coming home.”

[imaginesmai]

Peter Parker - No more fondue on my watch

This got a little out of hand... Hope you like it @peterwandaparker​​!

Plot: Peter and you have been together for a while now, but nothing can go past Captain America eagle’s eyes.

Warnings (or notes): SMUT or nearly smut, but there is a dick. And this is Peter Parker x Rogers!reader. Let’s be honest, there is a bit of Stony

You bit your lip, uncrossing your legs and doing it again just by pure nervousness. Or boredom, that worked too. There was a ray of sun that had moved since you had arrived the length of the table. If you fixed your eyes there for a long time, just like you had been doing, you could see it moving; and it was the most entertaining thing you had done since you had woken up. And you had woken up really, really early.

But that’s what you got when you lived in another district, you wanted to look presentable for him, and your father was Captain America, who could have a heart attack if you were late once more. Who wasn’t as punctual as your father was Tony, the engineer who still was in his lab for sure.

You weren’t uncomfortable in the tower, but you had places to be instead of the living room. Like, your boyfriend’s room.

“Hey dad” you tried.

Steve was wearing what you called ‘I’m gonna meet my crush’ attire. Tight grey shirt, black jeans and a fairly big amount of hair gel. He was reading a book of his list of ‘things I missed under ice’, which in your opinion was too long and boring. But he insisted in completing it, maybe just for the sake of Tony, who wrote it.

He raised a brow at you, his eyes not leaving the book but letting you know that he was aware. You coughed to make you sound as casual as possible, because sneaking out on Captain America wasn’t easy.

“How… much longer?”

“I don’t know” he gave you the same answer for the fifth time. “Whenever Tony finishes what he’s doing. It’s not like you have anything better to do, Y/N”

You bit your remark about your plans; any plan, actually, was better than waiting in the compound in silence since seven in the morning.

“But I’m hungry” you said, and Steve raised his head finally. You contained the proud smirk.

“Didn’t you have breakfast at your mother’s?”

Steve Rogers was a man of a diet. He didn’t have chocolate, sweets, fried stuff or anything that could be bad for health, and he forced anyone who lived with him to have 5 meals per day. The thing was that you were still a minor, and you didn’t always live with him.

Your mother and Steve didn’t have the perfect relationship, you could say. They were both wonderful people, but too stubborn to get along. So it pained you to lie about her, but that was the only way to get around your dad.

“Not really, since you woke me up at five” you almost barked, still hurt that he had blasted your phone away. “But mom wasn’t awake and there was no milk”

“I can’t believe that’s how she raise a child” Steve tightened his jaw. “What’s next? Telling me you had pizza for dinner?”

With extra cheese, actually

“No, dad” you lied again, salivating at the thought of pizza. “Can I eat something or should I starve to death?”

Steve was quiet for a while. He was against every type of snack; and if he ever pardoned one, was that tasteless rice pancake without fats, sugar or salt. It felt like eating cotton. He looked at the clock of his wrist, and sighed, going back to reading the book.

“Try not to raze Tony’s pantry, please” he gave up. “And don’t eat anything that has … just try to avoid eating Nutella from the jar”

You chuckled and hoped off the sofa, speeding to the kitchen. Closing the door behind you, you marvelled at the huge space in front of you. It was probably bigger than your father’s and mother’s apartment. Without wasting another beat, you walked to the fridge and enjoyed the opportunity of the free card of food.

The fridge was full of things that you couldn’t even name, but you were more than aware that that’s who Tony was. You contented yourself with a ham and turkey sandwich. Knowing you weren’t going to go back to your father, you made another one and reached for the bag of chips in the top counter.  

You were just putting everything in the tray along with two juices when your phone sounded.

Petey-pie [9:39]: i’m getting up early 4 u

Petey-pie [9:39]: hurt not to wake up by u smashing a pillow on my head

Petey-pie [9:39]: where are u

You sent a quick reply, telling him to stop being so needy and that you would be there in a minute. His room was on the other side of the compound, so you weren’t worried about running into your father; besides, luck seemed to smile at you, because you heard Tony’s voice from the living room greeting him.

And you knew that Tony was enough to keep your father busy for a few hours; after all, he didn’t put the ‘I’m gonna meet my crush’ attire for nothing.

You picked up the tray and tiptoed toward the other end of the kitchen, where the door for the main hallway was. You ran past your ‘room’, the one you used when Steve went on a mission with the Avengers and didn’t want you to stay alone, or with your mother. That he wasn’t living there anymore didn’t mean he wasn’t a part of the team, much to your mother dislike.

There weren’t many things there, but you quickly changed from your boots to soft padded socks with small cute bears decorating. Once you were comfortable enough to spend the whole morning there, you closed the door of your room and skipped to his.

Peter wasn’t facing you when you opened the door, but rather looking out of the window daydreaming. He turned around once you were in, and gave you the most beautiful smile you had ever seen. He still had his eyes swollen by sleep, and his pyjamas were on. But he seemed awake enough to pick up the tray from your hands and set it aside, cornering you in the bathroom’s door and locking your lips.

You smiled into the kiss and raised your hand behind his neck. Peter’s room smelt a lot like Axe, a bad habit in your opinion that he had gotten from his dad mentor. The window was half open and his bed was still undone, which gave you a sense of home that you hadn’t felt in a while.

Peter’s lips against yours weren’t nice, but demanding. He pressed himself against your body and cradled your head with his hand, tilting it so that he had better access. When you ran out of air, he teared away and looked at you with a lovestruck gaze.

“Hi” you managed to say, out of breath. It came out a little high-pitched.

“I missed you” he whined, and pouted like a puppy. Your heard literally broke with his look, so you leaned forward and kissed him again.

The spring break was hard for everyone. There was no highschool, and even if it was good news for every teenager, for you wasn’t. It meant you couldn’t see Peter every day, that you lived with your mother during the week, and that you could only sneak around your father some weekends. Peter was probably who felt it the worse, since he was a rather clingy boy, and had made it known in the three months you had been together.

Peter broke away to keep pressing kissing on your cheek, nose and forehead. They were light kisses, so fast that you ended up giggling and tossing between his arms. When he felt like he could let you go, he gave you a final peck and stepped back.

“Breakfast in bed” he said, giving a side glance to the trail of food. “Is it any special service?”

“Only for the best” you chuckled, and walked to the bed.

Peter’s bed was probably the softest one. When him and May had moved over, Tony had made sure he spoiled Peter rotten. With May’s help, they bought him the comfiest cushion, the nerdiest stuff and the best computer. He didn’t accept half of it, but the bed was different. You let yourself be drowned in it, pale blue sheets surrounding you and making you feel like in a cloud. You closed your eyes and rested your head on his pillow, that smelt like him and made it ten times better.

He followed you close, and you felt the bed dipping under his weight. Slowly, he crawled until his head was resting in the space between your neck and shoulder, and you could caress his hair. His body was covering yours, and when Peter threw the covers over the both if you, it felt like you were in your own perfect little world.

The tray laid forgotten on the desk as Peter curled into a ball by your side, hugging your body as if it was his personal pillow. He tangled your legs together and intertwined his fingers with yours. When he was comfortable enough, he talked, and his hot breath hit the side of your face.

“I missed you” he repeated.

“I missed you too” you answered, turning your head so that your noses were touching.

“You know what I missed the most?” Peter asked, and by the smirk on his face, you knew that shy-Peter wasn’t making an appearance. “This”

Peter’s hand rested on your bare belly, and from there he kept going down. He was met with the hem of your trousers, a baggy sweaters that you had snitched from your mom before leaving that morning. Peter’s skilled fingers started undoing the knot of the front, and his body rocked against yours slowly.

“I hope you know what you’re doing” you teased.

By any answer, Peter shifted so that he was hovering over you, his hand still placed between your bodies and his eyes boring into you with burning love. He gave you a lazy, lopsided smirk and finished with the knot of your trousers.

He didn’t bother in tugging them down, but sneaked his hand down and his thumb touched the lace of your panties. He didn’t have to look to know they were the purple one, because he knew your wardrobe by heart; and because with the spider bite, came a constant flood of teenager’s hormones.

Your skin was soft and warm against his finger’s pad, and he gifted you with a soft grunt that made you clench your thighs and trap his hand in between. Peter chuckled.

“I don’t think I can stand another two weeks without seeing you” Peter said.

“Let’s just enjoy the moment”

And that’s exactly what you did.

Peter kicked off the covers and let his lips be lost against your neck. They nipped, kissed, licked and bit your whole neck, never leaving any mark but testing your limits. He knew where to touch you to make those noise, and he spent his time there. His hot breath hoovering over you was enough to make you come on your panties.

But he didn’t have enough, so he ended up tugging your pants down and off the bed and letting his hand be lost in your pussy. He ran one lazy finger up and down your lips, parting them and creating a delicious friction against your clit.

“Peter – Peter, oh – wait – stop, Peter!” you cried out an pushed his hand away.

Peter’s eyes almost got out of their socket and you saw panic filling his features. He was off you in a second, and what a sight. His hair was messy from tugging too much, t-shirt gone and pyjamas pants holding a tent of its own. You bit your lip and squeezed your eyes, begging to yourself to last a big longer.

“Get inside” you moaned, opening your legs again. “Please – please, I need – I need –“

You hadn’t seen Peter move so fast in his life. He was standing in front of you when you blinked, fighting with his pants and boxers at the same time. His erection bobbed up and down until it almost touched his stomach, and you were sure he was as turned on as you.

You were about to take off your t-shirt and mount him yourself when the door was kicked open and both Peter and you screamed.

“Y/N!”

“Peter!”

“Dad!”

“Mr. Stark!”

You didn’t think the mood after not seeing your boyfriend for two weeks could go down so fast, but it did when a very flushed Tony Stark and a totally mortified Steve Rogers opened the door of Peter’s room. You covered yourself the best that you could with Peter’s sheets, and he took the pillow to hide his dick.

“What the hell were you doing?!” Steve screamed, and you had to remind yourself that it wasn’t a good moment to say ‘language’. “What – why are you – Y/N Rogers, you’re so grounded!”

Your father’s face was as red as his shield, only discerning from an apple by the blue and white of his eyes. Tony’s shock seemed to be wearing off, and he was simply leaning against a the wall with a hand covering his evident smile.

“Haven’t you heard of knocking, dad?” you asked, your voice still too high for your liking. “You can’t just burst into someone’s room”

“I can’t – I can’t?!” wrong answer, you guessed. “You can’t do… that! And with him!”

“Mr. Rogers, I – “ Peter tried to talk.

“Shut up” Steve growled, and Peter’s Adam apple bobbed up and down. “Listen to me, you end this right now. And don’t ever expect to see him again.”

“What?!” you let the sheets fall to your lap, exposing your thankfully still covered front. “You can’t do that!”

“You don’t get to say what I can and can’t do!”

“Steve –“ Tony tried.

“I can! You only see me on weekends, I live with mom! You can’t say who I can and I can’t see!”

“Then maybe you will come and live with me” Steve said, and your jaw dropped. “Get dressed. I’ll – “

“Just because mom and you don’t love each other anymore doesn’t mean I can’t love someone!” you screamed out.

The room got silent, and Steve actually paled. The thing about him was that he wasn’t a bad father at all. Your mother had thrown you at him when you were younger, and even if she loved you, you knew that most of the arguments came because she loved to make his life impossible. Steve was patient, loving, funny and cared for you like no one.

But he was also afraid. Afraid of you going to parties, afraid of you getting a sleepover, and afraid of you having a boyfriend. The man had lost so much, that it terrified him that he could lose you too.

For the first time since he had heard the noises in Peter’s room, he got to finally look at you. You had tears in your eyes, your cheeks red and your lips pursed as if when you were going to cry. He knew what a bratty teenager was, and what he saw in your eyes wasn’t the tantrum you throw sometimes when he didn’t let you go somewhere.

He looked at Peter, then. The boy looked even more devastated than you. With just a pillow covering his lower half, Peter was chewing on his lip and looking at Steve lacking all the respect he always had. There was only desperation, and Steve felt bad.

“It’s not about that” Steve whispered, and sighed. Even if he didn’t age like normal people, he felt like greys hair coming out. “How… for how long, you know? This?”

“Three months” you whispered back, and a tear rolled down your cheek. You quickly caught it with your finger, and rubbed a furious fist against your eye.

Steve slumped against the wall, and closed his eyes tightly. There was a headache coming his way, and at full speed. His daughter with Tony’s son protegee, his daughter doing… that with Peter, and his daughter growing up and him being left behind.

“Just – just be careful” Steve made a small grimace and coughed it away. “Say goodbye, we’re leaving. And please… next time lock the door, Parker”

You knew you had to talk about it with your father, that he wasn’t done, but for the moment, he muttered a quick goodbye and left the room. You felt like your heart was beating again. Tony had a smug smile on his face, and rose up from his leaning position too.

“And here I thought you didn’t bring girls home because you were a shy boy” Tony teased, and Peter felt like dying. “We’re talking about this later too, Pete”

With that, Tony left and the door was left ajar behind him. It was silent for a while, until Peter’s knees gave away and he sat beside you in the bed. The pillow fell to the ground and he put his elbows on his knees, covering his face with his hands. The decision of not saying anything was for the sake of your father, because you wanted to wait until he had everything figured with his feelings for Tony in case he felt obligated to stay away for you.

You raised a hand and placed it on Peter’s shoulder, and you swore he gave a small relief sob. Your suspicious were proven when he finally said something.

“I can’t believe that just happened” he whispered. “I thought I was gonna die”

“We’re not off the hook yet” you joked, and kneeling in bed, pressed a small kiss to his neck. “But for now we’re okay”

“Yeah”

Peter gripped your hand on his shoulder and gave it a reassuring squeeze. He looked at you sideways, and attempted to smile. It was shaky and hesitant, but it was enough for you. Even if you hadn’t been dating for long, you had known the boy for your whole life, and you didn’t want to think what to do without him.

“I should get going” you muttered, and crawled out of bed. “I don’t want him any angrier”

Peter stood up too, and even if the mood had been killed and felt more like throwing himself off a window, he pressed his lips against yours one last time. Not a second after you had moved your hand to cradle his cheek, a barking voice came from the hallway.

“No more fondue when I’m around!”

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[bandyisdandy]

Persona 4 Golden - The Rainbow Connection (2/10/21)

Anyone who knows me within the space of gaming knows that my favorite game of all time is arguably Persona 5 Royal. The game just oozes personality and fun from the get-go. It is easy enough to pick up and check out, but also deep enough to keep you engaged for hours upon hours, hungering for more even after the credits roll on your 80 to 120 hour experience. Saying this, I also have to admit that, while it is the fifth entry in the franchise, I had never played another Persona before vanilla 5. Whenever hardcore players of the series I met over the years heard this, they insisted I play 3 and/or 4 before I go on saying that 5/Royal is my favorite in the franchise. This past January, I decided to finally pull the trigger and check out Persona 4 Golden on Steam. After playing the game for about 70 hours, I defeated the true final boss and finally put the controller down for a bit. All I can say is... what a god damn magical experience this was.

Persona 4 is a JRPG (Japanese Role-playing Game) that puts you in control of Yu, a high schooler living in the middle of Tokyo who is moving in to the country with his police officer uncle and young cousin while his parents go away for a year on business. While there, you meet a young man named Yosuke and a girl named Chie who tell you about a mysterious phenomenon known as the Midnight Channel that shows up when a heavy fog rolls into town and the clock strikes midnight. One night, while viewing this phenomenon, a girl appears in the screen who looks an awful lot like a senior to the students at their school. The next day, her corpse is found strung up on a telephone pole, baffling the police due to the fact that a similar death took place around the time of Yu’s arrival. While investigating the murder of their senior, Yu and Yosuke discover they can enter a special television at a department store, where they meet Teddie, a living teddy bear who can lead them through the fog-dense world within the TV. Upon finding a space where their senior once was, they fight beings known as Shadows and awaken Persona, living embodiments of their fighting spirit as well as their own belief and acceptance of themselves in order to do combat with the Shadows. After their victory, they figure out that someone pushed the upperclassman into the world within the television and the Midnight Channel prophesizes the deaths of those who appear on it. Using this knowledge, Yu and Yosuke continue to make friends, investigate the case, and do their best to uncover the culprit before a year is up and Yu must return home.

... That seems like a lot, right? Well, crazily enough, that is probably the first 5 hours or so at most, and there is another 65+ to go in your first playthrough. Now, this game, at first, is a tough sell especially if you are like me and played 5/Royal first as those games have spoiled our perceptions of what the franchise is and can be. Persona 4 Golden is definitely a step down visually as well as design and music-wise in comparison to 5. It just does not have the same substance that game does and the gameplay, in comparison, feels a bit dated here. The Shadows you encounter in 5′s dungeons are also the enemies you actually fight this time around and the Tarot Card system makes collecting and recruiting Persona much more annoying than the way 5 handles it in combat. However, while it sounds like I am being quite harsh on the game, in reality, this is by and far one of the best JRPGs I have ever played and cannot be recommended by me more. Since I got all the negatives out of the way, let’s look at the heaps of praise I have for this triumph of a game.

First and foremost, what really sets this game above and beyond a lot of others, maybe even doing this better in many respects than Persona 5/Royal, is the characters. Every character is just so damn interesting, and really adds so much charm to what is already a rather charming game. They bring the story as well as the countryside town you now find yourself in that much brighter and bigger. Each one has goals, values, idealizations, and realizations that flesh them out more than most games I have played, all of them having incredibly satisfying conclusions to their stories. Some stand outs for me are your young cousin Nanako, who is lonely due to her father always working as a police officer and her mother passing away in a car accident a few years prior to the start of the game, Kanji Tatsumi, a punk who uses violence and fear to mask his incredibly soft, caring side that enjoys arts and crafting more than he would care to admit, and Naoto Shirogane, a young detective hiding her femininity in order to find power and prestige in the world of private investigation which, in Japan especially, is a male dominated field - these are just some of the memorable characters you will meet. I am currently doing a second playthrough and have already met two characters I never encountered in my first playthrough that are honestly becoming some of my favorites in the series! Building relationships (yes, even romantic ones with your female classmates) is key to not only finding out more about them, but also key to getting stronger, unlocking abilities and weapons for you to use in your playthrough that will seriously make the game not only easier but I would go as far as to say more fun in regards to what possibilities open up to you in combat. Growing the bond between you and your friends within your party is also the only way to strengthen and evolve their Persona to bigger and better forms, making combat flow easier but also giving one a true sense of power, purpose and meaning in the memories you create with Yosuke and the gang.

The other thing that really made me fall in love with Persona 4 Golden is its story and location. While the bustling cityscape of Tokyo and Shibuya really makes Persona 5 and Royal feel big and grandiose in its vision of what a modern JRPG can be, Persona 4 Golden, while feeling smaller in comparison, feels much more unique and, weirdly enough, nostalgic - at least for me. The town of Inaba is small with little to do at first, but it still has some beautiful and honestly quite intriguing sights to see (I’m looking at you, Greedy Shrine Fox). As you become more accustomed to the town and what it offers, it surprises you and opens up even more based on your time within the game, the weather outside, and even the time of the day you are out and about exploring. I grew up in a small town outside of Boston and while it’s not exactly like Inaba, the parts I spent most of my days remind me of it - areas covered in trees near streams with small restaurants and bars nearby, nature trails to walk, seeing mostly the same people each and every day - it really sent me back to life growing up when I was the age of the characters and truly made the game something memorable and instantly connected me to what was happening. As for the plot, I am a sucker for a murder mystery - I love true crime and have always loved police or detective shows growing up. Being able to work towards a case and have your decisions, investigations, and choices up to certain points have merit and weight behind them in regards to what ending you get is absolutely amazing and really sets the tone for a game that shrouds you in mystery and keeps you at the edge of your seat at all times, all the while still finding the time to help you enjoy the ride with laughter, tears, and dialogue that just really gets to you from beginning to end, sticking with you even after you’ve beaten it. Throw in some seriously fantastic boss fights, great music, and top notch voice acting for the time and it all adds up to a package with so much content and so much to tell you along the way that you just can’t help but keep playing until you absolutely have to put it down, only to continue for hours and hours later on.

All in all, Persona 4 Golden is a seriously fun game. While I still think Persona 5 Royal is a better game than it, I cannot stop thinking about the journey it took me on. The places I saw, the people I met and became friends with along the way - it’s a surreal, dream-like game that really gets you thinking right from the beginning and keeps you on your toes until the bitter end. I found myself engrossed in the lives of these characters, worried for them anytime something happened to them within the context of the game’s narrative and only hopes to see them come out on top, and thankfully this was usually the case in my playthrough thanks to the choices I made. I can only wonder what would have happened if I chose things differently - where would my characters have ended up at the end of all this? Would things have gotten worse for them? Who knows - all I know is that once the game was over, I had nothing but smiles and happiness going through my head as I saw my friends say goodbye and I loaded up my stuff onto the train. All those precious moments, etched into my mind forever; the hardships of the dungeons, the toughness of the Shadows, the mystery of the killer - that’s how you create a great game narrative, and finish it with an even greater, satisfying ending. Check out Persona 4 Golden on Steam TODAY if you liked this review! https://store.steampowered.com/agecheck/app/1113000/

[thetechnopedia-blog1]

How to Sand a Wooden Deck with an Orbital Sander

All outside wooden structures make them thing in like manner: They all require support.

This is surely the situation for wooden decks. You'll have to attempt to keep up your deck, and you may inevitably even choose to completely reestablish it. The initial phase in this cycle is sanding it with an irregular orbital sander.

An irregular orbital sander is a particular apparatus that sands wood in a circular example and it's the most effective sander to utilize while revamping a deck. Irregular orbital sanders are anything but difficult to utilize and are successful for this undertaking. This is on the grounds that the grating sandpaper movement goes in a sporadic example rather than a steady line or circle. You'll see far less mechanical examples on your deck surface when you utilize an arbitrary orbital sander than you would with different sorts with Toolsearchkit

Each sander plays out a similar fundamental undertaking. They utilize grating materials to slice through undesirable material and leave a smooth completion prepared for recoloring and fixing. Seeing how your sander functions is a significant piece of accomplishing an incredible deck complete and can assist you with getting the most ideal outcomes. It additionally causes you ensure that you're continually sanding securely.

When beginning a deck resurfacing venture, numerous individuals bounce to explicit subtleties like what coarseness of sandpaper to utilize, or whether they have to sand the whole deck before recoloring. We'll respond to those inquiries – on the whole, we'll survey some fundamental data you have to know before sanding your wooden deck.

Decisions in Sanders

There are a couple of various sanding techniques you can use on your wooden deck. They extend from hand-sanding, which is tedious and work serious, right to leasing a drum sander that experts use to complete hardwood floors. We don't suggest both of those. Hand sanding takes quite a while and is work-concentrated, while drum sanders are precarious to utilize and have a long expectation to absorb information. They can likewise escape from you and cause more harm than great.

That limits your decisions down to belt sanders and orbital sanders. Belt sanders are forceful instruments, particularly when furnished with coarse sandpaper. They eliminate deck material quick however can be difficult to deal with and hard to work in close places. Orbital sanders are more easy to use. They can be worked with one hand and fit into close spaces. They're additionally extraordinary on handrails.

In the event that you have to sand the handrail or corners of a deck, at that point you're destined for success when you pick an orbital sander. However, don't simply pick a normal orbital sander that turns in a steady circle. They work where a belt sander won't, however straight orbital sanders leave whirl marks due to their predictable movement. You can just shift a normal orbital sander's movement by moving it by hand and repaying with your own example.

That is not the situation with an arbitrary orbital sander. The employable word is irregular. Its plan permits it to move in a curved way, which mixes sanding headings of with-grain and cross-grain. Arbitrary orbital sanders let you work over your whole deck without stressing over continually keeping in an orderly fashion. They make your deck sanding position all the more even and much quicker.

Kinds of Random Orbital Sanders

There are a couple of various kinds of arbitrary orbital sanders you can browse for your deck rebuilding venture. Brands can be your own decision yet the sort of sander must match your necessities. Deciding the sort of sander begins with choosing the force flexibly. There are two sorts to browse:

Pneumatic Random Orbital Sanders are controlled by packed air. They require costly air blowers and hoses to work. Pneumatic irregular orbital sanders are the most ideal decision for auto body fix shops. They'd take a shot at a deck, however buying an air-controlled sander for a deck venture isn't reasonable.

Electric Random Orbital Sanders are by a wide margin the best determination for wooden deck restoring. Electric sanders work on 110-volt family flow and their amperage prerequisites shift contingent upon the size of the engine. You needn't bother with a costly emotionally supportive network with an electric irregular orbital sander and they're likewise a significantly more moderate alternative.

When you've chosen an electric irregular orbital sander, you have to think about size. This incorporates the real size of the sander, its capacity limit and the size of the sanding surface. This decides how simple it'll be for you to work the sander just as how much material it can eliminate in a given time. For most activities, you'll need to pick one of two fundamental orbital sander sizes:

Corn meal of Sandpaper

Since you've picked what arbitrary orbital sander works for you, it's an ideal opportunity to choose the correct coarseness or coarseness of sandpaper to use on your wooden deck. Sandpaper is appraised in numbers and is runs from exceptionally coarse at 60 coarseness as far as possible up to fine at 240 coarseness. Sixty-coarseness eliminates material rapidly however leaves the surface harsh. High-coarseness paper, then again, doesn't eliminate so a lot yet gives a super smooth completion.

What you need is a two-advance sanding measure. Our suggestion for wooden deck sanding is to begin with a coarse paper like 80 coarseness and give the surface an even pass. Try not to be excessively forceful and make plunges and chasms, however don't be excessively over the top and anticipate flawlessness. At that point, give your deck a second sanding with smoother paper like 100 coarseness.

You shouldn't require anything else than these two sanding corn meal, however it relies upon the kind of wood you're working with. Delicate woods with open grains like cedar and fir sand rapidly and may require a better sanding to ensure their pores can be appropriately fixed. Hardwoods, for example, teak and oak have shut grains and normally seal superior to open grains. Ensure you select sandpaper corn meal that function admirably with the sort of wood in your deck.

You ought to likewise ensure you purchase quality sandpaper from a specific provider. There's a tremendous distinction in the sorts of sandpaper accessible today. More costly sandpaper has prevalent cutting capacities and will remain more keen any longer than less expensive sandpaper regularly sold by enormous box stores. With sandpaper, you get what you pay for and you'll utilize less paper over the long haul on the off chance that you start with a superior item.

Deck Sanding and Sealing 

Presently, you have the rudiments off the beaten path. You've picked the correct size of irregular orbital sander and you've chosen the best possible sandpaper corn meal for your deck. Next, it's an ideal opportunity to follow a couple of steps to get a deck surface that resembles new.

Cleaning your deck is the initial phase in your revamping cycle, yet the manner in which you do this relies upon a few elements. The two fundamental interesting points are the kind of wood it's made of and the completion it right now has, however you'll additionally need to think about the measure of grime and soil that is gathered. You may approve of essentially clearing off and hosing down your deck off before connecting your sander. In any case, if your deck has developed a layer of soil and grime, you may have a greater activity in front of you.

You can clean most wooden decks with a blend of cleanser and water. You can apply this cleaning arrangement with a hardened deck brush that is intended for the activity, at that point hose it off with a nursery sprayer. Where your surface is slick or has natural development, take a stab at utilizing trisodium phosphate (TSP) in a high temp water bucket. TSP is cheap and broadly accessible. It works superbly of slicing through extreme stuff and leaving a spotless surface that is prepared for sanding, fixing and recoloring.

Bigger wood decks with grimy surfaces are acceptable possibility for power washing. Force washers eliminate earth quick and with insignificant exertion. There are a couple of things to know about when utilizing a force washer on a wooden deck, however, especially a deck worked with softwood that has open grain. Ensure you have the weight set at a lower pace of around 2,000 psi. Higher weights like 3,500 psi can be excessively solid and tear the wood filaments open.

Utilize the fan head on your capacity washer rather than the immediate spout and be cautious about the separation you're holding the spout from the deck surface. It's ideal to begin with a test zone close to the external edge of your deck and approach it gradually to discover how your wood responds to being pressure washed. When you've checked the correct weight, work from the deck's inward edge towards the outside. It's smarter to overwhelm trash and water from your home than directly at it.

Drying Your Deck Before Sanding

After you wash your deck, you'll have to let it dry before you can sand. The measure of time this takes relies upon a couple of elements, remembering the kind of wood for your deck, the encompassing temperature, the relative moistness and whether your deck gets immediate sun. Washed decks in the sweltering sun will dry a lot quicker than concealed ones in cool climate.

Therefore, the time slipped by after you clean is considerably less significant than the dampness content in the wood. Sanding a wet deck will just bring about obstructed sandpaper and a baffled administrator. Preferably, your deck ought to seem dry to the eye and contain between 15-18% dampness. You can utilize a dampness meter to check, yet a simpler technique is the Tupperware test. Spot an unmistakable Tupperware bowl over a deck board and watch. On the off chance that buildup structures in the bowl, it's excessively wet. If not, you're prepared to begin sanding.

Another trial of dampness content you'll promptly see is dust. In the event that sanding produces wood dust, you'll realize your wood is sufficiently dry to work with. Indeed, dry deck wood can deliver so much sanding dust that it very well may be an issue for you, tenants in your home and even your neighbors. In the event that you realize you'll be working in dry conditions, you might need to choose an irregular orbital sander with a residue assortment framework worked in.

Deck Sanding Process

It's ideal to sand your wood deck following a particular cycle. The excellence of working with an arbitrary orbital sander instead of an inline belt sander or a standard orbital sander is that you're not limited to a specific sanding request. You don't need to begin in one spot and proceed in an example. Be that as it may, it's ideal to begin with where your deck interfaces with your hose and work outward. This cycle is essentially more proficient and less tedious.

When you have your primary deck zone sanded twice—once with coarse coarseness sandpaper and the subsequent pass utilizing better coarseness—focus on close territories like corners, balustrades and your handrail. Arbitrary orbital sanders are fantastic for these zones. They're additionally speedier and produce a superior surface for fixing and recoloring than hand sanding will.

It's essential to realize when to quit sanding, however, as there will be where inordinate sanding is pointless and can eliminate an excess of wood. Realizing when to stop is a careful decision however as a dependable guideline, you should stop when the wood pores open and the whole surface is reliably smooth.

Individual Protection

Arbitrary orbital sanders are commonly protected however you can never be too cautious when utilizing power apparatuses. All cutting edge sanders come outfitted with gadgets to forestall electrical stun and many are structured in light of ergonomics and limit the danger from vibration. However, there are other individual security concerns you should focus on when utilizing an irregular orbital sander on your deck. Think about utilizing these bits of individual insurance hardware:

Another security concern is your state of being. Sanding a deck is a long and relentless measure and can be genuinely requesting. Consider in case you're truly set up to do all your sanding in one nonstop exertion or in the event that you should break it into more sensible time allotments. click here

[dogcarrierbackpack]

How to Choose Dog Carrier Backpack (Full Guide)

There are countless reasons why dog proprietors choose to utilize dog carrier backpack now and again. For a few, getting their dogs to and from the vet or taking them on a long trips requires the utilization of a dog backpack carrier. For other people, being dynamic with a youthful or ligament hound requires a little extra assistance from a transporter. Others simply love to have their pooch in a hurry with them. Whatever your explanation, picking the correct carrier backpack is significant on the off chance that you intend to utilize it as often as possible.

Your dog will either be encased in the carrier like a dog hotel or will be conveyed in the transporter in some other way. Regardless, their solace is crucial, or the whole activity will disintegrate. You likewise need to think about your own needs and solace, alongside a lot more factors. So how would you to choose dog carrier backpack? Here are the significant things to remember when looking:

Does It Fit?

Regardless of what sort of dog backpack carrier you will get, all require knowing your dog's estimations. In this way, before you start shopping, you might need to feel free to get those. For most, you'll just need your dog's full range (from ground to tallest purpose of the shoulders, in addition to around three crawls for a smidgen of standing up room in a pen style transporter) and length (from where the neckline sits at the neck, to the base of the tail, in addition to a couple of creeps for an enclosure style carrier). Notwithstanding, in the event that you mean to utilize a knapsack style carrier, you'll additionally require your pooch's weight.

The explanation behind the extra inches is so your dog can stand up and pivot in the carrier. Your dog ought to consistently have the option to pivot in a tight hover inside the carrier. This guarantees they can get settled. An excessive amount of room, notwithstanding, is similarly as terrible as excessively little. With an excess of room, a little pooch could slide around and get injured. Furthermore, if the dog can get "away" starting with one corner by going then onto the next, there is an opportunity they will utilize the washroom inside the transporter.

Since you have the most significant data assembled, you'll have to consider what you're utilizing your dog backpack carrier for. Here are some normal needs and what transporters by and large suit those necessities best:

Brisk outings to the vet or different tasks:

On the off chance that you simply need a transporter to keep your puppy contained and quiet while in transit to the vet or around town, at that point a straightforward enclosure style dog carrier backpack will work. A transporter with delicate sides is lightweight and simple to overlap up when not being used, while a backpack carrier with hard sides can be increasingly solid and better for bigger pooches.

Flying or significant distance travel:

All aircrafts have explicit necessities for dog transporters, so make certain to check what you need before buying a dog backpack carrier! On the off chance that you are arranging an excursion with your dog, where they'll should be in their pet carrier for expanded timeframes, their solace and security is the most significant factor. An enclosure style dog carrier backpack  with hard sides might be the best decision.

Conveying during a climb, a walk, and so forth:

On the off chance that you need to convey your young pooch, or a dog with joint inflammation, during a walk or a climb, at that point you will probably profit most from a knapsack style transporter. These work simply like a pet carrier for a baby: your pooch sits with its back against your chest or back, and its gut looking out. This will be the most agreeable for you and your dog.

Multi-reason transporter:

On the off chance that you should have the option to travel short separations, board aircrafts, convey your dog, and an assortment of different exercises, you may wish to search for a transporter that can oblige these. A delicate sided wheeled transporter that permits you to effectively pull your pooch in air terminals, or convey them in different circumstances, could be one answer for you. You may likewise wish to investigate a dog carriage in the event that you need to run or take long strolls with your little guy.

For Bicycle Riding:

These typically incorporate seat straps to keep your pooch set up, and are mounted on both the front and the back contingent upon the style you pick. These are made for little mutts as it were. For biking with a small dog, you need to select small dog carrier backpack and for biking with large or bigger dogs, you need to select large dog backpack carrier, a draw behind trailer would be the best decision. These can be found for dogs and incorporate security outfits.

A few Tips for Choosing

When you've limited the kind of carrier you'll require, you'll likely discover a ton of choices to look over. You might have the option to limit it down additional by considering the sort of dog you have – for instance, if your pooch is exceptionally enormous or extremely little, your decisions will be limited. In any case, on the off chance that you have a normal measured pooch, how would you proceed?

To begin with, it is normally best to go up a size if your pooch falls between two sizes. While you may find that you need to tidy up a mishap or two out of a transporter that gives a dog a lot of room, that is better than not giving your pooch sufficient space. This can make a restless dog significantly increasingly on edge, and that can make any excursion hopeless.

Not at all like changeless installations like doggie entryways, it's ideal to pick a carrier dependent on your dog’s present size. Pups need the security and wellbeing of a dog carrier backpack that fits them; excessively enormous, and they could be harmed or may have mishaps inside the transporter.

While picking the dog backpack carrier, attempt to pick by measurements instead of weight in the event that you can. Dogs are much the same as individuals: they all convey their weight in marginally various manners. A pooch might be a size little as indicated by weight, however happens to have uncommonly tall shoulders for his variety, and would profit more from a medium. What's more, make certain to consider how wide your pooch is too, particularly if your dog is a stocky variety.

On the off chance that you are making some hard memories picking between delicate sided transporters and hard-sided for movement, think about these qualities:

Littler dogs for the most part feel progressively great in delicate sided carriers, while bigger mutts need the durability of a hard-sided transporter.

Delicate sided transporters are simpler for you to convey, while hard-sided carrier will wait better in a moving vehicle.

Hard-sided transporters are simpler to clean yet don't give a similar comfortable inclination to your dog. On edge mutts may feel progressively great in a delicate sided transporter.

Hard-sided carriers are generally required for transportation a pooch by means of the load zone of a plane, while delicate sided transporters are typically the main transporters acknowledged for carrying a dog onto the plane with you.

On edge hounds frequently feel progressively great in a delicate sided transporter with work, since they can see outside. Hard-sided carriers might be better for hounds who bark at outsiders.

In the event that you despite everything haven't chose which carrier is directly for you, and you have killed your interests over solace and tidiness, the following best thing is to take a gander at the subtleties of the transporters themselves. Many have additional highlights that can make one transporter remain over the others.

For instance, does the bike transporter you like grab a chair belt or a safety belt? Are the zippers or connectors all extremely high caliber? In the event that you are picking a knapsack transporter, do all the ties and clasps appear to be very much made? On the off chance that you are picking a dog strollers, consider the brakes and other security highlights.

Mediavine

Work carriers are normally extraordinary choices since they give your pooch some air inside that stodgy sack or box. Work is likewise exceptionally lightweight for you. Make certain to consider how much the carrier will weigh with your dog in it – odds are, you would prefer not to include a lot of weight. Make certain to consider this on the off chance that you are picking a dog carrier backpack  that will be on your body, for example, a knapsack or a handbag style transporter.

Does your dog shrug off the way toward getting into a carrier ? You may think that its simpler to get a carrier that has both a front bring forth and a top-stacking opening. Along these lines, you can lift your dog down into the carrier, as opposed to attempting to push them through the little front entryway. Some other additional highlights like side pockets, places for food and water, removable liners for washing, etc, are special rewards that can enable you to discover what you need.

On the off chance that your dog is exceptionally on edge about being in a transporter, attempt to discover one that is as open as could be expected under the circumstances, and has a lot of work right around. On the off chance that they can see and hear the outside world, feel natural air coming into their carrier, and feel just as they are still near you, it might enable your dog to feel less on edge.

On the off chance that you need a transporter that can do everything, search for convertible highlights. Handles that overlap down so you can utilize shoulder ties rather, for instance, are incredible choices for a dog backpack carrier that can do everything.

Go for Quality

Much of the time, I would reveal to you that purchasing quality isn't really an unquestionable requirement with regards to dog adornments. Cheap things can regularly be similarly as useful for your dog and for you. Yet, with dog carrier backpack, quality does make a difference. The security of your dogs and your own physical solace is a higher priority than sparing a couple of additional dollars.

In the event that you find the opportunity to take a gander at the carrier before you purchase, make certain to test the ties and any openings. The most exceedingly terrible thing is have your be carrier arer break mid-trip, or for your pooch to get away from gratitude to a modest apparatus. Likewise, if the transporter has pockets for food or water outwardly, be certain that your little guy won't have the option to get into those from within.

Presently Have Fun!

Since you've limited your alternatives to the last contenders, simply have some good times! Pick the carrier that accommodates your spending plan, or one that uncovers your pooch's character. With more youthful pooches or mutts that have never been prepared to be conveyed, it might take more than one transporter to find what they are OK with. Try not to abandon your dog, however; a doggie transporter can be probably the best venture for a dog proprietor.

If you want to learn more about dog backpack carriers then you can visit our blog where we post infomation on daily basis.

[anistarrose]

Ford in Amphibia - Chapter 2

Summary: Ford is subjected to mild bullying, and the gang decides to hunt an endangered species but makes an unexpected new friend along the way.

Warnings: none

AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19375102/chapters/47328493

The Beginning

This chapter references a few more episodes of Amphibia than the last one, but doesn’t spoil any overarching plot details past the first episode, so it should be possible to read even if you’re not caught up. This is starting to look like it’ll eventually wind up as four-chapter fic, so stay tuned for more!

***

Ford sat on the couch next to Anne, watching intently as she flicked through albums of photos on her phone.

“Here’s my cat, Domino — oh, and here she is again, in my parents’ kitchen! What a little troublemaker!”

“She’s quite precious,” Ford agreed. “You say you have music on this device too?”

“Of course!” Anne answered. “I’ve got all the best tunes — stuff to dance to, stuff you can sing along with, stuff to listen to as you think about how far you are from home and regret your life choices —”

“Do you have anything by Eurythmics? Or Talking Heads?”

Anne stared at Ford blankly.

“Or do you prefer classical? The Planets by Holst, maybe?”

“Uh, I’ve got All Star by Smash Mouth —”

“Mention that song again and you’re dead to me,” Ford growled.

There was an awkward pause, and then Ford sighed. “Sorry. I shouldn’t be surprised that we appreciate different aspects of human culture. You’re young, and I… left my dimension a very long time ago.”

“That’s, um — that’s too bad,” Anne stammered, not really knowing what to say. “Uh… do you want to keep looking at pictures?” she finally asked.

Ford didn’t say no, so she opened a new album. “Here’s some of me and Sprig, and of some wildlife we saw the other day — oh, and here’s where I tried to teach Sprig how to use the camera! You can tell because it’s all blurry and —”

“Wait!” Ford interrupted. “Go back! To the one with the caterpillar — er, the cat-erpillar, rather!”

“This one?” Anne pulled up a picture of a black, orange, and red cat-erpillar glimpsed from across a meadow.

“That’s it! See the flame pattern, and those prominent tufts on the neck? That’s the endangered Sunburst Mountain Cat-erpillar!”

“Whoa, are you like a conservation expert?” Sprig asked, springing onto the couch. “Do you need to capture it and get it to breed with others of its kind to save the species?”

“Quite the opposite, actually,” Ford told them. “I need a sample of its chrysalis for my own use — and ideally I won’t seriously harm any specimens, but you never know!”

Noticing Anne and Sprig’s mildly horrified looks, he went on: “Let me explain. For years now, I’ve planning a mission to a very dangerous dimension, of which the atmosphere is contaminated with just about every pollutant imaginable. There will be zero margin for error on this mission, but if I inhale too many of those pollutants, they’ll almost certainly hamper my performance. So for the past few weeks, I’ve been searching for a solution…”

He pulled a carefully rolled-up piece of paper from his pocket, and spread it out in his lap to reveal a detailed scientific drawing of the cat-erpillar and its cocoon, along with a sketch of a mountain with wisps of smoke emanating from the peak.

“Every generation of the Sunburst Mountain Cat-erpillar pupates near volcanic vents, and as a result, they’ve evolved so that their chrysalides absorb and break down a wide variety of toxins. I learned of their existence shortly after coming to your world, and I’ve been trying to track one down ever since in the hope that harvesting some of that chrysalis material would help me design an air filter to get around that pollution problem — but unfortunately, the location of Sunburst Mountain has been lost to time, since those vents are dormant most of the year. The whole time I’ve been here in the valley, I’ve just been stumbling around blindly without glimpsing hide nor hair of any of the right cat-erpillar species.”

He flipped his paper over, and pulled out a pen. “The period of vent activity should only last another week or two this year, and at this rate I’m probably going to miss it — but if you could tell me where you saw that specimen the other day, then I’d have my best lead yet!”

“Cool!” Sprig exclaimed, at the same time that Anne spoke up:

“I gotta admit, tracking down a lost volcano sounds like loads of fun, but… cat-erpillars are a lot more dangerous than they look. Sprig can tell you about the Domino Two incident — did not end well for anyone, except maybe Domino Two herself.”

“Oh, I know how to handle myself, don’t worry! I’ve conquered many foes more deadly than a mere —”

They were interrupted by a yelp as Hop Pop jumped straight up, slamming into the ceiling.

“Darn it, Ford, I know you mean us no harm, but every time I walk by here I think there’s an owl perched on our couch and my heart skips a beat!” He rubbed his head, and began collecting the books he’d dropped.

Sprig snapped his fingers. “That’s it, an owl! I knew he reminded me of something predatory!”

“What?” Ford scowled. “I do not look like an owl!”

“Uh, except you kinda do!” Polly chimed in, bouncing into the living room behind Hop Pop. “There’s your big wide eyes, and the way your eyebrows jump up and your head whirls right around whenever you hear something behind you — oh, and the way your cloak billows behind you like giant wings!”

“You’ve got to be joking! I —”

“Such a majestic and terrifying creature!” Polly went on, tugging on Ford’s cloak. “You are the swift and deadly hunter I wish to emulate! Will you teach me your ways?”

Ford’s mouth opened and then closed, at a loss for words, but Anne cut in.

“Hey, that’s enough. Owls are supposed to be wise, remember? Ford set his face on fire less than five minutes after we met him. I think that instantly disqualifies him from owl resemblance.”

Ford just shook his head as Anne and Hop Pop cackled.

“And did you see how he slept on the couch last night?” Sprig added. “His face was buried in a whole stack of pillows and his feet were practically out the window! No majestic old owl would sleep like that!”

“I still want to see him in action, though,” Polly declared. “What do you hunt, old man? Tell me so that I may watch you and learn your ways of stealth and dismemberment!”

“I’m not planning to dismember any endangered species if I can avoid it,” Ford corrected her. “But you’re welcome to come with me anyways. The more eyes who know this area, the better!”

“Ooh, can we take Bessie?” Sprig asked. “Anne can drive us!”

Hop Pop’s eyes narrowed. “I don’t know. I’ve got errands to run, and I’m not sure how I feel about letting you all run off without a chaperone…”

Ford stifled a laugh. “Hopediah, I’ve earned degrees in everything from cryptobiology to quantum physics — I’m basically the best chaperone these kids could hope for. Think of it as an educational outing!”

“Oh, well why didn’t you say so? That’s fine, then — just be sure to be back before nightfall!”

“Woo-hoo!” Anne cheered. “Time for an adventure with the weird hobo scientist from outer space that we adopted!”

“Adventure! Adventure! Adventure!” Sprig and Polly chanted. Anne joined in almost immediately, and after a moment, Ford did too.

***

“Okay, I think this is where we saw it,” Anne announced as Bessie the snail slowed to a halt at the edge of a clearing. The meadow was dotted with patches of mud, and seemed devoid of any life besides a lone chickfly that squawked and flew off as the gang dismounted.

“It looks… swampier than last time,” Sprig mused. “Did it rain over here or something?”

Ford knelt down in front of one of the patches of exposed mud, removing his glove to run a finger along the edge. “If anything, it looks like a creature tore up the grass at the surface while hunting here, revealing the damp earth underneath.”

“But these claw markings are huge! Whatever made them must be bigger than me!” Anne shuddered. “Ford, do you know why everything is so giant here?”

“Not for sure, but I can certainly speculate!” Ford’s face lit up. “For one thing, my preliminary scans have shown that there’s more oxygen in the atmosphere of this dimension than there is in the environment either you or I would’ve came from, which paleontology suggests may allow for life to grow larger.”

“Ugh, forget I asked,” Anne muttered, but Sprig bounded over to Ford’s side, eyes wide.

“Wow, really? If you and Anne keep breathing our air, will you get bigger too?”

“Not necessarily due to the oxygen concentrations,” Ford told him, “but that’s not the only difference between our dimensions! Gravity is slightly weaker here too, which most importantly means that it’ll be easier for the skeletons of megafauna to support their body mass, but also could cause Anne and I to pick up a few extra millimeters when our spinal columns expand. The effect should be subtle, but less weight pressing our vertebrae together means we’ll stand a little taller.”

“You’re not a majestic owlish hunter after all,” Polly groaned. “You’re just a nerd.”

“He’s a brave adventurer and he knows all about everything!” Sprig told her. “I want to be just like him when I grow up!”

“Two nerds,” Polly grumbled.

“Hey, guys?” Anne poked Sprig in the shoulder with a stick. “There’s something coming this way, and it’s kinda… on fire?”

“Where?” Ford leapt to his feet. “Is it a cat-erpillar?”

“No, it’s more like… an amorphous blob.” Anne pointed towards the creature, which had made its way almost halfway across the clearing. “I’d stay back, in case it explodes in our faces… oh, or you could just walk right up to it! That too!”

“Would you look at that!” Ford exclaimed, kneeling at the creature’s side. “I hadn’t expected to find any cryptozoological oddities I was familiar with here!”

“Cryptozoological?” Sprig tilted his head. “I thought that stuff was all bogus.”

“As in, like, cryptids?” Anne asked. “I saw a Moss-Man here once, does that count?”

Ford plucked a twig from the ground and placed it in the palm of his hand, which he then slowly extended towards the anomaly. The mass of its body seemed to be concentrated in a blob of mud that spilled across the ground with a radius of about half a foot and a height of about five inches at its highest point, from which several plumes of glowing green gas extended.

Two small, dark eyes blinked within the largest plume, and a muddy tendril extended from the creature’s base. For a moment, the mud began to pool in Ford’s hand, but then it pulled the twig back to its main body with a sudden slurp, leaving almost no dirt or moisture behind whatsoever. The twig vanished inside the muddy blob, and the creature gurgled in satisfaction.

Ford ran a hand through the fiery-looking plumes and Anne cringed, but he didn’t get burned. The creature’s flickering eyes widened as it responded with some semblance of a purr, apparently eager for more petting.

“Fascinating! I’ve encountered Scampfires back home, but I think this individual might be better referred to as a ‘Swampfire!’ Although technically speaking, there doesn’t seem to be any actual fire involved — I suspect it’s fueled by phosphorus and hydrocarbon compounds from that muddy blob of biomass, which undergo some form chemiluminescence to produce light without a substantial amount of heat.”

“Is it dangerous?” Polly asked. “Or will it help us on our quest?”

“Neither, I think,” Ford replied. “It seems perfectly content to just ooze along here and keep absorbing plant matter while we head on our way — although, I should really get a quick sketch first!” He pulled out a pen and notebook, adjusted his sitting position, and set to work.

“What happened to finding the cat-erpillar?” Anne groaned. “I thought that was some critically vital mission or something!”

“Oh, it is!” Ford told her. “But it’s not every day one gets to discover and catalog a new anomaly! You know, I wouldn’t be surprised if Swampfires exist in my dimension too, but are endangered due to habitat loss… Humanity really needs to do a better job of preserving wetlands and all the biodiversity they contain…”

Sprig peered over Ford’s shoulder at his work — a set of simple drawings, cartoonish yet detailed enough to capture all the details of the Swampfire’s form in multiple poses. “Wow! You drew that so fast!”

“Thank you, I’ve been doing this for quite a while! Now, Swampy, if you could hold that pose for just a moment…”

Swampy, naturally, chose that moment to bolt, darting back between the trees with surprising speed as its lights dimmed.

“Drat. Well, what I’ve got down here is still better than nothing —”

“Hey, guys?” Anne asked. “Is it just me, or did a really big shadow just pass over us?”

In unison, the four of them looked up. Above, a massive shape blocked out the sun — a shape with wide eyes, a pointed beak, and long, silently flapping wings.

“Scatter!” Ford shouted as the owl dove towards the clearing, and the children bolted as its talons raked the ground.

***

End notes:

Thanks for reading, feedback/reblogs are appreciated as always!

This was very fun to write, as fics with Ford often are, because I got to use him as an excuse to ramble about science! Since Sprig showed an interest in science in “Family Shrub,” I figured he’d be pretty inquisitive, and look up to the whole adventurer-scientist deal Ford has going on.

Swampy the Swampfire, also known as the best character I’ve ever written about, is based partly off the Scampfires from Journal 3, and partly off of the “will-o-the-wisp” ghost lights, which are believed to be a result of gases produced in wetlands by decaying plants. (The endangered due to habitat loss detail Ford mentions isn’t a joke, either — according to Wikipedia, will-o-the-wisp sightings are rarer nowadays, and it’s probably because wetlands keep getting destroyed. We need to save the Swampfires!)

[phantomphangphucker]

Journey Through The Mists - PhannieMay - Day 9 World Building

Summary: The Fenton parents decide its high time to actually check out the GZ, especially after this new land mass appeared right near their portal.

Jack and Maddie are giving themselves a good pat down, making sure they’ve got everything they need and that their suits are covering them head to toe. With a strong nod, Maddie turns to Jack, “I’d say we’re good to go, Jack dear”.

Jack grins goofily as he opens the portal and joins his wife in the Spectre Speeder, “I still can’t believe all our Spectral readers came back showing that going in is actually safe!”

Maddie nods as they fly slowly in, “still not worth the risk of skin exposure of course”. Jack slaps the torso of his suit humorously, “and that’s the wonders of jumpsuits!... To bad Danny-boy’s so opposed to wearing one”.

Looking around the Fenton’s elect for silence, no way to know just what might be around. But, unsurprisingly, Jack doesn’t last long, “would you look at that! There are plants! They glow!”. Maddie is tempted to shush him but she’s almost as excited as him, muttering to herself, “well, I don’t see any ghosts so I think we might be fine here”. However, the heavy mist covering the small island in front of them is putting her a bit on edge. She prefers to actually be able to see easily, but this will also help hide them and the Speeder; should anything come looking.

Landing the Speeder down, the pair triple check their jumpsuits before nabbing sample kits and heading out onto the island. Jack mutters as he runs a gloved hand over some of the fern brush, “why is it white though? Shouldn’t this all be green?”. Maddie nods as she’s attempting to collect clippings from the, also white, grass; which keeps dissolving near instantly, before reforming as it was prior to being clipped. Smirking as she manages to finally catch some of the ectoplasm before it fully dissipates, “it doesn’t even dissolve into the proper green either. I don’t think I’ve ever even seen white ectoplasm before”. As Maddie stands and looks around, “not only that but, according to our sensors, this island didn’t even use to be here. It formed practically overnight, two days ago”.

Jack is far more excited and unrestrained than his wife, “I know! It’s like a brand new discovery! No clue yet what’s caused it though...” Jack trails off as he tries to get ectoplasmic energy and density readings off of the thick mist.

Maddie watches amused as Jack faces different directions and gets a large grin on his face, “looks like it’s actually thicker in this direction!”. Knowing full well Jack’s just going to run off, she picks up their cases and heads off in the direction Jack’s facing before he even starts off.

Maddie, confused, pokes at and eventually traps a jar around what looks like a white glowing fairy light, with specks of blues and greens dancing inside. Putting a blanket over it and glancing underneath, “Jack! These orbs are actually lights! Somehow”. Shaking her head a bit as she looks up at Jack, as he runs over to check it out. Maddie can’t help but take a picture of Jack kneeling over and shoving his head under the blanket, before pondering out loud, “it’s not even like it’s just natural ghostly glow. It’s literally lighting up the entire space, like some sort of self-sustaining ecto-light. I’ve seen ghosts create them in their hands before but there are no ghosts around”. Jack bolts up excitedly flinging the blanket away, “maybe they’re tied to a ghost with Photokinesis!”.

Maddie quickly shakes her head, “but they’re just floating around? Even if this could be a ghosts lair, there’d be no reason to have these just floating around”. Though Maddie can’t help but admit that they do make it easier to see in the mist, even if that would be completely pointless to a ghost. Especially if this was a lair, since the ghost could just will away the mist. Shaking her head as she shoves the jar into her bag and continues on.

“I never imaged a place in the ghost zone could be arguably beautiful”, Maddie can’t help but mutter as she traces her finger over the petal of a moonflower. While Jack examines some black and pale blue morning glories peppering black vines, wrapping around the trunk of a tree. Brushing red leaves from a weeping willow out of her face, Maddie walks around the flower promptly realising its moving with her. Slightly creeped out, “now see that’s what I’d expect from something ghostly”.

Jack yelps a bit startled as the results for the ectoplasmic energy level test finally come back. Tapping at the screen a bit to make sure the results are right before speaking up, “Mads! There’s no way this isn’t a lair! These readings are way too high to just be created by the GZ itself. Heck! This ghostie has to be a strong fellow for these kinds of readings!”. Maddie shakes her head, surprised at the ectoplasmic level of three, which would only be a zero if this was Zone made, “wow, this mist or even the entire environment must have some level of consciousness. Or maybe it’s linked to the ghost?”. Maddie pales a bit as she clues in that that would mean that whoever this lair belongs to, probably knows they’re here. Even Jack frowns, checking that the Speeder tracker is still working, as both of them keep their weapons within easier reach.

As they’re walking past some trees, Maddie stops, “honey? I think there’s a pond over there, with actual water or something in it? And it’s, growing?”. Jack tilts his head over and sure enough there’s a light blue pond, upon closer inspection the pair can see what looks like neon green carbonation bubbles fizzing off the surface. Shrugging, Jack dips his fingers in and swirls them around, “it acts just like regular water?!”. Cupping some up and letting it pour out of his hands slowly, staring in amazement; while Maddie scoops up a sample. Shaking the container around, it’s clear the water is not actually carbonated. But she’s till confused by the fact that only the neon fizzing seems to glow, “it’s really is almost as if it’s regular water. If you exclude the green fizz”.

Jack grabs the container as soon as Maddie puts it down, opening it up and dropping none of the mini weights they brought with them inside. Tapping his chin, “well it looks like it’s actually less dense than regular water. So it’s definitely not the same”. The pair back off as Jack nearly slips into the “water”, confirming that the pond is indeed getting bigger. Shaking his foot off, “I wonder if lairs can change of their own accord! Or is the ghost doing this?”. Neither is really sure so they simply write that down as another mystery, before they decide to move on. Both would rather not find out what happens if they actually fall into the expanding body of “water”.

Their bags are decently full of samples but Jack shakes his head at his wife, “I would really like to find the epicentre of this fog, Mads”. Maddie sighs fondly, “well then let’s just hope that it’s not the ghost”. Maddie can’t help but glare down at the ghost sensor on her wrist, which still is showing “no ghosts”. Which at this point is starting to worry her, there really should at least be the occasional fly-by ghost.

Checking her wrist again after about half an hour, “Jack, somethings off. Either the sensor isn’t working, there’s interference, or something is actively keeping the ghosts away from here. And I don’t like any of those possibilities”. Maddie growing paranoia is only heightened by the grass suddenly going from a few inches tall to a solid foot tall. Both of them glare incredulously at the tall grass, which could now be easily hiding something without them even being able to tell. “Mads, there’s wind”, Maddie glances at her husband before bending down to stare at the grass, which does appear to be being blown by wind. Looking back up she spots red and white petals blowing out of the trees, akin to cherry blossoms, while Jack spins around slowly in a circle. Both watching as the leaves move about in the air lightly and swirling, but dissipating just before touching the grass. Maddie can’t help but admit that’s is extremely pretty and serene, whispering, “what even is this place? Why would a ghost want a place like this? It’s so...”.

“Human?”, Maddie nods up at Jack, gulping a little. Standing up, she pulls one of the petals out of the air. She can’t help but wonder if it carries a scent, so she bags it. Pulling her hands to her chest and looking to Jack, “ghosts are supposed to be monsters, evil, uncaring and unfeeling. But this...this is like a place of comfort, still unnerving and ghostly, like a beach at night. Why?”.

“I don’t know Mads. Somehow that makes this more daunting than if it was some forest of dead trees. At least I’d know what to do with that”, Jack shakes his head but is still far too eager to see the source of the mist to turn back yet.

“Uh Mads?”, Maddie only has to take a few steps to catch up enough with her husband to see through the mist enough to spot what he’s gapping at. In the distance, there is a very apparent large wall. Jet black bricks with white mortar, the fogs too thick to make out just how tall it is and they’re still too far away to make out any major details. “You think ghosts have houses?”, Jack talks quietly for a change, slightly out of awe and slightly out of concern there’s a likely powerful ghost around. Maddie writes in her notebook furiously as she responds, “maybe. I imagine not all of them have the same style of lairs. That would be very boring and there’s nothing boring about ghosts. But I could see no other reason for a wall like this”.

Nodding his head towards the building while looking at Maddie. Both them adjust their weapons to be a bit easier to access, as they approach the wall.

Tapping on the wall, Jack’s surprised at just how much it’s like regular brick, “for everything being so hard to see here, with all this mist, it’s all so detailed”. Maddie nods as she can feel the different textures between the bricks and mortar, as she runs her hand along the wall while they walk.

Touching her hand to the indented corner between the wall they’ve been following and a clearly curved bit of wall, “Jack, I think this might just be a castle”. Jack traps on her shoulder, as he’s much more interested in the tangles of rose bushes. Dangerous looking leafless black thorns, off-put but large soft looking white roses; the threat of thorns is even further offset by the intertwined purple asters. Jack’s noticed that the bushes have been slowly growing more numerous as they’ve walked. Some cluster around the bases of trees, others climbing up the trunks, others yet spider-webbing across open ground. Maddie, after also examining how the mist is thicker, “I think the deeper we go, the more unusual this all is”. Maddie tilts her head a bit, having never really expecting her gardeners' knowledge to be useful, “purple asters...those are a symbol of royalty. Combine that with what’s likely a castle...”.

Jack barely manages to keep his voice a whisper, “royalty! Ghost royalty!”. Furrowing his brows, “but so new? So close to our portal?”. Jack goes wide-eyed as he remembers the recent defeat of the Pariah guy, “Mads! You don’t think that maybe? Maybe this is the new ghost kings castle!?”. Jack’s torn between finding this awesome, being concerned that it’s so close to home, or fearful for his and his wife’s safety. While Maddie is more focused on just how this place is decorated, “Jack, maybe this is a good thing. This place, it’s not threatening or even all that unpleasant. Creepy in a ghost kind of way but still”. Patting at her bag, “fairy lights are guides, white roses mean purity, thorns are a form of protection, crystal clear water is a sign it’s safe. Even this mist, it’s like a protective blanket of white and it sparkles faintly”. Eyeing her clearly confused husband, “the previous king was downright evil. With extra evil. Maybe...maybe that’s why ghost have always been evil and violent. Because their king was”.

Jack blinks a bit, turning back to the wall and patting it tentatively, “then maybe this one, isn’t? Isn’t evil?”. Both them can’t help but gape at the wall as if it holds all the answers. “Jack...Jack, this could change everything. We can’t, we can’t mess this up”, locking her eyes with him through their goggles, “if we see this ghost, we leave. If it shows up on the sensors, we leave. We can’t risk even the possibility of ghosts no longer being pure evil, for a conversation or to capture this ghost”. Maddie’s both less and more tense, as her husband nods curtly at her.

The mist is so thick by the time they find the door that they really can’t tell if there are any symbols on the, black with green graining, oak door. Maddie mutters quietly as she traces her hand over the grain, “oak for strength”. Turning to her husband who nods, so the pair push the door open slowly. Sticking her head in the first thing she notices is the massive Yew trees with glowing green leaves and black trunks lining the walls. Also spotting the blue daffodils peppering around the trunk bases, “death, rebirth, eternal life. I’m starting to think there’s nothing here without deeper meaning”. Jack mutters as he sticks his head in as well, “Death and life? I think you might be reading into it too m-”. Jack cuts himself off as he spots the throne. The sharp angular white and black frame is peppered with green and red stones, white flames appear to come off the back of it and blaze skyward. But that’s not what captures Jack’s attention and Maddie’s as well, as she picks up on his sudden silence. Sitting on the throne is Phantom, eyes closed and head resting on a closed fist. A black velvet cape, that looks to have a white lining, with white flames around the collar; adorns his shoulders. While a blazing green crown floats above his head. Both of them can tell that the mist is clearly wafting off of him as they gape.

Both of them slowly close the door and take a few slightly shaky steps back, looking back to each other before Jack promptly gets out the Speeder tracker and points the way back; through a couple wisteria trees.

The pair are silent for a while, Jack’s the one the break it as he laughs faintly, staring at some flowers that even he recognises. Maddie turns her head to him, slightly confused just before he speaks, “look, ghost orchids”. Maddie can’t help but laugh a little too as she crouches down and cups the flower, “definitely Phantom alright”. Deciding to take a picture of the rare flower, answering her husbands' quizzical stance, “it’s unlikely we’ll ever see another growing wild like this, even if it’s just a bunch of ectoplasm”. Shaking her head as they head off again, “Phantom just keeps getting stranger and stranger”.

Arriving at the Speeder, Maddie looks back at the mist covered lair, muttering, “maybe, we really were wrong about you. I kind of hope so”.

Bonus scene 

Jack and Maddie sit at the kitchen table, Maddie mutters as she fiddles with her teacup, “I guess, we really shouldn’t be surprised. He defeated him after all, didn’t he”. Jack nods and leans forward on the table, “I think we should keep this to ourselves. Don’t want to scare the kiddies, specially since they all seem to love him so much”. Maddie simply nods as Danny finally gets up.

Both them can’t help but smile as they watch their son stretch and yawn, scratching at his messy hair, “it’s like eleven a.m.? What no ghost hunting or inventing?”.

“Naw Sweetie, today felt like a rest day. Sometimes even we need a break from all the craziness”

Danny smirks mischievously as he fetches himself some cereal, “yeah the world of ghost stuff sure seems like a wild ride. That’s Amity for you though, wouldn’t be surprised if the town was one big government secret. Or if half the residents or even ghosts here have crazy secrets and stories”. Jack can’t help but chuckle, Amity was weird but it was perfect for them.

Danny points his spoon humorously at them between bites, “and some secrets need to be kept and some stories should never be told, I’m sure”.

End.

[firethebluesky]

The Night Watch

Stepping out of the hazardous ruins at night is a most peculiar feeling. After the intense humidity of the sewer-like dungeons, the cold air seems balmy. Of course, temperature is the last thing in your mind right now. There's sweat running down your cheek, blood under your nails, and slime matting your hair to your forehead. With dirty fingers, you coax your hair into a ponytail, letting the cool night air dance across your sweaty skin. A slight breeze blows up from the Portia River, instantly sending chills up and down your spine. Usually, when you're out at night, you bundle up tight, covered in wool coats, furry scarves, and knit hats. But not tonight.

You slowly peel off the top half of your overalls and tie the straps around your waist. Then off comes your dirty, ripped flannel. Upon closer inspection, you notice a long, jagged gash in the sleeve that wasn't there before, which makes you curse worse than Sanwa on a boat. That was your best flannel! Sturdy, yet comfortable. Colorful yet stylish. You wore that shirt with everything. Still muttering profanities under your breath, you promise to sew up the hole the minute you get home tonight, and tie it around your waist as well. You shiver a bit in just your tank top, but at least you're not dying from heat now.

You take a seat on the steps in front of the ruins, stretching your legs out in front of you in an effort to get comfortable. The moonlight illuminates every cut and scrape on your arms and chest, causing you to take inventory of every single one. Most seem inconsequential, save for one rather deep cut in your upper arm. Luckily, Phyllis sent you a first aid kit in the mail a couple weeks ago, and it's just been sitting around, waiting for you to use it. You brought it along, not thinking you'd need it. Yet here you are, blessing the gods and the wonder that is Phyllis for it. Cleaning out the dirt hurts like the devil, and if you didn't think you'd wake up the whole town, you'd be screaming. You wrap a medicated bandage around the wound, and immediately sigh with incredible relief.

Taking a moment to yourself, you lean back, admiring the full moon and glistening stars. You can't help but wonder if there's life beyond the world you know. All your life, you believed that what was left of the world before Peach was just remnants. Leftovers for you to find and use. It never occurred to you that those leftovers might be alive. And yet, not three days earlier, space stations come crashing down around you. Robots come alive with no knowledge of the modern world. Who knows what else could be up there? The uncertainty scares you. There's just so much you don't know.

You sigh and push yourself back up. There's not enough time in the day for you to be worrying about robots and extraterrestrials. There's work to be done. You pull over your pack from where it lay on the ground, and pull out your spoils. You laugh softly. When you first arrived in Portia, delusions of grandeur clouded your mind. You expected to be walking out of the ruins clean and unhurt, arms full of precious gems and valuable metals. Past you would have shuddered at the state of your hands now. Past you would have snorted at the items you choose to pull off of the monsters you fight. Instead of sapphires and rubies, you search for power stones and blood stones. Instead of gold and silver, you look for rusty springs and old parts. Past you would laugh at your excitement over dirty machinery and tools. These days, though, you're finally happy. Hard work makes you happy.

You flip open the flap of your pack, and a wide grin splits your face. The fruits of your labor lay inside: vibrant blue crystals, cans of tempering liquid, springs, wrenches, vials of venom, and more fill your pack to the brim. Silicon chips are tucked into a small pocket on the side of your pack. But what you most proud of is the two industrial engines you found deep in the bowels of the ruins. You nearly died fighting that chemical dropout guarding them, but that iron sword you recently forged really made all the difference. Once you shoved the slimy corpse off of the platform he inhabited, the engines were yours. You wrapped them carefully in the thick scarves you made specifically for them before packing them away in your bag. You dig through your lot for a bit, already picturing all the things you'll make with these new materials. You thumb through the sleeves of the new disc holder you made to hold your data discs, admiring the way each one is proudly displayed behind a sheet of clear plastic. Petra called the holder a "binder", and told you that people once used them to hold important papers they didn't want to get ruined. You found about twenty data discs in there, each one carefully extracted from the corpses of defeated enemies and hidden chests, the slime and blood wiped away before being stored away. You're giddy with excitement over all the things you're going to build. If it wasn't so late at night, you'd rush home right now and get to work. There is this comprehensive grinder you've always wanted to try out.

You're just getting ready to head home when your remember just how disgustingly dirty your new sword is now that it's been through the sewers. You go to open the small pocket on the front of your pack, but realize too late that the last time you cleaned your sword, you forgot to put everything back in order. Tubes of soap, dissolving agent, and wax tumble out onto the ground, followed by dirty rags, a handful of whetting stones, and a small bag of clean cloth strips for waxing. You scramble after all of your tools, and once it's all set up in a somewhat organized fashion, you make quick work of the the blade, cleaning off all the grime and grinding away at the nicks in the metal. When you're done, you make sure you pack all of your supplies away in good order before strapping your sword to your back and setting off towards town.

The minute you step out of the collapsed wasteland, your shoulders drop and you let out the breath you didn't know you were holding. Even at night, you know you have to constantly be in your guard. Who knows what kind of monsters you'll encounter when the rest of the world goes to sleep.

You take your time walking down the cobblestone road into town, admiring Portia at night. Evidence of you and your contributions to Portia are visible everywhere: the Dee Dee stops you used regularly are lovingly maintained, and the street lights you installed brighten the streets and cast a beautiful golden glow onto the facades of the shops crowded around Central Plaza. You pause at the top of the stairs, taking some time to yawn and look out beyond the walls of Portia. Beyond their relative safety thrives a beautiful yet dangerous world. Beyond them lie Bassanio Falls, the Eufaula Desert, Amber and Starlight Islands, the harbor, and the Western Plateau. Portia is so much bigger than you pictured before you came. Now the world seems to be bursting with possibilities. Just thinking about it makes you exhausted. Or maybe you're just tired. Either way, you have to get home before you fall over.

You take a step down the stairs into Central Plaza, but are assaulted by a wave of exhaustion. Picking up your feet is so hard, and the weight of your pack weighs you down. Your eyelids droop dangerously, and in the back of your mind, you know you just have to get to the bottom and then it's a few steps more to the benches you can take a quick nap on. But you're just about to the bottom when your foot slips and you tumble down the last few steps, hitting your head on one of them, knocking you out.

---

Arlo was absent minded, riding back into Portia from South Block. Sam and Remington were equally braindead in their saddles, focused only in getting back to their homes in the city. As they crossed the bridge, Arlo's mind drifted to the weeks of work and upheaval Albert, Gust, Mint, and their respective teams put into the project. Most vividly, however, to Arlo's surprise, he remembered the new builder. They had truly come to life in the process of building up South Block. They flew back and forth between projects like one of those tiny Skipper birds flew back and forth from flower to flower. It was like watching a whole different person work.

It had taken a few months for them to get used to life in Portia: Arlo didn't think they were used to working so much. The early days were filled with complaining and stomping. They didn't even want to get their hands dirty. But what was so impressive was how talented they were. The new builder easily adapted to new projects and ideas. They put such care and precision into their work. New blueprints never fazed them- anything Presley put them up to, they delivered, time and time again.

Things started to change when the river was poisoned. It was the first project, Arlo realized, where the new builder felt a duty to Portia to help, not simply for monetary gain. They flourished, taking more pride in their work than ever. And now, most recently, he had watched from afar during the bridge project, as they welded together steel shells and frames, built buses and windmills and power generators, and attached cables and lights. South Block was built up at an incredible rate, faster than even Gust, ever the over achiever, had planned.

Arlo was brought out of his daydreaming when Sam let out a gasp. Arlo swept his eyes around the Plaza, looking for danger, adrenaline racing. But what he saw scared him more than a potential threat. The new builder lay on the ground, mechanical parts strewn around them, backpack open and empty. A small dark pool of what looked like blood saturated the ground around their head. The three of them bolted forward, but Arlo got to them first, swinging himself off of his horse, using his momentum to run to their side. He signaled to Remington and Sam to search the area for enemies, before turning his attention to the new builder. He checked them for spinal injuries, and upon finding none, he rolled them over to check for more injuries. A large welt on their forehead indicated a fall, and the sprawl of their supplies meant they fell from a height. Arlo was sure they'd been attacked, especially when he found a bloody streak on the stairs, probably left when they were pushed down. Remington stepped up next to him, startling him.

"They haven't been here very long." Remington's deep voice broke the silence. "The attack must have been recent. Sam's doing her usual perimeter search." Arlo sighed. He was hoping to hear a different verdict from Remington, anything but an attack, but to his dismay, Remington agreed. He nodded vaguely before unclipping his first aid kit from his horse, settling down next to the new builder's side and wrapping their head wound in a bandage. As he did so, Sam came back, shaking her head.

"I got nothing," she said, coming to a stop next to Remington's horse. "It could have been anyone, anything. If they were attacked, whoever did it is long gone, and left no clues to who it was."

Sam's words sent a chill down Arlo's spine. He couldn't imagine someone wanting to hurt the new builder- once you got past their arrogant and egotistical exterior, there was actually a kind, caring, and deeply sensitive interior. They were hardworking and endearing and gorgeous and- what was he thinking?! He couldn't possibly be thinking these thoughts about the new builder, especially not now. He needed to be impartial and focused, not harboring feelings for the new builder. Feelings like that cloud judgement, Arlo thought, thinking back to the time Remington held a crush for Sam, and how anytime Sam went out on her own, he worried and babbled. Arlo wouldn't be like that, he couldn't. Not at the leader of the Civil Corps.

"Should we take them up to the clinic? Wake up Doctor Xu this late at night?" Arlo thought aloud. Sam shook her head in agreement.

"We should-"

But before she could go any further, the new builder stirred and moaned quietly.

---

You slowly open your eyes, bright golden light streaming in and making your eyes water. You must have fallen asleep on the ground on your way home. But there's something wrong about this. You could have sworn you'd made it to one of the benches, but now you're definitely on the ground. And for as bright as the sunrise is, the sky is awfully dark. And your head, you're starting to realize, is throbbing with intense pain. What happened to you?

A dark shape appears in your vision, then two, then three. They look oddly human, but you can't tell in the light. A voice calls out to you.

"Are you okay?" It's a man's voice, deep and throaty. You open your mouth to speak, but find you can't. You nod instead, sending a sharp pain through your head. You go to sit up, but a hand pushes your shoulder back down.

"Don't move." The voice is distinctly feminine now. "You hit your head on the stairs." You moan again, and you feel a hand in your hair, massaging your scalp. The fingers are large and calloused, and your headache is almost immediately soothed by the rhythmic movements.

"I want to go home," you croak, hoping one of the voices will listen and take you back to your comfy new bed. The hand shifts, rubbing the back of your neck now.

"I'll take you," It's a new voice, though one you know quite well, one you're incredibly attracted to. Your eyes fly open, and you take in the scene around you. It's still late at night, judging by the position of the moon in the sky. The golden light you saw was just a nearby street lamp. Remington is pacing back and forth at your feet, looking deep in thought. Sam sits cross legged next to you, head in hands. Arlo kneels by your head, hand deep in your hair, massaging you gently.

"We can't take her home," Sam protests, looking earnestly at Remington. "They clearly needs a doctor's attention."

"It's just a headache," you say, to no one in particular, really. Remington laughs softly.

"It's hardly just a headache." He says to you. "We think your were attacked coming down the stairs. Doctor Xu needs to assess your condition and make sure there's no lasting damage."

You clear your throat to speak better. "I wasn't attacked. I was just too tired and fell asleep on my feet." And you're about to fall asleep again if you stay here any longer.

There's a moment of stunned disbelief before Arlo bursts out laughing. You hear a vague mumble of "only you" under his laugh. Sam and Remington join in as well, and you feel your cheeks blush in embarrassment. You watch as Arlo and Sam stand, repack your burgeoning backpack, and strap it onto Arlo's back. Arlo comes back to you, and slides his hands under your legs and back, holding you close to his chest as he picks you up. You curl into his chest as he says goodbye to Sam and Remington, sending them home for the night. As he walks away, your feel your eyes drooping once again, this time the gentle rocking motion of Arlo's footsteps lulling you to sleep.

"I love you," you murmur deliriously until Arlo's jacket, not really noticing what you're saying. Arlo's arms tense around you, and his steps falter a bit, and you can hear his heartbeat quicken under your ear. But you fall asleep before you can say anything else.

[early-sxnsets]

He’ll Be Ours

Archive Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15909690/chapters/38513789

Chapter 11/16 of Love You All, Die For This

Word Count: 2328

Chapter Summary:  Behind plexiglass windows and a buzzing door lies a lifechanger.

Tags: @jessethejoyful for betaing

@fight-surrender

SIMON

Somehow, the car ride is the longest one I’ve ever been in. 20 minutes is a decade to tick by, fingers drumming against knees and eyes stuck outside. Baz and Mrs. Bunce swap questions and answers regarding the situation, but I just tune them out. Nothing really matters; all that matters is that the child, Oliver, his name is Oliver, is ours.

Something in me snapped when I saw him, something I didn’t think I’d have to think of again.

I was six. Someone took the toy I was playing with, and when I got angry, they pushed me into the mud and and left me there.

I went off. No one knew what happened, or where it came from, but all I remember from the days following was I was rehomed and this time, none of the kids even talked to me. I later figured that they weren’t allowed to; that they figured I was some sort of freak to be left untouched. Whenever I’d speak out, I’d be silenced. I could only talk through hits and kicks, and each time a bigger kid came near me, I’d try to skin my teeth into their skin.

Got me nowhere but more locked away, more hidden from others. Care homes would separate me, would keep me away from the rest of them.

The freak nearly broke another kid’s arm. Someone said they saw him lift a table just by looking at it. Put him in the supply room ‘til and throw a lock on it. He’ll calm down eventually.

If Oliver’s anything like me, then he can’t be left there any longer than possible before I can bring him home, far away from anybody who’ll hurt him, who’ll get hurt by a hurt kid in a hurt world that’s just structured to keep hurting him.

I keep spiraling, squeezing my eyes shut as another tear runs down my cheek. My breathings labored, my hands are in my hair, pulling on it, trying to get me to calm.

Baz’s hand rests on my thigh, rubbing slowly as he tries to soothe me. I don’t know where it all came from; 17 years of desperately wanting out of a system ooze out of me in a steady stream of tears. I sob, trying to cover my face with my hands and arms, but it won’t stop. My breath is short, bursting out of me as it all cracks and breaks.

I can’t say it, but saving him means saving myself. Fixing everything that hurt me.

If I can just make Oliver smile, then I know that making it through the 17 shittiest years of my life would have been entirely worth it.

I shake my head to stop Baz’s fussing, to stop Mrs. Bunce’s hand on my shoulder, reached around from the back seat, from all of it comforting me, because I’m just crying because I need to rather than want to. It’s like letting go of something I didn’t know I clung to, but here it is, scattered out in front of me. Years of anger, years of hiding it deep inside, splayed out for me to see instead of repress.

“Please, take my hands.” Baz’s voice comes through as if he’s underwater, a warped swirl of his words as I choke out another sob. I manage to reach out, the murky pond of my mind letting my body break through to hold his hands. They’re strong; stable. I hold tighter, sputtering out for breath as my chest clenches in on itself.

Slowly, I force in shaking breaths as my vision of the car’s interior stabilizes. Every part of me is screaming to speak, but I can’t force it out. It’s stuck in my throat, down where it’s been kept for so long. It seems to want to stay, live back where it can’t be touched by anybody else.

I know it’s there for him too, for Oliver. Or it will be, or would’ve been, if we could never have him or if we’d never known.

“Keep going,” I urge, calming enough. “Please, Baz, just keep going.”

Baz looks shaken, staring at me for Merlin knows how long before nodding and letting go of me, turning back to the wheel and pulling us back onto the road. My eyes keep on him as I sniffle, a hand hesitantly reaching out to rest on his knee. He exhales, a hand dropping to mine for the briefest of moments, holding it and giving it a brief squeeze before gripping the wheel again.

I space back out until we’re there, my mind lost back in memories I wish I could get rid of.

The squeeze from Baz’s hand snaps me out of it, his gentle kiss of my knuckles telling me I’m alright.

I carry myself out of the car, straightening out my shirt. In moments, Baz is at my side, hand locked against mine and pushing the hair out of my face as his lips press to my forehead. I let him, resting against him for the briefest moment before we part, hands still locked together as we’re lead inside by Mrs. Bunce.

Something about care homes make me wince.

Maybe it’s the somehow consistent scent of cleaners that all them use (store brands, “unscented”). Maybe it’s the soft buzz of the glass in front of the reception/check in, barring you from the insides.

Maybe it’s just that I can’t let go.

“Who are you here for?” the lady questions, looking up at the three of us. Mrs. Bunce steps up, showing them a badge. I’m not quite sure what of, but it’s understood immediately by the woman sitting there.

“Oliver G.”

She nods, sitting up more and standing up with a clipboard. “Reason of visit?”

“Potential fostering and adoption,” I quickly respond, holding onto Baz’s arm. “We want to meet him.”

The secretary looks bored. She scans over us, nodding. “IDs.”

I part from Baz, quickly digging it out from my wallet and sliding it under the small opening in the plexiglass, feeling a tad like I’m a teenager again. Except this time I’m in my late 20s, a healthy weight, and not feeling like absolute death.

Baz slides his over slowly, a free hand settling on my lower back. He stays silent, leaning against me subtly as they check over everything, sliding them back with newly printed visitor’s badges.

She glances up at us. “Here. First door on the left; he’ll be sent in to meet with yous.”

I nod quickly for an answer, practically dragging Baz along with me as I make a b-line past the visitor’s door and into the room we’d been directed to. It’s quite cozy, trying to make it seem friendly for us. It isn’t like we’re “shopping”, but the vibe of it is that we’re here to pick and choose who we want to see.

I suppose we are, though. Sort of. In a way.

We’re here to see our son for the first time.

The thought of that makes my chest constrict and mind spin. I’d given up and accepted that we’d live child-free, then suddenly we’re told that there’s a child for us, a child that we could raise comfortably in a house where we can be ourselves. We’ll have a child that’ll be safe and happy; a member of our family.

Baz and I sit back as Mrs. Bunce nods silently and leaves us, wordlessly acknowledging what this moment will mean.

Sat in a loveseat, my head dips to rest against Baz’s shoulder, relaxing as his arm wraps securely around my shoulder, keeping me close. I feel myself loosen, warming to his grip as I glance up towards his face. It’s not ice cold, but it’s not quite comfortable either. There’s a recognizable twinge of anxiety plastered across him, which I probably should’ve figured by the restless bounce in his right leg. I wish I could help him, but I know better than to point it out and make a fuss of it. I just take his hand, winding our fingers together as I exhale slowly. A gentle kiss to his ring finger; a reminder that we’re in this together.

When the click of the door rings through the room, we shift apart in the slightest, hands still locked together as it swings open, a nurse scooting in Oliver.

He’s got a band-aid on his cheek and forearm, and his hair’s quite ruffled. Looks a tad like you’d think of in some ridiculous orphan commercial, begging for money; a tattered toddler with glassy, huge eyes.

He stays by the door, eyes on us cautiously without approaching. His arms curl into his body, hugging his waist as he backs up a little. I watch his eyes cover us, squinting and matching the confused frown on his face. I know he knows he’s safe, because all these facilities are the same; cameras everywhere. I can point out the two in the room on a single glance.

Oliver looks around nervously, then back at us, making my stomach churn as he stares at us unsteadily.

He has to trust us. I’ll make him trust us.

I stand slowly, hands outreached to show I’m approaching with caution. He stays still, not flinching but not advancing either. I step closer once, then twice, before kneeling down closer to his level. His eyes follow me, but his body stays turned in upon itself.

Part of me tells me to brave it, to speak to him. The other part of me is screaming that it might scare him away. The impulsive side always wins. “I used to be like you,” I say gently, hands on my knee that’s propped me up. “I grew up in homes. I didn’t have a mummy or daddy to care for me.” I manage a smile, trying to keep that steady. “It’s okay, we’re not going to let that happen to you. We want to be your dads.”

Oliver stays frozen, his eyes locked on me as I speak before darting back and forth between Baz and I. He loses all the tenseness in him, arms dropping to his sides as he stares silently. I’d be unsure if he could understand us if it wasn’t for the way he’s fixating on my face.

I listen to the shift of the sofa and the approach of Baz’s shoes against the hardwood floor. They stop just behind me before he kneels at my side as well, absolutely silent, but staying with me. I’m almost entirely sure he’s silent because he doesn’t know what to properly say, but he just wants to be here. It’s more than enough to make me relax, my smile growing more organic and less nervous as I outstretch a hand towards Oliver. “I know you don’t trust us, but we want you to.”

He keeps shifting between us silently, looking at my hand and every little detail. He might be feet away, but he’s clearly focused on figuring out what to do.

Breaks my heart a little, seeing him so scared of even talking to us. I know exactly why, and I would be too. I was too. I remember my first encounter with The Mage, nearly entirely sure that he was there to collect me for an asylum, but the way he explained everything changed my world.

I sit, chewing my lip nervously as I think through anything, anything that’ll get him to truly trust us before a plan pops into my head. It’s risky, and it’ll have to be quick, but it’s the best way to get it done.

I lean in close to Baz, hand resting on his bicep as I whisper into his ear. “Can you fog up the cameras real quick? Keep the audio running, but make sure they’re all static in video feed.”

He gives me a look, and it’s only one that he gives when he has no other words to ask why I’m being an idiot, but he surprisingly just nods and stands. A hand slips into his pocket and draws out his wand, slipping it immediately up into his sleeve. With a murmur of “Look Away”, I’m already shifting my jumper. The back slides down enough so I can let my wings shimmy out, stretching behind me.

Oliver’s eyes go wild, staring up into the air and following the swift extend of my wings, spreading out around us. With only a slight hesitation before, he reaches out to touch them curiously. His hands grab the outer edge of my left side, his mouth falling open as he rubs it between his fingers, figuring out what he’s seeing.

He turns his face back to ours, blinking up at us. Slowly, Baz pulls his wand out beside me, showing Oliver with a flourish before slipping is back up his sleeve.

I smile, watching the wonder flood his face as he eyes back and forth between us. His hands gently tug at my wing, feeling the bone extending down. He blinks, seeming unsure of what he’s seeing, but surely glad it’s there.

I glance back at Baz as I carefully pull back in my wings, careful to not hit Oliver as they retract. Baz just nods, tapping his wand against them as he whispers the invisibility spell for them, helping me slip them back under my jumper.

I turn back to Oliver as Baz quickly spells the video feeds right, wand dipping back into his trouser pocket. The boy’s face is lit up in wonder, blinking curiously between us as I smile and take Baz’s hand, standing up beside him. “You’re not mad, and you’re not different. There’s a lot of people out there life you,” I say gently, a grin across my face. “We’re like you.”

He blinks slowly, a second ticking by before his face spreads out into a toothy grin, staring back up at us with a newfound joy.

[pitofghosts]

Tiny Men with Blunt Objects are no Fear of Mine

This is something I wrote back in the summer, and has gone large unedited since then. Content warning for alcohol, mild drug use, and implied abuse.

Alastair, a high school English teacher, was never the type for parties. But his new boyfriend, Harley, practically begged him to come to his friend’s Christmas party to get acquainted with everyone. Nervous and very much in love, Alastair agrees, but everything goes wrong when Alastair meets someone he would have rather left in Harley’s vague stories: his boyfriend’s ex.

The tires slid to a stop, and Alastair was glad that there wasn't a lot of traffic on the road. He leaned back in his seat and sighed deeply, tapping his fingers on the steering wheel. The light flickered green in his peripheral and his foot came off the brake, but he considered the fashion in which he had left the party. The passenger seat, the space where his boyfriend was meant to be, sat empty beside him. He set his jaw. He continued to idle until the light turned yellow, bringing his attention back to the road. He moved his glasses up and pressed his fingers against his eyes and groaned. He put the car into reverse, neatly made a two point turn, and drove back towards the party.

Earlier in the evening, when they had first arrived, Alastair had continuously been double-checking that Harley was giving him the right directions. The neighbourhood they were heading towards was a part of the city he had never been to. It was crazy rich, the kind of rich that was only ever on TV, and he couldn't quite wrap his head around the idea of going to a party in one of those sleek, modern houses. As the GPS dinged that their destination was up ahead, he looked over at Harley and over his glasses.

"This is the-"

"Yes, oh my goodness, I know where he lives," Harley insisted, giving him a look that was half amusement, half smirk. "It's like in the past fifteen minutes you stopped trusting in my directional skills."

"There's your mistake," Alastair said as he pulled his car into a parking space. He took the keys out of the ignition and then turned towards his boyfriend. "Thinking I ever trusted them in the first place." Next he knew he was being buffeted by Harley's mitted hands and he was laughing as he undid his belt in an attempt to escape the attacks. Outside the car, he turned to Harley and let his arms hit his sides. "Here's your chance to prove me wrong, though. Show me the way?"

Harley rolled his eyes and grabbed his hands, pulling him forwards and up the lane way. The bushes that lined it reminded him of the ghost costumes in cartoons, just a sheet thrown over a frame. He thought the barren branches kinda looked like skeletons, too. He stepped up the front steps carefully, not wanting to slip on the ice.

"You're sure this is the right address?" He asked Harley again, teasing him. Harley rolled his eyes at him, but Alastair picked up on the hint of smile on his face. His favourite thing in the world had to be Harley's smile, especially when it grew to cover his entire face and made his nose scrunch up and eyes squint. The thought alone made Alastair's heart stop.

Harley removed one of his mitts and pressed a finger into the doorbell. The door swung opened and the two were scooped inside, and Alastair's body went rigid as he felt arms wrap around him into a hug. "Ryder!" Harley squealed in delight. Alastair patted this Ryder fellow's shoulder and looked around the front foyer with wide eyes. As he was freed from the stranger's arms he took a step back, mouth slightly agape.

"This is a, uh, a lovely home you've got here," he said as he broguht his eyes to meet Ryder. The home glistened brighter than the snow outside, and it was immaculately decorated. Compared to anything he had ever seen before, this place was ridiculously beautiful.

Ryder rolled his eyes and dismissed the comment. "Who's this handsome man?" Ryder growled at Alastair and took his coat, hanging it up on a hook.

"Back off, Rye." Harley wrapped his arms around one of Alastair's and leaned against him. "This is my new boyfriend, Alastair. Isn't he cute?"

"I'd sure say so," Ryder said, and the way he looked at him made Alastair's face feel warm.

"Well, too bad, 'cause he's mine." Harley's grip on his arm tightened, and the two of them laughed and Alastair tried to join them, only he couldn't get his voice to sound as gleeful as theirs.

"Well, the party's down in the basement, honey. Just head on down, and I'll be down as soon as Nora stops by."

Harley waved his hand at him and rolled his eyes. "Nora, Nora, Nora..." he said, then took Alastair's hand and started through the house with a purposeful walk. "Believe her when I see her!"

"She's a real person!"

Alastair waited until they rounded a corner to laugh, looking at Harley with slight disbelief. "She's a real person..?" He asked incredulously, raising his eyebrows.

"He's been saying he's been seeing this woman, Nora, for as long as I've known him but I've never seen her," Harley explained. "Now c'mon, honeybuns, you've gotta come meet my friends."

Harley opened the door in front of them and fog rolled out. Soft ambient dance music met him as he moved into the dimly lit cavern, being sure to tug the door shut behind him. When Harley had said "Christmas party" he had imagined a gathering of close friends, not this mysterious basement party with theatrics. What had he gotten himself into?

He failed to see anything Christmas-y, or even winter-y, about fog machines or dark spaces, but he wouldn't tell a host how to run their party. He was fished from his anxieties as he turned into the main room, and was pleasantly surprised to see only what seemed to be about twenty people. Bigger than what he originally thought, but it wasn't as close to rave material as he had started to worry. Maybe this was just a gathering of friends with a very eccentric host.

He let Harley guide him across the floor towards a bar. A small man with slick blonde hair, tattoos, and eyeliner was entertaining a group of six people with card tricks and drinks. He still wasn't sure about meeting this many people at once, and he even considered faking sick to get out of going. He was still considering doing that, but he had decided that he really, really liked Harley. If he was going to be a part of his life, he wanted to meet his friends.

"Harles!" Came a shrill cry, and in two seconds a short woman had propelled herself from a barstool and into Harley in the way only a tiny, drunk woman could. Harley squealed and laughed gleefully as she kissed the side of his face, and embraced her tightly. He picked her up and spun her around once, her gleeful shrieking filling the space.

"Jojo!" He greeted in return, setting her back down on her feet. "Oh my God, how are you?! It's been far too long." Alastair waited in uncomfortable silence as they talked, taking to running the hem of his sweater between his fingertips. He looked down at his feet, and then around the room, and then back at Harley. He cleared his throat, which seemed to clue the other man in.

"Oh! Right, this is Alastair," he introduced, pulling Alastair in closer by the hand. "Alastair, this is Johanna."

"Nice to meet you, Johanna," he said, trying his best to be polite. Johanna stared at him, and then at Harley, and then back at him, before she took a stumbling step towards him.

"Oh. My. God. No way," she started, and this was the moment that, looking back, cemented the evening into being a bit of a shitshow. Alastair wondered how things could have gone differently if he had been introduced to people slowly, instead of all at once. He didn't hold any ill will towards to Johanna, although she did seem a bit dramatic, but how he wished she wouldn't have shouted.

"Guys!" She shouted, turning to look over her shoulder. "Harley has a BOYFRIEND!"

The six pairs of eyes that fell onto Alastair made him feel very, very small. He laughed awkwardly and quietly, offering a small wave. "Um, hello," he said, trying to sound cheerful and excited. His fingers took to the hem of his sweater once more. One of the six people at the bar slammed his hands down on it then stormed away, a young woman following on his heels. The blonde, tattooed man rolled his eyes, and Johanna laughed. It was a mean sound.

"Let's do shots to celebrate!" The tattooed man yelled, and a chorus of celebratory noises met him.

Alastair kept his eyes looking after where the man and woman had gone. He was nervous that it was someone he knew and that didn't like him, or someone that had a reason not to like him now. Why would someone storm off after that introduction? Maybe it was someone who just didn't like meeting new people; he was like that sometimes. But why the hand slam them?

"Don't mind them," Johanna reassured him as she stumbled forward and grabbed ahold of Alastair's arm to catch herself. "Arthur's been a little bitch ever since the break-up."

"Break-up..?" He started to ask. He looked over at Harley, who had already made his way over to the bar. He helped Johanna back onto her barstool and quickly found himself with a drink shoved into his hands.

"Here you are, new boyfriend," said the man behind the bar. Was that a French accent? "You're going to need it."

"Um, thanks, but I have to drive tonight," Alastair said and handed it back to him. The man sucked his teeth disapprovingly and shook his head with a slight smile.

"Never heard of public transit, hm? That's alright, we all need a responsible sort around." He downed the shot and winked at Alastair, then was pulled into a conversation with a man with a very long ponytail.

Finding himself lacking any conversation, a weight started to settle onto his shoulders. It was possible that Arthur and this break-up that had made him a little bitch really had nothing to do with Harley, that it was a completely different break up with a completely different person. He knew, though, deep down, that that wasn't the truth. He sought out Harley with his eyes and watched him, smiling and laughing and drinking with his friends, and considered for a moment not bringing it up. He seemed so happy.

Someone snapped their fingers next to his face and Alastair jumped to look at them. As reality settled back into place he made the outline of a lumbering figure that seemed to be mostly made out of limbs. "You seemed, like, completely zonked out dude. Everything cool in there?" Alastair nodded, laughing and hoping that this man wouldn't realize how uncomfortable he was. "You're Alastair, right?" He nodded. "Harley's man, yeah?" He nodded again. "Oh fuck yeah, right on. Everyone's been bettin' on him and Artie gettin' back together. I just lost, like, twenty bucks 'cause of you." The lanky man laughed and clapped Alastair on the shoulder. "Right on, man, right on. I'll catch ya later."

Alastair watched as the man joined onto another group of people, and he turned to look back at Harley. There was no if's, and's, or but's about it now, and he set his hand on his boyfriend's shoulder to catch his attention. When Harley's eyes met his he felt his voice catch in his throat, and he felt almost guilty for what he knew was about to happen.

"The guy who stormed off. Was that, uh, was that your ex?"

Harley's smile faltered; a small twitch pointed downwards. If Alastair was anyone else, anyone else who didn't know Harley's face as well as he did, he was sure he wouldn't have noticed.

"Yeah, why? He's pretty ingrained into my group of friends. Is there something wrong about that?"

His tone felt accusatory, and feelings of defensiveness arose in Alastair's chest. He could feel something close to anger bubbling up in him, but he forced it back down with a deep breathe. "No, I just... I just would've liked to know," he offered, his voice small. "Especially since he didn't seem exactly over it."

"I can't control how he feels," Harley snapped back. Alastair was taken aback, from all the reactions he had expected Harley to have, this anger was not one of them. A small voice in the back of his head whispered to them that, perhaps, Harley wasn't quite over him, either.

"Did you know he'd be here?"

"Yes."

"How long have you two been apart?" He leaned into Harley, moving his hand to the middle of the other man's shoulders.

"Over a year."

"He's not over you after a year?"

"Just have fun, okay? I don't want to do this right now." Harley removed Alastair's hand from his back and turned towards his friends once more, attempting to rejoin their conversations. Alastair stood still, watching Harley with a growing frustration.

"How long were you two together?"

Harley pretended not to hear him, but the way his eyes darted back towards him for a silent second betrayed him. Alastair breathed heavily in annoyance and replaced his hand on Harley's shoulders, leaning in a bit closer to him.

"Harley," he insisted. "How long were you two together?"

Harley shrugged his hand off his shoulder. Alastair felt his eye twitch. He put his hand on Harley's shoulder again, but before he could say anything, Harley whirled around to look at him, his expression angrier than Alastair had ever seen him.

"Six years," he hissed out. "We were together for six years, okay?"

Alastair's stomach dropped. "You were together for six years, you knew he would be here tonight, and you didn't think to tell me?" His voice contained a hushed ferociousness that surprised himself, but he couldn't blame himself, either. He felt incredibly betrayed. Harley ran his tongue over his teeth and removed Alastair's hand from his shoulder again, this time with more force.

"Look, Al, I know parties aren't your thing, but I didn't think this would be so fucking difficult. If you don't want to be here why don't you just go home."

A pain afflicted Alastair's chest, and if it wasn't for his practiced self-control he was sure he would have done something very, very stupid. "Fine," he said, his voice no longer angry but instead defeated. He could tell that Harley had realized that he had said something wrong. "I'll just go home, then." Harley made a move to start apologizing, but Alastair was already walking away. There was a stinging behind his eyes as he made his way up the stairs. He was so intently focused on just leaving that he almost ran into Ryder on his way up the stairs.

"Oh!" Ryder had said in shock, before laughing and placing his hand over his heart. "You scared me, goodness." Alastair laughed, awkwardly, in response.

"Sorry."

"No, no it's quite alright. There's nothing quite like fright to get the blood pumping!"

Alastair laughed awkwardly, and Ryder looked on at him inquisitively. Alastair felt as though Ryder was stripping away layers of him at a time - undressing him emotionally, although physically he was quite sure that Ryder held no interest. His earlier flirtations seemed mostly to be out of some form of politeness.

"You know you don't have to pretend not to be hurt," Ryder said, and Alastair flinched at the words. He started to insist that he wasn't hurt, that he was fine, and that he didn't know what Ryder was talking about, be he shushed him. "I don't need to know what's happening or why, I just thought you might need to hear that. Anyway, I'm going to join the party, are you going to come with me?"

Alastair fidgeted with the hem of his sweater. He didn't want to be rude and decline, and Ryder seemed to sense that. He offered Alastair a kind smile and squeezed his shoulder. "That's alright, thanks for coming. It was nice meeting you."

"Yeah, you too," Alastair said. "Thanks for having me."

He stood still on the stairs for a moment, his eyes watching Ryder as he descended into the basement. A choir of excited, happy noise erupted behind him as Alastair climbed the last few steps and opened the door. He stood still in the bright, white house. He retraced his steps to the front door, and then to his boots, and then his coat, and then out to his car, and then all the way to the second stoplight from Ryder's house.

Tears stung his eyes and he cursed himself. He had been so sure that tonight would go awry. He didn't want it to, but things always went badly for him in relationships. His hands gripped the steering wheel tightly. He couldn't connect the dots in his head and understand how Harley had thought that the night would have gone well. He knew that his ex would be there, and that his ex wasn't over him, and six years?! That was longer than the time it took him to get his Bachelor's. That was longer than his parents had been together before having his older brother!

He pressed his lips together and tapped his fingers on the steering wheel. He glanced over at the empty seat beside him, the place where his boyfriend was meant to be. Something felt wrong about the way Harley had been acting, it wasn't like him to lose his temper so quickly. The light must have turned green at some point, because the car was suddenly bathed in a yellow light. He set his jaw and with a heavy sigh tilted his head back against the headrest. He had to go back, to try and get to the bottom of this.

He pushed up his glasses and dried his wet eyes. He also took the time to dry his glasses, since he didn't want impaired vision. He checked for any oncoming traffic and looked in the rearview, neatly made a three-point turn, and drove back to the party.

He let himself back into Ryder's without ringing the doorbell. He took his boots off, but kept his unbuttoned coat on. He headed straight for the basement, and then stood dumbly at the bottom of the stairs. He searched through the faces of the crowd for anyone even vaguely familiar. He decided to go back over to the bar, but Harley was nowhere to be seen. However, the tall lanky guy from earlier was still there, and he greeted him with astonishment.

"Shit, man, where'd you go? You really disappeared on us earlier."

"I'm not good at parties," Alastair explained. It was a half-truth.

"Shit, apparently," he said, and took a drag off of the joint in his hand. "Want some of my smoke?" He offered it with a shit eating grin.

"I'm a high school teacher, I know what a joint is," Alastair said in vague annoyance. "Listen, hey, have you seen Harley anywhere?"

"Yeah, man. He started sobbing right after you left. Johanna took him off somewhere to calm him down."

"Okay, yeah, thanks, uh... I forgot what your name is."

"Erin, with an E."

"Right. Erin with an E. Thanks."

Alastair patted him on the shoulder and took it upon himself to walk around the party a bit more. After no success, he took a deep breath and started asking perfect strangers if they had seen him anywhere. After five tries, a girl with her head shaved and hooped earring pointed at a pair of French doors with frosted windows. He thanked her then, in a few strides, was outside the doors. Just as her was about to enter one door, the other opened. There was a moment where they looked at each other in silence.

Johanna.

"Hey, uh, Johanna, is Harley in there?"

"You're the asshole that made Harley cry!"

Alastair felt a sense of dread and annoyance wash over him. Johanna looked absolutely trashed, and Alastair could appreciate what things looked like to her. Trying to explain the nuances of this situation to her when she was in this state would get him nowhere.

"Yes, and I'm very sorry and here to apologize, okay?" He opened the other door to move past her, but she stood firm and blocked his path, shouting threats of throwing her drink at him if he dared to take another step.

"Is that Alastair?" asked Harley from somewhere in the room that Alastair couldn't see.

"I'm here to talk to you," Alastair said into the room.

"He made you cry!" Johanna yelled again.

"I wanna talk to him, Jo." Harley stepped into Alastair's field of vision, placing his hand on Johanna's shoulder. She gawked at him, about to object, but they shared a sort of silent conversation through just their expressions. Something Harley said to her made her give in, but not before glaring at Alastair as she walked past.

Alastair stepped into the room - which seemed to be a sort of at home gym - and closed the door behind him. He looked at Harley in silence, then opened his arms for him. Harley clung to him, and sobbed into his chest. Alastair wasn't really quite sure why he was crying, but he knew the conversation wouldn't go anywhere until he had calmed down. He rubbed small circles into his back.

"You know I'm not here to apologize," Alastair said softly.

"I know," Harley responded, his voice strained. "Why are you back, then?"

"I wouldn't be able to sleep tonight having just left you here," Alastair said. He could tell by Harley's breathing that he was calming down. "I don't want to lose you over this. The look you gave me right before I left... I couldn't just leave you here like that. I care about you too much."

Harley peeled himself off of Alastair and looked at him with the biggest, wettest, most loving eyes Alastair could imagine having ever existed, and butterflies swarmed his stomach. Harley looked like he was about to start sobbing all over again, and Alastair was about to tell a joke to cheer him up when Harley kissed him. It was sloppy and wet and he tasted like alcohol, but the gesture was nice. Alastair had to suppress a laugh.

Their warm moment was iced over when one of the doors was slammed open, catching Alastair on the arm and forcing him to turn to look. There stood Johanna, looking both angry and quite pleased with herself. "I found him!" she called over her shoulder, her eyes never leaving Alastair's. "That asshole that made Harley cry!"

From somewhere behind her, there was a shout of "I'll fuckin' kill him!" and then someone who Alastair quickly assume was Arthur (he didn't get a good look at him earlier) shoved her aside, almost making her fall over. He just stood there, his expression holding more personal hatred than Alastair had ever seen on the face of a complete stranger. There was a second of complete stillness before the match hit the gasoline.

"You," Arthur growled out, his hand tightening around some small blunt object in his hand. Alastair felt his stomach tighten. "You took him from me and made him cry. I'm gonna fuckin' kill you."

"Arthur, please," Harley began to plead, but Arthur just shot him a look that made him stop talking real quick.

"I know you're not with me, babe, but I still love you. I've still got your back."

"Arthur, no, it's okay. I'm okay," Harley bargained. He went to take a step towards him, but Arthur raised his the object towards Alastair. Was that a cricket bat?

Alastair had done his best not to start laughing, because he knew that the tension between Harley and Arthur were very very real, and the way Arthur was talking made him come across as a real creep, but the image of this man who was barely 5'7, nothing but skin and bones, and too fucked up to keep himself from wobbling threatening him with a cricket bat was too much for him to bear.

Harley and Arthur both looked confused, and Johanna looked distraught. The tension in the room dropped as everyone's drama dissolved into confusion. Arthur was the first one to pull himself back into the moment, trying to go back to coming across as pissed.

"What!" He demanded. "What's funny!"

"You're not threatening, man," Alastair offered. "You're tiny. Listen, just go back to the party and don't do anything stupid here, okay?"

"Fuck you," Arthur snapped back. "Fuck you and shut the fuck up."

Alastair shook his head. "Harley, c'mon, let me take you home, okay? We can talk on the way there."

Still in a moment of stupor, Harley looked around the room at everyone else before nodding. "Um... Yeah, yeah okay," he said. He let Alastair take his hand and followed him through the other half of the French doors and past Arthur. They made their way through the party, dodging drunk and stumbling young adults who were doing nothing but laughing and enjoying themselves. From somewhere, Erin with an E shouted called their names and seemed excited that they had found each other.

This time, Alastair hadn't passed Ryder on his way up the stairs, even though he had been secretly hoping to. After helping Harley, who was more drunk than either of them had realized, into his coat and boots they started down the front steps to where Alastair had parked. Harley nearly slipped and fell on some ice, but managed to stay upright with the aid of his boyfriend.

"Careful," Alastair warned.

When they approached the car Alastair opened the passenger door and Harley all but threw himself into the seat. After watching him struggle with the seatbelt, Alastair decided it would be best if he just reached across and did it up for him. He got into his own seat and as he turned on the engine, he could see Arthur in his rearview. He was running to the end of Ryder's driveway with only one boot half on his foot, and the other lost on the front step. He stopped running when he realized they were already in the car.

Alastair pulled out of the parking spot, and Harley fell asleep on the ride back home.

[callmeakumatized]

My Girlfriend’s Boyfriend - Ch. 22

ch 1 prev ch next ch

ao3 ff.net

[[ ...has it really been that many...months!!? 

>//////////////////< ]]

The auditorium of their lycée was, in a word, small. For things like drama club, science or math presentations, and an occasional special teacher or small student event, it was perfect. Circular shaped, the room was fitted with only about 80 seats in seven rows – walkways on either side – descending to a rounded-out stage; the room layout, from a birds-eye view, would resemble a cookie with a bite taken out of it. A small room in the back held the controls for the lights and projection equipment, and behind the main stage was an area for backdrops, props, and maybe a few costumes.

So, cozy.

Marinette had been there only a handful of times before, but the design was simplistic enough to remember easily.

Ladybug, however, completely forgot about the staircase leading into the auditorium.

(She blamed her undying love for Adrien and the rush to save him for this brain-fart mishap, because it had nothing to do with her near-routine absentmindedness. At all.)

"AACCKK!"

So much for stealthy.

Ladybug slipped down the first few stairs, rolling the rest of the way, finally stopping rather forcefully against the projection room door. She swallowed the pathetic "aïe…" she would have emitted if she weren't wearing the spots, shaking her head instead and scrambling to her feet. To her utmost horror, she was met with the sight of…nothing. But, after a moment of listening to the stillness carefully, she heard…! Still nothing. Nothing except for her own deep breathing and the poum-poum of her own heart pounding in her ears. Not for the first time, she inwardly complained about the serious lack of cool abilities like night vision that Chat Noir possessed and she didn't. There was no point mulling over it now, however. With a sigh, Ladybug, arms splayed out in front of her, immediately started forward into the room, toes padding the floor before placing her foot down to avoid any more sudden stair escapades.

"LADYBUG!"

The memory of Chat's howl in the darkness made Ladybug wince. It was…unlike him to yell out like that. If it had been followed by a quip or a line, Ladybug would have been more at ease, maybe even given Chloe a goodbye, and might have possibly remembered to tread lightly, avoiding becoming a red-with-black-spotted avalanche via forgotten stairway. To be in utter silence and pitch black of the room still? Ladybug started to actually…worry.

"Chat?" she dared to whisper, knowing his keen hearing – if he was anywhere around and somehow hadn't been alerted to the rather loud entrance she had just made – would pick up her voice immediately.

Ladybug froze when a small "umph!" sounded from what she supposed to be the stage area. A small collection of what she thought were footfalls were coming closer. They stopped suddenly, followed by the sounds of a scuffle.

"Chat!?" Ladybug said more urgently. "Chat Noir, is that you? Chat, where are you? I can't see any-ack!"

Ah, right. There was a row of chairs there.

Ladybug's feet found the back row of the seats easily.

Her face found the next one.

As she laid there for a moment, groaning and blinking the stars out of her vision, a sudden hand on her ankle pulled her into rapt attention. A second of reaction time was all she needed to leap to her feet and throw her yo-yo blindly in front of her. A hard thunk! not two feet in front of her had Ladybug stumbling back in surprise.

"Uh, ow!?"

"Chat?" Ladybug didn't shoot her yo-yo out again, but she did shuffle back a few paces more, just in case. A softer, familiar grip on her wrist made her tense.

"It's me, M'Lady," Chat's voice answered quietly in front of her. Ladybug let out the breath she had been holding in, eyes trying and failing to see her minou who was, apparently, right in front of her. "Sorry I couldn't answer earlier. Akuma problems, you know."

A slight pressure cupped her shoulder, five little pinpricks squeezed gently, furthering her ease. Ladybug smiled at the smirk she couldn't see but knew was plastered on his face.

Chat removed his hand – paw? claws? – from her frame but continued to tug on her wrist. They started to move through the aisle and then down the walkway of what Ladybug supposed to be toward the stage, judging by the downward slope. Chat was walking ahead of her, Ladybug gripping his hand like a lifeline in the all-consuming darkness. To fight the uneasiness threatening to plague her again, Ladybug tried to return to the banter they normally fell into.

"Akuma problems?" She snorted in dramatic derision. "Non, Chaton. I don't believe I have any idea what you're talking about." He hummed a laugh in reply, squeezing her hand at the same time.

Speaking of…

There was one thing she needed answered before she forgot.

Ladybug pulled on Chat's hand and they stopped, the tug loosening enough that Ladybug knew Chat had turned to look at her.

"You…uh…" Ladybug shifted her weight uncomfortably. "You didn't see me before, well, just now, did you?"

"What? I – no?" His answer sounded like a question. "Should I have? I was a little busy...?"

A sigh left her body, and Ladybug almost smiled in relief.

"Nope, you're good! Now, what are we dealing with, Chat?"

"I don't really…know? He's like a phantom – moves through walls and stuff – we won't be able to latch onto him."

"Yeah...I kinda got the gist of that like, ten minutes ago." Ladybug bit her lip, thinking about previous Akumas and if they had fought anything like this before. To her memory, they hadn't. "Did you see the Akumatized item by chance?"

Chat had her by the hand again. He started to lead her up the small staircase – she only stumbled once and only banged her shin minorly, so she was going to tally that as a victory – to the stage while she asked her questions. Before he could answer the last one, however, Ladybug spit out another.

"Where are we going? Is he up here?"

"Yes, he is."

Maybe it was the tone of these words. Maybe it was the way Chat's grip on her wrist tightened to a degree it never had before. But, most likely, it was how Chat yelled out "Cataclysm!" right in front of her face. That was probably the moment when Ladybug realized she had temporarily lost her partner to the Akuma's influence.

The brightness of Chat's activated power blinded Ladybug for a moment. Not that she could see anything anyway, but the bright spots dancing on the inside of her eyelids now was a little distracting. Especially when the superheroine was trying very hard not to personally find out what Cataclysm would actually do to a living thing. It normally wasn't an easy task, evading Chat Noir like this. Even when the pair of them were acting out this scenario during a sparring session – something he insisted on doing…and apparently for good reason – he was a formidable opponent. It was a tough reality check that, despite these practices, Ladybug found herself grossly unprepared to face the real thing.

…again.

Though, really, Dark Cupid's Hateful Kitten didn't even come close to Possessed Puss here. This Chat Noir was a lot bigger, and a whole lot musclier, than the scrawny kid that had come after her at age 15.

Chat Noir still held her wrist in a bone-crushing grasp. The claws weren't making it easy to tear away from him, either; every time Ladybug tried to twist free, the sharp points dug into her suit like needles…which made actually landing a hit on him rather difficult as well. With movements so limited, the pair looked more like a couple who were failing miserably at some sort of do-se-do rather than an epic battle.

Ladybug grunted in frustration when her kick hit nothing but air once more. This time, though, the proximity of her perfectly pointed toe made Chat-Wannabe flinch. There was a millisecond where his hold slackened, and Ladybug, not one to miss an opportunity, stole her chance. She dove through his legs, then used his still unrelenting grip on her to pull him face first into the ground.

The loud slap as nose met hardwood was extremely satisfying.

There was no time to celebrate though. Chat Fake was probably already getting to his feet. Ladybug skittered around the stage without a destination. She flung her yo-yo upward in a hopeful petition to luck…but it found no purchase. The yo-yo smacked back to the ground behind her in a series of bangs before Ladybug yanked it back, teeth grinding in continued situational annoyance. It was darkness everywhere she looked, except behind her. From there came the eerie green glow that made the shadows in front of her seem even darker than they had been before.

She needed a way out. She needed some type of commotion or distraction or –

"Yeeeeee!"

The squeal was Ladybug's way of telling the world that she had found the edge of the stage.

Thankfully, it really was small – just a few feet down – but in her stumbling, Chat had caught up to her. His hurried steps brought Ladybug's head up, where it smacked against what must have been one of the theater chairs. The squeak of leather against wood – a pounce from the stage – !

Without questioning if she would even fit, Ladybug promptly stuffed herself under a theater chair.

For the second time that day, Chatkuma's face met hardwood.

The wooden seats around Ladybug scraped at every edge of her body; her form filled the tiny space between the flipped chair bottoms and the floor.

It…wasn't the worst way she'd escaped from an Akuma. Not the best, but, though considerably tight, it was quicker than she thought. The combination of slick suit and vinyl flooring made penguin-esque belly travel possible. When matched with the fingers of her gloved hands and their Spiderman-like grip, the result was a relatively easy penguin-esque belly slide through the pitch-black maze of chairs in the darkness.

And once Ladybug did figure out there was a pattern to the seating configuration, she was able to propel herself through several rows at once.

Which was good, since Chat hadn't remained dazed or confused. He must have figured out she was still under the theater seats. That would account for the thunk – thunk – thunk of what she assumed was a catboy leaping row to row behind her…and then in front of her. At the sudden change, Ladybug gripped the chairs she was currently under hard. Her body stopped instantly, and her pursuer's sounds continued to get farther away from her. She immediately scrunched herself up, trying to make herself as small as possible in her hiding place. It was the break she needed, the one minute to just think…and not about how extremely claustrophobic she was feeling right now….and maybe a little –

No, not scared. Ladybug didn't get scared. Angry, possessive, oppressive, and, maybe, occasionally frazzled. But not scared. Especially not around Chat Noir. Not when he – and, well, Paris – were kinda depending on her not having that particular feeling.

Ladybug took a deep breath. When she let it out, the all-to-familiar crackling of raw destructive power was the only thing she could hear over her own ragged breathing.

…still not scared.

Really.

It wasn't an entirely hopeless situation! What she needed was to stop thinking about what she definitely was not and think of a plan to get out of this mess! Or, at least out of this stupid, dark auditorium.

Then, for the first time since their fight had legitimately started, the Imposta-Noir spoke.

"You know, My Lady," came Chat's low purr of a voice. "I can see quite a bit about the two of you here, in your boyfriend's head."

Don't get distracted, Ladybug reminded herself, now working her way through the seats as silently as possible. Her plan was half-formulated, which was about as good as it got these days, so it was time to put it into action. A squeak of a seat came from a closer vicinity than before, and Ladybug froze in her escape. She didn't want to disturb this guy's monologue. She was counting on it lasting as long as possible, now that he'd actually begun talking.

"Like…how you were making out in a closet instead of coming after me earlier."

Ladybug gritted her teeth again, ignoring the smile she could hear in this creep's voice.

"Or how you were making out again right outside this room." He barked out a dark laugh. "I find it rather offensive you didn't take me seriously…not like anyone else does, though."

The sentence was punctuated with a low growl.

The feel of carpet through her suit told Ladybug she had finally reached the edge of the chairs. She lifted herself up off her belly and onto all fours, then started up the sloped walkway. Her shoulder brushed lightly against the chairs as she passed. This she did on purpose. Not only did it give her some sort of idea of where she was, but it maintained some sort of barrier between herself and her superhero partner. It was all in hopes of not being noticed before she was ready to be. Chat Noir had night vision, sure, but he didn't have x-ray vision.

(Unless he did have the power to turn on some type of x-ray vision. If he did, she and Tikki would be having words.)

"He likes the way you taste, by the way," the Akuma-Chat continued, voice back to wicked suavity. "I can see it all here, in his head. Argh! LADY-LADYBUG!"

Ladybug had to clamp her hand over her mouth to keep from screaming. That had been Chat's – her Chat's! – voice. A shudder pulsed through her, but she removed her hand and forced herself to keep moving. It was good, he was still in there! He was okay –

The Chat-kuma cried out again, and then started to laugh – loud.

"He's a strong fighter, isn't he!?" The voice was closer now...and growing a little manic. For whatever reason the Akuma had dropped from the chair backs, the soft padding of boots on carpet only audible because of the suppressive silence. Ladybug tried to move faster, but found her limbs were trembling.

"But then, oh my! Ha-ha! Ohhh, Ladybug, here is something interesting!"

She wasn't panting. Ladybug didn't pant, like a dog. Her breathing grew a little labored at times, like when she was thinking about how fresh the memories were of them finally being out in the open and fully "revealed" to each other and how, if this guy could "read minds", it wouldn't seem like a far stretch to assume he would be able to see just who Ladybug and Chat Noir really were…and let Hawkmoth in on the secret. So here Ladybug was, crouched behind the final row of chairs, not panting. The grip on her yo-yo now clutched protectively in her hands tightened and released a few times as she tried to steady her nerves.

There was a glitch in Ladybug's plan. Originally, for it to work, the Akuma needed to keep talking. That was the only way Ladybug could get closer to him without being noticed. But it seemed like the more he talked – or the more time he had Chat's head to himself – the more likely the possibility seemed for him to unearth a lot more incriminating details about their lives than inappropriately-timed make-out sessions.

Chat's laughter suddenly filled the cavernous space again, becoming less heroic-sounding and delving into the downright sinister.

He was getting closer.

"You two actually do date, don't you!? These little mental images…little memory snippets he has in here…ha! They're, oh gosh, they're just so adorable, M'Lady!"

The crackling got louder…but that didn't seem to matter to Ladybug anymore. Indignation had started to push out every other feeling and emotion. Fights with Akuma and Hawkmoth had always been objective for her, a job to get done, a city to save and protect. But this? This was now personal.

And hell hath no fury like a Ladybug scorned.

"Dinners on rooftops…stargazing on la Tour Eiffel…kissing under the mistletoe…sparring by the Seine…Oh, and get this!"

Those were their experiences, and Adrien's memories! A life they had built together!

"Did you know, Miss Bug, that during your little sparring sessions, your little minou here actually pulls his punches!?"

Everything – EVERYTHING – in Ladybug's mind came to a screeching halt.

[[ YIKES! Do you see – DO YOU SEE WHERE THIS IS GOING!?

Nope. You have NO. IDEA. ;D

Ok, but, seriously…

I, uh, I LOVE you guys. :3

Like…er…like a LOT, a lot.

Eh hem. Anyway! Questions? Comments? Random facts about anything?

(Want a preview or a spoiler for this or another story?)

ASK MEEEEEEEEEE C;

(Oh my gooossshhh how I've missed this! Missed YYYOOOUUU! YES YOU! :DDDD)

As always, THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR ALL YOUR POSITIVITY! YOU ALL HELPED ME THROUGH SOME TOUGH CRAP AND I APPRECIATE YYOOOUUU! :DDDDDDDDDD

<3Maki ]]

[pearlybae]

I was told by several friends and tumblr users that my Fisher the Voidfish cosplay from The Adventure Zone was being shared uncredited via pintrest and tumblr, so I hurried to put out my big compilation post faster than I usually do. I would very much appreciate it if everyone could reblog this version of the post, instead of any other post floating around that doesn’t correctly credit the costume back to me!! As an artist and a fan, it was incredibly hurtful that this happened. Although the original reposter has apologized profusely for this and properly credited me afterwards, it’s incredibly difficult to undo the damage that results from the reposting of any uncredited image in a large fandom. 

All photos in this post are taken by either myself, scribblesafterdark, or by cowbuttcrunchies!! My darling Magnus is the other half of cowbuttcrunchies. I would also like to take this time to shoutout to my friend automb, who provided endless support with this costume and helped me with cutting and trimming all the tentacles on Fisher’s dress. They also made Junior for me under my guidance, while I was going nutso over the rest of the costume. 

Thank you again to everyone who commented and tagged me on the other post, and I hope that everyone reblogs this version instead!!! As usual, more information about my work process will be under the cut, so if you’re interested in that kind of thing, read on! 💙 

Now, I was one of the last people in my friend group to get into and catch up to TAZ, and they had all been planning to cosplay TAZ to an upcoming convention as a large group. By the time I caught up, (right before the finale!!!!!) most of the characters were snatched up and we had three weeks left before the con. I was indifferent to any particular character (I loved them all equally, not that I didn’t like any) up until I heard the Voidfish’s song to Magnus about her baby. I fell in love right there and made the incredibly rash and stupid decision to make a Voidfish costume of my own design in the three weeks before Dragon*Con. 

With the design process I basically knew exactly what I wanted to do from the beginning. I didn’t want to create a jellyfish inspired dress, I wanted to BE a magical space jellyfish. I avoided any decisions to make my skirt into a jellycap because it would detract from being a creature’s silhouette into being a very human one. The decision to make a headpiece instead of using an umbrella was also intentional; I wanted my hands free for posing and to hold Junior, and any wooden ducks that came my way!! 

The dress base I used is made from cotton sateen and is my own pattern I drafted to fit my curves. I have a difficult body type to shop for and most commercial patterns don’t fit me without heavy alterations, so it’s much easier for me to create my own from scratch. It’s scoop necked dress with princess seams and a skirt that is hemmed slightly higher in the front than in the back. This was an intentional choice to reflect the decisions I made with the jellycap, in that I knew I wanted the cap to be balanced off center and at an angle instead of being parallel to the floor. 

Once I had the dress made and added boning to the bodice, I used my airbrush and went over the whole dress to give it a galaxy aurora borealis effect. While the dress was wet in between layers, I sprinkled some coarse salt on the dress to get that sort of organic mottled look on my fabric. It was a risk that worked incredibly well in my favor after the dyes dried!! 

The tentacles were all organza cut in spirals and serged on all sides. The fabric I used the most of was this glimmery, purple holographic organza from the little girls Halloween costume aisle in JoAnn’s, and supplemented with anything I found stored in my basement leftover from previous costumes! 

My pride and joy and possibly the coolest item I have ever made is my jellycap!! 💙  The whole structure is a kind of cage formed from wire and Terraflex (if you follow any of my previous posts you all know that I use Terraflex over Worbla for its versatility and its availability; I can pick it up in a store near me rather than wait for it to get shipped to me), and shaped in ovals and loopies fused with itself with more Terraflex. The headpiece is very carefully balanced and the center of my head is actually towards the front of the cap, so the back is sloped longer at an angle, and is not a perfectly shaped circular dome. I think it looks much more visually interesting this way, and has the added bonus of looking like a real jellyfish from the back!! 

The frame was gessoed and painted in glow in the dark paint which doesn’t glow as much as I wish it did, but the concept was cool anyways? It was then fully covered with the holographic organza and then stuffed with LEDs and strips of leftover organza. The whole cap is carefully weighted so it stays on my head without any clips!! The only way it falls off my head is if someone bumps into it while I’m walking. Automb made Junior for me the same way I made Fisher’s cap! While I worked on the bigger project, they used leftover scraps of wire and plastic to scrumble my baby together, and any leftover tentacles I had from the dress went straight to Junior. 

The wig I used is an Arda wig!! It’s one of their Candy Stripers in the Nocturne color. I think that covers basically everything? As always, if you have any further questions on my work or want me to clear up any confusions in my wording, please send me an ask and I’ll do my best to reply!!!

[platinumshawnn]

I know you're in there | s.m

Synposis: (y/n)'s sudden sickness raises questions.

A/N: a follow up based prior to strong. Not my best because the ending was rushed sorry??

Word count: 2,368

AUGUST 22 2017

PHILADELPHIA

Hushed bunk bed conversations. They were his favourite kind of conversations because they were sleepy and honest, nose to nose and squeezed into his tiny bunk with a soft fleece blanket she always brought whenever she visited, her bare thighs laced one between his and the other leg hooked over his knees as he had one arm wrapped around her. His fingers threaded gently into her soft hair, pouted lips slightly swollen from tired kisses and cheeks flushed lightly as she attempted to get comfortable, with mumbles of complaint about how uncomfortable his bed was and how the constant bumping and rocking from the big vehicle made her feel nauseous  -- she always struggled to get settled in and accustomed to his tour bus life the first few days and she was only on day two since returning from a small hiatus to return home and see family for a week. He had opened the window slightly to let in some fresh air, the summer night breeze light and drifting through their little space through the thin curtain that cut them off from the rest of the team that was still in the ‘lounge’ area of the bus, an effort to ease the motion sickness that churned her stomach, sending her over the toilet for a good five minutes earlier; spewing out the contents of her dinner. Fresh air sometimes helped -- it was more a natural route which Shawn preferred instead of her relying on the pesky pills she always picked up at drugstores to keep it at bay, downing the bottle like it was gummy bear vitamins and made her drowsy. Despite her frowns and annoyed grumbles of disagreement, she also understood that it was better for her body.

His hand came from the back of her head to gently brush his thumb across her cheek bone, watching as her eyebrows knitted, eyelids twitching and lashes fluttering against the tops of her cheeks as her arm adjusted around his waist. “You feeling any better? Did you drink some water?” He quietly asked, earning a huff in reply.

“Not really.” She answered, hand blindly searching around behind him through the wrinkled sheets to grasp around and find her bottle of water that was still half full, holding it up so he could see it; his brown eyes darting over his shoulder slightly to look. “I’m still working through the bottle Geoff gave me earlier, my stomach just won’t take it.” She complained, her breathing quick little puffs from her mouth; sharp in and out, fanning out across his collarbones.

Shawn turned his attention back to her, sighing. “Oh, honey.” He softly breathed out, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “It’s really bad today, huh?” He murmured. She didn’t speak, just gave a slight nod and gave a slight frustrated whine that was barely audible.

“I can’t keep anything down but I’m hungry and I just feel disgusting.” She explained, a sympathetic look crossing Shawn’s features. “I feel like I smell like vomit, it’s all I taste still.”

“You don’t smell disgusting, baby.” He assured, pressing another kiss to her forehead, his cheek brushing hers as he leaned, arm reaching out from under the blanket to open the curtain a little more to let the breeze circulate the space a little better. He pressed a kiss to her temple, “Did you brush your teeth?”

“I did and the tooth paste didn’t help. Was too strong tasting.” She admitted.

He sighed and flopped back in place, his hand returning from the curtain to cup her cheek, feeling sorry for his poorly girlfriend whose face had since gained back some color from its nearly sheet white state earlier. “Do you want me to arrange something for early in the morning? You should head home early if you’re not feeling too great.” She simply hummed in response, eyes still shut. “Did you maybe pick up something from your brother?” He asked.

She shook her head, blue eyes fluttering open, still glassy. “No, he was fine, he hasn’t been sick in a while.” She answered, looking up at his face.

“Maybe you should go home, get checked out.” He stated, her head quickly shaking rather aggressively, looking on the verge of tears because Shawn knew, knew better than anybody, how terrified she was of doctors offices. Sighing, he raked his hands gently through her hair again at the back of her head, “Baby, you should. I know you don’t like their offices but-”

“Shawn, please.” She begged, weak and voice feeble. “You know…” She drifted and he nodded along.

“I know, I know. But you’ve been like this the past couple weeks, yeah?” He asked for confirmation, but confidently aware because of the texts he’d received from her about her condition; even suggesting a few times maybe she stay home and he would see her once he got home, but no, she’d been stubborn and insisted she come out for his last few shows before he went on break; needed to see him again. He’d caved because he knew she also only slept properly when she was with him lately. “You tried that flu medicine and it didn’t help, we did things your way, now it’s my way. We can wait a few days, I’ll go with you when we get home but you’re going.”

She wanted to argue but was silenced by his eyes, worried and tone stern, serious because she knew he was just as anxious -- it was a bigger deal than she made it out to be, they both suspected. It was more than some flu, it had to be, common sense -- her body was screaming the signs like a world war two air raid siren and she brushed it off as a stomach bug, an easier reason to come to terms with. She whispered out an okay and shut her eyes, his lips coming in contact with her forehead again. “Try and rest a bit, alright?”

He had crept from the bunk after managing to shift their position while she slept, earning a few soft tired protests with her eyes shut, trying to cling to him as tightly as her exhausted limbs could; eyebrows furrowing in her sleep and pouting when he slipped away. He had hovered by just in case to make sure he didn’t disturb her enough to wake her, and despite that he needed rest, he felt she needed it more than him -- he had watched her, observed the way she slept, hugging the pillow beneath her and curled up slightly, lashes tickling her cheeks and breathing softly, sighing. His gaze had flickered down to her abdomen, clothed by one of his shirts, lingering there a moment -- call it a father’s intuition, but something in him knew...knew there was just something…

“How’s she doing?” Andrew suddenly asked, leaning around the doorway of the living space, Geoff craning to see where Shawn still stood; his conversation with Teddy paused to acknowledge him, their voices soft as to not disturb the sleeping girl. Shawn gave her one last glance and then turned, shrugging and making his way towards everyone, his hands skimming the walls to steady himself. “She feeling any better?”

“Not too much, but a little. I think.” He answered, plopping down next to Geoff and leaning his head back. “She drank some water and I suggested maybe she head home early in the morning. Go get checked out but she’s insistent on sticking around for the last show for the next couple of weeks.” The youngest male explained, eyebrows furrowing. He could hear the fake wood creak under Andrew’s weight and the sound of rustling fabric when he sat down across from him, the four silent.

“She really should go see a doctor. It seems like more than a flu.” Geoff honestly piped up after a minute, looking over at Shawn who didn’t want to look because he knew what he meant -- it seemed like everybody around them knew and yet nobody wanted to say it aloud, because they were so young, still so naive and were still struggling to learn their place in the world. Much less who they were. What kind of parents would they be? Shawn wouldn’t deem himself as hopeless and he wanted kids one day, maybe when he was close to his thirties, but hell -- he didn’t want to completely come face to face with the fact that that day may come a lot sooner. Though the possibility stood and he didn’t feel ready.

“No, it’s just a flu.” Shawn lied, shaking his head and looking away from the ceiling of the bus to face his friend. “Her brother had it last week and she accidentally drank from his pop while they were out. It was just a matter of time.” 

They stared back at one another silent for a moment before it was dropped and Geoff nodded, turning his attention back to Teddy who had a guitar in his lap; trying to sort of chords for a new song.

AUGUST 23 2017

BOSTON

He almost got caught up in the strap of his guitar and tripped, she saw it. It brought a small smile to her face, watching as he managed to move it out of the way before he could fall, prevent an inevitable doom that would probably break the guitar strapped around him as he headed towards the edge of the stage, the mic being held up momentarily to allow the crowd to sing, a wide smile on his face. He was incredible at what he did -- so passionate about what he did and it was only one of the many things she had come to love and admire most about him. How hard he worked and yet still remained so genuine and sweet, even when he was beyond stressed and even exhausted.

Shawn had been up late because of her --up well past 3 A.M. because she had woken up to nausea again and spent a good forty minutes holding back her hair as she hunched over the toilet. Opened the window to get the smell of vomit out of the his and made sure she drank some water and ate a little something, just so she at least had something in her stomach before she went to back to bed and tried to get some rest. She could feel him still shifting around and could feel his eyes on her, knew he was nowhere near tired because he was too worried to sleep. So she could only imagine how exhausted he was right now, knew his showtime adrenaline would konk out the minute he got in the car. She listened as the song final closed out and he quickly made his way off the stage, buzzing with excitement and broadly smiling as he made his way down the stairs, handing Geoff his guitar as he was then handed a towel to wipe his face. She stood back to take in the very sight of him, observed the way his eyes lit up as the whole group commented how good he had done out there and joking around; using the towel to playfully whip his friends as they all nudged each other.

(Y/N) kept her hands by her waist as she waited, allowing him his moment and leaning against the wall as she was suddenly hit by a pang of nausea. She took a deep breath just as his gaze turned towards her and he immediately pushed his way through his team to come greet her, arms wrapping around her midsection to pull her into a hug that he briefly lifted her during. She must have made more a gagging sound than a surprised grunt because he suddenly set her down and released her, eyes wide. “Sorry. You’re not feeling any better, are you?” He asked.

She sheepishly smiled, shrugging. “I'm okay. Not all there but...a little better.” She answered.

“Can someone grab me a water?” He asked, glancing over his shoulder as one of the girls nodded and rushed off to grab one. He looked back and cupped her face, “Here, let's get you back on the bus. Have some of that peppermint leaf tea, yeah?”

She sighed. “Shawn, I'm fine.”

He retrieved the water bottle that was handed to him soon, cracking it open and bringing it to her lips for a small sip which she reluctantly took. “Shawn! We still on for dinner with the team?” both teenagers had turned to spot Teddy, speaking in unison.

“No.”

“Yes.”

Shawn looked down at her, his voice stern as he repeated himself. “No. We're heading home early, you need to rest.” He explained.

Her eyebrows furrowed. “Yeah, I need to rest. Go spend time with your team, Shawn, I'll be fine.” she said gently nudging him towards his friends and letting out a deep breath as she then closed her eyes, “I'll be on the bus, don't worry about me. I'll see you later. Go have fun.” she said opening her eyes. Shawn evidently hesitated, an uncertain look in his eyes as he eyed her, contemplating it before she nudged him again.

“Shawn? You coming?”

With a stutter, he glanced back. “Uh, yeah just…” he drifted, looking back at her. “You sure you're okay?”

She covered her mouth as she burped and nodded. “I'm good, I just need res-...” she drifted, suddenly hunching over slightly and vomiting up a mouthful of lunches contents onto the floor between them and some on his shoes. The group was startled as Shawn grabbed her hair to hold it back with a yelp of ‘whoa, shit.’

“(Y/N), hey.” Andrew suddenly piped up as she weakly clutched onto Shawn, be if led aside from the spot while Andrew hurried over with a napkin for her as she was lowered to sit down in a nearby chair. “you okay?” He asked, crouching in front of her while Shawn rubbed her back soothingly.

“Uh…” she stammered, shaking her head and glancing over at Shawn who wearily eyed her. “No. I think something is wrong, guys…” she quietly answered, glancing away to look at Andrew again. 

[kristsune]

All 99 asks for NJ + does he get a happy ending to his story?

omg nonnie, this is … a lot. answering under a cut because this is huge. Thank you for asking about my sweet pilot son <3 

1. What do they smell like? He smells a bit like grease and that slight hot electric smell when dealing with a lot of electronics. There is also always an underlying scent of vanilla.

2. What is their voice like? He’s rather soft spoken and gentle, but there is a confidence there and steel behind his words when he needs there to be.

3. What is their biggest motivator? To protect his brothers, and end the war as soon as possible.

4. What is their most embarrassing memory? There was one time when Rex caught him in the middle of a dare from Hardcase.

5. How do they deal with/react to pain? He takes it and deals with it. His dizzy spells can turn into headaches and even migraines, but he refuses to tell the medics about them so he deals with them as best he can. But it means he has a pretty high tolerance.

6. What do they like to wear? He loves his flight suit, it’s comfy and it feels right. (in many modern aus he is an unintentional hipster.)

7. Which of their relationships have impacted them most positively? Caliber is his best friend, she supports him so much. Kix and Jesse are practically dads to him, and protect him the best they can. Anomaly is extremely special to him, lifts him up like no other.

8. What’s the weirdest thing they’ve ever eaten? NJ loves to try unusual foods when he can when planetside. And where he definitely respects other people’s cultures he is definitely not eating a Yalvik queen stinger again, no matter how much they are considered a delicacy.

9. Describe the way that they sleep. He tends to sleep curled up on his side, not taking up a lot of space. He sleeps in his cockpit as often as not, so scrunched up is normal.

10. What is their favorite food/kind of food? He loves anything with flavor. Honestly just about anything is better than the flavorless, badly textured osik they had on Kamino.

11. What do they feel most insecure about? They aren’t terribly insecure about a lot, but they are shy, and many would take that as being insecure. That being said, he doesn’t love showing off his body in a public situation, being smaller and having unusual mutations for a clone, he tends to not want to make a show of himself.

12. How do they like to dress? Isn’t this super similar to 6? But he loves to wear soft comfortable clothes when he can.

13. How do they react to feelings of guilt? He carries it like a weight on his shoulders.

14. How do they react to/deal with betrayal? Someone close to him betraying him would cut him to the bone. When he trusts, its with his entire being. It would gut him to be betrayed)

15. What is their greatest achievement? One of the bigger ones was managing to tune his fighter enough to get it going faster than Anakin’s.

16. What are they like when they’ve gotten too little sleep? It happens more often than not. He tends to just get more quiet and isolated, but when talking to him, you really wouldn’t be able to tell.

17. What are they like when they’re drunk? He doesn’t get much more than a pleasant buzz when he drinks, but when he gets there, it tends to be very giggly and happy.

18. What kind of music do they enjoy? He loves a variety of music, but anything uplifting with a happy edge, basically great flying music, is what he goes for.

19. Are they right or left handed? Ambidextrous.

20. Fears? Not being able to fly, losing those closest to him. The war never coming to an end.

21. Favorite kind of weather? Clear bright skies, perfect for flying

22. Favorite color? Blue, it waffles between 501st, sky blue, and the blue grey of Anomaly’s  eye.

23. Do they collect anything? Nothing in particular, but he does love picking up a stray feather here or there.

24. Do they prefer either hot or cold weather more? Cold is always better for flying, though cool is better than straight up cold.

25. What is their eye color? Light golden amber

26. What is their race/ethnicity? Maori

27. Hair color? Dirty blonde

28. Are they happy where they are currently? They are able to fly, and protect his brothers and the people of the Republic. Would he prefer there to not be a war? Yes, but is this is as good as it gets)

29. Are they a morning person? Yes. He can sleep in if needed, but he can be up early too.

30. Sunrise or sunset? Answered here 

31. Are they more messy or more organized? He’s mostly organized, sometimes things will pile up and he has to take time to clean up, but it never really gets out of control

32. Pet peeves? Loud chewing, putting down others for no reason other than being mean

33. Do they own any objects of significant personal importance? Technically he doesn’t own it, but his fighter. He has modified it enough, he considers it his own.

34. Least favorite food? The flavorless protein meals on Kamino

35. Least favorite color? He loves all colors, but if he had to choose, it would probably be blood red, he’s just seen too much of it for his own liking.

36. Least favorite smell? Electrical fire

37. When was the last time they cried? Also found here

38. Were they with anybody the last time they cried? Very likely with either Caliber or Jesse, they both are very good at comforting him when he is upset (the best hugs)

39. Tell us about one of the times they got injured? Being a pilot, he actually hasn’t received too many injuries. Being shot down generally ended in explosions or being sucked into the vacuum of space, so minor injuries weren’t as common, though he has had his share of minor injuries as a cadet.

40. Do they have any scars? Nothing major to speak of.

41. Do they struggle with any mental health issues? Many of the same that anyone who has been through a traumatic war has to deal with

42. Do they have any bad habits? He likes to forget to eat or drink enough, especially when in the hangarbay working on his fighter.

43. Why might someone dislike them? Because he’s a mutie, there are definitely clones that are biased against them, also because he is a pilot, and there are those that don’t think the pilots are real soldiers.

44. Why might someone love them? Because they are sweet and caring and wonderful. They are loyal and fierce and will fight for those he cares about.

45. Do they believe in ghosts? Yes, they are absolutely sensitive to all of that.

46. Is there anyone they would trust with their lives? Anomaly, Caliber, Kix, Jesse, much of the 501st tbh, at the very least all of Torrent.

47. Are they romantically interested in anyone? Anomaly, and later Killer.

48. Are they dating/married to anyone? Anomaly, and later Killer

49. Do they like surprises? Happy surprises? Sure. Not happy surprises. No. not so much.

50. When is their birthday? N/A

51. How do they usually celebrate their birthday? N/A

52. Do they have any family? He considers his closes vode his family

53. Are they close to their family? Extremely

54. What is their MBTI type? I am shit at this and i have no idea tbqh lol

55. What is their zodiac sign? N/A

56. What Hogwarts House would they be in? Hufflepuff most likely, maybe Ravenclaw.

57. What D&D alignment are they? Neutral good

58. Do they ever have nightmares? If so, what about? Crashing his fighter, losing his brothers/those closest to him. His brothers turning on all they believed in and killing those they loved best.

59. What are their views on death? It is just the next stage in whatever world they are in. though he would still like to stay alive as long as he can, to be with those he loves

60. What is something that they’re sure to laugh at? Caliber’s jokes, and Anomaly’s cheesy pickup lines he likes to tease him with.

61. When bored, how do they pass time? He loves working on anything mechanical. Tinkering is his favorite thing to do. Lacking that, he does love to read.

62. Do they enjoy being outside? Absolutely.

63. Do they have an accent? The same as most clones, New Zealand

64. Upon seeing a slice of chocolate cake, what is their first reaction? If he knows its for him, he will absolutely fall into that, if there is someone with him he would offer to share

65. If they knew they were going to die, what would they do/say? He would wish he could say goodbye to those he loves, and make sure his last act is saving as many brothers as he can

66. How do they feel about sex? He likes it, he likes to have fun with it, but really only has sex with those he has at least some sort of relationship/acquaintance with. He doesn’t really do casual sex.

67. What is their sexuality? Bi/Pan but heavily leaning towards masculine presenting

68. Do they become squeamish at the sight of blood? No. He’s seen too much by this point

69. Is there anything that they find really gross? He hates wet hair in a clogged drain. Makes him gag. (honestly the biggest downside to his long hair)

70. Which TV Trope(s) best describes them? I am… honestly not sure how to answer this

71. Do they enjoy helping people? Absolutely, core to his being.

72. Are they allergic to anything? I have a feeling the Kaminoans probably tried to modify the clones to try and make sure that happens, but who knows. He hasn’t run into any problems so far

73. Do they have a pet? No. He wouldn’t feel good about keeping something he can’t be there for all the time.

74. Are they quick to anger? What are they like when they loose their temper? No. It takes quite a bit to get him there. But when he does? He is ruthless to make sure you know what you did and pay for it. (aka the fic i wrote Force of Gold)

75. How patient are they? Most of the time, he is pretty patient, but if something is giving him anxiety it shortens quickly

76. Are they good at cooking? He’s not bad, but he’s also not great. He can do super basics, like boil a pot of pasta (makes either way too much or not nearly enough) He can (mostly) not burn things.

77. Favorite insult? Do they insult people often? He isn’t big on insults. They absolutely have a place in his vocabulary, but you have to earn them from him, usually by being a dick.

78. How do they act when they’re particularly happy? He smiles and laughs often. It’s absolutely infectious, and he just lights up from within

79. What do they do when they learn about other people’s fears? If they were told to him in confidence, he would keep that secret to the grave.

80. Are they trustworthy? Very.

81. Do they try to hide their emotions? Are they good at it? Yes and Mostly. Those that know him well can read him pretty well.

82. Do they exercise regularly? Yes, but nothing super intense.

83. Are they comfortable with the way they look? He can be self conscious about it, but he does love his mutations and the way he looks. He started to grow out his hair very early on because he loved it so much and it felt right.

84. What are some physical features that they find attractive on people? Long hair, lean muscle, beautiful eyes (especially mismatched ones)

85. What kind of personalities do they find attractive? (Kind and caring, even if its hidden underneath.)

86. Do they like sweet foods? Yes, Not overly sweet, but he definitely likes them

87. What is their age? Excellent question that I do not have the answer for, he’s definitely a younger clone, deployed later in the war

88. Are they tall or short or somewhere in between? He’s a bit shorter and leaner like most pilots

89. Do they wear glasses or contacts? No

90. Do they consider themselves attractive? Yes, maybe not as much as others see him, but he can definitely see it.

91. What is their sense of humor like? All over the place, depending on his mood, but he loves jokes and silliness between friends.

92. What mood are they most often in? Focused, on his work or flying.

93. What kinds of things anger them? Bullies, people being nasty for no reason

94. Outlook on life? Generally pretty positive, though he does have his low moments.

95. What kind of things make them sad/depressed? Losing brothers, the ongoing war

96. What is their greatest weakness? He trusts pretty easily, and can be led to believe things that he probably shouldn’t

97. What is the greatest strength? His abilities with mechanics and his fighter, an excellent pilot

98. Something that they regret? Not being able to save more of his brothers

99. Biggest accomplishment? Isn’t this basically 15?

100. Create your own! Nonnie asked: does he get a happy ending to his story: I mean? Yes? In the cyuane verse him and Anomaly get away and eventually join the rebellion, but they are alone. Sooo it or miss? He’s alive, and not completely alone, and they eventually find some level of happiness, but is it happy specifically not entirely.

[narusetami]

19/04/15, hogsmeade

It was her birthday tomorrow. Finally. She was excited about being seventeen- not just because she could now belt Dancing Queen and truly feel as though the song was about her- and all that being seventeen would bring. She doubted she’d feel older, of course, but after half a year of studying apparition she was excited to have the freedom to apparate whenever she liked, she could learn to drive too and the trace would be gone so, to some extent, she felt as though the world was getting just a little bit bigger for her. Which was brilliant.

Her parents gifts would probably arrive by breakfast tomorrow but before that her birthday would be a day like any other, Mondays were hardly her favourite day of the week but she was more than a little determined to make her birthday a good one- maybe just a little bit because Sonder had predicted it wouldn’t be. She did rather enjoy celebrating herself on rare occasions. Hence why she was in Hogsmeade, while the elves were excellent with all things food they couldn’t be expected to make cakes for every individual student on their birthdays, and Madam Puddifoot was kind enough to take requests for those who bothered to ask or were willing to pay for the service. They were damn good too, this year Tami had requested a red velvet cake, it was a single tier with tiny white buttercream leaves decorated around the cake’s edge, and the top presented the message ‘Happy Birthday, Tami!’ in the centre, iced in a pale pink with sugar cherry blossom petals framing it. A little more elegant that last year, for she thought the situation called for it, but regardless it would taste amazing and make a wonderful breakfast.

Even on a Sunday the shop was busy, the weather was mild outside but within the shop the air was warm and filled with chatter, the atmosphere was always a little overwhelming with all the couples who flocked there. They shared cakes, sipped steaming beverages from delicate cups, gazed at each other across small tables, reached cautiously to hold hands under the table or whisper sweet nothing’s to each other as though the world outside the two of them didn’t seem to exist. It was nice, Tami thought, perhaps a little too cliche to be what she would consider actually romantic but she could see why cakes and tea drew couples in- that and the added bonus of being safely tucked away from the often crisp Scottish weather. She might’ve stayed for a while too, had some tea and spent some time in her own company, but there was homework she still had to do and a quick detour she had to take before heading back to the castle. No time for cake and tea today. So when Madam Puddifoot presented her with a plain pale pink box, with her birthday cake inside, she paid the remainder of her bill and tucked the box away in the bag she’d brought as carefully as possible before thanking and bidding the woman farewell.

It was a nice day actually, not as cold as it had been at the start of the school year, she wouldn’t need the scarf that was at the bottom of her bag, she even felt a little silly in the thick jumper and jacket she’d worn- she could’ve easily exchanged the jumper for a t-shirt and still been perfectly fine- but she was in too good a mood to dwell on such things. Instead she gently swung her bag by her side as she walked towards the edges of town, the roads always crunched more under foot when they turned from solid rock to frosted path and trees began spilling out either side of the route. Tami had always liked it, the quiet of the woods running off from Hogsmeade, the path towards the drop off where the Shrieking Shack loomed in the distance, she had laughed when she heard that people had often believed it was haunted. Tami thought it was magic. In her very first year she’d come trudging down the path and ran to where the fence stopped people from wandering too far towards the slope of the land, she’d looked across to where the Shrieking Shack stood tall, sucked in a deep breath and then screamed at it. A hearty yell, at the top of her lungs, it carried with it all of her worried for that first term of school and she’d felt as though the wind had picked up all those things and taken them to the rotting building to keep. The only thing that haunted that house were memories, people’s pain and frustration, she thought there was something awfully sad about a house carrying such a burden but it had always made her feel better to grasp the fence and shout out to it. She felt as though the Shrieking Shack could hold her pain for her, or at least feel her frustration at the world and bare some of the weight, so of course she intended to yell a lot before her birthday this year.

When the trees began to clear and the path widened a smile broke across her face and she ran the remaining distance, skidding rather than stopping at the fence, colliding right into it and letting out a shaky laugh as the wind was almost knocked out of her. She released her hold on her bag for the time being, pushing onto her tip toes and holding tight onto the fence instead, as usual the Shrieking Shack was standing in all it’s glory in the distance.

“Long time no see!”

Her voice was caught and washed away in the wind completely, lost before it had chance to echo, but she smiled all the same. It was the wind that made the Shrieking Shack shriek these days, all those rotten walls and floors, sometimes the weather was so bad that the whole thing seemed to sway as if it could blow away any second, she knew when it whistled and sang it was nothing more than the air passing through but it still made her smile wider and her hair stand on end.

“I’m going to be seventeen soon! I’m going to be better next year! I’ll make sure to be stronger and shout louder, maybe I’ll come and see you for real some time soon!”

When she said it like that, bellowed it from her lungs, she almost believed it. It was easier said than done, after everything that had happened, she wanted to truly think that things would be different this year and the world would change but waiting was taxing. People would possibly call her impatient but that wasn’t it, it just mattered a lot, when it was young people and your future- your possible children and grandchildren’s future- that seemed to be held in the hands of people who didn’t really care about it.

But she would try to change things, of course, one step at a time.

“I hope I can visit Japan this year! I hope I do well on future tests! I hope my cake is as delicious in reality as it is in my head!” The last one made her laugh, the air in her lungs was so cold and wild that it made her eyes water, her hair whipped about her face and for good measure she sucked in another breath before shouting out a proud warrior cry- a final message for the building that whistled back at her.

She settled back on the ground properly, her feet aching slightly for having been stood on her tip toes for an extended period, and her gaze lingered longingly in the distance even when her grip released from the fence. She watched the Shrieking Shack even as she lent down to grab her bag again, and sighed when she finally, and reluctantly, turn away from the drop off and back towards the path.

She only took a step before she was stilled.

“Thought so, I thought I recognised you!”

“Excuse me?”

“Tamiko Naruse, right?”

He knew her name. There was nothing wrong with that, she supposed, lots of people knew her in the town considering she’d been popping in for six years. Tami was never really shy, she struck up conversations with people all the time, liked to chime in on hot topics and spread information about one of her many causes. She never forgot a face, but she didn’t recognise his. Couldn’t properly see his. There was a scarf wrapped around his face, pulled right up to his nose, and a hat pulled down over his eyes. He was stood where the path still had some shape and there was decent space between them, she couldn’t guarantee she’d know him from the distance even if he wore less. But he knew her, there was no denying it, someone who wasn’t sure wouldn’t be stood the way he was, oozing confidence. He was taller than her by at least a foot, hands tucked into his jacket pockets, feet apart and stance relaxed. That could be any number of people she’d run into in town, it wasn’t unusual for people to be taller than her, it wasn’t unusual for people to wrap up warm either.

Though the day was nicer.

“You are Tamiko Naruse, aren’t you?” He took a step forward then, she noticed fleetingly that the question wasn’t unknowing, he asked as if jogging her memory rather than being unsure of the actual answer. Her hair was still on end. “You’re the kid- the one who staged the protest for that Foley character?”

Oh.

“Sorry, yes, I-”

“I knew it, quite incredible, they mentioned it in the papers. I read about you.”

“Oh, it wasn’t all that impressive, it’s not as though I did it all alone, there was a lot of support so I can’t really take all the credit.”

And she hadn’t. She hadn’t taken any credit, she’d read the article when it came out, it didn’t even mention her name. That doesn’t mean anything. Anyone could ask around Hogsmeade and find out she was the one who organised things, it wasn’t anything new, she was known for this sort of thing so finding out she was connected to the protest would be easy.

Ah, her hair was still on end.

“Still, to put that together for your professor, takes some real guts to do something like that. I was very impressed, a lot of people were, it’d be great to hear more about the work you’ve done- or any future work you have ideas for- if you have time?”

She did have time, of course she did, students headed back from Hogsmeade early from time to time but it would be hours yet before the professors rounded up any stragglers and made sure everyone was back at the castle. If she didn’t arrive back at the castle now, no one would pay it any mind, a thought which occurred to her in a tangle of other thoughts and made her heart rattle against her rib cage. This was so stupid, she was just paranoid, it wasn’t as though she hadn’t talked to strangers before- though her parents had drummed ‘stranger danger’ into her head she had never been worried about talking to people. No, she’d never felt like this, she’s spent her childhood around vampires with blood under their nails and centuries behind their eyes but she’d never felt the need to run.

“That’s really nice of you but I actually can’t stay long, I have plans later so I’m expected back at school.” Was her voice steady? She couldn’t tell, she couldn’t even hear herself, just her heart thudding in her chest. If she was going to lie she’d have to do better. So she inhaled slowly and took a few confident steps forward, laughing as she did and adding lightly, “If I don’t get back soon my presence will be sorely missed.”

There, that was easy. Now she just had to walk, right past the stranger, right back down the path, right back to Hogsmeade. Maybe she could skip? It wasn’t like she wasn’t prone to occasionally skipping, skipping was faster than walking, she could just skip ahead, until she was around the bend, then she could run.

She could do it.

“That’s sweet, and it’s also what we’re counting on, right?”

She’d crossed half the space between them already but his words stilled her, not even his words but the cock of his head, the glance behind her, the rattling of fence that she could’ve passed off as wind had the soft thud of feet hitting the ground not followed. Swallowing thickly she dared a glance over her shoulder and a funny feeling came over her, it wasn’t often her heart managed to jump into her throat and drop at the same time, twisting her stomach up with nausea. She didn’t know the second stranger either, they were dressed similarly and their face hidden but somehow she just knew they were unknown to her, and she knew it didn’t matter. Her legs were jelly. She couldn’t run on jelly legs. She couldn’t do a lot of things, apparently. She couldn’t have seen this coming- except, no, maybe that wasn’t true. People told themselves that bad things couldn’t be predicted to make themselves feel better, as if somehow leaving terrible things up to fate made them less unbearable, but at some point she had known. At some point it had dawned on her, quietly but surely, that this wasn’t a situation she was just going to walk out of. She didn’t need any veela senses to have told her that, though perhaps they would’ve come in handy, maybe if she’d tapped into them more she could’ve read their intentions earlier. That wouldn’t do either, maybe that was worse, she thought back to those broken bodies at Halloween and wondered if they’d felt it all in the end. If the weight of someone else’s hatred had crushed them on the inside, causing more damage than even the outside would show.

No, she was glad she couldn’t feel it, because she needed to focus. She needed to think clearly right now, despite the nature of her people Tami had always preferred to be lead by her mind than her emotions, she prided herself on solving challenges whenever she faced them and this couldn’t be any different. She needed to get back to Hogsmeade and she needed to do it fast, she didn’t have much time and, more importantly, she didn’t have much resources. It was stupid of her not to bring her wand, her wandless magic was unpredictable at best, but all of this was very stupid. She could see that now, how silly of her it had been to walk out of town by herself, without her wand, just months after so many of her people were killed. Tami had been so very determined to not be afraid, to prove she was stronger than the things that scared her, she’d told herself if she could go beyond her comfort zone then she’d prove something to herself but all she’d done is walk right into this.

Into this with no help and no wand and-

She did have one thing.

Fuck it.

She had legs, legs she could use and she had cake. Wonderful, customised cake which was tucked in a box, in her bag, in her arms. There wasn’t time to debate so she didn’t, she sucked in a deep breath and as she did she twisted her grip into the top of her back and lifted it up over her shoulder. Her stance shifted, her arm drew back, and with as much strength as she could muster she launched the bag ahead of her. It gave her the element of surprise, even with so little of his face on show she could see the confusion twist onto the expression of the one who blocked her path, and even if he hadn’t reacted at all her legs sprung into action faster than she could think to tell them to. She couldn’t even feel them but it didn’t matter, there was space both in front of and behind her, she was counting on the idea that the newcomer behind her wouldn’t make up the space in time and the bastard who blocked her path would be distracted. And he was, she could see the instinct kicking in even if he didn’t want it to, her bag launched towards him and he automatically threw his hands up to catch it before it could smash into him- which was good. It was what she needed, only a few seconds, all she needed was his hands to be occupied for just the few seconds she was sprinting past him. And then she didn’t know, Tami had no idea if she could outrun them but she sure as hell needed a head start, she could deal with doubts much easier than impossibilities. The bag hit him before she even got close, of course, smashed into his chest and he grabbed it with both arms, the snarl he made a clear indication that he was not happy with her tactic. She honestly didn’t care, footsteps crunched behind her and even though the bag had already hit she didn’t stop, in fact as she passed she slammed right into the stranger’s side so he stumbled, and cursed, and she couldn’t help the small burst of pride in her chest because she’d disgruntled their plan.

It was short-lived.

She’d never been grabbed by the hair before but the pain was immediate. It shot through her nerves with a sharp stab, the back of her head throbbing where the grip held and pulled her head back in a burning whiplash. Perhaps she should’ve kept running, ripped her hair out if she needed to, but for half a second the pain was enough to stop her short and in that half a second an arm twisted around her front and pulled. Tami had always been short and her toes barely scraped the floor as she was yanked back, she knew because she kicked her legs in an attempt to find some ground, to find some grip, to claw her way back. She found nothing, her fingers clawed at the arm about her front but it was helpless, her legs kicked and even though she felt her heels hit behind her it did nothing. She filled her air with lungs, it was dawning on her quickly that she was very physically outnumbered, instead ready to scream for as loud and long as she could but the sound was suffocated before she even had the chance to make it. Gloved fingers pressed down on her tongue when a hand covered her mouth, she tried to suck in a breath but choked instead, wheezing and turning her attention from the arm holding her up to the hand stopping her from crying out. They’d done this before. They knew how to keep someone quiet, they knew how to drag someone away, they knew how to hide someone until the moment was right and then she’d end up another body, stumbled upon when it was far too late. Panic was a horrible thing, it twisted so deep in her gut she wanted to throw up, made her thoughts scream so loud that she couldn’t think. And that was bad. She was flailing and, more importantly, she was failing.

She didn’t want to die like this.

Her legs were useless, her clawing fingers weren’t getting her anywhere, but the bastard had his gross fingers in her mouth and if she couldn’t bark then she could sure as hell bite. Tami was in no position to go easy on anyone, she steeled herself against the inevitable twang of uncertainty when it came to hurting someone else, and she bit down hard.

“Fucking little bitch.”

And he dropped her. He stumbled as he cursed, he went back a step and as he did he lifted her off the floor completely, the arm around her front pulled tighter sharply, pain shot along her spine and then she was on the floor.  He’d dropped her and she wanted to scream, wanted her legs to work, her body to move, but her legs had no feeling and she couldn’t breathe. The air had been knocked straight out of her.

“You idiot, you always make things more complicated.”

She needed to move. Needed her legs to work.

“Immobulus.”

Crap.

Even if she wanted to move she couldn’t, the fight was there but the ability was gone, time had stopped where she knelt and this wasn’t something she could just shake off. Had she had her wand, had she come prepared, then maybe she could’ve handled all of this better or at least got far enough away to get help but she’d been foolish.

“See, isn’t it easier when we all cooperate?”

She couldn’t answer even if she wanted to, she wasn’t given time, a hand covered her eyes and no sooner had her vision been covered did a mutter of a charm pull her from consciousness.

Stupid, predictable, terrible birthdays.