#Two Specters means twice the trouble.

[apathmakerstale]

Lies of P Ending Spoilers

I’ve beat Lies of P twice, and got Rise of P & Free From the Puppet Strings for the endings and I have to say it’s a fun game. I just need the Real Boy to get platinum so I have one more playthrough to go through.

By no means do I think it’s anywhere near Bloodborne and honestly for the studios first game I can’t expect that but it’s a solid 7/10 game for me.

I loved the weapon dissembling system so much! I played around with it a lot, even though I ended up using the Puppet Ripper for most of the game. Booster Glaive Blade/Exploding Pickaxe Handle was my second however.

The Gold Coin tree was a fun experiment and never had any trouble with it. I forgot to use it a lot but the wishcube was cool. P-Organ was a cool skill tree too. Love the Legion Arm system, even though Puppet String lvl3 is op and so are Falcon Eyes. Which I used for most of the game.

The combat is a clunky in some areas like the parries and the delayed attacks that aren’t very intuitive. It felt like almost every enemy had to capacity to stunlock me which was very irritating. It just felt like everything was a second too laggy. It also felt like I was made of glass the entire time as enemies could always just take out half my health. Though apparently I beat the game with low Vitality, it was 17 or 18 I think.

The thing I had the most gripe with was the weight system. I never liked them in games, that's probably why I liked Bloodborne so much after it got rid of it. I played the entire game on Slightly Heavy. I didn't even know there was a 'Light' classification.

I beat all bosses with the specter which I felt made it more fairer as it tended to die during their Phase 2 opening. Which is another issue, almost all of them having Phase 2s really made it feel unspecial. I legitimately was surprised during Victor’s fight that his happened at half health and as a result kinda enjoyed it. I also kept the Dancing One's amulet on the entire game and that was a lifesaver!

Nameless Puppet 1st phase is really fun. Didn’t like the second so much, had to resort to the Dragon Blade to parry stagger him a lot. On NG+ I found him much easier.

As for the story… it was kinda okay. I really liked the the whole Ergo being souls and all the sidequests, King of Puppets/Romeo was probably my fav boss. However Simon left no impression on me and him being a generic ‘I will become god’ villain was so boring and disappointing. Gepetto being the villian was actually something I really liked, as I got kinda of a skeevy vibe from him after the Romeo fight. I actually liked the side quests kinda more. I did like the reveal it Sophia was a projection and her VA work when you meet her is amazing. The whole puppets becoming human really spoke to me and it felt really sad at the end of Antonia’s quest.

The end credits with the two characters however got me hyped, and I kinda hope that after that we get an Alice In Wonderland game. I really liked the American Mcgee's Alice games.

Overall definitely worth the price and it joins Code Vein as another favorite action rpg. If it had blood as currency then it'd be a 8/10.

What can I say I like the aesthetic.

[caretaker-au]

Chapter 08

Frisk jumped with a small squeal. Whipping around, their eyes settled on something that made their heart stop for a moment. The child stumbled back and hit their head against the prison bars with a twang.

“Oh darling, are you alright?” The voice of the stranger was syrupy sweet and twinged with flamboyance, but it sounded genuine.

Frisk nodded, their eyes wide to take in the surprise guest. It was a ghostly figure, rounded at the top with a misty white body fluttering beneath them, not unlike a beach ball covered in a bed sheet. They were semi-transparent and had no arms or legs, instead floating at about eye height from the floor. In the middle of their “face” were two enormous eyes over a wide, smiling mouth.

“Who are you?” Frisk asked, “How’d you get in here?”

“Through the wall, of course!” the ghost gestured with a turn of its body towards the back end of the cell, “Perks of being incorporeal. We weren’t planning on coming in but all that shouting got our attention. That Chara certainly has a mouth on them, don’t they?” They did not pause long enough for Frisk to answer, “Though you’re no push over either, darling. Good for you! Blooky could learn a thing or two from you.”

“Um, thank you...” Frisk trailed off, then hesitated. They had a lot of questions, but were unsure of where to start.

The ghost took the pause as an invitation to continue. “So tell me, darling, whatever did you do to make Chara so angry? They may be a little strict at times, but Chara’s certainly not the type to threaten lives!”

“I’ve been trying to figure that out myself,” Frisk sighed, then murmured, “They’ve been trying to kill me since I got here.”

“Speak up dear, we can barely hear you.”

“We?” Frisk repeated, “Who’s we?”

“Why, myself and Napstablook of course, they— wait a minute—” the ghost looked to the left and right, before turning to the empty wall behind them, “Blooky, become visible this instant! It’s rude to lurk!”

“Sorry…” a weak voice lilted from the corner. A second ghost faded into view: it was nearly identical to the first, but had downcast eyes and a small, pensive mouth, “I didn’t want... to interrupt…”

“Seriously? What am I going to do with you?” the first ghost turned back to Frisk, its expression twinged with irritation, “I apologize for my cousin’s lack of manners. Blooky isn’t much of a social butterfly.”

“It’s okay, I understand,” Frisk smiled, “I would turn invisible too, if I could.”

“Well now, enough about that,” the first ghost said, “As the only two members of the human fanclub, we have questions that need answering. Tell us, human, who are you and how did you get yourself tossed in the slammer? Spare us no detail!”

“Well, my name is Frisk,” the child answered, “And the rest is kind of a long story.”

***

With arms crossed, Chara tapped their foot as the castle elevator lifted them upwards. Frisk’s propensity to not only survive but to charm had accelerated their plans, but the plan was still firmly in place as long as they moved fast.

Chara checked the time on their phone, but the glowing 12:38 AM wasn’t of much use to them. After everything they did and undid, they could no longer remember when they had left the castle. The doors of the elevator rolled open, and Chara burst out, running the full length of the way home. Every other step caused their knee to throb with pain, the bruises from Frisk’s attack still freshly coagulating in their leg.

They only slowed when they reached the front yard, taking a few moments to catch their breath and rub their aching knee.

The living room light flicked on.

Fresh fear seized them. Were they too late?

Chara raced forward before halting again to open the door as quietly as their shaking hands would allow. Inside, the foyer was dark and comforting. Quiet.

“Chara?” Asriel said, near silhouetted in the doorway of the living room, “Where did you go?”

Chara put a finger to their lips, glancing down the bedroom hall before shutting the door with a soft click. “Are your parents awake?” Chara hissed.

“No, I don’t think so,” Asriel whispered back, “What’s going on? Were you running?”

“Not important.” Chara’s gaze was piercing in the low light, “Get dressed and meet me outside. Whatever you do, do not wake Asgore and Toriel. Go now.”

***

“...And I’ve been in this cell ever since.” Frisk finished their story with a sigh. Their spectral audience of two were perched at the end of the cot with Frisk seated on the other side. Frisk hadn’t had much opportunity to process everything that had happened, let alone explain it, and doing so left them feeling exhausted. The only other time they’d told their story was to the Dreemurrs, and that had been erased by a swing of Chara’s blade.

“Since they put me here, Chara’s prevented me from speaking to anyone,” Frisk added. It was tempting to tell the ghost monsters of how they had been killed and revived through some sort of time travel, but Frisk decided against it. Their experience was unbelievable, even to Frisk. The fact that they were alive to tell the tale contradicted their own story, and it was clear Chara was too beloved for an accusation of murder to be believed. Instead, Frisk only admitted that they had been attacked and chased by Chara, and the monsters had trouble accepting even that much.

“I’m sure if I just had a chance to talk to the King or Queen or Asriel, they’d let me go home,” Frisk looked at both ghosts in turn for some sort of affirmation, but the specters only exchanged a tense glance.

“It’s not that simple, sweetheart,” the outspoken ghost replied, “If we could just walk out, no one would be in the Underground.”

“What do you mean?”

“Yes, I suppose you wouldn’t know the prophecy, would you?” the ghost mused, “I’ll give you the short version. A long time ago, humans trapped us in this mountain using a magical barrier. They say only a powerful soul can pass through it, much more powerful than that of a monster! But! If a monster absorbs a human soul, they can walk right through the barrier. With seven human souls, they can break it and free everyone!”

“Human souls?” Frisk placed a hand over their heart. If souls served such an important purpose, Chara’s demented antics might make at least some sort of sense. “But Chara is a human. Why haven’t they left yet?” Frisk asked.

“Now that’s the million dollar question, isn’t it? Chara has made it clear that they prefer the company of monsters to humans, so perhaps they’d rather just stay down here with us.” The ghost smirked, leaning forward, “But you know what I think? I don’t think their single human soul is strong enough to pass through the barrier. Otherwise they would have already left to fetch us more souls.”

“Maybe... Chara would be able to cross the barrier... if they absorbed a boss monster soul…...” Napstablook added meekly.

“Blooky, don’t be ridiculous! Chara wouldn’t dream of harming the Dreemurrs!”

“But they’ll harm me,” Frisk stated. Both ghosts froze as if Frisk’s words chilled the very air.

“So, I’m trapped here forever?” Frisk asked. A pit formed in their stomach. They had only just arrived in the Underground, yet had experienced enough stress to last a lifetime. Being unable to die wasn’t much comfort when they still had the capacity to suffer. Frisk bowed their head, “Trapped until Chara... takes my soul?”

The ghosts frowned at each other, and for a moment, they looked almost identical. An uneasy quiet filled the room for a few solemn seconds. The quiet ghost was the first to break the silence.

“Frisk… please don’t give up…..”

Frisk’s vision swam as they tried to look up at Napstablook. They pressed the sleeve of their sweater to their eyes before any tears could fall.

“That’s right, you aren’t out of options, dear!” the cheery ghost exclaimed, “After all they say a strong soul can pass the barrier, and you may have one that’s sufficient, darling!”

“You think so?” Frisk placed a hand over their heart.

“Yes yes, there’s nothing in the prophecy that says humans can’t get through the barrier on their own. And maybe your soul is stronger than Chara’s. It’s worth a shot, isn’t it?”

Frisk took a deep breath and nodded. The excitable ghost continued, “Do you know where the barrier is? It’s in the King and Queen’s house, in the basement. I’d be lying if I said I haven’t wandered in there once or twice,” they said with a wink.

Frisk thought back to their short time in the Dreemurr’s house. There were a set of stairs leading down near the front door. “Yeah, I know where it is. But how can I get there? I can’t pass through walls like y—”

“Do you hear that?” the talkative one interrupted and glanced towards the hallway. Frisk strained their ears, but couldn’t hear a thing. “I think the guards are coming, I’ll check.” With impressive speed, the specter zipped through the stone wall towards the exterior doors of the jail, leaving Frisk alone with Napstablook.

“I know it’s not much…” Napstablook spoke softly, “But I do hope... you can go home...”

“Me, too. Thank you,” Frisk smiled.

Napstablook’s cousin returned, this time carefully passing through the jail bars, “Just my imagination it seems, but I think we’ve overstayed our welcome. Blooky, let’s head out.”

“Already? But—” Frisk protested, only to be interrupted by the flamboyant specter.

“Yes, already, but it was lovely meeting you, dear!” the ghost rushed Frisk in what could only be interpreted as an armless hug. Perplexed, Frisk raised their arms in an attempt to hug them back. While they attempted to embrace the incorporeal being, they felt something fall into their lap with a clink.

“I think you should get going too, darling,” the ghost whispered before pulling away. “Now, Blooky! Let’s get out of here before those insufferable dogs show up, chop chop!”

“Good luck, Frisk...” Nabstablook murmured as their cousin ushered them out of the cell, “You’ll be okay…”

With that final word of encouragement, they were gone. Frisk examined the ghosts’ parting gift with renewed determination. It was the key to the cell.

***

The worn interior of the elevator hummed softly as it plunged Chara and Asriel deeper into the Earth. The lowest light on the button panel was illuminated, foreshadowing a long, long elevator ride.

“Chara…” Asriel hesitated, waiting for his partner to give him acknowledgement. None came, however, and he was forced to continue without it. “Chara, where are we going?”

“You should know,” Chara responded, still facing the button panel, “You were here recently. Counting souls, correct?”

Asriel stilled. He swallowed before answering, “Yes, a few weeks ago. How did you know—”

“I have my ways, Asriel. I must say, I don’t appreciate you keeping secrets from me.”

Asriel shook his head, “It wasn’t a secret. I just—”

Chara turned their head, looking Asriel up and down from the corner of their eye.

He backpedaled, “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to hide it from you. It had been so long since we talked about— you know— the barrier, and I wanted to know if… if...” He trailed off, not expecting to make it to the end of the sentence without being interrupted. Chara turned their body to face him, crossing their arms. The elevator continued to hum. “...If there were any more added,” he finished.

“And? Are you satisfied? Was it worth sneaking around behind my back?”

“No, I’m sorry,” Asriel hung his head.

“‘I’m sorry.’ I have been hearing nothing but apologies from you recently.”

“I’m sorr—”

“Stop.”

Asriel bit back the urge to apologize again. Not knowing what to say, he stayed silent.

“I do not want to hear apologies. I want you to do better.” Chara waited for Asriel to nod, then sighed. They leaned against the corner of the elevator and closed their eyes, “I do not want to be so hard on you, Asriel. But the truth is: there is something important I have to tell you, and I am not sure if you are ready to hear it. This… might be the most difficult thing I have ever done.”

“You can tell me,” Asriel said.

“I can tell you,” Chara repeated, “But can I trust you?”

“Of course, you can always trust me.”

Chara’s eyes flicked open with a glare, “No. I cannot.”

Asriel’s protest was interrupted by the soft ping of the elevator reaching its destination. The Lab. Chara watched the doors slide open, and one by one sickly blue-white lights flicked on down the length of the hallway beyond.

“But I do not have much choice. Come.” Chara ordered, leading the way.

The familiar smell of old rubber and musty drywall cloyed at Asriel’s senses, but the oppressive atmosphere was nothing compared to the shame weighing in his stomach. There was only one location of interest left in the lab and Chara took him right to it: the room that stored the souls. Chara unlocked the door and ushered Asriel inside. The room was once a lab, now empty save for counter tops, cabinets, and a flimsy table and chair covered in dust. Chara grabbed the table and dragged it noisily along the floor towards the back of the room, where a large steel cabinet was fixed with a deadbolt. A second key from Chara’s pocket unlocked it.

Asriel fidgeted. He had so many questions to ask, but he knew asking them would put his trust into question. Chara said this was important and difficult, and he wasn’t going to make this harder for them, even as dread welled up inside him.

Chara pulled the cabinet doors open, and the room was softly illuminated with multicolored light. One by one they removed the soul jars within and set them in a row along the table. Orange. Purple. Blue. Green. Yellow. The light from the souls was cold and unnerving.

“Asriel,” Chara finally spoke.

Asriel straightened, tearing his eyes away from the specters, “Yes, Chara?”

Chara walked around the table and leaned against it to face Asriel. The light of the souls cast their shape in near silhouette. “What I’m about to tell you is not going to be easy to accept. But you must not doubt me.”

“Of course,” Asriel answered.

Chara chuckled, weariness edging into their voice, “I wish I could believe you. You are going to accuse me of losing my mind.”

“No, I won’t!” his words were emphatic, “I know I mess up all the time, but I love you more than anyone. Please let me prove that to you!”

“If you insist,” Chara paused, gathering their thoughts. The suspense hung in the air.

Finally they spoke, “The little human you have grown a soft spot for. It is not what it seems.”

“You mentioned something about that,” Asriel nodded, “You said they were dangerous.”

“That was an understatement,” Chara’s eyes narrowed, “At the time I had no idea how deep their depravity went. That human can manipulate time itself.”

“What?” Asriel’s eyebrows knitted together.

“Ah. You don’t believe me.”

“No, no!” Asriel shook his head, “I do. What do you mean by that?”

“Exactly what I said. The human is able to do as it pleases— lying, hunting, attacking— then moves the clock back to undo the consequences of its behavior. The effect of this power causes everyone to forget what the human has done, save for me.”

“That’s…” Asriel started, searching for the right word.

“Crazy?” Chara’s eyes widened as they smiled, “Impossible? Insane?”

“...Horrible.”

“Yes it is,” Chara frowned, “While it has been only one evening for you, I have experienced days worth of torment at the hands of that vermin. They have tortured and even murdered me while manipulating you to believe them to be harmless and innocent.”

“Murdered?” Asriel felt dizzy. He thought of Frisk’s soft voice and small smile; how small and vulnerable they seemed under Chara’s capture. That was all an act? He wanted to say it was unbelievable. He wanted to ask for proof. But how could he? If the child really was so deceptive and powerful, he’d have to take Chara at their word.

“The funny thing is,” Chara continued, “What I have suffered at its hands is not even the worst part. No. The worst part is watching it turn you against me.”

“I’m not against you,” Asriel replied in a hushed voice.

“Not presently, but you have been. You will be. I’ve watched you betray me over and over and over. That despicable thing is driving us apart, endearing itself to you while making me look insane for fighting against it. I’m the only one who knows the truth, and yet, completely powerless. Completely alone.”

“I’m sorry, Chara,” Asriel felt tears welling in the corner of his eyes. The doubt he felt ached with guilt, so he forced his mind to accept Chara’s story. Frisk was a manipulator. Frisk was a killer. He took a deep breath and tried to will the tears from falling, “I’m sorry for betraying you. How can we stop Frisk? Is there anything I can do?” His voice wavered as he asked. The souls continued to gleam behind Chara.

“Yes. I have a plan, but first you must swear never to doubt me again.”

“Okay.”

“And that you will never betray me, no matter what the human says.”

“I won’t!”

“And that you will trust me unconditionally.”

“Yes, I promise.”

“Say it.” Chara demanded.

Asriel’s voice shook, “I promise I’ll never doubt you or betray you, no matter what happens.”

Chara relaxed, and they smiled with an earnestness that Asriel had missed, “Thank you. You have given me the courage I needed, Asriel.” They pushed themself off the table and turned around to face the souls. “Now to do what I should have done a long time ago.”

With one swift gesture, Chara swept their arm in an arc, knocking the soul jars to the ground. Asriel cried out as glass sprayed across the concrete floor, releasing the souls from containment. The glowing specters rose up from the floor around the caretaker, their multicolored light casting Chara’s deranged smile in stark relief.

“Chara, what are you doing?!” Asriel shouted, pressing back against the closed door behind him.

“We are going to the surface, Asriel. And you are going to take us there,” Grinning, Chara pointed their knife toward their partner. A knife? When did they get the knife?

Chara continued, “Every minute the human remains in the Underground is putting us on a path of irreversible calamity. With the power from these souls, we will retrieve the seventh soul from the surface and bring justice and balance to the world.”

“No!” Asriel cried out in spite of himself, “There has to be another way!”

“I have tried everything else already. This is the only way. Asriel, you must trust me.”

“Chara!” Asriel choked. Hot tears ran down his face, “Please, I can’t do this!”

“You will not be alone, Asriel,” Chara pointed their knife to their chest, the tip carefully positioned between their ribs, “After all, we will always be together.”

Asriel surged forward, the fear of the souls pushed away by a much greater threat.

Chara plunged the blade deep into their heart.

chapter 08 // end

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[grailfinders]

Fate and Phantasms #109: Emiya (Assassin)

Today on Fate and Phantasms we’re continuing our trek through Fate Zero with the assassin class Edgemiya, with the ability to alter his own time and everyone’s luck. Despite all his cool powers, he’s still pretty depressed. Oh well, it’s probably nothing a few more builds won’t fix.

Check out Emiya’s build breakdown below the cut, or his character sheet over here!

Next up: “Do I contradict myself? Very well, then, I contradict myself. I am large- I contain multitudes.” -Walt Whitman

Race and Background

Emiya made a deal with the spirit of humanity to protect the human race, which is exactly why he’d make a great Hobgoblin... I’m kidding, he’s a Variant Human, for +1 Dexterity and Charisma, Arcana proficiency (or whatever else a rocket launcher would fall under idk), and the Crossbow Expert feat, allowing you to ignore loading crossbows, fire well with enemies in melee range, and dual wield hand crossbows. You can control the flow of time, you should be able to fire more than once a round.

You’ve fought in plenty of wars, but it’s hard to call a professional assassin anything but a Criminal. This gives you Deception and Stealth proficiencies.

Ability Scores

This is a pretty mono-ability build- make your Charisma as high as possible. You’re a pretty scary guy, and you shoot good. That’s charisma. Somehow. After that is Dexterity- you’re really stealthy, and really, really fast. Your Intelligence isn’t half bad. You can use plenty of fancy modern weapons, and you can hunt down mages to use them on. Constitution doesn’t have to be that high, you don’t need health if you just don’t get hit. Your Strength isn’t great, but it’s enough to get the job done. We’re dumping Wisdom, though-your entire characterization is about how much you regret making that deal with Alaya. You’re not bad at noticing things though, we’ll just have to patch that up with skills.

Class Levels

1. Rogue 1: You have a particular set of skills, and rogues start off with the most, so let’s spend a little time here for now. First level rogues get proficiency with Dexterity and Intelligence saving throws, as well as four rogue skills- Acrobatics to enhance your mobility, Intimidation for that no-nonsense attitude of yours, and Perception and Investigation to hunt down and destroy your enemies.

You also get Expertise, doubling your proficiency bonus for Stealth and Intimidation. Presence Concealment A+ is some good stuff.

You can also add a Sneak Attack bonus to damage done by attacks with advantage or directed at creatures who are occupied with other creatures. Right now, it’s just 1d6. You also learn Thieves’ Cant. It’s a language.

2. Warlock 1: Alaya’s kind of a lot of things to a lot of people, but Hexblades work best for us so a Hexblade it shall be here. As a hex warlock, you learn how to place a Hexblade’s Curse on a creature. It lasts one minute, or until one of you two dies, and you can use it once per short rest. While cursed, you can add your proficiency to damage against the target, all attacks made crit on 19s as well as 20s, and you gain hp when the cursed creature dies.

You also become a Hex Warrior, giving you proficiency with medium armor and martial weapons. You can also use charisma as your attack modifier for one weapon per long rest, as long as it isn’t two-handed. Right now, that means you’re using hand crossbows.

One last benefit of being a warlock is Pact Magic, spells you can cast using Charisma. Grab Eldritch Blast for more shooting and True Strike for more careful shots, Expeditious Retreat for some extra speed, and Cause Fear to drain the luck of one poor sap for up to a minute, rendering them unable to move closer and giving them disadvantage on attacks while you’re in sight for the duration. Sure, making yourself luckier would technically be more directly in line with canon, but it’s a “six in one hand, half a dozen in another” sort of situation.

3. Warlock 2: Second level warlocks get Eldritch Invocations, extra ways to customize the Selling Your Soul Experience! You get two right now, but we’re saving one for The Obvious next level. Grab Thief of Five Fates for yet another way to ruin someone’s day. You can cast Bane once per long rest by using a warlock spell slot. This reduces all the saves and attack rolls of three creatures who failed their charisma saves by 1d4 for up to a minute. The DC on those saves, by the by, is 8 plus your proficiency bonus plus your charisma modifier. You can also cast Hex now, in case your enemies weren’t unlucky enough. This makes your attacks deal extra necrotic damage, they get disadvantage on ability checks with one ability, and you can move the effect to another creature if the first drops to 0 hp, which is nice considering it lasts an hour.

4. Warlock 3: Pact of the Blade time! This level lets you summon a magical pact weapon as an action. This weapon always has the benefits of being a Hex Warrior, and thanks to Improved Pact Weapon it can also be a ranged weapon. Specifically, it has to be a Light Crossbow now, because weapon requirements in D&D are obtuse and terrifying.

On a lighter note, you get second level spells now! You can speed up enough to create a Mirror Image of yourself, creating three copies of yourself on the same square you’re standing. If you’d take a hit, there’s a 75% chance a copy will get hit instead and get destroyed, leaving you with only two, and so on.

5. Warlock 4: Use your first Ability Score Improvement to bump up your Charisma for better... everything, really.

You can also cast Minor Illusion to leave afterimages further away from yourself, and Blur, which gives creatures attacking you disadvantage.

6. Rogue 2: Back in your other class, you learn how to make Cunning Actions, speeding up your Dash, Disengage, and Hide actions so they can fit in a bonus action instead. 

7. Rogue 3: It’s no surprise that you’re an Assassin. I mean, it’s your class, but it’s also your subclass. As an Assassin, you can Assassinate enemies that are surprised and/or slower than you are. You have advantage on creatures who haven’t taken a turn yet, and hits against surprised creatures are instant criticals. Speaking of advantage, you can use your Steady Aim as a bonus action to give your next attack advantage, at the cost of losing al your movement for the turn. Despite this, you’ll have plenty of ways to move in a pinch if you really have to.

Also, your sneak attack goes up to 2d6.

8. Fighter 1: Yes, it’s another 3-class build. Don’t worry though, this one’s just a splash. As a fighter, you get a fighting style- Archery will make your shots even more accurate than they were before. You can also use your Second Wind as a bonus action for a bit of healing. You shouldn’t have any trouble finding time for a breather, after all.

9. Fighter 2: Second level fighters can use an Action Surge once per short rest to add an extra action to a turn. Save up for a burst of gunfire, or cast Mirror Image and Blur at the same time to become almost invincible have fun with it!

10. Warlock 5: Speaking of doubling up on things, at fifth level warlocks get another Invocation. Thirsting Blade lets you attack twice per action. You can also move fast enough to Blink out of existence. On the end of each turn for a minute, you have a 50% chance to enter the ethereal plane until the start of your next turn.

11. Rogue 4: Use your next ASI to grab the Piercer feat, for +1 Dexterity, the ability to re-roll one die of piercing damage per turn, and an extra critical hit die when you shoot somebody. If you don’t plan on wearing medium armor, this will also increase your AC.

12. Rogue 5: Fifth level rogues gain an Uncanny Dodge, spending your reaction to halve the damage of a single attack. I’d think you wouldn’t get hit by this point, but nat 20s happen to everyone eventually. Also, your sneak attack is 3d6 now.

13. Rogue 6: Use your second round of Expertise to double down on Perception and Investigation. You’re a professional, you’ve got to get results.

14. Rogue 7: Seventh level rogues get Evasion, making you fast enough to outrun fireballs. If an effect makes you roll a dexterity save to halve damage, a failure makes you take half damage now, and a success completely negates it. Your sneak attack reaches its final form at 4d6.

15. Warlock 6: Sixth level hexlocks can make an Accursed Specter once per long rest out of humanoids you kill. They stick around until your next long rest. This is very not in character for you, but free help is free help.

To help with all that killing, you can also cast Spirit Shroud, adding extra damage to short-range combat, preventing healing, and slowing down nearby enemies.

16. Warlock 7: You can now burn spell slots to power gunshots thanks to Eldritch Smite, which adds a lot of force damage to a weapon attack. To help maneuver around the battlefield, you can also cast Dimension Door for a quick burst of speed.

17. Warlock 8: Use your last ASI to maximize your Charisma for stronger spells and weapons. You can also cast Shadow of Moil for that dramatic shadowy look you get at higher ascensions. It also works as yet another reason people really shouldn’t hit you.

18. Warlock 9: Ninth level warlocks max out their spell slots at fifth level, allowing you to cast Far Step for a longer speed-up session. While the spell lasts (it’s concentration, up to a minute) you can use your bonus action to teleport 60′. You also get the invocation Trickster’s Escape, which lets you cast Freedom of Movement for free once per long rest. While active, your latent timewarping prevents you from being slowed down by magical effects or difficult terrain. (At least that’s what it looks like from the outside. They don’t need to know you secretly spent two turns getting through those hedges.)

19. Warlock 10: Our final gift from Alaya is the Armor of Hexes. If you’re going to get hit by a hexcursed creature’s attack, you can use your reaction for a 50/50 chance of ignoring the attack completely.

You can also cast the cantrip Friends this level. You’re scary, this’ll make you scarier for a bit.

20. Warlock 11: Having sixth level spells on short rests would be busted, so instead of growing your spell slots warlocks get a Mystic Arcanum. This lets you cast one sixth level spell once per long rest, like those plebeians with spellbooks. Your spell is the Circle of Death, letting you go full on Reaper on a pretty large area, dealing 8d6 necrotic damage to every creature that fails a constitution save in a 60′ radius sphere. It’s not dexterity, purely because there’s that many bullets flying around.

Pros:

You are very, very good at critical hits. With a doubled chance of critical damage and guaranteed crits on surprised creatures, you’ll be rolling a lot of dice pretty often. Especially since you can take advantage of critical hits easily thanks to your smites and sneak attacks.

While you can dish out damage easily, you’re also great at avoiding damage entirely, with plenty of spells that make you harder to hit, teleportation to get out of tricky spots, and multiple ways to dodge attacks even if they’re critical hits. Your mobility also makes it a lot harder to escape from you.

Maxed out charisma, the archery fighting style, and free advantage from Steady Aim means even after the fight starts you can still deal consistent damage over long periods of time. Your shots are going to land more often than not, and they land pretty hard.

Cons:

While you can deal damage over time, your kit is definitely geared more towards short bursts, because most of your skills are on a strict cooldown, with one or two uses per short rest. This is especially true of your spell slots. Warlocks eat up spells fast, especially if you’re using them for offense and defense.

Your low wisdom means you’re going to be fooled by illusions and charmed pretty easily. As a precaution, it might be best to use up your burst damage skills as soon as possible. You really don’t want to have to turn 9d8 + 4d6 + 12 damage on your party members.

Your HP isn’t that high, barely scraping above 100 at higher levels. While you have a lot of ways to make that last a lot longer than you’d think, there’s always the chance your DM’s getting sick of you surviving everything and will just throw someone with Power Word Kill your way.

[mattmurdocksscars]

Miscommunication Ch. 11

Yall have waited a very long time for this update, I am so sorry. I hope you enjoy though and know that are likely one or two chapters from the end 💖 this has been an amazing journey and thank you so much for sticking with me! We finally find out who has been sabotaging the missions in this chapter 👀

Word Count: 1912

Warnings: Language, canon-typical violence

Pairing: FO! Poe Dameron x Reader

Tag List:  @himbopoes, @writefightandflightclub, @mellow-f1, @imaginecrushes, @ladyflyer20, @kiaralein, @oakleyves, @nacida-en-la-luna, @morgannope @thegirlwiththebook @twomoonstwosuns @awesomefandomsunited @thesoftdumbass @kittyofalltrades @struggling-bee @amarvelousmandalorian @seeking-a-great--perhaps​ @sheerfreesia007​ @firstordermariposa @darksideofclarke​ @damndamer0n​ @criminal-cookies​​ @poesflygirl​ @huliabitch​ @this-cat-is-dea​ 

I’m gonna be honest, I have not updated my taglist in a while, so I am so sorry if I’ve missed you! (Also, I know that gif is Santi BUT it correctly displays the amount of anger Poe feels so 🤷‍♀️)

Poe and Kylo rush you to the ships, getting you to the medical unit. You’re taken immediately, the medics and their droids rushing to work on saving you. Poe finds himself watching as you’re worked on. Your heart fails twice in the time it takes the transport to get to the Finalizer and each time, Poe’s own heart clenches. He wills you to fight, to live and each time they bring you back. Once they reach the ship, you are rushed to the medical bay and placed in a bacta tank.

One of the medics approaches him and Kylo, explaining the situation to the two. You had undergone torture in that camp, as they had thought, and your body was struggling to maintain itself after the damage done to it. They currently could not guarantee your survival, even with you placed in the bacta tank. Kylo had stormed from the bay at the news, leaving Poe to stare up at where you were suspended in the tank. For the first time in a very long time, Poe feels vulnerable and he hates it. Stepping up to the tank, he places one gloved hand flat against the glass and stares up at you. Alone with you, he takes a steadying breath before speaking.

“If I’d had any idea that you would worm your way under my skin so thoroughly in such a short time, I would have never pursued you. As it is, you’ve managed to successfully crack my shell, sweetness. Don’t you dare die on me now. I’m not finished with you yet.” He swears he sees your hand twitch when he finishes speaking, but when you make no other movements, he steps away from the tank and out of the bay. He heads to his room, determined to wash your blood from his skin. He scrubs harder than necessary, leaving his skin red and raw, and the clothes he was wearing are trashed rather than being sent to be laundered. As soon as he is clean, he returns to the medical bay where he stays and watches over you.

For five days you stay suspended in the bacta tank and Poe rarely leaves your side. He stays like a specter, watching over you and waiting for you to awaken. Kylo and even Hux visit as well, checking in on your status. The medics have done everything they can, and the tank has done it’s work but still you don’t wake. Poe’s frustration shows in the way he paces the room you’re in, the way he snaps at the medics and droids. No one understands why you won’t wake, and Poe hears the medics speculate that perhaps the damage was too great, and they didn’t get to you soon enough. That you simply wouldn’t wake because of the amount of damage you took. Most of the time, these medics leave the room in tears after Poe rips into them. He refuses to give up on you, knowing you’ll pull through despite the odds stacked against you.

Poe is sitting in front of your tank, watching you, when a trooper approaches him and tells him that Hux has requested his presence in the General’s office. The trooper insists it is urgent, so Poe stands with a scowl and sweeps from the room. He paces quickly to Hux’s office, surprised to find both Hux and Kylo inside. The two men give him a confused look when he knocks on the open door, stepping inside.

“Has something changed?” Kylo asks, a hopeful lilt to his voice. At this, Poe shakes his head before focusing on Hux.

“What did you need?” Poe asks, tone clipped and to the point. He feels unease settle in his stomach when Hux’s face contorts in confusion.

“What are you talking about?”

“Did you not request to see me? Urgently?” At Poe’s words, the ships alarms suddenly begin to blare. Red lights begin flashing and an announcement comes over the PA system.

“There has been an unauthorized breach in Hangar 4. Red Alert. I repeat, there has been an unauthorized breach in Hangar 4. All units to stations.” The three men exchange shocked glances before racing from the office, heading towards the hangar mentioned. They’re almost there when Poe skids to a stop.

“What are you doing?!” Hux snaps, him and Kylo continuing forward.

“I get wrongly sent to your office and then suddenly the ship is under attack? Don’t you think that’s a little convenient?!” Poe snaps before turning and heading back towards the med bay. He vaguely hears Kylo and Hux curse behind him before they too are following him. As they run, Poe snatches a blaster from a passing trooper, fully expecting trouble once they arrive.

When they reach the med bay, the glass doors are shattered, and they can see medics dead or unconscious on the ground. They sweep the room carefully, Poe and Kylo leading with Hux taking up the rear. They reach the bacta tank room and Poe feels his heart stop at seeing your tank broken open with no sign of you anywhere. He’s about to turn and leave when he hears a man groan. Kylo and him exchange looks before creeping slowly into the room. They approach your tank and are shocked to find General Pryde leaned against the side of it, clutching a wound to his stomach. He’s speaking, but not to them and the men look around. Not seeing anyone, they focus on what Pryde is saying rather than who he is speaking to.

“… would have gotten away with it if it weren’t for you. This ship should be mine, not that brats. If you hadn’t found that information on me, Hux would have never gotten this ship. It would be mine to command.” He growls, staring at something in the shadows. Poe, Kylo, and Hux all feel their eyebrows shoot up at the words Pryde is speaking but they don’t have long to contemplate it because you are suddenly stepping out of the shadows, a blaster clutched in your hands and pointed straight at Pryde.

“So, you’re telling me… that you sabotaged my missions… had Captain Dameron captured… had me captured and tortured… all because of the dirt I found on you and presented to Snoke?” Your voice is eerily calm, but your face betrays the anger you feel as you glare at the man at your feet.

“Of course I did, you stupid whore. I deserved to have command of this ship, not that welp. I have the experience and the brilliance needed to properly command. Dameron was just an inconsequential casualty and you… you deserved to be tortured after what you took from me.” Poe snarled at those words, stepping forward with his blaster raised. Both yours and Prydes attention shifted to him and then Kylo and Hux. Pryde’s face paled even further.

“Commander Ren… I had no idea you were here. I-“ Before the man can say anymore, Kylo is reaching out, choking him with the Force.

“You will pay for what you’ve done, Pryde.” Kylo growls, his grip tightening. Pryde gasps, clutching at his neck and trying to breathe in air but he is unsuccessful.

“Stop.” Everyone turns to you at your command. Your eyes are still fixed on Pryde, blaster trained on him as well. Kylo loosens his hold some, enough for Pryde to get some air, but doesn’t release him entirely.

“If anyone gets to kill this bastard, it’s me.” You say, coldly before firing straight into Pryde’s chest. It kills him instantly and he slumps in Kylo’s grip before he’s released and slides to the floor. The four of you stand in silence for a few moments before Poe suddenly drops his blaster, crosses the few feet over to you, and dragging you against him. His arms lock tightly around you and he holds your head to his chest. You also drop your blaster and wind your arms around him, sighing against his chest. You hear Kylo and Hux both shift uncomfortably at the display of affection, but you could not care less. Poe only pulls away far enough so he can press his lips against yours, kissing you deeply. You return his affection easily, but only for a moment before pulling away. Poe doesn’t let it bother him, merely pressing a kiss to your forehead. You hear Hux clear his throat from behind Poe and the two of you separate to see what he wants. Poe keeps a hand on you though, reassuring himself that you’re really awake and standing next to him.

“Was that true?” Hux asks.

“What? I don’t know how much you heard.”

“That you turned in information on Pryde which is why I have command of the Finalizer?”

“Oh, yeah. Don’t get all sappy about it. I would have rather had you as the General than that son of a bitch.” Your words are said nonchalantly but still they have an effect on Hux. He looks grateful and he opens his mouth to say something, but you cut him off.

“Don’t even think about it. This changes nothing. You’re still an infuriating bastard and I’m still an annoying bitch. We don’t have to be friends.” But there’s mirth in your gaze and Hux can’t find it him to be insulted. Kylo groans from beside Hux though and the attention shifts to him. He has a look of faux annoyance on his face.

“You mean it’s your fault we have to deal with this insufferable man? The betrayal… my own captain? How could you?” Hux rolls his eyes while you and the other two boys snicker at his expense.

“Alright, alright. Let’s get this mess taken care of. We need to alert the bridge that everything is taken care of.” At Hux’s words, the lot of you sober up.

“Dameron, take her to her room so she can get cleaned up. We’ll handle this mess.” Kylo says. You throw him a grateful look and Poe nods, wrapping an arm around your waist and leading you from the med bay. The walk to your room is done mostly in silence, aside from the alarm that finally shuts off about halfway there. However, instead of going to your room, Poe leads you to his. You can’t help the fond smile that rises when you reach his door and he lets the two of you in quickly. He goes to his dresser and pulls out some clothes for you and hands them to you. You take them, leaning up to press a kiss to his cheek. He presses one to your temple before ushering you off to use his refresher.

You stand under the spray for longer than strictly necessary, just contemplating everything. You’re tired, despite having been out for some time and the water feels good against your skin. You finally scrub yourself down, ridding yourself of the traces of bacta still on your skin and step out. You dry off quickly and dress, stepping out of the refresher and into Poe’s room to find him sitting on the bed and waiting for you. You approach him and as soon as you’re within reach, he wraps his arms around you and pulls you into him, laying the both of you down. No words are spoken, Poe just runs a hand over your hair soothingly. You find yourself drifting off in his arms and hoping that the storm had finally passed.

[booksrocci]

Smith

 

 

 

Donald Rocci

 

 

 

Chapter 1

They came in the night and were only visible by the small light of their ignited torches, sparking fear within the city that fueled the fires of the unknown destruction that was to come. Their dark and ubiquitous military slithered out of the mountainous hills, ghostly specters within the moonlight hungry for living flesh. They marched in perfect formation to their orders as each creature held off whatever eagerness it felt for the charge, waiting until the first glimpse of any weakness in our defenses revealed itself so they could begin with their grisly duty. They had made no demands upon us thus far so the only thing left was plunder, they wanted our riches, our woman, and our lives, there is no other meaning for their arrival.

I had seen many such armies that would try to steal the wealth of the kingdom that lay behind me, but the wall always held. Impenetrable it was said, and for good reason for many have tried, but their remnants still laid in the fields on which this force stood with their denial in their minds and their souls wandering lost in the abyss. But the wall still faced this test of time, as strong as it had for centuries, tall and unmolested in the dry cold air, leaving us as a city that could not be taken easily by any army who dared to attempt the feat.

This army was somewhat different in its overall design and skill. Even in the pale light the figures looked less than human and almost animalistic. Their leather armor, tattered and sewed together, hung off their muscular bodies that seemed stooped, almost hunched, as they walked from post to post. Dark black skin withheld any features in the night and they were massively sized, even larger than the German hordes that was ever present upon the Rhine frontier. The way their faces looked in the torchlight that showed them as they spoke made it seem as that they were snorting rather than using words to communicate. I wasn't sure who they were or where they had come from, but it didn't matter, I knew they were going to whatever afterlife their belief had determined to exist.

I scanned the defenders of the realm looking for my sons and found their armor shining like stars brighter in the sky than all the others. I let a small smile slip from my stern face but quickly stifled its existence from the earth. As a smithy I was one of the best in the empire, I knew they would not have to fret and wonder about their armor giving away in the heat of any battle. It would last longer than anyone else's within the province and would most certainly would not fail here. My pride welled in my chest as dreams swept through my head of rewards and praise from the peers in my craft. These grandiose thoughts took me away to far off places of glory and riches, the battle before me was but a distant memory. I snapped myself back to the present and the reality at hand, I must remain in the moment, only fools dream of future greatness to bitter ends in the present.

Three sons I had, all heads of their own divisions armed to the teeth with my designs. I had raised them to be leaders not to be lead and they did me proud whenever I saw them and their men marching in formation. Top of their arts in battle logic, archery, and swordcraft. My three were the best this city produced in years or at least they we're never last. As my thoughts drifted toward my third boy and his independent nature I let off another small smile, he was frustrating to say the least.

Could be that I lost one or maybe two today, that is the wages of battle and war. But they would go down heroes who defended their kingdom and others would tell tales of their deeds in the small fires of the night. My pride swelled yet again as more visions of glory sprung forth in the fields of the summers mind. Followed by a solemn sadness, for I knew my wife would be devastated. Their was no way to heal the wound of a child lost, time can only take away so much, but some pain lingers through the scars of love.

But what options did we have, the coming of this army has been foretold for weeks. Evacuees had been coming as their cities, towns, and villages were taken, and stories of savagery and slaughter traveled with them. The kingdom would open its doors, help who it could, feeding and housing most of them, the others we did what we must do in these times but disease is just as terrible as any army. I thought upon the family we had sheltered, telling their tale of horror that befell them while shivering with traumatic memories that even the warm fire could not release. Creatures that I had only heard of in myths were described with frightening details, but I left those notions to simple folk who have never seen other cultures or people of different lands making up stories to explain that which was misunderstood. As I sat and listened to their terrible tales my skin brushed up with bumps and fear filled my treacherous heart. Looking at my wife I saw the despair and trepidation appear in the darkness of her eyes, I had to be strong and still the terrors in the night that would consume dreams. As the refugees left heading towards the east and the great sea hoping for something better. I told my wife and daughters that we will not flee to a safer place. "Our kingdom needs us." I would say as she cried and begged for us to leave, but I held firm, we would not be marked as cowards to be ridiculed.

Some in the kingdom chose to go find them and do small attacks, hoping to at least slow them down and make them think twice. I wanted to wait, I had made swords and armor by the dozens and my men were hard at work all the way to the last day till they arrived. The summer was ending and the cool autumn air rolled in from the east as the massive army slithered in from the western plains.

We had poisoned the wells and harvested all the crops leaving burnt earth behind before we shut the gates. They would die, they always did, from starvation or thirst and would leave in a few months time. This kingdom was well schooled in sieges, as our history was filled with them. But they did not have me before to arm the soldiers, and I was the best in the land. As I watched from the battlements of the wall my pride grew renewed within me, almost every soldier was equipped with my armor or sword. They knew who made it and they trusted my equipment, it would not fail, I was simply the best.

I looked again at the western horizon and thought I saw something flying in the distance. Death was ever present in the air and maybe the ghosts of battles past grew restless with the thoughts of fresh blood to feast upon. It was the way of it I thought to myself. Such as it was from the beginning of time till the end of the earth. A sigh escaped my lips as I brought the chalice of wine to my tongue and turned the bitter liquid within my mouth. Swirling the cup in my hand I swallowed the grapes gift and let it take effect.

It was still in me to be nervous, days of battle were long past and I made a comfortable living as a smith which made my family one of the most richest and respected in the kingdom. Yet still the unease of it all filled me, as the horrific stories still clung to my memory like a bad dream. I cast the thoughts of fear and doubt aside with a laugh.

"No one will breach the gate." I murmured.

"What?" said the sentinel to my right as his armor plate reflected the torchlight beside him. I looked into his frightened blue eyes and saw the stories lying behind the watchful stare. He wore the same cloak of the guard that all the sentinels wore, brazen red with gold outlines cascaded down his back. A black crest held the family house he belonged to. That was the only difference in each mans outfit within the guard. Above that was the seal of the kingdom, bright blue as the sky with a golden eagle shining within. The armor was one of my finest, hemmed with steel and inlaid again with the seal of the kingdom etched into the metal.

"I said they will not breach the gate."

He nodded his approval and stared hard at the siege line searching them for trouble.  They had not moved, no action was taking place even their cavalry lay dormant, every now and then a nervous whine from one of the horses below would echo of the wall but nothing else really pierced the silence. They just sat there and watched stone faced waiting, and that was when I realized what was so odd about the situation. No movement to place and wind the siege engines, no planning being done to breach the wall, no ladders being towed to climb. Nothing they just stayed there staring at the massive wall with neither fear or courage. Strange, how did they expect to succeed where so many others had failed. Surely this was not the armies that the refugees feared and storied with dark ends. Some other mass must have assembled or they were waiting for more forces to arrive, perhaps that was the reasons behind the hesitation.

I could feel the eagerness of the soldiers below me and caught a movement in the western sky again. What was there a storm coming in from that direction, unlikely but stranger things have happened. The sea hardly ever gave birth to rain at this time of year. Maybe a sudden storm or some random wind tempest driven by the spirits of the past. How fortunate that would be if this enemy would be blinded before the fighting began, attacked without us even having to draw a sword. I smiled warmly at the image of the besiegers flailing around in the storm only to be destroyed later by our seasoned troops. This would be over before it began.

A fresh thought of my wife filled my mind, I would be home soon, enjoying the fire and warmth of family as I told tales of the battle. Let the terrain take its victims again, there will be no fear here to be sowed and be reaped by soulless men. The fight would come and the victory would be sweet, won on the blades of righteous men of the realm. Of this fact I had no doubt.

A wind started rising from the north which made no sense at all. The storm was to the east and the sea air in the west was still. Loud thrums of drums started to sound within the besiegers camp, with sounds of metal upon metal filling the nights air. They started forming into companies which timed with the drum beats, they were organized, I would give them that. Ominous as all this was I still let out a chuckle of how foolish they were. Fools led to their destruction, let them come and meet their demise upon our walls.

The cheering from the opposite camp grew intense and filled the night with noise. Then it came like a gale of wind indiscriminate of its purpose. I could barely understand what happened or why I was on the ground when I saw the results of the calamity. Clumsily I stood and saw the charred and melted men that were strewn and entangled everywhere on the ground beneath the stone wall. My face burned from the hell fire that seemed to be feasting on the mortar besides me where the sentinel once stood. Trying to shake off my confusion I searched for what had happened. Only to be knocked down again from the force of the wall obliterating itself where the main gate was placed.

In shock and awe I caught a glimpse of a beast as it turned and flew with wings so massive it blotted out the moon towards the west. It's job was done and we were relatively defenseless, the wall and most of its defenders had fallen in what seemed like an eternity but in actuality was mere minutes. The last men fought valiantly but were being overrun by the now seemingly massive army that was pouring into the city. I had but one thought left that could penetrate the haze and move my body into action, my wife and daughters.

[perfeggso]

Noir (yutae)

Week I pt. 2

Tokyo – fall of 1983: Nakamoto Yuta is quickly rising in the ranks of one of Japan’s most notorious yakuza families, and he’s poised to climb even further if he can stop himself from being ruined by the pretty Korean boy who’s shown up out of nowhere.

Chapter 1  |  Chapter 2  |  Chapter 3  |  Chapter 4  |  Chapter 5  |  Chapter 6  |  Chapter 7  |  Chapter 8  | Masterlist 

Glossary of Japanese words

Characters: Yuta x Taeyong + NCT ensemble, Twice J-line (for funsies)

Genres: Gang!AU, angst, smut, fluff, 1980s!AU

Warnings: graphic violence, swearing, minor character death, alcohol use, mentions of drugs, period-typical homophobia, xenophobia, BDSM

Rating: 18+

Length: 2k (will progressively get way longer)

They had beaten Taeyong when he had asked.  He had gotten on his knees before the leader of the Specters and implored him humbly to let him join.  He would be a model warrior, he had assured: would fight unquestioningly anyone who challenged the gang and never run away.  He could prove himself.  The Spectors’ leader had pointed to the full red circle on his white headband.  Don’t you know we don’t accept gaijin ?   I’m not a gaijin , Taeyong had argued, only to be met with a venomous cackle.  Taeyong was sure he had felt a thin rain of spit land on him from the force of the laugh.  What are you then, Zainichi?  That’s worse!  Then they beat him. That was seven years ago, but it still carried trauma for Taeyong.

Gassan-ya was not Taeyong’s favorite bar, but it was doing him good to laze there at the counter drinking alone, eating peanuts, and listening to a mixture of citypop hits from the jukebox behind him and a report on Mitsubishi’s rising stock values on the television hanging from the ceiling.  That’s what he had been doing, until the Specters came zooming on their souped-up bikes past the front windows, hooting and hollering in their white uniforms, and banging baseball bats and rusty pipes against the pavement as they went.  Taeyong cursed to himself upon seeing the group of boys speeding off to a battle, shoving a handful of peanuts in his mouth and swigging the rest of his beer before ordering another.

He could never figure out why he was always so enamored with the Bosozoku boys he saw; why he had felt a need to become one.  Was it his desire for a sense of identity and belonging?  A need to act out against his parents’ authority?  The terrifying thrill he got from imagining himself in battle, taking a bat to some poor young man’s head?  Was it self-hatred?  He figured the correct answer was probably all of the above.  Walking around for almost a quarter century in Japan with the name Lee Taeyong had naturally brought him nothing but rejection – professional, academic, romantic, you name it.  And those who had accepted him were often no better off in life than he was.  Two of his best friends were locked away for petty theft, after all.

So, Taeyong had tried to join a violent biker gang at the age of seventeen, learning to ride his dad’s old motorbike, style a pompadour, and roll his R’s in preparation to make his case.  He did it because if he was going to be an outcast he at least wanted to be an outcast that someone could give a damn about.  He liked the thought of letting off some steam in a grand way, of being a source of fear for prosperous average Japanese people, of claiming his own place in the warrior tradition.  And it would have pleased him to have one of those bikes too.

But it had gone horribly wrong when he did make his case, and now he was too old for the Bosozoku anyway.  He spent his days working at an autobody shop and his nights drinking and trying not to get too close to anyone.  You see, Taeyong was a sensitive boy, but he lived in a world where it didn’t pay to be sensitive.

The bartender slid Taeyong his Sapporo over the counter as the rumble of twenty Bosozoku bikes was finally fading into the night, and he downed the drink as quickly as he possibly could.  It was a nice night and he needed to get out into the fresh air.

Taeyong left the bar on the outskirts of Tokyo and rounded the corner to a sidewalk perpendicular to a small alleyway.  Taeyong noticed curiously the sound of what he could only assume was an interpersonal struggle coming from the alley behind Gassan-ya: feet scraping against asphalt, heavy breaths, and urgent growled arguing.  Against his better judgement, perhaps because he had exceeded his usual drink limit, Taeyong decided to investigate, clutching the switchblade he kept in his pocket and tiptoeing cautiously as if attempting to approach a spooked deer.  When he got close enough to see, he found two men in trench coats hovering over the man Taeyong recognized as managing the bar in some capacity.  In the dusky light it was hard to make out anything clearly, but Taeyong was pretty sure at least one of the men held a revolver.  Taeyong tightened his grip on the knife and peeked out from behind a stack of liquor crates since he didn’t know what else to do and his curiosity was getting the best of him.  As if that would save him.  

“I’m sorry, we’re just a little short!” The man on the ground was attempting to explain – his voice hoarse.

“Well we’re sorry, but we need 30,000 for this week.”

“Please!” protested the apparent victim. “We’ll get it to you soon. Just – just give us a couple days.  I’ll do anything you need and we won’t be late again!”

Taeyong assumed the assailants would respond with something, but instead, the man on the ground seemed to spot him spying, their eyes locking, and Taeyong’s heart plunged into his stomach as the men in trench coats turned around and aimed at him.

“Come out, whoever you are,” said the closer one, “hands above your head!”  Were they cops?

Hesitantly, Taeyong crept out from his hiding spot and raised his arms as his lips attempted to form something coherent to say.

“What are you doing here?” Asked the other one.

What was he doing there?    

“I – I heard something.  I thought it might be a mugging…I’m sorry, I’ll just go.”

“Don’t move,” said the first one.  He turned to his partner.  “Take him to the van.  Kid’s a liability.”

“Yes sir!”  The farther one approached Taeyong and all of a sudden, his mind was spinning not just from the alcohol but also from the battle raging in his mind between the urge to run and the knowledge that he could very well lose his life.  If he were a wild animal, he would be playing dead.

Evidently, Taeyong didn’t think quickly enough, because his kidnapper had already reached him and taken off his hat to cover Taeyong’s face with.  He was led to a van, then formally blindfolded and handcuffed and left to wait for the two men to finish doing whatever they planned to do to that poor bar-owner.

The next several hours were the most terrifying and disconcerting thing that Taeyong had ever experienced.  First, they took him into the city to somewhere in Aoyama, he was pretty sure, and proceeded to have a conversation about him as if he weren’t right there with a man named Gwang-suk (Taeyong noted the Korean name with a mixture of comfort and dread).  Should they kill him?  Please, no .  Should they let him go? That would be greatly appreciated .  Should they recruit him?  To do what exactly??? Taeyong had deduced at this point that he was being held by one or another yakuza syndicate, but beyond that he could not have been more lost.  Then, Gwang-suk suggested they take Taeyong to someone named Nakamoto and that was that: back in the car.

A twenty-minute drive and he was marched into another building and shoved into a chair at an oak desk and finally allowed to see his surroundings.  Taeyong heard a man and a woman talking muffled through a wooden door behind the desk which, when it slid open, revealed a handsome man with white hair and piercings wearing a snakeskin suit.  In fact, Taeyong was briefly distracted by just how handsome the man was.

“ Shategashira !” Taeyong’s kidnappers bellowed, saluting the younger man who was now seated at the desk facing Taeyong.

“At ease,” he said coolly in a rounded Osaka accent.

The man on Taeyong’s left spoke.  “We’re sorry to interrupt you and Ms. Hirai, sir!”

“That’s no problem,” said the man Taeyong could only assume was “Nakamoto.”  “Work is always my priority as you know.”

“Of course, sir!”

The two men recounted their version of events with great enthusiasm and Nakamoto listened.  When they were done, he looked at Taeyong straight-on and asked, “is this all accurate?”

The directness startled Taeyong.  “Um – yes, factually that’s more or less it.  But I was never trying to get into any trouble!  I promise I would never talk!”

“Yes,” said Nakamoto, seeming to search Taeyong’s face.  “I’m sure you wouldn’t.  But you see, the Inagawa-kai simply can’t afford any loose ends, as I hope you understand.”  So that’s whose custody he was in, Taeyong realized, only the third largest and second most powerful criminal organization in Japan – maybe in Asia.  No sweat.  

“If you don’t mind me asking, what is your name?” Nakamoto asked.

“Taeyong.  Lee Taeyong.”

Nakamoto nodded knowingly.  “Mm, I figured that’s why you ended up here.  I deal with all the zainichi .”  

Nakamoto was the first Japanese person Taeyong had heard say that word without even a hint of distaste and this fact only confused his fear even further.  Taeyong had never felt more helpless.  Here he was, with no idea how anything around him worked nor what it meant, his life so fully in the hands of this beautiful man across from him that it made his head pound.  

“So, Taeyong.  Let’s figure this out.  Where are you from?  What do you do?  Tell me a bit about yourself.”

What is this, a job interview?

“I…well…um, I grew up in Shin-Ōkubo and I uh, still live there.  I work in an auto shop fixing cars.  I’m 24?  What else do you need to know?”

“We’re the same age,” remarked Nakamoto with a slight smile, and Taeyong wasn’t sure if this was supposed to be a means of connection between the two men or a subtle jab at Taeyong’s relative lack of status.  Either way, the nervous shaking in Taeyong’s body was beginning to fade as he became more and more confident he was not in imminent danger of death.  However, he couldn’t completely rule out the possibility he was being toyed with.

Nakamoto spoke again.  “How about your family?”

“We’re not very close,” said Taeyong.  “We only speak very occasionally.”

“Well,” Nakamoto responded, “we’re similar in that regard as well.  Do you have a criminal record?”

Taeyong was a bit taken aback by the question, but he was speaking with a gangster, so it wasn’t too out of the blue.  “I’ve stolen some shit, but I don’t usually get caught.  Spent a couple nights in jail for property damage a while ago.  Things like that, I guess?  I was sort of in a gang with my close friends in high school, but we didn’t do much other than loiter.  When I tried to join more established gangs I was rejected.”

“I see,” said Nakamoto, “well you could still always join a gang, if you haven’t already outgrown that impulse.”

Was this the recruitment his kidnappers had mentioned?  How on earth to respond?  “Oh?”

Nakamoto laughed, a sharp sound.  He was apparently done dealing with his victim and turned to the larger of the men who had abducted Taeyong.  “Find someone to go back home with him and monitor him tonight.  I think we’ll make him a foot soldier.  It’s better than the alternatives.  Understood?”

“Yes, Shategashira !”

Yuta turned back to Taeyong, who had gone tense against his chair.  What’s a foot soldier?  For Inagawa-kai? Would he have a gun?  Could he even fire a gun?? What were those alternatives that would be unspeakably worse??? And what was he supposed to say to his boss????

Nakamoto addressed Taeyong one more time.  “I hope you understand that this is for your own good and that you won’t resent me. I'm confident that we can come to an understanding.  I’ll be seeing you soon.”  And with that, Nakamoto was back out the door and Taeyong was once more being hauled to his feet.       

[erintoknow]

Hurry Home

fallen hero: rebirth fan fiction with Crow and Argent ~2.2k words [ao3]

–––

2 AM in Los Diablos isn’t much different from 6 PM. The haze of streetlights defused into the smog taints the black in sickly yellows, reds, and greens. Crow pulls his arms tight against himself as he wanders down the street. No particular destination in mind. Sail the ship, onward ‘till morning. Normally this is Morrígan’s time to shine. It just makes more sense that way, a witch for the witching hour, when all the specters peer out from underneath their tombstones.

Not tonight, not for a while. Morrígan needs to rest still. Dr. Mortum did a good job keeping the girl out of harm’s way but when you’re dealing with criminals you can’t afford even the pretension of weakness. Morrígan can take it easy until the worst of the bruising fades. She deserves it.

Not like Badb Catha– not like you. Keep your guard up, feelers out. Walking alone, at night, in the closest thing that passes for dark in this sad excuse for a city. There’s a man across the street, that’s been walking the same direction you’ve been for a whole block now. Telepathy assures he doesn’t think of you at all. But–

Sometimes you wonder if you’re suffering bleed-over from Morrígan. She may not have telepathy but she’s always taking count of everyone in sight-range. Assessing probable threats as best she can without the benefit of your talent. But the details that rank her concern… Some part of you, or of her-in-you is screaming the man is a threat. That you should speed up, detour away from him.

But– Crow is a man. Decently tall, more in shape everyday, with his telepathy, Crow shouldn’t have anything to fear from a scrawny twig of a dude. What’s he going to do? Pull a gun on you? Worst case Crow can just reach into the empty head and crush it down like a trash compactor. It wouldn’t even be hard. No training, no discipline–

“Spare a buck, lady?”

A hand on your shoulder pulls you off balance, yanking you sideways towards an alley between buildings. Trained reflex takes over, snapping the offending hand away as you step back and fall into a defensive stance. Adrenaline pumping, mind on full alert and– you squint through the gloom at the unshaven man standing were your telepathy insists there’s nothing and nobody. Strain harder, and catch the faint pop of static.

The man raises both hands up and backs away, back into the shadow. Static or no, how did you miss him? “Woah, easy there.”

“I’m no fuckin’ lady, hey?” Crow spits, narrowing his eyes in contempt. The nerve. The very idea. This guy would piss his pants if he knew he was talking to Macha. She’d bring an armored fist down and crush his head like a ripe grape.

“Yeah, I can uh, I can see that.” The mean looks down on Crow, mouth twitching down at the edges. He shakes his hand and before sliding it into the front pocket of his sweater. “Just looking for help, anything you can spare.”

“Bullshit.” Crow doesn’t relax, little alarm bells ringing in the back of his awareness at least two more minds nearby who are entirely too interested in what’s happening right now. Future trouble? With this guy? Separate? To early to tell. He’s the most dangerous. “How many beggars keep guns in their sweater vests, dumbass?”

The man’s face is full-on frown now. “No need for that, my man.” He’s taller than Crow, not a lot, but enough. How firm is his grip? How quick can he aim? Whatever’s about to happen, Crow should be fine. This guy is nothing that hasn’t been pasted countless times before. It’s just an open question on if Morrígan will need to go fishing for bullets this time.

Crow would, admittedly, prefer that not to be necessary.

“So you feeling charitable tonight?”

Crow rolls his eyes. “You’re not too bright, are ya?” It’s too late in the night for this game. There are places to aimlessly wander, there’s no time to pretend to be held up by a two-bit crook that can’t find the right end of a razor.

Crow snaps to the side, out of the estimated field of fire of whatever gun the man must be holding in his pocket. The sudden movement gets him by surprise. This isn’t part of the script. Yeah, will neither is yanking his arm back 90 degrees in the wrong direction until it makes a gross-ass popping noise. The would-be assailant screams and drops to the ground, a pistol falling out of his hand and scattering into the dark. A revolver? Doesn’t matter, not a factor now. 

Kick the body in the stomach, and he groans. “Fuckin’ idiot.” Crow mutters, shaking his head. Well, they can’t all be Ortega. “Maybe think twice next time ya amadán, ya idiota, ya–”

A crack rings out off the walls and at the same time fire blooms in your leg below the knee. Shot? You’ve been shot? No grazed. Skinsuit under your clothes held up. This time anyway. Gonna be a hell of a bruise. Twist, keep yourself on your feet, feel for who– one of the two you noted as too interested earlier. She’s moving towards, you pissed mad. You fling up your arms, can’t risk another shot. Not until she’s in punching range. Damn your leg. Fuck.

“Get away from him!” She’s on full alert, pistol pointed at you, finger on the trigger. Hands aren’t steady. How much training has she had? “I said get the fuck away from him!”

You keep your hands up, take an agonizing shuffle back. Fight the urge to push up your glasses. “Ya know, back-up don’t mean shit if your on the other end of the block, right?” Reach in there, mind like razor blades. Can you shut it down before she pulls the trigger? Too tense. 

Would the skinsuit hold up? What make is that pistol? You can’t tell in the gloom. She doesn’t know either. Charming. Idiots. Fools. Both of them. Siblings? Cute. ‘Bro’ wanted to try the nice way. Sis’ here knows the real score.

Find the floor, something to smash and bring her down quick.

“–I said empty your fucking pockets!” She jabs the gun in your direction. So much for protecting family. Can’t forget the crime, can we sweetheart?

“Can– can I put my arms down, hey?” Stall for time while you reach in there. This has to be subtle-like or the shock might get her to pull the trigger regardless.

She glares down the sight at you. If she did shoot, could you get Morrígan here in time? Would Morrígan even know where ‘here’ is? You slowly lower one arm. Don’t think about the gun. Pull one pocket inside out. Of course. You weren’t intending to go wandering. Not prepared. Think if you come clean about not having any money on you, the three of you can laugh this off as a hilarious misunderstanding?

No?

Think of another plan then.

Or, consider this: The beat of footsteps and something now way too familiar on the periphery pulls your attention upwards.

As she twirls through the air the phosphor light gets caught in her hair. A tangled mess of reflections, caught however many times before bouncing free? She brings her arm forward, down, pulled in on gravity’s tether and– oh, wait, shit, fuck–

Your leg screams in protest as you dive to the side just in time for Lady Argent to bisect the air between you and ‘Big Sis.’ A shot echoes off the walls blasting your eardrums and you have to clutch at your ears.  “Fuckin’ hell! Are you trying to kill me?”

Argent turns to you, looking none the worse the wear for having dropped from the roof of a three story building. She shakes out her arm like an etch-a-sketch as she takes in the scene. “I’m trying to help you.”

“Holy fuck,” Sis is backing away from the scene, eyes darting between you and Lady Argent.

Argent watches the woman from the corner of her eye. “Street muggers? Not much of a challenge.”

“I had it handled.” You hiss. Now that you’re on the ground the idea of getting up and putting wait on your leg seems impossible. “Had them eating out of my hand.”

Argent tilts her head, looking down at you, paying absolutely no mind to the woman who had just shot at her. “Is that what the bullet hole is for, Catha?”

“Nah, just a graze, hey? Look, it’ll be fine.”

“Your bleeding.” Argent stresses the word. Why does she care? She doesn’t seem to know either. “You’ve been shot Crow.”

“Well, look.” You wince as you pull yourself into a sitting position. “Ya gonna arrest the bitch that did it, hey?”

That gets Argent to shift her focus to the sister, stepping over the still prone body of the first guy. You don’t think he’s actually out of it, if all the internal screaming you’re picking up means anything. Just as good, you guess. 

Argent takes another step forward. The woman drops the gun to her side and books it. So much for family loyalty. You let her drop out of your awareness, her panic is putting you a little too on edge. You’ve got plenty of your own reasons to panic. Such as: Lady Argent wants to chase after the woman, but instead she turns to face you. She’s not impressed.

That’s fair, you concede. You aren’t impressed by you either.

“You need help.” It’s supposed to be a question, but coming out of her mouth it feels like a statement of fact.

You bark back a laugh. Wince as touch your injured leg. You still haven’t actually looked at. It’s not necessary. “You offering a piggyback ride Starshine?”

Her eyes narrow as she stares down at you. “Fuck off.” She tenses, fingers flexing. She wants to move in, can’t make up her mind. “I meant an ambulance.”

You shake your head. “Absolutely not.”

“Why?”

“Unlike like some people present, I’ve got bills to pay.” You grit your teeth. The pain a dull throb. As soon as you get back you’ll have to have Morrígan look at it. It’s just bruising, you’re sure. “What are you doing here anyway, hey?”

Argent shifts her stance, mouth wrenched in a tight frown. “What do you think I’m doing Crow, I’m on patrol.” You watch her facial expression, body language. There’s more to it then that, you’re sure. But what, exactly you can’t place. “What are you doing out here.”

You cross your arms. “It’s a free country Starshine.”

“It’s three in the morning.”

“My statement is not any less true on accountin’ of the hour.” You shift your position, grit your teeth as you try to get up. “Ah– fuck!” Argent’s hand grabs your arm before you can fall back down. She pulls you to feet with a disturbing ease.

“You need to see a doctor.” She doesn’t let go of your arm.

You scrunch up your face, stare down at the asphalt. “Don’t you have a mugger to chase down?”

“Small fry like that don’t matter.”

“That so…” You take a breath, try to keep your hands from forming fists. “And I do now?” Why won’t she let go?

“I’ll never…” There’s a hesitation in her voice. That’s hardly like the Argent you know. “Ortega will give me hell if I just let you walk off like that.”

Enough is enough. you tug at your arm. She lets go. “What does Julia fucking care?”

Argent doesn’t mince words. “She’s still in love with you.”

Something in your chest twists, you rub at your eyes with one hand, push your glasses back up. “Well, hey, tell her she’s seven years too fucking late for that revelation.” You pull back from her mind, in on yourself. You don’t want to know. Focus on the pain. The pain in your leg. It’s just a dull throb now but that’s real. Your leg is real. Not like her, or this city, or the rest of you. 

“Tell her yourself Crow. I’m not your go between.” She stands still. Doesn’t move after you as you hold yourself up against the wall. 

“Then don’t act like one, hey?” You push off the wall. Test your leg, hurts like a motherfuck but you can do this. It’ll be a long walk, but you’ve done worse. Maybe you’ll jack a car from somewhere to cut down the distance. Or just a taxi?

Argent steps after you, grabs your arm again when you stagger. “If you’re not going to the hospital, then where are going?”

“Where do you think, Starshine?” You snarl, “Fucking home, hey?” She’s close. Too close. Just a skinsuit under clothes can’t protect you. Why is she pretending to care? Does she know? Is this pretense for revenge?

“And where’s home for you, Crow?” You glance up at her, she’s not looking at you. Scanning the area. Empty street. Dogs barking in the distance.

Fuck it. Whatever. If she murders you in your sleep, you can’t say you didn’t have it coming.

You gesture to the left, down the street. “This way. Bit of a walk. Think you can handle it?”

[wesker20]

Fallen Hero 1.5 Episode 15 Revenge: Collision Course

Episode 14 Revenge: The Voice

Night – Rooftop of abandoned building.

           After one month, you are once again about to face off against Zeta. And this time you’ll have the Rangers at your side. Or at the least more interested in taking Zeta down than in you.

Getting a bad sense of Déjà vu.

           You lost count of how many times the rangers came to your rescue or you to theirs in the past. Or when they came to help you out when you were in trouble with a particular villain. And vice versa. Now here you are again, in the same situation, heading in a collision course with a rival and them coming to help you out. You are glad to have a mask to cover your smirk.

           “They are here,” Pelayo announces. You look down to see Steel and Argent. No sign of either Herald or Ortega.

           “Any sign of the other two?” you ask.

           Pelayo shakes his head. “Negative, sir.”

           You gruff. You can’t sense Herald anywhere. Which means he is not here. But Ortega? That’s another story. You can’t read her nor track her. She is perfectly blocked from you. You turn to your crew. “I’ll jump down and talk to them. You stay here and watch out for any activity. If you see something, let me know. If you see me being attacked, prepare cover fire.” All four nod and Pelayo begins relaying orders, putting Zaza on sniper position, Ward on the rear, and Nehal right beside him, covering you.

           You jump down, shooting your jets to slow down the fall and land right in front of them.

           “The Marshal and the wild car. Has anyone ever told you you make a cute couple,” you begin, covering most of your body with your cape.

           “Say that again and I’m going to eviscerate you,” Argent groans, showing her clawed fingers but not elongating them.

           “And who would you have left to entertain you?”

           “Point taken.”

           You turn to Steel. He’s glaring, but also observing, as if trying to piece together something. Maybe you. Maybe your suit. Better pull him out of his sightseeing before he finds something to use against you. “What’s the matter? Still grumpy about the affair with Marconi?” He only glares more. “If it’s any consolation, he is still alive.”

           “That’s not what we are here for.”

           “Indeed. Where’s the other two?”

           “Not cleared for active duty yet. Thanks to you,” Argent spits.

           “That’s too bad. Could have used the flying boy as a cannon ball.” You turn, looking at a building in the distance. Not the same building, but close to the area where it was. The building where everything changed. Where you changed. “The Voice is inside that building. Recruiting.” You don’t even have to turn to know that Steel tensed up a bit. Not enough for Argent to notice, but enough for you. Mostly because you were already expecting it. You tensed when you saw the location too. Seven years ago, that building, and this entire area were caught in the radius.

           Heartbreak.

           You glare. Zeta could not have chosen this place by accident, it must have been planned. Another structure connected to your past, like Bloodmoon. Which means one of two things: either he is more obsessed with you and your life than you first thought, or he is expecting you. Expecting an attack. Never make the same mistake twice. First thing you taught him in your sparring matches.

           “Everyone, come down,” you order through your mic. In a coordinated move your crew swings down the building using cables and grappling hooks. Pelayo stands beside you, Ward next to him, and Nehal and Zaza right behind you. You turn back to Steel. “We are ready.”

           Minutes later – outside apartment building.

           Steel checks another corner. “Clear.” You’ve let him give the orders. Steel is a military man and has a lot of experience. Even when you two did not get along, you could always trust him as a leader. So you made the choice to let him lead. For now. Once you were in the building, however, you have to get to Zeta first. In fact neither Steel nor Argent can get to Zeta at all. If they do, who knows what Zeta will do. Or say.

           Pelayo and Ward accepted the arrangement rather quickly and in fact you find them working very well with Steel. Nehal and Zaza though, they are a bit more hesitant, and always look at you first before obeying an order from him. Not that you blame them. Or disapprove. The last thing you want them to do is forget who is in charge.

           You stare in awe at the building. Not because it is impressing, but because you can feel the multitude of minds inside. At least thirty in the third floor. Nothing major. Nothing You or Steel or Argent have not dealt with before.

           Argent turns to you. “Make sure not to run away this time.”

           You chuckle. “I make no promises. The second the party starts, it’s the second The Voice learns that we are here.” You turn to her. “And I’m not about to let them escape again.”

           Argent eyes you for a moment, as if she now understands something about you. She turns back to the building. “As long as you don’t turn it into another massacre.”

           “An accident. One I do not intend to repeat.” You turn back to the building. You reach out with your mind again, letting it flow.

           There’s twenty more in the fourth floor. Theses ones feel a bit more different. Their thoughts betray a sense of confidence, security. One mind in particular has more confidence than anybody else’s. And an ego the size of a continent if you may say so yourself. That floor might be a bit of a problem. These kind of confident mind sets tend to reside on mods. Even Ward has them to a certain extent.

           “Find anything?” You turn to Steel.

           “What do you mean?”

           “You are using your telepathy to scan the building. I can tell.”

           You chuckle and turn back to the building. “Have experience working with a telepath Marshal?” at that you notice a swerve of emotion. From both Steel and Argent. Seems neither of them wanted Mastermind to realize that. Glad to know they care about you. Somewhat. They may just care more about what Ortega will do if anything happens to you.

           Again.

           You shake those thoughts away from the moment. Now is not the time for that sort of thing. “Thirty on the third floor. Most of them normal goons. Some may be modded but nothing heavy. The fourth floor on the other hand.” You tilt your head a bit. “Well, there’s ten less. But I’m pretty sure most of them are either modded. Or boosted. Or both. And the fifth floor is blocked. I dare say that’s where the Voice is.”

           Argent chuckles and grins. “At least it will be fun.”

           “That it will.” You turn to your crew. “Take the team inside. Quietly. Take out as many as you can on the way. Again, quietly. I don’t want to listen anything until I start it.” All of them nod and move into the building. “Ready Marshall?”

           “After you.”

           You chuckle a bit. “Of course.”

           Inside – Third floor

           You are going to have to raise your crew’s salary after this. Out of the thirty goons inside, fifteen are down. All done in silence. “Pelayo, remind me to throw a party for you guys when we are back,” you say through your mic.

           “Can’t afford to disappoint, sir. Just imagine what it would do to our reputation.”

           You hold back a chuckle and relay the information to Steel. “Give me a minute I can shut down six of them.” Steel stares at you with a look that has him dreading what that means. “Relax, I’m not killing them. Just sending them to sleep for a couple of hours.” He looks no more assured than he was before.

           You reach out, an ocean filled with small minds. Incapable of understanding. Of grasping what yours is. The Rat King squeals, both of your minds working in tandem. Like a snake you slither into each and every mind, leaving a small print, something that will react to a simple signal. A blast. A telepathic blast to be precise. Weak telepathic blasts like this will stun an opponent for several seconds. But by leaving these prints, you weaken their minds further. So much that a weak blast will knock them out. Why use portion of your power when you can weaken them and knock them out with virtually no effort.

           You can end them. Here and now. Those little minds are nothing but cattle. Made to be killed. Get them, grab them by the throat. Send their minds into disarray. Make them wish for that simple release. That release that will end all of their problems. Make them leave. Make them gone.

           The Rat King wraps itself around your mind and you wake up. You drifted off, your mind wandered into something else. But what? That voice, it was Jane’s. Or not. It was the Jane specter that’s been bothering you ever since your first fight with Zeta. But you don’t hear her now. You hear nothing else but the worried squeals of your partner. You assure the Rat King you are fine and continue, leaving the final print of your mind on the goons.

           You crack your neck as if waking up. “Alright. At my signal, six will go down, you take care of the rest.”

           “And you?” Argent questions.

           “I’ll say hello to the other guys upstairs. See if I can get them to leave.”

           “And if you don’t?” Steel bust in.

           “Then the party will begin.” You prepare now, focusing your mind, the blast building up until…

           “Now!” Steel and Argent bust into the room. You feel the six minds shutting down, left to dream for some time. Well not dreaming. Just out cold. Anyway, time to move. You rush through the stairs as the sounds of fighting echo. Most of the screams and grunts coming from people other than Argent and Steel, in fact, you don’t think there’s any grunts coming from them at all. Guess that’s what happens when you bring in two tanks to fight a bunch of weaklings.

           The walk to the room filled with twenty goons is much more uncomfortable. You can feel variety of minds in there, not all of them easy to sneak in and shut down. But you try all the same. Better to shut down a couple of them and fight the rest than fight all of them. They all seem to be suspecting that something is going on but are not alerted yet. Good. Worry makes them more open, pliable to your powers. You take a deep breath and step in.

           “Ladies and gentlemen. I am Mastermind. A pleasure to meet all of you.” you bow in an exaggerated manner as they all step back. As you expected many of them are heavily modded. Mechanical arms, legs, eyes, shoulder cannons, you name it. Not all of them military grade but they probably still pack a punch. Others do not seem to be modded. But they could be boosted. That said the majority are modded and only a few seem to be either boosted or have something up their sleeves.

           You wondered earlier why Zeta ordered them in such a manner. The non-boosted and non-modded in the third floor and these guys on the fourth. It seems his priority is to recruit boosts and mods over normal folk. So the unmodded here, if not boosted, must be pretty important.

           “In case you don’t know yet. I’m here for the Voice. So step aside and let me get to them.” Some of them obey but others stand their ground. “Unless you want me to do to you what I did to his previous army.”

           “Really?” a gravy voice echoes in the room. Next thing you know the ground shakes lightly under you as a giant figure makes way towards you. Eight? Probably nine feet tall? Maybe bigger? You don’t know because right now what has your attention is the… mods? Suit? Seriously you can’t tell. It looks like a suit but then again the guy has tubes and gears puncturing into his neck. Whatever they are those are definitely military grade.

           “Who are you? Cheap Psychopathor knock off?” you joke, trying to keep your cool and not show how lost you are on how to deal with this guy.

           “Hah you compare me to that loser? Give me a break.” So this is the guy with the planet size ego you felt earlier. “I am Boxer, The Unstoppable!” He clashes his metal fists. You can feel everyone else’s confidence growing.

           “The unstoppable, huh? Yeah I can think of one person who that title would fit a lot better.” You tilt your head. “And I fight her pretty much regularly by this point.”

           “Indeed. That is why I am Lady Argent’s biggest rival. I am her nemesis.” You hold your breath at this, otherwise you would burst out laughing and never stop. Ever.

           “I’m sorry I was under the impression that was me.”

           “You,” he says with a mixture of disbelieve and mockery. “A little thing like you?” and he burst out laughing.

           “Has anyone ever told you it’s not the size, but what you do with it?” Why don’t you let me show you?”

           He stops laughing. “What do you think I am?”

           “Someone with more brawns than brain, that’s for sure.”

           He glares. “Are you calling me an idiot?”

           “My point exactly.” You feel the thought before he moves. So you prepare and dodge the incoming attack. The punch breaks through the ground. “Nice blow. Here’s a cookie.” You extend your hand. He roars and charges at you but shoot your jets and fly over him. He bursts through the wall and leaves you with the rest of the goons. “Any takers?” Some prepare and others charge. You shoot a telepathic blast that stuns most of them and knocks out the ones you prepared earlier.

           You let an electric bomb fall to the ground and shoot your jets again, taking to the air as the first row of goons fall down unconscious. “Anybody els-” you don’t get to finish as you feel a hand wrap around your foot and slam you on the ground.

“Now you’ll see who’s the idiot,” Boxer yells as he shoots a punch. You roll to the side, the punch landing right next to you and leaving a hole where your head used to be. You shoot your jets again and fly from under him.

“Ok time out big guy.”

“NO TIME OUT!” He charges and you barely have time to dodge. What he lacks in brains he definitely more than makes up for it in stubbornness and how dangerous that can be. You have to think. But you don’t get the time as an explosion pushes you to the ground and the crowd swarms you. You are still strong enough to shrugs off some of them but too many of them, all of them with different mods. Some slash you, others punch you, and others try to electrocute you. They may not all be that powerful but they distract you long enough that you don’t even process the fact that Boxer is right in front of you, grinning. He punches you and sends you flying to the other side of the room.

Ok, maybe coming alone here was not such a good idea. You thought you could scare them away with what you did at Bloodmoon. You did not expected to find an idiot with a planet size ego and not have him not being afraid of you, which in turn inspires other not to be afraid. You have to think, fast. An escape route, something that will get you away from this idiot. Wait, the ground. You can use the nanovores to make a hole and land on the floor below. It would hinder your pursuit for a bit, but you have not felt any activity up. Once again, it probably means that Zeta is expecting you. Great. Another thing to worry about.

As Boxer closes in you prepare, putting your palm on the floor below and trusting the Rat King to guide them. The nanovores get to work, and you feel the floor beneath you giving away. Immediately you call them back to your glove. The floor gives away and you fall, landing on your back. Not the most graceful of landings but whatever. You find yourself staring at Steel’s and Argent’s bewildered faces. “Oh hi there. How’s your day? Mine’s being pathetic.”

“What happened?” Steel asks.

“Big guy. Modded to hell. Shit for brain. Gotta give him credit though, guy has a mean right.”

Argent stares in disbelief. “Please tell me you don’t mean-” she does not get to finish as the ceiling breaks down. “Boxer,” she says with an exasperated sigh.

“Argent! Finally. I’m ready for our rematch! This time I’m much stronger than before. I have modified my mods lift heavier objects, hit harder, and tonight will be the night when I finally beat yo-” he flies off and clashes against a wall. Argent stands where he was, arm extended, fist closed.

“So you two do know each other.”

“Unfortunately.”

“And here I thought I was the only one.” You stand up, finally.

“Aahhh, don’t worry. You’re the only one that matters.” She gives you a teasing smile.

“So, anything you can tell me about this guy?”

“Highly armored and strong. He used to be a soldier before he stole several mods and went rogue,” Steel reports.

“So those are military grade mods.”

“For whatever good they do to him,” Argent says, cracking her knuckles. “He also has knack for escaping. This is the… I don’t know, fifth time he escapes?” She looks at Steel. He nods and readies his weapons as the other mods jump through the hole in the ceiling Boxer just made. The three of you jump into it. Argent handles the brunt of them, taking and slashing anyone dumb enough to stand in front of her. Steel uses his weapons to disable and knock out anyone that slips past her. And you handle the stragglers that are left after all of it is done. In less time than you expected most of them are either injured or out cold.

“That was easy,” Argent remarks. You and Steel look at one another. Why did she have to say that? Suddenly, Steel takes a missile. The explosion sends him back, separating him from the two of you.

“I told you. I upgraded my mods. Now I can take anything you throw at me.”

“Does he have an off switch?” you ask her.

“I’ll let you know when I find it.”

You groan. This guy was becoming more trouble than he was worth. End him. You can do it. Just let go. You are much stronger. Argent’s yell brings you back to reality.

“Hey! What are you, sleeping?” You shake your head. “Good. Then help me with this idiot.”

“I didn’t thought you required help.”

She laughs. “I don’t. But he’s boring. With you I can beat him faster. The faster I beat him the less I have to hear him speak.”

“Understood,” you pause. “My Lady.” She groans.

“Hah, need help from your little friend now? Hah I knew it. You can’t beat me. I am the biggest thing you have ever faced. There is not a single thing you can do to stop me now.”

“Shut up and fight already shit for brains!” you both yell. Instantly he charges. You both dodge to either side. He stops and turns back to Argent. He shoots a fist, but Argent dodges it with grace. She slashes his suit a bit, but nothing major.

“Hah! Even your claws can’t get me!” He’s wrong. Argent could have gone in much deeper than that. So why didn’t she?

“Seriously, are you in love with your own voice or something?” you ask.

He turns to you. “What!”

“I asked if you are in love with your own voice. Because you speak more than a preacher on Sundays.” You glue your hand to a column left of you, without his notice.

“I wouldn’t have to if your tiny brains recognized my superiority.” He smiles.

“Right, right. Is it because you are stupid?” that sets him faster than you thought. This guy has some anger issues to work through. He charges you and you step out of the way as the column disintegrates and the ceiling falls on him. That does not stop him and he powers through the debris. He tries to punch you but you shoot your jets just in time. Just then you see Argent’s silver form right behind him and she slashes. Again a superficial strike as far as you can tell. Was his armor really too much for her? That’s impossible. He turns fast, hitting Argent in the face and sending her flying.

You shoot your jets at max power, turn midflight, and land a kick straight into his exposed face. Even burning it with your jet. He screams and stumbles back, covering his face. Once again Argent appears almost out of nowhere and slashes again. Another superficial strike. Or so you thought.

In an instant you hear Boxer’s armor powering down, the lights on his chest and back turn off, and he falls on his knees. You land, wondering what just happened.

“What?” Boxer and you say at the same time.

“Same thing I always do when fighting him. Cut off the tubes leading up to his power source.” She smirks at you.

“How! I changed it. I made sure they were hidden. How did you know where they were!? How!” He yells. Argent punches him out cold.

“Finally, some peace and quiet.” You say. But he was right. How did she saw it? You didn’t saw anything. It’s that vision of hers. The way she can just see the insides of technology. She can probably see the weaknesses of your suit too. A worry for another time. Right now, Zeta is the priority. Steel shows himself finally. Seems he was hindered a bit with Boxer’s missile. “You missed all the fun.”

“He’s seen three of these fights by now. He knows how it goes,” she chimes in.

“Let’s hope he doesn’t escape again,” he says.

“Yeah sure. Whatever. Let’s move on.” But just as you turn… shit. You have no idea where they came from but currently you have dozens of goons standing in front of you. “I didn’t felt those.”

“You said the fifth floor was blocked,” Steel says as he takes a stance.

“Yeah, probably should have guessed there were more there.” You take your stance and so does Argents.

“Boss!” you hear Pelayo yell. He and the others stand beside you.

“You can handle these?” You turn to Argent and Steel. Steel nods without looking at you. Argent rolls her eyes but nods too. You turn to your crew. All nod. Good. You are done fighting goons. Even if it’s a trap, you have to get there now. These goons will keep Argent and Steel busy long enough that you can deal with Zeta before they get to him. You run a diagnostic of your suit. Some damage from your fight with Boxer. But you can still work with this. Your weapons are all untouched as well. “Good. I’ll say hello to the Voice from your part.” You prepare your jets.

“Take them alive,” Steel orders.

“I make no promises.” You shoot your jets fly over the goons and through the hole in the ceiling. Time to find Zeta…

And end this.

Episode 16 Revenge: The Rules of Pain.

[sailor-cresselia]

The Great Ex-Aid Rewatch: Ex-Aid & Ghost, part 04

Last time? My ears were grievously injured by way of four transformations running at once. This time?

FIGHT TIME.

The five riders and bugsters stand opposite from each other in the abandoned office, before Hatena – the only proper bugster here – warps the three scientists and legend riders off into game stages, leaving Ex-Aid, Ghost, Zaizen, and Hatena behind.

LETS DO THIS!

–––

At CR, Akari wakes up, and insists on going to see Takeru. To be fair, when she asked where he was, Onari said that ‘he’ll be back soon, don’t worry’, which… well. It’s Takeru. She knows that means he’s gone off to do something reckless. Again.

After a moment, Poppy gives in, and supports Akari as they head out. When the door opens, Makoto and Alain are standing there. How they knew where the CR basement was is beyond me, but whatever. I’m fairly certain that, given how poorly off they were last night, they are not supposed to have left their room.

Also, Makoto needs to wear that jacket less often, because the high collar doesn’t do him any favors. A plain black t-shirt is a much better look for him, if you ask me.

The entire group heads out.

––– –––

MAJI KA? MAJI DE! MAJIDA! SHOWTIME!

Kamen Rider Wizard faces off against a group of Dragon Knight Hunter mooks, cycling through his four base forms – Flame, Water, Hurricane, and Land.

The only form that gets to show off any of its elemental skills is Hurricane, though. Flame is basically just his gun, which he isn’t even using; Water requires the Liquid ring to show it’s power; and Land is a physical offensive/defensive boost. Hurricane, however, gives him cyclone-powered flight, which Haruto briefly uses here.

Once he’s taken out the mooks – albeit with no defeat explosions in sight – Doral steps forward, saying that it’s time they settle this. They trade punches, as the tv-size cut of “Life is SHOW TIME” ends, transitioning to

–––

DON’T SAY NO! JUST LIVE MORE!

Kamen Rider Gaim faces off against a group of Giri Giri Chambara mooks, cycling through his base-level power ups – Orange, Pineapple, Strawberry, and Banana. He gets to show off their special weapons – Orange’s sword, Pineapple’s flail, Strawberry’s kunai projections, and Banana’s spear.

Okay, so Banana is technically supposed to be KAITO’S base form, and Kouta used it literally twice before this – once in the show, and then once in the Gaim summer movie. But since Kouta actually uses the spear like a spear, and his other ‘base level’ form is the Watermelon mecha, I think we can allow this.

Once he’s taken out the mooks – with plenty of defeat explosions in sight – Giril steps forward. He sends out a banana-shaped energy attack (Gaim had very weird attacks) which she slices through while charging, as the tv-size cut of “JUST LIVE MORE” ends, transitioning to

–––

(kickass instrumentals) Ameagari Break Cloud sukima-kara

(Okay, yeah, Surprise Drive doesn’t quite fit the pattern of the openings starting off with strong lyrics, does it?)

Kamen Rider Drive faces off against a group of Gekitotsu Robot mooks, cycling through his first few forms – Type Speed with Max Flare, Type Technic with Rumble Dump, and Type Technic with Road Winter. The Steering Sword makes an appearance before Type Speed gets upgraded to have literal fire powers. Technic gets in a crushing shoulder-check to show off its physical strength before it gets upgraded with a drill. Technic gets to show off the sharpshooting abilities with the Door Gun before… hnnnnn… before he gets bascially a giant fan on his chest that freezes the enemies. Like, okay, Road Winter has a cool ability, but it looks so dumb in use.

Once he’s taken out the mooks – all of whom were frozen and shattered – Robol shows up, falling out of the sky to attack, as the tv-size cut of “SURPRISE DRIVE” ends.

––– –––

Ex-Aid versus Zaizen, and Ghost versus Hatena.

This fight is going to be… tricky to detail, to say the least. It switches between sides quite a bit, so I’m going to divide the details between them. If tumblr still let us use the horizontal divider, I’d have a lot less trouble, because I could have used that between full scenes, and the series of dashes here. But noooo. No, I’m using two sets of dashes between full sections, and single sets for this. (sigh.)

–––

Ex-Aid manages to get a few hits with his Gashacon Hammer, but they don’t really do much, before Zaizen (technically ‘Genomes’ right now, because he’s in full bugster mode, but I don’t really think it matters that much for him) delivers a painful kick that sends Ex-Aid backward.

–––

Ghost is up against Hatena. He is not doing well.

He gets pushed into a concrete wall – denting it – by Hatena using his staff as a blunt object, before getting flung through a corrugated steel wall some distance away. He leaps out of that, transitioning from base ‘Ore’ mode to Musashi, which lets him get a few slashes in. But those are deflected, and he’s sent flying through… hopefully the same concrete wall as before.

I say hopefully, because that would mean it was already weakened from the impact before, and that he didn’t whole-ass crash through an intact wall.

Being knocked out of Musashi, he switches to Edison, firing off an electrically charged attack from his gun… which gets basically deflected via the ‘slice the shot in two’ method, exploding off to either side of Hatena, but leaving the bugster unharmed.

Unharmed, and laughing.

–––

Ex-Aid grapples with Zaizen for a bit, before backflipping away to upgrade to Gekitotsu Robots. Aside from Drago Knight Hunter Z, which he can not use on his own, this is the only upgrade Emu has right now. Fortunately, it gives him a robot-powered fist, and his punches are enough to stagger Zaizen backwards. Using a Flash energy item lets him blind Zaizen long enough to launch a Critical Strike finisher. Since he’s using Gekitotsu Robots, this takes the form of a literal rocket fist.

I may not like the design for the Gekitotsu Robots armor, but damn if it doesn’t have a cool attack.

Zaizen is knocked back, but is far from down. “Now… time to complete the operation of death!” He charges some sort of power, and fires an array of blue lasers.

Ex-Aid is blasted to the ground, and Emu lies there, groaning in pain.

–––

Ghost has managed to switch into Boost, but it doesn’t seem to have helped at all. Not by how his punches and kicks are still being deflected away by the significantly bulkier Hatena, and Ghost doesn’t even get to fire a shot with his second gun.

Takeru has two sword-guns, and this one has sunglasses. Ghost is a trip, weapons-wise.

Hatena shoots first, and the resulting explosion launches Ghost forward, breaking his transformation as he falls. Takeru hits the ground, rolling and clutching his Eyecon Driver G. It’s a struggle for Takeru to push himself to his feet, but he manages, slams the driver to his waist, and transforms into Grateful.

Skipping the direct conflict, Ghost goes straight for the finisher, launching himself up for a ‘Mega Omega Formation’ rider kick. Hatena responds by firing blasts up at him. The main one – shaped like a question mark – collides directly with the kick…

And knocks him out of the air. Ghost’s transformation breaks very high in mid-air, and Takeru has a distance to fall to the ground.

He’s Takeru when he hits the ground, rolling backwards head over feet, and it’s an even greater struggle to push himself upright this time, as he holds the Infinite Eyecon. “Not yet…”

He stumbles as he pushes the button to activate the eyecon. This is a one handed activation, and he’s losing balance.

Every movement sounds like it hurts, with the little grunts of exertion when he activates his driver. When he steps forward as Ghost. When he activates the finisher.

As Hatena says, he is very persistent.

The Enjoyment Strike finisher is met with an attack of Hatena’s own, resulting in a beam-o-war. A very brief one, though. Hatena’s attack pushes through, possibly pushing Ghost’s finisher with it, and Kamen Rider Ghost has his Infinite transformation shattered.

Glaring daggers at the laughing Hatena, Takeru staggers forward, step by painful step. We see quick cuts of his friends as they make their way here while he speaks. “I’ll protect Akari…” (Akari being supported by Poppy) “and the human world…” (wider shot, with Akari and Poppy being joined by Alain with Onari and one of the monk trainees, and Makoto with Kanon and the other monk.) “I’ll fight to protect them all!”

There’s the sound of a heartbeat as Takeru clutches at his chest, in pain and determination.

Hatena fires an attack meant to finish the fight.

Right before it can connect with Takeru – there’s not enough time or distance for him to dodge – the Nobunaga eyecon pulls him inside.

Nobunaga – one of the legends that generally sticks with Makoto, mind you – says that Takerus resolve to keep fighting has inspired him, and it would be an honor to fight alongside him. The Nobunaga spirit sort of… merges with two others that are apparently also in there? Look, Ghost lore is weird, nobody really understands how these powers work, so this might as well happen.

He (they?!) release Takeru back into the wild, where he hurriedly grabs the upgraded eyecon as Hatenas attack connects.

Emu, watching – this has all clearly happened very quickly – yells for Takeru. As far as he can tell, Takeru’s just gone up in flames.

The fire and smoke clears, and Kamen Rider Ghost stands there, in his Tenkatoitsu Damashii form. This one draws power from Oda Nobunaga, Toyotomi Hideyoshi and Tokugawa Ieyasu.

As he starts fighting back against Hatena – properly fighting back, finally – B.A.T.T.L.E G.A.M.E starts playing, and I switch to the RTA subtitle track, because that one actually includes the lyrics in the corner.

The first volley of attacks is from his own sword in it’s double-ended form, all of which connect. Then he pulls out Specter and Necroms guns, and it’s just nothing but explosions as far as Hatena can see.

––– –––

Kamen Rider Wizard, in his Flame Dragon form, is doing damn well against Doral. He pulls out the Drago Timer, and goes into All Dragon mode, which lets him dive bomb Doral. Haruto gets wings in that form, in addition to the claws, tail, and fire. Area donut-lover gets to fly.

After landing, he pulls out a silver and diamond ring.

Infinity, Please!

With one Shining Strike axe-blow –

Game Clear!

Doral is defeated.

–––

Kamen Rider Gaim, in his Lemon Energy form, fires a volley of arrows at Giril, before he goes into Kachidoki Arms. After pair of attacks from his battle flags (Gaim had very weird attacks) and the DJ Gun, he pulls out a ‘key’.

Kiwami Arms!

With an attack from the combination of his sword and gun –

Game Clear!

Giril is defeated.

–––

Kamen Rider Drive, in Type Deat Heat, delivers some devastating fire punches to Robol. (I hate Dead Heat’s helmet so much… it’s just bad, guys.) He goes into Type Formula, and zooms past Robol, presumably hitting him as he goes. Not like we can see, we’re lucky to get a blue and yellow motion blur before he fires the Formula Cannon. After firing, he pulls out a minature version of his car – and also summons his actual car.

Type Tridoron!

With a powerful Rider Kick – and I feel the need to point out that Shinnosuke is basically wearing his actual car as armor right now, so there’s no need for majorly flashy effects for this attack –

Game Clear!

Robol is defeated.

–––

B.A.T.T.L.E G.A.M.E comes to an end, and I mourn the ending of such an awesome song as I switch back to the Excite sub track.

––– –––

Back at the warehouse.

Zaizen drags Emu up by the back of his shirt, before punching him in the stomach and holding him up by his hair. “To think that the high schooler from back then would become a Kamen Rider…”

Emu, of course, has absolutely no idea what he’s talking about.

Ghost – Takeru, now, since I don’t have to worry about form changing anymore – yells at Zaizen to stop, and rushes him. Zaizen responds by hurling Emu bodily away, so that he lands on his back after flying several meters. Takeru goes to fight Zaizen directly, and makes the mistake of grabbing his arm.

Tenkuji Takeru long since gained the ability to see into peoples souls, into their memories.

He did not, however, gain control over this ability.

–––

An operating room.

Zaizen, in medical scrubs, with decidedly non-standard equipment.

The subject of the ‘operation’, unconscious, with a helmet presumably monitoring his brain functions.

We can finally see his face.

Hojo Emu, age 18.

–––

“What – was the one you operated on six years ago – that was-?!”

If Zaizen had expressions in this form, he’d probably be smirking. “Oh, so you could read my memories, eh? That’s right. Hojo Emu was the first in the world to be infected with the bugster virus.” He turns to look at Emu, who’s lying on the ground, making pained noises, before turning back toward Takeru. “He’s Patient Zero for the game disease!”

Hatena knocks Takeru away, re-engaging him in battle, as Zaizen goes towards Emu, who is pushing himself to his feet. I’m not sure Emu even heard that last exchange between Takeru and Zaizen.

“I just don’t understand it… why go so far for one measly patient?” He keeps hitting Emu, tossing him back down to the ground.

“Because I know that when Tougo thinks about games…” Emu tackles Zaizen around the waist, but gets thrown back down again. He stands back up. “He smiles like he’s having the best time of his life!”

…I think Emu’s going to need to replace that coat. I don’t think that the dirt will come out, to say nothing of the bloodstains it keeps picking up whenever he gets thrown somewhere new.

But regardless of how trashed his outfit is, of how incredibly beaten up he is, Emu will do anything to make sure his patient can smile like that again.

Somehow, because who the hell knows how bugvisors are supposed to work, Tougo forces himself to at least semi appear from the one he’s trapped in, saying he’s sorry, he doesn’t deserve this kindness, he’ll do what he’s asked to from here on, but please, save him – he doesn’t want to be a monster!

Emu, who is far too nice, says that of course he will. Its his duty as a doctor, after all. Everything’s going to be fine.

Zaizen calls Tougo a disobedient rat, and pulls him fully back into the bugvisor.

He then proceeds to stalk over to Emu, and kick his legs out from under him, knocking him to the ground.

He stomps one foot onto Emu’s shoulder, and holds the other down with one hand, reaching into Emu’s coat pocket, taking out the Mighty Action X gashat.

“I’ll make you suffer… just as deeply as I have!” He activates the gashat, with Emu trying in vain to reach for it, before slamming it into Emu’s driver.

Then he pulls out the proto-gashat for Mighty Action X, activates it… and, laughing evilly, slams it into Emu’s driver.

A cloud of purple pixels appear from the belt, mostly off screen, but most of what we see is purple lines coursing along Emu’s face. (Wizard fans are not okay right now.) They look like circuitry, almost, flashing along him as he thrashes in pain.

“You can stay banished in the Game World for eternity!”

There’s more crying out in pain and thrashing, before Emu manages to glare at Zaizen, who’s been holding him down throughout this.

Emu’s voice takes on a dual tone – like there are two people speaking at once. One of them is decidedly not Emu… but it’s not who the ‘other option’ should be, either. I don’t think it is, anyway. “I’ll change Tougo’s fate…” The lines change from purple to orange on the right, and blue on the left. His voices take on a deep, growling tone, as his eyes glow. “…with my own hands!”

He blasts Zaizen off of him with a burst of orange and blue light, and sort of… pulls himself upright. Like a puppet, almost.

This is absolutely terrifying!

Knock knock, is there anyone home? BECAUSE EMU SURE ISN’T! Not with how he stares at the camera, his eyes glowing, lines etched into his face.

The two gashats rise up out of his driver, one glowing orange and the other glowing blue, before he snatches them out of the air as they fuse into one large gashat.

He triggers the button.

Mighty Brothers XX!

He smirks a little as the wind blows his hair back, but it’s gone when he actually transforms, just leaving his expression dull and vacant. His voice echos through the warehouse, toneless and ominous. “Transform.”

There’s no flair to the “level two” transformation, and he looks down as the single Pink Ex-Aid divides into two halves, and then reform into two Ex-Aids.

Zaizen’s reaction, “What just happened?!” pretty much matches that of everyone watching this for the first time, whether it be in theaters or even already having seen Mighty Brothers in show! THIS IS TERRIFYING!

“We’ll clear this with no continues.” Both Ex-Aids speak at once, still in an eerie monotone, moving in an exact mirror match to each other.

And I do mean mirror. This isn’t the ‘co-op play’ that Mighty Brothers will use in show. Every motion is one-to-one matched between them.

Takeru, back with Hatena, turns to see this, and basically decides that it must be fine, because at least Doctor Emu’s not screaming in pain anymore, and he’s… er, they’re kicking the bad guys ass. Not that he says that, of course, but you know. It’s the general sentiment.

Going back to his own personal battle, Takeru finally manages to get a proper, full finisher in on Hatena, using his Sunglasseslasher and Deep Specters Deep Slasher.

Game Clear!

The two Ex-Aids launch a finisher of their own, two charged Rider Kicks in their respective colors. Making and landing these kicks is the only time they don’t move simultaneously.

Zaizen is knocked down, finally, having dropped the bugvisor. Orange and blue arcs of electricity spark from him before he is engulfed in flames.

The Ex-Aid’s eyes are glowing as they pose in front of the explosion.

Game Clear!

–––

With Team Ghost (and special guest Poppy), Akari suddenly stops, and the bugster virus leaves her system.

–––

Tougo reforms out of being yellow specks of data (because this might as well happen), and Takeru goes to catch him as he falls, unconscious.

The two Ex-Aids… sort of nod, or make an affirming sound, before dissolving. LITERALLY disintegrating! Completely! Also, something interesting I never noticed before is that the orange one turns into orange dots of light, while the blue turns into squares – like, the border of a square, just the lines. There is no overlap in the shapes – both of them are exclusive. The lights spread out, before rapidly coalescing into pink boxes, that then become regular Ex-Aid.

Regular, pink, very definitely only one person in here Ex-Aid, who is very confused right now.

“Huh? What was I… just doing?”

“You don’t remember…? You just saved Tougo.”

Emu doesn’t remember the last part of this battle at all. I’m pretty sure he barely even remembers Takeru getting his new form. And Takeru’s not saying anything, because nope no nuh-uh, this is not his business, he’s not supposed to really interfere with the new guy, that was terrifying, and if he doesn’t remember, then that’s probably for the best!

–––

Ex-Aid and Ghost – both in their base forms now – set Tougo down outside the building as Drive, Gaim, and Wizard approach. They thank them, and the three Legend Riders say that it’s what they do – they’re all Kamen Riders. If they need help again, they’ll all be willing to fight together.

–––

Emu and Tougo are walking as Poppy catches up to them, and goes to support Tougo’s other side.

Uhhh… Poppy. I hate to tell you this, but I’m pretty sure that Tougo was actually the one helping Emu walk. Any limping there was being kind of tired on Tougo’s part, and Emu being barely able to stand without the armor. Yes, Tougo’s arm was on top of Emu’s shoulders, but he was decidedly more upright than Emu, and it’s not a height thing.

Team Ghost rushes past them to Takeru. Everyone is so glad to see that the others are alright.

The sounds of a heart beating can be heard as Takeru takes a step forward–

and cuts off as he drops in slow motion.

Someone at Toei just loves seeing Takeru suffer. Probably the same one who has them keep putting Emu in situations where he’s grievously injured. This movie has both.

As Emu desperately tries to revive Takeru, the others are stunned into near silence. Akari’s approaching an emotional breakdown, and Onari tries to tell Emu to stop. They can’t do this again, they can’t go through all of this again, it’s not working, so please, that’s enough.

Emu doesn’t stop, refuses to, and Takeru begins breathing again.

Emu says that he couldn’t let Takeru die again, he’s a doctor, after all. Takeru thanks him, saying that he’ll take care of his life.

–––

We enter the ending credits, with “Hikari” playing.

Haruto sits on a rooftop, having one of his trademark plain sugar donuts. (We do not find out if he actually got to finish it for once.)

Shinnosuke gets a surprise baby shower from his coworkers. Literally everything is blue, much to his protests. He and Kiriko haven’t actually found out if they’re having a boy or a girl yet, come on, it’s too soon! One of them points out that he’s already got a name chosen, and he can’t find a response for that.

Kouta and Mai, seen from the back, are enjoying the scenery on their Helheim planet, because keeping the forest around was totally not a mistake. Not like they shouldn’t have, I don’t know, at least tried to eliminate said forest with their god powers? (Gaim was weird and Kouta’s a moron.)

Tougo actually interacts with his classmates for once, showing off his game in action, instead of ignoring them to work on it.

Alain, Makoto, and Kanon head back to the Ganma World, waving goodbye to the rest of team Ghost. Takeru and Akari smile at each other.

Hiiro has a slice of cake – one with oranges on it.

Taiga looks up at the hospital, and walks away. (It was nice while he was able to be back there – no, stop it, Hanaya, you’re done, you don’t need them…)

Kiriya lounges on a random roof, leaning against a wall. He puts on his sunglasses and smirks.

Poppy has apparently installed an emulator on her arcade console, because it’s supposed to be her apartment and she’s currently playing Pac-Man on it.

Emu tries to do his job as a pediatric intern, but the small child he’s with has other ideas, and runs off. Emu tries to pursue him, but trips over his own feet and goes flying.

The credits end…

–––

And we see Dan Kuroto’s desk, the proto-gashats and bugvisor safely back where they belong. He got some very valuable data from Zaizens actions.

Parad, holding a Pac-Man gashat, smiles. They’re getting closer to the day that their puzzle’s finally finished.

They both turn to look at a monitor, which has the start screen for Perfect Puzzle. (Parad’s smile drops once Kuroto has his back to him.)

See you next game.

––– –––

And that’s the Ex-Aid & Ghost film complete!

Most of the analysis stuff I could say, I’m pretty sure I already have said in the previous three segments.

The elephant in the room, of course, with regards to the early appearance of Mighty Brothers XX is ‘Was Parad There?’

In-universe and in real life, when this movie came out, nobody knew who Emu’s Bugster was – this was the first confirmation that he was infected. That there was some sort of foul play at hand in his ability to be Ex-Aid. Before, there had only been suspicions and hints.

But that second voice, right before Emu shoved Zaizen off of him… there was Emu, yes. But I’ve been going back and forth between that scene and the stinger, and I can not, for the life of me, tell if that was just an echo effect or if they actually laid Parad’s voice over Emu’s.

It’s definitely just Emu when he’s transformed – “We’ll clear this with no continues” is two copies of his voice at the same time, with a slight echo in amidst the complete lack of emotion.

Parad might be here to help form the extra body, but… in practice, there’s nobody home right now.

Of course, to this day, we have no idea how Mighty Brothers usually works, since there was a point when Emu was using it against Parad regularly, so it couldn’t have been him forming the second half, but… it can also be used to split Para-DX from Perfect Knockout into two copies of himself, one each in Perfect Puzzle and Knock Out Fighter…

So! This! Is a good movie! I really like it! Raises a few questions, like how does the Mighty Brothers gashat work usually, and how do Eyecons work, but it’s not like those are new!

SEE YOU NEXT GAME!

(Or next Zi-O. Hopefully we get subs for 48 soon, I’d like to be able to actually go on tumblr…)

[meowloudly15]

Stranded: Day 1 - PIGEON SWARM

Hey, guys! It's meowloudly15 at the helm! And today, I've got for you the start of a story that I've been working on for the past month and a half! It feels so great to finally get it out there! I mean, I'm not done writing it, but still, you know that feeling, right?

I saw Into the Spider-Verse the day after Christmas. I was already in love with Butch!Gwen, and the movie did nothing but help. But one thing about her origin story made me think. If she showed up to Brooklyn a week before the collider accident happened, what did she do during that week? And how did she really find her way to Miles?

Those were the questions that I sought to answer by writing this fic.

I'm currently set to post chapters twice a week on Mondays and Thursdays. Here's hoping that I can actually stick to a schedule for once in my life.

DISCLAIMER: I do not own Spiderman: Into the Spider-Verse or any related characters. I am using them without permission. Please don't sue me.

I hope you like it!

NOTE: Chapters are also posted on my FFN and AO3 accounts! See the title page for more information!

First | Next

PERSONS TAKING NOTICE

Gwen slowly elevated herself to a sitting position on the solid concrete, rubbing her aching head. She breathed a sigh of relief upon noting that she was still wearing her Spider-Woman mask and costume, because people were gawking at her crash landing. At least, that was what she assumed her spider-sense was warning her about.

Gwen scanned the area and noticed a disheveled man propping himself up from his seat on the stoop of an apartment building and looking her way. She also noticed a stained brown paper bag lying on the ground next to him. With any luck, the man would dismiss her as just being a drunken hallucination or some fashion of specter. She didn't see any other people nearby, so she presumed it safe to remain visible.

UNFAMILIAR TERRITORY

Right. Where on earth was she?

Was she on Earth?

Gwen stood up and studied the somehow familiar yet unfamiliar landscape. There was something about it that made it appear almost unrealistic. The city resembled Connecticut City, but was it?

It was a different dimension, wasn't it. Gwen remembered what her spider-sense had repeated over and over as it went haywire right before she was sucked into the, uh... the weird bubbly thing. It kept saying "INTERDIMENSIONAL TRANSPORTATION IMMINENT". If that wasn't a tip-off, she didn't know what was.

She ought to ask someone about where she was. But Gwen couldn't go talk to people at random while she was in her costume. They'd freak out.

RISK OF NUDITY

Right. She didn't have street clothes. They were back at her house, wherever that might be. She'd have to get some somehow.

Gwen rummaged through her pockets, taking inventory. Extra web fluid; very important... phone; hopefully she'd get service... driver's license; probably not valid here... house keys; she hoped she'd be home by curfew but kind of doubted it... a notepad and pen; tools of the trade... earbuds… aha! Money!

Only seven bucks worth of it!

The stores here might not even accept her cash. Gwen sighed.

She could steal something.

Gwen clenched her fists. There really wasn't any other way, was there?

IMPENDING MORAL CRISIS

"Thanks a lot," Gwen muttered under her breath, "but I already saw that coming."

And she needed to get a wallet, too, Gwen thought as she stuffed the crumpled bills back into her pocket. But that could wait.

She had to find a store. In the process, she could explore this place.

There was also a lot of other weird feedback from her spider-sense, Gwen recalled as she shot a webline towards the nearest street sign (it read "Wideway", which wasn't the name of any street that she knew of) and swung into the city. Something about "HAIR-RELATED CRISIS", and "PIGEON SWARM", and "LOZENGE BOMBARDMENT", and "BLOODY PREDICAMENT". She shrugged them off as her spider-sense just going haywire from the extreme duress that she was un-

PIGEON SWARM

Gwen looked up and found herself just feet away from a flock of pigeons which was headed straight towards her. She yelped in a rather undignified fashion and dodged between the startled birds, somehow managing to navigate through with only a few scratches.

Okay, maybe the spider-sense was right that one time. But it was just a coincidence. Wasn't it?

Gwen sighed and continued to web-swing, searching for a store as she traveled.

What the... Bold Navy?

Gwen swung to the building, clinging to its face and crawling down to peer in the shop windows. There were racks of clothes and mannequins inside. A few shoppers and clerks milled through the brightly-lit aisles.

Huh. This place must have been this universe's version of Gold Navy.

So what was the plan, what was the plan?

SHOPPERS INCOMING

Gwen flinched and crawled backwards to avoid being noticed by two young women who were emerging from the store. She had half a mind to steal the clothes from their bags, but she didn't know if they would be the right size or not. Instead, she vaulted through the automatic doors and clung to the wall above it inside the store, staying out of range of the cameras.

The shoppers were another thing that her spider-sense had warned her about while going through the bubbles.

Two coincidences?

Maybe they weren't coincidences, Gwen wondered.

There was no time to think about that. She needed to steal herself some clothes.

But Gwen still hesitated, more out of nerves than anything. Should she be here?

INCONCLUSIVE

She sighed. She was here already; she might as well get it over with.

Gwen clambered across the white-painted rafters on the ceiling, looking for something that she would wear while also avoiding the people passing beneath her.

Nobody ever looked up. But it was best to stay safe.

That grey shirt looked decent. Gwen used a webline to snag it from a pile, slightly disturbing the clothes to either side. She held it up to herself. A bit small, but it would fit well enough.

A little further down, Gwen spotted pairs of khaki pants. She snatched one up, then returned it to the shelf upon realising that it was the wrong size. This time checking the label, she grabbed the correct one.

Gwen grabbed a jean jacket and backpack to complete her ensemble and had started to stuff the clothes in the pack when she remembered that she had to take off the dye tags. She crawled back to the front of the store and took a tag remover, using it to pull off the tags and promptly returning it to its proper location.

Gwen put the clothes away and took out her notepad, scribbling a quick message to the Bold Navy employees and firing it down to the checkout counter with a webshot. It read:

"I took some clothes from your store and I'm sorry but I needed them urgently. I'll pay you back asap. SW"

Gwen was about to leave when she realised that she needed different shoes. She couldn't run around town in teal ballet slippers. She hurriedly snatched a pair of blue sneakers before swinging out of the store.

She landed on a nearby rooftop, searching for cover in which to don her new outfit, and spotted a stairwell entrance. That would be perfect.

PERSONS TAKING NOTICE

Gwen threw herself to the ground, anxiously glancing around for whomever might be looking at her. She saw nobody but still commando-crawled to take shelter behind the stairwell. She threw on the outfit on top of her costume, replacing her ballet slippers with the sneakers, and tossed her mask, gloves, and slippers into the bag. Standing up, Gwen examined herself as she tore the price tags off of her clothes, casting them onto the ground. The pants fit surprisingly well, as did the jacket, which also conveniently concealed her hood and web-shooters, but the shirt was a bit tight and the sneakers were far too loose.

She was ready to go down and brave the city.

GUARD ON WATCH

Gwen opened the stairwell door and almost immediately found herself staring down a security guard. She froze in place.

RUN NOW

Gwen obediently turned tail and fled. The guard exclaimed and ran after her, waving his baton and flashlight.

Gwen's feet slipped inside her oversize sneakers as she rounded a corner, heading towards another rooftop. The new shoes were only slowing her down; at least she was still running comparatively quickly, thanks to her super speed. She propelled herself to the next roof, her feet sliding as she jumped and reducing her traction on the ledge. She landed awkwardly on the raised lip of the other roof and rolled onto the gravel rooftop just below before the guard could see where she had gone.

Gwen watched a flashlight beam pass over her head, waver from side to side, then vanish. She heard the distant crunch of boots on gravel receding and a man muttering something.

She'd be caught if she stayed up here much longer, Gwen knew. But she couldn't exactly go wall-crawling down buildings in civilian garb.

What if she asked the security guard where she was?

Then again, she was wearing stolen property. And she was trespassing. Gwen did not want to risk getting arrested.

ATOMIC DISJUNCTION

What in the ever-living heck did that mean?

Gwen was seized with a violent tremor, like an electric shock but extending through every inch of her body. She convulsed as startlingly bright colours flashed before her vision. She shrieked involuntarily through clenched teeth.

The strange seizure ended as abruptly as it had begun. Gwen was left with only a pounding headache for her troubles.

Through her rapidly receding pain, she heard louder, faster crunches of gravel and a man distantly saying, "... someone on the roof, some girl just yelled. Probably the same one. I'm checking it out."

Gwen stood up on unsteady legs and started to run. Her newly-stolen backpack thumped uncomfortably against her torso. She leaped to the next roof, tripped, and fell on her face not far from its edge.

She picked herself up but froze in the blinding glare of a flashlight. Holding the flashlight was the same security guard that she had run into previously. Gwen must have jumped onto the first building in her confusion.

She figured she already knew the answer but wanted to ask just to be safe: should she be here?

NOT A CHANCE

First | Next

[aspen-arts]

Price of Freedom Ch 18

And here we go! The moment you have all been waiting for...a stand off!

This chapter was originally going to be longer, but I had to cut it in half due to it being too long...but that means you get two chapters at once! Lucky you! ^^

Anyway, hope you all enjoy it!

Ch 18

Three months had passed since Cagney and Specter separated, but it seemed like three years for the carnation. He had found a small patch of ground in the meadow and settled in comfortably. He hid among the flowers for the first few days in case anyone of the Devil’s lackeys was searching for him in order to obtain his soul contract.

After three days of hiding, he realized how stupid it was to just hide like a little coward. He had to fight for his soul. So as the days passed he began to practice going into his feral stage like he did when he attacked Nathan. He practiced summoning up acorn missiles and seed boomerangs. It was during these practice sessions where he discovered he can also summon little plant helpers by turning himself into a Gatling gun and shooting seeds all over the place. That surprised yet amused him.

Yes, Cagney learned a lot about himself during this practice sessions and he was quite comfortable in his little area in the meadow. Of course it was not perfect. Deer constantly came out from the forests in order to feast on grass and flowers from the meadows and unfortunately some of them came too close and had nibbled on Cagney’s vines. Cagney had to jump up and scare them off from his hiding place a few times to keep them from chewing off his vines. After a while both plant and animal formed a silent truce with each other. Cagney allowed the deer to graze as long as they kept their distance from him.

One day he was watching a doe grazing a few feet away when a stag came out from the forest and went over to the doe. Cagney continued watching as the stag pressed its muzzle against the doe’s and the two deer nuzzled one another. Watching this display of affection made Cagney’s heart lurch. Not for the first time, thoughts of Specter came to his mind. How he missed the antics of the ghost, his contagious laugh and his gentle touches.

Cagney sank back to the ground and uttered a miserable sigh. The worst part of living here wasn’t the deer trying to bite your limbs off, he realized. It was the longing for Specter. A few months ago, he would have done anything to leave the city and get back to Inkwell Isle One. Now he wouldn’t care about living in a city as long as Specter was with him. Specter was the one that made his life brighter and happier.

Once every day Cagney would hear the whistle of the Phantom Express and would raise himself a little bit higher in order to catch a glimpse of it. He would watch it go past the meadow at a distance and always strained his eyes to see if Specter was there and would wave towards the train. It was a miserable three months without the ghost.

However it was about to get worse.

One day Cagney was nestled underneath the tree as he watched two does grazing a few feet in front of him. He scowled as one doe yanked a flower from the ground and swallowed.

“You guys are disgusting, you know that?”

The does continued on grazing, not paying any attention to the disgust of the flower. Suddenly they looked up and stiffened in alarm. Cagney frowned in confusion and turned to look. Two young cup boys were walking towards him. Cagney knew these two. Cuphead and Mugman, the young brothers who lived near the outskirts of the Isle. He had never interacted with them much but he certainly knew their antics and their mischief which made him go on edge.

The does immediately turned to walk off to another patch of meadow grass and began to graze further away from the carnation and the cup brothers. Cagney stared down at the two brothers as they stopped in front of him.

“Umm…can I help you two?”

The blue brother, Mugman, stepped up with a nervous smile. “Um hi…my name is Mugman and—”

“Yeah I know about you two,” Cagney interrupted. “Cuphead and Mugman. That doesn’t answer my first question.”

“Umm…well you see…” Mugman twiddled his thumbs nervously. “The reason we’re here is that—”

Cuphead stepped forward. “Look, we know you’re hiding your contract for the devil and now we’re here to take it back.”

There was a minute of silence.

“Excuse me?” Cagney cocked an eyebrow.

“We need that contract right now,” Cuphead demanded. “Hand it over and there won’t be any problems.”

Cagney felt the corner of his eye twitch. The Devil’s lackeys right here in front of him. He should be terrified out of his mind right now, but honestly…this was downright laughable.

“Umm…do you kids honestly believe you can take on me?”

“For your information,” Cuphead stood up straight and puffed out his chest, “we’re not kids. We’re kiddults.”

Mugman facepalmed while Cagney merely snorted with laughter. “Right…okay, well that was a good joke you two, but you’d probably better get home.”

“It’s not a joke.” Mugman looked up at the carnation. “We really need that soul contract of yours. We don’t want to but…we have to.”

Cagney stared at the twins for a minute longer. Then he smiled. “Well okay…I guess you can take it…on one condition.”

“Yeah?” The cup brothers grinned. “What’s that?”

“You take it over my dead body…”

Cagney stretched his jaw and gave a terrifying roar that echoed throughout the meadow. He grew longer and his eyes narrowed in fierce determination. “I lost my soul once, I’m not letting the Devil take it again!”

“C’mon Mug!” Cuphead ran towards Cagney. “We’ll take him!”

“I’d like to see you try!” Cagney laughed.

There was an explosion of different colored bullets. It was quite a scene. Even the two does stopped eating the flowers to watch the action.

Cagney lunged at the cup brothers once and then twice but the brothers evaded his attacks without any trouble.

Okay, if that’s how they want to play it.

Cagney lifted his head and went into his Gatling gun transformation. Let’s see how they liked this, he thought as he cranked up the gun and shot out many different colored seeds into the air. The seeds floated down to the ground and burst out into several pods, some on the ground while others in the air. The cup brothers immediately turned their attention to these pods and fired away, turning their backs against Cagney. Now this was his chance.

Cagney reared back and lunged forward. Cuphead turned and spotted the attack just in time, leaping over the carnation while calling out, “Watch out, Mug!”

Cagney heard the blue cup brother yelp in surprise as he took a blow. Strike one against them! This was going to be easier than he thought. Time for the second phase! With a step back, Cagney pressed his leaf hands together and opened them, releasing the acorn missiles which flew towards the brothers.

Both brothers saw them and dodged. No matter, there’s always the second weapon. Cagney released the boomerang but both brothers dodged it as easily as they did the acorns, still firing away at the carnation. Cagney tried the acorns again but they missed. He tried the boomerangs but the brothers ducked just in the nick of time and still their bullets kept on hitting him.

Cagney grabbed onto his petals and snarled with rage. Why weren’t they getting hit?! Why weren’t they giving up? Well he wasn’t about to give up either. The carnation slammed his arms down to the ground and activated phase three. He felt himself grow bigger and his vines grew into an incredible length. The cup brothers gasped in horror at this new transformation as Cagney threw back his head and cackled.

“Extreme pollination and total domination!”

He expected the brothers to flee or make a mistake for this new form, but they didn’t even look afraid. They continued on firing and leapt in the air, avoiding the carnation’s vines. Cagney swung his vines again and again, but every single time he missed them completely.

No!

He was not going to lose his soul to the Devil! He won’t be a prisoner any longer! With a roar of rage, Cagney lashed out again with his vine but then suddenly the red cup brother sprang up and clenched his fists together. A large bright blue ball erupted from the cup’s fists and shot out right towards Cagney.

Fierce pain burst in Cagney’s face and he felt himself stiffen then collapsed onto the ground, vines twitching in defeat. The two cup brothers slowly walked over to the flower, panting with exhaustion.

“Now…” Cuphead held out his hands. “The contract…”

Cagney raised his head slowly and growled at him. “I…I’m not…”

“Cuphead!” Mugman’s voice came from the tree trunk. “It’s in here!”

Cagney watched in horror as Mugman handed his soul contract to his brother. He made one desperate grab towards the brothers and they immediately jumped out of the way.

“You can’t take it!” Cagney snarled. “You can’t do this to me! I promised him I’d find a way out of this! I promised that everything will turn out all right! You can’t take me away from him! Not when I had…when I—”

Cagney slammed his fist on the ground, glaring at the brothers with rage and hatred.

“Mugs, c’mon…” Cuphead grabbed onto Mugman’s hand. “We gotta get out of here.”

Cagney was too weak to do anything by this time. He watched as the brothers ran off with his soul contract in hand.

“Go on!” He screeched. “Go ahead and run! I don’t care!”

By this time the brothers were already gone and this allowed Cagney to collapse to the ground and weep.

He failed him.

He failed Specter…

[theheartsjourney]

The Public Square (1923) - Will Levington Comfort

D. Appleton and Company, New York. 320 pages.

“This isn’t an English-Indian story. It’s a story of all the world.“

CW: murder/massacre, animal (horse) death, war

The book primarily follows its first narrator, Pandora "Pidge" Musser, although it varies from chapter to chapter. Fresh from Los Angeles to New York to work independently as a writer, nineteen-year-old Pidge enters a rooming house on 54 Harrow Street in Greenwich Village. The owner is the calm and experienced figure of Miss Claes, an Indian-American, who takes the role of a mentor figure to Pidge.

Others who take residence in the building are Nagar, or Mr. Naidu, Richard "Dicky" Cobden, and a "couple of girl-pals; one works in a restaurant to support the other who is to become a prima donna; [and] a couple of decayed vaudeville artists looking for a legacy" (32) who--to my great disappointment--never appear.

Nagar is the writer and Hindu friend of Miss Claes. He presents his story, "The Little Man" to the Public Square, where Dicky, the weekly paper's reader, is enthralled by the narrative of Gandhi. Dicky leaves his wealthy home on East 50th Street to join the others at Harrow. There, he believes he'll find inspiration among the artist-types to write his magnum opus.

Loves tangle from there. Two additional characters are introduced to complete Comfort's commentary on relationships: Fanny Gallup and Rufus Melton. Fanny, the destitute, worldly girl from the Lenox way factory, embodies woman ruined in her search for love, and Rufus the type of confident man who loves for himself--even if he must beguile and silence for it.

Pidge's struggles with love are raw and convincing. Despite craving comfort, she refuses to allow Dicky to love her by his imaginary ideal of her. She prefers the independence she escaped Los Angeles for--even if it exhausts her and starves her to keep. The peace a husband's salary could give her is too easily won for her to accept.

Yet the past combines with her need for "experiences, life" (107) in Rufus Melton, a man whose self-serving love is still a constant battle for her to accept. She never manages to change herself for him--rather, in the same way she did for her father, she adapts, ignores, and tolerates his presence as she can. Comfort compares the two directly: "she was lacking in the ability to detach herself from Melton, as from the influence of her father" (93). When she first capitulates to Rufus' advances, she even blames it on being her “father's child (134). As her tenderness for Rufus wanes, the narration also comments that “Rufus thought her extremely selfish. So had her father" (157).

Rufus again acts as a foil to her father in the way his character is treated off-scene. Chasing a story, he departs for WWI France--and is promptly forgotten by the narrative. When he reappears, he is trapped in a new marriage and is potentially shell-shocked. Dicky frees him--and he is forgotten again. His absence does not have the same power over her as Adolf Musser did, yet even his wanes as Pidge matures: when Adolf falls ill and Pidge rushes to him, she “suddenly discovered she had a father” (221) as though she had forgotten him.

To an extent, the act of saving Rufus and forgetting him places Dicky in the same role as Pidge. While Dicky is away in India and France, Pidge has taken his place in The Public Square as reader, completing the exchange of roles. Their codependence and unshakable link remains throughout the novel. This relationship asserts that their link is not as lovers but comrades. 

When rejecting Dicky's proposal a second time, Pidge states:

“Do I have to begin by saying how dear you are— how kind, how utterly good it is to know you; what it means to have faith and trust in one man?”

“Please not, Pidge.”

“But never forget it, Dicky. It’s the pedestal upon which everything’s builded. Always remember that I know you underneath; that I turn to you in trouble—not like a brother or father or lover, but what our word *comrade* means—what it will sometime mean to many people!" (106)

The word "comrade" calls to Comfort's language in his Will Levington Comfort Letters (1920). He dedicated the volume of letters "To The Comrades," referring to his compatriots in the spiritual sect he headed called The Glass Hive. In the first letter, he states that "We should belong to one another better in the Long Road sense, in the sense of the real meaning of the word Comrade" (WLC Letters, 2). The second letter clarifies that his purpose in the volume is "to touch the real Comrade within you, for I have an Immortal Friend there, one who would die for me every day" (WLC Letters, 8).

When Dicky attempts to make a lover of her, she refuses: comradeship is the higher relationship to her. None of Pidge's relationships have the power to alter her character but the one with Dicky. Her empathy for others in financial hardship is sourced from her time working in the exhaustion and hunger of the labeling factory. Nothing in her sense of value or work ethic was dictated to her by another.  But after rejecting her novel manuscript for being too shallow, Dicky unwittingly changes Pidge: she sets her writing aside, understands the naivety of it and herself, and matures as a reader instead. 

Dicky does not understand this relation at first, and in contrast, he does nothing but develop based on others' influences. Most of those influences are Indian: Nagar's "Little Man" tale inspiring him to write an equivalent story, Miss Claes' wisdom at the Punjabi dinner where they gather after the fallout of his first failed proposal, Gandhi's comment on marriage that reawakens Dicky's love for Pidge. In the critical scene of Pidge's second refusal of Dicky’s proposal, she states, "Miss Claes and Nagar lose themselves in nations. You’re getting to be like them" (107). Furthermore, Dicky’s development  moves in tandem with that of India throughout the climax, which Comfort summarizes as "there had been death and birth for India and for himself" (283).

In its later pages, the novel places Dicky amidst the Indian nationalist movement of Gandhi. In particular, Comfort references "The Rowlatt Bills," likely referring to the "Black Bills" which preceded the Rowlatt Act. Introduced March 18, 1919, this act allowed the government to arrest and incarcerate without trial anyone on grounds of inciting terrorism in support of the Indian nationalism. Dicky arrives in late May to reunite with Gandhi and understand the position of "The Little Man" in international politics. The pacing swiftly moves onto April, where Dicky is nearby the arrest of Dr. Satyapal and Dr. Kitchlew--public figures who campaigned against the Rowlatt Act and who, being Hindu and Muslim respectively,  promoted unity. The resulting Jallianwala Bagh massacre is also covered.

I adore this excerpt of from the Jallianwala Bagh scene. Dicky confronts General Fyatt (Reginald Dyer) at the head of the massacre

Dicky felt the horrible slowness over everything—that somehow there was not in this man’s volition the power to order the firing to cease. No recognition showed in Fyatt’s eyes. He stared. It was like the man who had stared at him on the docks in Bombay, when he heard that America had entered the War.

“I only wanted to ask —” Dicky stopped and raised his voice above the tumult of shots and voices. “Cobden of New York—saw you in France!’’

[...] “Ah, Cobden. Heard you were in town. Busy, you know!”

“I see!” the American yelled back. He felt like a maniac. “I see! I merely wanted to ask, General, if you had gone mad—or have I?” (277-8)

Comfort’s description style of the massacre closely resembles his techniques to describing the trauma of WWI combat in Red Fleece (1915). His sentences are fragmented and disorderly, and smooth comprehension is abandoned for the narrator’s uncertainty. Another mirror in his combat writing is through specters. Dicky notes feeling as though Pidge were with him through his transformation into a “world citizen” (292). Despite recognizing the absurdity of it, he allows himself to find comfort in her imagined presence--and he notes that "things of this kind had often happened to soldiers on the battlefields of France" (285). The phrase has merit in Comfort's experience and in others. Sassoon (Diaries 1915-1918, 68) and Bird (Ghosts Have Warm Hands, 38), for example, describe seeing loved ones in moments of stress. Twice the protagonist in Comfort's second WWI novel senses his love nearby: "he fancied her near..." (Red Fleece, 134) and "she had been near" (Red Fleece, 148). 

Still--not wishing to distract from the novel's theme towards India--Comfort spends a brief time in WWI France and Arabia "with young Tom Lawrence, whose fame Dicky Cobden helped to make" (137). The French portion receives a short chapter set near the Meuse–Argonne offensive ("The 'Oregon' forest," 197) which contains a passage I found memorable:

His mount had turned gently away in the thickening dusk, turned on his toe corks through the slush to follow a wind-blown leaf. Plop — a water-soaked trench-siding gave way, and Yorick disappeared into an unused pit. [...] Yorick looked like a monster in the process of being born out of the mud. There was something both humorous and hopeless about the gaunt lifted head that came up into the ray. And now Dicky discovered that Yorick’s left foreleg below the knee veered off suddenly to the left, at a decided angle from the way it should lie. Dicky felt alone in a harrowing underworld. [...]

“Pretty lucky old boy, you are,” Dicky said. “Work done, war over for you, nice warm ditch to lie up in at the last, and I’ve got to take all the responsibility.”

He drew the pistol from his belt and placed it on the little twist of hair halfway between the eyes.

“I ought to take the saddle off first, but I’m not going to. So long, old kid, and best luck.”

The pistol banged in the dugout like a cannon cracker under a flower pot, and the voice of an American sentry above was heard to say:

‘‘Some fool’s blowed his head off, down there. Why in hell can’t a man be patient!”

Although not a complete surprise coming from Comfort's strong anti-war background, the novel references support for the pacifist movement. John Higgans, the Public Square's editor, wrote a pacifist article in outrage of his conscientious objector friend's arrest. Despite knowing it would doom the Public Square, Higgans pushes to publish the article. Pidge convinces him not to, and he cedes ownership of the paper to her and Dicky. Thus, despite its feature on little more than a page, the scene contributes to the novel's imaginary future story: the tale of the press in the hands of Pidge and Dicky.

But the Public Square is not the ultimate point of the novel. Neither is Pidge--which weakens the novel’s impact after spending so much time wither her. Dicky is key. The value of the story is in his transformation, but even that is muddled toward the end.

Even after every change India and Indian culture has wrought in Dicky, he concludes though the trauma specter of Pidge that it was her influence that matured him. He goes so far as to say “The Little Man has made me see [...] the great thing you have done [...] pushing me back into myself ” (292-3). By relegating Gandhi--and India in extension--to a supportive role for Pidge, the novel completely undermines the strength of Dicky’s world citizenship. All his work towards his journalism--watching Nagar be whipped, drilling himself to avoid partisanship, neglecting his family for India--is abandoned for what he suddenly realizes is to “at last to become connected to her this way, though across the world" (286).

Furthermore, Pidge’s character relied deeply on the concept of the Comrade. Instead, her role in maturing him is as a “the man-maker a wife must be” (292). While the novel’s final pages do not state explicit romance, the intention is obvious: Pidge is to be divorced from Rufus, she confesses that she is “dying to be a woman” (318), and she repeatedly asks Dicky for rest--the thing he offered her in his original proposal.

It’s a disappointing finish on an otherwise well-done book. Comfort’s love for his settings genuinely shows. His characters--while not very complex--are effective and generally interesting. The language he uses is beautiful and rewarding, and the way he conveys empathy is clear and moving without grim moralizing.

---

The Public Square dust cover from Yesterday’s Gallery.

Everybody’s Magazine Feb 1923 cover from rarerecordsncollectibles on eBay.

Everybody’s Magazine Mar 1923 image, page 105 by C. R. Chickering.

Everybody’s Magazine Apr 1923 image, page 155 by C. R. Chickering.

Everybody’s Magazine May 1923 image, page 149 by C. R. Chickering.

[eternizemecaptain]

Chapter 2

Agatha woke up to the sounds of birds calling. She rubbed her eyes, stretched her stiff limbs, and sat up with a yawn. “Morning all, I suppose we should start,” she said groggily. She looked around the camp and saw no-one. Her heart skipped a beat. “Oh, Gods,” she said in a low voice. “Ronan? Aurea! Augustus!” she cried. “Come off it Agatha!” bellowed Augustus from inside his cloak. “This is your damned pilgrimage, not ours. Let us sleep.” “The girl! She’s!” “-Gone,” Draden said curtly. Agatha turned to see his now visible form. “I know. I saw her leave last night,” he growled. “You what!” Agatha said, exasperated. “That’s the first test of the Pelegrin, Agatha. You know that. They’re free to leave and live as cowards whenever they like.” “A coward? Draden, she’s a child!” she said. “They’re all children when they start. You were, I was. You seem to forget that,” he said coolly. “We have to find her!” she yelled. Draden looked at her with disdain. “We have to do nothing of the sort.”

By now the commotion had woken everyone up. The three others in their ranks were all siting, visibly, were they slept the night before. “Draden, what about Baer?” asked Ronan. “Baer is losing his mind! He’s older than all of us combined. Anyone can drink mushroom tea and see visions. That doesn’t make it prophecy,” Draden said, annoyed. “Then why are you here?” Everyone turned to look at who the words came from. “Watch your tone, Agatha,” he said icily. “I am here because I serve under him, as we all do. Our purpose was to make sure that you found the girl without trouble, and you have. Now she’s broken her Peregrin. I believe all of our jobs here are complete.”

“So you’re just going to let a girl die in the woods? Not only one of our kind, but one that may have our very fate in her hands?” asked Agatha, now standing. “She is not our kind without choosing to be!” roared Draden. “I’ve had enough of this. We leave for Aerilon. Now.” The group placed the last of their things inside their cloaks and covered the circle that Lilith had made in the ground. The scenery around them oscillated for a moment and settled into place. “I’m not going,” Agatha said calmly. Draden turned around to look at her with a piercing gaze. “Then die alone,” he said. Ronan, Augustus, and Aurea looked at her with worried faces, but said nothing. The four of them took each other’s hands as Agatha looked on. In a blink of an eye, they were gone.

There was no time to feel sorry for herself. Agatha got down on all fours and proceeded to howl toward the sky. By the last of her breath, she’d taken her lupine form and broke off into a sprint. She sniffed the air, searching for any trace of the girl. She bounded over trunks and gnarled roots and through bushes, occasionally stopping when she thought she found something. “What are you looking for?” she heard a voice in her head. She looked around to see who it had come from. “Up here,” it said casually. Agatha looked up and saw a barn owl perched in the branches of a fir tree. “A human child,” she thought. “Have you seen one?” The owl cocked it’s head. “Why? Wolves don’t have a taste for humans,” it said quietly. “I am not a wolf. I am of the old order. Have you seen a human or haven’t you?” Agatha asked, beginning to get get annoyed. The owl paused a bit longer and finally replied with a simple, “No.” She growled bit and started off in another direction. “Owls…” she thought to herself.

“Wait,” its calm voice appeared in her mind again. “I want to walk as man walks. If I find her, will you change me? Make me human?” Agatha considered the proposition. She could use help to track the girl, and perhaps fight whoever, or whatever, had her. “For as long as you walk as a human, you’ll be in my charge. Your intentions and personal desires will only be met if they align with mine first. It may not be fair, but that is the offer,” she thought to the owl. “Accepted,” it said, still no trace of emotion in its voice. Without another word, the owl spread its wings and soared above the canopy. Agatha thought that she would be able to pick up the girl’s scent, and continued looking on foot.

After a few miles, she locked onto something. She caught the far off scent of a horse. As far as she knew, there were none that ran wild in these woods. She stood for a moment with her ears pointed upward. This had to be a clue. She wafted in the earthy smell for a second longer and dashed after its trail. Agatha had to find Lilith. It didn’t matter that she had strayed. She at least needed to know that she was safe and not some creature’s plaything or next meal. The very thought made her run even faster. Her powerful muscles already ached and her heart pounded.

Agatha ran until she collapsed. The scent was definitely stronger now and she could tell that she was nearing the edge of the wood. She was physically exhausted though and her throat burned with thirst. After sitting for a moment, she transfigured back into her previous form. She produced a glass water decanter from her sleeve and drank from it, still breathing heavily and wiping sweat from her brow. She wondered if she would see the barn owl again, and as if on cue, it spiraled down to the forest floor next to her. “You are the wolf, are you not?” it thought. “I am. What news do you have?” replied Agatha. “Outside the forest there is a human riding a horses back. There is a human child, tied to the horse. Her feathers match yours, but her crown is the color of the sun, not the night sky. They were just entering the homes that humans make from trees,” said the owl.

“A village?” exclaimed Agatha. “Village? I’m not sure what that means.” The owl thought for a moment, “Their nests. Human nests.”  She leaned forward, pinching the bridge of her nose between her eyes. This was not going to be easy. “I need to rest, but there isn’t any time.” Agatha thought to the owl. “Change yourself into something I can carry,” it replied. She looked at the bird, it’s black, deep set eyes boring into her own. “Are you mad?” she asked. “No. I’m offering a solution,” it said serenely. “I’m not going to turn myself into something fit for an owl’s snack!” she snapped. “You need to rest and I don’t. I’ll take you in my talons. I can’t walk as humans do if you’re in my stomach,” the owl said, cocking its head again. Agatha sat for a moment. “All right owl. I am going to turn myself into a rattlesnake. If you attempt to harm me in any way, I will not be the only one to die. I give you my word.”

The sun was beginning to set on the horizon. “We need to go,” said the owl. Agatha still felt uneasy about being carried, but the bird was right. She closed her eyes and rolled her head around on her neck, loosening her muscles. She exhaled loudly and when her eyes opened she was belly down on the damp earth. Agatha looked up at the owl. “One wrong move, so help me,” she hissed. She could feel the venom somewhere behind her eyes like a faint, electric current. The owl said nothing and stepped on top of Agatha, closing over her body with his talons, and flapped its wings. It would have been about an hour’s walk to the edge of the forest, but as they flew, the tiny lights from the village began to appear in the distance.

The air was cold and whipped past the two in flight. Agatha wrapped herself around the owl’s legs as an extra precaution and gripped tightly. They were absolutely silent, soaring through the air like a specter. She could see nothing. Her serpentine eyes were hardly adept at focusing on anything more than a few feet from her face. “Are we close?” she thought to the owl. “We’re coming upon the nests now. Where shall we land?” he responded. “Drop me behind the furthest house.” Agatha could feel the two start to descend and gripped even tighter. The owl and snake swooped past the window of the last cottage in the village and crash landed at the bank of an adjacent stream.

Agatha tumbled across the ground and finally rested, splayed out in her human form. “Talons are rather important for landing, it seems” said the owl, preening itself next to her. She grunted and rubbed her knees, “So much for rest.” She stood up and dusted herself off, making sure to stay in the shadows. “We need to split up. You circle the village. If you see the girl, screech,” Agatha said. “I’d prefer to call it singing,” said the owl. “This is hardly the time for semantics!” she thought to the bird. “Now go!” The owl took flight again and began to scan the village with its keen sight from about fifty feet above.

Agatha crept through the early evening and pressed herself against the side of the last cottage. She came upon a small, dirty window and peered in, staying out of sight. There was a young woman sitting before the hearth in a rocking chair, cross stitching. Agatha could hear her singing to herself, “Lord let me see thy face, Lord let me know thy grace. Thy kingdom divine, all glory is thine, we plea let us know your embrace.” Agatha rolled her eyes and put her back against the wall again. She couldn’t go traipsing through the village in her current form, and was wary of turning into another animal. She may need her faculties in a moment’s notice. This girl would have to do. She looked in on the young woman again, rocking back and forth gently. As she pressed against the window, her dark hair began to turn ochre. She shrunk from her broad size, down to a more delicate figure, though her strength would be unaffected.

Agatha waved her hand over her head and a cornflower blue bonnet appeared. “I will never understand the fashion of this century,” she thought, struggling to keep the thing out of her eyes. She tapped the lapel of her cloak twice and it turned to match the same drab frock and apron that the woman wore inside. She took a deep breath and crept along the side of the cottage. Once far enough away from her double, she roamed more freely. “Mary! Mary, my betrothed!” someone called out. Agatha kept walking. “Mary!” suddenly someone had her by the hand. She gasped and turned around. “Mary, what are you doing out so late! It’s dusk! All matter of things come out after dark to hurt or tempt the Lord’s flock.” “Oh! My er- dear!” said Agatha. Her eyes opened wide, she had forgot to change her voice. She immediately feigned a good cough and tapped her throat. Luckily she’d heard the girl singing before. “Sorry, my love,” she said, now in a sing-song soprano voice, thankful she didn’t sound like this all the time. “Are you all right? Are you ill, my love?” he asked with concern in his eyes. “Oh no dear. I’m simply,” Agatha stammered, “I’m… getting water from the well!” It was the first thing that came to mind.

“My dear, are you sure you’re all right? The well is that way,” he said, pointing in an utterly different direction across the village square. “Right!” she exclaimed in a shrill voice. “I know. I just fancied a walk as well. That’s all.” The man took her firmly by the hand and gestured toward the well. “Let us go together then. I can’t have my bride-to-be carried off in the night!” he said. “No!” Agatha replied. “I just. I just need some time to myself to think is all.” He paused, looked at her, and began to laugh. “Who’s taught you to be so humorous, my love?” Agatha got the feeling that the mind inside of the body she was modeled after wasn’t very bright. She feigned laughter too, “Oh Heavens, I don’t know.” “Come now, let’s fetch you some water,” he said.

The two began to walk across the square. Agatha had to think quickly. She could see the well, off in the distance on the edge of a small thicket. Once they approached it, the young man faced her and had a peculiar look in his eye. “Mary, you do know that I love you,” he said. “Eh, yes dear,” she replied. “And you know that we’ll be married in a week’s time.” he said nervously. “…Right,” said Agatha, not sure where this was going. “What say we go into the trees and..” he trailed off. Now she understood and was completely mortified. “Oh my! Surely that won’t look good in the eyes of the one true God.” she exclaimed. “My love, it’s one week! I cannot wait a second longer, and I know you’ve wanted to as well!” He grabbed her wrist. “That is not a good idea,” she said calmly, looking at his hand. “Come on love. I promise you’ll like it!” he started to drag her toward the ticket.

“Anima rodere!” shouted Agatha. With a crack that sounded like thunder, the unfortunate lover turned into a mouse. She dug around a pile of clothing and picked him up. “Sorry dear, but there’s no chance I’d let a boy your age have his way with the likes of me. It’s like you haven’t even been born yet.” Agatha shivered at the thought. “Can I eat him?” she heard. The owl was perched on a nearby tree and had been watching the exchange. “No, you can’t eat him!” she thought to the bird. Agatha dropped the mouse into the bucket that was attached to the roof of the well and threw his clothes into the bottom. He’d be safe from predators there for the time being.

“Any sign of her?” she asked the owl. “There’s a rather large building with a big perch on top at the other end of the village. They have her in a back room there,” he replied. “A church,” she groaned, “They must suspect her of magic.” Agatha gave orders, “ You fly back there now and I’ll meet you shortly.” The owl departed silently into the night and she began to weave her way back through the village, more careful not to be noticed this time. She walked past the little shacks, fireplaces smoking, music coming from a few of them. It almost seemed pleasant, save for its residents’ penchant for burning her kind at the stake. “Over here,” said the owl. “They’ve been cruel to her.”

Agatha ran quietly up to a stained glass window. Depicted was an angel, weeping and holding a child, limp in her arms. “Rather macabre, for a church,” thought Agatha. She stood up and placed her eyes directly behind that of the angel. She wasn’t worried about being seen by the men inside, as it was dark and the glass was mostly opaque. “Normally we’d have a trial in situations like these, but I don’t think that’ll be necessary. Burrich here, has already informed us of your little bird trick,” a parishioner said. The candlelight from within the room cast long shadows that twisted up toward the ceiling. “That and the little crescent mark behind your ear. We would have missed it if Tully hadn’t been so-,” “Thorough…” a fat man in a linen shirt and dark vest grunted. He began to laugh and look around the room at the other men. “That’s enough Tully,” the first man said.

Lilith sat in a tattered frock with her knees drawn up to her chest. She was shaking with tears streaming down her face, but her expression was ironclad. “Do you know what must be done, witch?” he asked. She said nothing in response. “You must atone for your sins,” said the man. “With fire!” Tully said. Suddenly Agatha felt her shoulder twist around. She was pinned against a man’s breast with a knife to her throat. “Who are you?” the man demanded. “I, I’m Mary!” she cried, “I live in the last cottage by the-“ “I know who Mary is,” the man said. He was tall and bearded, with a purple scar that dashed his temple. “I was just speaking with Mary. In her home. So what are you?” he growled. “I, I,” she paused for a moment. Agatha whispered something under her breath, “Anima Humanus”.

“DO NOT try anything stupid with me, foul creature. Do you not feel the chill of my knife against your very neck? I have no remorse for the spilled blood of the damned,” he roared. The little room inside of the church quieted. Burrich opened the door. “What’s going on out here?” he yelled. “Ankev, are you mad? That’s Mary! Unhand her at once!” “This isn’t Mary,” the man said. “Probably another witch that’s come after the girl.” “Tully!” Burrich roared. “There is a hemlock tincture in my coat. Fetch it! Now!” “Wait! Ankev, it’s me!” cried Agatha. “Shut up, wench!” he yelled. Tully bounded outside through the door with a small vile in his mammoth hands. He carefully unscrewed the cap and held Agatha by the jaw. “Open your mouth!” he spat. “Do it, or I’ll slice you here and now.” Ankev said.

The men left Lilith inside by herself, but the door to the sanctuary was locked. She stood on a chair and pressed her face against the stained glass window. She saw the group of men force-feeding something into a young woman’s mouth. Shortly after, she convulsed and went limp in the arms of the man that bound her. “Why can’t we just kill her now?” asked Tully. “You have to burn them, or they’ll just come back. Besides, we need to go an check on Mary, make sure she’s not been bewitched,” said Ankev. “Burrich and I will go,” said the parishioner. “Tie her up and place her with the other one. She’ll be out cold for at least an hour.”

The men parted ways. Ankev dragged the woman into the room with Lilith and dropped her to the floor. “Ghastly bitch,” he said. Lilith looked closer at the other girl. Foam clung to the corners of her mouth, and her chest barely rose and fell with breath. “Who is she?” Tully asked. “I don’t know,” said Lilith quietly. “I’ve never seen her before.” “Not like that, you haven’t. She’s bewitched herself to look like a woman in this village,” said Ankev. Lilith’s eyes got wide. “Agatha?” she breathed. “So you do know her?” Tully bellowed. “No!” shouted Lilith. “Do you wish to suffer before burning at the stake as well?” asked Ankev. “Where is the rest of your coven? Are they outside the village? Have they infiltrated?” he demanded. “Oh God,” said Tully. “How do we know if anyone is really who they are?” he cried. “The whole town could be infested!”

The two men looked at one another. Paranoia had rattled them both and they were now unsure as to even each other’s true nature. “We’ll have to barricade the church, just to be safe,” said Ankev. “You go out, warn the others, and ready a pyre behind the sanctuary. I’ll stay here with these monsters.” “Oh and leave you alone with them so you can help them escape?” retorted Tully, believing himself to be savvy. “You idiot. I’m not a witch!” snapped Ankev. “And isn’t that exactly what a witch would say!” he responded. Ankev looked at the paunchy man in disbelief. “Really? You really think I’m a witch? Fine. I’ll go warn the villagers. You stay here.” “Oh no you don’t,” said Tully and grabbed him by his collar. “TULLY YOU IDIOT,” yelled Ankev, “Take your hands off me!”

Tully balled a massive, squishy fist and struck him square in the face with such a force that Ankev’s skin split. Lilith screamed. He reared back and hit the man again. Ankev’s knees buckled and he crumpled to the floor. Tully turned around and produced a cord of rope from a satchel beneath a chair. “You. We’re done searching you. Back in the ropes you go.” Lilith didn’t resist out of fear she’d be beaten bloody. Next was Ankev, and finally Agatha’s sleeping form. She’d turned a nasty shade of green under her frock.

“All right. If you try anything, I’ll gut you like a fish. Do you understand?” Tully said, now brandishing Ankev’s knife. Lilith said nothing. “Good,” he said. He left and locked the door behind him, presumably to ready the pyre. The three were bound and tied together on the floor. She started to cry. “Why did I accept? Why did I leave my family?” she sobbed aloud. She looked at the bloodied and poisoned lot next to her and cried even harder. “No one is going to save us,” she wailed. “I’m going to die. We’re all going to die!”

After a few minutes Lilith settled again. She tried to think if there was any way she could untie herself. She had nothing sharp to cut the rope, and she’d have to drag two fully grown people to search the room. It was impossible. Suddenly she heard the handle on the door jiggle. Lilith looked up in fear. She believed Tully to be back to drag them to the stake. The door shook back and forth in its jamb, but it didn’t open. Then there was silence for a few minutes. Just as Lilith began to focus on her escape again, a large rock burst through the stained glass window and landed next to Ankev. She screamed, caught off guard. Glass shattered everywhere and a slender hand came through the window to loosen the rest of the shards from the surrounding lead.

A tall man with white hair tucked behind his ears climbed through the angel’s wing of the stained glass. He stood up, completely naked in the middle of the room. His face had a birthmark that extended from the top of his forehead, directly down his left cheek that had an uncanny resemblance to a feather. Lilith screamed again. “Oh, no. You ought not to do that, you’ll attract attention,” said the man, calmly. “Who are you?” Lilith cried. “Hm,” he thought. “I suppose you can call me Eule.” The man looked around, his pale body nearly glowing in the dimly lit room. “I need to get you out of here,” he said. “Check the bag! Under the chair there!” yelled Lilith. Eule stepped lightly over to the satchel and crouched down. He clumsily rummaged through it, searching for anything with an edge.

“Ah, perfect,” he said. He picked up a pair of shears and promptly dropped them again. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I’m not quite used to these yet.” “Scissors?” asked Lilith. “Hands,” said Eule. She wasn’t sure what he meant by that and frankly didn’t care at this point. They were being rescued. He knelt down and tried to open and close the scissors over the rope with two hands. “No, not like that,” Lilith said. “Give them to me!” She managed first to free herself from the group and then cut her wrists free by holding the shears between her knees. Now with her hands free she cut through the rope on her ankles and started in to work on Agatha.

The woman moaned and started to stir. “Agatha!” yelled Lilith, “Agatha wake up!” She opened up one eye, looked at Lilith and closed it again. She was still terribly sick from the Hemlock. Suddenly the door swung open. “What on god’s green earth?” Tully roared, looking at the naked man. “I should have known more would come! You’ll all burn!” Tully charged at Eule and his massive frame stopped directly in front of him. Lilith was standing behind the two of them, her view blocked by Eule. She heard a faint gurgling. Tully fell to the floor, landing on his back. The shears stuck out from his chest with a red ring blossoming around them on his canvas shirt. The white-haired man, cocked his head, looked down at Tully, and then up at Lilith.

She stared in shock down at the man. She’d never seen anyone killed before. Eule knelt down and picked up Agatha. She hung there limp in his arms beneath the stained glass window. He looked back at Lilith with the darkest eyes she’d ever seen. “Come,” he said softly. The two ran as quickly as they could behind the church and into the forest. They ran until their sides were in stitches and the darkness of night gave way to a bruise-purple morning.

When they thought they’d eluded any potential danger, the three of them sought shelter in a shallow ravine. It had an overhang that made for decent camouflage and a small stream that trickled through the bottom, for fresh drinking water. Agatha was stirring now, but still gravely sick. She looked up at the two, skin damp with fevered sweat, “I can’t change back,” she whispered, “I’m too weak.” She gulped with her eyes closed and struggled to breathe. “I need nettle, willow,” she paused to cough, “dandelion, and blood.” Eule and Lilith looked at one another. “I know what those are,” Lilith said. “Go with her, Owl,” said Agatha. “You’ll be left alone,” he said quietly. “You need to hurry,” she said and coughed again.

They covered Agatha with kindling and leaves, sheltering her from any intruders and climbed back up the ravine. “Dandelions are the little yellow flowers,” said Lilith, “Those should be easy to find.” “Yellow…” said Eule. “I’m not sure I know what that means.” After being made human, he’d seen a whole new spectrum of colors, though his vision as a whole got worse. “Yellow is like my hair, but brighter. …Or maybe richer,” she replied, “And nettle is an angry looking plant with lots of spikey leaves.” The two walked further and further from their camp, eyes to the forest floor.

They hardly said anything more, moving through the woods in near silence. Neither of them knew what to make of what had happened in the village, and it was difficult for Eule to cope with an entirely new set of sensibilities. “Here’s nettle!” Lilith cried. She bent down, grabbed the thorny plant and pulled it up by the root. “Now we just need Willow and dandelions.” “I know where they are,” said a small voice from behind them. The two jumped and turned to face their unexpected company. A girl, smaller than Lilith and shimmering like crystal, stood before them. “Never mind Lilith. It’s an elf. I’ve lived in the forest all my life, and their intentions are never good,” said Eule. “Please,” the elf said, “Our mother is ill. None of our herbs are working. I’ll show you exactly where to find your willow and dandelion if you help her.”

“No,” Eule said coolly and turned around. Lilith stood and stared at the girl. She’d never seen anything like her before. Her entire body was iridescent and she wore no clothes. “Please help me,” she said. “She’s not the same.” Lilith remembered when her own mother was ill. After Sarah was born she spent a week in a fever. Nothing would break it. She would fade in and out of consciousness, rambling about darkness. Her last days were in complete delirium and she would just cry. She would have done anything to have saved her. “We’ll help you,” said Lilith. “Oh thank you!” the girl said graciously. “My name is Lihtan. The willow is just beyo-“ “Lilith, that isn’t a good idea,” interrupted Eule. “Your kindness will be taken advantage of and twisted.” “We’re going to help her, Eule,” she said, frowning at him. He stood for a moment, cocked his head and said nothing more.

Lihtan lead the way to the willow tree. “Here it is,” she said. “Why do you need willow leaves?” “One of our group was poisoned with Hemlock,” said Lilith. Eule was simply refusing to talk now. “Oh, then you’ll need the bark, not the leaves,” said Lihtan. She walked up to the tree, peeled away some of its bark, and handed it to Eule. “Don’t human’s normally wear clothes?” she asked, looking at his naked body. “I don’t have any,” he said. Lihtan looked puzzled. “Well there are some dandelions over there, in any case,” she said. “Do you see them sticking out from under the heather?” “Perfect!” said Lilith. She ran to fetch them and gathered as many as she could.

The three of them brought their strange bouquet back to the camp and laid it on the ground. Agatha opened her eyes and stared up at the faces looking down at her. “Who is? -Nevermind,” she said. “Pick me up and lay me by the water.” Eule gently gathered her up  in his arms and set Agatha on her side next to the stream. She lifted a weak hand and dug out a small hole in the ground next to her. “Fill it with the herbs,” she said hoarsely. Lilith and Lihtan ripped up the plants and mashed in as many of each as they could. Then Agatha drew a series of spirals in the sand, starting at the bank and leading to the herbs. Water started to trickle into the markings she made. “Blood!” Agatha cried. “Lilith. It has to be yours, you’re the only human.”

Lilith looked around frantically for anything sharp, not even considering the pain she was about to feel. Suddenly Lihtan took her by the hand, dragged it above the herbs, and bit her. Lilith felt razor sharp teeth that stung like a thousand needles in her flesh. She cried out in pain and tried to recoil but Lihtan held her hand in place. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I know that’s awful.” The water trickled into the main cavity and mixed with its strange ingredients. Eule stared at the elf who was looking down at the concoction.

With her palm up to the sky, Agatha rested the top of her hand on top of the herbs and pressed down. Her palm filled with water and she recited, “Antiquae decorum sapio recepi.” She brought the mixture to her lips and drank. Her body seized and stiffened for a moment. “Agatha!” cried Lilith. “Wait,” said Lihtan. Her body relaxed. She lay there peacefully for a little while and opened her eyes. “Are you all right?” asked Eule, his voice as cool and quiet and the running creek. “I am,” she said.

Agatha sat up. “Who are you?” she asked the elf. “I am Lihtan. I helped your party in exchange for some in return.” “You made a deal with an elf?” she asked Eule, unconcerned with her own boorishness. “I tried to tell Lilith, but she insisted,” he said, equally insensitive. Lilith looked unsure of herself now, though she felt certain it was the right decision before. “She promised,” said Lihtan, pointing to Lilith. “I know our kind have been less than courteous in the past, but I can promise your safety and an alliance after you’ve made good on your word.” “What’s wrong?” Agatha asked. “Our mother is sick. She’s not herself and none of our medicine is working,” she replied. “The head of your kind?” Agatha asked, sounding concerned. “If that’s the way you would like to look at it,” said Lihtan.

“You will need me, and I need to rest a bit more,” said Agatha. “You’ll have our help, but not immediately. Come back just long enough so that we can make the journey to your people before dark.” Lihtan furrowed her brow, which reflected a light into Eule’s eye. He squinted and moved his head out of the way, irritated. “Fine. I’ll return in a few hours.” With that, Lihtan turned and walked back up the ravine and out of sight.

The three moved back to the overhang and sat in a circle. Lilith was the first to speak. “I’m so sorry. For everything,” she said, staring into Agatha’s eyes. “You needn’t apologize,” she said. “You nearly died! Both of you! No one would be in this mess if it wasn’t for me,” she lamented. “You have it exactly wrong, Lilith,” said Agatha. “I don’t expect you to understand now, but I can promise you, if there is anything that will save us from this mess, it’s you.” Agatha noticed Eule, who sat staring at the ground beneath him, slumped and without his usual aplomb. “Eule, I owe you my life,” she said. “Any debt that would have bound you to me has already been paid. You’re free to live as you wish. Let me ask you, though. Does humanity still hold the same charms to you? Or have you seen enough of it already?”

Eule met Agatha’s gaze with a pained look in his eyes that effected her profoundly. “My very first act as a man was ending the life of another’s.” No one said a word. “I’ve killed plenty of animals; rats, snakes, voles, and it was as common and fluid as flying,” he said. “But when I killed that man,” he trailed off. “It wasn’t natural.” “Eule, men killing one another is about as natural it gets,” she replied flatly. “Don’t say that Agatha,” said Lilith. “Eule you saved me! You saved us! You’re not a killer. You’re Eule the White, Guardian of the Witches,” she beamed. Agatha smiled. Lilith’s optimism, or naiveté, warmed her.

“That’s right, Eule the White. What’s your answer then? Bird of the air or man of the forest?” asked Agatha. “I haven’t finished everything I am to do as man,” he said. Agatha looked puzzled, “All right. Well, you’re as free as a bird, in any case. What will you do with your days?” He paused for a moment and looked past them. “I am Eule the White, Guardian of the Witches.”

[erickmalpicaflores]

Erik Malpica Flores Erik Malpica Flores recommends: SUITS Recap: The Real Samantha Wheeler

Photo by: Ian Watson/USA Network

While SUITS has been dragged down by a lack of forward movement — beyond the usual circular storytelling — for its longtime characters, the series’ latest episode finally cleared up some of the mystery surrounding eighth-season-newcomer Samantha Wheeler. In Sam’s first several episodes as a major player at Whatever This Firm Is Called, any backstory she provided was almost immediately erased by some other Insert Firm Name Here employee’s discovery that she told a completely different tale to someone else. Not so in “The Greater Good.” This time, it was Sam‘s turn to find out that something she thought was true about her past wasn’t exactly as she’d remembered it; and SUITS viewers had the unique chance to see some actual facts about where this newest name partner had come from.

And, of course, there were the subplots involving otherwise intelligent folks’ repetitive inability to make good choices.

On SUITS, we develop one character. If, when Katherine Heigl’s addition to SUITS was first announced, you had told me that the best part of the series’ eighth season — or at least the first 81.25% of it —  was her character’s development from obnoxious Woman of Mystery to Real, Complex Human…Well. Let’s just say the response wouldn’t have been great. In fact, recaps of SUITS season 8’s earliest episodes weren’t exactly kind Heigl or Wheeler. But here we are. So, let’s do this thing.

Sam’s attempt at being a responsible adult and getting to work on time was a failure. But unlike some folks, she actually had a legitimate reason for leaving home a bit later than planned: a visit from her foster mother, Judy O’Brien. Judy was in trouble because Corey, one of her current foster children, had been pulled over in her car with a bunch of pills. Rather than see Corey’s life ruined, Judy was trying to cover for him; but she needed Sam to keep her out of any criminal trouble in order to be allowed to continue to provide a stable, loving home for her remaining foster children.

Right from the start, Sam wanted Judy to let Corey face the consequences of his own actions, but Judy didn’t want to see Corey face the same fate that Sam once did: “I lost you all those years ago, and I have never regretted anything more. I can’t let something like that happen again.”

(My notes: “I WANT TO KNOW MORE ABOUT THIS!” The SUITS team: Ok! But you have to sit through the Catrina and Donna being very unDonna, too! Me: I’ll take it…for now.)

Because she was conflicted about whether or not she should even take Judy’s case, Sam’s first stop was to see Papa Zane, who was the absolute perfect support system for her throughout the entire ordeal. If the lawyers’ history seemed fake when this new character suddenly appeared, it was certainly validated here.

After a failed attempt at shaking down the prosecutor left Samantha with the realization that this case wasn’t going to be the slam dunk she had hoped, she visited Judy at home — the very place where Sam herself had once lived — in order to deliver the bad news. Things went from bad to worse, though, when Judy let it slide that the state hadn’t exactly ripped Sam away from her all those years ago. She was given a choice and ultimately decided to sacrifice her troublemaking foster daughter for the good of the other children. And Judy refused to repeat a decision that she had come to regret, meaning she refused to accept any deal that involved hurting Corey.

Unable to deal with the news that one of her worst memories was even worse than she’d ever imagined, Sam left Judy and planned to drop the case. This would have made for a pretty short SUITS episode — or, even worse, one with more time for shenanigans — though, so it was time for a bit of an intervention.

Back at The Law Firm of Names and Changing Names, it was Papa Zane who was, yet again, ready to be the  best of mentors. He helped Sam to realize that it must have killed Judy to have to admit what happened, and “sometimes, being a parent is living with choices that break your heart.” Ultimately, though, Sam turned out pretty well; and it was this knowledge and her own (redacted) rap sheet that wound up helping keep Judy out of trouble.

While the prosecutor had initially thought that Sam was just some hotshot lawyer, it was her own criminal past that helped her save Judy without ruining Corey’s life. Using her own success in the face of so many early mistakes, Sam was able to convince the prosecutor that taking Corey — or any of the children — away from Judy would prevent from having the opportunity to become a productive member of society like she, eventually, had. Because sometimes, making a tough choice, like the one that Judy made in giving Sam up, is what it takes to be the best possible mother.

Through Sam, SUITS told a great story about the pain that’s sometimes involved in doing the right thing, the many ways just one mistake can change a life, and the possibility that even the biggest screwups can become the greatest successes. Maybe there’s hope.

Speaking of big screwups: Harvey Specter. In SUITS’ seventh season, Harvey finally dumped Paula had Donna ask Stu to do something shady involving a stock. If you forgot about this, you’re not alone. Now, a full season later, that bad move came back to haunt literally everyone. Who’s surprised? Nobody? Good.

Nick, a guy who was basically out for Stu’s throne, spent the entirety of “The Greater Good” trying to blackmail Stu into stepping down, all while Harvey and a barely-focused Donna scrambled to patch things up. It was almost as if they should have learned by now that breaking the law, even if it means helping innocent people keep their jobs, is a terrible idea that will cause trouble later. But why learn, when you can keep doing the same thing over and over, all while having the ego to expect different results?

Harvey’s latest attempt at keeping himself and Donna out of jail involved…trying to get Mike Ross’s former prison boyfriend, Kevin Miller, to try to get Nick to back off. Something about giving him the “hey, Harvey Specter’s someone you don’t mess with” line or whatever? I don’t know. Nobody does — least of all Harvey himself.

Mr. Best Closer In The City also asked (demanded for) Sean Cahill to step in; but that meant admitting to breaking the law, which Cahill promised he’d throw Harvey in jail for if he ever came back asking for another favor like this one. Of course, just as it seemed inevitable that Stu would have to step aside and live on only the massive amount of wealth he’d accumulated thus far, rather than making even more, Harvey realized that he could go to Cahill but with a different take on the whole situation: prove that Nick was out to blackmail folks, which was worse than undercutting stocks.

Rah, rah. Everybody wins…except for SUITS viewers, left wondering why this with so few episodes left.

Of course, it wouldn’t be SUITS if some personal matters weren’t leaked into the legal drama like breadcrumbs to feed those of us just starving for meaningful content. There was the realization that Donna Paulsen, the woman who had always loved her job and fought for it so hard — even when it meant her ruining her whatever-he-is’ relationship with someone else — was suddenly totally fine with being late for work because she’d had a late night with a guy she’d known for five minutes. And, of course, it was predictably exciting to see Harvey get on edge the second Nick brought Donna’s name to the list of people he was taking down.

Perhaps the best part of the whole saga was the shot of a successful, yet lonely, Harvey Specter making calls to Mike’s voicemail about Cahill and the prison boyfriend, just before Donna ignored his two — two! — calls to get ready for another night with Sir Thomas The Presumptuous.

But if all of this has zero payoff, as it has for eight seasons, then it’s just about as pointless as getting Kevin Miller out of prison, only to ask him to risk his newly-stable life to help you save your own sorry hide.

So, we’ll see.

This and that.

“Samantha, when you care about someone, you fight twice as hard.” Mhm.

See also: Harvey fighting for his platonic coworker.

“Be careful what you say next and who you threaten.” GO HARVEY GO. “Looks like I touched a nerve.” HE DID.

We’ve seen all of that before, and yet.

Imagine being so hellbent on keeping a kid from selling some pills that you’re willing to ruin a 65-year-old woman, who you know to be innocent, and her other current and (potential) future foster children. Can’t relate to the system! Don’t want to!

Regardless of where anything else does or doesn’t go, or how frustrating it all may be, that “I miss you, buddy” was golden. As in, it receives a gold medal for creating pain. That may just be the theme of this SUITS episode, honestly.

“Let me just get this straight: Rather than fight for me or even tell me the truth, you gave up? And then years later, walk into my home to have me save you from making the same mistake again.” This performance had me on the floor. Good job, Katherine Heigl.

Also, everything about that previous line, up to and including “you gave up,” could have been from a certain dumb male to a certain just-as-dumb female. I’ll see myself out.

Ok, I’ll admit it: I laughed at the “severance package” Harvey showed Nick.

“I always thought it was the state that took me from her. It turns out it was Judy. She put me back in the system, just when I thought I had a real home. So, tell me: Why should I stick by her, when she didn’t stick by me?” Everything hurts, and I loved this.

“You raised this?” “I did, and I’m proud of her.” CRYING.

“This is where the gravy train ends, and if you ever threaten me again, I’ll take you down on the spot.” Shoutout to Neal McDonough’s Sean Cahill, as always.

I didn’t get a chance to weave the Catrina (Craig from Degrassi x Katrina, for those of you just now joining us) drama into the rest of this, but Louis’ reaction was beautiful. “The only thing I think about you is that you are the same brilliant, wonderful, quirky woman that I’ve had the honor of working with all these years. And that’s never going to change.” I LOVE LOUIS THE WORK DAD. Still not a fan of Louis the ass-slapper, though.

The other takeaway from the Catrina drama? Donna Paulsen needs help. Like. Let’s examine: “I mean, I know what it’s like to have complicated issues with someone you work with — especially when that person can’t have a real conversation about it.” POT, KETTLE, BLACK. Does a “real conversation” involve kissing someone who’s in a relationship, then lying about how it meant nothing?

“Are you talking about…?” “You know who I’m talking about, Katrina.” Yes, we all do. It’s exhausting.

“Sometimes, the answer is to fall for someone who has nothing to do with this place at all.” I’m. Is Donna sick? Is she being held hostage? Is this a pod Donna? Did she borrow some of Craig from Degrassi’s drugs or, like, Corey’s pills??? Clients now have “nothing to do with this place at all,” I guess?????

Ok. Enough of that. Samantha Wheeler and Robert Zane deserve better than to have this SUITS recap end on a low note. So. Let’s talk about the awesome scene where Louis chewed Robert out for bailing on his case was. “That’s enough! I’m not going to listen to another word of your delusions. Because from the minute I stepped down, all I’ve done is help you.” That’s what I’m talking about.

And Vulnerable!Louis? That’s some gourmet shit right there. “It is just…so…much. The pressure, it’s just. Too much.” Been there, hated it.

Catch more SUITS on Wednesday, February 13, at 10/9c on USA.

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[corvid-knight]

Demon Eyes - chapter 21

https://archiveofourown.org/works/13740258/chapters/33230775

Getting Dirk and John up and moderately awake takes half an hour, significantly longer than it takes to get ahold of the rest of your family. Hal's the one who deals with those two; Karkat stays at the table with you, in the chair next to you, seemingly focused on the laptop in front of him. He's more-or-less constantly checking on you, though; every few second he dips into your mind, asking wordless questions or offering reassurances that you can't quite bring yourself to totally believe.

Eventually Karkat looks up, frowning a little at how you flinch at having been caught staring at him. "If that bastard comes back, I'm killing him slow this time," the demon tells you quietly.

"He's not coming back. Can't." There wasn't a body. There wasn't a fuckin' body, 'kat, not when you were done—

"Exactly. There's no fucking way he could come back." You can see the unspoken but if he does in Karkat's face for a moment; then he nods, shifting the laptop to let you see that he's got a chat open. "D says he's coming as soon as he can."

Part of you wants to protest that this isn't worth that kind of trouble, that you'renot worth it.

Under that, there's the knowledge that Bro hammered into you over and over again when he was alive, that he summed up really fucking well—no, your dreamsummed up—with the words I own your ass. Even if you know that's not true, you believe it anyway, deep down, and that part of you believes that if Bro wants to take you back, D won't stop him.

"Dave?" Karkat asks, and you know he knows what you're thinking. If you give him any opening to, he'll refute it, and do it well.

"Yeah, man. He's coming, that's...good."

"Want me to fuck around and see if I can't get Hal's videoconferencing thing up?"

You kind of do want that, but... "Nah. We wait 'til we got everybody in here; no fuckin' way can I go over those damn dreams more'n once."

Hal and Dirk drag the chairs into a rough half-circle, which turns into a full circle when you factor in the three laptops, each with an active video connection to Rose, D, and Roxy. The chairs started out evenly spaced, but you almost immediately pulled Karkat's closer to yours.

Everyone else knows better than to say anything about that. Not that they would. There's nothing wrong with it, they know how it is with you and him, there's no reason to feel fucking guilty, this is okay, this is right, this—

"Dave?" D asks. He sighs when you jump and focus on him at the sound of your name, and rakes both hands through his already fucked-up hair. Wherever he is, it's at least a couple hours ahead of you; you can see morning sunlight through the window behind him. "Shit. It's bad, isn't it?"

"No." You refuse to believe that anything's going to happen. It's a fucking bad dream, some kind of magic maybe, somebody with a grudge decided to—

If I could come back, Bro drawls out in your head, and even though this time it's only the fucking memory of a dream, you still shudder. It's a small enough movement that D might not be able to catch it through the webcam, but Hal sure as hell sees it. You can see how the shikigami's posture stiffens, just the smallest bit.

"Very bad," Hal corrects you.

"...yeah." He's right. You know he is.

"What sort of 'very bad' are we discussing here, exactly?" Rose asks. It's obviously still night for her; both she and Kanaya are in the field of the camera on their end, somewhat less scruffy than D is but just as obviously only recently out of bed. You don't think you've ever seen Kanaya at night before; she looks more vampire than you're used to, very still and focused on what you're guessing is the telltale light for the webcam, eyes very wide and dark against her luminous skin. "I mean...I do have some idea, there isn't much that makes Dave react like this, but I'd still like the more comprehensive explanation if possible. Especially if that explanation proves my assumption wrong."

"That 'if possible' needs more emphasis, Rosie," Roxy adds. She's the only one who seems fully awake and dressed, which is maybe a little weird since you're pretty sure she's in the same timezone as you are. Then again, from the small room she's in, she could be on some kind of job. "Like, we can roll without the details if going over 'em's gonna fuck shit up worse."

It probably is, you think. Then, because Karkat's going to react to that thought and flatly refuse to let you try to talk about it in another second, you start talking. "I dreamed about Bro. Except—it wasn't a fucking dream. More like he was there, like I spoke to him—it was closer to using the empath shit to talk to Karkat than anything else—except that I've ever done that asleep—and I can't talk to him, Bro, never could, even if he was alive I can't speak without the bond and I'd—fuck, I'd never—I couldn't—"

"Time out," Karkat says sharply, reaching over to grab your hand and get you to stop twisting at the hem of your shirt, lacing his fingers through yours. He's dead. Breathe.

"He's dead," you repeat, and take a breath. "I know. But he still fucking talked to me. Twice."

"You're sure it wasn't you dreaming about him talking to you?" D asks. "Not that I don't believe you, just..."

"No." Dirk and Hal both say it at the same time. They glance at each other, and it's Dirk who continues. "Dave, turn your head a little, scoot up to the cam. D, look at his face."

You do what Dirk says, putting the marks from where Bro hit you in the dream on display. After a second you hear D's sharp intake of breath, more a dismayed hiss than a gasp.

"Dreams don't leave bruises," Hal points out, in that calm tone that means he's really fucking upset. "Unless he did it himself—"

"Trust me. He didn't." That's Karkat.

"Fuck," D whispers, soft and dismayed and almost horrified. You wonder what exactly he's thinking right now—is he afraid that Bro's going to somehow make good on his threat and come back? Is he as confused as you are as to how he'd do that?

Fuck. Is he wondering if he can get his brother back, like I never had Karkat kill him?I

"Stop," Karkat murmurs, shaking his head when you look at him. Ask him.

Can't.

Fine. I will. And before you can tell him to not fucking do that, the demon leans towards D's video pickup, scowling at it. "What are you planning on doing if that asshole shows up again, somehow?"

D shrugs slightly, and his posture changes just a little, shoulders relaxing and face going blank for a second as he switches gears. You're still not used to how he does that, the shift in body language when he goes from just talking to planning; the change is noticeable enough that people who've only met him in one state sometimes don't recognize him the first time they see him in the other.

"If he comes back, we're dealing with bad shit," D says slowly. "It'd mean he's corporeal without his actual body—means he's either strong enough to manifest his own, in which case we're dead, everyone he wants dead is fuckin' wasted, period, exclamation point—or someone made him a body; which means he's got a fuckin' patron. Like, one who's got a damn good necromancer, to raise a guy after two years and in a body not his own." He stops and nods at John, who's got one hand up like he's in school. "Don't do that. You got a point, Egbert?"

John does not have the social grace to look even a little ashamed of himself as he lowers his hand. "We could also go with the assumption that Dave's bro is a vengeful enough spirit to fuck with dreams and possibly inhabit any usable body. Possession isn't totally unknown with ghosts—"

"The timeframe's weird," Hal points out. "What's the reasoning behind waiting until now? Unless he has the ability to store energy beyond known limits for this type of specter, he should have been at full strength after no more than two weeks to a month of death. Considering that his death was violent, I'd put the beginning of the plateau closer to the former. There'd be very little reason for him to wait this long to harass Dave."

"So we assume there's a reason he waited," Dirk agrees. "Which would be...?"

Damn. Now everybody's looking at you. "How the hell would I know?" Okay, you probably didn't need to sound that defensive. Goddamnit.

"Well, you are the one who's best versed on your own life, Dave," Rose points out. Then, as Karkat shifts his chair a few inches in your direction so he's close enough to wrap his arm around your shoulders, she amends that statement. "Well, other than possibly Karkat. Has something changed noticeably for you? Mentally, in everyday life, anything?"

You and Karkat shake your heads at the exact same time.

There's an unfortunately awkward silence as everybody considers. It's Roxy that breaks it.

"He's turning eighteen in what, a week? Lil' less? Dunno if that counts as something changing, but it's def a date of power."

Well, shit. You're suddenly and unreasonably angry, enough that Karkat jerks in his chair and looks over at you in surprise. "So he wants to fuck up my birthday? Are you fucking kidding me?"

"I mean, it's more likely he's using the ethereal and karmic energy generated by events and dates that're perceived significant to gain enough power to fuck you over, but." John shrugs and tips his chair back. "Yep, it kind of boils down to him fucking up your birthday."

"What the fuck is ethereal energy?" D asks. "You mean ectoplasmic? 'cause I know a lil' more about that shit—"

"Why would social rituals generate ghosty stuff? That doesn't even make sense—"

"Well, ethereal means angels, so that doesn't make sense—"

"It doesn't just mean angelic energy, come on—"

Hal beeps. Loudly. It sounds like a car unlocking and gets John and D to stop talking and focus on him. "Off topic."

"Current topic is 'Dave Is Being Tormented By Bro And We Need To Remedy That,'" Rose points out helpfully. "Kanaya, are you planning on attacking the webcam?"

The vampire blinks, for the first time since the video feed came up, and glances at your sister. "...um. Probably not?"

"Oh, good. Perhaps it'd be safer if you go lie back down, though." When Kanaya nods in agreement and rises to leave, Rose asks, "So. Perhaps we can address the current topic, then?"

"The only thing I can do to address that shit is not fucking sleep, Rose," you point out, trying to ignore the memories that are already rising. Yeah, you can stay awake for a pretty long time—three or four days and still be combat-ready, five or six if you're willing to put yourself through paranoia and hallucinations, dose yourself up with caffeine and hope you don't have a fucking heart attack—

"Dave," Karkat says sharply.

Shit. You're slipping back into how you thought when he was alive, aren't you? That more-or-less constant state of expectation, of fear without ever showing or admitting you're afraid, of knowing that shit's going to happen and you have no power over it...you thought you were out of that. You thought you were done with it. You've worked to be done with it, worked hard as hell to move past his shit.

But all it takes is a couple dreams, and you're right back where you started.

"Sorry," you mutter, folding your arms across your chest and hoping the movement doesn't look as defensive as it is.

"You're not the one who needs to be saying sorry here," D points out, shaking his head. "That'd be my fuckin' scumbag brother...but yeah, no, you staying awake isn't a solution and we all know it—"

"I'm not going back to sleep after tonight's shit, D—"

"And I get that, man, but hear me out, okay? For all we know this was a goddamn isolated incident, that he's got a limited window for being able to fuck with you."

You glance at John for confirmation on that, and he nods. "It could totally be a one-off. A lot of ghosts can't muster up enough power to manifest in any way; of the ones that can, some can only manage it once or twice."

"Thanks for the backup, ghosty boy. And if the bastard's just got until your birthday to fuck with you, then Dirk gives you the sleeping meds I know he still has from that time with the dreamwalker, and you sleep deep enough that Bro can't touch you."

Fuck. Yeah, that'd help. Karkat purrs as he catches some amount of your surge of stupid, pitiful relief that there's a way to avoid speaking to Bro in your dreams. The purr turns into an unhappy growl as your mind immediately moves in another direction. "And if it's not just 'til my birthday?"

"C'mon, Dave, don't buy trouble—"

"It's not exactly buying trouble, Rox," Hal says before she can tell you not to worry about what you're already stressing over. "If he wants to state the possibilities, we will. A, this is already over—"

"It's not."

"Dave, let me finish my list. A, this is a one-time thing, and it's over. B, there's a limited window of time this can happen, and we can wait it out. C, this is...well, more permanent, in which case we figure out a way to get rid of the fucking ghost. Exorcisms suck but they're still a viable option."

"Or option D." You don't want to say it. It needs to be said, needs to be put on the table. "He does come back."

"See, that one's the easiest to handle," D says. " 'Cause that one just means I do what I shoulda done five years ago: I fucking kill him."

There's nothing in his voice but cold sincerity. You want to fucking cry. "D, if he—you don't—" Yeah, shit, can't keep your voice steady. Not at all. Karkat's in your head, trying to surround you with reassurance that you don't have to talk, Dirk and Hal and John are looking at you and you're guessing Roxy and Rose probably are too, and you can't take it right now.

You shake your head and cover your face with both hands. "...shit."

Karkat squeezes your shoulder. Are you going to be okay?

I have no fuckin' clue. You open your mind to the demon for a second, let him see the mess of emotions and thoughts you've got going on right now in the hope he can untangle it a little better than you can, or at least understand it. You sure as hell don't understand.

But Karkat gets some of it. "Of course D's going to fucking choose you, Dave."

"Over Bro? You bet your fucking life I would." D sighs, and even though you can't look right now you can hear the stressed frustration in the sound. "Look. I think we covered everything we can right now; I'm gonna go start seeing about getting my ass back to y'all, okay?"

"Good plan," Dirk agrees. "Rox, Rose?"

"I'm stuck here for three more days at least," Roxy says ruefully. "Kind of committed to this job; I didn't think I'd need to get back to Dirk's before Dave's birthday."

"Kanaya and I will be on the plane down there the day after tomorrow," Rose says. "I don't believe even I can expedite beyond that."

"So in a couple days we'll all be there," D finishes. "It'll be okay, Dave."

"Yeah." You believe him. Maybe that part of your mind that still belongs to Bro doesn't believe, but everything else knows that D and the others will do everything they can to make sure shit goes okay. "Talk to you guys later."

And Karkat pulls you to your feet and towards the couch as Hal starts unhooking the laptops and camera. You don't have to ask to know that the demon's going to find a movie and curl up with you, make sure you don't sleep again tonight. Keep you safe.

It'll be okay, you tell yourself, and you keep repeating it until you believe it a little more.

[anavoliselenu]

Claim me chapter 17

“Why the hell are you so fucking obstinate? Are you afraid to learn the truth about him? Or are you afraid I’ll learn the truth about what you do with him?”

He’s spewing words at me, clearly as pissed off as I am. Then, without warning, he grabs my arm and tugs it toward him. He jabs a finger hard on the bruise around my wrist. I jerk my arm back, blushing, and undoubtedly erasing any possible question in Ollie’s mind as to the cause of those marks.

“You’re being an idiot,” he says. He reaches out and tugs a lock of my hair, then looks pointedly toward my thighs. “How long will it be before Stark does something else that makes you take a knife to yourself?”

I don’t even realize I’ve moved until I feel the sting of my palm intersecting his cheek. “Get the hell out of my house,” I say.

He stands perfectly still, his mouth hanging open, his breath coming hard. “Oh, shit,” he whispers. “Oh, shit, oh, shit. Selena, I’m sorry.”

“No, you’re not,” I snap. “You’d be thrilled if Justin and I broke up. I don’t know why you dislike him so much—”

“And I don’t know why you’re so blind.”

“I’m not,” I say. “I see him perfectly clearly.”

“You see what he wants you to see. But you forget where I work. You forget that my boss is his attorney. There is shit raining down on Stark,” Ollie says, “and I don’t want to see you get hurt.” He sighs. “I warned you, didn’t I? You’re in the spotlight now, and that’s not where you want to be. It’s not where you should be.”

My blood feels as though it’s moving too fast through my body, and I feel a little sick to my stomach. “Just go.”

“Fine, whatever. I’ll get my stuff and get out of here.” He returns to my room, then emerges with his briefcase. He marches for the door, then stops. “No, you know what? I get that things are bad between us now, and I’m sorry. But I can’t just let this slide. Do you even know where he is now?”

I cross my arms over my chest. “In London.”

“Why?”

“Business.”

“Yeah?” He digs in his briefcase for his iPad, then pulls up a page from Hello! “Here,” he says, shoving the tablet at me.

It’s a picture of Justin with his arm around a woman. Her head is down, she’s wearing sunglasses, and a hat shields most of her face. I don’t know who she is, but I can guess. Apparently Hello! can’t even do that, because the caption reads

Did Justin Ditch the Delicious Darling? Is it the end for Justin Stark and Texas Beauty Queen Selena Fairchild? Our sources say Stark looked quite cosy with this unidentified woman as they strolled the Hampstead Heath earlier today. Stark arrived in London without the woman whose portrait he paid a cool million dollars for. Buyer’s remorse, perhaps?

I hand the tablet back to him, feeling smug. “She’s a friend.”

“I thought he went on business.”

“He’s not allowed to see a friend while he’s doing business?”

There’s a loud bang on the wall Jamie and I share with Douglas, followed by a very loud, very satisfied groan.

Ollie and I meet each other’s eyes and, as if on cue, we both laugh.

For those few seconds, we are Ollie and Selena again. But the seconds pass all too quickly.

“I don’t want to screw us up,” Ollie finally says.

“You already have,” I say. “All you can do now is try to fix it.”

For a moment I think he’s going to snap something back at me. Then he nods. “Yeah. I guess so.” He glances toward the door. “Should probably fix things with my fiancée first. That’s all I do, lately. Piss people off and then try to patch it up.”

“Ollie …” Sadness envelops me as he leaves. I think about what Justin says—that Ollie is in love with me. But I don’t think it’s true. I think that he’s grieving. Through our lives, I’ve always been the more damaged, and Ollie has been my rock. But I’m healing, and I have found a new rock in Justin, and I think Ollie wonders how our lives will fit together.

It’s not a question that I can answer for him. Not now. Not when he attacks Justin every time we come together. But I hope there is an answer, because I don’t want to lose him. And I know that if I am forced to make a choice, I will go with my heart. I will go with Justin.

I realize that Edward’s probably halfway through The Count of Monte Cristo by now, and so I hurry to my bedroom and get my laptop and the files I need. I pause at the door, then return to my closet for my old Nikon, since the fabulous digital Leica Justin gave me is still in Malibu. And as much as I love the Leica, the Nikon was a gift from Ashley, and I refuse to give up using it entirely.

“Back to the apartment?” Edward asks as he opens the limo door for me.

I close my hand tight around the camera. “Actually,” I say, “there’s one more place I want to go.”

“How you holding up, Texas?”

“Okay, I guess.” We’re on Evelyn’s balcony, looking out over the beach. Blaine is out with friends, and Evelyn had been enthusiastic when I’d called from the limo to invite myself over.

I’ve only been here once—the night that Justin and I met in Malibu—but it feels like home. I attribute that more to the woman than the location. “When I’m inside and away from it all, I do great. But when I see a paper or am accosted by a reporter, I feel like I’m going to crumble. Honestly, I don’t know how celebrities do it.”

“They have the fame gene,” she says. “You don’t.”

“There’s no such thing as bad PR?” I say dryly.

“For some people, it’s a truism. Have you watched reality television?”

I have to laugh. I don’t watch it regularly, but I’ve caught enough episodes with Jamie to understand what she’s saying. Some people don’t mind being the train wreck that other folks watch. Me, I mind.

“Pretty soon you’ll be last week’s news. Until then, hold your head up and smile.”

I flash a brilliant pageant smile. “That’s one thing I know how to do.”

In front of us, the sun is beginning its descent toward the horizon. I take out the Nikon and snap shot after shot, hoping that when the prints are developed, I’ll have managed to capture even a fraction of that beauty.

“You’re going to show me the shots you took at the party, I hope,” Evelyn says. “The more snapshots there are of me, the better my odds of finding a picture that’s actually flattering.”

“Do not even try fishing for compliments with me,” I say, laughing. “You’re gorgeous and amazing and you know it.”

“It’s true,” she says, then taps out a cigarette and lights it. “I just hope Blaine keeps remembering it.”

“I think you’ve got him hooked.” Despite their age difference, they really do seem like the perfect couple. After the drama with Ollie, it’s nice to know that some of my friends have relationships that are actually stable.

I’d been spurred to come here after the bullshit with Ollie, but now that I’m here, I find I don’t want to talk about it. Instead, I’m enjoying just hanging and chatting. We’ve already covered the scintillating topics of male models, Botox, and the current summer blockbusters. The conversation was so scattered in fact, that I’d been surprised when she raised the specter of my personal tabloid hell.

“Blaine’s still mortified, of course,” she adds. “Thinks it’s his fault.”

“That’s ridiculous,” I say. “I’m the one who accepted money to pose nude, and then I consented to be tied up. If it’s anyone’s fault, it’s mine.”

“We didn’t have any idea how much Justin paid you,” Evelyn said, “but now that we do, I have to confess that I agree with Blaine. You sold yourself cheap.”

I laugh, remembering that Sylvia said the same thing. At times like this, when I’m with friends and people who don’t have shark’s blood running through their veins, I feel almost proud of what I did. I negotiated a deal. I got my start-up money. And what the hell is wrong with that?

“Aw, hell, Texas. I see it on your face. Now I’ve gone and got you thinking about it. We can’t have that. You want some wine?”

“Love some,” I say.

She disappears inside, then returns a moment later with a chilled bottle of Chardonnay and two glasses.

She sits at the wrought-iron table then indicates the chair opposite with the tip of her cigarette. “So tell me the rest of it,” she demands.

“The rest of it? The rest of what?”

“What’s going on in your life, Texas. Fired twice—excuse me, once was a layoff. Dating one heck of a fine catch if I do say so myself. Your roommate’s got a commercial in the works. Lot of life crammed into not very much time. You’ve certainly made quite the landing in our fair city.”

Put that way, I have to agree. “Despite the firings and the tabloid stuff that we’re just going to ignore, things are great. I’m going to take some time to get a couple more apps on the market.”

She points at me. “An art app for Blaine. I haven’t forgotten.”

I grin, not sure if she means it or not. “I’m ready when you are. But that’s my short-term plan. Long term is still in the development stages.”

“And Justin? You said he’s in London? On business?”

“Yeah, but I think he took some time to visit a friend. Sofia. I guess she’s in some sort of trouble.”

“That’s too bad,” Evelyn says. She props her hand on her fist and looks at me seriously. “He say what kind of trouble?”

“No.”

“Hmm,” she says. “What about Jamie? What’s she up to?”

I hesitate before answering, wondering about the shift in conversation. Does Evelyn know Sofia? Does she know what kind of trouble she’s in? It’s possible, I realize. Sofia is from his tennis past, and Evelyn was Justin’s agent when he was a young sports icon endorsing tennis shoes and God knows what else.

I think about asking, but hold my tongue. Evelyn has become a solid friend, and I don’t want to muddy the waters by using her as a conduit between me and Justin’s past.

“Jamie’s in heaven,” I say, focusing on the original question. “She’s really hit it off with the guy she’s doing this commercial with. Bryan Raine. You know him?”

“I do,” Evelyn says, and she doesn’t sound pleased. “I like your friend. Nice girl. A little green, but she’ll get there. Bryan Raine, though … That one’s a climber, and I’m not sure your friend is tough enough to deal with the shit he’ll eventually throw her way.”

My heart is sinking. “You’re serious?”

“Afraid so. He won’t be happy until he’s banging the next big thing. And while he’d prefer a female, I think he’ll fuck anything that moves if he thinks it’ll ease his climb to the top. Male, female, or small farm animal.” She looks at me hard. “Your friend got the skin to make it when he ditches her?”

I open my mouth to say that Jamie’s as tough as they come, but I can’t speak the words. They aren’t true. She’s got a tough veneer, but inside she’s soft and vulnerable.

“I hope you’re wrong,” I say.

“So do I, Texas. So do I.”

22

The nice thing about limos is that they have a driver. I take full advantage of that knowledge, and I arrive back at Justin’s apartment more than a little tipsy after downing half of Evelyn’s very excellent bottle of Chardonnay.

I am interested in nothing but sleep, and I make my way to the bed, hesitating only long enough to feel a pang of regret that I am in it alone.

I’ve dropped my phone on the bedside table, and I reach for it, then tap out a text: In your bed. Drunk. Wish you were here.

I have no idea what time it is in London, and have had too much wine to bother with the math to figure it out. So I’m not sure if Justin is even awake. But only a few seconds pass before I get his response. Wish I were, too. At airport. Coming home to you. Tell me you’re naked.

I smile and tap out a reply. Very. And wet. And wanting you. Hurry home. I have been Damienized, and I don’t think I can last long without you. [Damienized, v. To be needful of Justin, especially in the sense of fucking and dirty talk. See, e.g., Selena Fairchild.]

His answer is almost immediate. I like the new addition to your lexicon. And now I’ll be hard for all of a long flight home. Plane boarding. See you soon. Until then, imagine me, touching you.

I don’t know if he will get the text, but I send one final message. Yes, sir, I type. And then I hug my phone, and drift off to sleep.

When I wake, it’s because my phone is buzzing against my cheek. I roll over, confused, and realize that it’s already past noon, and that I’ve missed a call. I quickly check to see if it’s from Justin, but it’s only a voice mail from Evelyn telling me I forgot my camera. I curse silently and open my email, planning to send her a quick note telling her I’ll get it soon.

That’s when I see that there is an email from Justin waiting.

Selena, on a quick layover in Amsterdam. Arriving LAX five P.M. Do you mind if we go to a charity fashion show tonight? Starts at nine? Would much rather stay in with you, but Maynard’s firm sponsoring. Swears press access limited. They’ll get the boot if they even think about harassing you. Jamie invited, too. Let me know. Missing you …

I read the message twice, trying to decide why I’m smiling so broadly. It’s only as I start the third read that I realize—he’s asking me, not telling me. I take that knowledge and hold it close to my heart. Then I tap out my reply, though I know he won’t get it until he lands.

Of course, sir. But how you do tease, pretending to ask my consent when of course you know that I will do whatever you want, whenever and however.

I hope you’re spending your time in the plane thinking of interesting “howevers” …

P.S. I have the perfect dress at home. Pick me up at the condo at eight? Will check Jamie’s social calendar …

As it turns out, Raine has told Jamie that he’s having a night out with the boys, so she’s completely keen to be a third wheel with me and Justin.

I’m not entirely sure what to expect from a fashion show hosted by a law firm, but it turns out that Bender, Twain is just one of many sponsors for a function that is raising money for juvenile diabetes. The event is being held in a restaurant in Beverly Hills, but the place has been so transformed that it’s hard to believe that it has ever been anything other than a fashion venue. A long runway bisects a giant room, and that is surrounded by chairs. The perimeter is lined with tables providing research, raffles, and gift bags. Jamie and I both snag a bag and are pleased to find them filled with cosmetics, hair brushes, and even a darling tank top.

“This is great,” Jamie says to Justin. “Thanks for bringing me.”

“Happy to have you along,” he says. His mood has been light since he’s returned from London.

“So the trip went well?” I ask once Jamie skips off to do the circuit.

“It did,” he says.

“Sofia’s okay?”

“She’s settled,” he says. “For her, that’s about as good as it gets. And I heard from Charles. He’s been working with my attorneys in Germany, and with any luck, that problem is going to go away as well.”

“You mean they won’t indict?”

He cocks his head to look at me. “That’s my hope.”

“That would be great,” I say. “And even though I don’t have a clue about international business or what kind of regulations the Germans think you mucked up, you know you can talk to me about that kind of thing. I may not get it, but I promise I’ll be supportive.”

The expression on his face is surprisingly guarded. “Someday when I’m ready, I will.” He pulls me in for a quick, chaste kiss. “And yes, I believe that you would understand.”

A smile flickers on my lips. I’m pleased, but I can’t help but think that we’re talking about entirely different things.

I don’t have the chance to ask, though, because the show is starting. We take our seats and watch the models parade down the runway in skimpy, sexy outfits, with Justin whispering his opinion as to exactly which outfits he wants to see me in. Reporters and photographers are at the base of the runway, and I realize that Charles has made good on his promise—the press is leaving me and Justin alone. Some weight inside me lifts a little, and I lean back in my chair and enjoy the freedom of knowing that, at least for a moment, I am not a bug under a microscope.

When the show is over, the guests are encouraged to mingle and imbibe from one of the many cash bars while the crew sets up for the charity auction. I look around for Jamie, but she has already disappeared into the crowd, presumably to jump all over that imbibing thing.

Instead, I see Ollie, and I suck in a tight breath. He is talking with a woman who looks somewhat familiar, but I can’t place her. Justin hasn’t seen him yet, but I know the exact moment when Ollie’s glance finds us.

I’m not sure why I’m surprised that he’s here. After all, he works with Charles Maynard. The crowd shifts, and I see a pretty, dark-haired woman coming toward him with two drinks in her hands. Courtney. And then Ollie and Courtney and the other woman are all heading our way. I grab Justin’s hand and smile my Social Selena smile. It is the first time I’ve felt the need to be so armed against Ollie, but I know that I need both the mask and Justin’s strength, and that knowledge makes me sad.

“Selena, Justin, it’s good to see you here.”

“Ollie,” Justin says politely. He glances at the two women.

“Courtney,” I say, “it’s so good to see you again.” I give her a little hug, then formally introduce her to Justin.

“Great to meet you,” Courtney says, then turns her attention to me. “I’m planning a destination wedding shower, but I haven’t decided where yet.” She shifts toward Justin, including him as she speaks to me. “Tell me you two will come? And Jamie and Raine, too.”

Automatically, my eyes dart to Ollie’s, but his expression is too guarded to read.

“I’m looking forward to hearing all the details,” I say diplomatically. The truth is I’m not sure there is going to be a wedding, much less a shower. Courtney, however, doesn’t seem the least bit worried.

The other woman with Ollie is introduced as Susan Morris. I keep my polite smile plastered on, but inside, I’m frowning, trying to figure out why her name is familiar.

I’m about to ask, when Ollie continues. “Susan is directing the fashion show.”

“I got my training in pageants,” Susan says, “although it wasn’t formal training. More like an apprenticeship.”

“Susan Morris?” I say, finally clueing in. “Alicia Morris’s mother?” Susan Morris was almost as much of a stage mother as mine.

“I was hoping you’d remember me,” she says. “Ollie said that Justin Stark was here with his girlfriend, and I just had to see you.”

“I’m so glad you did,” Social Selena says. The real me isn’t at all interested in this relic from my past. I can tell that Justin sees the real Selena, because he squeezes my hand in support.

“Your mother and I have stayed close. In fact, since I moved to Park Cities, we lunch together at least once a week,” she adds, referring to the affluent Dallas neighborhood where I grew up. “I talked to her just this morning, as a matter of fact.” Her voice is strangely tight, and I want nothing more than to get away from this woman who reminds me too much of my mother.

“How nice,” I say. I flash my wide pageant smile. “I should really go check on my friend Jamie. It was lovely talking to you.”

She takes a step sideways and blocks my departure. “Your mother is so mortified she can’t even hold her head up in public. And you haven’t been any help. You haven’t returned her calls or her emails. It’s terribly ungrateful, Nichole.”

Ungrateful. What the fuck?

Justin steps closer to me. “I believe Selena has already said that she needs to go check on her friend.”

But Susan Morris is not taking the hint. She aims a finger at Justin. “And you! Elizabeth told me how you shipped her home just when Nichole needed her.”

My mouth falls open. Needed her? Needed her? All I’d needed was for her to be gone.

“And now you’ve dragged her into this … this … degrading lifestyle!” Susan Morris is speaking machine-gun fast, and with as much damage. “Posing nude. Erotic art. And accepting money like a common whore. It’s contemptible.” She literally spits the last word, and I see the tiny droplets of moisture fly from her mouth.

I can only gape at her, my Social Selena facade having shattered under this unexpected onslaught.

Justin is not so frozen. He takes a step forward, his expression like thunder. I think vaguely that he will hurt her, and that I should hold out a hand to stop him. I don’t. All I can think about is the nausea and tightness and clammy coldness that has settled over me.

“Get the hell out of here,” Justin says, his hands pressed firmly against his sides.

“I will not,” she counters. “You think you can buy anything? Even a girl like Nichole in your bed? I know your type, Justin Stark.”

“Do you?” He takes another step toward her, and she has the sense to look scared. “In that case I think you would listen when I tell you to get out. And for the record, Selena is a woman, not a girl. And the choice she made was her own.”

Her mouth drops open, but she doesn’t reply. Instead she turns back to me. “Your mother expected better things from you.”

I can do nothing but stand there. I’m frozen, my body chilled to the bone. And, goddammit, I’m starting to shake. Deep, trembling shudders that I cannot control, and that I do not want Susan Morris to see.

Throughout all of this, Ollie has stood stock-still, Courtney’s hand tight on his arm. But now he, too, takes a step forward. “Do what Mr. Stark says and get the hell out of here or I will have you fired from this pageant right here, right now.”

“I—” She shuts her mouth, gives each of us a hard look, then leaves.

I do not remember sliding into Justin’s embrace, but that is where I am, and it feels warm and safe, and my trembling starts to subside. I don’t want him to open his arms, because I don’t want to face the world. I want to be home with him. Back in the penthouse where ghosts from my past don’t pop up. Where I’m not accused of being a whore. Where my personal life isn’t gossiped about by people who don’t know me and know even less about the choices I’ve made.

“Are you okay?” Courtney asks.

“No,” I say. “I’m not.”

I see Ollie shoot Justin a vitriol-filled look. He may have sided with me against Susan Morris, but it’s clear that he’s still not on Team Justin.

“I’ll take you home,” Justin says.

I nod, then hesitate, then shake my head. “No. I want to stay.”

“You’re sure?”

I hesitate only a moment, then nod. “I just need to go to the bathroom. Then I want to find Jamie. We haven’t looked at all the booths yet.” I am proud of myself. I sound so steady even though I’m anything but.

Justin’s phone buzzes and he glances at the screen, then types out a quick response before sliding it back in his pocket.

“Not important?”

“Charles,” he says. “He’s at one of the cash bars and wants to have a quick talk. I told him I was with you, and business could wait until morning.”

“Can it?”

He looks right into my eyes. “Right now, the only thing I care about is you.” He takes my arm. “It looks like the ladies’ room is over there.”

While Justin waits, I go in—then immediately clutch the counter. I’ve been working so hard not to let Justin see my cracks. Susan Morris. My mother. The rumors of sex for money, of being a whore. It’s all tied up in my head like so much noise and I want to sort it out. I want Justin—but I know he blames himself, and if I can just gather myself a little. If I can just make one tiny inroad on keeping myself collected …

I look around for something sharp, but there is nothing. Only the granite counter, the mirror, and the ceramic soap dispenser.

I remember the apartment and the glass vase that Justin shattered. I close my eyes, feeling the imaginary shard in my hand. Glass cuts on all sides. It’s perfect. It’s like a tiny miracle biting into the palm of your hand.

Wildly, I open my eyes and look around for something with which to break the glass. I snatch the soap dispenser, stand back, and start to hurl it.

That is when I see my reflection. Oh, God. What am I doing?

My fingers go slack, and the dispenser crashes to the ground—and in the back of the room, from behind a closed stall door, I hear someone yelp.

I jump—I hadn’t realized anyone was in there—then immediately relax when I see it is Jamie. Her face is splotchy and her makeup is smeared, but I must look worse because she takes one glance at me, looks down at the ceramic shards on the floor, and says, “I’m finding Justin.”

“Jamie!” I call, trying to get her back, but it’s too late. She’s out the door, and only moments later, Justin is in the ladies’ room.

“I didn’t,” I say immediately. “I just dropped a soap dish. That’s all. Jamie overreacted.”

He is looking at me with such intensity that I am certain he can see the lie inside my head. “All right,” he says slowly. “Now tell me the rest of it.”

I sigh, then drop my gaze. I count to five, and then look back up to him, my composure restored. “I was going to,” I say. “But I talked myself out of it. And then, really, I dropped the dispenser. It’s slippery.”

“You talked yourself out of it.” It’s a statement, not a question.

“I saw my reflection in the mirror. I was going to break it with that,” I say, nodding toward the gooey mess on the floor.

“You were going to break a mirror in a public restaurant instead of talking with me?”

I graze my teeth over my lower lip. I don’t answer.

“I see.”

“I didn’t want to make it worse for you. But I guess I did that, anyway.”

“But you’re okay now?” He is speaking very carefully.

“Yes. Just a momentary glitch. System completely reset now. It was just that woman. That horrible woman.”

“All right,” he finally says. He takes my hand; his is warm and reassuring. “Let’s go. We’ll let the janitors worry about the mess.”

I nod and follow him. Already I feel better, just knowing that Justin is at my side. In the restaurant, I search for Jamie, but I don’t find her anywhere. “I’m worried about Jamie,” I tell him. “She was a mess.”

“Do you know why?”

“No, she was just—oh, shit. Is that who I think it is?” I point into the crowd, and Justin’s low whisper of “Well, hell” tells me I’m right. Bryan Raine is at the event, too, and he’s arm in arm, lips to lips, with a svelte, sexy blonde.

“That’s Madeline Aimes,” Justin says.

I remember Evelyn’s words. “A movie star? On her way up?”

He gives me a quizzical look. “When did you start paying attention to Hollywood?”

“I don’t. Lucky guess.” I look around the room again, suddenly worried. “Now I really want to find Jamie.”

I find Ollie, but he hasn’t seen Jamie, either. Whatever detente we’d reached earlier when Susan Morris attacked me seems to have shattered, because he is quiet and distant and keeps shooting Justin angry glances. I, however, am too worried about Jamie to call him on it.

It takes another twenty minutes before we learn that Edward took Jamie home.

“I’m so sorry, Mr. Stark,” Edward says when we meet him in the parking area behind the restaurant. “She assured me that she’d cleared it with you.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Justin says. “How was she?”

“I understand there was some trouble with a young man she’s been seeing. You might have to restock the limo’s supply of Scotch.”

Justin grimaces. “Shall we go check on her?” he asks.

I nod. It’s already after midnight, and now that Jamie’s gone AWOL, I’m ready to go home. I start to move toward the limo, but Ollie’s words hold me back. “Raine was just stringing her along.”

I turn back to him. “Well, yeah. Obviously.”

“Obviously?” He jabs a finger toward Justin. “He’s doing the same thing to you.”

I grab Justin’s hand, as much because I want his touch as to keep him right here beside me. “What the hell are you talking about?”

“He keeps you around, but it’s not real.” He holds up his hands and flexes his wrists. “It’s just kink and fun and when he’s tired he’ll toss you aside.”

“You little shit,” Justin says.

“I’m wrong? Really? You know damn well it’s just a game to you. That’s why you never tell her shit. That’s why you haven’t even told her that you’ve been indicted in Germany for murder.”

23

Murder!

I look from Ollie to Justin. Ollie looks smug. Justin looks confused.

“There’s no indictment,” Justin says.

For a moment, Ollie appears scared, then he rallies. “No, apparently they were just stalling. The indictment came in just a few minutes ago. You didn’t know?”

“Wait,” I say. My head is spinning and I’m having a hard time figuring out exactly what I’m feeling. Anger? Hurt? Fear? Confusion? They are all jostling for position inside me, and at that moment, it feels a bit as though my head is going to explode.

I think about those ceramic shards, and I wish to hell I’d pocketed one.

No. Just breathe. You can do this.

I take a deep breath and turn to Justin. “All this time I’ve been assuming that the German indictment is some business violation, and it was actually a murder investigation?”

His hesitation seems to last a lifetime, and throughout his silence, his eyes look only at me, as if he’s trying to find the answer to the question hidden deep inside me somewhere.

“Yes,” he says.

And there it is. The biggest secret of all, and one I gave him about nine billion opportunities to reveal. I think about the times I mentioned German regulations. About the times he let me go on believing that it was just a business thing. Just Stark International dealing with the kind of problem huge corporations deal with.

“I thought your company had broken some regulation about zoning codes or paid too little in taxes or something. This is—”

“Worse,” Justin says. “Much worse.”

I wait for him to say more. To explain. To lie. Something. Anything.

He stays silent.

I suck in air through my teeth, then press my fingers to my temples. I need to think. Mostly, I just need to be alone. “I’m going,” I say. “I need to check on Jamie.”

“All right,” Justin says, his voice a little too calm. “Edward and I will drop you at home.”

“I’ll get home on my own. Thanks.”

“I’ll drive you,” Ollie says.

“The hell you will,” I snap. With Justin, I’m lost in a maelstrom of anger and sadness and confusion and God knows what else. With Ollie, I’m just plain old pissed. “I’ll take a taxi.”

I turn once as I walk away, and my eyes find Justin’s. I hesitate, expecting him to call after me, but he doesn’t, and I fight the urge to hug myself to ward off a coming chill. Slowly, I turn my back to Justin and I continue toward the street. I’m hurt and I’m confused, but right now I just need to focus on one thing. I just need to get home.