#also that is probably the reason behind that random power spike so. need to run the calibration AGAIN

[pallases]

why am i abt to run this calibration a Third time

[megumitski]

hi hi this is just something to track all the hq fics i’ve read recently! this really seemed like a lot when i was putting this together but most of them are less than 15k. this has a LOT of kagehina, plus some kuroken, bokuaka, iwaoi, tsukiyama, and a few other random pairings. favorites are marked with a ✨!

KAGEHINA

✨ his weight in marigolds - karasuno013 (11k)

Tobio imagined that the petals were soft, orange, perpetually messy locks of hair, and his fist clenched around the bud involuntarily.

Oh.

Oh, no.

Please Kiss Him Instead! - Bird_Of_Dreams (6k)

Recently, Kageyama has been receiving what appears to be countless confession letters. The Karasuno volleyball team reacts appropriately with surprise, jealousy, and bemusement (depending on who you ask). But no one is more surprised than Hinata, who is confused and more than a little hurt that Kageyama never told him about them. But is that the real reason behind his conflicted feelings?

As It Should Be - gghostnebula (7k)

Based on a request I saw on Tumblr that someone send fanfics where "Hinata is bullied without the team knowing and then they find out." I like the idea of everyone (including Tsukishima) enraged and vengeful. So I. Did that. I'm so sorry. I'm also really really sorry that the 'ungrateful second-years' aren't really in this because I wanted them to be but I couldn't find a good place for them, since this focuses so much on just Kageyama and Hinata.

Five Plus One - Xachyn (1k)

Five times other people thought they were dating and one time Kageyama wondered if they were.

The Crown and The Crow - Yuu_chi (9k)

Somewhere out there is your forever one wearing your Mark on their skin; it's just a matter of finding them.

✨ In Transit - Mysecretfanmoments (5k)

Hinata finds that he likes standing close to Kageyama on buses and trains. It doesn't mean anything--probably. Maybe.

four times hinata and kageyama almost kiss (and one time they do) - spaceburgers (2k)

When it happens, it’s not romantic. Things between them have never been romantic, after all. They’re too stupid for that.

spoiled - buu (2k)

It's the Kageyama that gently takes Hinata's hand when they're walking together, or rests his head on the top of Hinata's when they're watching TV, or pulls Hinata into his lap when he complains about being cold. Hinata struggles at first, confused and thinking Kageyama's making fun of him or something, but he slowly starts to realize that, beyond all belief, Kageyama is the Doting type.

Thaw - peppermint_wind (40k)

Kageyama Tobio just wants to get through the day. He hates winter, he hates most people, and he really hates getting up for an 8:00AM class. That's when Hinata Shouyou, bright and obnoxious, literally comes running into his life at full-throttle and changes everything Kageyama thought he knew.

Basically, the College AU where Hinata and Kageyama meet by Hinata literally knocking into him and spilling hot coffee all down Kageyama's clothes.

touch - buu (3k)

Hinata doesn't notice it at first, really. It's small things, natural things, like when they sit together at lunch and Hinata ends up hooking his ankle over Kageyama's and he doesn't move away; in fact, he seems to not notice it, and go on eating his lunch like nothing's different.

✨ Routine - someonestolemyshoes (29k)

Kageyama Tobio has a routine. Up, shower, dress, breakfast, classes, practice, work, dinner, laptop, show time. Hinata is a well-known cam boy, and Kageyama is his biggest fan.

✨ Acceptable Risk - Mysecretfanmoments (46k)

Tobio braced himself and stood, gathering Hinata’s warm body close. Hinata’s weight settled against him, strengthening the impression he always had at these times: that he was collecting a part of himself, severed by some weird circumstance. In these moments he couldn’t help feeling that Hinata belonged to him, and as long as he didn’t talk about the impression out loud it harmed no one. As it was Hinata mumbled a little, curling into him the way he’d anticipated.

(Kageyama and Hinata navigate living together at university while not dating. It's hard—the not-dating part, that is.)

hot - buu (6k)

Hinata should not be this hot. Kageyama shouldn't find his short stature attractive, shouldn't have problems with his eyes lingering a little too long on Hinata's smaller frame, the way his shirts hang just a little too big on him sometimes.

Oh God - orphan_account (6k)

No, class distinction had never held much meaning for Kageyama. Until the day he met Hinata. One-shot Omegaverse! AU. Smut is heavily present within this story. Mostly PWP, but there's plot, if you squint.

operation: find out if hinata has a hot bod - day (2k)

Kiyoko compliments Hinata's body. It turns into a chaotic mess where the team (aka Tanaka and Nishinoya) tries everything in their power to get a glimpse of Hinata shirtless.

Hinata is oblivious and Kageyama is stressed out.

well, maybe i’m a crook - aruariandance (7k)

The thing is-- Hinata is in love with Kageyama and everyone knows it, including Kageyama.

5 times Kageyama purred + 1 time he didn’t - orphan_account (3k)

No one at Karasuno had ever heard Kageyama purr, but that was normal. He wasn't exactly the most expressive on the team, and no one really minded.

Hurt - someonestolemyshoes (27k)

It’s alarming, Kageyama thinks, how quickly things can go downhill.

One minute Hinata is fine, at the top of his game, spiking left and right and everywhere in between and the next he is crumpled in a limp, lifeless heap on the gym floor and the resounding crack of his head hitting the wood is still echoing in Kageyama’s ears.

knock knock - writedeku (6k)

“I don’t need telepathy to win,” is the first thing he says; nearly shouts it, to be precise. “We can play it without me being linked.”

One by one, the teambonding practises stop as they all turn to Kageyama to gape. Play volleyball without telepathy? It’s not that it’s not possible, but that would put them at such a major disadvantage it’d be like having a team full of one-sided Kageyamas.

the hedgehog’s dilemma - drunkonwritting (17k)

So when he comes to Karasuno, Tobio expects more of the same. He won't make the same mistakes again, but he doubts anyone on the team will like him—Tobio's grown used to his solitary existence, to the point where he can't imagine what it's like to have people around all the time, people who actually want to spend time with him outside of school or practice. He's resigned himself to being alone, because no one in his life has ever decided they want to get to know him or spend time with him or even like him as more than a casual acquaintance. Tobio's tried time and time again to change that and failed over and over—he doubts it's going to change anytime soon.

But when he sees that orange-haired shrimp staring at him from the gym doors, eyes wide and betrayed, he feels a vague sense of premonition.

Don’t Make Me Walk When I Want to Fly - MissKiraBlue (24k)

"I don't want to leave without an apology"

After Hinata rushed from their fight he ended up in a car accident.

But when he wakes up he's not dead and he's not in a hospital either.

Hinata has to live the same day – the day when he and Kageyama fought – over and over again until he finds a solution where he could get out of the time loop.

he may suck at beer pong but he slam dunked my heart - Authoress (9k)

After a while, Kageyama kind of just...forgets how angry the floral snapback makes him. It becomes a companion, almost. It's seen him through many a late library study session, through feeding planaria and wrestling bean beetles into petri dishes. He feels something close to affection for the ever-present hat.

Oh no, Kageyama thinks. I'm attracted to a douchebag.

(The AU where struggling college student Kageyama meets and very unfortunately falls in love with his frat boy lab partner, Hinata.)

room to grow - Mysecretfanmoments (6k)

Third year Kageyama is considerate, careful, doesn't grab Hinata's hair. Hinata's still trying to figure out how he feels about it.

Dare - majesticartax (10k)

“W-wait! Kageyama! What—hold on!” Hinata cries, kicking his legs, flipping around in his setter's strong arms and struggling uselessly, scrambling.

“Can’t we talk about this!?”

Wish You Would - longleggedgit (7k)

The title of this document was just jealouskageyama.docx so that pretty much tells you what to expect.

"If you don't want me to go out with him," Hinata says, lifting his eyes to meet Kageyama's, "then give me a reason not to."

Right Here All The Time - longleggedgit (5k)

"You were flirting," Kageyama says, sounding bewildered, almost accusatory. His chest is heaving under Hinata's hands.

Hinata laughs. "Yeah, and it worked."

Immolate - Marks (2k)

Kageyama balls his hands into fists at his sides and grits his teeth as want builds up in his stomach and sets up camp. It's not the first time he's felt like this around Hinata, but it's the worst every time and he wishes he could just will it away.

come on closer - skeletalparade (6k)

Kageyama shifted uncomfortably on the bench, fingernails scraping against the plastic of his water bottle. He was trying so hard not to stare at Hinata, but it was difficult. Hinata was a good vice captain, but he was ruining Kageyama’s life.

2-Player Mode - medea_azyungele (5k)

Are you ugly or something?" Hinata asks, with his usual lack of tact.

"Oi, dumbass! I'll let you know that-" but he couldn't finish because Hinata interrupts him: "Let's turn on the webcams!"

Suddenly, a square icon pops up in a corner of his monitor.

Oh no he's hot.

I like the way your clothes smell - Mysecretfanmoments (75k)

Power outages, ghost stories, and the presence of a certain orange-haired boy lead to bad decision-making on Tobio's part. He'd planned to keep his crush a secret; the universe has other plans.

a first time for everything - Mysecretfanmoments (4k)

He rolls away from Shouyou, his breathing just a little fast. His body has been weird today, more like when they first started dating. It happens sometimes—mostly when they’ve been on the court together, or they haven’t had time alone—but it feels just a bit different than usual.

((Kageyama bottoms for the first time. established relationship, iltwycs-verse but can stand alone.))

✨ Color Theory - kageyamz (41k)

That’s right, he thinks I’m straight. Kageyama sighed in relief at the answer then tensed up, the gears turning in his brain. Wait, I am straight, right? Kageyama wants a simple time at university, but life has other plans for him.

cheater, cheater (pumpkin eater) - teddy_or_something (7k)

Closets hold many things, one of which being skeletons. In Hinata's case, there was a person where there should've been a vibrator, and that was definitely enough to wilt his erection.

Song fic to Lying is the Most Fun a Girl Can Have Without Taking Her Clothes Off by P!ATD.

✨ change in pressure - viscreal (37k)

Kageyama couldn’t for the life of him guess what he’d been doing to get so goddamn beat up, but it was there, and the guy wasn’t even taking care of any of it. The pain was making it hard to concentrate during class, making it hard to think at all, and that plus the boy’s overenthusiastic emotions were putting Kageyama in a particularly sour mood, so he really couldn’t be blamed when he snapped something sarcastic at the teacher and got detention in response.

alternatively titled: in which kageyama, an empath whos still just as socially inept as ever, ends up having a gay crisis because hinata cant stop getting hurt.

seventy-thirty - viscreal (4k)

Hinata was the first one to bring it up.

KUROKEN

reddit boyfriends - NeverNothing (4k)

Lev goes on reddit to talk about his senpais and accidentally goes viral. Yaku helps.

✨ you’re the break lines failing (as my car swerves off the freeway) - ghostpot (15k)

Kenma thinks that Kuroo looks ugly with his head bent against the arm of the couch like that. Then Kenma thinks that he wants to marry him, and is promptly thrown into the 5 stages of grief.

✨ the galaxy is endless (i thought we were, too) - cosmogony (31k)

Kuroken AU where the last words your soulmate will say to you appear on your skin when you turn 16, and how Kenma and Kuroo learn what this means over the course of their lives

✨ Best Friends - Mysecretfanmoments (6k)

Every evening they walk home together, Kuro smelling of salt and suntan lotion, Kenma’s hands sore from scooping ice cream all day, and it feels nice. Peaceful.

He’s glad Kuro came, after all.

((During the two weeks he spends manning his uncle's ice cream booth on the coast, Kenma decides that maybe he likes his best friend back, after all))

BOKUAKA

tea-stained polaroids - dalyeau (6k)

“I'm gonna date that,” Bokuto declares solemnly, and Kuroo throws a plastic spoon at his head.

cookies and cream - norio (6k)

Some people might tell Akaashi that he couldn't bake his worries away.

But some people haven't dated Bokuto Koutarou.

Komorebi - OwlBeDamned (8k)

When his thirteenth birthday comes, Akaashi should be elated.

Instead, he is worried.

"WWOOOAH, YOU HAVE GOT THE MOST BEAUTIFUL HUMAN BEING I HAVE EVER SEEN - NO, THE MOST BEAUTIFUL HUMAN BEING THE WORLD HAS EVER BEEN BLESSED WITH...CAN I TOUCH YOU?!"

✨ Upstairs - yoogiboobi (16k)

For about a second, a heartbeat, he's met with a pair of dark, piercing eyes, with what is probably eyeliner, looking back at him. It really is just a split second before his hand knocks down three cereal boxes that hit him square in the head, effectively making him break eye contact and drop his groceries to the floor.

In which some of the first things Bokuto learns about his upstairs neighbour are the colour of his eyes and the sound of his moans.

steam - orphan_account (8k)

bokuto: why is he so hot bokuto: why am i so gay kuroo: LMAO you mean your vice captain right bokuto: yeah

kuroo: i got this bro bokuto: what bokuto: wtf does that mean

Bokuto started to panic.

heavy heart, a love apart - drifloon (7k)

(802): Our sex has gotten so much better since we broke up.

IWAOI

✨ It’s Tradition - MelissaWritesStuff (4k)

Every year, without fail, on Oikawa's birthday, Oikawa has somehow gotten a kiss out of Iwaizumi.

lips like sugar - ohhotlamb (8k)

Hajime is offered to learn the art of kissing from a true professional, one Oikawa Tooru. It's not as bad as he thought it would be.

darlin’, your head’s not right - aruariandance (14k)

'“Our wedding,” Oikawa says by way of explanation, tapping his finger against his magazine more emphatically. “What colors should we use? Color scheme is important, apparently.”

Iwaizumi feels his lifespan shortening.

or,

Oikawa teases Iwaizumi about a childhood promise he made to marry him when they were older, except suddenly it's not really a joke at all.

✨ Bet On It - originalblue (13k)

Hajime knows exactly how shitty Oikawa's personality is, and has no scruples whatsover about betting Oikawa six thousand yen that he can't be nice for an entire week.

Something Borrowed - rageprufrock (16k)

In which Oikawa and Iwaizumi have always been a foregone conclusion to everyone else, but a massive, unanswered question to one another.

The PDA jar - orphan_account (10k)

“What is that thing for?”

“I’m glad you asked, captain. This… is the Public Display of Affection jar. Or PDA jar for short.”

“Now whenever you do something that may hurt our children’s innocence, you’ll have to put money in the jar as a punishment."

✨ stumble into the sun - sunsmasher (4k)

“So,” Hajime says, as he peels off his uniform shirt, letting it fall on top of his gym bag. “Have you guys ever heard of like, someone being turned on by people saying nice things to them?”

Matsukawa slams his locker shut. “Oh my god,” he says.

by chance - crossbelladonna (62k)

When Iwaizumi Hajime meets Oikawa Tooru, suddenly everything bursts into color. The only problem is that for the other, it doesnt seem to happen the same way.

or

the world is black and white until you meet your soulmate au

TSUKKIYAMA

by any other name - parenthetic (5k)

A Concise Guide to Dealing with People Asking if your Best Friend and/or Crush is Single:

Panic Lie Run

Do you see what I see? - honeydragon (1k)

Three times Tsukishima wonders what colour Yamaguchi's eyes are, and the one time he finds out.

The Great Yamaguchi-Tsukishima Split (Capitalization Necessary) - WyYeuw (2k)

"But no, the current situation isn’t normal. This situation requires the full attention of the team. No, what’s really concerning this time around, is that Yamaguchi is the one ignoring Tsukishima.” Yamaguchi confesses. Tsukishima fucks up—like, really fucks up. The volleyball club notices and loses a week’s worth of practice.

Baby, this is how it all goes down - psych0tastic (7k)

In the midst of revising for a class test over at Yamaguchi’s place one night, Tsukki suddenly spoke up and said, “I'd like to bottom the next time we have sex."

OTHER

Rewards Program - surveycorpsjean (8k) - bokuroaka

Akaashi enjoys his normal life, as a normal grocery checker, at a normal grocery store.

Of course, it all goes up in flames when two hot as hell college kids dump their items on the conveyor belt.

Donuts. Glue. Donut holes.

And that's only the beginning.

Edelweiss - ostentatiouslyrealistic (6k) - semi/tendou

Hanahaki Disease (n.) An illness bred from unrequited love, where the victim suffers from coughing up flower petals.

Sympathy From a Lost Boy - meraki_drabbles (11k) - ushiten

The figure was hollow-cheeked and gauntly, with prominent eyelids bulging out under thin raised eyebrows, casting a shadow over irises that Wakatoshi couldn't decide the colour of, but rather processed them as a strange mix of crimson and ruby and scarlet dripped against a mahogany canvas.

"Sorry, am I intruding?

[ff-imagines]

Can i request some nsfw headcanons for mantis shrimp? I read through your blog and let me just say: I'm a big fan. Btw if you dont wanna do them thats fine as well

Salt and pepper shrimp: nsfw alphabet

I did the whole alphabet bc? Why not! Side note I rly wanna write a fic going off my thoughts ab his experience level >:)

A - aftercare

Look, getting him to release you from his hold to go to the bathroom on a regular night is a battle enough. After sex? Phew I wish you luck. Might wanna just put some water on your night stand beforehand. You would be able to convince him to take a bath with you pretty easily though, he likes how the warm water feels very much. Make sure to cuddle him in the bath still, he's in a very vulnerable state right now and he really needs some good old tlc.

B- body parts

he’s got a weird fixation with your hands. He likes to compare hand sizes, whether your hands are bigger or smaller isn’t what he likes, he just likes to admire them. He loves sucking/biting your fingers while he’s got you in his lap. Lacing your fingers with his with one hand while bringing the other to his cheek, nuzzling into your hand while he bounces you on his cock.

On himself, there is tragically little that he genuinely likes. He views himself as a weapon, getting him to unlearn that will not be an easy process, trust me, Boston has tried. Complimenting his eyes does seem to make him a little more flustered than other praises, and he has a hard time staring you in the eye during sex…. maybe we can start there.

C - cum

His cum is pretty thin but there’s a shit ton of it. Enough that if he cums inside you swear you can feel the warmth as his cock pours rope and rope of his seed into you.

He doesn’t actually care where he cums, just ask him and he’ll comply.

inside you? sounds good.

On your back? Say less.

On the floor? You’re cleaning it, but sure.

He did discover he’s got an affinity for watching his cum on your tongue. I don’t know how you’d be able to swallow it all, but any attempt you make will be met with shrimp getting hard all over again.

D - dirty secret

He secretly thinks it’d be really hot for you to dom him. It’s gonna take a very long time before he’s comfortable letting you have that Linda control over him, just the thought of being tied up, hands behind his back while you praise him for being such a good boy, its a fantasy he’s visited on many sleepless nights.

E - experience

Nope. Nada. To be frank, I think he’s the definition of Demisexual, and he has yet to meet anyone besides Boston and the anti-human gang who he genuinely wants to get to know better. He definitely hasn’t met anyone who wants to get to know better for romantic reasons.

He doesn’t know enough about human customs to know that it can be embarrassing for someone to be inexperienced, but he does feel very very nervous the first few times. He’ll need a lot of reassurance, give him praise and he’s putty in your hands.

F - favorite position

I'm gonna be boring and say missionary. It’s simple, easy, and since he’s brand new to all of this it’s the least mentally overstimulating. He very much likes that he can see your face.

If he’s feeling extra spicy he might grab onto the inside of your knees and push you into the mating press, though he really only does this if he’s upset or jealous.

If you ask nicely he might let you sit in his lap, as a treat. Bouncing on his cock as he litters your chest with bite marks, what a treat it is <3

G - goofy

…. yea for sure definitely. He’s a real jokester.

On a serious note, he himself is not a goofy person whatsoever, but he would actually like it if you were. Outright making fun of him or harsh teasing is an immediate turn off, but light jokes to ease his nerves is for sure welcomed since he’s very tense the first few times.

Give him time and you might even catch him cracking a small joke himself, all the while giving you a weak, nervous smile.

H- hair

He doesn’t trim or shave anything lmao. He’s busy, and also doesn’t care literally at all. He’s got a thin happy trail that can be easy to miss since he's blonde.

He’s got the same energy with your body hair, he doesn’t care. If you do shave he might ask why, just out of curiosity. If your reason is insecurity, he’ll probably suggest you let it grow, he doesn’t care and he’s the only one who’ll ever see it lmao

I- intimacy

It’s an awkward “i hope to fuck I’m doing this right” kind of intimacy. He fumbles and messes up a lot, he might even accidentally miss when thrusting and end up just kinda rubbing himself on you but he’s really trying. Just from the fact he’s willing to try this at all with you is a big sign that he’s really trying his best to be as intimate as he can with you.

J- jerk off

Before meeting you, not a lot actually. He mostly just did it if he ever woke up from a wet dream and knew that if he didn’t take care of it now he’d never be able to get back to sleep.

After your first time together, his first time, he thinks back the immeasurable pleasure a lot, finding himself in need of relief a lot more than he ever did before. You are the catalyst to his drive, and you are also the only thing he can think about that can help him cum. It’s kinda sweet in a perverted way.

K- Kinks

He will bite you. It’s just so easy to bruise you and it makes your relationship status to others so obvious, he can’t just… not bite you.

Marking, going along with the biting kink. This goes both ways, he’d love for you to scratch at his back enough to leave red marks, to bite as his collarbone, grip his hips tight enough to bruise. He likes looking at the marks later, they remind him that he did good, he made you feel good, that’s all he really wants.

He doesn’t exactly have a breeding kink as much as this goes along with the marking aspect. Suggest to him that he cum deep inside you to mark your insides… he might give you 2-3 loads just to make sure you're nice and full, completely claimed.

He also kinda likes to make you cry. Overstimulating you to the point of tears gives him a sense of pride he hasn’t really felt before.

He really likes temperature play as well, dragging ice cubes and hot wax across your skin and watching you flinch and squirm just does something to him.

And of course, light bondage. He probably found out it was a thing after reading some kinda erotic fiction and immediately went to you like “why did you not tell me about this?????” He adores how to look all tied up and stuck, right in the palm of his hands. It makes him feel emotional as well, that you’re willing to give him such a powerful amount of control over you.

Last but not least, please praise him. During sex as well as day to day. Let him know he’s so pretty, he’s doing so good, he’s cock feels so so good, he might cum on the spot.

L- location

The first time he’d really need it to be in a secluded, safe area. He’s gotta feel comfy if he’s gonna get into the mood.

Every other time? Babes you’ve awakened a beast, he’ll get random spikes of “if I don’t at least try to fuck them I will scream”. You could be in the middle of a forest running from an axe wielding murderer and this horny bastard would still find a way to pull you aside and rail you against a tree.

There most likely isn’t a spot in your home that he hasn’t fucked you against.

Peaceful moment of washing dishes? Think again, he’s plopping you on the kitchen counter and diving to mouth at your neck.

Writing some papers? Just sit on his lap, you’ll feel much less stressed with his cock buried to the hilt, won’t you?

Doing laundry? Might have to rewash them cause now he’s using the clothes as a bed to fuck you on. He’ll apologize and help you fold them after they’re rewashed bc he feels bad lmao

M- motivation

Like I said, he’s set off by the smallest things. A little stretch, wiping some water off on your pants, humming a song, all of it can randomly make him feel the need to fuck you.

The most intense and quickest way to rile him up is either playing with his hair, or massaging his back. It starts out innocent but he just can’t take the thought of your pretty hands working so lovingly and not at least trying to reciprocate and make you feel good too.

N- no

No sharing. He doesn’t want someone else to see you, and he doesn’t want someone else to see him. It’s just not something he likes.

He also hates humiliation. He… would tolerate it if you asked for it, even if he doesn’t get why you’d want him to outright insult you. But for himself? Fuck no, he hates it so fuckin much. He’s a sensitive insecure puppy that wants your attention very badly, pls don’t hurt him like that :(

O- oral

Oh please give him oral. He’s begging. Well, he’d never outright beg but the way his eyes fixate on your mouth a lot is his way of silently pleading for you to wrap your lips around his cock. His soul ascends a little every time he sees his cum dribbling down your face, he might be even willing to make out with his cum still on your tongue.

As for giving, he’s got no clue what the hell he’s doing but he’s nervously eager to try. Guide him as best you can, he’s good at measuring your reactions so he can handle the rest. Tug on his hair a little bit if you wanna drive him crazy.

He’ll get a lot better with time, his eagerness to please however, does not leave him in the slightest.

P- pace

The first time? Slow and unsure, then he realizes “oh fuck this feels stupid good” and his pace becomes almost punishing. He doesn’t really know what he’s doing, he’s unknowingly going deeper and harder than you've ever been dicked down in your life. If you want him to, somehow, go harder? Grab his hand and place it over your stomach to make him feel his cock enter you through your skin, his hand slides down to grip your hips and slams into you, wiggling his hips without withdrawing to gain some of his sanity back before he’s back to a punishing pace.

Q- quickies

Oh hell yea. He lives for them. Sudden moments of horniness come to him all the time and since this spike in desire is brand new, he hasn’t really… learned to live with it yet. He pulls you aside into closets and alleyways all the time, he can’t help that you feel so warm and snug :(

R- risk

He doesn’t exactly enjoy the thought of a voyeur, he really doesn’t want to share you with anyone. But… there is a deeper part of him that finds a sense of pride if someone were to hear you getting absolutely pounded by him, desperately crying out and whining for him to go deeper, even better if they were someone who pined for you….

S- stamina

Well, to be frank he cums pretty quickly. It’s all so brand new to him, he really can’t help it. Lucky for you, his refractory time is crazy low. He can cum once, watch you do some mindless motion you always do and he’s right back to being hard again in minutes.

T- toys

Not against it, but is again, brand new to all this shit. He’s very interested in using your own toys against you though. Would definetly use a vibrater to edge and overstim you. He’d be interested in a cock ring, only if you were willing to endure a vibrator while he fucks you, he doesn’t wanna be the only one struggling lmao

U- unfair

He can be, yea. He kinda likes edging you, but not as much as he likes overstimulating you.

He loves to hear how you beg under him when he’s pulling you so close to the edge, keeping you just far enough to drive you insane.

Overstimming though? The way you twitch and beg, how your chest heaves and your mouth hangs open into a silent scream, eyes shut tight and watering, now that’s the good shit.

V- volume

Doesn’t talk much, but for sure gives out a lot of groans. This is something he’s never felt before in his life, the first few times you're going to get a lot of whines and surprised yelps, check up on him and make sure he’s still doing alright, he’s just very nervous.

As he gets more comfortable, he gives you quiet praises and promises to make you feel good. He also groans quite a lot, but since his voice is deeper it can be hard to catch.

W- wild card

He really wants to try using his prosthetic arm for temperature play, he’s just not at all confident in himself enough to bring it up. He likes the thought of you jumping and squirming under his touch, for now he can just stick to wax play.

X- X Ray

Mans is actually pretty fuckin big. He’s got no idea how big he is though. If you were surprised and a little nervous about his size he’d be pretty confused, is there something wrong? Did you change your mind? The concept of him being well above average is something you’ll have to explain later. It boosts his ego quite bit, even if he’d never admit it.

Whine about him being too big and you can just see the pride swelling in his chest, giving you no mercy with his thrusts.

Y- yearning

Often. Very very often. He’d fuck you multiple times every day if he had the time. However, you’re both busy, and you’d probably get a UTI with how many times this man wants to dick you down lmao. He’s got his cock buried in you at least 4-5 times a week.

Z- zzz

Actually pretty quickly. Even if he prefers being in control during sex, he kinda likes being the little spoon as he drifts to sleep. Give him some soft praises about how well he did and he’s turning into jello in your hold.

[earthstellar]

Rewatching Transformers G1 S2: Episode 1: Autobot Spike

Yes, this is where the Surprised Ratchet meme image comes from:

This episode has a lot going on including near-death of a human character on screen, body horror/a Frankenstein plot, and some genuinely unsettling scenes mostly made creepy due to the combination of some interesting dialogue/voice acting and typical G1 Quality. 

And Spike shoots Starscream in the ass mid-flight, which is fantastic. 

He also shoots his dad, which is less fantastic. 

Being a horror nerd, I love this episode, so here we go! 

Gonna put this below a cut because I’m taking a lot of screenshots here:

You can watch the whole episode on YouTube here in 4 parts, if you want to watch along! 

Alright, so it opens with Sparkplug trying to create “Autobot X”, which is straight up just a Frankenstein’s Monster of autobot parts. It’s weirdly creepy, and vaguely reminiscent of the infamous Ratchet-Megatron fusion in the Marvel comics.

I want to point out that Sparkplug says “I wanna see what I can do with a lotta spare Autobot parts and some human ingenuity” before the reveal shot above, and that’s horrific if you think about it for more than like, three seconds. 

It also may have been the origins of the MECH plot line in TFP, actually! Very similar body horror type thing going on. Anyway.

It works briefly, but it flips out and has to get shut down. 

Ironhide fires a laser, problem solved, nobody’s worried. They put Autobot X in storage, because surely a rampantly aggressive seemingly sentient pastiche of random Autobot parts is nothing to worry about. It’s fine. 

Wheeljack is like, hell yeah, I’ll help you work on it later. Which is when we get the Surprised Ratchet image, because yeah, I bet Ratchet’s freaked out a little since this thing is made of SPARE AUTOBOT PARTS. 

Then we’re swept immediately into a fight with Megatron, as many Seekers as you can fit in frame at one time, and Soundwave. 

For whatever reason, Bumblebee shows up driving through a bunch of partially blown up missile/rocket components, with Spike in the driver’s seat. Even Spike is like, dude, why are we here? And Bumblebee is just like, I mean, we couldn’t NOT show up. lmao

Unsurprisingly, Bumblebee gets shot-- In alt-mode, with Spike inside. Uh oh. 

Megatron leaves, because Frank Welker can only voice so many characters at once, and our attention is turned to the carnage. 

Ratchet is like, sure, I can fix Bumblebee right up! Meanwhile, Ironhide is like oh god, oh my god, is this how you hold a human??? Is it dead??? Optimus is gonna be pissed. 

So Optimus rolls up like, listen, take him to the hospital, come on. Ratchet lets him in the back of his ambulance mode, and Prowl goes with him so that he can throw his emergency lights on to give the illusion of a police escort, ensuring the drive is even quicker. 

(I miss the days when Prowl wasn’t a total asshole.) 

It cuts pretty quickly to Spike in an operating theatre; Apparently getting shot by alien space lasers isn’t conducive to human health: 

It cuts again to the attending physician standing at Spike’s beside, presumably in ICU although they appear to be in a private room, with Sparkplug on the other side of the bed. 

The doctor says “Hmm, if only there were a way of separating Spike’s mind from his body while we work...” Which, uh, what? What surgeon says that? You can sort of already do that in actual human medicine, it’s called an induced coma. 

But sure, we need exposition here, I get it. The screenplay here is tight. Sparkplug says he has an idea...

Back at the Autobot hangout, things seem fairly chill, considering. 

Ratchet is welding Bumblebee’s ass in alt-mode, while Bumblebee complains about how long it’s taking. lol 

Meanwhile, Wheeljack and Sparkplug somehow have Spike hooked up to a Ghostbusters colander helmet, which will hopefully transfer his mind into the malfunctioning/in stasis Autobot X frame. Yikes. 

It works! Spike is now also Autobot X. We will call him Spike X for short. 

And for some reason, Spike saying “D-Da-ad?” with this faceplate expression is incredibly funny to me, while also being really weird and creepy: 

However, this is only cool for like two seconds, at which point Spike X truly starts to lose his shit. 

It gets real creepy here, with Spike X saying in a very oddly flat inflection “Why? Why did you do this to me? Why?” and it’s pretty wild. There’s even a mild strobe effect for a few frames. 

Sideswipe and Sunstreaker try to help calm him down, but Spike X throws them both across the room. 

Optimus is like, oh shit, we made a giant metal teenager. Stop him, but use low power, because if the Autobot X frame is damaged too much, then Spike’s consciousness may not be able to be returned to his actual human body. 

Note that Optimus says this in a pretty relaxed way, then levels a shoulder mounted cannon straight at Spike X, which is incredibly funny. 

It quickly gets deeply weird and creepy again when Spike X is temporarily able to talk with his dad, and states that “it’s hard to think, like something is telling me to do... bad.... things!” Yiiiiiikes. 

He gets it under control again, apologises to his dad for the outburst (I think it’s OK, Spike), and Optimus says that he’s cool to stay at the base and he’ll be taken care of while his human body heals up. 

However, oh shit, the Decepticons have found out that Spike now has an Autobot frame-- And they know he’s unstable. 

Starscream tries to roast him, but Megatron’s like, shut up nerd, we’re gonna make Spike X turn against the Autobots! It’s a good plan, I’m serious! 

Back at the Autobot base, Ratchet is still welding Bumblebee’s ass, and Bumblebee is still complaining. Wheeljack hooks up Spike X with some network television, and he’s watching... Frankenstein. Because the six year old kids who are the intended audience of G1 may not be familiar with the source material for this episode’s plot, I guess, which is fair. (Frank Welker nails it here as Dr. Frankenstein, but that’s unsurprising, because he always nails it. I think he’s also voicing Frankenstein’s Monster, but I haven’t checked the credits.)

Obviously, this isn’t a great thing for Spike X to be watching at this particular moment, so he freaks out again. 

Wheeljack and Sparkplug come running, and somehow Sparkplug is covering ground faster than Wheeljack. It’s fine, don’t worry about it. 

Ratchet’s progress on welding Bumblebee’s ass is interrupted by Spike X breaking through the wall and seemingly flying away. lmao 

They just sort of stand there, like, well, we lost him, I guess. 

Bumblebee is like, alright, gonna go get my boy. 

So he drives out of this massive crater, and Ratchet is like, wait! Your radio transmitter still doesn’t work. (Apparently their radio transmitters are located in their asses. Fascinating.) 

Spike X sits on a cliff and says “what a drag”, which, yeah. Being a Frankenstein space robot would be cool if not for the immense psychological damage this is absolutely causing. 

However, he also calls himself a “walking garbage can” in a completely genuine put-out tone of voice, which absolutely sells that this is a teenager in a giant robot body and I laughed, I won’t lie. 

Some of Megatron’s cronies locate him and hold his position. 

At the same time, Bumblebee shows up and tries to talk Spike X down from a random destructive rampage. 

He throws Bumblebee off the cliff! And Megatron’s squad is rolling up. (Well, flying up, anyway.) Uh oh! 

Spike X is like, hell yeah, bring it. More ass to kick. And it turns out his arm mounted cannon works, because he shoots Starscream directly in the undercarriage and says “YEAH, MAN!” and it’s so genuine. 

This is the perfect reaction to being a teenager in a giant robot body and just suddenly being able to shoot lasers and kick ass. Look at how happy he is, that he just shot Starscream in the butt mid-air. It’s awesome.

Unfortunately, the Seekers do actually beat him up, although Spike X puts up a good fight. 

Megatron then takes advantage of his further weakened state, and swoops in to pitch a classic “Join Us” speech. Spike X calls him “Megacrumb”, which is probably acceptable because he’s absolutely concussed by this point. 

Megatron is willing to overlook this for the sake of teaming up. 

Bumblebee eavesdrops, and drives away-- But Spike X gives Megatron a handshake, and agrees to “make them pay”. Oh shit! 

For some reason, Optimus and Ironhide are back at the rocket facility to watch a launch. Because I guess whatever, this whole situation is chill, let’s go watch rockets? IDK 

But either way, Optimus roasts the inferior quality of human technology, while Bumblebee just drives up on site despite Military Police levelling sniper rifles at him in order to report that Megatron is taking advantage of Spike X’s inability to think clearly. 

Optimus says “I feared something like this might happen”, which, if that were the case, why not take actions to prevent it, maybe? Not the strongest Optimus episode. 

To be fair though, Ironhide transforms and is already driving off before Optimus even gives the order to roll out, so I guess Ironhide either really wants to kick some ass or cares slightly more about Spike X’s wellbeing. He has no dialogue here, so we can only guess. 

They get there, with even more Autobots who showed up at some point in the rapid scene cuts here, and Spike X is super unhinged-- Charging his weapons, he starts speaking in a more strained and angry way, and engages the Autobots! 

He hits Optimus with what appears to be a chest laser? It’s hard to see. But it’s super effective: 

Optimus pleads with Spike X to calm down, but Spike X straight up pulls MEGATRON IN GUN MODE out of his sub-space and shoots Optimus directly in the faceplate. Damn! 

The Seekers and Soundwave drop in, and start rapid firing on all the Autobots present. 

We get some great shots of Megatron in his gun alt-mode as he tries to convince Spike X to keep attacking. Optimus and Bumblebee hide behind cover, attempting to bring Spike X to his senses long enough to disarm him. 

Suddenly, Wheeljack and Sparkplug roll up; Sparkplug attempts to talk some sense into Spike, too. 

Optimus and Bumblebee are at a loss; If they take out Spike X, the damage might take him out for good. 

However, Sparkplug fails in his efforts to talk to Spike X; He SHOOTS HIS DAD AND KNOCKS HIM OFF THE CLIFF. 

Can you imagine if they put an ad break here? lmao 

Luckily, he has like, a claw machine arm, and he catches his dad before he becomes a human smoothie. 

This shocks Spike X badly enough that while he still has Megatron in gun mode, he takes a few pot shots at the Seekers and the Decepticons decide it’s time to bounce, so Megatron bails too. 

He apologises for almost killing his dad, his dad is like hey no beef man, and it cuts to them in the hospital: 

Sparkplug takes his son’s body back to the Autobot base (that sounds worse than it is), and they prepare to transfer him back into his body. 

What’s extra funny here is that he nervously laughs and says “Hope you fixed this thing up good, Ratchet!” And Ratchet says absolutely nothing. Not a word. 

It’s a success! Dad and son hug, totally not even addressing anything that happened this whole episode, because that’s a job for a therapist. 

Ratchet, who continues to not really care about any of this, tells Wheeljack “You know, I could probably repair that mess, but I think it’s best that I don’t.” (This is a play on what Wheeljack said earlier in the episode when he offered to help Sparkplug fix up Autobot X to begin with.) 

I love how tired Wheeljack looks. LOL

Spike, now recovered, leaves us with a great question to close out the episode: “I wonder what it’d be like for a robot mind to be transferred... to a human!” 

Depending on what kind of kid you were, his question was either imagination fuel for fun humanformer ideas, or was a blatantly bad question indicating he learned nothing and providing nightmare fuel trying to imagine one of the Autobots losing their shit in a human body the same way Spike lost his shit while inhabiting Autobot X. 

Anyway, great episode! 10/10 Scary, funny, creepy, Starscream got shot in the ass by a teenager. 

[itmeansofthesea]

Hope

a.n: this is literally the first fic i've written in like... 10 years. it is fluff. just fluff. for context, look up the "fleabag hot priest wedding speech." this is set after the great caravan rescue but charles is obvs not captured so this is a fix-it. the time jump was like a outlander type-thing lolol. also this was originally written with f!reader but i tried to make it gender neutral so if i missed something i'm sorry.

ships: gn!reader x Charles Vane, Anne x Max, Flint x Miranda x Thomas, Jack x himself

also, i love charles vane, and if you do too, let's chat.

tw: cursing?? tooth rotting fluff.

_____________________________________________________________

The Youtube video stopped. Max, Miranda, Jack, and Thomas wiped their eyes. James held his lovers’ hands. Anne held Max’s face. Charles just stared straight ahead.

They’d been discussing love when they came downstairs (James and Anne weren’t so much discussing as they were just interjecting at random points, Charles just scowled into his rum-spiked coffee). They walked into the kitchen and asked what the crew were talking about.

“Love,” Jack replied in a dreamy voice and with a flourish of his hand.

They just smiled and said, “fleabag. hot priest. wedding speech. Youtube it. I’m going to take a shower.” With that, they turned on their heel and bounced back out of the kitchen.

Miranda and Max were the first to move, dragging their respective partners behind them. Jack started to follow, and then shot a look back at Charles who hadn’t moved from his place at the island.

“You coming?” Jack cocked an eyebrow. He received a grunt in response, or maybe it was a “fuck you, Jack.” Hard to tell since Jack wasn’t fully caffeinated yet. “Come on.” He hauled the captain up off the stool as best he could and started pushing him toward the living room.

When they arrived, Max and Thomas were standing in front of the tc trying to figure out the remote, James lounged with Miranda at his side, and Anne watched the whole scene with a smirk. She raised her eyebrows at the two men staggering in last before scooting over to make room for them on the couch beside her.

“Okay okay wait I’ve got it- fleabag hot priest wedding speech,” Max spoke into the remote.

“Fleabag hot yeast welding speech,” Siri replied, pulling up a myriad of results that couldn’t possibly be she wanted them to see.

“I give up,” Max shoved the remote into Thomas’s chest- well, as well as she could considering he was doubled over with laughter like the rest of them. Thomas straightened up, cleared his throat, and enunciated, “fleabag hot priest wedding speech.”

The results looked better this time considering that Siri actually understood what she was supposed to be looking for. Max moved to sit on Anne’s lap, and Thomas found his way under James’s other arm while he clicked the button to start the video.

The video wasn’t even two minutes long. Charles hated the beginning- it sounded like him with Eleanor. He had doubted himself, had been creepy, occasionally obsessed with his hair (he would never admit it and hold a knife to the throat of anyone fool enough to suggest it... but it was true), he most definitely did things he never thought he would do, and it certainly had been hell.

And he had done it all more or less alone.

Eleanor was with him for every possible reason except who he actually was. When she saw him at 17, she saw the up-and-coming captain, trained by the feared Blackbeard himself, and realized that he meant business and power. Two things she desperately wanted and would do anything to get. He respected the hustle- he could understand that. But it was the way she knew which buttons to push for him to do things that he would maybe only admit to regretting on his death bed. She wanted his name, his reputation, his stubbornness, his body- but not necessarily his values or anything else that actually made him who he was. Anne and Jack saw it from the beginning, and sure he’d been slower on the uptake, but after the last time she crossed him, he was done.

Then Blackbeard returned, she returned with a price on his head, and that’s how they’d ended up here, 300 years in the future with Jack’s sibling no less. He’d seen some weird shit, but nothing like this.

They met them at the door, a smile on their face until they realized that Jack was hurt. They got the ragtag crew inside, took care of them, and in the process started to get to know all of them. He almost laughed at that- the way that they were so at ease with some of the most feared pirates in the world and they acted as if they were just random classmates of their brother's that he brought home for them to meet. They had taken the time to get to know each of them, separately and together. Anne they already knew since Jack had brought her around a few times and the two were clearly close. They'd been overjoyed to see Max and how happy she made Anne (even if Anne would never admit it).

And they started talking to him. They were curious about his life, and no matter how hard he tried to stay standoff-ish, not get too close, he couldn’t help it. Maybe it was the way that they didn’t expect anything from him. They'd told him as much one night that they stayed up talking after everyone else went to bed. (“Charles,” they giggled, “I don’t need your name. I don’t need your fearsome reputation. I don’t need your men, your ship, your money- I don’t need anything. And I don’t want it. Getting to know you,” they moved their whiskey glass to the other hand and tapped him on the shoulder, “is more than enough.” They'd gotten quiet after that, and he didn’t know what to say. He could tell they were second guessing whether or not that was a good idea, but he didn’t know how to tell them how much he needed to hear it. They gave a short nod after a couple of minutes of silence and said they hoped he slept well and they would see him in the morning. They saw him in the morning, but he hadn’t slept well.)

“It feels like hope.” The video stopped and Charles sat turning over the idea that the feeling he couldn’t quite place when they were together... it was hope. Something that he hadn’t felt in so long that he didn’t know what it was when it tapped him on the shoulder or hoped he’d slept well.

The Youtube video stopped. Max, Miranda, Jack, and Thomas wiped their eyes. James held his lovers’ hands. Anne held Max’s face. Charles just stared straight ahead... and then abruptly put his hands on his knees and pushed himself from the couch. The others watched him leave, exchanging worried glances and debating whether or not to follow him.

He knew what he had to do. So he went upstairs and knocked on the bathroom door.

“Just a second!” They pulled their towel around them, figuring it was probably just Anne telling her how mad she was that the video they suggested made her feel things. They opened the door to see Vane standing there, and if they didn’t know better they would think there might have maybe been a tear in his eye. After a second, they opened their mouth to say “Charles” but he kissed them instead. Nothing harsh, just a quick, simple kiss. Then he bowed his head, turned around, and walked away. They stood there, mouth open, not quite sure what had just happened.

“Annnnnnnnnne!” They yelled downstairs, hoping that Anne knew what was going on with her captain. She knew him probably better than Jack considering how they were almost the same person.

“What,” Anne huffed out when she reached the bathroom, clearly grumpy at being pulled from Max.

“Charles just... I opened the door and he... he kissed me,” they said with a confused look.

Anne stared at them for a second before cracking as close to a smile as Anne Bonny can manage. “Finally.”

They shook their head and blinked. “What.”

Anne just facepalmed and walked away.

They closed the door, wrapping their towel around her more tightly to try and process what happened. He kissed them. He actually did it. Holy shit. H o l y shit. They had to find him.

Throwing on some clothes, they raced out of the bathroom and down the stairs. The living room crew just watched them go, stepping outside and stopping just short of Charles’s back. They watched as they reached out for his arm, watched as he slowly turned around, and watched as they took his face in her hands and gave him a quick kiss. Then they watched them turn around and run back inside and up the stairs to dry their hair, laughing at the bemused look on Vane’s face and swearing they’d seen a small smile on theirs.

They quickly focused their attention back on each other as he walked back inside and passed them to go up the stairs.

They already had the hair dryer out, so they barely heard the knock at the door. Again, expecting Anne to tease them for what just happened, they opened it to see Charles on the other side. They clicked the hair dryer off and they took a second to just see each other. After a minute he reached for the hair dryer and asked, “May I?”

They nodded and passed it to him, settling in on the floor between his legs as he sifted his fingers through their hair and they felt the hot air on the back of their head. They noticed that he was careful not to keep the hair dryer in one place for too long, likely for the sake of his own fingers as much as their head, but they appreciated it anyway. After a couple of minutes they pulled the book they'd brought with them from the counter and started to read while Charles dried their hair, occasionally planting small kisses on the side of thier head, making them smile and curl into a ball.

And for the first time in a long time, they both felt hope.

[mechawaka]

Spring in Derdriu

A commission for @artsytardis​

Words: 11.7k

Fandom: Fire Emblem Three Houses

Pairing: Claude/Byleth

Rating: Teen

Mood music: Roses & Revolutions - Dancing in a Daydream

Summary: Five years after the war, Claude is the king of Almyra and Byleth is the queen of United Fodlan - but neither of them had the courage to propose at the Goddess Tower. When Byleth comes down with a sudden fever, they might have another chance.

---

They couldn’t possibly name Derdriu the new capital of United Fodlan, Lorenz had declared the very day after Byleth’s coronation. It would ‘imply things,’ he’d said, aghast that she would even suggest it.

Lo and behold, Ferdinand and Sylvain had expressed similar worries about Enbarr and Fhirdiad, respectively, and what ‘things’ their hosting would ‘imply.’

And Garreg Mach was also out of the question. Archbishop Seteth, recently crowned himself, wanted to keep the reformed Church of Seiros as far removed from political power as possible. Byleth couldn’t make her capital there, he’d insisted. The implications!

So which will it be? her newly appointed cabinet - four representatives from each geographical region, with twelve in total - had prodded, each sect adamant that theirs couldn’t possibly be the permanent home of the new government.

And Byleth, already exhausted despite only being in charge for a grand total of one moon, had replied:

All of them, then.

That day, United Fodlan’s migrating government, colloquially known as the Wandering Court, had been born. Byleth spent one season in each capital - spring in Derdriu, summer in Fhirdiad (on which she was insistent), and winter in Enbarr. In the fall, she and the entire cabinet gathered at neutral Garreg Mach to conduct any business which required everyone’s presence at once.

For five years, the system had worked perfectly. There had been some inevitable pushback at first, mostly from anti-Imperial factions who were upset that Byleth had adopted the old Empire’s ministerial structure, but they had gradually quieted down as the continental economy stabilized and flourished under its guidance.

Moreover, Byleth liked being on the road. She was raised in tents and on horseback, always moving between destinations, and the frequent travel helped soften long days of paperwork and political debate. 

It also let her document certain supply and infrastructure problems firsthand; to this day, Byleth fondly remembered a tiny village on the Rhodos Coast whose inhabitants had sent in an official request for a new bridge - and had been shocked senseless when the queen herself, in transit from Fhirdiad to Garreg Mach, had shown up to build it.

(Petra had put her personal stamp of approval on that one; you only rule what you can see and touch, she’d written of the event.)

Today, though - this season, this cursed spring - the system was not working.

Oh, it had started normally enough. Byleth, once settled in the palace at Derdriu, had taken up her usual duty of hearing the cases which had passed since her last time in residence and breaking any tied votes. 

It wasn’t until her ministers were tying up the season’s work that a heavy rain swelled the Airmid, causing flooding in four different territories and knocking out a siege-battered section of the Great Bridge of Myrddin. Suddenly, they were swamped with petitions: drowned fields, lost livestock, choked roads. All with less than a moon remaining before the court’s transition to Fhirdiad.

In short, Byleth hadn’t slept in almost forty-eight hours.

Her head was a splitting fissure of tectonic activity, rumbling in the background of every meeting, every hearing, and roaring to life at random intervals that left her gritting her teeth and glaring at Lorenz, wherever he was in the room.

Oh, we simply can’t stay in Derdriu permanently, she mocked him mentally as, again, a searing wave of pain spiked behind her drooping eyes. It would ruin everything, or whatever.

“- and with that in mind, the Merchants’ Association asked us to move the boundary twenty feet down the riverfront,” Marianne recited from an open ledger. She, like all the other ministers, was dressed in a smartly cut, floor-length robe of office that bore the seal of United Fodlan, with her hair gathered neatly at the back of her neck.

“Ministers Victor and Goneril voted in favor of the merchants, while Minister Gloucester and I voted in favor of the fisheries. How do you rule?” Marianne looked up from her record and across their round discussion table. Her eyes were bright and serious at first, but they creased with worry upon taking in Byleth’s pinched expression. 

“Are you feeling ill, Your Majesty?”

This garnered the other ministers’ attention as well. Ignatz pushed his glasses up his nose to study her better, staring in that perceptive, sympathetic way that said he’d already identified all the faults in her appearance. 

Hilda, who’d been twirling a quill pen between her fingers, glanced up and gave Byleth a detachedly brutal once-over, indicating with an arched, sculpted eyebrow that she disliked her findings.

Lorenz, meanwhile, simply regarded his queen with a dry, ‘I told you so’ stare.

“No, no. I’m fine,” Byleth asserted, avoiding everyone’s concerned faces, and especially Lorenz’s. He had warned her against overworking only a week prior, and here she was zoning out like a bored student. She’d get an earful from him later, no doubt, about a ruler’s responsibility to their subjects extending to self-care and time management.

“My apologies. Minister Edmund, please recount the case again.” Byleth pushed herself up, ignoring the pounding rhythm inside her brain. She often paced the length of the room for difficult petitions, anyway, and maybe movement would help ease the pain - but she took one step and the world went sideways.

She swayed dangerously on her feet, catching herself on the edge of the throne. Her legs were soft and wobbly as a dessert jelly; her vision swam with blots of darkness and intense color at random. 

In a hushed, grave voice, she whispered, “Oh, that’s not good.”

“Quite,” Lorenz agreed curtly, having materialized at her elbow to aid in stabilization. He turned to the others, lips pursed and demeanor supremely unamused. “I believe Her Majesty is finished hearing cases for the day. All in agreement?”

Byleth barely registered the other ministers’ responses; her ears were suddenly full of cotton, dampening all incoming sound. Even Lorenz’s voice, so close at her side, was fuzzy and jumbled. She could only nod and follow him out of the throne room, vaguely aware that Marianne had joined them.

When had her headache gotten this bad? It must have been a slow progression, she reasoned as the trio headed toward her chambers, building in intensity during the meeting. She vaguely recalled an old medical lecture of Manuela’s about blood vessels in the brain, and how moving suddenly after a stationary period could cause...something. Something bad, probably.

Not for the first time, nor even for the hundredth, she wished she’d paid closer attention to the other teachers’ seminars back at Garreg Mach.

Lorenz politely turned around while Marianne helped Byleth out of her heavy court mantle and into her gigantic bed, busying himself by preparing a teapot at the dresser.

“I’ll be fine by tomorrow,” Byleth professed as she collapsed onto her mattress, allowing Marianne’s white magic to flow over her in a soothing current. “We can re-convene at first light.”

With his back still turned, Lorenz scoffed. “I highly doubt that.”

“I’m sorry, but he’s right,” Marianne corroborated, ceasing her spell and pressing the back of one hand to Byleth’s forehead. “You have harvest fever; you’ll need to rest for at least a week to let it run its course.”

“A week?” Byleth demanded, sitting straight up again. “But I leave for Fhirdiad in two!”

Lorenz brought the teapot over on a wheeled cart, putting his hands on either side and warming it magically. “Then perhaps you shouldn’t have taxed yourself to infirmity, hmm?”

At that, Byleth shot him an impotent - and, in all likelihood, given her state, pathetic - glare, but the mere action of tensing her forehead muscles worsened her headache and she fell back onto her pillows, defeated. He was right, damn him.

“Byleth,” he continued, exasperated, dropping all formality as he always did in the absence of prying ears. “Just rest. We designed this government to run in your absence - let us handle things from here.”

Marianne echoed the sentiment with a soft smile, pouring some strong-smelling medicinal tea from the pot. “We’ll see that Ordelia and Hrym are well cared for,” she said, holding out the teacup like a peace offering.

Byleth grudgingly took it.

---

Lorenz squinted down at Byleth’s sleeping form, sprawled and content amongst her blankets, and sighed. No one had ever prepared her for a life of leadership and politics, but she’d risen to the challenge admirably in the last five years. Perhaps too admirably, if situations like this were any judge.

Her problem, he’d decided long ago - and informed her whenever the chance presented itself - was moderation. Temperance. Byleth Eisner tackled every problem with a single-minded determination that, while remarkably efficient during the war, had tended to cause a variety of problems in peacetime.

In that regard, she was quite similar to him. To Claude. And speaking of Claude -

“We had two guards and a trio of footmen at our assembly today,” Marianne observed, keeping her eyes on the bed, but her message was clear.

“Indeed.” Lorenz tapped the heels of his polished boots restlessly against the floor. He could practically hear the wagging tongues from here; he could picture the story of their fainting monarch billowing out from the palace like blood in water, ripe for scenting - and there was one particular green-eyed shark always circling for a whiff.

He forced a long, resigned breath out through his nose, and said dismally, “I’ll direct the staff to prepare the guest wing at once.”

---

Thanks to whatever was in that tea, Byleth slept straight through the next few days. Even when she woke, she was groggy and mostly insensate to the world around her; she recalled Marianne’s visits to administer medicine or urge a few sips of water, but other than that - nothing. Only light and color and sound, all indistinct and running together.

The fever itself wasn’t so bad. She was being treated by the most studied healer in the region, and the rest was good for her, as much as she resisted the notion.

No, what had her itching for freedom, for an escape, had nothing to do with the sickness and everything to do with her own shoddy mental compartmentalization. Byleth had a single unbreakable rule, and it had kept her safe and stable for most of her life: don’t slow down.

Her friends - formerly students, and now United Fodlan’s new ministers - had always struggled to understand what went on in her head, and Byleth had to confess that it was often a confusing place for her, too. That was why she spent as little time there as possible. If she was solving governmental disputes or plotting a route through the Oghmas, she wasn’t thinking about her problems - and for someone that had attended the Jeralt Eisner school of “don’t confront your problems until they literally confront you first” coping strategy, that suited her just fine.

But these hours cooped up in her bedchamber were slow, and Lorenz had taken great strides to ensure that nary a tax report breached its threshold. And when there was no work to do, no roadblock for her mind to chew on, it drifted to contemplation, to nostalgia, and then, inevitably, to Claude.

What would he think of the stalemate between the merchants and the fisheries? That one was easy. He’d find a third option, something neither of the institutions had proposed but that benefited both, and dazzle them with its presentation. He’d find a way to spin the conflict so that it wasn’t about competing guilds, but about the betterment of the city as a whole.

She wondered if he looked different now compared to when she’d seen him last, at the Alliance Founding Day celebration the previous Horsebow. They only ever saw each other in formal wear these days, painted and decorated and utterly without privacy. Had he let his hair grow over the winter like she had? Was it curling near the base of his neck, thick and wild?

Oh, here we go, she thought, rolling her eyes and then squeezing them shut. This was why she kept herself preoccupied; any lapse in activity brought these sorts of ideas to the forefront, and they always turned to indulgent fantasy. Only Claude brought out that side of Byleth - and it made her so paradoxically angry, and afraid, and lonely.

Angry because she hadn’t intended to let him in; he was just there one day, snugly by her side, a few months after she’d joined the faculty at Garreg Mach (and she would always lament, at least a little, that Rhea hadn’t put her with the students instead). Even after he’d admitted his ulterior motives in getting close to her, Byleth never had the heart to be mad at him for it. He was so damn endearing.

Afraid because, as easily as he’d attached himself to her, he’d un-attached. Byleth could admit to herself, alone in her darkened bedroom, that most of her mental evasion strategies centered around one specific memory: that early morning conversation they’d had right before her coronation, in which Claude had spontaneously announced his departure from Fodlan.

(“There’s something I need to do,” he’d said up at the Goddess Tower, and she had been so sure he’d wanted to say more, but instead he’d just...left.)

Lonely because their friendship had never been the same after that. They were both so busy, now, and with so much responsibility - and she missed him. Missed their easy conversation and matching drive; missed the academic dissections of famous battles and the late nights spent comparing various cultures’ names for the constellations. 

Her remaining friends were certainly a balm, and she wouldn’t trade them for the world, but none of them were him. She’d never filled that spot at her side. Couldn’t fill it. Nothing and no one else fit there.

But she also couldn’t ask him back. He was the king of Almyra now, fulfilling everything he’d wanted and worked for and talked about with stars in his eyes - and Byleth could never begrudge him his lofty and admirable goals. Never. Instead, she’d had to accept the possibility that the grand arc of his ambitions no longer included her in its trajectory.

She sprawled out sideways on her bed, letting the warring emotions flood her body. Maybe this was good for her. Maybe, like the fever, she just needed to let them run their course. Maybe these were the natural consequences of escapism and denial.

And it wasn’t like she’d be able to get away from herself any time soon.

---

“Of all the - absolutely not,” Lorenz stated, planting himself in the center of the hall that led to Byleth’s bedroom. “There are procedures, Claude. Royal protocol. You know this!”

But Claude had already danced around him, utilizing that foot speed the mages never needed to master. “Come on, Lorenz, I’m not some Srengan diplomat - we’ve all seen each other covered in mud and guts. What’s a little illness between friends?”

To his credit, Lorenz didn’t ask how Claude had come by that knowledge. Nor were his protestations very vigorous, as if the man had foreseen this exact scenario - and for that, Claude was proud of him. 

That pride wouldn’t keep him from his goal, however. He’d saddled up his wyvern as soon as the words “queen” and “sick” had left his spymaster’s mouth.

“She’s not well. You’ll be interrupting her convalescence - Claude,” Lorenz said sternly, holding his friend by the elbow and fixing him with a soul-searching gaze. “She cannot receive visitors in this state. What’s gotten into you?”

For an instant, Claude’s happy-go-lucky mask slipped. He’d been too pushy, so much so that even Lorenz got a glimpse of the panic underneath - the cold terror that had driven him across the continent and still gripped his heart. He knew it wouldn’t let up until he could confirm Byleth’s condition.

But he was a consummate faker, and so the mask slotted deftly back into place. “Why don’t you go ask her, hmm? I’m sure she’ll be positively overjoyed.”

---

When Lorenz walked in, Byleth was still in the same position, all spread out and despondent. 

“How are you feeling, Your Majesty?” he asked pointedly, and his use of her title - coupled with his formal position near the door - should have clued her in to what he was really asking, but Byleth was far too addled for nuance.

She tilted her head in his direction and flatly, shamelessly said, “Fine.”

Lorenz’s disciplined expression soured a fraction. “Well, that is wonderful news -” his ironic lilt suggested that this news was anything but wonderful, “- because you have a visitor.”

He stepped back to clear the doorway, giving Byleth a look that said she deserved everything that was about to happen. “May I present King Khalid ibn Riegan of Almyra.”

Claude poked his head in much too casually for Lorenz’s theatrical introduction. “Byleth! I brought you some -”

He paused, staring at her depressed-starfish pose. Byleth, in the blink of an eye, sobered completely and experienced all the stages of grief in quick succession.

“- fruit,” Claude finished lamely. Behind him, Lorenz pinched the bridge of his nose.

---

“Claude,” Byleth intoned, dredging up her ‘serious teacher’ voice for the occasion. She’d bathed and changed her clothes since his impromptu arrival - Byleth had never possessed a single modest bone in her body, but, again, he just incomprehensibly brought it out in her - and now she sat on the edge of her bed while he occupied the bedside armchair.

“It was so nice of you to drop in,” she continued, folding her arms across her chest.

Claude laughed anxiously, holding a woven basket full of fruit in his lap half like a shield and half like an offering to an angry deity. “Okay, why do I get the feeling you’re mad at me?”

“I’m not mad at you,” Byleth said icily. It wasn’t a lie; it was more like she was mad around him - mad at the space surrounding his stupid, handsome head - mad that he’d shown up, as if summoned, right when she was feeling so sorry for herself about him.

But that was far too complicated to explain, so instead she asked, “What’s your business in the city?”

He brightened a bit, perhaps relieved to divert the topic. “Thought I’d tour the Goldroad - see what travel is really like there outside the official inspection dates.”

Byleth cocked her head to the side, staring out her west-facing window. He referred to the winding trade route that now spanned the Throat, starting at the Locket and ending at a similarly sized fort across the border in Almyra - but that was over a day’s travel from Derdriu.

Following the path of her eyes, Claude went on quickly, “And, you know, I was in the area, so why not visit my very best friend?”

She wasn’t sure she’d classify a seventeen hour wyvern flight as ‘in the area.’ Byleth narrowed her eyes, looking from his rigid smile, to his posture, to the basket he carried, then back to his face, waiting for the actual answer.

“- All right,” he confessed, exhaling deeply. “My spies said you were sick, so I came to check on you - how are you still so good at that?”

She smiled despite herself and pointed at the basket, which he promptly handed over. Popping a dried date into her mouth, she asked coyly, “At what?”

Claude laughed heartily, reaching over to get one for himself, and that simple action propelled them effortlessly into a comfortable, familiar rhythm, dispelling their outer veneers of royalty. 

They traded stories about travel, about new friends, about insufferable opposition; Claude told her about one of his subordinate satraps - which served a similar function to Byleth’s ministers, but with more concentrated local authority - who had threatened to raise an army in his territory over the price of grain, and then panicked when Claude had called his bluff and negotiated a lower price.

(“Did he even have an army?” she asked, completely absorbed in the story and eating sour cherries by the handful.

Claude, with a wide, gleeful grin, replied, “Not a chance.”)

In return, Byleth told him about last year’s failed rebellion in eastern Faerghus, in which a group of Blaiddyd royalists had tried to rally the region’s former aristocracy under the banner of House Fraldarius - and how Felix himself had ridden out to personally disband them.

(“Oof. Embarrassing,” Claude commented, making a face like someone had punched him in the gut. “What did he say to make them listen?”

Byleth snorted and modulated her voice to match the prickly swordsman’s. “‘This is not happening. Leave.’”)

As the afternoon wore on, servants brought in tea service and then dinner - and Byleth’s temporary surge in vitality upon seeing her dear friend started to fade, replaced by the fever-aches she’d come to know so well. Her movements grew slower and her answers shorter, overcast by brain fog.

Claude watched this change in her with considerable worry, helping her back under her blankets after they’d finished eating and re-situating the pillows around her head.

“Oh, stop it,” she chided, swatting away his hands. “I’m not completely helpless.”

He backed off, smiling easily, but stayed within range to aid her again if needed. “I don’t know about that,” he teased. “You know what they say about people who catch colds in the summer.”

“It’s spring,” she insisted, wrinkling her nose, but he didn’t laugh. In fact, there were no traces of mirth left anywhere on his face.

Byleth sat up straighter. “Claude, it’s only harvest fever. Marianne said it should clear up in a few days.”

He dropped back into his chair, resting his elbows on his knees so he could bridge part of the gap. “But what if it’s not, though?”

A nearby Church of Seiros’s evening bells rang out across the palace grounds. The brassy sounds changed with each echo, reaching her bedchamber as ghostly distortions.

“What, you think Marianne got it wrong?” Byleth asked, pulling her blanket up subconsciously.

“No, just -” Claude ran a hand back through his hair, pushing it even further out of its usual style, “- what if it’s related to...whatever Sothis did to you after the siege?”

He’d spoken so quietly that Byleth had to lean forward and slow her own breath in order to hear it. The concern in his tone - the restraint in his clasped hands; the uncertainty in his eyes - made her take a second pass over everything.

She no longer saw a casual check-in made by a concerned friend. Claude had traveled here with speed and intent, and now she knew why; just like their parting words at Garreg Mach had stuck with her, her long and mysterious slumber had probably stuck with him.

(The realization, while illuminating, didn’t hit her as hard as it should have. She thought some version of that truth, formless and undefined, must have been swimming around in the back of her mind for a while. It explained so succinctly why Marianne had insisted on treating Byleth herself, and why Lorenz stood vigil so often outside her room, even though the two had comparably little free time.)

Now that she thought about it, the long-term consequences of merging with a goddess should probably be a bigger concern of hers, too.

“I haven’t heard Sothis’s voice, nor felt her presence, in six years,” Byleth explained calmly, striving for an affect that would put him at ease. “And I’ve been in perfect health, besides.”

Claude gave her a long, lingering look - one that took in not only her face, but her long, mint-green braid and her customary wardrobe, unchanged from her days at the monastery - as if he wanted to commit her current state to memory. Byleth returned it with a confused frown, ready to comment on the odd behavior, but then his usual smile returned in a flash.

“You’re right,” he acquiesced with a little shrug, standing and straightening his riding harness. “It’s probably nothing serious. A few days, you said?”

Byleth’s confusion skewed into suspicion. Claude never let anything go that easily. “Yeah,” she answered slowly, searching his face for signs of duplicity. “Marianne said I’m already over the worst of it.”

“That’s great,” Claude enthused in the exact manner he’d use to win over his enemies, and Byleth’s misgivings quadrupled. “You should get some rest. I’ll see you in the morning.”

He was out the door in a flourish of his royal half-cape, paying no mind to the official etiquette of departure. (Byleth didn’t care about such things, but Lorenz was surely fuming about it in the hall.)

She let herself fall, warily, back onto her bed, pondering what Claude could possibly be up to - because he was up to something. It was only after she’d started to drift off, her head nestled warmly in one of about a dozen pillows, that the implications of his parting words struck her.

---

Ignatz rushed down the administerial wing’s main corridor, clutching a stack of accounting ledgers in one arm and several sheaves of operational business licenses in the other. Sunlight was just starting to peek through the hall’s windows, painting slowly elongating bars of yellow on the opposite walls; nobody would be in their offices yet, but if he could deliver his cargo before breakfast, he’d be able to get a head start on his own day’s work -

Thus distracted, he pushed his slipping glasses back up the bridge of his nose - using an occupied hand. Fifty business licenses, previously sorted alphabetically and geographically, drifted to the ground in a fluttering cloud of failure.

“Oh, no,” Ignatz muttered, dropping to his knees and gathering up the papers as best as he could without dropping the ledgers. If he didn’t deliver his cargo before breakfast, that would delay all of his tasks by at least an hour, thereby pushing back tomorrow’s tasks as well, to say nothing of his meeting with the merchants’ guild - 

A head of shaggy brown hair and a pair of leather-gloved hands bent to organize the papers into a messy but holdable pile, then helped to situate it more snugly in Ignatz’s grasp.

In his haste and immeasurable relief, Ignatz threw a grateful, “Thanks, Claude!” over his shoulder as he resumed his flight down the corridor.

At the threshold of Hilda’s office, though, while balancing both stacks with one hand so he could turn the doorknob, he froze and shouted back the way he’d come, “Claude?!”

---

Instead of the usual morning sounds - like the rustling of Marianne’s skirts or the trundling of a breakfast cart - Byleth woke to singing. It originated somewhere to her right, winding and unhurried, and she knew this gentle melody; Claude had taught it to her during the war.

So he really was still here, then. He’d really stayed. 

She opened her eyes just a hair, hoping for a chance to observe him before he noticed that she was awake.

It was still early. All the curtains were tied back and the windows cracked, letting in pale, diffused light and a sea-salt breeze off the bay. Claude stood at her personal writing desk, which Marianne had turned into a makeshift apothecary, weighing a small pile of freshly ground coriander. He was dressed more casually today, having discarded his courtly attire and riding leathers in favor of a belted Almyran-style tunic; his hair was bound in a simple but flattering tie at the nape of his neck.

Byleth watched him work - watched him thoughtfully consider the ratio of coriander to ginger to water, his hand hovering over each as he deliberated. All the while he sang that soft tune, so beautifully laden with memory and affection. 

When he’d finally settled on a mixture, he reached into a pouch at his belt and uncorked a vial of honey, adding a spoonful to the mug. She tried her best to hold it in, but a tiny, breathless laugh escaped her; that rich wildflower honey was a signature of Claude’s home-brews - a sweetener to make his questionable concoctions more palatable.

He jumped and whirled at the sound, his cheeks darkening somewhat at being caught unawares, but Byleth just shook her head slowly, reassuringly, and hummed the next few bars of his song. At once, his embarrassment morphed into a wide, slanted smile, and he turned back to put the finishing touches on his creation.

“What are you still doing here?” Byleth asked, pushing herself up to a sitting position. Her hair must have been a mess, but she had to settle for a quick smooth-down.

Claude chuckled and sat on the edge of her bed, holding out the mug of steaming medicinal tea. “Really? No ‘Good morning, Claude, and thank you for taking such good care of me?’”

She took the cup and shot him a faux-scowl. “Who’s running your country, though?”

“Oh, it basically runs itself.” He waved a flippant hand, staring out a window in the direction of the Throat. “Our scholars say, ‘A king is a great ship’s rudder.’ It just so happens that my ‘great ship’ has a good heading right now.”

Byleth regarded him doubtfully. She knew this proverb, and its wisdom was definitely not intended to excuse literal flights of fancy.

“What?” he asked, rolling his head to the side playfully. “If anything happens, Nader knows where I am. Besides, aren’t you happy to see me?”

Her stern facade - only performative, anyway, since Claude never failed to disarm her - softened. “I’m always happy to see you,” she said quietly, hiding her vulnerability with a big sip from her mug. (It was delicious, of course, after being assembled so skillfully.)

The curious look he gave her in response lasted a little too long, probed a little too deep for comfort, so she followed it up with a nervous, “Where’s - where’s Marianne?”

Claude, ever-insightful, let the moment pass without remark. “She allowed me to perform her caretaking duties in exchange for a little, ah...discretion...on my part.”

That was easy to imagine. Her ministers had enough on their legislative plates without the obligatory fanfare that would accompany an ‘official’ royal visitation - so the last thing they needed was King Khalid, the former leader of the Alliance, showing his highly recognizable face all over Derdriu.

“We’re both locked up, then,” Byleth said plainly. That explained his wardrobe; a casual observer might think him no more than a member of the staff. As long as he didn’t linger in unfamiliar company, he could move freely about the palace.

“Yep.” Claude smiled contentedly, like he’d gotten the best possible end of this deal. (Byleth begged to disagree.)

In a comically professional, woefully unconvincing physician’s voice, he asked, “So, how are you feeling today, my liege?”

Byleth choked on a sip of her tea, cough-laughing and beating her chest to clear her airways. “Much better, doctor,” she spluttered, setting down her mug to prevent any spasm-related accidents. It was true; her head and body aches had been fading with each passing day, and the fever was low enough that she didn’t feel like a boiling crab leg anymore.

“Good, good,” he mused, looking far too pleased with himself. “Then what do you say to a bit of chess on the balcony?”

She gave her sternum a few more good thumps to really get all the spicy ginger out of her lungs, using the extra time to examine Claude more closely. He knew he couldn’t beat her at chess; what was this about? And was it related to - to whatever inscrutable scheme he was currently enacting?

“Sure,” she said, knowing he wouldn’t give up his plans if asked. (Not until the most dramatically poignant moment, anyway.) If she was going to figure it out on her own, she’d need more opportunities for candid observation, and chess should do nicely.

His face split into a grin immediately. “I saw a board in Lorenz’s office. Meet you back here after lunch?”

“Yeah, it’s a date,” she agreed lightly, and didn’t miss the way it tripped him up on the way out. 

---

“You’re still here,” Lorenz observed with the same sort of weary derision one might direct at a persistent rug stain. He stood in the doorway to his office, holding a tea tray and projecting an aura of disappointment.

Claude, who was currently inside said office and in the midst of burgling a marble chess board, hastily clicked all its pieces back down and clasped his hands behind his back. “I am! Very astute of you to notice.”

Lorenz’s eyes flicked pointedly from his uninvited guest to his now-askew board, then he calmly strode around both to reach his polished mahogany desk. “Well, then. Would you join me for tea, Your Majesty?”

The way he gestured to the opposite chair spoke clearly of interrogation, but Claude sat anyway. It wouldn’t be polite to steal a man’s gaming paraphernalia and refuse his company.

“Why, thank you, Minister,” he answered, exaggerating his friend’s formal air, “we are simply delighted by your invitation.”

Lorenz’s poker face had improved over the years, but Claude still caught the subtle tightening of a jaw and the slightest arch of a brow; dead giveaways that he’d still snap at a piece of bait like a Brigidian piranha. Good to know.

“All right,” Lorenz said, clipped, like he’d come to a decision at the end of a long internal debate. “What are you doing here, Claude?”

Claude blinked, taken aback by the suddenness of the question. “Uh, well, Marianne and I -”

“I quite understand the generous arrangement which Marianne has afforded you,” Lorenz cut in quickly, pouring out two cups of tea. He handed one over the desk with the gravitas of a commander handing down orders. “What, precisely, are you here to do?”

Faking affrontation would be a moot point here, Claude thought. Lorenz was chasing down a specific answer, and from the set of his brow, he’d probably figured out most of it.

And that was fair. Despite their rocky interactions, Lorenz was one of the few people that Claude would say he trusted, and he knew that Lorenz felt the same (even though he had a peculiar way of showing it).

However, while Lorenz looked confident in the answer to his question, Claude didn’t even know where to start. How could he sum up this whirlwind?

Should he begin with the primal fear of hearing that Byleth had collapsed? With the breakneck flight to Derdriu, imagining all the worst possibilities in his head? (The mild shock in her eyes as she toppled backward into the chasm; her ensuing five-year absence, silent and absolute.)

Or at the boundless relief - the sheer, joyful knowledge that she had not, in fact, been re-afflicted with Sothis’s ancient sleeping sickness?

Or, should he skip straight to the certainty that he wouldn’t survive another such scare, and the unwillingness to be apart from her for even a second more, political repercussions be damned? 

In the end, holding a steaming, fragrant cup of bergamot, Claude - in one of only a handful of occasions thus far in his life - couldn’t find the right words.

Luckily, Lorenz, who must have witnessed his friend’s rapid expression shifts, found one instead. Gently, and with more sympathy than expected, he asked, “Still?”

Ah, so he had figured it out.

Claude raised his teacup in a silent toast. “Still,” he confirmed, then downed it in one gulp.

“Hm.” Lorenz paused to serve out refills and scones, and Claude knew exactly what his friend was remembering.

(For five years during the war, Claude had periodically returned to Garreg Mach, even though everyone else had given up the search for Byleth. As the visits persisted in the face of increasing danger, one by one, and with varying levels of understanding and acceptance, his friends had all come to the same conclusion: their leader was in love with their former professor.)

“I can’t say that I’m surprised,” Lorenz said curtly, but not unkindly. “You have a plan, then? - Oh, what am I saying? Of course you do. The Master Tactician wouldn’t have shown up without a plan.”

Claude, who had been trying to decide if Lorenz was mocking him or not, visibly fumbled his cranberry scone at that final comment.

Instantaneously, Lorenz’s face went from invested concern to mortification. “Goddess above - you don’t have a plan.”

Claude didn’t have the heart to say that his “plans” often sprung from gut feelings like this; that, very often, he was building a bridge to his goals and walking it simultaneously, trusting that there would be another plank when he reached back for one.

In this particular instance, his bridge took the form of an impromptu and extended stay at the palace while he figured out the world’s most diplomatically sensitive marriage proposal. He wanted to tell Lorenz that, actually, he had several possible scaffolds in place, he just hadn’t chosen one yet - but Claude could see the foundational flaws in all of them, and still hovered at the juncture, unsure where to lay the next plank.

“- No, I don’t,” he finally admitted, steepling his fingers on the desk. “I’m taking suggestions, though, if you have any?”

Lorenz took a slow, calculated sip of his tea, giving Claude one of his patented ‘how did you manage to become the leader of anything’ looks. “Marianne assures me that Byleth will recover in a matter of days -”

“I know,” Claude interjected miserably. His timetable was tragically inadequate.

“- And, while your presence here is temporarily acceptable on the basis of friendship, it will become much harder to justify after the palace returns to its normal operations -”

“I know, Lorenz,” Claude said, letting his forehead fall onto the points of his fingers. The pain, he thought, was well-deserved. “Sheesh, you don’t have to rub my nose in it…”

Lorenz laughed softly. “Apologies. I’m simply savoring the moment; it isn’t often you need my strategic input.”

With his face downturned and concealed, Claude grimaced. He supposed he’d deserved that, too.

“But,” Lorenz went on, “I do have a suggestion. Given your limited available time and lack of direction, we should enlist outside support.”

Claude raised his head incredulously. “Your solution is to have more people laugh at me?”

“Yes. Hilda and Marianne, to be precise.” Lorenz smirked and crossed his legs. “And they won’t laugh - in fact, Hilda will be delighted.”

His tone of voice was too amused for the answer to be anything good, but Claude still asked cautiously, “Why?”

“Oh, because I owe her quite a bit of gold, naturally - I thought it would take you and Byleth far longer to act on your feelings, and my money was on her acting first.”

---

Byleth loved the balcony off her bedchamber. It was on the same side of the palace as the throne room, only higher, with a wider perspective of the canal below and a down-angle view of the opposite block. Sitting on it and looking out, with the stone railing acting as an artificial horizon, she really felt as if she were floating above Derdriu; the city sprawled off endlessly to her right, while its great network of canals spilled into the bay on her left, all set in miniature from this height.

A tangy sea breeze teased through her hair, rustling the many and vibrant plants - in pots, hanging from the roof, and mounted in window boxes - that scattered the area. They were in perfect health, she noticed, despite the rarity of her visits, and Byleth wondered if it was some palace staffer’s entire job to maintain luxurious spaces like these, even though some busy official might seldom use them. 

She privately resolved to appreciate the balcony more often.

It didn’t take long for Claude to come whistling through her chambers, bearing a chess board like a server delivering a high-end meal. He put it down on a small, circular table where Byleth’s own board was already set up, then carefully aligned their edges to create a double-long playing field.

(They’d invented this game early on at Garreg Mach after discovering that neither of them felt challenged enough by the base rules. It had gone through several name changes before they’d agreed to just keep the original; after all, if either of them ever mentioned the game to the other, they both understood which (clearly superior) version was being referenced.)

“So, you managed to get Lorenz to part with it,” Byleth commented as he arranged his pieces and sat down opposite her. “What’d it cost you?”

Claude made a face like he’d just licked a lemon. “Oh, nothing much. Just my reputation and dignity.” He laughed it off, but there was a distinct, hollow ring of truth to his words. “Anyway. Sixty-point game?”

She cocked her head, intrigued. Their special rules allowed for custom “armies” to be built from the standard chess units, each with an individual point cost. Byleth personally liked to run an army without pawns - high risk, high reward (usually reward).

“Not forty?” she asked mildly, picking out her standard array plus an extra frontline of knights. Claude would regret handing her such an aggressive opener. “Are you trying out a new strategy?”

He grinned and laid out his own army, which seemed to focus around his sovereigns - and, as usual, contained a robust line-and-a-half of pawns. What he sacrificed in speed, he made up for in defensive surface area.

“I am. I think you’ll really like this one,” he said, playing his first (highly predictable) move. 

That was the thing about Claude, though. Byleth thought his move was predictable right now, at the beginning, but he was a highly intelligent improviser. The long field between armies meant that most of the game was based on ranged path speculation. 

Was a cluster of pieces actually heading toward her left flank, or would it divert to threaten other units at the last second? She’d have to put a metaphorical shield in place for the first possibility, and a sword for the other - and with Claude, it was impossible to tell ahead of time which he would actually pick. 

But, despite the chaos his playstyle caused, its spontaneity was also what made him such a compelling opponent. The tactical element never got stale.

“It’s bound to be more exciting than your rook phalanx idea,” Byleth teased, starting her knights off on their long journey.

Claude gasped like she’d just insulted his mother. “Hey, that was not my fault - it was a good attack pattern in theory!”

She made a tiny sound of agreement to humor him, but remained privately unconvinced.

As usual, they lapsed into silence for the first phase of the game, each trying to dissect the other’s overall strategy. Of course, at this stage, it was largely conjecture; there would be many, many reactive and counter-reactive moves before any two units actually engaged.

The quiet was nice, though. Ships’ bells echoed in from the piers, mingling with street noise rabble and the shrill cries of bay gulls. There was no one to demand her ear or her time - a rare commodity. She could tell Claude enjoyed it, too, by his easy smiles and relaxed posture.

Why had they ever stopped doing this? It dawned on Byleth that it had been years since their last game.

“- Hey, Claude,” she said at the thirty-turn mark.

He didn’t look up from his spread. “Hm?” “What in the world are you doing?”

His green eyes, which had been bouncing between forward pawns, flicked up to her face. “Setting up my midgame?” he half-asked, gesturing to his formation like the answer was obvious. “Why, what are you doing?”

Byleth narrowed her eyes at the board. He’d split his pawns into two staggered ranks with his sovereigns in the middle, like some sort of sandwiched convoy, and the outer ring of mid-tier pieces looked to be guards.

“Your brilliant new strategy is to hand-deliver your king to my army?” she contended, tracing his column’s trek down the board with her hands, then opening them wide, fingers hooked, to mime the pieces being eaten by a sharp-toothed monster.

Claude laughed confidently. “You’ll see. The king and queen together are unstoppable.”

It was certainly an unconventional approach. By virtue of its novelty, it tripped Byleth up several times in the early game - one might even say, around turn sixty, that her opponent had the advantage. But the sheer speed and maneuverability of her knightly vanguard eventually prevailed, and by turn ninety, she had his entire escort block surrounded. 

“Multi-point threat,” Byleth declared, moving in on his rear line. “This was an interesting idea, but I do believe your king is in mortal peril.”

Claude, who’d been standing for the last dozen turns, paced to the other side of the table. (He loved to do that - to see the situation from all angles, like he would in a real conflict. Unfortunately, that expanded perspective could do little for him here.)

“No, I think - listen - he still has his queen.”

Byleth examined the setup again. “Uh-huh, he sure does,” she drawled, trying to understand how that might change their fates.

“I’m just saying,” he went on, crouching so that he could view the board at eye level. “Look how far they’ve already come. Look at all they’ve been through together - it’s not like a little opposition could stop them now, right?”

She crossed her arms, a bewildered smile tugging at her mouth. “Are you seriously trying to Nemesis me right now? My bishops have them both in four.”

Claude gave a frustrated sigh. “No, this isn’t a scheme - well,” he amended, scratching pensively at his chin scruff, “okay, it is a scheme, but -”

I knew it, she thought, vindicated, and grinned accordingly.

“Ugh, forget it.” Claude toppled his king. “You’re right, it was an ill-fated venture that clearly needs outside support.”

Byleth frowned. “What? I didn’t say that.”

He waved his arms like he was dispelling the entire conversation. “Never mind. We’ve still got plenty of light - how about another game?”

---

Later that night, after Byleth and most of the palace had retired, Hilda’s raucous laughter rang out through the entire administerial wing.

“You tried to tell her with chess?!”

She, Claude, Marianne, and Lorenz all sat around a table in one of the meeting rooms, passing around a bottle of strong Faerghan whiskey.

“No wonder she didn’t get it,” Hilda continued, wiping tears from the corners of her eyes (in a delicate manner that spared her makeup). “You know how Byleth is!”

Lorenz refilled his glass, nodding emphatically. “Agreed. Subtlety will get you nowhere in that arena, my friend.”

“I thought it was sweet,” Marianne disclosed quietly.

Claude propped his feet up on an unused chair and dipped his chin gratefully. “Thank you. I also thought it would be sweet. And successful.”

He took a long swig straight from the bottle, much to Hilda’s amusement. “But you were right, Lorenz, okay? So -” he slapped the tabletop in invitation, “- go on. Advise me.”

Perhaps sensing that their friend was already punishing himself enough, no one pushed the teasing any further. Lorenz and Hilda shared a look - one that said they’d already discussed the matter privately - and then everyone got straight down to business.

“First of all, we should discuss the legal ramifications of your union,” Lorenz said, indicating the palace walls. “It’s true that anti-Almyran sentiment has died down greatly since the war, especially here in Leicester, but I fear widespread confusion - how much power would the king of Almyra suddenly have over their territories? Their livelihoods?”

Claude recoiled from the intensity. “Whoa! She hasn’t even said yes - aren’t we getting a little ahead of ourselves, here?”

(In truth, he had the same worries about his own homeland; it wasn’t like xenophobia was exclusive to Fodlan. His current plan - if she agreed - was to introduce her presence like he’d introduced his own: aggressively and unapologetically, with hopes that the Almyran public would regard it with the same eventual respect.)

The other three gave him bland looks.

“You really, honestly think she’ll turn you down?” Hilda asked in angry disbelief.

Claude gritted his teeth. “I don’t know - I mean, that’s Byleth’s whole deal, right? Unbeatable strategist? You never know what she’s thinking?”

“Oh, Claude,” Marianne said, patting him on the arm. “You should have more confidence in yourself.”

Hilda snorted into her tumbler.

“- Regardless, I don’t want to discuss the politics without her. If she says yes,” Claude emphasized with a stern glance around the table. “I have to get to the actual question first, okay? Lorenz. Ideas. Go.”

The man in question raised his eyebrows. “All right - well, Leonie proposed to me during a horseback ride. She’d painted all of her mounted archery targets with one word each, and in order they spelled out a question...oh, it was very romantic,” he said, his tone warming as he spoke. He then promptly cleared his throat. “But, ah, Byleth isn’t in a physical state for riding, hmm?”

Hilda propped her elbows up on the table and cradled her chin in her hands, recounting dreamily, “Marianne took me deep into the forest at night and professed her love under the light of the full moon. How could I have ever said no to that?”

Marianne hid behind her glass, her face beet-red. “I don’t, uhm, think there are any full moons coming up soon, though,” she managed to squeak out.

“Yeah, you have to do something quick.” Hilda pointed at him with her glass. “Let’s see - we already know it can’t involve winning something, so that’s out.”

Claude laughed sarcastically into the bottle.

“A grand display would not be diplomatically feasible, either,” Lorenz added.

Yeah, that made sense, Claude thought. A single plant in the throne room had brought word of Byleth’s illness to him in under three days - and he wasn’t the only one with eyes here. 

“You should do something that’s meaningful to both of you,” Marianne suggested, her face returning to its usual pallid shade. “Something simple but significant. Byleth would appreciate that, I think.”

Simple but significant.

Claude swirled the idea around in his head at the same time he swirled the contents of his bottle. Significant he could do - had been doing - but simple was another story. Maybe that was his problem; maybe he just needed to go back to the basics.

“And don’t get her a ring,” Hilda said. “I never see her wearing jewelry unless the tailors insist.”

He chewed on all of that, taking slow, measured sips of whiskey. Something meaningful to both him and to Byleth - something memorable, but uncomplicated. No rings, he added mentally. That was fine; as an archer, he disliked having obstructions around his hands, anyway. (And while they were out here breaking traditions, who cared if it was one or one hundred?)

“Hey,” he began, doing some quick calculations around wyverns’ seasonal nesting habits. “How quickly could I get something down the Goldroad?”

Lorenz’s brows knit together. “From the capital to here, I presume, and with the use of your royal seal? Within the week. Why? What do you need?”

Claude grinned, luxuriating in the rush of a good plan coming together. “All right, listen to this -”

---

If she could’ve had her way, Byleth would have chosen to remain in those last days of her fever forever. Her symptoms were mild and unobtrusive, she didn’t have to do any paperwork, and Claude was there; simply put, it was the ideal situation.

They spent four whole days together playing games, mixing various drinks, going for (short and supervised) walks around the garden, and reminiscing about old times - but Marianne’s medicines were effective and all things, even good things, must end.

On the morning of the fifth day, she knew she was cured. Her mind was clear and her body strong, if a little feeble from the bed rest. Everyone else must have been on the same page, too, because Marianne came to greet her after breakfast in Claude’s stead.

“So that’s the end of the arrangement, then?” Byleth asked, trying to keep her voice even and normal.

Marianne smiled softly and pressed the back of her hand to Byleth’s forehead. “Yes. Claude will be returning home this evening, as I’m sure he has many decisions waiting for him there.”

That makes two of us, Byleth thought dejectedly.

“Your temperature is perfectly normal,” Marianne reported. “Do you have any lingering fatigue? Dizziness?”

“Nope. Nothing,” Byleth said, heaving a reluctant sigh. “I suppose I should head down to the audience chambers.”

She really, truly hadn’t meant to sound like a pouting toddler bound for punishment, but that was exactly how it had come out.

Marianne laughed. “Yes, you should - tomorrow.” To answer Byleth’s questioning stare, she pointed across the room. “I think you’ll be too busy today.”

Right on cue, something large impacted outside the windows with a dull, cracking thud. Without thinking, Byleth whirled, ready for some sort of threat - (her sword belt was hanging next to her bed, easily accessible for such emergencies) - but it was only Claude on the balcony.

Rather, it was his massive white wyvern, Sahar. She’d perched on the railing, her sharp claws gouging long scrapes in the stone, and he was mounted on her back.

“Don’t worry, I’ll pay for that!” he called, cupping his hands around his mouth. “Good morning! Care for a ride?”

Byleth burst out in surprised laughter, too endeared to be mad about the property damage. She looked back, confused and curious, but Marianne just shook her head.

“Go,” she said, gesturing outward. “Have fun. You have my official medical clearance.”

That was all the permission Byleth needed to throw open the doors and run out, barefoot and grinning, to leap at Sahar’s saddle. The seaside wind blasted her hair back and Claude opened his arms for her arrival, bracing in his stirrups to absorb the impact.

They’d performed this maneuver many times during the war; since Byleth preferred to do her fighting on foot, Claude would often sweep down to reposition her more quickly. Even after five years without practice, they executed the pick-up without a hitch: she landed knees-first at the front of the saddle and Claude anchored her, wrapping both arms around her midsection.

In combat, the move had been utilitarian - the fastest way to mount up. Right now, though, it felt more intimate; with no armor, no weapons, and no urgency, they were basically just hugging on wyvern-back.

Byleth quickly turned herself around, hoping he hadn’t seen the blush rising up her neck. 

“That eager to get out of there, huh?” he teased, helping her get situated.

She rolled her eyes and cinched a pair of flight straps around her waist. The fit was snugly familiar, securing her to both the saddle and her fellow rider.

“You know the answer to that,” she replied, glancing down the tall outer walls of the palace. A few people in the canal-side gardens had looked up at the spectacle; they were too far away to see much detail, but this was clearly the queen’s bedchamber. “This isn’t the most discreet escape, is it?”

Claude scoffed, turning his mount skyward with a nudge. “Oh, it’s fine. Not many Fodlanese know about the white wyvern thing. Besides,” he said mischievously, testing the knots on her straps, “didn’t Marianne tell you? Our arrangement is done.”

With that, they were off. Sahar spread her massive wings - leathery and smooth, delicate and powerful all at once - to catch the current, pushing herself off into it and raining stone chips and dust in her wake.

Byleth yelped at the sudden lurch, falling back against Claude, who gladly supported her while they gained rapid altitude in the midday sky. Sahar’s rhythmic wing beats took them high above the notice of anyone in the city, down the palace’s canal and out into the bay.

She watched it all fall away as they climbed. The great trade ships shrank to the sizes of beetles in their lanes; the flocks of gulls that chased them, to mere specks. The ocean itself became an undulating cobalt tapestry, shot through with threads of white and gray.

When they leveled off and the wind died down in their ears, Claude spoke, “Remember when I taught you to fly?”

A series of images flashed in her mind: wrangling a saddle onto an impatient wyvern; losing straps and buckles under flapping wings; falling before she could even take off - so, so much falling.

“I remember when you tried to, sure,” she said, cringing at the memories. Even Leonie, who never gave up on anything, had declared Byleth’s flying skills unsalvageable. “Why?”

Claude laughed a little too hard, like he was recalling the very same foibles. “Nah. You just needed more time - we couldn’t spare any in the war. But now?”

“Are you suggesting,” Byleth said, throwing him a flat look over her shoulder, “that I fall on my ass repeatedly in front of the entire court? It was bad enough when it was just jeering students.”

“No, no, my point is -” Claude directed her attention back to their view of the bay, “- you could come out here whenever you wanted. Get away from it all.”

So he’d noticed her restlessness. Well, of course he did, Byleth admonished herself. He’s Claude.

“That would be...nice,” she admitted, giving him a half-smile. “It’s different, isn’t it? Leading during peacetime?”

He relaxed his hold on the reins and let Sahar go where she would in the open sky; she took full advantage of the freedom, floating into various air currents and skirting low, wispy clouds.

“Yeah, it is.” Claude’s tone was sober and diminished. He prodded gently, “How have you really been, Bee?”

The nickname brought unexpected tears to her eyes; he hadn’t used it since they parted at Garreg Mach five years ago. She’d forgotten how fond and welcoming it sounded - how warm - coming from his mouth.

Byleth faced straight ahead, glad he couldn’t see her expression. It must have been just as regretful and conflicted as her mind.

“I never expected to be here,” she murmured, and in her heart she finished the thought: without you. Her voice barely carried over the wind, but she knew Claude had heard it; he scooted closer to her in the saddle, whether consciously or not. “Everyone around me is so certain of their place, and I’m...not.”

Her thoughts strayed to Edelgard and Dimitri, to their twin drives that - even misguided and corrupted as they were - strove for a better world at their roots. Byleth, who held no grand vision for the future, couldn’t help but feel unfit for the mantles they’d left behind.

(Truthfully, that was one of many reasons why Derdriu was her favorite capital, and spring her favorite season. Fhirdiad’s and Enbarr’s thrones still felt like someone else’s seats to her - someone else’s dreams.)

“I don’t think anyone expected to be where they are now,” Claude said, matching her volume. When Byleth shot him another ‘quit your bullshit’ look, he chuckled and corrected himself, “Okay. Maybe I did, but nobody else did.”

“Lorenz thought he’d be leading the Alliance, hitched to some noble lady. Hilda didn’t think she’d be doing anything.” Claude put up one finger for each example. “Marianne wanted to keep her head down. Ignatz thought he’d be barred from his passions.”

He rested his chin on the top of Byleth’s head. “Expectations and reality don’t always match up. Are you unhappy with where you are, Your Majesty?”

I’m exceedingly happy where I am, she thought, easing herself back to rest against him. And that’s the problem.

“No,” she answered simply. “I’m not.”

Claude, perhaps sensing the dishonesty in her words, hummed doubtfully. The sound rumbled deep in her chest. “Well - if you ever were unhappy, you know I’d help, right? No matter what it was.”

“I know,” she said, tilting her head to smile up at him. “And - I think you’re right.”

He shifted to accommodate her better, crossing his arms over her lap to grip the saddlehorn. “Oh? About expectations?”

“No, about flying.” She settled into their pseudo-embrace, resolving to enjoy it while it lasted. “I should learn.”

Claude made a small, happy noise in his throat. “I’ll teach you. It’ll be great.”

They drifted down the Edmund coastline in a comfortable quiet after that. If not for the Throat looming in the distance - a constant reminder of the hourglass hanging over their flight - Byleth would’ve been perfectly content. The longer they went, the more she wished he would just keep flying straight over the mountains - but the sun continued on its inexorable path through the heavens, and all things, even good things, must end.

Still, though, when he wheeled them around and began the journey back, Byleth thought she detected a resonant note of hesitation in him.

By the time they’d reached the bay of Derdriu, the sun hung low and the sky had turned to vibrant oranges and indigos; the frothy crests of waves, the metal fixtures on ships’ masts, and even the scaly tips of Sahar’s wings shone golden in the rich evening light. 

The palace’s white marble exterior reflected sunset-colors onto the streets and canal below. In any other instance, she’d find it beautiful, but right now it was no different than the Throat: an ominous, prohibitive barrier.

Claude guided Sahar to the balcony again, wincing as her claws ground fresh holes into the railing.

“- I’ll pay for that,” he reiterated sheepishly, then hopped down to offer Byleth a hand.

She took it, letting him assume her weight while she scrambled much less gracefully to the ground. The stone tiles, quickly cooling with the onset of night, chilled her bare feet on contact; she shivered, looking back wistfully at the evening sky. 

When she turned around again, Claude was watching her intently. Unreadably. 

“Did you enjoy the ride?” he asked.

“I did. Thank you.” She tried to match his tone, to hide her sadness - to appreciate the time they’d had together instead of mourning its conclusion. “I suppose you need to get going, then?”

“Mm, not quite yet,” he replied with a secretive smile, wrapping Sahar’s reins around her saddlehorn. He muttered a phrase to her in Almyran, to which the great wyvern nuzzled into his hand and took off in the direction of the aviary.

“Let’s get you warmed up, first.” He strode past her to the open balcony doors, jerking his head toward it encouragingly when she didn’t immediately follow. “Come on, it’s okay - I have time.”

Byleth trailed after him, instantly suspicious. He was using his ‘false sense of security’ voice again, like he had on the first night. “Claude, what are you planning?” she called out warily, stepping into her darkened bedchamber.

A spark struck in the hearth, setting the tinder inside ablaze and silhouetting Claude in a red-orange halo. “Why do I have to be planning something?” he countered, overly defensive, as he stoked the fire. “- You looked cold, is all.”

She gave him a skeptical once-over, then turned to grab a cloak from her wardrobe - and there on her dresser, shining in the firelight, was a lacquered ebony box the length of her arm.

It was decorated with glittering gold leaf along its edges, clearly meant to hold something valuable. Byleth whipped around to fix Claude with an accusing glare, but he just shrugged innocently and motioned for her to open it.

He had a long history of bequeathing strange gifts to his friends, always seeming to enjoy the reactions a little too much. Byleth wasn’t aware of any current holidays, though, either in Fodlan or Almyra.

She sighed and lifted the lid. “I swear, if this is another apron -” 

The breath caught in her throat. It most definitely was not an apron.

Nestled in a bed of burgundy velvet, only slightly smaller than the box itself, laid a porcelain-white wyvern egg dotted with flecks of pearlescent ivory. 

This time when she glanced back, it was in affectionate curiosity. “So this is why you were pushing flight training,” she said, gingerly touching the warm shell. “But - aren’t white wyverns only given to members of the royal family?”

Claude moved to stand next to her, drained of all his earlier mirth and bravado. In its place was a tense energy she hadn’t sensed in him since they’d last met at the Goddess Tower.

“Well, yeah, that’s the idea,” he said with a nervous laugh. “I was hoping you’d, uh, well - I wanted to ask you, since -”

He stopped and grunted, looking disgusted with himself. “Let me start over.”

Byleth nodded, absolutely baffled. What in Sothis’s name was he trying to say?

Claude ran a hand back through his hair and took a deep, steadying breath. “We both didn’t have the best experiences with family growing up. I mean, you had Jeralt and I had my mom, and they were great, but other than that it was…”

“Lonely,” she offered. They’d discussed their respective childhoods many times before - commiserated in the shared wounds of alienation and neglect.

Delicately, he took her hand and squeezed it. “Yeah. Lonely. And if I’m reading this correctly, so were the last five years, right?”

Byleth swallowed a lump in her throat and nodded again.

“Yeah,” Claude repeated softly. “For me, too. So, I thought - maybe neither of us has to be lonely anymore.”

His meaning dawned on her like a sunrise, blooming heat high in her cheeks. Her embarrassment fueled his, in turn, and they were left staring at one another in stunned silence; from an outside perspective, they must have looked - fittingly - like a pair of panicked deer.

“Claude,” she pronounced thickly, needing to verify her theory, “are you asking me to…?”

“Mhm,” he confirmed, a portion of his usual confidence flickering back to life in his smile. He tipped her chin upward with his index finger. “I want to be your family. I want you to be my family.”

Byleth had spent the first part of her life without adequate modes of expression. Before meeting Claude, she’d gotten by on curt gestures and a flat affect - and now, in the face of overwhelming emotion, she regressed right back to that state.

All she could do to communicate her answer was to jump and reach for him, just like she was leaping onto his wyvern - and, predictably, protectively, his arms closed around her. Anchored her.

Like always, she thought. A perfect catch.

“Woah - I’ll take that as a yes, then?” Claude asked, tentatively hopeful, laughing and stepping backward from the unexpected force.

Byleth buried her face in his shoulder and nodded, unable to speak; hot tears spilled from her eyes, soaking into Claude’s tunic collar, and her wrists trembled where they were clasped at his neck. Her heart had never beat, yet now it was overflowing, filling her chest with something happy and potent and home that she’d never dared to covet before.

In the glow of the hearth, to the crackling of logs and the faint rush of a sea breeze outside, Claude rocked them back and forth at a measured, soothing pace. He kissed her forehead, her temple, her cheekbone, wiping away her tears with his thumb and whispering in a shaky voice, “It’s okay, Bee. We’re going to be so happy, I promise. I promise.”

---Epilogue---

Lorenz understood the severity of the Airmid flooding - really, he did - but he did not understand why it needed to translate into a six-in-the-morning assembly. Anything the ministers discussed there could be handled just as easily, and with more lucidity, during their regular working hours.

Still, he trudged diligently up the stairs to the meeting rooms. If there were emergency measures to enact, then, by the goddess, he’d see them enacted. The peoples of Hrym and Ordelia had already suffered enough for several lifetimes.

He was just inside the threshold, blinking and stifling a yawn, when he saw them: Byleth and Claude, seated side by side at the head of the meeting table, the former digging into a plate of food and the latter grinning like a madman.

Lorenz’s yawn cut off abruptly; his jaw snapped shut with a click.

“You’re still here,” he grumbled, sliding into a chair on an empty side. “Somehow I doubt this is about the floods.”

Hilda and Marianne, who were sitting opposite him, giggled quietly together, their hands clasped on the tabletop. (Frankly, it made him jealous. Leonie hadn’t wanted to touch the office of royal minister with a ten-foot lance.)

“Nope,” Byleth said, pointing at Claude with her fork. “This is about the legality of our marriage.”

Hilda clapped frantically with excitement. “Congratulations! Ooh, this is going to be the biggest wedding ever - can you imagine the guest list? We’ll be curating it for months.”

“I think I’ll exclude my paternal cousins,” Claude mused. “Just to watch them squirm.”

Marianne nodded. “They deserve it.”

“Wait. Hold.” Lorenz slapped his daily ledger down on the table like a judge calling for order, and it worked just the same. The rabble died down, all eyes turning to him. “First of all: congratulations, you two. You’ve made me a marginally poorer man.”

Hilda snickered triumphantly.

“Second: this is going to be a legislative nightmare - and don’t you tell me differently, Claude von Riegan,” he added, holding up a finger when it looked like Claude would cut in. 

“I’ll abdicate,” Byleth suggested, stabbing into a sausage.

“No -!” all three ministers shouted in unison - even Marianne, who’d also half-stood from her chair, hands braced on the table.

(Meanwhile, Claude simply watched his new fiancee with moon-eyed adoration; Lorenz was sure he’d humor anything she said right now.)

“That - that won’t be necessary,” Lorenz said, clearing his throat and smoothing down his ascot. “I only mean that it will take time and collaboration. Claude, I insist that you stay another week while we draft something for you to take home. I’ll write to Nader.”

Byleth let out a rare exuberant gasp; beside her, Claude glanced down the table and gave Lorenz a sly, conspiratorial wink. 

“- Oh, try to act professionally about this, would you?” he insisted, but an infectious smile was already spreading across his own face. 

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Author’s Notes

candidates for game names:

byleth: better chess (rejected - judgmental)

claude: long chess (rejected - misleading)

hilda: chess 2 (considered but ultimately rejected - legality)

lorenz: tactician’s chess (rejected - boring)

[mischiefandspirits]

The Third Path

Some new ghost hunters have come to town, but are they really ghost hunters, or something else?

When a human dies, there are three paths the freed soul can take. Most are sent straight to the After. However, some stay behind.

“Excuse me, dear girl, but may I have a moment of your time!”

Valerie frowned at the shout and turned her board around to see a Latina woman staring at her with a curious smile. She had knee-length black hair that, alongside her long white dress, swirled around her from her spot on the edge of a skyscraper’s roof.

The ghost hunter immediately dove down towards the woman, holding up her hands. “Woah, hey now. There’s no need for that. Come down from there and we can talk about this.”

The woman frowned, then smiled again as she climbed down and stepped back until there were a good five feet between her and the edge. “Apologies, I did not mean to frighten you. I simply wished to gain your attention. I did not anticipate you taking my position in such a way.”

“Right,” Valerie said slowly dropping down to the roof and banishing her board. “How can I help you?”

The woman hummed, staring at where her board had been before looking up at her.

A shiver went up Valerie’s spine at the neon blue color of the woman’s eyes, but it was washed away a second later by a wave of contentment that filled her.

“My name is Adelaida. I and my people have come to this town to assist with the demonic presence that plagues you.”

Valerie’s eyes widened. “Demonic? You mean the ghosts?”

“Yes, that is the term you use for them, isn’t it?”

“You’re ghost hunters?” she asked cautiously. More ghost hunters wasn’t exactly a bad thing, but only if they were actually helpful. Most of the ghost hunters Valerie has met were absolutely useless while the G.I.W. did more damage than the ghosts. The Fenton’s at least knew what they were doing, even if they tended to be a little trigger happy and often late to the party.

“In a sense. We hoped to gain information on the demons -- or ghosts -- that most commonly plague you. We have already sought out the matriarch and patriarch of the Fenton family as our research painted them as your town’s best hunters and they spoke well of you. As such, we wished to see if you would have any information that might assist us.”

Valerie straightened up with Pride. It was nice that some people appreciated her efforts. She’d never really spoken to the Fentons in her hunting persona -- too worried they’d recognize her -- and everyone else either opposed her because of her fights with Phantom or was Masters, and Masters was one wrong move away from a face full of ecto-ray.

“They did not inform us that you use demonic relics to fight with, however.”

She flinched. She wasn’t exactly happy to be using ghost-made weapons, but she wasn’t going to look a gift horse in the mouth. Her suit was far and away the best of the best and let her keep up with ghosts in ways no other human could. “Well, fight fire with fire and all that.”

“I suppose.”

She frowned at the disgust in Adelaida’s voice. “It’s not that different from the ecto-weapons the Fentons have created.”

“No, but those are distasteful as well.”

“Well, what do you use?” If Adelaida was another one of those people who thought you could fight ghosts with sage and horseshoes, Valerie was taking off without another word. Where did people even get ideas like that?

“My people have access to an energy that is the polar opposite of the energy used by demons, the matter to their antimatter so to speak. It can be quite painful to ghosts and does not burden us with using such horrific devices.”

Valerie felt her annoyance with the woman’s haughtiness growing, but shoved it down in curiosity at the idea of some sort of anti-ectoplasm. “Really? How did you get your hands on something like that? Did your people develop it?”

“In a way. But that is not why I’m here. Tell me, what do you know of the demons that plague this town?”

She shrugged. “Too much to tell. There’s a ghost for every day of the year and they all show up at random. The short of it though is one ghost. Well, two, but Box Ghost is more a nuisance than a threat.”

Adelaida nodded. “The Fenton’s mentioned the box obsessed demon. I suppose the other you referenced is the one who refers to itself as Danny Phantom.”

“Yeah, him.” Valerie scowled. She still wasn’t sure how to feel about the ghost-boy. Every time she considered going back to hunting him, all she could think about was him pleading for her to let him save Dani and him holding out his hands after so she could capture him once more. She thought about the times they’d worked together and how he’d only ever betrayed her by telling her father her secret to keep her from what she knew was a suicide mission.

The woman must have misread her scowl as she said, “Yes, I understand your frustration. The Fenton’s told us much about the hero act the demon uses to gain favor in the town and we agree that its tie to this plane is likely its need for attention. Given its age, it was likely either an unwanted or neglected child or one who hoarded such attention in life, such as a prince or celebrity. It has clearly come to find that displays of kindness are its best bet to gain this attention and should the attention ever wane, it will undoubtedly return to its early acts of vandalism and violence to satisfy its obsession once more.”

Even though she nodded along, Valerie couldn’t help but disagree as she’d done before when she’d heard such things from the Fenton’s. Phantom didn’t like attention, he had run away from his phans and hidden from news copters enough for that to be obvious. Sure, he was a showboat, but he never stuck around after a fight. If Phantom had an obsession -- which Valerie didn’t buy -- it was probably fighting. Or maybe just Amity Park in general. He’d certainly claimed it as his territory, judging by the fact that a few of the ghosts that could be found skulking about often complained about how “Phantom said we could stay!” and would go cry to him if she tried to capture them.

“Is there anything else you could tell us?”

Valerie considered saying something about Masters, but she was hesitant to reveal the human-ghost hybrid. If someone discovered him, how long until they discovered Dani? She wouldn’t be the reason the girl was in danger again. “Careful with Phantom. He’s a lot more powerful than most of the ghosts we see around here and he’s got allies.”

“Allies?”

“Most don’t know it, but Phantom lets some ghosts stick around. He’ll protect them if we come after them, so I wouldn’t put it past them to return the favor if he needed it.”

“Vassals then,” Adelaida hummed. “That could be promising. The Fenton’s did not mention that. Thank you for your assistance. I will inform my people.” She gave a curtsey and turned to leave.

“Would you like some help?”

The woman looked back at her with a smile as she opened to the door to the rooftop entrance. “We have this under control, young one.”

With that, she was gone.

Valerie frowned as she took back to the air. She briefly wondered if she should reach out to Phantom about this before shoving the thought aside. Even if she wasn’t sure about hunting the ghost-boy, she wasn’t going to help him either. And the woman didn’t give her the same creeps as the G.I.W., so it was probably fine. In fact, the woman had felt warm and comforting.

Although it was admittedly kind of weird that she’d called Valerie young when Adelaida looked like she was maybe in her early twenties at best and the suit made people think Valerie was older than her actual sixteen years. Also, there’d been something off with her eyes. Valerie couldn’t place it, but they’d just felt… uncanny.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

“It’s not funny,” Danny muttered, rubbing at his back and scowling at his laughing friend.

“How long until the paint wears off?” Sam chuckled.

“I don’t even know! Young-butt wouldn’t say.”

“What’s going on?” Tucker said, glancing between them as he joined them for their walk home.

“Apparently, Danny forgot to mention that he got ambushed on his way home from his weekend in Olympus,” Sam said, laughter still tinting her voice.

At Tucker’s worried look, Danny elaborated. “Youngblood decided we were going to have a water balloon fight.”

“But instead of water, he filled them with ectoplasmic paint. And now his ghost half is covered in the stuff, even if he transforms.”

“Only my face and hair. Thankfully I was wearing that ceremonial outfit Pandora gave me. I hope she doesn’t want it back before I can figure out how to get the stains out.”

“Ghost OxiClean,” Sam suggested over Tucker’s laughter.

“What color… are… you now?” Tucker asked between chortles.

“A dark purple,” Danny sighed.

Sam pat his head. “Could be worse. You could be red. We’d be forced to make Christmas jokes and then we’d be back to square one with you, Mr. Grinch.”

Danny rolled his eyes and knocked their shoulder together, only to hiss at the pain that shot up his back.

“You okay, dude?” Tucker asked, wiping away tears.

“Yeah, my back just started hurting last night. I thought I’d just pulled something in the fight, but it was even worse this morning. I took some of the pain meds Frostbite gave me, but they wore off.”

“Does your ghost form even have muscles to pull?” Tucker wondered.

“We can head to your house first so we can pick up your pills,” Sam suggested. “It really must be hurting if you actually took them instead of deciding to wait it out.”

It was. It felt like growing pains crossed with the ghost gauntlets, but worse. A throbbing ache that took his breath away with random spikes.

“Thanks.”

They were halfway to his house when Danny’s ghost sense went off and a grey-green arm shot out of an alleyway to drag him in. He braced for a fight, but relaxed slightly when he saw it was Kitty.

She looked rumpled, her hair messed up and her jacket singed with burns littering her skin.

“What’s wrong? Valerie again?”

She shook her head. “I don’t know who attacked us. I couldn’t see them, but I think they were after you. When they captured Johnny and Shadow in a net, I heard one of them say they’d gotten one of Phantom’s vassals, whatever that means.”

“A vassal is someone who is granted land by nobility in return for loyalty, respect, and wartime support,” Sam explained. “It kind of describes the deal you and the others have with Danny, in an archaic way.”

“If you ignore the fact Danny’s not nobility and substitute the loyalty stuff for you guys just not attacking people,” Tucker added.

Kitty’s nose scrunched up at the information, but otherwise ignored it. “Please, you have to help them! We weren’t even doing anything this time!”

Danny gave her an unimpressed look.

“Okay, maybe Johnny destroyed some guy’s car because he was checking me out, but can you blame him.”

“Yes,” Danny said, then sighed. “Fine, but you need to head back to the Ghost Zone as soon as I get your boyfriend out. Try to warn anyone you can on your way. Might be best for everyone to get clear until I figure out what these guys want.”

She agreed immediately and he turned to his friends.

“We’ll be right behind you,” Sam said and Tucker nodded.

“Alright, I’m going ghost!”

Kitty and Danny shot into the air, Danny holding onto Kitty since he was faster while she led him to where she’d last seen Johnny.

They found him on a side street, pinned beneath a net that glowed silver. It certainly didn’t look like anything he was used to. His parents’ tech was all green since it used pure ectoplasm straight from the ghost zone. Valerie’s was a reddish-pink thanks to Technus keeping her aesthetic the same as Vlad’s tech, which was powered by his own energy. The G.I.W.’s was blue due to the purification they did on all the ectoplasm they got their hands on.

Danny looked around as they got closer to the street, but didn’t see anyone. Knowing it was a trap, but with no other choice, they turned invisible and dropped down next to the net.

“Johnny,” Kitty whispered, kneeling next to him.

“Hey Kitten,” he groaned. He looked up at Danny and smirked. “What happened to your face?”

“Shut up.” Seeing the way the net was hurting Johnny, Danny reached out with his energy to pull it off him that way.

The net went flying. Thank you, Pandora! Telekinesis was the best!

“Thanks, kid,” Johnny huffed.

“You know, I’m the same age as you guys now,” Danny said as Kitty helped him stand and Shadow peeled off the ground, looking worse for wear.

“Sure, give or take a few decades,” Johnny snorted.

“Just get out of here befo-” Danny was cut off by a blast to the side that sent him flying. He shrieked as his back hit the asphalt.

“Kid!”

“Go!” he ordered, fighting through the pain to sit up.

Johnny looked conflicted for a moment, then summoned his bike.

As the two rode off, Danny turned to face the direction the blast had come from.

“So you are the one called Danny Phantom?” a man said as he walked out of the shadows.

Danny’s first impression was that the man didn’t look like a hunter. He was taller and thinner than Danny and probably in his late twenties. He wore a tank top and athletic shorts, but no shoes. His dark brown skin was offset by pale gold hair and silver eyes.

Glowing silver eyes.

“You’re a ghost,” Danny groaned. Great, just what he needed: Infighting.

The ghost laughed. “You date yourself, demon. If you can’t recognize me, you must be less than two hundred years.”

“Pretty sure the suit says the same thing, but go off I guess,” Danny snorted as he stood. “Wait, did you just call me a demon?”

The man raised his hand and Danny took to the air to dodge a blast of silver energy.

“What? Not even going to start in on your evil plan. What kind of villain doesn’t monologue?”

“The only evil villain here is you,” the ghost hissed as he shot blast after blast at the flying halfa. “We are here to cleanse this town of you and your demonic vassals.”

“First of all, they're not my vassals, I just don’t bother kicking them back to the Ghost Zone as long as they don’t cause trouble,” Danny said, creating a shield to absorb the blasts. “And second, what’s with all the dem-Wait, we?”

A blast hit him in the back and ANCIENTS! OW! THAT HURT! THAT VERY MUCH HURT!

He barely caught himself before he hit the ground and quickly summoned another shield, this time creating a sphere to wrap around him. He glanced back to take in his new opponent.

For half a second, he thought it was Dani. Then he realized the short, white-haired woman actually looked like she was in her mid-forties, had vivid yellow eyes, and was Asian.

He blamed the pain. The excruciating pain.

“Oh goody, two for one special, must be my lu-”

Something slammed into his shield from above just as the two’s blasts hit it and it shattered.

His back hit the pavement and he must have blacked out because the next thing he knows he’s being held aloft by an angel.

“Maybe next time you fall from heaven, get better aim,” he whimpered.

The black-haired, blue-eyed, winged ghost gave him an unimpressed look and opened her mouth, but was cut off by Goldilocks.

“Adelaida, humans.”

His captor glanced to the side and her raven-like wings turned invisible.

Danny turned to look as well and saw Sam and Tucker running up, looking nervous.

“Divya, take care of them.”

Oh hell no!

“Phantom!” Valerie snarled, flying in to hover over his friends.

Good, she’d protect them.

“Have you really moved on to attacking unarmed civilians?”

Or not.

“Unar-They’re ghosts!”

Valerie looked at her wrist. “My tracker says otherwise.”

“Your tracker doesn’t pick me up half the time!”

“You think they’re overshadowed?” Sam asked.

“They’re glowing!” Danny huffed, gesturing towards Adelaida.

“I don’t see it,” Tucker said.

“It’s alright,” the Asian woman — Divya supposedly — said, walking towards his friends.

To his surprise, all three humans started to relax.

“No.” The halfa scowled. “No. No, we are not having another mayor incident.” He raised his hand and fired.

Adelaida shrieked as he hit her wing and they flickered into visibility.

He kicked her away then fired at Goldilocks and Divya, revealing their pale gold and white wings respectively. “See, ghosts! Now get those two out of here.”

Valerie hesitated, then swooped down to grab Sam and Tucker.

“What? Hey!”

“Put me down!”

Danny turned to the ghosts to see them regrouping.

Adelaida looked furious as she stepped forward. “I am ending this.”

“Adelaida,” Goldilocks warned.

“The humans already know of us, Buhle. It is time to put the demon down.”

He nodded and stepped behind her, Divya following his lead.

Adelaida braced herself with her wings and feet and took a deep breath.

Danny only just had enough time to realize what was about to happen and throw up a shield before her ghostly wail hit. Hers looked much like his own, though neon blue instead of his own toxic green. It also didn’t seem as powerful as his considering he was still standing, even if cracks were quickly forming on his shield. He wasn’t sure if it was a power thing or just that she was holding back.

He hoped it was a power thing as he braced his feet. He let the shield fall just as his own wail rang out.

Green sonic waves clashed with blue, pressing back and forth against each other with the green slowly gaining ground. Then the blue faltered, a bit of shock lacing her voice, and the green waves steamrolled through.

Adelaida, Buhle, and Divya went flying and Danny cut off the wail. He fell to his hands and knees, using every bit of his willpower to hold onto his ghost form.

“Phantom!” Sam shouted.

“Well, that’s one way to remove ghost paint,” Tucker chuckled nervously.

Danny gave a panting laugh, spotting his once more white hair falling into his face.

He tried to look up at the ghosts, but he was exhausted and his back was hurting more than ever before as the adrenalin ran out. He was a sitting duck, just barely holding onto his ghost form.

Wonderful.

He felt something come near and Sam shouted, “Get away from him!”

A hand settled gently on his back and… Oh. Oh! Oh, that felt good. He looked up and was surprised to see Divya standing over him, her eyes glowing the same color as his own.

“So young,” she cooed.

“Impossible!” Adelaida gasped.

Danny turned to see Buhle supporting her, both staring at him with shock.

“None have been born in three hundred years,” the silver-eyed ghost said. “He does not even have his wings.”

“They’re growing in now,” Divya replied. “That is probably our fault. We invaded his territory.”

“He can not be,” Adelaida said, shaking her head. “He works with demons, allows them to harm humans.”

“I don’t let anyone hurt anyone,” Danny huffed. “The others are only allowed to stay if they behave themselves.”

“Demons are selfish creatures. They can not be trusted,” Divya said softly.

“Says you,” Danny huffed. “Johnny and Kitty are fine as long as they’re not fighting since only the tourists are stupid enough to flirt with one of them by this point. Ember likes playing open mic night, Youngblood just wants a playmate, the Casper High shades just like to get egg creams at the old-school diner, and Boxy is harmless usually. Seriously, you guys are ghosts, what’s with the delusional ghost hunter rhetoric?”

“Excuse me,” Valerie growled.

“It’s okay, I know you’ve got your reasons. I still love you,” he said cheekily, winking at her.

She and Sam pretended to gag.

“We are not demons.”

Danny turned to Buhle with a snort. “You glow and have wings.”

“Precisely,” he huffed, stretching out his wings.

“Humans don’t have wings.”

“We are not humans, but we are not demons.”

Divya rubbed the hand on his back up and down. “We are like you, hun.”

“I’m a ghost.” Half-ghost, but details.

Unless…

She shook her head. “Poor thing, so lost and confused.”

“Okay, time to go back to the fighting,” he groaned, but didn’t try to get up. Whatever she was doing to his back was worth the baby talk.

“We are not demons, ” Adelaida spat. “We are angels.”

Danny stared at her blankly. “And I’m an atheist.”

“We are the souls of those who have passed who remain tied to this world by selfless reasons,” Buhle said in a calm voice. “We are the equal and opposites of those who reside in the darker realm, who linger due to selfish desires. We work to protect life from such creatures and bring joy to the humans of this plane.”

“So… a good ghost.”

“There is no such thing as a good demon!” Adelaida snapped. “Are you always this frustrating?”

“Yeah.”

“Absolutely.”

“Constantly.”

“It’s a gift.”

She turned to Buhle. “He can not possibly be an angel.”

“I told you, I’m an atheist. Pretty sure Tu-my friend told me that’s a big no-no in heaven. Speaking of…” Danny turned to Sam. “S-Goth human, aren’t real angels supposed to be eldritch abominations? Six wings and seven heads or something? Constantly on fire? I swear someone once told me that.”

“That-that’s not entirely accurate,” Sam chuckled as Tucker laughed. “But you’ve got the right idea. They’re actually pretty terrifying. That’s why people tend to freak out when they see them in the stories. It’s awesome.”

“Cool.” He turned back to the two angel ghosts to see Adelaida pinching the bridge of her nose and Buhle looking very done. “So where’s the rest of your wings and heads.”

Divya laughed and patted his head. “You young ones are always so entertaining.”

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

This is based on an old story of mine. And by old, I mean really old. I don't think I was even on this site when I wrote it since I can’t find it on my blog. I started getting into some new Danny Phantom stuff and felt compelled to write something along the same lines. This is just a one-shot so I doubt I'll write more for this, but I've got a bunch of ideas for this world so I needed to get some of it out.

[98prilla]

To Unmask a Hero

Sanders Sides Superhero AU, because why not? 

AO3

“Nowhere to run, Empath.” He shivered as the voice rang out through the warehouse. He was crouched behind a stack of barrels, trying to keep his breath even so as to not give himself away.

 He'd figured out the location of Prince's lair. He should have waited for backup from Storm, he knew that, but he just couldn’t wait. He had to know what the villain was planning.

 He should have known fighting Prince on his home turf was a bad idea, was a trap, but he hadn’t and now he was in a fight, of which he didn’t know what the outcome would be.

 He could feel the pulsing burn in his chest with each breath, a cracked or broken rib. His eye was swollen from the punch Prince had landed. The defensive cuts along his arms stung where he'd blocked the sword.

 “Gotcha!” he yelped, jumping aside just as Prince's sword swung from above, scrambling away. But he was out in the open now, and Prince waved his hand. A ring of fire erupted around Empath, leaving him nowhere to run, and little space to maneuver. He gulped as Prince stepped through the flames, his masquerade mask hiding his face, but his eyes gleamed orange in the firelight.

 Empath felt his pulse race, but steeled himself, summoning his sparkling blue staff and twirling it to meet Prince's sword.

 Afraid. You’re afraid. Something behind you. He projected at Prince, trying to manipulate his mind, trying to give himself an opening. Instead, a sly smile slid onto Prince’s face, and he pushed forwards, delivering speedy blow after blow Empath could barely parry.

 He twisted out of the way of a blow, eyes widening as he saw the flash of fire that slammed into his chest. His suit was fireproof, but the force still sent him stumbling.

 A flash of silver, a searing pain, a burning, scorching cold washed over him. He felt suddenly light headed, and stumbled back, a trip sending him sliding down against the wall.

 Red. He was surprised to see red. Blood leaking through his fingers, which futilely clutched at his chest, as if that could stop the flow from the sharp, deep slice through his flesh, from right shoulder to left hip.

 “F-fiddlesticks" he gasped out. He really, really should have waited for Storm. Storm was going to kill him. That made him laugh wetly, because he doubted his fellow hero would get the chance.

 He looked up at the sound of footsteps, his vision blurred, but he recognized the form of Prince.

“Well, well. Not so tough without your little mind tricks, are you? Can thank Sage for that one.” Of course, Sage was the resident tech of the villains in town, rarely committing any crimes himself, preferring to work behind the scenes.

 He was dizzy. Black spots were clouding his vision. He had to hang on, had to find a way out. He struggled weakly as he felt fingers against his face, the pain of moving exploding in fireworks behind his eyes.

 “D-don't…pl…please" he gasped out. If Prince saw his face, learned his identity, everyone he cared for would be at risk. He tried to summon any dregs of power, but he was so heavy, his eyes were so heavy.

 “Time to unmask the hero.” He was barely aware of the fabric being pulled off his head, of the sharp, shocked inhale of breath. He coughed, feeling pressure in his lungs, feeling wetness dribble down his chin. The last thing he heard before he was lost to darkness was a quiet, scared:

 “Patton?”

…

Snippets.

 He was moving, swaying, someone was holding him. It hurt, the movement hurt, and he coughed, hearing a curse as he felt more liquid running down his chin.

 “-can’t bring him here!”

 “-don’t get it... Patton... Please!”

 Hands against his chest, it burned, it shot agony coursing up his spine, he tried to get away, tried to move, tried to scream, but nothing came out.

 “Still... need you... not move.” Voice, familiar voice, how did he know that voice? Then it felt like ice being shoved in his veins, and he screamed, losing all awareness once again.

….

 Storm paced the floor, biting his thumb nail. He should have gotten a call by now, Empath should have called by now, he said he was just going to scope the place out, and they’d plan for a raid together then. He couldn’t shake it, couldn’t shake the feeling something was wrong. He jumped as the phone rang. He fumbled with it for a moment, before flipping it open.

 “Empath?” There was a pause. He could hear breathing.

 “Um. No.” He bristled at that voice, squeezing the phone so tight his knuckles went white. He could feel wind starting to pick up in the apartment, his powers often were driven by his emotions.

 “What did you do with him? I swear, I will tear you apart if you lay a hand on him.” He growled, lightning flashing in his eyes.

 “It was an accident! I didn’t... I didn’t know...” Virgil’s breath caught, cold fear settling in his stomach. Prince was a good actor, but he sounded genuinely distraught. And as much as they played at heroes and villains, Prince had never once hurt a civilian, and their rivalry was filled with banter, both of them having more fun than they’d ever admit.

 “Princey, the hell did you do?” He demanded, heart pounding in fear, fear, fear.

 “I’m sending you our location. Just get here, fast. Sage is doing everything he can. He says... he says he’ll probably be fine.”

 “Princey-” He heard the phone disconnect and swore as a text came in a second later with coordinates.

 …

“-Hell you didn’t!” Patton distantly heard the sound of someone being slammed against a wall.

 “I didn’t! I didn’t realize it was that bad until he coughed, I didn’t mean to hit him that hard, I didn’t fucking know it was Patton!” That voice made him shiver, sent fear spiking through him, he didn’t understand.

 “You weren’t supposed to know! That’s the whole point of SECRET identities! It’s rule number one, never remove a mask, what the FUCK were you thinking you insensitive, disastrous, BITCH!” He heard a thump, as if someone had fallen to their knees.

 “I recommend you both calm down. This level of noise is going to disturb him, and he needs all the rest he can get right now. It is also not good for either of you to take your worries out on each other.” That was a voice he didn’t know, but he liked it. It sounded level and sure and soothing.

 “I’m sorry.” The scary voice whispered, sounding almost broken.

 “Save it. Save it for him, if he ever wakes up again. God save you from Deception if he doesn’t.” He heard footsteps, walking away, and he wanted to call out, he wanted to ask him to stay, but he couldn’t seem to move, to open his eyes, to even breathe left him crying in pain.

 “Roman... he will be ok.” Roman? He knew a Roman, didn’t he? It was becoming fuzzy, things were becoming fuzzy again. He felt himself shaking, he couldn’t stop shaking. He heard yelling, someone calling his name, panic stricken, and instinctively reached out with his power to soothe them.

 Everything is fine. Everything will be fine. No need... no need to worry...

 Then nothing.

  Roman sunk into the chair next to the bed with a choked sob, face buried in his hands. Patton, god, Patton, even now, trying to help, even as he was wracked by a fit of shakes that were nearly strong enough to be called convulsions, sending out waves of calm.

 What had he done, what had he done, what had he done?

 A miscalculation of force and timing. That’s what he’d done. That’s all it had taken. He expected Empath to have time to raise his staff, to dodge backwards, to avoid the blow, he didn’t expect his own momentum to carry him so far so fast, he didn’t expect his own swing to be so forceful, he didn’t intend to cut that deeply or that far.

 He should have known it was Patton, should have recognized his voice, or his cadence of speech or his expressions, every use of fiddlesticks, of yelling out random words when Roman himself was about to swear in word association, even his abilities as an empath/telepathy was such an obviously Patton thing.

 How many times had he hurt Patton? Bruises, cuts, scrapes, fire, explosions, traps, skirmishes, never anything like this, never anything severe, but enough. Of course, usually Patton was the distance fighter, Storm was the up close and personal one, he was more physically matched to fight Roman, his abilities were much more offensive than Patton’s. It was him he’d really been waiting for in that warehouse, but Empath had showed up alone, instead. He’d meant to capture him, maybe, use him to draw out Storm, and they would banter and battle and of course the bonds would be loose enough Empath would slip free halfway through or something, and everything would be business as usual.

 “Roman... we have a problem.” He grunted to show he’d heard, unwilling to move, to face the world. “Storm apparently informed Deception of our whereabouts. He is currently raising a ruckus at the gates.” Roman let out a shaking breath, rubbing his face and pushing back his hair.

 “Let him in.” His voice was flat, devoid of emotion, and he could feel Sage’s eyes on him.

 “That is not a good course of action. With Empath in this state, and Storm as furious as he is-”

 “Let him in. He... he deserves to be here.” He knew what Sage was thinking. Deception was never merciful, more of a brooding vigilante than a hero or villain, operating in the gray of things, but he was connected to Empath in some way. Friends, family, mentor, something. He was fiercely protective and it wasn’t remotely out of the picture that he would attack Roman on sight. He heard Sage hesitate, but sigh.

 “Very well. I will open the gates. I will attempt to reason with him before he gets here.” When Roman made no move or sign he’d heard, Sage frowned, concern etched across his features, before he simply squeezed Roman’s shoulder and left the room.

 …

Shouting, again. Shouting and a defeated, broken voice, one that sent shivers down his spine, one that he knew, one that was Roman’s. Roman... Roman was upset? Why...

 “-Killed him!” His mind jolted. He knew that voice, that voice brought a rush of warmth, a surge of comfort, nothing bad would happen if that voice was here.

 “-Think I don’t know that? I do, I do, and I’m terrified and I’m sorry and no amount of either of those will fix this and I don’t know how to fix this, and I didn’t mean for it to happen, I never meant to actually hurt someone, I never meant to hurt...” Roman’s voice. Sad. “I don’t care. Do whatever you want to me, hurt me, break me, kill me if that’s what it takes to forgive me or fix this, I don’t care. If... if we lose him... I can’t...” He recognized that. That gasping, speeding pattern of breaths. He could feel the fear, unease, the panic settling into Roman’s bones.

 Breathe. In 4, hold 7, out 8. Just breathe. You’ll be alright. It’s ok.

 He projected out, and he heard a strangled gasp, noise coming towards him, then a hiss and the sound of a shove.

 “Stay away from him.” Dorian. That’s who the warm voice was, now filled with equal parts anger and fear. He tried to reach out, but the black pit of exhaustion was threatening to drag him under once again, the ache across his chest flaring angrily.

 Then there was a hand squeezing his, one gently carding through his hair, softly wiping away tears he hadn’t realized were leaking from his eyes.

 “Patton. Patton, Patton, Patton.” Dorian said his name softly, reverently, almost like a prayer. He struggled to the edge of awareness, forcing in a deep breath that set his chest aflame and his lungs on fire, but the pain pushed him awake and he opened his eyes.

 “D-Dee... wh... what...” Dorian pressed a gentle finger to his lips, shushing him.

 “Don’t speak, pup, it’ll only hurt worse. You’re going to make it, you’re going to be alright.” Patton stared into his mismatched eyes, seeing the doubt flickering there. He looked over Dorian’s shoulder, spying Roman, frozen in place, face a war of relief and worry and fear.

 He met Roman’s eyes and recoiled, the shock of the movement sending spots flashing across his vision. He had a moment of awareness, a moment to connect the dots, a moment where he realized he knew those eyes, a moment of clarity.

 Roman was Prince. Roman had hurt him. Roman was afraid. Roman thought he was going to die.

 …

Sage found Storm on the roof. The hero was standing at the railing, hands clenching it so hard his knuckles were white. The clear sky had turned dark and angry, fat, cold droplets starting to fall as the wind began to blow, lighting flashing in the not so far distance, the rumble of thunder echoing moments later. Storm’s posture was stiff, rigid, unmoving and still as stone.

 “Thank you.” Came the quiet, hoarse voice, making Sage jump. He hadn’t realized Storm had seen him, the hero hadn’t turned around, he must have heard his footsteps hesitating at the doorway to the roof. Cautiously, aware of how unpredictable Storm could be, acutely aware of every movement and sound, Sage came to stand beside him. Storm still didn’t look at him, staring out over the horizon, where dark clouds rolled in from the west. “You saved him. Didn’t have to, wouldn’t have expected you to, honestly. But you did. So, thanks. And I owe you one, I guess.”

 “no. Not for this one, you don’t. It is partially my fault.” Storm’s gaze whipped to him, eyes narrowed in confusion or suspicion, he couldn’t tell. “I took away his advantage. I found a frequency that when played counteracts his mind manipulation. If he’d been able to have that edge, he would have been able to distract Prince enough to dodge, possibly escape.” Storm sighed, and looked away, shaking his head.

 “He should have waited for me. He was supposed to report back, we were supposed to go together, I was supposed to be there to protect him.”

 “Storm-”

 “Enough, Logan!” He shouted, swatting away Sage’s hand that had been reaching out to console him, glaring at the villain, face wet not solely from the now pouring rain, the lightning flashing mere yards away from the roof, the thunder nearly deafening. Storm seemed to realize what he’d said, the fire in his eyes immediately dying, as he stared at Logan. Then he pressed a spot on his wrist, and the illusory suit that kept his identity hidden vanished.

 Logan was speechless. He knew that purple patched jacket, knew those smudged eyeliner marks, knew those deep brown eyes, that messy purple hair. Virgil, his roommate, Virgil. His roommate, who had slumped to the ground, legs dangling off the edge of the building through the bars, head resting against one.

 “C’mon, Lo, thought you knew everything. Isn’t that part of the whole evil mastermind schtick?” Virgil asked, his teasing lacking any of his usual sarcasm, instead falling flat. Logan’s mind was whirling.

 “How... how long..?” he managed to squeak out.

 “Since maybe a week after you moved in. You left a couple notes on the table, a couple odd looking parts here and there that I recognized from tools or schemes of Prince’s, or occasionally toys that Dee used that I knew he got from you.”

 “Why... you never said anything?” Virgil shrugged.

 “Nah. How awkward would that be? Hey, I know you’re a supervillain and I’m a superhero so this roommate thing isn’t really gonna work out? Besides, you’re a good roommate. You always pay the rent on time and do your fair share of chores, and you don’t actually make me anxious. So, why bring it up?” Logan was dumbstruck by Virgil’s reasoning.

 “That has maybe been the most incredulous thing I've ever heard come out of your mouth.” Virgil snorted, a small smile flickering across his face for a single second.

 “So. Storm is you, Virgil. We already learned that Empath is Patton. So that means Deception must be...” Logan trailed off, face palming with a groan.

 “Dorian? Yup. Give the man a trophy.” Of course. Of course, Deception was Dorian, was Patton’s older brother, no wonder they shared similar abilities, both forms of mind manipulation, no wonder Deception was so protective of Empath, of course they were siblings. And Virgil and Dorian had been dating for at least as long as Logan had known him, probably closer to an additional three years, four years total, if he had to guess.

 “Honestly, I'd thought you and Roman had figured it out by now. I mean, me and Dorian figured Roman out pretty quick, he uses the same puns and catchphrases in battle as he does in real life, and I know Patton has never been subtle. Patton knows me and Dee’s identities, obviously, but he didn’t know either of yours. Figured it was best not to tell him, he lets things slip too easy. Knowing him, he’d be mid fight and call out Roman for something he said.”

 “But-I mean- why- if you knew why not arrest us?! It makes no sense!” Logan exclaimed, throwing his hands up in exasperation. Virgil rolled his eyes.

 “Because we were having fun, dummy. Because you guys never do any real, lasting harm, anyway, and we were happy for the excuse to use our powers instead of hiding them. Besides, I was friends with Roman since freshmen year of high school. I wasn’t just gonna rat him out to the cops. And we’ve already covered that I like you. Besides, I’d have to find a new roommate, and you know how I am about change.”

 “He still is your friend, Virgil.” Virgil shook his head. The rain that had been lightening up as they talked suddenly surged again, pounding against the roof.

 “He is not. Not anymore. Not after Patton.” A blinding flash of lightning struck the roof mere feet away. Logan tasted the ozone in the air, the concussive noise of thunder sending him stumbling. When his vision cleared, Virgil was gone, the door swinging closed.

  “Virgil? What are you-” He cut Roman’s question off by pressing the button on his wrist, suit flickering to life for a moment before vanishing again. He ignored Roman’s gasp and further questions, pushing past him into Patton’s sick bay room. Evidently, he’d gotten kicked out by Dorian, not that he was surprised.

 Dorian was holding tight to Patton’s hand, gently stroking his forehead, silent tears slipping down his face. He’d cast aside his black hood/mask, and his hair stuck up every which way because of it. Patton was pale, so pale, his breathing pained and shallow, sweat making his hair sticky. Virgil felt guilt roiling in his gut.

 He padded his way over, pulling a chair up next to Dorian’s, wrapping an arm around his shoulders and stroking it with his thumb. He felt Dorian let out a shaking breath, eyes never leaving his brother’s face.

 “I always thought if it was going to be either of us, it was going to be me. I’m the one going after actual threats. Mob bosses, shady industrialists, morally bankrupt politicians, people with the means and power to actually target and kill me. I never... I never thought it would be him.” Virgil hated the break in Dorian’s voice, hated the sorrow on his face, hated the empty, afraid look in his eyes.

 “I’m sorry. I should have gone with him, I-”

 “Don’t do that, love.” Dorian turned to him, reaching up and tucking Virgil’s hair behind his ear, stroking his cheek. Virgil leaned into the touch, trying to contain his own tears. “It is not your fault. You’ve done missions like this hundreds of times. You had no way to expect this. Don’t blame yourself.” Virgil felt Dorian draw his hand away from his cheek, instead twining his fingers through Virgil’s.

 “Logan knows. He didn’t, already, by the way.”

 “Guess I owe you that twenty, then.” Dorian replied wryly, having placed a bet on whether or not Logan had figured out their identities. Virgil let out a small laugh.

 “yeah. And I showed Roman. Figured there’s no point now.” Dorian hummed in agreement, before lapsing into silence, still stroking Patton’s hair with his free hand. After a while, he started absently humming, an old lullaby he half remembered from their childhood. He paused as he felt a weight settle on him, smiling softly as he saw Virgil had fallen asleep resting his head on Dorian’s shoulder. He didn’t know how long it’d been, he’d lost all sense of time. A few hours, if he had to guess.

 He heard the door opened and stiffened, turning his head, ready to bare his fangs and spit venom if that villain even stepped a foot inside the room. Logan froze in his tracks at that ice cold gaze, nervous. But Dorian’s fury immediately dropped.

 “Oh, it’s you. “ He said, turning his attention back to Patton.

 “Yes. Is it alright if I..?” He trailed off, already being waved over by Dorian. He quickly checked Patton’s vitals, his pulse, his heartbeat, his lungs. He checked the bandages wrapping the entirety of his torso as well, pleased to see they weren’t soaked through yet, were barely tinged pink, even. That meant the bleeding had stopped, which was the most important thing. He sighed, rocking back on his heels.

 “Well. I wasn’t sure how it was going to go, he’d lost a lot of blood, but he seems to be doing well, under the circumstances. It’s unadvisable for him to move much if at all in the next five days or so, or risk opening the wound back up, and after that another week of limited movement, excluding any lifting or strenuous activity, and it will take longer for the soreness and tenderness to go away, along with the pain from the cracked rib, of course, but in time he should make a full recovery.” Dorian sunk back in his chair, letting out a long, low breath as he stared up at the ceiling, the wave of relief washing through him making him dizzy.

 “thank you.” He whispered.

 “Would the two of you stop doing that? I don’t need to be thanked, I wasn’t very well going to let someone bleed out on my front door, no matter who they were. I don’t deserve any thanks, I simply did what was required of me to be of assistance.” Dorian cracked a wry smile, eyes shifting to Logan.

 “How did you ever become a villain, with that kind of mindset? You sound just like Patton, you know. And not everyone would have done what you did. I can’t think of a single one of my enemies whom would show me mercy much less save me if I was brought to their door bleeding out.”

 “Yes, well, your enemies are slightly more... intense than what your brother usually handles. I was just being a decent human, which is the least I could do.” He paused, considering his next words carefully. “I understand why you are angry. You have every right to be angry. But Roman... this truly was an accident. Roman never wanted to actually hurt him, and he is grieving just as much as you are. I’m not telling you to do anything, or implying any course of action or apology,” Logan held up his hand, forestalling the arguments he could sense growing on Dorian’s lips, “I am simply stating facts that you should take into consideration when deciding how to handle your next interaction with him. Now, I am going to sleep. There is a call button right there on the wall, if anything happens or anything seems wrong, press it and I will be here within moments to assist. Otherwise, I will check in tomorrow morning. The kitchen is out the door and down the hall to the left, I’d advise you to eat something soon, the stress has caused your body to burn though more calories than normal. Also, try and get some sleep, a few hours, at least.” With that, Logan inclined his head, then exited out the door without another word.

 Dorian leaned his head back, staring up at the ceiling. Objectively, he knew Logan was right. He knew Roman hadn’t ever meant to hurt Patton like this, he knew Roman was guilt ridden and grieving and losing it out there, but he was just too tired, too done, to care. It didn’t matter, what Roman felt or thought or meant, he had acted, and there had been consequences.

 …

“Dee?” He startled at that quiet voice. He hadn’t realized he’d fallen asleep at all, but that voice was enough to send his heart into overdrive and his eyes flying open as he locked on those baby blues.

 “Patton.” He whispered, instantly sitting on the bed beside him, hand held in his, stroking his hair as his eyes endlessly roved over his brother’s face. Still too pale, still too drawn, but aware and alive and awake. “How are you feeling, pup?”

 “hurts.” He croaked out. Dorian turned, but Virgil was already there with a cup of water. Carefully, aware of every harsh breath of pain, Dorian supported his brother as he helped him into a semi sitting position, Virgil helping him drink.  Even that simple movement seemed to exhaust Patton.

 “I know, pup. But you’re going to be ok.”

 “Roman-“

 “Isn’t going to hurt you again, or I swear to god I will smite him.” Virgil growled, making a smile flicker across Patton’s face.

 “no. I wanna… I wanna see him.” Dorian stiffened, and Virgil’s jaw clenched, as he looked away.

 Roman. He called out.

 Instantly, he heard loud, pounding footsteps, the door flying open, Roman stopping in the doorway. His hair stuck up in every direction, eyes red and puffy, dark bags below them. He looked almost as terrible as Patton felt. Instantly, Virgil was on his feet, lightning crackling in his palms, and Dorian was hissing, fangs bared.

 “Stop that. I called him.” Patton said, gently whacking Dorian’s arm. “And I am asking you two to leave.”

 “Patton-“

 “No. Don’t Patton me. I will call you if I need help.” Patton said sternly. Dorian hesitated, but he knew Patton wasn’t going to budge, and he didn’t want to cause him any extra stress.

 “Alright.” He said lowly, carefully slipping out of his supportive hold, propping Patton up against the pillows, taking Virgil’s hand as he stood. He glared at Roman as they brushed past him, using his power to show Roman exactly what he would do to him if he so much as blinked at Patton the wrong way. Roman shuddered as the door closed softly behind him, almost wishing Dorian would just do it, because he deserved it.

“roman.” He shook his head at Patton’s soft, gentle voice, tears building up behind his eyes, because he didn’t deserve that softness, he didn’t deserve for Patton to be so worried about him when he was the cause of this all to begin with.

 It’s ok. I forgive you. I know you didn’t mean it. I know it was an accident. I know you wouldn’t have hurt me that badly on purpose.

 He suppressed a sob, shaking.  He didn’t deserve this. He didn’t deserve forgiveness. He’d nearly killed Patton. The best thing in his life, one of his best friends since freshman year, one of his most trusted companions, and he’d nearly killed him.

 “I love you.” He whispered, unable to hold it in anymore, unable to stand not saying it, unable to keep it to himself when he had nearly lost the most precious, gorgeous, beautiful thing in his life. “I’ve loved you since I first met you, since Virgil introduced me to you in the library and you made that stupid pun about Virgil spending time there being a novel idea. I love your laugh and your bubbly smile and your expressive eyes and the way you always show exactly what you’re feeling and you are the most beautiful person I’ve ever seen and I nearly killed you.” He could feel Patton’s eyes on him, but he refused to look up, refused to meet those eyes.

 Roman-

 “I’ll be going, now. I’m glad, you’re going to be ok. I’m sorry. You won’t… you won’t see me again, I won’t come near you again, I’m done, done with all of it, done with everything.”

 Stop. Come. Here. Patton’s words were tinged with his power, now, compelling Roman to do as he was told, though he barely fought against the grip of those words. Patton could do whatever he wanted to him, it was only fair. It was only what he deserved.

 “Roman. Look at me. Please?” Not an order, now that he was standing by Patton’s bedside, but he forced his chin up, forced himself to meet Patton’s eyes, forced himself to look at him, see each pained breath, his far too pale face, his soft blue eyes, full of nothing but sympathy and warmth, and he let out a sob, because how dare Patton look at him like that, when he had hurt him so badly?

 “come here, baby.” Patton opened his arms, and Roman couldn’t help the sob that tore its way out of his throat as he carefully collapsed into Patton’s open arms, curling tight and gently against his side, avoiding putting any pressure on his chest, head buried against his shoulder, hands grasping at his clothing, desperately breathing in the scent of Patton.

 “I’m sorry. I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, I never meant to hurt you, I should have known it was you, I should have known and I’m sorry and I hurt you, how many times, how many times, have I hurt you, Patton?”

 Patton didn’t answer, instead gently tilting Roman’s chin up, resting his head so Patton’s baby blues were all he could see, his breath catching at how close Patton’s lips were to his, how close he was to Patton.

 You absolutely lovely idiot.

 Then Patton’s lips were on his, soft and sweet as cotton candy, as summer rain, as spring flowers, warm and achingly, impossibly tender.

 “I love you.” Patton whispered, resting nose to nose, inhaling each other’s breath, and carefully, slowly, Roman maneuvered himself so he was behind Patton, Patton on his lap, his body intertwined with Patton’s, Patton’s head against his chest as he pressed soft kisses to his forehead, his cheek, his lips, tasting the salt from his own tears on his lips, before he finally tucked his head against Patton’s shoulder, closing his eyes and breathing in deeply, gently holding Patton close around his middle.

 “I don’t deserve you. I have never deserved you. I only deserve you less and less, dear heart.” He murmured, taking another long, shuddering breath as Patton turned his head, kissing Roman’s cheek, reaching up and wiping away his tears, hand resting against his cheek. Roman’s own hand covered his, and he turned his head, kissing his palm softly, before intertwining their fingers, kissing each of his knuckles before he lowered their hands.

“You’ve always been enough, Roman. I was afraid, I didn’t want to say anything, I didn’t want to get my hopes up, I didn’t want to ruin our friendship and lose you completely, and then Virgil would be upset and I didn’t want the trouble.” Roman shook his head, nuzzling against Patton’s neck, closing his eyes.

 “you could never ruin anything, Pat. You’re the kindest, sweetest, smartest person I have ever met. I don’t understand how one person can be as purely good as you, dear heart. I don’t know what you could possibly see in me, after this.”

 “I see you, Roman. I see your care and passion and hope and love. I see your own insecurities and self loathing and doubts, and I counter them with my faith and love. I don’t know what crimes you’ve committed, or all of them, at least, but I still forgive them all, anyway. I love all of you, because of who you are. I love you because I know you care, I know you go out of your way not to cause harm, I know you always let me and Virgil get away because you enjoy the chase and the game more than anything else. And I will always let you catch me. I will always catch you, my brilliant Roman Candle.” Patton murmured, running a finger over Roman’s knuckles, feeling him relaxing against the bed, breathing slowing as he started to drift. “When was the last time you slept, silly?” Roman shrugged, murmuring noncommittally.

“nap time, then. For the both of us. And don’t you dare be gone when I wake up, Roman, or I just might let Virgil smite you, after all.” He smiled at Roman’s low chuckle, feeling him press a final, soft kiss to the side of his neck.

 “Whatever you say, dear heart. Whatever you wish, I will make yours. Always.” Patton snuggled back into Roman, melting against him as his eyes fluttered shut, sleeping deeper and more soundly than he ever had before.

 He would make Virgil and Dorian understand in the morning. For now, he was warm, and safe, and truly, deeply, exhaustedly, happy.

[masterjedilenawrites]

The Helmeted Hunter: Chapter 23

Boba Fett x Reader

Chapter Warnings: Fluffity romanceness

AO3 Link (In case you like it better over there, it’s okay, no judgement)

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Chapter 23: The Other Buyer

You could've stayed in that moment forever.

Your lips moving along with his, slowly and carefully. Your fingers skimming gently over the folds of the tunic bunched at his neck, finding purchase in his soft curls. His breath tickling your chin as he continued to sigh in satisfaction.

But each kiss seemed to waken you just a little more, stirring your weary spirit and sending pleasant but restless waves through your battered body. You suppose that energy could've led you to turn those kisses into something more; there was certainly a growing warmth in your core that would've welcomed it. But instead, it was your mind that took over. It was pulling forth memories of your stay in the Crimson Dawn cell, and the ideas you'd formed there.

You pulled back from Boba as your mind raced through those ideas again, confirming they still made any sense.

"That bad, huh?"

He was trying to sound playful, but it was clear he really was self-conscious. You imagined he probably didn't have much experience, and you suddenly breaking away didn't exactly help his confidence.

"No," you were quick to say, squeezing your hands slightly along his shoulders. "No, I... I...."

You didn't know where to begin. But you had to start somewhere. After all the things he'd said to you, you had to let him know what you wanted now.

"I can't go back to my old life," you said, putting care behind each word. "But I also can't start a new one. Not yet, not without ending this mess once and for all. I would love nothing more than to run off with you, and maybe we can someday soon, but you have to understand why that's just not possible right now."

If Boba was hurt, he hid it well, keeping his features in their usual, neutral state as you spoke. Since he wasn't giving you a reaction yet, you continued.

"No one is going to simply forget about this bounty on my head. They will keep hunting me, no matter where we go. That's no way to live."

Boba sighed, though not in the satisfied way he had before. He lifted his hands up to wrap around your wrists, moving his calloused fingers along the bandaging while he looked at you with a sad smile.

"Of course I understand," he murmured. "We can keep searching."

You tried to take comfort in the soothing motions of his hands on yours, a sign that he hadn't pulled away or grown upset yet. However, you doubted he'd like what you had to say next. You steadied your nerves with a deep breath.

"We don't need to search, because I know where to go."

His eyebrows raised, curious. "You do?"

You brought your hands down from his shoulders, grasping his own firmly in the space between your laps. "Think about it. Think about how off this whole thing has been, right from the beginning. We've been looking for answers to questions like where and why. But what about how? How is it that these portals are meant to be random, taking random people from random planets at random times... and yet, someone knew exactly when and where I would be going through one, far enough in advance to get you to wait for me."

The words spilled from your mouth, eager to finally be heard. The thoughts had been eating at you while in Crimson Dawn's cell. It felt good, freeing even, to share them with another.

"Right," Boba said flatly. "So this guy planned it. Or just predicted it."

You shook your head. "He isn't the only one with a bounty on my head. They weren't the only ones who knew I was coming."

"The Empire."

No sooner had he breathed the name did you resume your rambling.

"A personal photo of me was hung up on posters in distant planets just days after I went through the portal, by people who now own my planet. That can't be a coincidence. And their price for my capture may not be as high, but it's still significant. Maybe they want me for the same reasons as this other guy. Maybe they were able to predict or plan my trip through the portal, too. At the very least, they know something."

Boba had closed his eyes and was rubbing the bridge of his nose. It occurred to you he was tired as well, and you briefly wondered how long he had gone without sleep while you were apart.

"So..." He opened his eyes but kept them scrunched in thought. "What, are you going to knock on the Emperor's door and ask him what's going on?"

"Yes," you said firmly. Obviously there'd be a better way to do it, but that was beside the point. "If anyone has answers, anyone that we can go to right away without all this clue hunting, it's the Empire."

He grasped your wrists again, holding them up to you. "And you'd risk going through something like this again?"

"I'll do whatever it takes to be done with this."

You meant it. Despite your attention being brought back to your wounds and the dull ache that had settled in them. Despite the spike of energy your mind had given you now fading back into fatigue. Despite all the suffering and confusion and fear you'd just gone through. You really were prepared to go through it all again if it meant you could then be freed from it. If you could finally move on.

Boba was frowning. "Well I can't risk you getting hurt again," he said, revealing just how much guilt he truly had over what'd happened to you. You were touched, but also defeated. If he wasn't willing to help you, or was actually going to stop you....

But then he spoke again, his tone kinder. "So we'll need a plan. Several plans. Nothing gets left to chance. We'll get you answers, but more important is you getting the chance at a new life."

You smiled. "Thank you," you whispered.

"And we'll do it after you rest," he said, getting up from the bunk and starting to clean up the supplies he'd left on the counter. "You need to heal."

Exhaustion was making its way back into your mind and you couldn't agree more. You were also suddenly conscious of the fact you'd soiled the linens on his bed with the filth you'd acquired on your clothes. You'd also need to get clean.

"Deal," you said, standing up yourself. You were about to ask for some things to help you freshen up first, when a vaguely familiar melody reached your ears. It seemed to be coming from above in the cockpit.

"Is that music?" you asked, tilting your head to hear better. As you caught more of the tune, you realized why it was familiar. "My music."

"Oh, yeah." Boba seemed to have forgotten he'd had it playing. You both had been too caught up in your discussion, and intimacy, to have noticed until now. "Your device wasn't broken, it just needed a new power source. So I integrated it with the ship."

You couldn't help but cringe a little as you remembered some of the songs that would surely be on there. "Well please don't judge me. I haven't always had the best taste in music."

He chuckled softly. "There's some... odd songs on there. But they aren't all bad." He paused, also cocking his head slightly. "I like this one. Reminds me of you."

You both had a shy smile, not quite used to sharing such things with each other. But you were glad he was starting to open up more, showing you the little pieces of his heart and soul that he'd kept hidden for so long.

* * *

You managed to clean up well without a shower. You took your time, not wanting to strain yourself from the effort but needing to get as much dirt and blood off you as possible. It seemed like ages ago that'd you last had a shower and you wanted to get that feeling back as best you could. Boba had also given you your old clothes, cleaned and with creases from having been folded for so long. You couldn't fathom when he'd had the time to get them cleaned.

Once you felt satisfied, you emerged from the lavatory to find Boba waiting for you. He wanted to quickly patch up the cut on your cheek before you went off to bed. You let him, leaning against the counter as he worked a few stitches through it, taking the time to admire him. You still considered his features quite ordinary, but there was now a familiarity to them that gave you a different sort of fondness. You realized that while you'd seen him upset and frustrated, and in some cases angry, you'd never seen his face display the kind of rage or cruelty that people like Dryden Vos had. There was always a thoughtfulness to him, a sense of control and awareness.

The songs from your music player had continued to change, the volume low so you were only occasionally aware of it. The one that had just started now brought a small smile to your face - and a quick instruction from Boba to keep still.

"This one sounds like you," you whispered. He hesitated before smirking back, and then repeating that you really needed to be still because he was almost done.

Were you really saying these things to Boba Fett? Feeling these things for him? He wasn't different than when you first knew him, there was simply more to him now. In your current, sleep-deprived state of mind, you were having a hard time wrapping your head around how quickly he'd grown on you. How easy it was for you to look at him with affection. How badly you wanted to test all the ways you could make him blush and smile....

He eventually stopped his work and tried ushering you to bed. You were already drifting off, but a small part of you still wanted to cling to him. It may have been slightly manipulative on your part, but you couldn't help but mumble out don't leave me just to see if he'd lie down with you.

With a resigned huff, he crawled into the bunk next to you, taking up most of the narrow space with his body. But you were already curling into his side, head in the crook of his arm, and a bandaged wrist across his chest. No sooner had you made yourself comfortable did you immediately succumb to sleep, letting yourself drift off to the sound of his heartbeat.

[sweetest-honeybee]

To Hell and Back

Chapter 28

Summary: Doc and Impulse respawn in Hels and meet a particularly familiar Evil Hermit.

Characters: Doc, Impulse, BadTimesWithScar :3

TW: None

———————

Wherever they respawned, it wasn’t their beds.

Groaning, Impulse and Doc pushed themselves off of the cracked stone which, contrary to how cold it usually was, was quite hot to the touch. Not enough to burn but enough to make it uncomfortable to continue laying on. As they sat back on their legs, they looked at each other with worry before turning their heads to scan the scenery around them. At first, they assumed that they were in the Nether, for whatever reason. But the sheer lack of disproportionately placed chunks of netherack and really any mobs at all cancelled those assumptions. They were on an island sat in a vast sea of lava, nobody else around. Looking up, the two discovered there was a sky. A very dark, red, muddy sky, but there was no bedrock at the top as far as they could see.

Doc stood, deciding to take some kind of action quicker than Impulse. He patted himself down to find his communicator but turned up empty handed with a growl.

“Impulse, is your communicator gone, too?” He asked while he looked around again for any signs of life. Nothing more than an obsidian tree behind them tipped with glowstone. With a step back, the creeper could see a portal of some kind in it, but completely unlit.

Impulse on the other hand checked over himself for his communicator but, like Doc, also came up with nothing.

“Nope.”

Putting his hands on his hips, Doc huffed. Okay, no communication with the other Hermits and they were stranded on some random island after being killed by The Lord of Darkness. Come to think of it, this could be the place where The Lord of Darkness resided. He thought back to a conversation he had with Xisuma weeks before. Xisuma told him that Hels said he was from a place lit only by fire and lava. Could this be the place? The Hels dimension? But where were the other Evil Hermits if this was the place, didn’t they have a home here somewhere?

The creeper grumbled to himself. Questioning everything wasn’t going to help him, nor Impulse, for sure. They needed to find a way off of this island and back to the overworld. He turned to Impulse who hadn’t stood yet, just watching Doc while he looked around the place. The poor guy did look a bit shaken up and that also reminded Doc….

“What happened when you opened that door?” he asked.

“Um, well there was that weird shadow creature-“

“The Lord of Darkness.”

“Right, that. Wels was just kinda staring at me but he looked really surprised. Like wide, bright red eyes. But, after a second, these huge shadowy hands just came at me and,” Impulse gestured to himself. “Went inside me. It felt like all of my organs were being ripped apart. After that, I was out.”

Doc nodded along to his recap, trying to piece together any kind of useful information from it. All he could come up with from his own experience afterwards and given their current appearances, they had no armor or weapons. Just in case, he pulled up his inventory as Impulse did the same. Yeah, no weapons, not even any food either. Knowing The Lord of Darkness, that thing wouldn’t hesitate to let them starve.

“Okay then,” Doc muttered. “Got nothing, but I think I know where we are.”

Impulse perked up. “You do?”

The creeper nodded. “Kind of, but it’s a solid theory. I think we’re in Hels.”

“....Hels like…..?”

“The dimension, Impulse.” The other nodded with an ‘oh’. “But, if that’s the case, there’s more Evil Hermits here somewhere and they're probably not nearly as nice.” Really, it set the bar pretty low to say that Helsknight was nice by any means, but whatever didn’t kill them on sight was what he was considering to be nice at the moment.

Impulse only became suddenly curious. “Weirdly enough, I….kinda wanna meet them. Imagine like yours is a red creeper,” he snickered.

“Ha ha, this is serious, Impulse. We need to find a way out of here. I’m wondering if we’ll just respawn here by jumping into the lava….”

“Oh, you’ll die, but not by lava.”

The two snapped their heads to the voice, Impulse standing and joining Doc near the tree. However, they were only overcome by surprise at the figure standing at the edge of the island.

“Scar? No wait, evil Scar,” Doc concluded.

The man snorted. “Smarter than ya’ look. Name’s BadTimesWithScar. Friends call me Oscar, but you two,” he eyed them pointedly, ”are not friends, are you.”

It was odd seeing the face of their friend look so downright cynical. All of the scars that Scar had over his face and neck were still in place on this alter ego. BadTimes was dawned in a similar outfit to what Scar usually wore, the brown jacket and creamy white button up complete with a hat. Only this one wore black and all of his clothing was tattered to some extent. Spikes littered the tops of his shoulders and the man wore fingerless gloves. It was almost like a weird punk version of Scar. But he didn’t look like he planned to play games.

“If we’re not friends, why are you here?” Impulse asked. BadTimes just rolled his eyes.

“Lord said I need to to take ya’ to Hels,” he shrugged. “You try anything fishy, I have your head. Got it?” They nodded hesitantly. “Good,” he finished with a sly grin. Really, it only made them miss the overworld more than anything.

BadTimes walked closer to the edge of the island where lava bubbled and popped on his boots. He gestured to the vast pool of lava. “Down there’s the castle, but you need wings.” He pulled elytra from his inventory, shoving them into the others’ chests. Yeah, they really wanted to go back to the Overworld. They were already beginning to miss Scar’s kind nature.

As they put on their elytra, they were surprised at how each set of sings just looked the same. BadTimes threw on his own and deep black bat-like wings spread across his back as did Doc and Impulse’s wings. Really, Impulse naturally had very dark wings but they were feathered and tipped with yellow. Doc’s wings usually were a set of one natural green webbed wing and a robotic counterpart.

BadTimes stepped aside with a sinister smirk. “After you, boys.”

“But won’t we-“

“Nope, hop in.”

Hesitantly, the creeper decided to go in first, mostly expecting the Evil Hermit to just prank them by letting themselves die in the lava. He took a running start and jumped, diving into the lava and spreading his wings when he found that he wasn’t in it for more than a second and he was falling. Giving them a few flaps, he steadied himself in the air and hovered there, noting that they didn’t need rockets. The stark difference in scenery down here was also mind boggling. He flew back up and through the lava to show Impulse that he was completely fine.

“Impulse, you have got to see this.”

Excited at Doc’s sudden wonder for whatever was on the other side, and that he wouldn’t die, he jumped in as well, BadTimes following after him. When he finally spread his own wings after falling for a second, he gasped at the scenery below him. There was greenery and a castle of some kind littering the area. If he was correct, Helsknight said at some point that nothing grew in Hels.

“I thought nothing grew here,” he commented.

BadTimes didn’t spare him a glance, his eyes also on the scenery below. “Everything down there is artificial. Just some fake greenery I put around because I hated the red. Hate plants too, but better than nothin’ I guess.”

That also made Doc curious. “Did you terraform all of this land?”

That brought a proud grin to BadTimes’s face and he held his head a little higher. “I did.”

With that, he dove down and flew towards the castle. It stood tall among burnt villages and destroyed farms of many kinds. Really, if nothing grew here, they didn’t need farms, but who was to say anyone didn’t come to the overworld once in a while to steal a few things. Doc and Impulse followed behind him. Within a few seconds, the trio landed in front of the doors and BadTimes glared at the guards who opened the doors with a growl. Doc and Impulse just glanced at each other with some form of concern set into their faces. They kept to following BadTimes, but halted their walking at the sight of who was on the throne.

“GRIAN?!” The two yelled in unison.

“Evil Grian,” BadTimes corrected. “That there is NPC Grian. Got more raw power on his own than the majority of Hels. He’s our Champion.”

NPC Grian looked towards them with a plastered grin. “Hello! My name is NPC Grian. Would you like to learn how to build a rustic house?”

Initially, the two snickered at the automated phrase, but the NPC, they found, was not red eyed like the other creatures in Hels. BadTimes wasn’t either, actually. His eyes were a bright, almost glowing, yellow-green and the NPC’s eyes were one of the brightest shades of blue they’ve ever seen on a player.

And they’ve met Wels.

Unlike Grian’s outfit or anything really similar to it, NPC Grian wore fairly formal attire. He was dressed in a black and red vest trimmed with gold and a creamy white shirt underneath which the sleeves hung inches away from his elbows. He stared at them expectantly, probably waiting for their answer.

“You say no, he’ll force you to build forever,” BadTimes whispered to them. “You say yes, he’ll go easy on you.”

They looked at each other, then meeting the NPC’s gaze. “Uh….sure?” They answered in unison. The piercing gaze lifted, a genuine smile brought onto the NPC’s face.

“I like you two!” He cheered. “That is just a test. Since you said yes, I am letting you wander around for a few hours before The Lord of Darkness tells me what to do with you.”

Well, it wasn’t building for all eternity, they thought. Impulse nudged Doc’s arm with his elbow.

“Doc, we can meet the other Evil Hermits, see what’s going on around here, get some help,” he muttered. The creeper nodded, turning to BadTimes.

“Seeing as we're allowed to roam, why don't we meet other Evil Hermits.”

BadTimes grinned, glancing at NPC who nodded, then turned back to them. “I don’t see why not.”

[jinmukangwrites]

Whumptober Day 29

Reluctant Bedrest

Ao3

Summary: After a run in with a psychic alien, Dick notices that Bruce is acting strangely. He's protective... perhaps too protective.

Note: Dick is Robin, about 16 years old in this fic.

Please be aware of warnings in tags.

-o-o-o-o-

The reason Bruce doesn't like meta heroes in Gotham isn't because he's afraid of what they can inspire. Gotham already has its thing, and Joker seeing some kid fly through the air or some man run super fast isn't going to change his shtick. 

Bruce doesn't like meta heroes in Gotham because he's weary of what they can bring. 

And they can bring trouble. Magic trouble. Magic trouble that stems from a single Green Lantern appearance in Gotham just so Hal can return a pen he borrowed from Bruce and forgot to return at the end of their last League meeting. 

In Dick's defense, it's a nice pen. He gave it to Bruce himself. So really, it's not Hal's fault some alien magician from space decided to come down to earth and stir trouble, it's Bruce's because he, for some reason, thought it would be a good idea to let Hal borrow the nice pen Dick might have accidentally stolen from Bullock.

Long story short, there's a space lady currently floating in the middle of some warehouse, using her neat magic powers to not only telepathically lift up the crates around her, but also manipulate them open and aim the illegal weapons from inside. 

It's Gotham, so of course the random warehouse they've found themselves in has illegal weapons. 

And the thing is? Bruce and Dick are completely alone in this even though Hal was the one who attracted her here. He left the city before she arrived. He's probably halfway across the solar system by now on the way to his next super cool Lantern Corps mission. 

But this is fine. There's nothing Gotham can't handle, even if it's powerful guns controlled by space magic. 

"Robin!" Bruce shouts, "down!"

And Dick goes up, flipping over the stream of poorly aimed bullets and laughing until he lands on one of the warehouses support beams. He watches Batman charge forward, launching himself into the alien lady and stabbing a powerful taser into her thigh. The screech she makes is inhuman, and Dick grins, jumping from the beam and hitting her across the face with his heel. 

She goes flying to the ground, collapsing in a crumpled heap as Dick rolls to his feet on the ground, careful of the pressure on his ankles. The moment Bruce takes one confident step towards here, his hand hovering where the enhanced cuffs are, he knows they've won. Guns are clattering to the ground, the magazines popping out from the force and the synthetic black stocks cracking. Thankfully, no bullets launch themselves. 

"Can I come with you to drop her off?" Dick asks, bouncing on his heels and approaching as Bruce does so. The alien groans and curls her clawed hands, but remains relatively marionette-like on the ground. 

"No," Bruce grunts because he's boring like that. So Dick wants to go to the Watchtower in space. What's bad about that?

Dick opens his mouth to argue, but his voice catches in his throat as the alien's spine tightens like a panther the second Bruce is within range. "B! Watch out!"

Dick runs forward, but it's already too late. The alien contorts her body in a way a human would never be able to do and wraps her long fingers around Bruce's skull, her eyes flashing a sickening teal. Bruce goes dangerously still for the entire time it takes Dick to run up there and knee her in the gut. She makes a weird gurgling noise then stumbles back, throwing out her arms frantically. Dick hisses as one of her claws tear through the skin above his left eye, but he ignores it in favor of grabbing his own pair of cuffs and tackling her, forcing her strange, almost double jointed limbs behind her back and snapping them together. The cuffs hum, and she goes boneless.

Dick steps back, panting, then spins on his heel to find Bruce still... just standing there. Blankly. Like he’s trying to reconnect his eyes to his brain and his brain to the rest of his body. Unease pools in his gut, allowing a stone of worry to sink to the bottom. He swallows and steps forward. “B...?”

Bruce blinks under his cowl, then slowly his head turns towards Dick at a creaking pace. 

“You...” Bruce begins... his voice is scratchy like he’s been screaming for hours. “You’re hurt.”

A spike of confusion settles near Dick’s skull. Dick brings his fingers to his forehead and realizes that no, it’s not a physical spike of confusion, but a stinging cut that leaves drops of red glistening on his green gloves. It’s not that bad though. Probably doesn’t even need stitches. Dick wipes the blood off on his red tunic and shakes his head. 

“I’m fine.” 

Bruce doesn’t seem to believe it. Or at least let the issue go. He stares at Dick in a way that’s so unlike himself and Dick swallows nervously, then turns towards the crumpled alien lady to both gather his thoughts and hide the unease that must be showing on his face.

However, he doesn’t have long before Bruce walks up besides him and wraps a hand around Dick’s arm, firm but gentle. The shock of physical contact alone has Dick gasping and almost bonelessly allowing Bruce to manhandle Dick into facing him. Bruce’s free hand touches the sliver of broken skin above Dick’s eyebrow and frowns. 

“We need to get this looked at.”

Dick swallows. “Really, B, I’m fine. We should figure out what to do about-“

“The police are fully capable to take it from here.” Bruce’s hand tightens on Dick’s arm, not bruising but enough to get a message across that he’s not going to let go willingly. “Let’s go. You’re hurt.”

“I’m not ten anymore,” Dick mumbles, but walks along anyway as Bruce begins to drag him out of the warehouse and towards the Batmobile. Bruce opens the passenger seat and coaxes Dick inside the car. Apprehension settles in Dick’s throat as the door closes, and as Bruce walks around the front of the car Dick quickly tries the door handle. 

It moves, but it doesn’t open. Bruce has locked Dick inside.

Immediately, Dick knows that not only is something off with Bruce, but something is wrong. However, he doesn’t get a chance to think much more about it before Bruce is settling into the driver's seat.

“Bruce...?” Dick asks.

Bruce doesn’t answer, just holds out a rag towards Dick and mumbles. “Buckle your belt.” 

Dick does so, then reluctantly grabs the rag to hold it against the cut on his forehead. It’ll probably be scabbing by the time they get back to the cave. Maybe Bruce is just worried about infection? He got cut by the fingernail of an alien, after all.

Yeah. That’s it.

And then his thoughts go crashing down when Bruce frowns and reaches across the dashboard to hook his finger under the straps over Dick’s chest. Dick squawks and attempts to bat his hand away. But Bruce is persistent and tugs on the strap, frowning at the amount of space he creates between Dick’s chest and the strap.

It’s barely half an inch, but Bruce still ignores Dick’s complaints and tugs the buckle of the belt to make it tighter, practically tying Dick to the seat of the car.

Once Bruce is done and turns on the car, Dick sits there in stunned and embarrassed silence. He’s sixteen. He doesn’t need Bruce to check every cut and his seatbelt buckles. 

Bruce begins his drive towards the cave in grim silence, his mouth slowly becoming deeper and deeper into a stiff frown that Dick’s now too afraid to ask about.

Something is wrong with Bruce, and Dick has no idea what. The alien lady must have done something to him, and Dick’s going to find out.

For now though, he forces himself to relax against the chair and keep the rag on his head, and stays there silently until they arrive in the cave. 

By now, however, every single one of Dick’s nerves feel shot. He reaches to the door handle to pry it open, and then remembers that Bruce had turned on some sort of child lock that Dick didn’t even know existed until now. Once Bruce finally leaves Dick alone, Dick’s definitely going to sneak to the car and pry around the mobile for other childish restrictions Bruce still has installed to embarrass Dick. For now though, he curls his fingers into the rag and waits in tense silence as Bruce walks around the car once again to open Dick’s door. 

Dick tries to duck under his arms to escape towards the changing area, but Bruce catches his arm. Not for the first time does Dick loath his short stature and his persistently thin body type. Bruce practically has his entire upper arm trapped entirely in his large hand, and it makes it difficult to get free. Dick unwillingly stumbles along as Bruce begins to drag him towards the med bay. 

Dick looks desperately to the bat-computer just to be reminded harshly that Alfred isn’t even in Gotham at the moment. He’s on paid vacation for the next two weeks. 

Dicks alone. 

Alone and being dragged to the med bay by an iron grip. “Bruce,” he gasps, “really, I’m fine-“

Dick’s tugged to the cot and given a stern look. Bruce hasn’t taken his cowl off yet. He normally always takes his cowl off in the cave. 

Dick hates how badly he wants to do as he’s told. He’s never had that big of a rebellious phase, at least not as big as any of his friends. Dick doesn’t know why, but no matter what Bruce does to piss Dick off, Dick still feels obligated to do as he’s told. Doing his own thing in battle is one thing, but disobeying a direct order like the look Bruce is giving him right now sends shivers of discomfort through his entire being. 

Dick swallows and hops slowly onto the edge of the medical cot, grabbing the fabric of his tunic with his free hand as his other presses the useless rag against his forehead. 

Bruce nods, then turns to go through various tools that Dick doesn’t really know the names or uses of. There’s never really been a point to memorize medical terms before, not when either Alfred or Leslie are normally easily able to get a hold of. 

Now though, as Bruce pulls out an empty syringe and a clean needle, then pulls out a small brown bottle to dip the syringe in, he really wishes he'd at least asked more questions whenever someone took care of him in this room. 

“Bruce...”

Bruce grunts then lifts the syringe, flicking the base to get rid of the bubbles in the clear liquid. 

“Bruce, what is that?”

Dick really tries to not sound too scared or worried, but it’s hard to keep the shiver out of his voice when Bruce turns towards him with his cowl still up, his frown sill present, the needle still held ready in his hands.

Batman has scared Dick before. Many times. Sometimes, Batman loses himself in anger and Dick has to step back and breathe. 

But Bruce has never scared him. Not like this.

And somewhere at the back of his mind, he screams at himself that he shouldn’t be scared. He’s a teenager now. Teenagers like him don’t get scared.

But then Bruce takes a step forward and every cell in Dick’s body erupts into red.

Something is wrong. Something is very wrong. And Dick’s terrified to figure out what.

So, instead of sitting there and letting it happen, Dick throws the red dotted rag at Bruce's face and then ducks under his grabbing arms. Dick’s heart pounds in his throat as his cape is briefly tugged, but Dick thankfully manages to slip away and make a mad dash towards the manor.

“Robin!” Bruce—Batman?—shouts. But Dick doesn’t listen to the angry tone or the beginnings of heavy boots chasing him up the stairs. He keeps running until he’s through the grandfather clock and sprinting towards- towards where?

He doesn’t know where he should go.

Bruce’s feet pound on the metal stairs, and Dick decides to just run and think about specifics later. 

Eventually, Dick ends up running into his room and slamming the door closed behind him with his chest heaving for air. He’s just about to lock the door closed and hide in the small entrance to the ceiling in his closet, but then the handle of his door turns itself with a shocking force and then slams open. The wood of the door slams into Dick’s skull, not only reopening the just barely clotting cut, but making a dent of its own. Dick’s head spins as he goes down, red obscuring the vision of one of his eyes. He vaguely hears a sharp gasp, but he’s too focused on the black shadow descending upon him, too fixated on trying to scramble out from the metal fingers once again closing over his arms.

“-m sorry...” Bruce is saying. Apologizing. “I’m trying to help. Trying to keep you safe. This is why you have to do as I say...”

There’s the flash of a needle right in front of his blurry eyes, and Dick doubles his struggling, his heart practically hitting the backs of his teeth. However, it’s all useless when the needle breaks the skin of Dick’s neck and the cold, tingling liquid enters his system. Immediately, Dick feels twenty times more nauseous than when he was hit in the face with his bedroom door.

His struggles grow weaker against his will, and soon he’s being lifted so he’s cradled in Bruce’s arms; his nose pressed into the crook of his neck. Dick can smell Gotham on him. 

For a terrible second, he thinks Bruce will carry him through the rest of the house and back to the med bay, but then the world spins as he’s maneuvered into one arm, and then lowered onto his own bed. Bruce carefully pulls up Dick’s rumpled navy blue comforter and puts it over Dick’s body up to his chest. Dick’s still just aware enough to try and fight him, try and shove his too gentle hands away with whatever strength he has left after that mystery dosage of drugs. 

But then Dick’s wrists are grabbed, then lifted, then cuffed through the bars of his headboard. 

Dick’s so stunned that he hardly processes that Bruce is tucking him in until Bruce is leaning over him and pressing the comforter under Dick’s back.

Dick wants to kick him, yell at him, but he can hardly keep his eyes that focused anymore. Before he knows it, the blurry face of Bruce leans forward and runs his Kevlar clad hand through Dick’s hair, lifts his bangs, then presses a kiss just to the side of the double whammy of head wounds.

“You’ll be safe here,” Bruce says, running his thumb gently over the smarting cut, “I’ll be back, and I’ll make you feel better, okay?”

Dick’s stomach twists at those words and the plethora of meanings it could have. But his eyes are closing against his will and his toes are tingling. There’s the taste of iron on his tongue.

Before he knows it, he falls unconscious while Bruce turns and walks out of his bedroom.

-o-o-o-o-

When Dick wakes up, he... doesn’t hurt. He feels really good, actually. Considering. He blinks blurriness from his eyes and tests out the level of control he has over his body, and it’s surprisingly a lot more than what he expected. Whatever Bruce gave him, it must not have been too strong.

He bends his knees and wiggles his toes, then curls his numb fists besides his hips to feel the handcuffs have been replaced with soft, padded straps. Familiar straps. Looped over his wrists and ankles... another around his chest. Bruce must have taken off the restraints from the medical cot in the basement and brought them up here.

Which doesn’t surprise him as much as it probably should. In fact, what really catches his attention is that he’s no longer in his Robin uniform, but in his softest pair of pajamas. 

The observation sends shivers down his spine. It’s not like Bruce hasn’t assisted Dick in changing before... in their line of night-work, you sometimes get hit bad enough to not be able to move much, and it’s not a good idea to treat wounds or sleep in an outfit that’s been through the worst Gotham has to offer. But this? This feels awful. Vile... almost. His underwear has been changed, he can feel the hems around his thighs.

“Robin?” 

Dick tenses and turns his head. The motion causes his brain to spike with pain near his eye sockets, but it doesn’t hurt nearly as bad as it could. Besides him, Bruce sits, still in full Batman regalia with his cowl stubbornly over his head. Dick can see red markings near the bridge of his nose, proof that the cowl has been on longer than what it’s intended for.

Has Bruce been here the entire time? Just watching him?

“B‘rs..” Dick mumbles, then tugs on the straps on his wrists hidden beneath the comforter. “L’me go...”

Bruce frowns. “You’re still hurt... you’ll hurt yourself.”

Dick groans in frustration. His fingers don’t have that much control as he would like, but just from a little tugging Dick knows he’s not getting out of these unless someone lets him out. They’re bat-grade.

“But...” Dick tries, forcing his puffy feeling tongue to cooperate. “I have school...”

“I called you out...” Bruce replies. “Until you’re no longer hurt... until the city is safe...”

“It’s j’sta scratch, B. It’s-“

“You’re not leaving until you’re healed.”

Dick snaps his jaw shut with the biting tone of Bruce’s voice and stares at him with wide eyes. Bruce must notice his shock because his shoulders loosen and his lips twitch into... an apologetic smile.

“I’m not angry,” Bruce says, “I just want to protect you. Keep you safe. Do you understand?”

Dick has the feeling that he’s not leaving the bed whether he says he understands or not. So, instead, he just glares.

It doesn’t seem to phase Bruce too much. In fact, it does nothing to stop Bruce from bringing his hands up to Dick’s head and checking on the bandages there that Dick hadn’t even really processed until now. Dick tries to turn his neck away, but Bruce’s free hand latches onto his chin. Once Bruce makes a satisfied noise, he leans back and then grabs a bowl of something that was sitting unnoticed until now on Dick’s bedside table.

“I’m glad I predicted the time you would awake accurately,” Bruce says, stirring a metal spoon in the bowl. “It’s still hot.”

He takes the spoon out and sure enough there's a... spoonful of oatmeal. Dick can smell cinnamon. And it smells... good. Shockingly good. Dick the alien lady gives Bruce cooking skills?

Bruce brings the spoon closer to Dick’s mouth and immediately Dick turns his head. 

“Robin...” Bruce chides, and Dick curls his fists tighter. So tight he can feel his nails making crescent marks in his palms. He makes sure he doesn’t pierce skin though... because if Bruce is already being overwhelmingly concerned with his health because of a scratch...

Dick bites his lip. “I can feed myself.”

“It’s hot. You might burn yourself.”

“I can feed mys- mph-!”

Suddenly, there’s a spoon in his mouth, resting on top of his bottom teeth as the oatmeal just barely touches the roof of his mouth. He can feel the steam... but it’s not even that hot.

“Eat, Robin,” Bruce says.

Robin. That’s all Bruce has called him since this all began. He hasn’t gotten dressed out of his suit. He doesn’t look like he’s slept. It’s like he has a single purpose, and that’s to keep... Robin safe. 

Overwhelmingly safe.

This isn’t Bruce. This... this is brainwashing or possession or- or... but this isn’t Bruce. 

Dick slowly closes his mouth, heat and oats spreading across his taste buds as Bruce slides the spoon out of his mouth slowly to not drop any food or drool onto Dick’s chin. 

It tastes good. That doesn’t stop the blush of embarrassment that paints his cheeks and ears.

“Was it okay?” Bruce asks, and Dick swallows, then glares.

“Can we just get this over with?”

Bruce, once again, doesn’t seem offended by Dick’s snapping. He just smiles, grabs another spoonful, and blows on top of it. Dick feels like he’s going to be sick.

Instead, he opens his mouth again and allows this fake—definitely fake?—version of Bruce to spoon feed him until the bowl has been scrapped clean. 

Bruce sets the empty bowl down then smiles at Dick. Smiles. Dick firmly keeps his mouth shut. 

“I’m going to put the bowl away and make some lunch. After that, we can watch a movie?” Bruce stands up. Smiles wider. “How about that?”

Dick tugs on the straps around his wrists ever so slightly, frustration building up in his gut. He takes a deep breath. He needs to find a way out of this. He... can't let this continue. 

“Actually... I need to use the restroom.”

Bruce’s smile softens into sympathy. “Will you fight me? I don’t want you to get hurt.”

“Will you hurt me?” Dick snaps back without really meaning to. Fortunately, it seems to be the right thing to say because a strong emotion passes over Bruce’s face. 

“No,” Bruce says, “never. I’ll never hurt you. But... Robin... you have to promise to not... disobey and get yourself hurt. Otherwise, I’ll be forced to get the catheter.”

Dick’s gut twists violently at that. 

Catheter. They have one of those?!

But he can’t just lay here and wait for this suffocatingly protective version of Bruce do this to him for much longer. He’s itching to move. Not just because this whole situation has his nerves fried to high heavens, but also because he’s been strapped down and rendered immobile even though he, by all means, is completely able to move.

Being forced to be still has always been something that gets him quickly uncomfortable. Even if it’s just very reluctant bedrest.

Dick resists a gulp. He’ll have to risk it. 

“I won’t disobey or hurt myself,” Dick promises.

Bruce regards him for a second, and after a moment it seems he finds whatever he was looking for and leans forward to grab on to the hem of his comforter. Bruce carefully pushes the comforter down to reveal the straps tightly wrapping around his body. Dick remains still as one by one the straps are loosened. 

Dick forces himself to not attempt to escape right then and there. Instead, he allows Bruce to take his hand and carefully help sit him up, his gloved thumbs rubbing gentle circles over his sore wrists.

Bruce talks him through standing up again, guiding him on how slow to go to not cause the blood to rush from his head and make himself dizzy. Once he’s standing, Bruce’s grips on the small of his back and on his elbow, his head pounds for just a second. Probably from being hit in the head with a door... he probably just has a small goose bump. Bruce would never panic about something like that.

Bruce begins to walk him across the room, mumbling comforts and encouragements that aren’t needed during the walk into Dick’s bathroom. For a horrifying second, Dick thinks Bruce is going to attempt to help him, but with a barely contained relieved sigh Bruce simply sits him down on the toilet and explains that he’ll be waiting outside the door, and to call when Dick’s done.

The second the door clicks shut, Dick scrambles to his feet, careful of how his knees and fingers still feel slightly lethargic thanks to the drugs. But it’s nothing, Dick’s felt worse and has done a lot cooler flips and tricks with harsher head injuries. Way cooler tricks than climbing over the toilet to open the small, foggy glass window.

He opens the window and pokes his head outside, frowning at the height between himself and the ground. It’s a long drop. He’ll have to carefully scale the brick walls and window sills to make it down. He looks over towards where his bedroom windows are and then settles his gaze on the tree placed right next to his bedroom. He used to use that tree all the time to sneak out. If he’s slow and cautious, he should be able to just scale the wall to his bedroom, avoiding the windows Bruce can see out of, and then safely make his way down the branches of the tree.

With his mind made up, Dick stretches his fingers then steps onto the toilet tank to heft his upper body out the window. It’s a tight squeeze, but manageable if he turns to just the right angle-

“Robin!”

Shit.

Dick does his best to scramble out of the window as quickly as he can, but a heavy hand wraps around his ankle just as he’s about to fully exit. Before Dick knows it, he’s being dragged back inside, his struggling and kicking going ignored. 

Dick doesn’t allow himself to give up there, the second he’s back inside the bathroom, he throws the hardest punch he can against Bruce’s jaw. His bare knuckles hurt almost immediately, but he ignores it in favor of squirming out of Bruce’s shocked grasp and bolting out the bathroom door.

He doesn’t make it far before two arms wrap around his middle and he’s dragged down to the floor from the weight slamming into his back. Dick’s chin slams against the floor and he bites the corner of his tongue with a help. Bruce is over 250 pounds at least with the Batman armor, and all of it is laying on top of him. Practically suffocating him.

He wheezes and claws at the carpet below his body. “Buh- Bruce- You’re hurting me!”

He can feel Bruce tense above him at those words, and for a hopeful second Dick thinks he’s gotten through to him...

But then Bruce tightens his grip, forcing Dick up and against his chest. “It’s for your own good,” Bruce says, and it sounds like he’s trying to convince himself as well as Dick.

Soon, Dick’s lifted in Bruce’s hold, his feet swinging on the ground thanks to his cursed shortness when Bruce stands fully up. Bruce turns towards the damn bed and Dick snaps. He kicks and struggles and punches, but Bruce seems to not be affected, or maybe he just doesn’t care. Before Dick knows it, he’s thrown onto the bed and Dick’s heart jumps to his throat.

He tries to roll off, but his wrist is grabbed and he’s forced to his back. With expert movements, the first cuff is back on, and Dick screams in frustration.

He uses his free hand to grab at Bruce's face, then uses his legs to kick and knee Bruce’s body as hard as he can, but it’s all useless. Soon enough, Dick’s pinned back to the mattress of his bed, each strap exactly back to where they were before. Dick takes a deep breath and glares at Bruce. 

“Let me go.”

Bruce shakes his head and double checks the restraints. “I told you to follow instructions, Robin, I told you what would happen if you didn’t listen.”

And not for the first time, real fear curdles in his stomach. Only, this time it’s so much worse. “Bruce, no-“

Bruce has the audacity to give him a sympathetic look. “Stay here, I’ll be back with the catheter.”

Bruce stands up and pulls the bedsheet over Dick’s body. Dick tugs on his restraints desperately as Bruce begins to walk away. “Bruce! Batman! Stop! I-I’m sorry I-“

The door closes and Dick groans, tugging harder against the straps. He isn’t going anywhere. He’s completely powerless. 

He’s so frustrated that tears begin to swell in his eyes. He strains against the straps just to bring his shoulder up to his cheek and attempts to wipe away the moisture before any tears can fall, but even that is difficult to do. 

He wants this to stop. He wants Bruce back. The normal Bruce. And isn’t that pathetic? He’s a teenager. Sixteen years old and crying because his dad- his guardian isn’t acting right. It has to have been something the alien lady did, Bruce wouldn’t act like this normally. He wouldn’t strap Dick down just because of a cut, he wouldn’t escort him to the bathroom, he wouldn’t grab a fucking catheter just because Dick was misbehaving. 

He wouldn’t care this much about Dick’s safety.

He forces himself to relax and to quit struggling in the padded straps. All he’s doing is irritating his wrists and ankles. There’s nothing he can do. Bruce will come back and- and Dick will just have to wait this out until someone notices something is wrong. Until Alfred comes home... 

Will Dick really be stuck like this for a week? How long does it take for minor cuts to heal? Is Bruce going to make Dick wait until his skin is smooth and there’s no scabbing? No trace of it left?

He doesn’t want to wait that long. 

He really doesn’t want to.

All too soon, the door opens back up and Bruce is holding a bag full of equipment. Urinary Catheters aren’t ever bulky and are normally able to be hidden in someone’s clothes, so maybe Bruce has brought even more equipment just in case Dick misbehaves in other ways. 

“I’m going to sedate you,” Bruce explains, opening the bag to reveal exactly what Dick expected. Tubes. Dick’s gut twists. “So you won’t be uncomfortable during the procedure.”

“Don’t do it. Please.”

Bruce doesn’t answer, just digs out the supplies he needs. Once the tubing and bags are laid out, Bruce grabs a needle and that same brown bottle as before.

Dick clenches his teeth and glares at the ceiling. Man up, Grayson. It’s just a catheter. People get them all the time. From the looks of it, it’s not even one that will go through the skin of his stomach. It’s just going to be inserted through his...

Man up, Grayson.

It’ll be fine.

Bruce approaches and rubs a cool cloth at the base of Dick’s neck. Dick brings his hands into fists and closes his eyes. 

Right as the point of a needle touches the base of his neck, something shocking happens.

His bedroom door bursts open, and there stands none other than Hal Jordan in full Green Lantern regalia, eyes wild behind his mask and his ring practically flaming on his finger. Before Bruce can even do anything, a bright bolt of green launches across the room and hits Bruce straight on, sending the man flying.

“Bruce!” Dick shouts as he crumples to the floor. Somewhere at the back of his brain, he knows that Bruce isn’t hurt, not with the visibly lowered power of the blast combined with Batman’s armor, and he also knows that Hal is here to help, but he can’t help but worry as Bruce groans on the floor, steam rising from his suit. Hal doesn’t give Bruce a chance to recover, he creates a small bubble around Bruce and traps him there, and then rushes over to Dick to undo the straps.

“I’m sorry,” Hal practically blubbers, hands shaking over the straps to unlock them. Dick shakes his head and sits up the moment he’s free enough to do so.

He looks at Bruce on the floor and clutches his stomach. “What’s wrong with him?”

“He was... persuaded to hyper-fixate on something he cares about,” Hal explains, not really looking like he understood it fully himself. “The Tralleine thought it was amusing... I’m sorry it took so long for me to get back, she wouldn’t talk until I was there.”

So the alien lady did cause this. Tralleine. Dick’s never heard of that species before. Not for the first time, Dick thinks about how cool of a job Hal has that allows him to fly through space and meet so many aliens all the time. 

“Can we fix him?” Dick asks.

Hal smiles. “Yeah, kiddo, yeah we can fix him. You want to come to the Watchtower with us?”

Dick nods, then allows Hal to take his hand. Before Dick knows it, he’s sitting at the Watchtower, eating some pie Clark brought over, and waiting for someone to come get him and tell him Bruce is Bruce again.

It takes hours, but soon enough, Dick’s bursting into the medical ward of the space station and immediately locking his gaze on Bruce. Bruce finally has his cowl pulled down, and his bare chest is wrapped thanks to the bruising and burns he has because of Hal’s energy blast.

But he’s there. He’s there and looking at Dick with such guilt and relief, that Dick doesn’t think. He just runs forward and wraps his arms around Bruce’s neck and squeezes. 

“I’m sorry, chum,” Bruce whispers. Strong arms curl around his back.

“It’s okay,” Dick replies into the corner of his neck.

“He needs plenty of rest,” another voice chimes in, and Dick turns to find Clark walking into the room with Hal standing behind. “Don’t over do it, Bruce.”

“I won't,” Bruce replies, still holding Dick as tightly as he dares. 

“We’d prefer it if you stayed in bed until the bruising fades, but I understand-“

Bruce cuts Clark off with a shake of his head. “It’s okay. I can stay in bed for a while.”

Clark smiles in understanding, and Hal shifts nervously behind him.

“Sorry,” Hal bursts, “I didn’t mean for this to happen, and I should have known something like this could happen and-“ 

And Dick laughs and Bruce chuckles. “Just don’t come to Gotham uninvited again, Jordan,” Bruce replies.

“Yeah, nothing bad happened,” Dick adds, “don’t sweat it. You’ll just have to make it up to me.”

Bruce goes silent like he thinks something bad happened and Dick makes a mental note to convince him that he’s seriously fine. Instead, he begins to list the things Hal can do to make it up to Dick and Bruce, like a space trip or a cool rock from a cool planet or maybe even an alien pet, and he can feel the tension in the room beginning to fall.

Today was scary, that’s for sure, but Dick bounces back easily. He’ll just have to make sure Bruce bounces back with him.

[xenoredux]

The Legend of Silver Fang - Episode 4: The Gang Wars

If you haven’t read episode 3 yet, you can do so here.

As mentioned before, the major story beats and overarching plot are the same. This is written under the supposition that, in fantasy land, this is a mini series with episodes that run about 2 hours in length each.

Some things to be aware of going in:

This story is violent as shit!!! CONTENT WARNING FOR: Animal injuries, animal death, drowning, cannibalism, disembowelment, illness via poisoning, and other bloody Epic Bruh Moments. Maybe don’t read ahead if dead animals upset you

I was trying to achieve a decent adaptation that combines the strongest elements of the anime and manga. It will not be precisely like either and will occasionally totally deviate from both

This isn’t meant to be “better” then the canon. It’s just the way I’d go about rewriting the Akakabuto arc if I had that level of ungodly power lol

Character designs made to represent several mentioned characters can be found here, here, here, here, and here. Others will be left up to the reader’s interpretation. A link to the next episode will also be provided at the end. If a link isn’t available, the next episode just hasn’t been posted yet!

YES THIS IS THE ONE WITH THE NINJAS IN IT

The first, second, and third platoons are heading to Kasumi Dake. It's an admittedly creepy part of their road trip. The mountain is as misty as its name implies, as is the surrounding, half-dead forest.

To make matters worse/spookier, the once pale blue sky has turned a garish grey, and thunder rumbles as it begins to rain. The Kai Bros confirm they're on the right trail to the mountain, so none of the more crybabyish among them (lookin' at you, Hyena) have an excuse to leave.

Still, it'll be harder to deal with this matter during a storm, so the army huddles together under a rock overhang, being afforded just enough room to keep out of the weather's way. The Kai Bros detail how much of a bullheaded pig Moss is as everyone listens. Akatora says that Old Fattycakes has been trying to cagoule he and his brothers into joining his dogmafia for legit years now, and he just gets madder every time they tell him to get lost.

Unexpectedly, Ben gives a heaping helping of benefit-of-the-doubt to this crimelord, insisting that he's got to have something going for him if he has a huge pack. At the very least he must hold a belief his followers share. Nobody can hazard a guess as to what such an ideology could be, but it gets the dogs thinking.

Cross says this means they should try to handle the situation peacefully if they can, only launching a full blown takedown if Moss proves he's just your run-of-the-mill dictator. The Kai Bros aren't happy to hear the army might go soft on Moss, but they don't complain.

A moment later, Hyena begins to slink away from camp. Great asks where he's going and the Weimeranar twitches, says he needs to take a leak. Hyena says he could always stay under the rock, though he's not sure if he'll be able to keep from wetting himself much longer, and Great is so icked out that he all but tells Hyena in an Italian accent that it's time to take a piss.

Hyena snorts and tells the crew to keep an eye on the group's baby as he might wet himself instead, and he's already gone by the time Gin realizes he was being picked on by a nerd twice his age.

Smith laughs and tells Gin not to take anything Hyena does to heart. He's always been a wormy little guy. That's probably why he falls in behind Sniper so easily. He doesn't have the balls to pull any nasty tricks without his German Nanny around. Gin laughs and tugs on Smith's ear appreciatively.

It would seem as if Smith doesn't know Hyena as well as he thinks, though, because Hyena, though he did stop to pee, is up to some nasty business indeed. He's wandered into the forest, howling gingerly to attract the locals' attention.

He garners a response as a booming, gravely voice tells him to either state his business or get the fuck off his lawn. Several dogs who exude the same energy as smoking bikers with sleeve tattoos encircle him, cornering him against a boulder. As Hyena hyperventilates, he looks up top the boulder and shrieks.

Hyena's gaze meets with that of the biggest, heaviest dog he's ever seen. Shorter then Ben but with twice his body weight, the animal is a hulking English Mastiff mix with a spiked collar and, curiously, a coat mottled with zipper scars from stitches long since healed.

Beside the dog are two others; like bookends, they stand beside him, the leftmost looking like a slender, younger clone of the absolute unit of a dog and the rightmost being a Siberian Husky. There's no doubt about who the big guy is: Kasumi Dake's own godfather, Moss.

Miles and miles away, Hidetoshi leaves the hospital to head to a board meeting. Outside of the hospital, Daisuke is standing in the rain with a colorful, cartoon character clad umbrella. Hidetoshi tells Daisuke he should go home, Gohei's asleep and it's past visitation hours. Daisuke shakes his head and looks at John. The dog tries to follow Hidetoshi into his car but is gently pushed away.

Before Hidetoshi drives off, he gives Daisuke a sympathetic look. "I'm sorry about Gin's disappearance," he says. "We'll find him someday, I promise you that." Before Daisuke can respond, the good doctor has already put peddle to metal.

Daisuke sulks and begins to walk home, seemingly lost in thought. John sighs melodramatically as he wanders through a pet door into Hidetoshi's office. The shepherd's eyes float across the photos adorning the walls, each one reigniting a memory of bloody exploits past. John scoffs about how Hidetoshi - and most of the men in the village, for that matter - have given up hunting, which just goes to show how much of a pack of quitters humans are.

His mind wanders to Gin. He's been thinking of the Akita more and more these days, mulling over their last exchange. If he's to be perfectly honest, John's gotta admit that he's fearful for his sorta-friend's wellbeing.

Enough is enough. All inaction and no killing makes John a dull boy, so it's time to return to the mountains. He'll kill three birds with one stone: make sure Gin is okay, return him to Daisuke (by force if necessary), and maybe kill a tyrannical bear or two if he has time for it. John smugly grins at his totally foolproof plan as he runs out. It's time to become the village hero. It's time to actually make a difference.

The rain finally lets up. Back under the rock the dogs are coming to realize this, and so they begin leaving their resting place. Akatora reminds Ben once more that he and his bros are, like, SUPER willing to kill Moss if he doesn't listen to reason, to which Ben, with his most fatherly of smiles, tells them to start chillin' with the killin'.

But before anyone does anything, Gin points out that Hyena never came back from his pee break. Ben heaves an exasperated sigh. Gin gathers this isn't the first time Hyena's pulled some dumb, inconvenient shit.

Smith mutters about "that goddamn idiot" under his breath before saying he'll do the honors of finding the lost complaint factory. Having begun to strike up a friendship with Smith, Gin channels his inner five year old and excitedly asks Ben if he can go with.

Ben allows the boy he's essentially adopted to run off with his friend and the two young dogs scampering off. Ben chuckles and says dogs Gin's age always need a reason to keep moving. A moment later the group departs.

Meanwhile, Hyena has been filling Moss's head with both disgustingly transparent flattery and heinous lies. The story the little traitor's come up with goes something like this: he's a feral dog living with a nomadic pack run by a dude called Ben. The pack has recently encountered the infamous Kai Ken Short Kings who've tricked Ben into thinking Moss was seeking to destroy all competing packs. This has led to Ben waging war on Kasumi Dake. Poor Ben is just too stupid and smelly to know any better, but he's powerful and dangerous to trifle with nevertheless.

Moss smells a rat - possibly a large, grey, snively one - but he allows Hyena to leave his territory unharmed. He turns to the Mini-Moss at his side and asks what he thinks of the situation, addressing him as Jaguar.

Jaguar is Moss's son from a litter wherein he was the only survivor. He's only 2 years old, just a touch older then Gin is. The youngster puts on a bold face and says that he doesn't believe any pack's leader would buckle to three dogs he dwarfs just to start a random war. Moss agrees, saying that the Kai Bros are too up their own asses to recruit assistants anyway.

That said, the husky at his side, Lloyd, still believes caution should be taken. The little wormy guy might've been lying about the Kai Bros, somehow having discovered their beef with Moss, but there's no saying a large pack of feral dogs couldn't be seeking to do them harm.

Moss decides to send two of his men to spy on the pack and learn more about its intentions. In a parallel to Gin's departure with Smith, Jaguar asks if he and Lloyd may do said spying, his desire being to prove himself to his old man. Moss agrees so long as his son keeps himself safe, and he proudly watches the two slink off into the forest.

Elsewhere, Gin and Smith are trying and failing to find Hyena. Smith's getting increasingly annoyed at the little bugger, cursing and complaining about the inconvenience. Suddenly, both he and Gin smell something coming. It's not Hyena, but someone else. Two other someone elses, in fact. The two run and hide somewhere they won't be spotted to watch their new company.

As Gin and Smith sit atop a rocky ledge, two unfamiliar dogs run by. Smith hazards a guess that they're two of Moss's men as and the two strangers come to a stop. Gin and Smith gasp - Hyena is standing in the strangers' way! Moss's dudes ask what Hyena's still piddlefarting around here for when, in a shocking display of effort, Hyena lashes out and bites the Mastiff in the neck.

Gin and Smith can barely contain themselves - what the hell is this idiot doing?! He's going to get everyone in trouble! Gin can't stand by and let this happen. He's about to spring into action but stops when he notices a dark shadow descending on the group.

The shadow is from an illusive cling-on the pack hadn't realized was following them: General Sniper! The Doberman dives onto Lloyd, landing the perfect blow and snapping the Husky's neck on impact. Lloyd dies instantly, his body tumbling to the ground. Sniper gives a wildly cliche evil laugh. He turns to a confused Jaguar as the Mastiff punts Hyena aside.

Jaguar runs to Lloyd's side and starts shaking him in an effort to revive him. Sniper just guffaws and tells Moss's precious son that his death is necessary for the cause. That cause being, of course, a war between Moss and Ben's packs, a war which will hopefully lead to Ben's demise. He punctuates his insidious plan by slashing open Jaguar's left shoulder, sending the inexperienced dog rolling in the dirt.

Meanwhile, on the cusp of the village, Daisuke is looking around the forest, bow clutched in hand. He's calling Gin's name and murmuring about how his dog had had a strange fascination with the feral pack in the area. Could Gin have come out here? And Daisuke had thought the rain had let up, what is this sticky substance dripping onto his shoulder?

The child turns to see he's being overlooked by a bigass bear with a set of hugeass teeth. As he screams bloody murder, the bear begins climbing down towards him. The animal roars hideously at Daisuke as it approaches.

While Daisuke cowers and falls on his ass, the shadow of a dog passes over him and snags hold of the animal's muzzle. It's John, heroically putting the kibosh on his departure so he can save the shrieking boychild.

Back at Kasumi Dake, Gin's had enough. He leaps down from his hiding place and bops Sniper upside the head, smacking him just far away enough to distance him from Jaguar. Smith joins Gin while the brindle scolds Sniper for his heinous deed, fully planning to follow his chiding up with an asskicking.

Smith joins in the Sniper-bashing bonanza by spitting in Sniper's face and telling him he can pull whatever bullshit he wants, he'll never overpower Ben. Hyena tries to intrude and save/stroke Sniper's ego, but Smith just chases him away, offering him a hearty whooping for his treason. Distracted by the injustice taking place, nobody notices as a bleeding Jaguar limps off.

Sniper, flustered with his failure to assassinate the canine equivalent of a 19 year old, throws himself headlong into Gin, ready to rip him to pieces. He's Too Slow, though, and Gin leaps into a nearby tree out of his reach.

A look of fear flashes in Sniper's eyes. He's not afraid of Gin killing him, but instead of his physical prowess. The Boss is also capable of vertical leaping and other anime asspulls. This convinces Sniper once and for all that Gin truly is the Boss's kid. Aight! All the more reason to kill the kid.

"Do you know why they call me Sniper?" he calls up as Gin readies to leap down. "Snipers are known for their accuracy. They never miss." Gin lunges down at the Doberman. Sniper bares his razor sharp fangs. "I never miss."

Gin realizes he's about to be assblasted by the general's teef, so he does a barrel roll in midair fast enough to dodge Sniper's fangs but not his force. He's sent backwards, colliding with a tree and having the wind knocked out of him.

As he struggles to get up, Sniper looms over him and steps on his head. Mr. S begins sadistically cooing at the young dog, promising him he'll bury Gin and Ben alongside each other when they're both dead.

But there's several episodes left for me to write, so of course Smith comes back and boots Sniper out of the way just in time to save Gin's life. A bloodied, battered Hyena follows behind Smith, but he's useless to help his boss now. Smith grabs Gin, flings him onto his back, and, with great effort, runs away. Sniper and his now worthless henchman give chase, hollering about how the two should've been more obedient to their superior. The Spaniel just bails, desperate to get away.

Perhaps too desperate, because he's unable to stop when he realizes he's run into the edge of a cliff. He screams as he and a barely lucid Gin fly over the edge, both of them dropping into the stream below. Sniper and Hyena watch wordlessly as the soldiers disappear from sight.

As the dogs duke it out, Daisuke is still cowering and John is still bear wrastling. Problem is that John overestimated himself. Without an armed human at his back, bears are like twice as hard to kill now. The shepherd tries his best to keep pace with the bear, but he's getting more and more tired by the second. He quickly begins to realize he can't save Daisuke despite his promise to Gin. His eyes sting with tears of desperation.

Just before the bear is about to abandon the puny pooch and start chomping on the child, an ominous howl is heard.

The dog, the bear, and that kid over there gaze up as a muscular, heavily scarred dog leaps to Daisuke's side. Daisuke takes one look at the dog and faints dead away, overwhelmed by all the shit that's happening.

The dog is Riki, better known to John as The Boss, and his ferocious growl and rippling dog pecs alone are enough to drive the bear out of sight. As the bear stomps off to gossip about this event, The Boss Dog turns to John.

The leader's voice drops to a mellow, low tone, and he asks why John's back here instead of with the other soldiers. If he recalls correctly, John was going to follow Ben on his cross-country trip. John snorts disdainfully and says neither Ben nor Muscles McGee here are his leader. Nobody leads someone as hardcore as John.

The Akita Killyou nods thoughtfully, irritating the edgelord before him, before asking what John plans to do now. In a moment of foolish boldness, John spits that he's going to lead the boss's pack now. The battle-worn bitchboy better ready himself, because John's about to steal his position... by force.

Elsewhere in a stream, two other dogs are doing their best to survive. Smith struggles to keep himself afloat with Gin on his back, but he's growing weak. The Spaniel inevitably succumbs to his exhaustion and begins sinking.

As the water floods his faceholes, Gin regains consciousness with a snort. He treads water for a sec and realizes his friend is underwater beneath him. "Smith!" Gin exclaims before diving in. He returns the life saving favor to Smith by yoinking him up by his collar so that his head is just above the water.

After he catches his breath, Smith confides in Gin that maybe dropping 20 feet into a raging river wasn't such a good idea. He feels battered enough that he thinks he's broken something. He urges Gin to let him go, but Gin stubbornly shakes his head no. Smith's eyes widen as a rumbling sound fills his ears. He looks further down the river and sees a wave of foam flowing over a cliff's edge. This stream leads to a waterfall!

Smith demands Gin let go and save himself, but given he's the hero of this story, Gin adamantly refuses, instead clinging to his friend. As the two reach the fall's edge, Gin turns Smith to face upward, shielding him with his body as they fall into the lake below.

Meanwhile, Riki and John stand off in earnest. The Ohu leader has agreed to battle John for rank, and he doesn't seem the least bit concerned about defending his title. This is likely because all it takes to down ole Johnny boy is a single, well-placed smack with the fangs.

As John collapses, the leader stands over him, offering to help him up onto his paws. John refuses to meet the other dog's gaze, but the boss just smiles. He tells John that he'll be keeping his position as leader, but that John is always invited to join his ranks. He'd be honored to have such a powerful spirit fighting alongside him.

John's ego is more then a little hurt, so he just snarls that what the boss and his soldiers are doing is stupid. A ragtag group of mutts cannot bring down a monster the likes of Akakabuto, and he's never going to change his mind about that.

The boss nods, but he must respectfully disagree. His power is hard to overstate - hell, he can scare bears off with a funny look. And yet he knows he couldn't kill Akakabuto alone even if he tried. He says that there's strength in numbers not when a bunch of directionless cowards join forces, but when those who are strong as individuals work together.

John's forehead crinkles before the boss offers him a bow and runs back into the woods. John is left panting beside Daisuke, who he then begins dragging back to the village.

Dusk comes and goes, bringing nighttime with it. The platoons have been waiting for the return of their soldiers, but it's been taking an awful long time for them to return. They'll never meet Moss at this rate. Chutora suggests that Hyena, Smith, and Gin have all died, to which Cross responds by cuffing him upside the head.

The two are about to squabble when Ben tells everyone to knock that shit off, he can smell blood. Everyone is suddenly alert as a stranger with a gash in his shoulder stumbles into view, collapsing not 20 feet from the pack. Everyone rushes to help him as he falls over. He meets Ben's gaze and manages to utter "Are you Ben..?" before losing consciousness.

"Oh shit," panics Akatora, "It's Moss's kid!" Everyone is taken aback. Great asks Ben if he believes Gin and Smith had attacked this guy without permission, but Ben doesn't think so. It wouldn't be like either of them to do something so rash. Akatora insists that all brindles regardless of breed will fight to the death at a moment's notice, really showing his internalized brindlephobia.

Kurotora worriedly wonders aloud if Moss has killed Gin and Smith in retribution. It would explain why they never came back. Cross tries to slow everyone's roll so they stop coming to conclusions while Ben directs the dogs to finally get in line. Whatever's happening, they need to get to the bottom of it, and they'll only do that by meeting Moss. They leave Great behind to keep an eye on Jaguar as they peel off with new purpose.

Somewhere else in the Kasumi Dake river valley, Smith awakens on the shore of the lake covered head to toe in mud. As his eyes adjust to the darkness, he realizes that Gin is sitting in front of him. He also looks like he had a deep cleanse day at the spa. Gin is overjoyed to see Smith has woken up. He says that he was worried Smith had died, to which Smith playfully tugs at his ear and assures him it'll take more then some water to do Commander Smith in.

But they can't keep horseassing around. Ben and the pack are in danger if they don't clear up this situation ayy ess ayy pee. The two scamper off to find, well, everyone.

As all this is happening, Moss and his gang have found Lloyd's body, and Moss is, to put it delicately, super fucking pissed. He's appalled at the death of his comrade and sick with worry for his son. The others try to soothe him by saying they haven't found Jaguar's body, suggesting he could still be alive, but Moss is too livid at the idea of his sweet baby boy being dead to care.

Remembering what Hyena had told him, Moss swears death on every single soldier following that bastard Ben. He tells his men to prepare for war as he shakes with rage.

The aforementioned Ben and his soldiers are continuing along when Akatora suddenly tells everyone to hol' up. The Kai Ken has just become aware of a kind of smelly smell, a smelly smell that smells... smelly. Ben's all like "Nani the fuck" when suddenly some bassy-ass voice starts screaming obscenities at them.

Up atop his glorious rocky throne stands Kasumi Dake's most beloved mobster. The dogs are in awe of just how fuckin' CHUNK Moss is as his own packmates surround him.

Moss presumes correctly that the dane at the front of the pack is Ben, and he demands to know what he's done with his son. Cross boldly screams back, demanding to know where their missing soldiers are. Moss doesn't give a response, not even the classic I Asked You First, because he's too busy shoving boulders down from his rocky recliner.

All it takes is a few hard shoves to cause a veritable rockslide, unleashing a torrent of boulders onto the Ohu dogs. Ben hollers for everyone to get out of the way, and nobody needs to be told twice.

The slower and less fortunate of the dogs are crushed like barking insects as the larger boulders collide with them. As he scurries away, Ben notices Cross about to become one of these smushed pups as she's too busy shoving others out of harm's way to notice the rocks tumbling towards her. Desperate, Ben throws himself against her with all his might, knocking her clear out of the path of destruction seconds before he himself is pummeled.

Cross and the other survivors collect their bearings before looking back on the destruction. Cross shrieks in horror at the sight she's met with: a bleeding Ben, his eyes shut and his tongue lolling from his mouth, can be seen lying in the jumbled mess of rock. She cries guiltily out to her beloved as the Kai Bros hold her back.

It's too late for the big man. Angry tears flow from her scrunched up face as Cross's wails turn into growls. That fatass on the hill WILL pay for this.

Back at base camp, Jaguar has regained consciousness, and he's having a pleasant chat with Great about how some little grey shrimp and his bossy German friend have been setting up both his dad and the Ohu dogs to fight an unnecessary war. Great is only a little surprised that the obviously evil Sniper would pull this kinda shit, but he thanks Jaguar for the info anyway.

Feeling better after being able to rest, Jaguar rises to his feet and insists the two hurry to his dad's domain. He'd feel awfully guilty if anyone were killed over this misunderstanding.

Jaguar'd better get ready to get guilted because a handful of soldiers have indeed been killtd. Several bodies can be seen poking out of holes between boulders, including the upper half of the dane in the red necklace. Given she was Ben's second in command, Cross prepares to lead the troops into battle in earnest. Moss is about to do the same, telling his men to kill everyone who wasn't crushed. The two armies of dogs collide, snapping and tearing into each other.

Cross and the Kai Bros lead the charge, though, strangely enough, Moss isn't at the forefront of his own army. Instead he's following behind them, urging them on. Cross sees red at the sight of her man's murderer and lunges at him, chomping down as hard as she can into his shoulder.

Cross is no weakling, but Moss is covered in so much visceral fat and muscle that her teeth don't even draw blood. Moss coughs out a smoker's laugh as he flips onto his side, smushing the Saluki and knocking the wind out of her. The Kai Bros call out to their new commander as Moss grabs her by the throat.

Watching from a hilltop nearby, Sniper grins cruelly at the bloodbath before him. He laughs in a most edgy way as Hyena licks his own wounds beside him, quite a bit less amused at the sight of a buncha people who trusted him getting murked.

Sniper notices Hyena's not feelin' the deadly vibe and tells him in a slippery voice that he should be happy. When Sniper's the new leader of the platoon, then the Ohu army, Hyena will be his right hand dog. Hyena forces a giggle, but truth be told starting a war between two innocent parties feels suckier then he expected it would.

The battle rages on. The Kai Bros desperately call out to Cross, but she's unable to escape Moss's gargantuan, flappy jowls. He begins to shake her like a ragdoll and she snarls in desperation and fright. All hope seems lost until the bark of a young, overpowered dog echos across the valley. The Ohu soldiers look up despite the onslaught tearing into them.

A shooting star crosses the night sky, and at the end of its trail a silver brindle akita leaps into view. Gin flings himself into the scruff of Moss's neck. Smith is following close behind, and he canonballs onto the dog that's got hold of Akatora's leg. Smith hollers for everyone to stop, they've been set up!

The Kasumi Dake pack gives pause, but Moss doesn't. He releases Cross and flings Gin off of him, snarling at the insolent kiddo. Gin tells Moss to cool it, his son Jaguar is still alive.

Gin has Moss's undivided, if disbelieving, attention now. Gin goes on to explain that it wasn't he and Smith who attacked Jaguar and Lloyd, it was this shitty dude and his henchman who the Ohu dogs had once believed to be a friend. Smith backs up Gin's account while Gin looks around wildly to find Ben and make sure he's also aware of what's gone down.

Upon realizing what Gin is doing, Cross gives a cough and hobbles over to him. She has tears in her eyes, and she's unable to articulate what she needs to say.

Gin is about to ask her what's wrong when he sees something out the corner of his eye, something red that stands out against the greys of the rocks. The  red, round thing catches a sliver of moonlight. Gin gasps as he realizes what - who - it is.

It's Ben, dried blood smattering his unmoving face, the rock that downed him lying on top of his chest. Gin joins in Cross's desperate weeping. He hadn't know Ben for long, but the mountain of dog and his unceasing patience had made an impact on the kid.

Sorrow turns to rage as Gin sets his sights on vengeance. He turns to the silent crowd, demanding to know who the fuck killed his Army Dad. Moss, totally uninterested in Gin's grief, demands back for Gin to explain where his son is. Gin makes it abundantly clear that his empathy is finite as he lunges towards Moss, catching him by the waddle-like roll of skin under his chin. "I'll kill you!" the Akita screams. "I'll fucking kill you!"

Moss only responds with a laugh that rumbles through his body. He's about to mention how very kawaii it is of Gin to attack him when he suddenly finds himself flipping over. "Huh?" he manages to gasp as Gin turns the old clown upside down. Moss is so heavy that he ground around him shakes when he strikes it, and his mobsters look on in awe.

Moss laughs once more, admittedly impressed, before deciding he's done playing games. He kicks Gin's comparatively small body off of him and sends the young soldier crashing into the side of the boulder that smushed Ben.

Gin wheezes a cough as he glances over Ben's lifeless face. Gin's eyes glaze over with tears once more as he turns to Moss, promising the fat bastard that he'll kill him before the sun rises. Moss accepts the challenge, telling Gin to say that to his face not online see what happens. The two run at each other for like 2 seconds before they hear a familiar voice calling out for its father.

Great and Jaguar have successfully located the gang war. Moss immediately loses all interest in Gin, overjoyed to see his son truly is alive and well. Jaguar's shoulder is caked in thick, black shards of dry blood, but he's otherwise doing okay.

As Moss runs over to embrace his son, Jaguar mimics 2009 internet culture by confirming this whole thing was indeed a trap.  And moreover that Akita kid and his friend saved Jag's life after Lloyd was killed.

Moss thanks his kid for the plot summary of the day, but he's not sure that'll end the war now. Grateful though he is for Gin's service, Moss knows that the youngin won't stop til he's avenged Ben.

Gin and Moss are about to face off again when everyone hears a weak, breathless voice. The voice tells everyone to stop, and its request is punctuated with the scraping of rock against rock. Everyone looks to the rockslide as one of the boulders shifts upwards.

The shadow underneath the rock slowly begins to rise, revealing a broad four-legged muscleman with a bloody face and a necklace of red beads. It's Ben! Looking rough but definitely alive, he rolls the boulder off of himself with a growl.

As his friends run over to him the big lug reveals his sense of humor hasn't been crushed to death either by telling Gin all his carrying on had made it impossible for him to sleep.

The Kai Bros tackle their commander as Cross cleans his face of blood. Gin admiringly gazes with tearful eyes up at Ben, and Ben smiles warmly back at him. Moss's mafioso are touched by the scene. Even Moss is a little overwhelmed by Ben's machismo.

As his companions calm down, Ben takes a step towards Moss. The dane doesn't want to be rivals. He sees all dogs as equals. His only enemy is that dickheaded bear back home. Ben bows and makes his intentions clear: he's humbly asking for Moss's assistance. Jaguar backs him up, detailing what Great told him about the Ohu army's noble cause to pummel Akakabitchboy into a much-deserved early grave.

Moss thinks this is a neat idea and all, but if he's going to be falling in line behind a buncha army boys, he's gotta make sure their leader is up to snuff even when injured. He tells Ben he'll join him if, even in this condition, he can kick Moss's ass.

Moss barrels towards Ben, and Ben makes good by doing what Moss asked. He kicks the Mastiff's ass by grabbing his neck and slamming his head into a rock. The Big Boy tumbles away, shaken by the impact.

Just as his men are about to run to his defense, he lets loose another one of his rumbly, gravely laughs. He's seen all he needs to see. Moss lifts himself up and promises Zombie Dog he and his pack's loyalty. After all, Moss is getting to be an old man. Instead of wasting his winter years lazing on rocks and farting himself awake, he'd rather die fighting for something that matters.

"We're not going there to die, Moss," Ben says to the old coot. "We're going there to fight so that we may keep living." As the verbal contract is sealed, both packs form one. The dogs celebrate their new allegiance with a chorus of howls. Gin joins the howling, forgetting about his aches and pains from a long day of getting the shit kicked out of him. As he looks to the shimmering moon above, his rich brown eyes seem to fill with stars.

Unamused by the poetry of the scene, Sniper is still watching Dogfight TV from atop the hill, except now he's pissed. Sniper isn't a decent enough person to understand how two enemies can become friends, and he's shaking with fury to see his lbr pretty simplistic plan crap out on him.

Hyena's less angry then he is ridden with anxiety. Since the Ohu dogs are still alive and have recruited new friends who hate both him and Sniper with a passion, he's expecting retribution for the whole war instigation thing. Sniper doesn't speak. He's too busy glaring at Ben, Moss, and the little silver thorn in his side to think of anything but vengeance.

Sniper throws his paws up in the air and decides he needs to disappear til the heat is off of him. As Hyena tries politely and submissively to explain that Sniper will literally never be free of the sins committed here today, Sniper snaps at him.

Hyena rolls onto his back as Sniper commands his underling to continue the ruse and rejoin the pack. Hyena wants to argue, but he wants to live as well, so he keeps his whimpering mouth shut as Sniper plods away. As soon as his silly little stub tail is out of sight, Hyena groans in worry. "Here we go again," he says to a laugh track.

After a few more minutes of screaming at the sky, the dogarmy takes off. The platoon is at least twice as large now, powerful enough to curbstomp most non-bear foes in their way. And so the group fearlessly continues their road trip, running day and night over a 48 hour period. Destination: Iga of the Mie prefecture. Goal: recruit some dogs with uber special skills. Hotel: Trivago.

The dogs quickly reach Mie. Ben mysteriously mentions a particular dog from his past being here, and everyone's automatically like YEAH ITS ASS KICKING TIME. Except hold up, Ben says this isn't the type of guy they wanna fight into submission, but rather speak with. This piques the pack's curiosity, but Ben is too busy reliving memories of past exploits to share. Instead, the Kai Bros decide they've got rumblies in their tumblies, and so it's time to kill some shit.

The three run off to beat a boar onto a metaphorical plate. They're joined by Papa Moss, a guy as big and powerful as any wild boar. The pack applauds the efforts of the deadly dwarves and generous giant as they settle in to devour the fallen piggie.

While everyone stuffs themselves silly, Cross nuzzles Ben's neck and tells him she's glad he didn't actually get curbstomped by a rock. Ben licks her head and agrees that being alive is pretty sweet. That said, if ever the platoon needed a new leader, he trusts that she'd be able to fill his shoes. She'd rather not think about it, so instead she curls up beside Ben and rests her head on his back as he enjoys his share of pork.

Just out of both sight and smell, a pair of eyes watch from the shadows as the Ohu dogs have their fill. The eyes swiftly glide across the way to notice another, much more pitiful pair of eyes focused on the same sight.

The pathetic eyes, the lids around them sagging in self-pity, belong to one anxious, hungry Hyena. He murmurs to himself that life is so unfair, wishing for all the world that he could play some Linkin Park right now.

The stranger in the bushes watches Hyena pout, though they're unable to hear him sniveling to himself about how he'll never find a way back into the ranks. They also watch as a slab of meat falls from the tree directly above Hyena, and their eyes widen. So do Hyena's, but for a different reason. He looks up at the meat's mysterious origin and sees a very strange dog on the branch above him.

The dog is of average size with a muscular build. Her coat is brown with a pale tan underbelly, and atop her scarred head is a fluttery lock of hair reminiscent of a mohawk. In a hollow, airy voice she tells Hyena that the meat is a gift for him.

Hyena spends a single moment thinking WTF The Fuck before the meat seduces him with its juicy goodness. Having had nothing to eat for like three days, Hyena makes like he hasn't eaten in three years and snags it up greedily. It smells weird, but he's too hungry to care.

As he takes his first bite, the Bizarre Tree-Dog leaps from her branch to another. She rapidly takes off and out of view by playing hopscotch in the trees. This gives Hyena a spook, so he snags the meat up and tries to scramble off before realizing that the strange dog is coming back.

This time she's not alone. She and two other dogs of the same unidentifiable breed leap down from the trees and into circle formation around Hyena. Hyena the Cowardly Dog practically pees his no-pants as they inch towards him.

While this is happening the Ohu dogs are allowing themselves to kick back for a moment. Ben figures his mysterious new ally is close, so giving everyone a second to rest ain't a bad idea.

Gin is too excited by the new sights and smells to rest, though, so instead he pokes around curiously. He hears a rustle in the bushes as if something is sneaking away, but he can't see anything. Instead, he hears a new sound just a moment later. It sounds like someone screaming, and that someone sounds like someone he's met - and disliked - before...

Hyena continues trying not to evacuate his bladder as the strange dog approaches him in earnest. She glares at him and asks if the dogs pigging out on pig over yonder are his bros. Hyena says they are, and that they'll kick the ass of anyone who dares fuck with him.

The stranger has to keep from rolling her eyes at the obvious lie as she commands Hyena to tell them this: Maya ("demon arrow") of the Koga Clan is telling them to leave this forest at once. Should they not heed this warning, the pack will face the wrath of the malevolent Koga leader.

The Kogas each do a boss-ass vertical leap into the trees. They're off again, rushing through the leaves as quick as physics will permit. As they go, Hyena finally legit pees himself and just about faints, never having been more afraid of a reminder that trespassing is impolite.

He curls into a shuddering, urine-soaked ball. This is without a doubt one of the worst days of his life. And it's about to get even worse because a dog he's never seen before has emerged silently from the bushes.

The dog isn't one of the Kogas, but instead a red, brown, and white Rough Collie. The animal has a handsome face and a rehearsed-looking gait, walking as if he's trying to impress someone. The Collie stands over Hyena while Yeenee hides his face and his literal pound of flesh. "Who are you?" is all the Collie gets out before both he and his find notice something coming towards them.

It's the Ohu pack, and they're less then happy to see Hyena has returned. Jaguar is especially pissed that the little war criminal dares to show his face again, and he's ready to smack the weenie's head in when Akatora tells him to back off. Nobody is gonna kill diddly shit without Ben giving the a-okay. That said, who is this weirdo standing beside Hyena? Did he bring the little bugger back?

Cross closes the distance between herself and The New Guy (2002) and asks where he's come from while Ben approaches Hyena. It doesn't take a dog the size of a small horse much to look intimidating, but Ben's never looked scarier then when he shows his disapproval of his former comrade.

Hyena insists that he has no clue where Sniper is now, and that he only did what he'd been told him because Sniper had threatened to kill him if he didn't. Moss tells the shivering whelp that he doesn't believe him and that it wouldn't matter if that was true anyway. Hyena was an accomplice to the murder of one of his men and the attempted murder of his only son. The little bastard can never be an Ohu soldier given what he's done.

Alongside all this in a conversation you'd expect to be had over tea instead of the future corpse of a criminal, Cross and Gin politely grill the Collie.

The fancypants's name is Wilson, and he's an old circus performer who's traveled the world. His speech is eloquent, his demeanor is goodnatured, and the dude is clearly ripped under his piles of fur, all of which convinces Gin that he'd make a fine soldier. Gin asks Cross if Wilson can join them, but she's not too sure. She asks why a performing dog is out in the middle of nowhere.

Wilson sighs and looks drearily at Gin, seemingly deep in thought. He had escaped the circus several years ago, he explains. Back then, he'd had a wife named Lean and a son named Londo. His boy was about Gin's age when he was murdered by someone Wilson refers to as The Devil Dog, a cannibalistic cultist monster who Will's owner had tried to train to be a circus dog as well.

The man had been impressed by the dog's unique appearance and flexibility, but the mongrel hadn't liked being bossed around. He mauled the ringleader, killed AND ATE Wilson's family, and escaped back to his followers in the woods. These woods.

Cross seems especially shaken by this retelling of family slaughter while Gin offers his condolences. Wilson kindly accepts Gin's pity, but he insists he doesn't need it. He plans on getting his revenge soon enough, both against The Devil Dog and another unmentioned foe of his. Gin's about to ask what other sinister being has added a hefty dose of trauma to Wilson's backstory when Hyena, weeping like a baby, comes crawling across the dirt to cling to Cross's ankle.

Cross snaps out of her empathetic stupor as Hyena begs her to convince Ben that he's deserving of forgiveness. She reacts as one would to stepping on a piece of gum and pulls her paw away, her face crinkling in disgust.

Even more desperate now, Hyena turns to Gin. Gin's reaction is more volatile then Cross's - he starts growling at Hyena as if ready to attack - so Hyena gives up on finding allies before he has a chance to beg Wilson for backup. Ben pads up to him as the grey dog trembles pitifully.

"Hyena," Ben says, his voice almost unrecognizable with hatred, "you are no longer my subordinate."

Everyone is pretty sure this is Ben's final statement before he whips out his katana and teleports behind Hyena, but he has yet to move. Ben's suddenly bombarded from all sides with suggestions. Jaguar wants to kill Hyena! No, Moss does! No, The Kai Bros do! No, Cross says Ben shouldn't do it! Great agrees, Ben's too good to kill a worm like Hyena!

A loud "Be quiet" is all it takes to silence the platoons' wild jabbering, and Ben is left standing in silence over the deserter.

A moment later and without warning, Ben snaps into action and at Hyena's neck, grabbing hold of him in his powerful jowls. Gin finds himself taken aback. Hyena's shitty, it's true, but Gin's never seen Ben looking so much like a cold, hard killer. Ben's not really gonna splatter Hyena's gutless guts all over the place, is he?

Nah. The dane instead tosses the Weimeranar into a tree, knocking a tooth or two loose and probably causing a few fractures on impact. Hyena wails about the pain he's in while Ben advances on him. Hyena's pleas fall on deaf ears as Ben snarls at him. Hyena is allowed to live... for now. But under one condition: either he brings Sniper back to the platoon to pay for his crimes, or Ben will use his particular set of skills to find and kill both the mastermind and his henchman.

Moss and Jaguar are a little pissed that their would-be life-ruiner isn't rotting in the dirt, but Ben calmly asks them to grin and bear it. It's better to take out an evil and banish his lackey then kill the lackey and lose track of the evil, yeah? The Mastiffs agree, if a bit begrudgingly.

Gin sighs in relief. Ben puts up a tough front when need be, but he wouldn't really kill Hyena. It'd be like kicking a puppy, only somehow less literally.

Before Hyena leaves, he realizes Smith is chewing on his chunk of meat. He whines about starving, so Smith taunts him over how they let him live and yet he's still unsatisfied. Gin's a little too shaken for joking around so he tells Smith to give the dweeb back his Lunchables.

Smith giggles his frat boy giggle and tosses the meat back to Hyena. Sniper's starving steward has gone back to eating when suddenly a dark shadow falls over Wilson's face.

Wilson wastes no time in leaping over the dogs in his way to reach Hyena. He demands that Hyena spit it out, what do you have in your mouth, bad dog, spit it out, drop it, spit it out I said. Just like my dog does whenever I catch him chewing something he shouldn't, Hyena tries to swallow his bounty before someone else can get his icky spit on it.

Hyena is a baka, Wilson says, because that's no regular meat. It's the flesh of another dog.

"GASP" gasps everybody in horror. Even though he only chewed the dog flesh for a second, Smith starts puking up the pork in his stomach. Hyena turns a deep shade of green and looks like he's about to follow suit. A shaken Gin tells Wilson not to joke around, but he knows the Collie isn't lying. Akatora turns accusingly towards a now puking Hyena.

The Weimaraner tries desperately to explain his innocence between mouthfuls of stomach acid. He says in a panic that he didn't know he was cannibalizing - the meat was given to him! Ben starts to regret letting Hyena live as he demands to know who would've gifted some rando a hunk of Roasted Rover when Wilson begins snarling towards the treetops. "It was them," he growls, his eyes burning with hatred. Everyone looks up.

It's the strange dogs from before, the ones with the fauxhawks. Maya gazes down at the confused canines. Then she and her compadres disappear up into the leaves. Determined to get to the bottom of this, Gin superjumps after them, discovering they've swooced just out of view. This catches the dogs off guard, and they begin leaping from branch to branch to get away. Gin's experience in neighborhood parkour comes in handy and allows him to effortlessly keep pace with them.

The rest of the pack follows on foot, trying to keep pace with the flying squirrels/dogs above. Gin's convinced he's almost caught up to the cannibalistic coterie when one of their unseen comrades leaps down on him from above. The dog rabbit kicks Gin in the middle of his back, effectively knocking him from the air and into the dirt. The pack doubles back to make sure Gin hasn't acquired any especially nasty booboos. Gin's alright, but now the squirrel dogs are gone. 

As everyone begins discussing what to do next, Ben verbalizes his internal monologue for the audience's sake. Those dogs were 100% ninjas, or at least trained in the art of ninja-ing, which means they must be part of his target's pack. Wilson asks who Ben's looking for, to which Ben replies he came here to find Iga's Akame ("red eye").

Great interjects and, as kindly as one can, accuses Ben of pursuing a cannibal in the hopes of making him a soldier, but Ben assures everyone he wouldn't be looking to add dog-chompers to their ranks. Either Akame's changed since Ben last met him or something weird is going on.

Gin tries to imagine what this Akame could be like. He'd earned Ben's trust somehow, but if his namesake and this recent experience are to be considered, maybe Akame is a red-eyed tyrant who eats other dogs. Gin imagines a bestial dog with a mohawk and two bloodshot eyes leaping from the trees and descending on other dogs, eating them alive.

But there's no time to keep spooking himself because Ben has instructed everyone to get moving. It's time to figure out what the hell is going on.

The pack continues their trek. Instead of shinobi dogs, though, they mostly just find a buncha trees and rocks. Some soldiers are becoming so impatient they're wondering if it's time to interrogate the surrounding foliage when Gin picks up a weird scent. The smell is unpleasant, metallic, and strangely organic. He pursues the smell to find...

The bloodied corpse of a Kishu Inu being chomped on by the ninja dogs AAAAAAAAAA!!! Beside himself with disgust, Gin accidentally gasps a bit too dramatically, and the cannibals turn to face him. Gin snarls and dives towards them. As Ben and Cross come to see what the commotion's about, they see Gin has already launched into a lecture about how these are some very, very bad doggies. Shame on them! Naughty naughty!

"Fuck off, kid," is all one of the Kogas manages to say before the rest of the packup comes in as backup. Wilson meets eyes with of one of the Kogas, his gaze filled with hate. The shinobi smirks, well aware of who Wilson is. As this staring contest takes place, Ben asks the ninja dogs to tell him if they know Akame.

The smug asshole gazing at Wilson thinks fast, saying, "Sure we do. He's our leader. He overthrew Master Kurojaki ("black devil") a while back. We're just following his orders. Ain't that right, guys?"

The Koga looks back over his shoulder at his crew and gives them a slippery smile. The dogs rub their two braincells together long enough to realize what he's doing and they grin back, nodding. They punctuate their unreliable narration by telling the soldiers to leave before bounding away into the trees.

Gin is about to follow them when Ben croaks out that there's no point. Gin follows orders and joins the others in looking to Ben for guidance.

Ben is looking mournfully down at the broken white body before them. The dog is indeed dead. He's covered with bite marks, his innards poking through deep gashes, his fur stained with thick patches of blood. Ben remarks that he's ashamed of having brought everyone here to ask for a cannibal's help, but they must stop this treachery before they can continue their mission. Likewise, they should do a body good and bury the poor sucker. It's the least they can do to make up for the tragedy.

Smith and the Kai Bros begin to drag the dog away so as to lay him to a more dignified rest. As they do, another much more alive white dog watches from the trees above.

He looks very much like the other dog, likely because he is also a Kishu Inu. He gives pause as he sees the Ohu soldiers drag the other whitey away. He mutters to himself about how he's never seen these guys before and that it's probably safe to assume that anyone holding a dead guy is evil. Could they be working with the cultists? The dog's not sure, but he hurries off regardless.

Deeper in the forest, a monument to a forgotten era, a dilapidated human house, stands tall. It's the Kishu's destination, and he leaps to it swiftly. He calls out to his Chief from outside the long abandoned building. "Kirikaze?" a measured voice greets him. "Come in."

Kirikaze ("misty wind") bounds in and immediately begins detailing what he's seen: there's a buncha new kids on the block, a whole assload of them, and after he saw Goody Proctor dancing with the devil, he saw said pack with their doglips fastened around the legs of a fallen comrade. He suggests that the pack may have killed the poor little white guy because they're in cahoots with the cult.

The measured voice calls down to Kirikaze from the rafters of the house. The dog it's attached to tells Kirikaze to gather the others, they've got a homestead to protect. If these n00bz truly are a threat then they must be eradicated. As he lays out his plan, the speaker turns his head into a sliver of sunlight. He's a magnificent white Kishu, paler then any of the others. He squints in the ray of light, his purplish-red eyes glistening thoughtfully.

Meanwhile, the fallen fair-furred friend has been buried in a shallow but otherwise decent grave. Ben bows his head over the distended dirt covering the dog and whispers a prayer. Gin, as if reading his mind, asks who Akame was and why Ben wanted to enlist him. Moss chimes in and says that he's not all for blindly following Ben into a cannibal's lair. Ben decides it's time to stop being so ~*~mysterious~*~ and comes clean with a flashback.

Back when Ben was still a hunting dog, the Kai Bros weren't the only dogs his owner nursed back to health. You see, Ben and his master were out playing Rooty Tooty Point-n-Shooty in the woods when they saw a white animal leaping from tree to tree.

Ben's master had thought the creature was a squirrel, so he'd shot at it and hit it. The man and his dane had approached it and found it to be not a squirrel but a Kishu Inu. The dog was a stark white, whiter then any other animal Ben had ever seen. The albinistic dog had been shot in the leg, and he'd looked at Ben as if pleading for sympathy.

Despite the dog clearly being feral, Ben's master took him home to heal him and raise him as a hunter. It's not every day you see a canine leaping through the trees, so the man was pretty determined to keep the albino no matter how much the dog snarled and hid in back of his prison, a tall, wire pen with a sturdy roof. It took a while for his leg to heal up, but within that time the dog - obviously named Akame - confided in Ben and became his friend.

Akame didn't like the idea of working for The Man (either the individual or the sociopolitical concept), and he especially didn't like the idea of being a house pet while his pack languished in the woods. Without his guidance the other Kishu ninjas would be at a loss for what to do.

Ben was hard pressed to believe this random guy was a ninja solely because he could jump super good, but when Akame stated that his wife had had a litter before he'd left and he'd never gotten to see his children, Ben's heart melted like the cheeseball it is. 

Ben had looked deep into the pleading dog's pigmentless, pinkish eyes and decided he wasn't going to orphan any of his puppies. He broke Akame out and escorted him back to the forest. That had been several years ago, and now, if the cannibals were to be believed, Akame was leading a band of murderers.

Ben gives a weak chuckle and wonders aloud if the mohawk dudes were Akame's sons and daughters. Cross looks like she's about to soothe him when Moss interjects that it's cool, man, everyone makes mistakes. It's not Ben's fault his good nature was taken advantage of, not so long as he's willing to put an end to this volatile tomfoolery.

Ben nods, his determination returning to him, and he and the others get back to their favorite activity: running towards an undefined location. But holy canolli, what's this? A gust of wind blows past the pack's noses, sending the eternally intimidating scent of strangers whooshing through their sinuses.

Everyone looks around but they're unable to see where the smell is coming from. All except protagonist Gin, obviously, who is the first to look up. He makes a weird noise in the back of his throat, alerting everyone else to look too.

A barrage of Kishu Inus jump down on top of them, each hollering curses and victorious announcements of triumph over evil or some shit. One of the Kishus screams about Kogas, only confusing everyone further. One of the dogs announces the ninjas' attack move like this is some kinda anime. "Raikaken!" ("thunder blossom blade") she shouts as the wave of white engulfs the army.

The white dogs dip in only once, tooth-smacking every face and ass they can reach. Then they all leap back into the branches before anyone has time to understand what just happened. Flustered, Gin jumps into the trees and calls after them to put up their dukes. Ben instructs everyone else to follow on foot again and the chase begins. Gin calls down to the soldiers periodically to make sure they're following behind.

Watching from a short distance away is an excited mass of Koga dogs. Maya has lead them there to enjoy the show, and she's brought her hubby with her.

The man himself is a unique specimen indeed: the Koga leader is a touch taller then his comrades. He's got a torn left ear and a dark coat of brindle merle. Just between his front paws sits a toddler-age puppy who is clearly his own, the child bearing the same unique markings. The Koga leader grins in amusement, pleased that his cult can kick back and watch as innocents fight their battle for them.

Meanwhile, despite his efforts, Gin is falling behind the Igas. They manage to hurry out of his range of sight and smell, and so he comes to a frustrated stop. As his sides heave with exertion he calls down to Ben that he's lost the lil buggers. Gin leaps down to rejoin the group and explains that he doesn't know what happened, dude, they just up and disappeared.

Smith's face crunches up stoically. He announces that he's not willing to let this go so anticlimactically before he begins sniffing around. The others watch as he takes major nose-hits from the ground and then pauses. He points instinctively at a patch of dirt for a moment before remembering himself and setting to digging. Within moments he manages to unearth something peculiar: one of the Kishus!

The white dude's head is the only part of him exposed, and he's unmoving. "Is he dead?" someone asks. There's a small wave of shrugs. The group quickly assumes the corpse was buried by the cannibals to serve as a midnight snack and they begin to walk away.

Gin follows behind, but he notices Smith hasn't left the presumed cadaver's side. Smith murmurs something about the holedog not smelling dead when one of the "corpse's" eyes opens! The dog snarls viciously and grabs Smith by the collar. As Smith screams and the soldiers double back, the Spaniel is yoinked into the hole and out of sight.

Gin reaches the hole first and notices that it's not just a hole. It's a tunnel, and both the Kishu and Smith have disappeared into it. He tries to leap in and follow, but Ben pulls him out of it by his curly-cue tail.

Gin's insolent about the ass portion of his spine being used as a handle when there's a comrade who needs saving, but Ben says it'd be too risky to follow after them. They're fuckin' NINJAS, my guy, this is clearly a trick they've set up for intruders.

Cross wonders aloud where the tunnel may lead and Ben surveys the area. It takes him all of 3 seconds to realize that oh my goodness there's a house like 50 feet away.

Ben is instantly certain that the ninja bastards live there given no human came out screaming about the massive pack of feral dogs. No doubt the tunnel leads to that building, and that to get to the bottom of this mess the pack will have to go there. They'll have to surround the building's perimeter and then launch an attack.

That said, Ben's a little wary of leaving the tunnel unguarded. Given he previously had his opportunity to go spelunking taken from him, Gin jumps at the chance to explore some hole. Ben tells Gin that he's to WATCH the tunnel, not explore it, as he could be attacked by the ninjas.

Gin pouts as the other dogs go to surround the house, but he still chirps a "Good luck" to them as they take off. As soon as everyone else is gone, Gin gathers all his bravery (and insolence) and dives into the tunnel, still determined to find his friend.

Inside the dirt tube, Gin realizes the Kishus' squirrel-tier leaps are only matched by their gopher-tier digging abilities; the tunnel widens substantially, and it's impressively long. On the other side of it, the dog who 'napped Smith drags him out and under the house.

It doesn't take the dog more then a second and a whiff with his powerful schnoz to realize Gin, in all his smelly post-pubescent glory, is following him. He just shakes his head and makes a brief trek out to a scrape connected to the tunnel. The scrape dips into the lake beside the house, and with one swift motion the dog lifts the single wooden board separating the water from the dig-out.

The water goes roaring down the secret tunnel, which Gin can hear despite not knowing the context. Gin was just thinking that this was all too easy before looking up and reading the above paragraph. Just then, a torrent of water comes wooshing down towards him, flooding the tunnel and knocking him back with the force of a thousand spitting goldfish. He can only manage to cough out a swear before he's carried away.

The other soldiers have taken this time to organize themselves into a nifty little formation around the house, but they come to realize that nobody knows where the littlest recruit is. Cross tells Ben that when she went back to the tunnel to check on Gin he was nowhere to be seen.

Ben's certain the kid has gone down the hole against orders, but there's no time to be upset. Wilson says there's precious little time to save Smith. If Akame really is cannibal chief, he won't keep his men from their next meal for long. Despite his reinvigorated concern for his friend and fellow commander, Ben is wary of leaping into action too suddenly.

Inside the house, Smith is lying unconscious on the floor. Something that feels like another dog's paw (3 guesses as to what it is) touches his face. He slowly opens his eyes.

As the world comes back into focus, he lets out a high-pitched yelp. He's surrounded on all sides by stark white dogs, each one eyeing him harshly. One of them approaches him and he responds by screaming and running into a corner.

Smith starts wailing about how they shouldn't eat him because black and white dogs taste like ass and cause explosive diarrhea when another Kishu, one that was just out of sight, leaps from the rafters right down beside him.

Smith falls into a heap as the newer new guy looms over him. This guy is even paler then the rest; his fur is so pale it seems almost translucent at the edges. The other dogs are clearly annoyed at Smith's bellyaching but this guy just stares at him with expressionless red eyes.

"You're a Western breed, aren't you?" asks the super-white dog, finally breaking the silence. "I've never seen a dog like you before. What are you doing out here?"

Smith chokes out something about traveling to which the dog responds by asking why he and his friends are in this neck of the woods. Smith says that he and his buds are trying to recruit soldiers, which, judging by the super-white dog's reaction, was the wrong thing to say. The Kishu says that Smith's clearly with the Kogas. Smith barely knows how he got here, let alone where this conversation is taking them, so he tries to flee once more.

The neon white dog grabs him firmly by the scruff as he runs past, then slings him back into the corner. As Smith's noggin grows a goose-egg, one of the Kishus leans towards the super-white guy, their obvious leader, and informs him that she and the others are pretty sure that the "soldiers" are outside the manor, no doubt ready to overtake it at any moment.

Neon White tells his pack to ambush the dogs from out the tunnel while he interrogates the hostage. All but the leader depart, leaving a confounded Smith looking on.

The dogs do indeed travel through the flooded tunnel. The gaping Earth-hole is only tall enough to allow for a small air pocket above their heads, so they're mostly submerged. While passing through their underwater subway system, the dogs see the floating, motionless body of a young brindle Akita. Several of their faces crumple at the sight, probably thinking about how war is hell and stuff, before they leave the body behind.

But hey, I'll let you in on a secret: ITS GIN AND HE ISNT DEAD WHODA THUNK. He's just playing aquatic possum while taking tiny, secret gulps of air. He waits until the last of the dogs has swum past before grabbing onto the end of his tail.

The dog seems surprised and he makes like he wants to turn around and face Gin, but there's not enough space to turn back. Gin has hitched a ride out, but he'll no doubt have to contend with the bastards as soon as they leave the tunnel.

Meanwhile, the Ohu dogs have come to the conclusion that Gin and Smith are super, hella dead by now, or at the very least imprisoned, and this stake out has gone on long enough.

Given the commander’s absence, Ben assigns Cross to Smith's place. Then he starts directing everyone on how best to ransack the house. With a nod and an oddly poignant "GO!", the dawgies leap into action, all of them galloping at full speed towards the building.

The Kishus are well prepared for times like these. Several pits in the ground containing live warriors open beneath the approaching hoard's feet, ninjas leaping up from within to snag onto some unfortunate underbellies. Others leap down and out of the trees, cracking skulls with their powerful bites.

Lucky for the Ohu dogs these attacks only slow them down, not defeat them. Ben continues to lead the hoard until it's formed a ring-around-the-rosie of running troops around the house. 

But before the soldiers can literally come full circle, Ben yelps in pain and unromantically tumbles head over heels. One by one the other dogs succumb to the same fate, each stumbling blindly and then rolling over. A chorus of pained, confused whimpers rises up as Smith and the lead Kishu exit the house.

Smith calls out to his friends, but the super-white guy stops him, telling him not to take another step unless he too wants to be skewered.

Turns out the ground has been littered with Hishi seeds. Hishi plants are a water grass with distinctly sharp, spiky seeds, and the pack has managed to slice their paws on tons of them. Tens of little doggy footses bleed into the dirt as Smith watches helplessly.

Akatora says that a few seeds shouldn't be enough to down an army, but he feels... like ass. Like, totally sick, and not in a good way. The Kishu nods and explains that, btw, the spikes have been poisoned. A death by poisoning is a deserved one for a bunch of cannibal cultists (which is my band name now, don't steal).

Ben realizes who this dog is and pipes up. "Akame? Is that you? Have you gone mad?" The Kishu's reddish eyes widen in recognition. His eyes dart to the red bead collar around the dane's neck. "Ben?" he says while approaching the commander. "What are you doing here? Why are you helping the Kogas?"

Ben counters by asking why Akame's leading a hoard of cannibals and suddenly everyone understands that a particular plot element has been reused. The good guys have been double crossed once again!

Akame apologetically explains to everyone but the audience that the Igas thought the Ohu soldiers were allied with the Koga cult to aid in their evil plan. That plan being, of course, to slaughter the remaining Iga warriors and overtake their manor. Before he can truly grasp all of this, Ben's stomach starts benchpressing his other organs and he rolls over in pain.

Akame tells everyone not to move, else the poison will spread faster. He sees his own dogs are coming to see what the deal is and barks at them to bring the antidote. One of the dogs, soaking wet, trots up, looking especially annoyed.

Before they go to get the meds, the most annoyed dog swings his curly tail as an exhausted Gin finally lets it go. Gin sputters out water and the Ohu soldiers perk up at the sight of him. Unfortunately, all of them are getting gutpunched from the inside, so they don't have the strength to go meet him.

Ben saves Gin's silver ass by explaining that he's with them. The Igas seem confused that Gin's not a Koga ally. Just then, the wind picks up and blows a now-familiar stink into everyone's noses. A white projectile falls from the trees and smacks one of the Igas in the head. It lands on the ground with an Icky Thump by The White Stripes, allowing everyone to see what it is: the severed head of a Kishu Inu!

Everyone who is able to lifts their heads to the treetops which seems to be the new entry point for all characters. One of the forest's largest trees is covered in the silhouettes of tens of mohawked dogs. On the highest branch stands the leader of the Kogas. Wilson's eyes widen and he squeaks out "It's him... The Devil Dog."

The Devil Dog laughs as Akame utters a SEETHING "Kurojaki." The merle brindle laughs gutterally, congratulating the Igas on their new feat in stupidity. These new guys here? They were innocent the whole time, duh! And their arrival worked out well to distract the Igas while the Kogas formed a new plan of attack. Now the filthy nonbelievers will be destroyed, and their ancient master's home will become the new domain of the glorious Koga clan.

It's only now that Gin realizes the Kogas outnumber the Igas pretty badly. Kurojaki instructs his soldiers to attack the enemy. The cannibals launch themselves tooth-first towards their foes. Kurojaki takes one look at Akame, smiles, and then disappears up into the tree.

Akame knows that the bastard isn't running away, he's just going to go and retrieve his secret weapon. He tells his men to defend themselves, the soldiers, and the manor while he pursues Kurojaki. The albino scrambles away while the others, Gin included, fight on.

Gin tears into the nearest Koga when he notices that one of the Igas, the youngest one, is scared to do the same. The dude seems inexperienced and afraid, not like the other warriors. One of the Igas calls out to him, scolding his little brother Hayato for being such a puss.

To demonstrate how hardcore ninjas have to be, Hayato's ubermasc big bro drags his Koga of choice back into the flooded tunnel, no doubt intending to drown both the brown dog and himself. Hayato cries out to his unnamed sibling, blubbering about how he wishes their father were here to help them. Jinnai, one of the Igas present, tells Hayato to dog up - Akame can't hold their hands forever, and they cannot shame their pops by showing weakness.

Hayato's eyes fill with tears and so do Gin's. Gin has an Epic Bruh Moment and realizes that the Igas are the children that Ben had freed Akame for, and in turn the albino has raised them to defend their home at any cost.

Gin can't help but think of Riki standing on the mountaintop, gazing down at Gin and commanding him into life-or-death battles alongside the other dogs. Would he change his mind if he knew Gin was his son? Hell, what if he DID know and just didn't feel like treating Gin differently? Gin is knocked out of his stupor as the Koga he's fighting kicks him in the face and runs away.

Gin's mind is elsewhere, though, so he hardly notices. Instead, he decides to help poor Hayato. Hayato's actually doing alright at holding his own and it's probably because he's gotten super pissed at his brother's death.

The idea of the day is #diekogascum, so Hayato allows his opponent to chase him to a strange looking plot of grass. Gin squints at the ground for a moment before looking horrified. Before he can tell Hayato to stop, the Kishu plays Follow The Leader with the Koga over the plot. The strange foliage turns out to be debris covering a pit trap. Both Hayato and his adversary scream in agony as they fall into it.

Gin runs over to see what's become of them. He gasps at the sight. Both Hayato and the Koga are dead. The hole is surprisingly wide, and it's filled to the brim with spikes worn to points. Both lifeless bodies slide wetly down the stakes, each leaving some of their guts strung up behind them.

Disgusted by the gruesomely skewered corpses, Gin gallops back to the others. That tears it, by gum. These Kogas are fucking WAY too much shit up, and the only way to stop this madness is to boot them into next Wednesday.

The Kogas are kinda swaying that way too because they've realized the Igas are willing to wipe themselves out so long as they can take some cannibals with them. Despite their greater numbers the Kogas have weaker spirits, and they really don't wanna be kabobbed to death today. The mohawked murderers leap back into the trees with Gin following right behind them.

This time they can't escape Gin's righteous anger as he snags one by the hind leg. Turns out it's Maya, and despite her skillz, she's no match for Gin's moralistic tantrum. He downs her in an instant, sending the two of them crashing to the forest floor.

Maya's got a nasty gash on her face now. Rivulets of blood pool beside her cheek as she lays unmoving. She weakly looks up at Gin and manages to gasp out a question: what the fuck? Also, is Gin one of the shinobis? Gin shakes his head and proudly introduces himself as a bearhound, but it ends up being pointless ego stroking because Maya loses consciousness.

An impressed Akame descends from the trees. He tells his men that Kurojaki has gone back to the Koga marshlands, probably to retrieve his scythe. Gin doesn't know what a scythe is, so he just asks Akame what they should do next.

After Akame explains the need for antidote to the youngster he apologizes for harming Gin's friends. Luckily, as the epic pwnage was taking place, some of the Kishus scraped together some rainy day herbs to cure the Ohu dogs' ailment. Unluckily there wasn't enough for everybody. Ben in particular ain't doin' so hot. He's refused to take even the smallest bite of antidote before all his men are cured.

Akame insists that they need more of The Cure (years active: 1978-present) asap and Gin is totally on board to gather some. There's just one itty bitty issue: the plantidote is a water root that grows exclusively on the perimeter of the Koga's wetland territory. Kurojaki and the Dogchompers will be on high alert given the preceding events, so it'll be an especially dangerous mission. This doesn't sway Gin at all, though he is a little worried at the possibility of a scythe being a machine gun.

The other Kishus here, Jinnai and Kirikaze, elect to also come with. And so he four go on the most nerve wracking field trip ever conceived. As they venture forth, Maya picks herself up off the ground, taking advantage of having been forgotten in all the excitement. Despite her flesh wound, a nasty grin spreads across her face. This is too perfect - the leader of the Igas is wandering right into her hubby's domain. She gives her body a rough shake before she stumbles back to the marsh.

While everyone else is running to the swamp, the Ohu dogs are taking their medicine. Smith is the only one well enough to dole out rations and he's having a heck of a time convincing Ben to take his meds. In fact, he isn't making any progress at all, as Ben just bats anything he's given away with a trembling paw. Ben insists in that fatherly tone of his that Smith feed all of the others instead.

Cross, the Kai Bros, and Wilson all try to share their herbs with him, but even as he grows too weak to speak he continues refusing everything he's offered. A single tear rolls down Cross's cheek as Ben's mouth whitens with foam. He meets her tearful gaze as his bloodshot eyes glaze over.

The sun begins to set on this long, dreary day. But hope may be on the horizon yet. Akame and his crew have entered the Koga domain undetected and have located the antidote! They each dive into the pond and yank the roots up, snagging as many plants as they can carry. Gin smiles in relief only to realize that the worst is yet to come. He and the Igas look on around the pond's edge.

The Kogas have soundlessly surrounded our hapless heros. An ugly, crackling laugh taunts them as Kurojaki steps out of the shadows. A bloody-faced Maya stands smugly by his side. Their infant son stands between daddy's front paws and meets Gin's eyes with an innocent, oblivious stare. Kurojaki takes a moment to survey the invaders in the lake. Between his jaws he grasps a sharp, sweeping blade.

----------

Thank you to everyone who waited patiently for this episode! We’re at the point where some of the biggest diversions from canon will start cropping up, so hopefully they’re enjoyable. And holy SHIT they keep getting LONGER

Episode 5: The Beasts

[ibelieveinahappilyeverafter]

Father Time - A Christmas Truce Gift

Happy holidays, @qlinq-qhost! That’s right, Dee, I was your back up Truce partner! I’m so sorry to hear that your original partner wasn’t able to get you a gift this year, but that just means I can give you one myself. You wanted some good old father/son Clockwork and Danny fluff and I am all too happy to provide. I hope you enjoy and that you have a great new year!

                                         ⍣ I have a Patreon! ⍣                                           ☪ I have a tip jar! ☪

                                                Father Time

The sound of canvas material tearing and ripping against the force of too many papers and books sent Danny Fenton into a panic as he felt all the weight in his backpack disappear. A reluctant look over his shoulder showed exactly what he had been expecting to see, which was the sight of a week’s worth of missed or late homework scattered alongside the sidewalk and road with crumbled, wrinkled textbooks.

It took a long moment for it all to sink in, but when it did, Danny was pulling his now broken backpack off and throwing it at the wall of a nearby brick building with as much force as possible. The few objects that had remained inside were free to tumble out and hit the strips of grass and gravel, Danny ignoring the newest problem in favor of taking care of what was currently his biggest problem.

While Danny was used to exhausting days considering he was the town hero Danny Phantom and half-ghost, it was somehow worse when it was just normal human things that managed to get to him.

“Oh, come on!” The words burst out of him violently as a car sped past, running over the papers still in the street and either ruining them or kicking them up into the air. Danny tried to grab what parts of the papers he could, near shaking with rage when it happened two more times before he got everything picked up. “Just my luck.”

He had half a mind to blame Johnny 13 and the teen’s own usual bad luck, but he hadn’t seen Johnny in almost a week. No, this was Danny’s bad luck and the results of it all had him contemplating throwing everything of his that was school related into the nearest dumpster. Before he could, though, his phone was ringing, forcing him to juggle things around before he managed to answer it with a huffy little, “What.”

“Wow, someone’s having a bad day!” At hearing Tucker’s voice, Danny relaxed the smallest amount and gave a groan as an answer. “That bad, huh?”

“Let’s just say the last few days haven’t been the best.” It was at least a relief to hear Tucker’s familiar voice where he had been out of town for the last few days, now. “How’s the family reunion?”

“Half of them think technology is a sin, so, you know, I’ve been using technology to make their lives hell over the last few days. What’s been going on with you? Sam back, yet?”

“She should be back on Saturday. Why did you two both have to have family reunions at the same time? I can’t believe the school even excused you for that.” 

“As long as I do the homework, I don’t think they care, and I think Sam’s parents bribed the school with a new gym or something. Seriously, though, how are you? You sound like you’ve had a rough week. Wanna talk about it?”

Considering Danny was a week behind on homework, had dealt with five ghost attacks, hadn’t seen his parents since they left for a science convention, and had to deal with Jazz stressing herself out about college finals, Danny supposed it could be said that he was having a rough week. He also didn’t want to bother Tucker with it when he was so far away and couldn’t help, though.

“Nah, just minor things. My backpack finally reached the end of its life, though, and sent all my books and papers into the street.”

“That sucks.” Tucker’s tone was flat and matter-of-fact and Danny had to fight off a laugh. “Nothing too bad, though?”

“C’mon, Tuck, I can handle a week without you and Sam here - although you are very missed. Thank you for leaving snacks in your locker at school all the time, by the way.”

“Hey! I was saving those!”

It was easy to turn to bickering and teasing as Danny started the walk home again, everything clutched in one arm awkwardly as he fought to keep it balanced without losing anything. It didn’t help seeing as he had to stop to pick up one or two things every few feet, but his conversation with Tucker at least kept him from going off the deep end.

It took almost an hour to get home, Danny finally ending the call with Tucker and shuffling his way into the kitchen and dropping everything onto the kitchen table. Half of it fell into the floor and Danny didn’t even try to pretend to care about it.

“Hey, Jazz! Is there anything here to eat?” Not hearing a response back, Danny groaned and started going through the cabinets on his own, scrounging up some chips and a can of soda that would have to do for the night. “So much for going shopping today.” He understood that Jazz was busy with finals coming up, but he was pretty sure she was either starving herself or had snacks squirreled away in her room - which she probably did. She had a mini-fridge, after all.

Grabbing a few notebooks and pages off the mess on the kitchen table, Danny stomped his way up the steps and fell into the chair at his desk, setting everything out as he finished off his chips. It took hardly five minutes before he realized it was too quiet and his focus was nowhere near his homework.

Every few seconds he kept thinking about how they were almost out of food or how he hadn’t seen Jazz for almost three days besides a quick hello and goodbye in the morning. If it wasn’t that then it was the half dozen ghost attacks that he had dealt with alone this week. Three of his teachers had given him extra work on top of his makeup homework due to missing so many classes, as well, and Danny was honestly stressed enough that he just wanted a few seconds where everything was under his control.

It turned out that being sixteen was no easier than being fourteen and was, in fact, proving to be worse.

Turning back to stare at his homework that had tire marks in some places and was ripped in others, Danny finally gritted his teeth and shoved the books to the floor before standing up.

“Man, forget this.” Digging for that feeling inside of him that he had only ever been able to describe as ‘cold,’ Danny dug his fingers in and grabbed a hold of it, bright light moving around him before he was falling through the floors to land in the basement of Fenton Works.

After a small moment to make sure no alarms were about to go off, Danny launched himself into the portal with more aggression than he probably should have.

He expected to see familiar shades of green that overpowered everything else, but instead what he got was soft shades of blue and purple and the background sound of hundreds of clocks all ticking in time with one another.

“Nice of you to drop in.” The familiar voice was the only reason Danny didn’t throw an ectoblast, but it didn’t stop him from glaring up at the ghost who apparently oversaw all of time. “It’s been a long week, hasn’t it?”

Just like that, Danny felt all his anger drain out of him as he slumped against what he realized was an overstuffed armchair that was a soft, faded purple. Looking up to Clockwork, Danny sighed quietly, “You have no idea.”

“Well, I have a few ideas,” Clockwork chuckled, flying over to settle on a couch that was only a few feet away. It was the same color and looked just as plush and overstuffed as the armchair. “I’d be willing to hear more, however, if you want.”

“It’s been absolute hell!” The words exploded out of Danny as he sat up, and he was feeling his energy spike around him as if his body was preparing itself for a ghost fight. “The ghosts never seem to stop, my parents pretty much abandoned us to ourselves, I haven’t seen Jazz leave her room in days, and my best friends are out of state and I’m left to not only protect the town but try to pretend like my entire life is somehow normal, which, you know, I’m not. I’m just the creepy little kid with creepy little powers-”

“Here I thought you liked to use your own words to describe things and not others’.” Startling slightly at that, Danny glanced up to see Clockwork was looking at him with an unimpressed look. “I believe we���ve both heard enough of what Penelope Spectra has to say on others.”

“Sorry,” Danny finally muttered after a few moments, slumping back down in his seat. It was easy to forget, but Clockwork had been working with him for almost two years, now. “Guess I’ve been a pretty poor mentee, huh?”

“I wouldn’t say that.” Clockwork had approached him with the offer to train him and teach him about the Ghost Zone, but Danny hadn’t expected to get as attached as he had. With the way his family had always been self-sufficient, Clockwork almost felt like another dad to him. “In fact, I was going to stay I’m rather proud of you.”

“Wait, what?” It took half a moment for Danny to zip over to Clockwork’s side on the couch, eyes narrowed as he stared at him. “If you’re just lying to make me feel better-”

“Daniel.” Clockwork’s lips pulled into a smirk, the ghost setting a gloved hand to rest on his head. “When have I ever lied to make you feel better?”

“I… Never, I guess.” Never being as in Clockwork could be brutally honest about some things - not that Danny hadn’t needed the words, at the time. “I’ve been barely holding on this week. How can that make you proud?”

“It’s precisely because you’ve been holding on.” Clockwork ruffled his hair and Danny couldn’t even begin to stop himself from relaxing at the gesture. “You’ve been facing challenge after challenge all on your own and yet you’ve kept pushing yourself back up each and every time.”

“Yeah, but, that’s not much.” Danny settled more on the couch, crossing his arms over his chest as he stared at a random spot on the couch. “I mean, it’s not like I can stay down, can I?”

“Oh, Daniel. That’s precisely why you’ve become such an amazing hero.” Resisting the urge to look up at Clockwork’s words, Danny didn’t get a choice as fingers curled under his chin and lifted his head up to meet Clockwork’s gaze. For as much as his eyes were nothing but red, they still had always felt soft and caring. “You never let yourself give in - even when you want to.”

“No, but- I keep failing.” Danny slammed his eyes shut, not quite able to bring himself to meet Clockwork’s disappointed look when he realized what Danny was saying. “I’ve failed at everything this week.”

“And how have you failed?” Clockwork asked, as if he didn’t have the ability to see Danny’s past week in high definition on a mirror.

“I only just barely won my last two ghost fights and each time damage happened to the city or someone got hurt.” His eyes dragged open at the quiet laugh he heard.

“I believe Amity Park is used to getting hit a few times. As for the people, there was nothing more than a few bruises and scrapes. You also have won all your ghost fights - barely or not.”

“I can’t figure out any of my homework and I dropped it all in the road today. Half of it is destroyed.” His teachers were going to kill him for that one.

“Accidents happen,” Clockwork said softly, Danny looking down to his left hand out of ingrained instinct - and ingrained pain. “That doesn’t mean we don’t learn from them, however, or become stronger from them.”

“Thanks, but I’m still screwed where half the teachers are sick of my excuses,” Danny snorted, not letting his eyes return to Clockwork’s. “I’ve… I’ve barely seen my friends and family for the last week.”

“Yes, that one is difficult… How has that made you fail in anything, however?” How hadn’t it made him fail?

“I’m- I should be okay without them, shouldn’t I? I’m a sixteen-year-old hero. I should be okay if my friends and family are all busy for a few days and I’m left on my own. I shouldn’t just- I shouldn’t just fall apart like this. It’s stupid!”

“Daniel.” Clockwork guided his gaze upwards again, serious expression on his face - serious, but not disappointed. “I would be worried if you were alright when left on your own.” Yeah, no, that response didn’t make sense. “I know you’re about to hate what I’m saying to you, but you are still a child, Daniel.”

“But-!” He was Danny Phantom! He was a hero and he was responsible for making sure it was everyone else who got to be a kid.

“But you’re growing and learning and becoming better from your mistakes. That’s the very definition,” Clockwork laughed, finally letting Danny’s chin go to instead place a hand on his shoulder. “The people we care for and who in turn care for us are pillars for us. They hold us up when we need a break from the weight and they remind us why we keep going.”

“That doesn’t mean I should just suddenly fall apart when they’re all gone, though. That means I’m-”

“That means you’re tired, and upset, and need rest. Nothing more and nothing less.” The hand on his shoulder gave a light squeeze and Clockwork’s voice dropped into something softer. “Daniel… You aren’t Atlas. You weren’t born to carry the world on your shoulders.”

Danny stayed quiet this time, wincing when he heard Clockwork’s quiet sigh. When he felt something fall on his shoulders, he blinked as he saw it was Clockwork’s cloak. “What- What’s this for?”

“I can’t help with bringing your pillars back to you, but I can at least give you some time to rest from carrying all that weight.” The cloak was cool and soft against him, the cloth brushing against his cheek and making him think of newly washed blankets still fresh from the dryer. “My Citadel flows against time differently than what you’re used to, but that means it allows you a few hours of just resting without any time lost.”

“And… you’d really let me stay here for no other reason than just to- To sleep?” Danny leaned back a bit and the cloak draped more around him. While it was loose on Clockwork, it seemed to utterly dwarf Danny. It was like a blanket and, if he focused, he could smell something that reminded him of a clean, fresh scent that made his shoulders relax before he could think it through.

“I have never had a problem with you staying here for any reason, Daniel, nor will I. Whether you need advice, training, someone to talk to, or even just a place to rest, my Citadel is always here for you.”

“Alright, jeez, there’s no need to be so sappy.” The words tumbled out of him more than he wanted to, Danny pulling the hood over his head and shivering as he felt… safe. “How long do I have?”

That familiar hand landed on the back of Danny’s head and gently pushed him down, Danny not bothering to fight the feeling as his head was guided to lay on Clockwork’s lap, the ghost tugging the hood more around him before answering quietly, “As long as you need.”

“Hey, Clockwork?” For a few seconds - or maybe forever - there was a peaceful silence in the room as the clocks created a soft sound that filled up any white noise that could bring back Danny’s thoughts. His eyes, still barely open, caught sight of the room that was made of light blues and faded purples - soft colors that went completely against the harsh green of the Ghost Zone and the bright colors of the human world.

Staring at the sight for as long as he wanted, Danny hid a smile against the inside of the hood as he turned around and curled up more against Clockwork, body losing all its tension.

“Thank you.”

                                                                    ::

When Danny woke up, it was soft and gently - not at all like the violent jerking he was used to. There was no blaring of the alarm clock, no lingering unease from a nightmare, and no one pounding on his door. It was just an opening of the eyes and the realization that there was a beam of golden sunset light across his face.

Yawning and pushing himself up, and mentally grumbling about the short winter days, Danny blinked at seeing it was still only around five in the afternoon. He had apparently laid down to rest, but he felt the best he had ever felt, and he had only gotten home half an hour ago and had sat down in his room five minutes ago.

When he moved and felt soft material brush against his skin, Danny looked down to see an oversized purple cloak that was snugly wrapped around him. It didn’t take much longer than a few seconds to remember his trip to Clockwork’s and the talk they had.

“He could’ve taken the cloak back,” Danny finally muttered to himself, standing up and yawning wide enough to crack his jaw as he shuffled to his desk. What he saw instead of his torn notebooks was his homework and textbooks neatly ordered and made to look as new as the day they had been made, a single sheet showing him what chapters were needed for what assignments as well as a list of helpful study reminders. Next to it was a plate of warm food and a bottle of water that was still cold to the touch.

Falling into his chair and watching the sunlight fill up his entire room and warm his skin, Danny leaned his head back and gave a quiet laugh as he curled his fingers into the cloak with a tight grip.

Having a second dad who could control time wasn’t so bad, it seemed. 

[arrancxr]

[1] Dead and Dying, Fog and Breathing

First chapter of Girls of Virtue is done!! :D It’s a start, and while a lot of things are going to seem very confusing for a while, I promise it’ll all make sense with coming chapters. o3o

Also, this is post number 2,000 on this blog, and I am delighted!! 

She opens her eyes, and sees nothing but white. Above her, around her, the white is smothering on all sides. The air smells wet and dead, like the beginnings of rot, and there’s a chill in her bones that feels like it’s seeping in as deep as it can get, down to her soul.

On impulse, she raises a hand and sees grey. Something inside of her says that it’s wrong, that her skin should be somehow warmer.

It occurs to her, then, that she doesn’t know where she is. A second later, that she doesn’t know who she is. The thought isn’t distressing, though, and she takes a breath of the white around her, thinking. Her head throbs, abruptly, and she winces at the sudden spike of pain.

It’s cold where she is, and she doesn’t feel much like moving. She hasn’t looked at her body yet, and can’t figure out what she’d expect to see. She feels like it would be easier to stay where she is and wait for something to come to her. She takes another breath, closes her eyes, and inhales the scent of smoke and rot and dirt, thick around her head.

Another breath, and she shifts, pulling herself to her knees. More white moves with her, this time soft fabric against her knees. Looking down, she sees more grey skin, a warm shade that seems out of place against the chill of the white, and a skirt around her legs that blends in better, spattered with something like blood around the edges. She looks down at herself, and sees more of the same; a soft frame wrapped up in white cloth, small hands curled against the ground, and wisps of something dark in her lap.

She looks around, then, sees grass surrounding her to all sides. Something in her mind says green, but what she sees is dark and sickly, the color of ash after a fire. The sky is filled with white, hanging thickly around her in a deep mist. Her head pounds again, and her face squinches.

The ground beneath her is cold and wet, and the air feels almost liquid with mist. The chill sticks to her skin, sinks inside, and the wet slips into her lungs like it belongs there. Somehow, it all feels wrong.

Her head hurts, the throbbing slowly becoming more frequent. There’s a thick feeling in her chest, like she needs to be somewhere, doing something that her mind just won’t let her know, and she shivers. Whoever she is, there’s a reason why she’s here.

The more she looks around, the more disturbing the area begins to feel. Something about it is too dead, unpleasant in a way that she can’t place. A gust of wind blows, sliding a few locks of white into her vision, and she closes her eyes again. There’s too much white here, and she doesn’t want to be a part of it. It doesn’t feel right to be a part of it.

The idea that she needs to be somewhere only grows stronger with every passing moment, a sense of urgency settling in her bones like lead. Whatever needs to be done, it needs to be done quickly, soon.

On that impulse, she stands, almost overbalancing at a sudden weight around her head. A raised hand confirms that there are horns coming out of her head, long and thick and not what she expected to be there. How strange, she thinks, that the body she’s in barely feels like her own. She’s certainly alive, certainly awake, and yet, every moment feels like a dream.

When she begins to walk, her bare feet crush the sickly grass with little crunches, sink into the wet earth with every step. She shivers, feeling unnerved all over again, and walks a bit faster. The sooner she’s away from here, the better.

With only the idea that she needs to get somewhere, accomplish something in mind, she chooses a direction at random and follows it.

Anywhere would be better than this field, where everything feels so dead and dry. The unpleasant feeling is only rising the longer she’s surrounded by the fog and ashy grass, so it only makes sense to leave.

She adjusts to the horns faster than she’d expect, soon correcting her gait to match the weight of them tugging at her skull. Within minutes, it feels as natural as can be to have the twin weights on her head, and that thought is almost more strange than that she feels they shouldn’t have been there in the first place. Still breathing in fog, she shivers once more.

Before too long, the ground underneath the girl changes, going from grassy to hard and pebbled with sharp rocks. The beginnings of small trees peek out from the dark earth, their wood blackened and damp. She finds a path soon enough, solid ground packed down in a simple trail.

It’s around that point that a figure emerges from the fog.

It’s a person, small and hunched over like they’re afraid. She takes a step closer, and the figure comes into a view; a girl, shaking like she’s going to fall apart, covered in eyes and wearing tattered clothes. Her face is thin and wide eyed, every one of them blinking in unison when she catches sight of the other girl within the fog. Abruptly, she turns and runs, slippered feet pounding on the path below her. The horned girl freezes, confused by the sudden reaction, but just as quickly forces herself to follow.

The girl with many eyes is fast, though, and she soon vanishes into the fog, body fading from view within seconds. The grey girl soon slows her own gait, quickly giving up on keeping up with someone so nimble.

However, a loud voice soon follows, and the grey girl freezes in place, hoping that whoever it is will come closer.

This time, the person to emerge from the fog is tall, towering over the grey girl herself. She too has horns, but hers stretch upwards proudly above her head. Her skin is pale and sickly, and off-white hair hangs straight around her head. The look on her face is proud and almost angry, and the black clothes knotted around her body hide very little. What stands out most to the grey girl, though, are the vicious looking claws at her sides, nails long and sharp, held like she’s ready to tear something apart.

“Found her!” the clawed girl yells, voice powerful and echoing into the fog. She looks at the grey girl like she’s some kind of pest, and takes another step forwards, claws twitching a bit in an intimidating gesture.

“Selfishness, knock it off,” another voice follows, and another figure emerges from the fog a step behind. “You’re only going to ruin it, like you always do.” This time it’s another smaller girl. This one has skin like ash, dark hair falling into her face like ink. Her eyes are a brilliant red that shine in the fog, and there’s a trail of thorns hanging from her mouth, winding around her throat like a noose. She’s thin, unhealthily so, and wearing a tattered, black dress that falls to her ankles in rips and rags.

Behind her is the small one, the one with many eyes, clinging to her back and digging in with sharp claws. Every eye she has is wide, and she appears to be chewing through her own lip from nervousness.

“Shut up!” The clawed one, Selfishness snaps. The grey girl takes a step back. Something about these girls, even beyond their monstrous appearance is giving her a bad feeling, something dark and cold in her gut. Selfishness lunges forward, though, digging her claws into the grey girl’s shoulder and yanking her towards the other two.

It hurts, pain shooting through her arm like fire as the girl’s claws sink in deep. The grey girl barely stifles a yelp, stumbling where she’s shoved. The red-eyed girl snorts a mean little laugh, and the one with many eyes flinches, ducking behind the other one in a terrified gesture.

“Selfishness, stop!” she whines. “We don’t know if she’s dangerous. What if she’s planning to… to rip our guts out?” The many-eyed one shivers, watching with visible anxiousness. The grey girl forces a smile.

With a squeak, the many-eyed one is back to hiding, and the red-eyed one heaves a sigh. “You’re pathetic, Cowardly,” she says. “No wonder we can never get anything done. All you do is whine. We’re going to fail for sure because you won’t shut up.” The tone of her voice is low and cruel, and it draws a whine from the girl behind her. For people that appear to be allies, the grey girl thinks, they certainly don’t seem to get along with each other.

“We only fail because you’re the one who won’t shut up,” Selfishness snaps, baring her teeth and putting another rough grip on the grey girl’s shoulder. “So quit griping and deal with this. I’m in charge, remember?”

“Ugh, gross. I don’t want to follow your stupid orders,” the red-eyed one says. “You’re not the leader, and you’re bad at taking charge anyway.”

“Um, Negativity?” Cowardly asks, with a note of panic in her voice. “W-We do, um, need to figure this out, though… Or, or sh-she’s gonna be real mad.” She raises one clawed hand to her mouth, and bites down.

At once, something cold washes across the three of them. At that last sentence, they all go silent, looking at each other like there’s something even these monsters dread. The grey girl bites her lip. Her head still hurts, and all of this is becoming painfully confusing. Three people appearing out of the fog, dragging her around, and arguing with each other about things that she doesn’t understand, all talking over her head like she’s not even there.

“Shit, fine,” Selfishness mumbles at last, breaking the silence. “You, with the horns, who are you? Why are you here?” Her features scrunch up into a nasty look, glaring unhappily in an ugly look that seems to suit her.

“You’re asking the wrong person,” the grey girl says, and her voice doesn’t seem her own. “I don’t know. I opened my eyes, and I was here, and I know nothing else. I’m probably more confused than you are.” Sounding braver than she feels, the grey girl meets Selfishness’s eyes, then Negativity’s, trying to predict if any of them are going to lash out.

“That’s normal,” Negativity mumbles. “You aren’t special. No one knows much when they first get here.” She stares with piercing red eyes, and the grey girl notices that more thorns slide out of her mouth with every word, winding around her throat and staining her mouth with red.

“Do you, uh, know your name?” Cowardly asks softly, all of her eyes flickering over to look at the grey girl. It’s unnerving, unnatural.

But the grey girl thinks. No word immediately comes to her, but nothing has so far. She thinks that she probably has a name, that she just can’t think of it, and shakes her head. Her headache is worsening, and it’s hard to think of anything, much less something as abstract as what she could be named. The other girls look at her with annoyance, like it’s some big hassle that she can’t remember what she should be called.

“...we all knew our names,” Negativity mutters again. “Who doesn’t? Are you stupid or something? Maybe your head’s broken?” The grey girl frowns. By this point, she’s not expecting anything good from these girls, but that line still felt downright uncalled for. Pessimistic, just like her name.

“Shut up,” Selfishness chimes in, abruptly giving the grey girl another shove. She stumbles forwards, back towards the path, and looks around in confusion. “We have a job to do, and just ‘cause this one’s weird doesn’t mean we get to stop. You two, quit whining and let’s get going. You all can talk to her while I get some peace!” The last part is a laugh, and the other two scowl. Apparently, having to speak to the grey girl is some kind of terrible burden. She doesn’t think she likes being thought of in that way.

Instead of complaining, though, the grey girl bites her lip and starts walking. She already has a decent guess that these girls won’t just let her walk away. She has little choice but to follow them, and at this point, it’s probably the best thing she can do. Maybe she’ll remember something soon.

After a few minutes, Cowardly speaks up again. “We’re taking you back to our town,” she says, back to chewing at her fingers. “There are people who will know what to do there. You’ll remember soon.”

“Thank you,” the grey girl says, and Cowardly looks at her like she’s lost her mind, scurrying quickly back to Negativity’s side.

A town doesn’t sound so bad. An idea of there being more of those like her springs into the grey girl’s head; those who will know who she is, why she’s there. It sounds almost comforting, and while the grey girl is hesitant to hope for much from people like this, she allows the idea to settle, to grow. Perhaps there will be some solution to this after all.

The path that they follow is long, and the fog is so thick that it’s hard to see more than a few feet away. It sinks into the grey girl’s lungs, heavy and cold. It forms a vice grip around her lungs. Something like dread sits heavy in her throat, the sense that her problems will have no solution that is so easy, the worry that all she’ll find are more of these monstrous girls, and less of anything that might tell her what she’s doing here. Less of anything that could say why she still feels the need to do something while she’s here.

Breathing, feeling the chill around her and in her lungs, the grey girl forces herself to keep moving. She won’t find anything if she doesn’t continue to press on, that much she knows for certain.

The girls around her are still bickering, quiet insults being exchanged through the silence of the heavy fog. Negativity makes a nasty quip about how useless Selfishness is for leaving all the work to them. Selfishness bites back a remark about how, as weak as Negativity is, it’s obvious that Selfishness should get the easy role. A moment later, a line mocking Negativity for not being able to do anything about it. A laugh. Then, Cowardly chiming in with a whimpered plea to stop fighting.

As expected, no one listens, and the back-and-forth continues. Cowardly winces again, and the grey girl notices that she’s begun to scratch a nasty looking hole into her arm, red, and oozing blood over her rough skin. Her eyes flicker around, as if searching for danger, and the grey girl can almost swear that she sees Cowardly’s ears twitch for a moment.

Like a little animal, she thinks, and then regrets it. Her mind supplies an image of a nervous little dog all covered in eyes.

In order to bite back a laugh, the grey girl goes back to looking around. They’ve moved on to what appears to be a full forest of the same dead, unpleasant looking trees. Every one of them has black bark and no leaves, spindly branches reaching up into the sky without a hint of green.

There’s brambles, thorns, and dead matter around their twisting, exposed roots, sharp, hard ground embedded with little rocks. The path is the only clear part, and even it is dark and solid, harsh under bare feet.

Everything looks sick and dead, like there’s not a bit of life left in this world. The fog hangs heavily over all of it, a curtain smothering whatever might have dared to grow. She shivers, feels her head pound all over again. The hurt hasn’t faded yet. If anything, it’s getting worse; a steady aching at her temples that threatens to stop her in her tracks, grab ahold and choke–

She breathes. The sound of the girls arguing beside her begins to drown out the pain. She keeps walking, refusing to let herself slow down.

A moment later, something catches her eye. The grey girl freezes, pauses, and takes a step off of the path. There’s a rock just a couple feet away, and for an instant, all she sees within its marbled surface is a face.

But just as quickly as the sight drew her attention, a clawed hand closes around her shoulder, forcing her away.

“What are you doing?” Selfishness snaps, yanking hard enough to maker her stumble again. “We’re walking this way, stupid. See, Negativity, this is why I said you have to watch this one.” She laughs cruelly, turns away, and when the grey girl has an instant to look back, all she sees in the rock are empty swirls. No sign of the face that was there before.

“Hold on,” she says, voice soft. “There… that rock, does anyone else see a face in it? It looked like a girl, like us.” The other three pause, turn around, matching looks of annoyance and bafflement on their faces.

“I think you are stupid,” Negativity says. “Or you’re just trying to distract us. Those two might look it, but we’re not dumb enough to think there’s a face in a rock.” She tilts her head, annoyed, and her hair spills over her face like ink. More thorns have fallen, winding themselves around her neck, and she reaches up for just a moment to tug the length of them away.

The grey girl watches blood drip down her hands, staining her skin with red. She swallows hard. She doesn’t say anything else. She doesn’t think it would be wise to. Cowardly is flickering between eyeing the rock like she thinks it’s about to move, and giving the grey girl herself the same distrustful glare. The grey girl takes one last look at the rock, trying to see what she could have mistaken for a face. She thinks, for just a moment, that she might be able to tell if the fog were to clear just a little.

But she sees nothing, and the other girls have already started to walk off without her, and she follows, leaving the rock behind her as she jogs to keep up. She’d rather go with them than be left in this place alone.

The walk continues, and before long, the pressed-dirt path turns to stone, cold and smooth beneath her feet. The trees grow thicker, taller, stretching up into the fog like towering beasts. At first, small piles of stone begin to appear, then small structures. By the time the first real house appears, the grey girl is almost expecting it.

It doesn’t look right, is the first thing she thinks. The house stands out painfully amongst the forest, wooden exterior painted a sickly shade of grey, open, busted out windows like yawning mouths in the side of it. Its roof is half caved in, and a few of the walls have begun to collapse. There’s more grass around it, the same dark, dead kind as in the first field, and ever more brambles and rotten looking weeds coil up along the walls. The whole thing looks sick, like no one’s lived in it in far too long, and the grey girl shivers. The air smells of wood and rot, and the fog grows ever colder.

And then, finally, out of the fog in an instant, is a town. By the time they can see far enough ahead to tell that it’s there, it’s on top of them. Rotting buildings, collapsed, with no sign of ever having been lived in tower around them. Their path is now smooth cobblestone, and the chill of it sinks up though the grey girl’s skin, ever deeper into her.

None of the other girls seem affected by the sight, though, and the grey girl forgets whatever hopes she’d had. This isn’t the kind of town where anyone will be able to help her; it’s just as dead as the rest of this world.

“This is our settlement,” Selfishness says when they’re deep within the dark rows of buildings, pausing long enough to turn around. “There are thirteen of us here, and if you’re lucky, you’ll be the next one. That is, if you’re not too worthless for the job!” She laughs again, an ugly snort.

“If Cowardly made it, I think this one will be fine,” Negativity interjects. “She can’t be any more pathetic than that.”

Cowardly winces again, all of her eyes narrowing miserably. She makes a bit of a face, something bitter and almost angry, but it’s gone as quickly as the grey girl saw it. “I did fine!” Cowardly says, voice shaking. “I’m not worthless. Sh-She accepted me just like she did all of you.”

The grey girl can’t place quite why, but the mocking expressions on the faces of the other two shift to something almost fearful. It passes just as quickly, though, and Selfishness gives Cowardly a smack on the back of the head, chiding her for speaking so lightly. Negativity nods, one hand up and messing with the thorns around her neck again, tugging on them hard enough to leave little scratches in her skin.

“Do you have to be so mean to her?” the grey girl says, almost hesitantly. “You don’t have to hit her. She didn’t say anything wrong.”

Again, all three girls look at her like she’s crazy.

“Whatever,” Negativity mumbles. “We have things to do. You,” she glances at the grey girl, “have to meet everyone. Maybe that’ll get some memories back. It’s annoying that you’re so empty, y’know?”

Ignored. Again. The grey girl bites her lip and resists saying anything else. She’s starting to get the feeling that these three are so deep in their own heads that they’re not going to give anyone else a bit of mind. Shivering again in the chill of the fog, the grey girl follows when the other three begin to move, this time deeper into the town.

Somewhere in the distance, a bell rings, the low tone echoing over the collapsing buildings. Other than that and the sound of four sets of footsteps, the air is deathly silent.

The unpleasant feeling from the field has only grown. Everything she sees makes the grey girl feel more unsettled, and everything the other girls say only causes the dread in her chest to rise. When the buildings begin to open up into something like a square, that feeling surges. She knows, knows that whatever she’s going to find isn’t going to be good.

And then the other girls stop. They pause just inside the edge of the open area. Selfishness yawns, bored. Negativity eyes everything around her with open disdain. Cowardly picks the wound on her arm even deeper.

One by one, nine figures emerge from the clinging fog.

[ofmermaidsandmarauders]

are you going to just stand there?

Five times Vice Principal Potter showed up in Miss Evans’ doorway & one time she showed up in his.

Happy birthday @hypergalacticcannibalism can’t believe i finished this IN TIME for your actual birthday BUT HERE I AM with this fic.

Read it on AO3 and FF 

i.

Miss Evans is basically every student’s favorite teacher at school. It’s a well known fact by all of the incoming kindergarteners that Miss Evans will be the bestest teacher ever and always has a bowl of candy in her drawer in case you’re missing home.

“Miss Evans?”

“Yes, Charlie?” She’s surprised by his tears because it’s already October and she has yet to see the younger Weasley show any sign of anxiety but he’s standing in front of her with tears in his eyes suddenly. “What’s wrong?”

As his lower lip quivered, she placed a hand on his shoulder and pulled him a little closer. “I-” He choked on his sob and she smoothed down a strand of his hair before smiling down at him. “It’s okay, take your time. Do you want to sit inside during recess?” The little boy nodded and settled down in the beanie bag next to her desk.

“Everything alright, Miss Evans?” The voice surprised her as she looked up to see the new vice principal standing in her doorway. His lanky build filled the opening and as his hand flew to his hair, she noticed the way that his unruly curls fell against the tan skin on his forehead just so. He had taken a more hands-on approach to being an administrator, popping in at random times just to ensure things were running smoothly. It was already better than Principal Umbridge, who was really a useless piece of crap burning on a hot day, or so said Lily when she and Miss McKinnon had a few drinks and would get a little rowdy on Friday nights at the bar.

“Yes, just having a little bit of a hard day, I think. Charlie here is going to spend some time with me just reading while everyone goes out to play.” She smiled sincerely at James while letting Charlie grab a picture book from the small shelving unit on the side of her desk and offered him a snack from the small basket in the bottom drawer of her desk. Lily hadn’t noticed that James was stepping into the classroom and crouched down beside Charlie. “Hey, bud. I think we met before. Two weeks ago during recess, right?” Charlie’s nod confirmed that James was correct in recognizing him. “Do you want to tell me what’s wrong?” At the shrug of Charlie’s shoulders, James shot a small smile and shrug Lily’s way.

“That’s okay if you’re not ready to talk about it. I was wondering if you’d like to have lunch in my office with me and your brother. I can see if Bill would be cool with having a special lunch earlier than normal, just the three of us. What do you say? Maybe then we can talk about what’s wrong?” James’ grin grew as Charlie nodded and was able to calm his tears. “As long as that’s alright with Miss Evans, that is.” He shot her a wink and Lily let out a soft sigh.

“I suppose it sort of has to be, at this point.” Normally she would have been annoyed that someone was taking over her comforting moment to connect with her students, and was changing up the rules of her classroom, but it was obvious how much James cared about Charlie despite the minimal interactions they may have had, and it made her much more accepting of the situation. Lily shot James a genuine smile as he lifted his gaze to meet hers.

She could let it go this one time.

ii.

“Hey, Miss Evans, can I see you for a minute?”

James’ voice was a surprise to Lily’s as he appeared in her doorway.

“Hey, call me Lily when there’s no children around, please.” She smiled as she beckoned him in and he was able to shut the door.

“Well, then I insist you call me James.” His smile only brightened as he took a seat on top of one of the kindergartener’s desks, knowing there was no way he was fitting in one of the tiny chairs. “I just wanted to come and see how things were going.”

Lily was surprised by this. Principal Umbridge never made it a habit to check in on her teachers, especially when she was the Vice Principal. She had considered herself the dean of discipline and was constantly pulling children out of class for “poor behaviors,” and this often resulted in traumatized children feeling targeted for struggling in class when really they just needed extra support. She had attempted to pull one of Lily’s students once, and when she refused the removal of the student, it had started a power struggle between the two women. Principal Umbridge had made it a point to be Lily’s enemy ever since.

“Principal Umbridge wanted me to come in here and talk to you about… um…” James trailed off and Lily’s eyebrows furrowed together as his cheeks grew increasingly pinker. “Spit it out, James.” She huffed, already annoyed that James was now going to be scolding her too.

“Well, she says that some of the things you wear could be considered.. um... inappropriate for a kindergarten teacher. That maybe your outfits should be a little less adult friendly and a little more k-kid friendly.” He stuttered over his words, refusing to actually look at her when presenting her with this suggestion .

“Oh, is that so?” She asked, raising her left eyebrow as she went to stand in front of James. Lily waited until his chin lifted so he was looking at her, and she noted the slight fear in his eyes. “Does my wardrobe bother you at all, Mr. Potter?” Lily’s formal use of his name caused him to gulp and he shook his head.

“N-no. I- I think you look just fine. More than fine. Beautiful, actually. Well, not beautiful. I mean, yes, beautiful. But in a totally professional way. An appropriate way. I think nothing is wrong with how you dress. Principal Umbridge just asked me t0-” James trailed off when he realized that Lily was giggling.

“It’s okay, James. I know Umbridge has it out for me. She does this at least twice a year. McGonagall used to just bring me a packet of biscuits and chat while we had my semesterly talking to . It’s too bad she got promoted to superintendent. We could use her level-headedness around here.” Lily let out a sigh as she sank back into the chair behind her metal desk, putting her feet up on the wooden top of it so that her skirt hung a little lower on her thighs.

James just grinned and stood up, shaking his head as he walked out.

iii.

Lily had stepped away from the gymnasium/cafeteria where most of the teachers were. It had grown incredibly stifling and she just needed some space. Lily had somehow ended up back in her classroom and she was enjoying the cool air that was coming in through the window she had cracked open upon entering. Settling in on the reading rug, Lily’s legs kicked out in front of her so that the red skirt she wore splayed across the grey carpet. Holding a glass of spiked eggnog, the redhead let her eyes fall shut for just a moment while nibbling on a sugar cookie shaped like a Christmas tree.

“Everything alright in here?” The deep voice scared her so much that the eggnog sloshed onto her hand a bit and Lily’s cheeks went pink at being caught hiding out from everyone. “Mind if I join you?”

James didn’t wait for a response as he sauntered over towards the rug, sliding down beside her so that his legs also lay out in front of him. His were much longer than hers, and she appreciated his height for the first time since they had truly met while purchasing a snack in the teacher’s lounge the day before school started for the students.

“Penny for your thoughts?” He asked, grinning down at her.

“Just thinking about how even that Santa hat can’t hide those curls of yours.” Lily smirked as she made him blush and duck his head.

“Liiiiiiily.” He whined, nudging her with his elbow before he laughed softly. “I can’t control it!” James was growing defensive and she couldn’t control the giggles that fell from her lips. She knew she had too much eggnog before coming down here, and being alone with her boss while slightly tipsy was a dangerous matter. Especially a boss who was looking incredibly cute with his button down sleeves rolled up to his elbows and the hat tilted on the top of his head.

Lily must have been staring for too long because James cleared his throat and she smoothed down her skirt quickly, avoiding his gaze.

“It’s getting cold in here. We should probably head back to the party. Free eggnog can’t last for much longer.” She stood without a warning, watching as James did so as well. He locked up the window for her and then led her through the doorway, his hand burning on the middle of her lower back throughout the walk.

iv.

Lily was looking at her classroom, all decorated with hearts in various shades of red and pink. She had on her pink cardigan with a cream colored skirt that twirled whenever she spun and for some reason she was really looking forward to Valentine’s Day this year. All of the kids had been “gossiping” with her about what kind of cards they were going to get for their friends, and she knew of at least two students who had crushes on other students. Lily had just finished putting out the Valentine’s she gave her own students each year with a small lollipop attached at the corner of the heart-shaped card when she heard a slight cough coming from the doorway. She smiled pleasantly at the sight of James, wearing gray slacks with a white shirt and a bright pink tie covered in hearts.

“Looking quite festive in here, Miss Evans! In fact, I think Cupid may find himself a new home in your classroom, it looks so ready for Valentine’s Day.” James’ teasing caused her to flush, though she smoothed her skirt down and offered up a shrug in response while turning to scan her classroom.

“I like the students to feel excited for the holidays. You haven’t even seen my Valentine’s Day lesson planning.” She had constructed a spelling word list along with math worksheets and art projects, all designed to be Valentine’s themed. “I think I am the leader of this school when it comes to the holiday spirit.” Lily grinned as she settled down at her desk, leaning back in her chair Godfather-style as she glanced up at James. His cheeks brightened and he stepped into the classroom, peeking at one of the cards on a student’s desk before smiling at her again.

“Sorry for the teasing. I appreciate the festivity. I noticed that nobody around here really has that passion anymore, so I’m glad to see at least one teacher does. I’m sure the kids are going to love it.” He sounded sincere as he settled into the beanbag chair beside her desk, his lanky limbs not quite fitting on the cushion properly. Her gaze focused back on him as he adjusted himself and then jumped up again, causing Lily to let out a small yelp in surprise.

“Sorry, sorry. Just forgot. I need to give you something.” As he reached into his pocket, she was afraid she was about to get her pink slip (and on Valentine’s Day no less) meaning she’d have to bid for her job, again and she knew she’d get it but just the stress of having to go through the bid process every year was frightening and she was incredibly grateful that Umbridge didn’t have hiring and firing power.

“Here. Happy Valentine’s Day, Evans.” In James’ palm lay a small Disney princess card in her hand. She took it and noticed that it had Ariel on it, and she couldn’t help the smile that formed on her face as she realized he probably was trying to be cute, identifying that they both had red hair. She licked her lips and opened it up, reading the scratchy scrawl on the inside in tiny lettering.

“Be my Valentine, Evans?  Love, James.” Above his handwriting were the words So glad you’re a part of my world printed in big teal lettering. She grinned up at him and nodded. “I happily accept your proposal, Valentine.” Lily winked and James’ cheeks burned a red almost as bright as the mermaid’s hair.

“Great, so that means you’re required to stop by my office for lunch. I’ll order us something great from that Greek place you always mention.” He told her as he started to back towards her door.

“Perfect! It’s a date.” Lily confirmed, to which James nodded in response and out of the corner of her eye, Lily noticed him stumble over a small chair by the door before he left Lily alone with her thoughts.

v.

Lily had just hugged the last of her kindergarteners goodbye, saying a special farewell to Charlie, who had made immense progress when it came to his math over the year. This was always a hard time for teachers. It was a time to rejoice and prepare for a few months off with no children to really stress over, but it was also a sad time. She was struggling to hold back tears as she took a turn and just stared at the empty classroom. She was being forced to remove all of her decorations for the summer so that they could repaint and retile the floors. All of her student’s things were gone, and any reminders of this school year would be shoved into a storage box. She had never felt so nostalgic before, and she knew that this year’s students held a special place in her heart.

“Alright, Evans?” James’ voice sounded concerned as he suddenly appeared in the doorway to the classroom. She nodded and let out a little sigh before stepping towards him. “How do you always seem to know just when I need some form of human contact?” Lily tried to joke, but she found it to be uncanny. It was as if James just knew when she needed the help.

His hands rested lightly on her shoulders as she let her eyes close, trying to stop any more tears from forming. “It’s okay.” He murmured, letting a hand slip down her arm so that he could lace their fingers together, giving her fingers a slight squeeze. “You’ll get new rascals next year, and you’ll get to mold them into awesome human beings because it’s what you’re great at.” James’ voice sounded so genuine it just made her want to cry more. He was being so kind and thoughtful, and his words meant the world to her.

When Lily peeked up at him from beneath her lashes, James’ gaze seemed a bit softer than usual. Without thinking, his hand slid up to cup the back of her neck, and she could feel his warm breath across her cheeks. “Lily, I-” His words were cut off as she leaned up the rest of the way, capturing his mouth in a soft kiss. Lily wasn’t entirely sure where the desire to do so had come from, but she realized that she had been thinking about doing so for quite some time, and she didn’t want to wait any longer.

After pulling back, the weight of what Lily had done was weighing her down, and she felt like she was going to be sick. She had just kissed her boss. She was so going to be fired. She’d have to work at the school across town, doubling her commute. They definitely didn’t have as nice of classrooms, and she heard all of the administrative time were monsters, but she could make do. Lily could feel her heart pounding in her chest and James must have finally noticed the fearful look on her features because he chuckled softly before lifting up her chin using his thumb and forefinger.

“I was going to ask if you wanted to go for dinner sometime, but I think that I got my answer.” James’ face donned a cocky smirk, but his voice sounded a bit nervous, despite the fact that Lily had just kissed him .

“I think dinner could be arranged.”

vi.

Lily appeared in the doorway and grinned as she watched her husband work. His head was bent over his desk, completely oblivious to his visitors. She knew that the school year wouldn’t be starting for another month, and James technically didn’t start getting paid again until next week, but his passion for his students was what drew her in, and it was something she still found endearing, even after all their time together.

“Ahem, Mister Potter? I have a dilemma I need solving.” She smiled as he looked up, hand midway through his hair, a crooked grin on his face.

“Yes, Miss Evans? Come in and take a seat, I’m happy to help you.” She sauntered over to the cushioned chair opposite the oak desk and slowly lowered herself into the seat.

“The thing is I’m not entirely sure what the problem is. I just know that it was very cold and lonely at home, and I decided that Harry and I simply had to come for a visit. Maybe you know how to fix the problem?” As Lily spoke, James’ grin turned into a smirk and he made his way around the desk, leaning against it while crossing his legs. “I think I may have the solution.”

Moments later, James was taking the baby bundle from her arms, pressing a gentle kiss to Harry’s smooth forehead before letting his eyes meet hers. “Much better.” She reassured him, standing again so that she could drop a kiss to Harry’s cheek and hold onto the hand that had peeked out from the folds of the baby blanket wrapped around his small body. “I’m so proud of you.” She whispered, smiling as his free arm wrapped around her waist so that he could tuck two of his favorite people as close to him as possible. James dropped a kiss to her temple and let out a soft hum of contentment.

“You know you’re not supposed to be out of bed for another week.” He scolded her, though it was hard to look stern when he was holding his newborn son in the middle of his office, feeling more pride than he ever would have imagined.

“Harry and I wanted to be the first ones to say congratulations to the new principal. We hear he’s pretty spectacular.” Lily’s grin grew as she watched her husband’s cheeks turn pink. Even with the cocky attitude he could have at times, it was always fun to watch him grow flustered because of her. She knew that his cockiness was only an act, and that when it came down to it, he was still just that silly boy she met in the teacher’s lounge trying to get a soda unstuck from the vending machine on his first day. James just winked at her and pressed a kiss to her lips before speaking.

“What can I say? I work with some really great teachers.”

i.

Miss Evans is basically every student’s favorite teacher at school. It’s a well known fact by all of the incoming kindergarteners that Miss Evans will be the bestest teacher ever and always has a bowl of candy in her drawer in case you’re missing home.

“Miss Evans?”

“Yes, Charlie?” She’s surprised by his tears because it’s already October and she has yet to see the younger Weasley show any sign of anxiety but he’s standing in front of her with tears in his eyes suddenly. “What’s wrong?”

As his lower lip quivered, she placed a hand on his shoulder and pulled him a little closer. “I-” He choked on his sob and she smoothed down a strand of his hair before smiling down at him. “It’s okay, take your time. Do you want to sit inside during recess?” The little boy nodded and settled down in the beanie bag next to her desk.

“Everything alright, Miss Evans?” The voice surprised her as she looked up to see the new vice principal standing in her doorway. His lanky build filled the opening and as his hand flew to his hair, she noticed the way that his unruly curls fell against the tan skin on his forehead just so. He had taken a more hands-on approach to being an administrator, popping in at random times just to ensure things were running smoothly. It was already better than Principal Umbridge, who was really a useless piece of crap burning on a hot day, or so said Lily when she and Miss McKinnon had a few drinks and would get a little rowdy on Friday nights at the bar.

“Yes, just having a little bit of a hard day, I think. Charlie here is going to spend some time with me just reading while everyone goes out to play.” She smiled sincerely at James while letting Charlie grab a picture book from the small shelving unit on the side of her desk and offered him a snack from the small basket in the bottom drawer of her desk. Lily hadn’t noticed that James was stepping into the classroom and crouched down beside Charlie. “Hey, bud. I think we met before. Two weeks ago during recess, right?” Charlie’s nod confirmed that James was correct in recognizing him. “Do you want to tell me what’s wrong?” At the shrug of Charlie’s shoulders, James shot a small smile and shrug Lily’s way.

“That’s okay if you’re not ready to talk about it. I was wondering if you’d like to have lunch in my office with me and your brother. I can see if Bill would be cool with having a special lunch earlier than normal, just the three of us. What do you say? Maybe then we can talk about what’s wrong?” James’ grin grew as Charlie nodded and was able to calm his tears. “As long as that’s alright with Miss Evans, that is.” He shot her a wink and Lily let out a soft sigh.

“I suppose it sort of has to be, at this point.” Normally she would have been annoyed that someone was taking over her comforting moment to connect with her students, and was changing up the rules of her classroom, but it was obvious how much James cared about Charlie despite the minimal interactions they may have had, and it made her much more accepting of the situation. Lily shot James a genuine smile as he lifted his gaze to meet hers.

She could let it go this one time.

ii.

“Hey, Miss Evans, can I see you for a minute?”

James’ voice was a surprise to Lily’s as he appeared in her doorway.

“Hey, call me Lily when there’s no children around, please.” She smiled as she beckoned him in and he was able to shut the door.

“Well, then I insist you call me James.” His smile only brightened as he took a seat on top of one of the kindergartener’s desks, knowing there was no way he was fitting in one of the tiny chairs. “I just wanted to come and see how things were going.”

Lily was surprised by this. Principal Umbridge never made it a habit to check in on her teachers, especially when she was the Vice Principal. She had considered herself the dean of discipline and was constantly pulling children out of class for “poor behaviors,” and this often resulted in traumatized children feeling targeted for struggling in class when really they just needed extra support. She had attempted to pull one of Lily’s students once, and when she refused the removal of the student, it had started a power struggle between the two women. Principal Umbridge had made it a point to be Lily’s enemy ever since.

“Principal Umbridge wanted me to come in here and talk to you about… um…” James trailed off and Lily’s eyebrows furrowed together as his cheeks grew increasingly pinker. “Spit it out, James.” She huffed, already annoyed that James was now going to be scolding her too.

“Well, she says that some of the things you wear could be considered.. um... inappropriate for a kindergarten teacher. That maybe your outfits should be a little less adult friendly and a little more k-kid friendly.” He stuttered over his words, refusing to actually look at her when presenting her with this suggestion.

“Oh, is that so?” She asked, raising her left eyebrow as she went to stand in front of James. Lily waited until his chin lifted so he was looking at her, and she noted the slight fear in his eyes. “Does my wardrobe bother you at all, Mr. Potter?” Lily’s formal use of his name caused him to gulp and he shook his head.

“N-no. I- I think you look just fine. More than fine. Beautiful, actually. Well, not beautiful. I mean, yes, beautiful. But in a totally professional way. An appropriate way. I think nothing is wrong with how you dress. Principal Umbridge just asked me t0-” James trailed off when he realized that Lily was giggling.

“It’s okay, James. I know Umbridge has it out for me. She does this at least twice a year. McGonagall used to just bring me a packet of biscuits and chat while we had my semesterly talking to. It’s too bad she got promoted to superintendent. We could use her level-headedness around here.” Lily let out a sigh as she sank back into the chair behind her metal desk, putting her feet up on the wooden top of it so that her skirt hung a little lower on her thighs.

James just grinned and stood up, shaking his head as he walked out.

iii.

Lily had stepped away from the gymnasium/cafeteria where most of the teachers were. It had grown incredibly stifling and she just needed some space. Lily had somehow ended up back in her classroom and she was enjoying the cool air that was coming in through the window she had cracked open upon entering. Settling in on the reading rug, Lily’s legs kicked out in front of her so that the red skirt she wore splayed across the grey carpet. Holding a glass of spiked eggnog, the redhead let her eyes fall shut for just a moment while nibbling on a sugar cookie shaped like a Christmas tree.

“Everything alright in here?” The deep voice scared her so much that the eggnog sloshed onto her hand a bit and Lily’s cheeks went pink at being caught hiding out from everyone. “Mind if I join you?”

James didn’t wait for a response as he sauntered over towards the rug, sliding down beside her so that his legs also lay out in front of him. His were much longer than hers, and she appreciated his height for the first time since they had truly met while purchasing a snack in the teacher’s lounge the day before school started for the students.

“Penny for your thoughts?” He asked, grinning down at her.

“Just thinking about how even that Santa hat can’t hide those curls of yours.” Lily smirked as she made him blush and duck his head.

“Liiiiiiily.” He whined, nudging her with his elbow before he laughed softly. “I can’t control it!” James was growing defensive and she couldn’t control the giggles that fell from her lips. She knew she had too much eggnog before coming down here, and being alone with her boss while slightly tipsy was a dangerous matter. Especially a boss who was looking incredibly cute with his button down sleeves rolled up to his elbows and the hat tilted on the top of his head.

Lily must have been staring for too long because James cleared his throat and she smoothed down her skirt quickly, avoiding his gaze.

“It’s getting cold in here. We should probably head back to the party. Free eggnog can’t last for much longer.” She stood without a warning, watching as James did so as well. He locked up the window for her and then led her through the doorway, his hand burning on the middle of her lower back throughout the walk.

iv.

Lily was looking at her classroom, all decorated with hearts in various shades of red and pink. She had on her pink cardigan with a cream colored skirt that twirled whenever she spun and for some reason she was really looking forward to Valentine’s Day this year. All of the kids had been “gossiping” with her about what kind of cards they were going to get for their friends, and she knew of at least two students who had crushes on other students. Lily had just finished putting out the Valentine’s she gave her own students each year with a small lollipop attached at the corner of the heart-shaped card when she heard a slight cough coming from the doorway. She smiled pleasantly at the sight of James, wearing gray slacks with a white shirt and a bright pink tie covered in hearts.

“Looking quite festive in here, Miss Evans! In fact, I think Cupid may find himself a new home in your classroom, it looks so ready for Valentine’s Day.” James’ teasing caused her to flush, though she smoothed her skirt down and offered up a shrug in response while turning to scan her classroom.

“I like the students to feel excited for the holidays. You haven’t even seen my Valentine’s Day lesson planning.” She had constructed a spelling word list along with math worksheets and art projects, all designed to be Valentine’s themed. “I think I am the leader of this school when it comes to the holiday spirit.” Lily grinned as she settled down at her desk, leaning back in her chair Godfather-style as she glanced up at James. His cheeks brightened and he stepped into the classroom, peeking at one of the cards on a student’s desk before smiling at her again.

“Sorry for the teasing. I appreciate the festivity. I noticed that nobody around here really has that passion anymore, so I’m glad to see at least one teacher does. I’m sure the kids are going to love it.” He sounded sincere as he settled into the beanbag chair beside her desk, his lanky limbs not quite fitting on the cushion properly. Her gaze focused back on him as he adjusted himself and then jumped up again, causing Lily to let out a small yelp in surprise.

“Sorry, sorry. Just forgot. I need to give you something.” As he reached into his pocket, she was afraid she was about to get her pink slip (and on Valentine’s Day no less) meaning she’d have to bid for her job, again and she knew she’d get it but just the stress of having to go through the bid process every year was frightening and she was incredibly grateful that Umbridge didn’t have hiring and firing power.

“Here. Happy Valentine’s Day, Evans.” In James’ palm lay a small Disney princess card in her hand. She took it and noticed that it had Ariel on it, and she couldn’t help the smile that formed on her face as she realized he probably was trying to be cute, identifying that they both had red hair. She licked her lips and opened it up, reading the scratchy scrawl on the inside in tiny lettering.

“Be my Valentine, Evans?  Love, James.” Above his handwriting were the words So glad you’re a part of my world printed in big teal lettering. She grinned up at him and nodded. “I happily accept your proposal, Valentine.” Lily winked and James’ cheeks burned a red almost as bright as the mermaid’s hair.

“Great, so that means you’re required to stop by my office for lunch. I’ll order us something great from that Greek place you always mention.” He told her as he started to back towards her door.

“Perfect! It’s a date.” Lily confirmed, to which James nodded in response and out of the corner of her eye, Lily noticed him stumble over a small chair by the door before he left Lily alone with her thoughts.

v.

Lily had just hugged the last of her kindergarteners goodbye, saying a special farewell to Charlie, who had made immense progress when it came to his math over the year. This was always a hard time for teachers. It was a time to rejoice and prepare for a few months off with no children to really stress over, but it was also a sad time. She was struggling to hold back tears as she took a turn and just stared at the empty classroom. She was being forced to remove all of her decorations for the summer so that they could repaint and retile the floors. All of her student’s things were gone, and any reminders of this school year would be shoved into a storage box. She had never felt so nostalgic before, and she knew that this year’s students held a special place in her heart.

“Alright, Evans?” James’ voice sounded concerned as he suddenly appeared in the doorway to the classroom. She nodded and let out a little sigh before stepping towards him. “How do you always seem to know just when I need some form of human contact?” Lily tried to joke, but she found it to be uncanny. It was as if James just knew when she needed the help.

His hands rested lightly on her shoulders as she let her eyes close, trying to stop anymore tears from forming. “It’s okay.” He murmured, letting a hand slip down her arm so that he could lace their fingers together, giving her fingers a slight squeeze. “You’ll get new rascals next year, and you’ll get to mold them into awesome human beings because it’s what you’re great at.” James’ voice sounded so genuine it just made her want to cry more. He was being so kind and thoughtful, and his words meant the world to her.

When Lily peeked up at him from beneath her lashes, James’ gaze seemed a bit softer than usual. Without thinking, his hand slid up to cup the back of her neck, and she could feel his warm breath across her cheeks. “Lily, I-” His words were cut off as she leaned up the rest of the way, capturing his mouth in a soft kiss. Lily wasn’t entirely sure where the desire to do so had come from, but she realized that she had been thinking about doing so for quite some time, and she didn’t want to wait any longer.

After pulling back, the weight of what Lily had done was weighing her down, and she felt like she was going to be sick. She had just kissed her boss. She was so going to be fired. She’d have to work at the school across town, doubling her commute. They definitely didn’t have as nice of classrooms, and she heard all of the administrative time were monsters, but she could make do. Lily could feel her heart pounding in her chest and James must have finally noticed the fearful look on her features because he chuckled softly before lifting up her chin using his thumb and forefinger.

“I was going to ask if you wanted to go for dinner sometime, but I think that I got my answer.” James’ face donned a cocky smirk, but his voice sounded a bit nervous, despite the fact that Lily had just kissed him.

“I think dinner could be arranged.”

vi.

Lily appeared in the doorway and grinned as she watched her husband work. His head was bent over his desk, completely oblivious to his visitors. She knew that the school year wouldn’t be starting for another month, and James technically didn’t start getting paid again until next week, but his passion for his students was what drew her in, and it was something she still found endearing, even after all their time together.

“Ahem, Mister Potter? I have a dilemma I need solving.” She smiled as he looked up, hand midway through his hair, a crooked grin on his face.

“Yes, Miss Evans? Come in and take a seat, I’m happy to help you.” She sauntered over to the cushioned chair opposite the oak desk and slowly lowered herself into the seat.

“The thing is I’m not entirely sure what the problem is. I just know that it was very cold and lonely at home, and I decided that Harry and I simply had to come for a visit. Maybe you know how to fix the problem?” As Lily spoke, James’ grin turned into a smirk and he made his way around the desk, leaning against it while crossing his legs. “I think I may have the solution.”

Moments later, James was taking the baby bundle from her arms, pressing a gentle kiss to Harry’s smooth forehead before letting his eyes meet hers. “Much better.” She reassured him, standing again so that she could drop a kiss to Harry’s cheek and hold onto the hand that had peeked out from the folds of the baby blanket wrapped around his small body. “I’m so proud of you.” She whispered, smiling as his free arm wrapped around her waist so that he could tuck two of his favorite people as close to him as possible. James dropped a kiss to her temple and let out a soft hum of contentment.

“You know you’re not supposed to be out of bed for another week.” He scolded her, though it was hard to look stern when he was holding his newborn son in the middle of his office, feeling more pride than he ever would have imagined.

“Harry and I wanted to be the first ones to say congratulations to the new principal. We hear he’s pretty spectacular.” Lily’s grin grew as she watched her husband’s cheeks turn pink. Even with the cocky attitude he could have at times, it was always fun to watch him grow flustered because of her. She knew that his cockiness was only an act, and that when it came down to it, he was still just that silly boy she met in the teacher’s lounge trying to get a soda unstuck from the vending machine on his first day. James just winked at her and pressed a kiss to her lips before speaking.

“What can I say? I work with some really great teachers.”

[fae-fucker]

Zenith: Chapter 4

Note: I will be editing parts of the quotes from the original preview to reflect the way they appear in the final product. So if something is written like this it means it’s no longer in the book, and this indicates that something’s been added. This is so that I don’t have to explain in complex detail how things have changed if the changes are minor.

Don’t worry, this will stop once we get to more new content. 

Girls shouldn’t be space pirates.

Those were the last words Dex had said to his ex, and, well, look how that turned out. He was eating those words now.

Fike, the irony stung.

What’s with female authors constantly writing meaningless sexism and then have their characters PROVING THE MENZ WRONG.

Like I get that it’s a bit of a power fantasy and everyone wants some payback for being underestimated, but it’s always dumb bullshit like this that serves no other purpose than to impress or prove the male characters wrong by DOING MANLY BADASS THINGS.

I can’t articulate what I’m feeling properly but you get my point, right? The MENZ always end up being proven wrong, but only when the female characters do traditionally masculine-coded things, because not only do female characters need to prove themselves to men, the only talents worth respect are those that men are “supposed” to have.

Whatever, moving on.

Update: That whole chunk of text has been removed. Thankfully.

Dex is a dude who used to teach/date (???) Andi and is now hunting her because ... she ... lied to and cheated on him? Something like that. I guess we’ll find out. He’s the one in charge of the hunt and he’s NOT PLEASED.

A female captain was one thing. But a whole rutting ship full of girls?

You need to settle on your dumb conlang curses or on old-timey curses you saw used in [some SJM series]. You can’t have both “fike,” whatever that is, and “rutting” in the same book. I mean you can, but it’ll look like this, aka garbage.

Update: This comment has also been removed. 

Leave it to the Bloody Baroness, the most ruthless space pirate in the galaxy, to get the best of the best.

[...]

Also leave it to the Bloody Baroness, Dex thought, as he stared at her photograph, to get me to work with the Arcardian Patrolmen.

BLOODY BARONESS WILL NEVER BE INTIMIDATING, I’M SORRY.

And yeah, for some reason, in this HYPER-TECH FUTURE, they still have photographs?

Also, why does Dex think that wanting good people to work for you is somehow unique or particularly impressive?

Whatever. We have a quick flashback to Dex’s latest meeting with Andi. Y’all need to see this so I’ll just post the entire thing:

She was standing in the shadows of a pleasure palace, a Holo cyborg dancing in the window behind her. Androma’s pale, ghostlike hair was streaked with purple, which was new, and peeked out from beneath a black hood, pulled low over her face. He could just barely make out her glowing grey eyes and the smooth metallic plates on her cheekbones, a defensive body mod she’d had done years before. But he could make out the rest of her: perfect curves beneath a sleek, skintight leather bodysuit; the hilt of a knife sticking out from her black boots. And, of course, outside of the hooded cape, her trademark glowing katanas swords strapped across her back like an X of death.

I was gonna make a remark about how people Sasha’s age probably should know better than to write garbage like this, but then I remembered that her KWEEN SJM is 30+, so nevermind.

And yes, Andi has fucking KATANAS. And they are AN EXXX OF DETTHH.

I’m cackling.

Update: So um ... Let’s talk about those edits, shall we? Andi’s eyes are no longer glowing, and as much as I’m happy they toned it down (I wish), this is really the last of their starshined problem.

She has metallic plates on her cheekbones now, which ... let’s examine some official art (from the book trailer):

The art is kind of inconsistent, but those are not on her cheekbones, but on her cheeks. And frankly it looks terrible, as a concept. I would guess it’s the result of miscommunication, but since this is on the official website, I’m assuming Shinsay approved this.

And how is this a defensive mod? She couldn’t have her skull reinforced with titanium or some shit? Ah, yes, the most vulnerable part of the head: the cheek/bone. You gotta protect ‘em! 

Also, I don’t wanna shit on a fellow artist, but I have to say: Idk who this artist is that they got this job but I thought Shinsay would have enough money to hire someone who understands perspective and facial anatomy.

Dex Dogtective is having a BAD TIME trying to catch the Marauder, so he complains about their own ships.

Here I am, the ship seemed to say. Large and in charge and as slow as a rhinoceratops.

I just wanted to include this so y’all could see RHINOCERATOPS.

Update: This line has been changed and is now: Here I am, the ship seemed to say. Large and in charge and as undercover as a Xen Pterran carriage slug.

Also here’s what Dex apparently looks like (from the artist’s Instagram): 

That’s the face of someone who sniffs dirty underwear.

Dex then wanks on about how hot the Marauder is. No, really:

A sleek, beautiful beast that looked to be made of the stars in which it swam.

Deadly and delicious, all varillium glass in the shape of an arrowhead, now concealed by metal shields to protect it during the chase.

He probably has a secret porn stash of plane schematics.

Some little dork comes up to Dex to declare that the Marauder is “making an interesting move,” because I guess the carrier pigeons are dead.

He looked up at the youngest Patrolman on his dedicated crew, a boy just barely of age, who’d never seen battle. Who didn’t know the feeling of blood on scarred hands.

He doesn’t seem like he’s there for battle anyway, considering the fact that he’s near the captain at the moment, is the one delivering the update, and likely isn’t a part of the ground troops.

Update: He looked up at the youngest Patrolman on the ship, a boy no older than fifteen with slitted reptilian nostrils. A boy who’d never seen battle. Who didn’t know the feeling of blood on scarred hands.

Why does he have slitted reptilian nostrils? Is he a particular type of alien? A mutated human? Voldemort? Why do you explain Lira’s whole deal for three paragraphs and then just go “meh, he’s got a weird nose” for this dude? You couldn’t even just throw in a random collection of letters and pretend it’s the name of a type of alien? 

Effort who?

But what is this “interesting move?”

“We aren’t able to catch up to them, as we’d previously hoped.”

Their “interesting move” is ... outrunning them? Like I know what the “interesting move” is, but the way it’s written is so stupid and makes no sense. Who would say this? Dex asks the guy specifically to “use his words” to explain their “interesthing move,” and all he gets is “shit shit we can’t catch up.”

Seriously, who edited this?

Update: Someone edited this as best they could, I guess, because his reply has been changed to “It seems they’re charting a course for the asteroid belt.” 

Does this change anything? No.

The boy asks for orders and Dex tells him to fuck off.

“The rest of you,” Dex said, unbuckling his harness and standing up from his seat, voice rising to a roar, “will catch me that fiking damned ship!”

The glory of his rage was lost in another explosion.

I suspect the glory of his rage was lost some time before that.

Can we just take a moment to go over the dialogue here?

Boy: They’re making an interesting move!

Dex: What’s the move?

Boy: We can’t catch up to them like we hoped! They’re heading towards the asteroid belt!

Dex: I KNEW IT!!

Boy: What should we do?

Dex: GO CRAP YOUR PANTS SOMEWHERE ELSE. THE REST OF YOU: CATCH UP TO THAT SHIP AND GET IT FOR ME!

That was a nonversation. Who put Dex in charge? Is he the Captain of Redundant Orders? He was literally told that they aren’t able to catch up and need to rethink their strategy, and he’s like CATCH ME THAT SHIP.

One of their engines gets fucked.

Dex tumbled into the metal siding, his anger tumbling with him.

Multi-level tumbling.

Update: This has been changed to: Dex’s temper rose as he unclasped his harness and toppled against the metal siding.

Why did he unclasp his harness twice? Or is there a difference between unbuckling and unclasping?

Dex thinks it’s time to take matters into his own ... claws?

Dex squeezed his fists. The pilot flinched back as a triangular blade sprung out of each of Dex’s gloves, just over his knuckles. “Move the fike over.”

Or he’ll scratch you to death with his kittycat claws.

Update: Dex squeezed his fists. The pilot flinched back as four crimson triangular blades sprung out of each of Dex’s gloves, just over his knuckles. “Move over.” 

I’m so fiking mad that they removed fike, so I’ve decided to bring it the fike back, just like we all fiking deserve.

And obviously one blade isn’t enough, you gotta have FOUR, and they gotta be CRIMSON, like the BLOOD OF HIS ENEMIES. How else will you communicate that he’s HARDCORE. 

He could hear commotion in the background, the sound of the pilot’s whining voice as he phoned Cyprian, a glorious tattle-tale.

Yet another Smaas-ism. And this sentence is a trainwreck.

Update: He could hear a commotion in the background, the sound of the pilot’s whining voice as he commed the general. Pathetic tattletale.

Did Shinsay read my first snark or what? So many of my favorite bits have been changed and I hate it.

“You were right,” [the co-pilot] said. “They’re heading for the Asteroid Belt.”

Of course I’m right, Dex wanted to say. Androma always runs until she finds a place to hide.

Damn that wily Androma, always running when she doesn’t want to get caught and hiding when she doesn’t want to be found! Only she could come up with such outside-the-box, wild card strategies!

Update: The copilot, a man covered in purple spikes, stared at Dex openmouthed. “You were right,” he said, his massive canines visible. “They’re heading for Gollanta.”

Shinsay, are you gonna explain your random aliens or what?

Dex sets up a trap for the Marauder in the asteroid belt and we end on this:

Androma was good at what she did. But so was Dex. 

And besides, a prodigy protégée could only outrun her master for so long.

Androma has literally nothing to do with the ship moving too fast for them to catch, but ok, whatever.