#I just knew that Hermit was going to get a haircut today

[justbreakonme]

I’m a writer cause I’m a manipulator, that is all.

[anistarrose]

Summary: Angus leads a virtual book club meeting. Kravitz connects the dots. Taako makes significant updates to the list of people he trusts and things he believes.

Characters: Kravitz, Taako, Barry Bluejeans, Angus McDonald, Magnus Burnsides, Merle Highchurch, Noelle | No-3113, The Raven Queen, The Director | Lucretia, misc. BoB cameos, Julia Burnsides, Garyl

Relationships: Taakitz, Angus McDonald & Taako, Barry Bluejeans & Kravitz, Kravitz & Angus McDonald

Bit by bit, we’re inching closer to the endgame! Lots of plot and angst in this update, but also I think I might’ve implied that Minecraft exists in Faerun, so it evens out, y’know?

By virtue of their trance state replacing sleep, elves were supposed to be good lucid dreamers. Taako had always experienced mixed results, but never moreso than tonight, with a dream that started out all saccharine romantic fantasy — fishing with Kravitz and sharing a kiss after falling into the lake together — before a clap of thunder and an unholy scream plunged the world into darkness and left one single source of light, one last surviving star, cradled in Taako’s unassuming hands.

Then a ripple in the darkness, the invisible maw of some ravenous entity, closed around that final star — and Taako screamed, as loud as he could muster yet still not loud enough to drown the ringing in his ears, as he flailed in the dark against the invisible monster that stole the world from him —

At once, two hands closed around his own, one cold and the other warm. On Taako’s left was Kravitz, aghast but holding himself together, a steely composure to his posture despite the fear in his eyes.

On Taako’s right was a Red Robe — but not Barry, and in fact not anything like what Taako had started to accept as normal for Red Robes. Where Barry had a clouded darkness in place of hands and a face, this lich had pure static escaping from within her sleeves and beneath her hood, crackling and constantly changing shape like lightning, or… like fire.

Taako sat up in his bed covered in cold sweat, heart pounding as he realized his legs were hopelessly tangled in his sheets, and only slightly slowing when he realized there was nothing in his bedroom to run from.

Elves were supposed to rarely awaken late, but Taako’s wizard hat-shaped alarm clock — a gift that Angus that he’d quietly appreciated, even though it should have been redundant — indicated that it was mid-morning, and when he trudged out into the common area, he found no sign of his doormates besides a note written in Magnus’s distinctive scrawl.

I know you were busy last night, so we’re letting you sleep in while we go play Fantasy Kickball on the quad! Killian and Avi are team captains and their rivalry is fierce, so we’ll probably be playing all day if you want to join us! Love, Magnus! (And Merle)

Taako didn’t realize how relieved he was until he felt himself let out a sigh.

He had a sinking feeling that the same dream — or at least, a similar dream — had played out more than once that night, looping over and over again as he repeatedly failed to remember, much less control, where it was going. He felt too exhausted to be operating on even a single minute of dreamless sleep, and didn’t even want to think about holding a conversation with anyone…

Well, with most people. There was someone he’d really been meaning to chat with, before he’d been distracted by haircuts and Kravitz and pottery and stargazing and Kravitz.

He transmuted a mug of lukewarm tap water to a piping hot, high-caffeine tea, then picked up his Umbra Staff, and conjured a familiar phantom steed with twin horns that nearly grazed the ceiling as he reared and whinnied.

“Yooo! Mornin’, Taako!”

“Morning, Garyl.” Taako yawned. “Could you do me a favor, and tell me literally anything you know about the liches you said I used to hang out with?”

***

CalebClevelandFan#2045: All early-installment weirdness aside, I really do think it’s a great introduction to the series! Because of the retcons you’ll encounter later, there are some conspiracy theories that the most recent arc of Caleb Cleveland was ghostwritten to maximize the publishing rate (which I think is hogwash, because continuity errors are going to be inevitable no matter who’s writing) but I guess I’ll let you decide for yourself when you get there! Do you need to stop by the moon again to borrow Book 2?

ReaperAwMan#1672: No thank you, Angus! I think I’m going to try and download the “digital” version, now that I know I can do that on my Stone! Taako told me about that feature and a lot of others last night, so if I can’t get it to work, I’ll just call him and ask him to walk me through it. :)

ReaperAwMan: Did I use the smiley face correctly?

CalebClevelandFan: Yes! :) You’ve picked up on technology a lot faster than my grandpa did.

CalebClevelandFan: Did Taako also choose your username on this app, though?

ReaperAwMan: How did you know? Is it a reference to something? :)

CalebClevelandFan: Um

CalebClevelandFan: Yes, but it’s a long story. It’s not mean-spirited or anything, though! I think it’s pretty funny!

ReaperAwMan: Okay! :)

CalebClevelandFan: Is that all for book club today? If it is, Mr. Kravitz, I just want to say that I’d be happy to talk to you again about Caleb Cleveland anytime!

CalebClevelandFan: It means a lot to me, but I understand if you’re too busy (message edited)

ReaperAwMan: Oh, there’s always time for book club, Angus!

ReaperAwMan: But I admit, I have had a lot on my mind…

CalebClevelandFan: Is it the liches? Since the Reclaimers aren’t in trouble anymore? (By the way, I went to tell Noelle she didn’t have to worry about getting reaped, but apparently she’s visiting family, so I left a message with her teammates Carey and Killain..)

ReaperAwMan: Excellent deduction. (And thank you for that. I hope she gets the message soon.)

ReaperAwMan: You’re right, I’m still hunting Lup and Barry Bluejeans, but… I just can’t shake the feeling that they’re connected to Taako and the others.

CalebClevelandFan: Really? What makes you say that?

ReaperAwMan: Well, I didn’t think much of this for a long time, and now I’m kicking myself for it, but their bounties registered in our system at the same time as Taako’s, Magnus’s, and Merle’s. We figured it was just a widespread detection glitch, which has happened before on a much smaller scale, but now it feels awfully suspicious. The Reclaimers have also encountered Barry at least four times now, without even seeking him out the first three times, whereas finding Barry is my job, and I get a lead on him about twice a year, if I’m lucky.

CalebClevelandFan: That is odd. Did any other bounties show up at that same time? Do you know if they have any kind of connections to Barry?

ReaperAwMan: Only two others, for a couple of people named Lucretia and Davenport. They must be living like hermits, because it’s been 12 years and I know as little about them as I do about Lup. Not a lot of leads there, I’m afraid.

(CalebClevelandFan is typing…)

(CalebClevelandFan is typing…)

CalebClevelandFan: Hmm. Huh! I wish I could say those names meant something to me, but I’ve never heard them before in my life! Truly unfortunate, that. But, I do suspect that Barry appearing to the Reclaimers is because the Red Robes made the Grand Relics, and it’s the Reclaimers’ job to track those seven relics down!

ReaperAwMan: You mean to tell me that Barold J. Bluejeans made a Grand Relic, and the Reclaimers all knew that information, but didn’t think it would be important to tell me?! This is simultaneously the most and least surprised I’ve been at any point in my afterlife.

CalebClevelandFan: Well, I guess there’s a reason I’m the moon’s resident boy detective and they aren’t, sir!

ReaperAwMan: Wait. Angus.

CalebClevelandFan: Yes?

ReaperAwMan: Seven relics. Seven bounties.

CalebClevelandFan: Sorry, sir, I’m not following. What’s the connection?

ReaperAwMan: I know this is going to sound impossible, but…

ReaperAwMan: Taako is a transmutation wizard. The Philosopher’s Stone can transmute any material into anything else. Merle is a nature cleric, and the Gaia Sash offers control over natural disasters and the wilderness. Then of course, Barry is a lich like no other, and the Animus Bell is the most dangerous necromantic artifact I’ve ever been tasked with monitoring. I don’t know exactly how Magnus fitz into this, or how the other three bounties have managed to hide from me, but…

ReaperAwMan: I think Taako, Merle, and Magnus made three of the Grand Relics!

ReaperAwMan: Angus? Are you still there?

CalebClevelandFan: Sorry, I just rebooted my Stone, but I still can’t read your second-to-last message! It just looks like static, but I was inoculated, so that shouldn’t be possible!

ReaperAwMan: I’m not sure what you mean by “inoculated,” but if the app is glitching, then do you want me to call you?

CalebClevelandFan: It may not be the app, sir. And if it isn’t, I fear a phone call won’t make any difference… but I just got an idea! I’m going to go check if Noelle is back yet — she should be able to help with this. Please bear with me for a few minutes, sir!

ReaperAwMan: Okay, then… good luck!

Head in his hand, Kravitz scrolled back up to the offending message, reading it over once more.

I think Taako, Merle, and Magnus made three of the Grand Relics!

It made sense, but it shouldn’t have. Despite all the questions it answered, it raised more in their place — and Kravitz had been ready to accept that he was wrong, ready for brilliant little Angus to chime in with a piece of evidence that refuted it all...

Except that message, and that message alone, hadn’t made it to Angus in the first place — and wasn’t that the most damning, of all the so-called coincidences aligning before Kravitz’s eyes?

The Reclaimers made Grand Relics and consorted with liches. The Reclaimers can’t remember making Grand Relics or consorting with liches.

Someone is hiding the truth from the Reclaimers, and from Angus. Someone is hiding the truth from the entire Bureau of Balance.

Is it Barry? Does he have that much power? Is he working with someone? With Lup?

Kravitz summoned his scythe with the full intention of warping straight to the moonbase, and bringing his four friends from the Bureau directly back to the Astral Plane — not to take them prisoner, but simply to get them somewhere safe, somewhere to talk without Queen-knows-what outside forces eavesdropping or interfering. Yet before he could open a rift, Kravitz’s vision flashed blue, and a faint yet familiar tug directed his focus towards a much different region of the Material Plane.

A voice echoed in his head, too distorted to identify the speaker, but the words themselves were clear enough:

Kravitz, help!

Kravitz’s Stone of Farspeech clattered onto his desk as he raised his fingers to his temples and closed his eyes, honing in on the location of the summoning arrow. It was surrounded by undead presences of several shapes and forms, but one aura outshone all the others — one unmistakable red aura, crackling with power, and… desperation.

There was a very short list of people on the Material Plane with access to this kind of summoning beacon — and no matter what dark secrets their pasts held, Kravitz couldn’t bear the thought of any of them being left alone with an incredibly powerful, secret-keeping, Relic-crafting lich who had finally, finally snapped.

With a frantic swing of his scythe, he ripped open a jagged portal to the arrow’s location, and leapt through without even pausing to retrieve his Stone.

Hang on, boys! I’m coming!

***

“If you wanna hear anything about liches,” Garyl declared, “that information comes with a price. Which you know is gonna be oats, ‘cause what would I even do with gold? I’m just a funky little 80’s horse remix, so you gotta hand over those spectral oats, dude.”

Taako sighed. “Garyl. I know you’re not gonna like this question. But before you whine, please consider the fact that I’m not in the fucking mood. Now: does it have to be oats?”

“A pound of spectral oats is worth two spectral carrots or one spectral sugar cube! That’s the conversion rate. If you offer a spectral salt lick, I may be willing to negotiate.”

Taako conjured two floating, semi-tangible carrots with a wave of his umbrella, and levitated them over to Garyl, who took a bite out of both at once.

“That’s the stuff!” he whinnied. “Okay, so. Liches. Whatcha wanna know about ‘em?”

“You said, like — like two days ago now — that you used to get spectral oats from liches that I hung out with. Garyl, I need to know: was that true, or were you just guilting me for not spoiling you with enough treats?”

Garyl’s response was rendered completely indecipherable by the fresh bite of carrot in his mouth, part of which splattered across the floor and narrowly missed Taako.

“This is serious, Garyl! I’ve been meaning to ask you about this for a while, but it keeps getting more serious.” Taako groaned. “I… I didn’t even realize it, until I was talking to Kravitz last night, but… it’s just… okay, look. He remembers his whole life crystal clear, right down to how many stars you could see from this planet eight hundred and twenty years ago, but…”

He lowered his voice, glancing towards the door. “My past has always just been… fuzzy to me. I never really worried about it, but… I’m just now realizing that this might not be normal. And that if it isn’t, then I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”

Garyl swallowed the last of the carrots. “Yo, your past isn’t fuzzy to me. You really don’t remember your lich buddies — your lich family? Your literal sister and brother-in-law?”

“No, Garold, I don’t remember the sound of getting electrocuted in a fantasy garbage disposal!” Taako rubbed his forehead with increasing vigor, futilely attempting to massage away the sensation of an approaching migraine. “I don’t know how you made that noise with your nasty horse mouth, but it sounded just as bad as the static Lich Barry was speaking when —”

He gasped — and in the ensuing silence, the static kept ringing in his ears, but not as an audible echo. It was coming from within his own head, like a misdirected electric current leaping from neuron to neuron, generated as his mind repeatedly tried and failed to process what he’d just heard… and Taako knew exactly where he’d felt that sensation before.

“Oh, fuck.”

He bolted for the door, locked it, then frantically emptied his pockets until he found his Stone of Farspeech, which he powered down and then magically silenced for extra insurance. “Shit. Shit. Fuck.”

“Yo, what’s the rush?” Garyl asked. “Didja just remember you owe the unicorn mafia a whole bushel of oatsss?”

“What the hell? No!” Taako cradled Garyl’s snout in his hands, standing on his tiptoes to stare at Garyl in the eyes. “Promise me, promise me right now, Garyl, that you’re not gonna fucking snitch.”

Garyl’s expression turned as serious as a binicorn’s expression could turn, given two horns, technicolor eyes, and glittering lashes to work with. “Taako, you gave me life. I’ve always got your back, man.”

“There’s a second voidfish,” Taako blurted out. “And you’re more ghost than horse, I guess, so you’re immune to it, but I’m not. And I — I think I lost something big to it.”

“Huh.” Garyl snorted. “Damn. Geez, yeah. That would explain some things about, man, musta been…” He closed his eyes, nostrils twitching. “The last twelve years? That sound right?”

“Please, Garyl. You — you might know me better than I know me, at this point, so I need you to tell me — who can I trust?”

“I can’t decide that for you, Taako.” Garyl arched his majestic equine neck, as a single tear rolled down his face, and his mullet billowed in a wind that simply shouldn’t have been possible indoors. “Look at what you know to be true in your heart, and begin the journey towards your truth by trusting yourself.”

“I’m not here to listen to your poetry, Garyl — I need names!” Taako pleaded. “Like, I — I can at least trust Kravitz, right?”

“Look, man, I’m sorry! I could tell you who you used to trust, but if someone took a Voidfish-brand eraser to your chalkboard of a brain, that means someone had to betray you, and I dunno who it was! Kravitz is probably chill, because he seems on the level and you haven’t known him long enough for him to be the culprit — but I’m still juggling like six suspects, and I’ve only got four hooves, man! I’m trying my best to —”

Abruptly, Garyl’s voice died out, and he lowered his eyes. “Well, okay, it would be… five suspects. ‘Cause… Lup definitely went missing before any memories got…”

Taako clapped his hands over his ears. “Can you try not to do that? I’m already on the edge of a migraine without —”

A knock at the door interrupted him, and the next thing he knew, he was brandishing his Umbra Staff — never mind the fact that he’d locked that door just a minute ago, and it had since remained closed.

“Taako?” Lucretia called from the hallway. “Are you alright in there?”

After what must’ve been a suspiciously long pause, “Fine!” was the only word Taako could force out.

“Just dandy!” Garyl added in a terrible Taako impression, and Taako elbowed him in the equine shoulder.

“You’re sure?” The quizzical tilt to Lucretia’s head was downright audible. “You don’t sound like yourself.”

Taako bit back a reply of golly, I wonder if that’s because I don’t who I am or how much of myself I’m missing! but managed something more civil, clamping a hand over Garyl’s mouth as he spoke.

“Just had a late night last night! Took some… personal hours. May or may not be nursing a mild hangover now.”

“Oh, we’ve all been there. Merle did mention you were sleeping in.” Lucretia sounded like her suspicion had been sated — unless, of course, she just wanted Taako to think that — because in a much more casual voice that carried far less gravitas, the next thing she asked was: “Do you mind if I come in? I feel like we haven’t talked since Candlenights.”

“No problem!” Taako replied, probably much too quickly. He uttered the word ‘unlock’ under his breath in Elvish, to magically undo his little paranoia-induced security measure before swinging the door open, and hoping Lucretia wouldn’t notice the door had been locked or go on to question why. “Mi casa es tu casa — ‘cause, y’know, mi casa is technically part of your moonbase.”

If Lucretia did notice the unlocking door, she only questioned it silently, because her attention seemed understandably drawn to the binicorn trotting in place in the middle of the dorm.

“Oh, Garyl! Good to see you too.”

“Haha, yeah!” Garyl chuckled nervously. “Imagine meeting you, here, in a place like this! What are the odds?”

Lucretia lowered herself onto the sofa, glanced at Magnus’s rugged hand-crafted coffee table, and pointed to her feet. “Do you mind?”

Taako shrugged. “Uh… knock yourself out, Luce?”

She kicked off her heeled boots and slung her feet onto the table, laying her staff down in her lap. “Let’s get to the point. I did come here for a particular reason —”

“Oh?” Taako forced a smile. “Do tell.”

“Well, Merle and Leon got into a bit of an argument over — actually, let me start from the beginning. At some point in today’s second game, the kickball went over the edge of the moon, and has probably hit the planet Earth at terminal velocity by now.” Lucretia grimaced. “I hope no one was standing beneath it. Yikes.”

“Home run, baby!” Garyl cheered. Taako simply attempted to nod along.

“Actually, by our rules, it’s a foul with a sizeable penalty. Leon was pitching and Merle was kicking, so naturally they got into a fight over whose fault it was, and Merle threatened — let me see if I remember this all correctly — to ask you, Taako, to ask your ‘new friend the Grim Reaper’ to come up here and ‘reap Leon’s ass’ like said Grim Reaper purportedly once threatened to reap Merle’s own ass. So I was just hoping to get to you first, and stage an intervention to make sure the Bureau’s only artificer doesn’t take a one way trip to the heavens above — not to mention, maybe, ask if you had any idea what the hell Merle was talking about?”

“Well, bold statement saying Leon would go to heaven, first of all. Pretty sure he’d head the way of the plummeting kickball and smash through the planet’s crust. Second of all, um, I guess you could say I know the Grim Reaper? Look, we haven’t been seeing each other for very long, but I think we both feel a connection —”

“Oh! Well, good for you! Don’t get me wrong, that’s fucking wild if you mean it seriously rather than as a goof, but I’m still happy for you!”

“Not a goof. That is the whole story there, though. I’m dating the Grim Reaper, what more is there to say?” Taako grinned from ear to ear, and it felt slightly more sincere than every other smile he’d put on in this disaster of a conversation. “But as a… as an aside… uh, Garyl, do you remember those… six, no, five people you mentioned to me, just before Lucretia showed up?”

Garyl blinked at him with a downright hostility, as if to say You’re circling back to this topic NOW?

“Your, um, suspect list?” Taako clarified. “Of… people on the moon most likely to give you oats? I guess it was more like a power ranking, actually, let’s definitely call it a power ranking instead of a suspect list — but my point is, um, was the ‘Director’ here on it?”

“Yee-esssss,” Garyl replied slowly, still giving Taako the evil eye. “You know what I always say about Lucretia: she… she totes got the oats!”

“Okay!” Taako replied, knuckles turning white as he gripped the handle of the Umbra Staff. “Thanks! For letting me know! About those oat facts!”

“Um,” said Lucretia, which was probably the best reaction that Taako could’ve reasonably hoped for. “I… think I misplaced my oats today. Also, maybe my supply of oats for this entire year?” She reached for her boots. “Is this a hint that I should go back to refereeing kickball?”

“Yes!” Taako blurted out. “Oh, I mean, no, it’s not — I mean, you can leave! But you don’t have to. We don’t mind you being here!”

“We don’t not want you to leave but we also don’t not not not want you to leave,” Garyl added, as if it were a verbal Fantasy Rosetta Stone that would clarify and explain all of Taako’s anxious floundering. “Because we trust and cherish you. And oats! Mostly oats.”

Lucretia slipped her boots back on, then rose from her seat in a regal manner that probably wasn’t intended to intimidate the living daylights out of Taako. “No, you have a point. I should go make sure our secret society doesn’t fracture into warring kickball factions — but I’ll be back to chat more, don’t worry. Hopefully on a day you’re feeling better, Taako.”

She winked at Garyl as she turned to leave. “And I’ll try and remember to bring oats. Gotta move up in those power rankings.”

“It was actually more like a tier list!” Garyl called as she closed the door. When Taako magically locked it behind her, Garyl began pacing around the dorm, his tail swishing with enough force to knock several paintings and decorative vases onto the floor.

“Taako! She never has oats and she knows it! She’s onto us!”

“Yeah, you think?” Taako sunk into the couch Lucretia had vacated, burying his head in his hands. “I need backup who can hear through the static, before she puts it together and comes back to throw me in the brig. I’m calling Kravitz.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah, you do that. I’ll keep working on the tier list.” As Taako began to reboot his Stone, Garyl accelerated his nervous pacing to a nervous trot.

“Garyl, if this turns into a canter, I swear to gods —” Taako muttered, tapping the Stone’s unresponsive screen with a shaky thumb.

“Sorry.” Garyl slowed to a halt. “Hmm. You trust Davenport more, less, or the same as Lucretia?”

“What, you think he just pretends he can only say his own name to disguise his role as the evil mastermind?” Taako’s stomach churned. “Shit. You might be onto something. Put him below Lucretia on the tier list. Or above? I dunno how —”

“Wait, I’m not following you, man. Since when can Dav can only say his own name?”

Taako groaned. “I’m gonna take a wild guess and say since twelve fucking years ago — alright, finally! Here we go!” His Stone of Farspeech flickered to life, and he navigated to Kravitz’s contact page as quickly as his trembling fingers allowed.

When he hit Call, an eerie silence filled the dorm as he and Garyl listened to one, two, three, four short rings — then, a beep, and a horrendous pre-recorded Cockney accent.

Hullo, greetings, and top o’ the morning! You’ve successfully reached the desk of Kravitz, Emissary of Her Majesty the Raven Queen, but I’m away right now, so if you have a zombie outbreak to report, press 1. If you wish to subscribe to our mailing list of anti-necromancy resources, press 2. If you’re dead and in need of an escort to the Astral Plane, press 3. If you just wanted to have a friendly chat, please leave a message after the caw, and I’ll get back to you once I’m able.

A raven cawed, and Taako started talking:

“Hey, babe, it’s me! Your boy. Um, don’t let me take you away from saving the world from necromancers or anything important like that… but if you’re not busy, I could really use your help, so if you could swing by the moonbase, and — and maybe not tell anyone you’re coming here or that you’re coming to see me — then that would be just swell! Everything’s cool, nothing’s wrong — well, no, you’re a perceptive guy, you can definitely tell something’s wrong — but I’m sure you and me, and Garyl, and maybe Angus will be able to figure it out, no problem! Except, now that I think about it, maybe not Angus, because I’ve put him in enough danger to solve my own problems already — but uh, thanks in advance, love you, see you soon, bye!”

Then he dropped his Stone, grabbed the nearest couch pillow, and screamed into it.

“Hey, hey, relaaax,” Garyl told him. “You heard him — he’ll get back to you soon.”

“Yeah. I know.” Taako took a deep breath, letting the pillow fall to the ground. “He’s just a busy guy, with an important job. He’ll be here as soon as he can…”

Garyl nodded sagely. “And you’d do the same, for him, because that’s love. Unless…”

Taako’s heart skipped a beat. “Unless?”

“Unless someone on the lower end of the trust tier list knows about his connection to you, and to keep hiding the truth, they capture him before he can get here!” Garyl sniffed. “Just like the unicorn mafia captured my dear ol’ uncle…”

Taako pressed the Call button again, and when he was once again directed to voicemail, he picked the pillow back up and resumed screaming.

“Hey, take it easyyy, man. It’s not like they can kill him,” Garyl soothed. “And b’sides, haven’t you got that… that whatsit-called, that magic arrow? You can still check in on him that way, even if the bad guys stole his Stone!”

“Right!” Taako sprung up from the couch, and bolted towards the quiver of arrows that Magnus had casually slung onto the doorknob of his room. “I mean, I’m sure his phone didn’t even get taken from him — he’s eight and a half centuries old, for crying out loud! He probably just misplaced it, or accidentally put it on silent, or… gee, we really don’t have a lot of traditional surfaces to jab arrows into here, do we?”

He glanced around the dorm, gaze finally landing on Magnus’s homemade coffee table. “I’ll just… wedge it in one of the seams in the wood, so it definitely won’t be noticeable, right?”

“You asking me? I’m apparently an amnesia-immune ghost horse, man — what makes ya think I’d ever want or attempt to understand woodworking?”

“Guess you’ve never attempted to understand a rhetorical question, either,” Taako muttered as he crouched on the ground. Clasping the arrow between two hands, he took a deep breath, then plunged it into the coffee table. “Kravitz? I could really use your help, I won’t lie, but — but mostly, I’m worried and just checking in to make sure you’re okay —”

For a sliver of a second, everything seemed to proceed as it should, with an electric blue glow flickering to life inside the arrowhead — and then, it exploded, spitting out fragments of crystal and tongues of vicious astral fire. Taako reflexively turned his head and dropped to the floor, but still felt something sharp and burning prick into his biceps like a red-hot needle, and he held his breath until the sound of shattering crystal halted and the sound of burning wood faded to a faint sizzling.

“So, uh…” Garyl slowly backed away from Magnus’s poor table, which was already more ‘smoldering pile of ash and sapphire dust’ than it was furniture. “This ever happen before?”

“No,” Taako whispered. He raised a hand to touch the stinging point on his arm, and pulled away with a droplet of blood and a tiny pointed crystal both resting atop his index fingertip. “Never —”

“Okay, cool, that narrows down the possibilities,” Garyl concluded. “Either he’s really busy, or we’re really fucked.”

This time, Taako didn’t even bother to grab a pillow before he started screaming.

***

End Notes:

thanks for reading, comments welcomed as always!

next chapter: Ghost Fight (or in other words, we get to see what Kravitz has been up to in the meantime)

[saintvictoria]

Beach

I am reading the NYT today, catching up on all my online links, and read a lovely article about writer’s summers, and it made me remember one of my most iconic summer memories.

We (my mom, my sister) spent summer (Christmas time) down in Sedgefield where my grandparents had retired too. I must have been 12 or 13, close to that, I still had one of the worst haircuts in the world, and looked like a boy, and we spent hours down at the mouth of the river, swimming, crabbing, looking for seashells, and just doing nothing. It was a magical time.

I remember leaving my grandparents house in the morning, and going to the river and floating down to the ocean, with the tide. But, mostly I remember the heat, the sun, the long walks, the endless food and fruit, and braais (bar-b-ques). We spent hours at the beach from early morning to late afternoon, and I don’t remember getting burnt, I do remember sunscreen and hats. But, my one of my most enduring memories, is that I still could get away with not wearing a top, I could just wear my bikini bottoms and not worry. I had no thoughts of why I should wear a top, I was still asexual as I could be at that age but, boys did not have to cover up and I did not understand why I should. And my great joy, is no one ever forced me. They knew it was innocent and I just wanted the freedom to swim, catch hermit crabs and play.

Swartvlei mouth open (tide running in)

Swartvlei mouth closed (tide out)

Beach was originally published on Dreaming and Doing

[imaginetonyandbucky]

Murder (or a Heart Attack)

Part Three

On the plus side, Bucky had taken an awful fucking lot of pictures of the damn cat. Between just the adorable things that U did, and wanting to show them to Tony -- wanting to share them with Tony -- he had a plethora of photos to chose from for the reward posters.

He did, apparently, own a few pairs of pants, so he pulled one pair on and actually talked to the neighbors. Hung signs around the neighborhood. Combed the streets. Whined at Steve until Steve came over and drove him around the block a few times.

Swallowed down several huge gulps of fear and called the various pet shelters, animal control, the police department. He didn’t know if Tony had his cat chipped, but he’d heard things about chipping companies and how they went out of business and didn’t sell their databases to anyone, so there was no way to get in touch with the pet’s owner if a chipped pet was discovered.

“What the hell are you doing over here?” Steve demanded, pushing past the chocked-open door into Tony’s apartment.

“Don’t remember inviting you in,” Bucky protested, looking up from his spot on the sofa. It was still hot as hell in Tony’s condo, but especially now that Bucky had the windows and the door open, he didn’t want to turn on the AC. Bad enough that he’d probably have to pay to get the space treated for bugs.

“You’re just over here asking to be murdered, with the door open, the way you get all tangled up in your writing and aren’t paying attention to what’s going on around here,” Steve scolded him,

“Heard you coming,” Bucky retorted, ignoring the fact that his heart was racing. Because Steve was a hundred percent correct. The only reason he had heard Steve at all was because Bucky knew the door was unlocked and open, and that he was too on edge to get himself as lost in words as he usually did.

“Have you been productive?” Steve demanded, turning the whole thing around.

“Strangely, yes,” Bucky said, furrowing his eyebrows a little. “Bit stuck here, though -- take a look, see if you can give me some ideas to get myself out of this corner I’ve painted Grant into.”

Steve blinked, then put his hand on Bucky’s forehead. “Are you feelin’ okay-- did you get a haircut?”

“Steve, can we not make this a big deal, okay?” Bucky asked, plaintive.

“No, actually, I don’t think we can,” Steve said. He didn’t sound angry, so, maybe that was good. He didn’t sound a lot of the things he normally sounded whenever the subject of Bucky being a hermit came up. Bucky was used to wheedling, or pleading, or indifferent-seeming suggestions that Bucky find some help, this wasn’t good for him. He needed to get out more. Those things were all the furthest from Steve’s voice. Instead, Steve sounded almost… wondering. Surprised. Happy. “You’ve been running around like someone with the Check Engine light on and hoping if you ignore it hard enough, your car won’t break down. I think maybe we need to talk about the fact that you’re not doing that anymore, pal.”

“Look, Steve,” Bucky started, that familiar panic crawling up his throat again. He did not want to talk about his PTSD. He really did not. He was coping. Hell, he was a New York Times famous author, what the hell more did people want? He’d survived a train crash that had taken his entire family from him, pinned in the wreckage for eighteen hours, nearly buried among the dead bodies and pieces of dead bodies before he and three other survivors had been found.

Bucky lived. He lived and eventually he got about seventy-percent use back from his mangled left arm back. He’d done all the Physical Therapy, he’d gone to a shrink, but when all that was over, he’d retreated. He didn’t want people close to him. He didn’t want to take the risk of getting close to people again. Threw himself into writing because he could do that. But goddamnit, he did not want to talk about it.

Because he knew. He knew what he was doing wasn’t normal. It wasn’t coping. It certainly wasn’t living.

And being reminded of that didn’t make it any easier to change any of it.

It just made it worse.

More below the cut, or catch up at tisfan’s a03 page

So they didn’t talk about it, and now Steve was violating the shit out of their unspoken agreement that said we do not talk about this and we can stay friends.

“I’m not criticizing, pal,” Steve said. His voice was actually shaking. “I’m just looking at what you’ve done recently, and thinking maybe you need to acknowledge that you’ve taken some significant steps recently.”

“Okay,” Bucky said, holding up his hand, trying to ignore the way he could suddenly feel the scars and the muscles in his left arm, the way the scar tissue pulled when he stretched. He was good at ignoring that, except when he wasn’t, and those days that he drowned in pain medication and sometimes booze, but he wouldn’t admit that, because admitting that would mean knowing that the problems weren’t getting better, that they might never get better, that this level of pain was something he might be dealing with his entire life, and even at thirty, the rest of his life seemed a long damn time to be dealing with the pain.

Except… except he hadn’t been, recently, had he?

It’s not like his arm didn’t hurt; it always hurt. Sometimes he could forget about it, when he was writing. But it was always there, like a fifty pound bag of shit that someone said, “here, you have to carry this for the rest of your life.” It never went away, but sometimes he could forget about it.

Had he even taken a pill, in the last few days? Even walking around the neighborhood, looking for the cat. Knocking on doors? Hanging up signs?

He tried to trace it back.

The last time he’d reached for that orange and white bottle was… almost a month ago, when that bad thunderstorm had rolled through and the air pressure had sizzled against his nerves, giving him muscle cramps and his bones had ached all the way to the core and his joints had felt compressed, somehow.

Huh.

“That’s a hell of a cat, Buck, is all I’m saying,” Steve said.

Bucky woke up with a warm, heavy weight on his lower back. The light was all wrong in the room and he blinked several times, trying to figure out where he was. Without bothering the cat -- CAT!

“U,” he said, sleepily, reaching around to feel at the weight on his back.

“Mppprrr?”

“Oh, thank god,” Bucky said. He didn’t really want to bother the cat, not right now, and his stomach returned to its former unknotted stage, heat spreading in his blood. Thank god. “Where have you been, honey?”

Suddenly, the cat shifted, uttered a contented chripping sound, and thudded to the floor, trotting across the room. Bucky sat up and reached for the bedside lamp. Which wasn’t where he expected it to be. He groped around for a moment and then the room flooded with light.

“I must say,” Tony said, eyebrow up, “while I’ve entertained fantasies of you being mostly naked in my bed, I was usually in my bed at the time.” He had one of the Missing Cat posters in his hand.

“Oh, god, Tony,” Bucky said. He flushed, dragged the blankets over himself, realized they were Tony’s blankets, and blushed harder. “I’m so, so sorry. U got out, and I wanted to make sure that if she came back, that someone was here, so she didn’t wander off again, and, oh, god, you’re home, I forgot you were coming back today, oh, Jesus, I am talking too much here, I’m…”

How the hell was he supposed to ever look Tony in the eyes again? He’d let the man’s cat get away, he’d been sleeping in the man’s bed, and while, yes, he had intended to do the laundry before Tony got back…

“I was wondering what was going on, actually,” Tony said, sitting down on the bed. U uttered a completely content chirp and jumped into Tony’s lap, snuggling up to his chin and making biscuits on Tony’s thighs. “You haven’t texted me all week.”

“I’m sorry,” Bucky said. He eyed the heap of his clothing on the floor, halfway across the room, wondering if there was any possible way to get to it without… without Tony seeing everything. “I didn’t want you to worry.”

“Well, I admit that less worries were probably better than being frantic,” Tony said, cuddling with his cat. “It was a hell of a presentation, and I didn’t need to be distracted. But… I’d appreciate it if you tell me the truth next time.”

Next time? “Next time?”

“Well, yeah,” Tony said. “Are you kidding me? Do you know how many people would have just let U be missing? You went through a lot of effort to try to find her, well above and beyond what I might have expected. And, well, U likes you. I know when you’re here, you take good care of her. You love her.”

Bucky was almost in tears. He didn’t feel worthy of that sort of praise at all. After all, if he hadn’t been careless, the cat wouldn’t have gotten out in the first place. He opened his mouth to express any (or all!) of this to Tony.

“Hey,” Tony said, putting an arm around Bucky’s shoulders, which should have been weird, right? Because Bucky didn’t have a shirt on and his arm and its ugly scars were on full display, and -- “She’s gotten out before, I didn’t think to warn you. And she came home, that’s the important thing, right? What… I can’t believe what you did for us, I’m really grateful.”

Bucky let himself be drawn into Tony’s embrace. It wasn’t until U stretched out across both of their laps that Bucky realized that he was mostly naked in Tony’s bed, with Tony’s arm around his shoulder. “Oh, god,” he managed. He nearly knocked the cat onto the floor, scrambling for his clothing and yanking his pants on hurriedly. “I am aso, so sorry, I’ll just… get out of your -- and I should close the windows!”

Bucky turned himself around in a complete panic to find Tony with both hands across his mouth.

“Okay, okay,” Tony said, smile stretching out his cheeks, “I’m not laughing at you…”

Bucky wasn’t sure why that made everything all right, except it kinda did. He stopped moving, holding his shirt in one hand with his pants still unzipped.

“You’re totally laughing at me,” Bucky pointed out.

“Okay, I kinda am,” Tony said, “but usually when someone’s scrambling to get out of my bed--”

Bucky felt the blush creeping up his throat. “I really should go.”

“If you want,” Tony said, leaning back a little on his bed. “Do you want to go? Or, you know, I could put on coffee and make us some breakfast.”

Bucky blinked. “Um?”

“Oh, come on, Bucky, surely someone’s hit on you before in your life?”

“Um… not in a while, no,” Bucky said. His shirt slid out of his fingers and ended up on the floor again. And he knew if he bent over to get it, his pants were going to fall down. “Do I look like someone who’s got their life together enough to have a lover?”

Then it was Tony’s turn to blink. “Well, I gotta say, you’ve looked worse,” he said. Was Tony leering at him? Bucky thought he probably couldn’t turn any redder without qualifying as a supernova.

“I… uh…” Bucky zipped his jeans, scrambled for the rest of his clothes. “I should go.”

“Okay,” Tony said, a little wistful. “If that’s what you want.”

Bucky got most of the way to the door before his brain really kicked all the way in. “Wait, wait, wait a minute,” he said, turning around. “Were you --” and there he was talking to no one but the cat, who’d followed him out of the bedroom. Tony… had not. Bucky backed up a few steps and turned around. “Are you seriously hitting on me?”

Tony was sprawled out on the bed, his arms wrapped around the pillow that Bucky had been using. “I thought you were leaving,” Tony said, pushing the pillow aside hastily as if he hadn’t been cuddling with it, breathing in whatever remained of Bucky’s scent on the sheets.

“You were.” Bucky’s voice came out soft, almost inaudible.

“Was I not clear enough when I said I’d thought about you undressed in my bed, except that I was supposed to be in it?”

“I’m not at my best before coffee,” Bucky offered, hesitantly. “You--”

“Want me to put on some coffee?” Tony scrambled out of his bed. “I can make coffee. I’ll make pancakes, waffles, hashbrowns, bacon, whatever you want, just… stay, okay?”

“Yeah, okay,” Bucky said. “But you know, I’m only staying for you.”

Tony stopped moving, then turned around, scowling. “Are you making a pun about my cat?”

“Only if you think it’s funny.”

“Hey, babe,” Tony said, pushing in the front door. Bucky looked up from his desk, tapped the keys a few more times. Tony wheeled his suitcase in, dodging cat paws as Jarvis scrambled to try to escape. “Not you. Kitties do not go outside.” He gave Jarvis a little toss onto the sofa as U pounced on his shoe laces.

“You’re never gonna let me forget that, are you?” Bucky asked, leaning back in his chair. Dummy stretched in his lap, claws digging into his jeans.

“Never,” Tony said. He crossed the room to give Bucky a kiss. “After all, if you hadn’t been sleeping with the door open, hoping my cat would come back, we wouldn’t be together now.”

Bucky slid his hand into Tony’s hair, letting the kiss linger. “Oh, hey,” he said, “while you were gone --” He grabbed the book off his desk and handed it to Tony.

“Is this your new best seller, babe?”

“Well, it’s not a best-seller, yet,” Bucky cautioned. “But yeah, it’s the new one.” He hadn’t changed that much. Tony wasn’t allowed to see the manuscript until the editors had a couple go-rounds and the whole thing was in print.

Tony flipped the cover and glanced down at the dedication page.

To my cat Nothing would be the same without U