#and then saving people still stuck underground with the new plague

[that-weird-mime]

I'm bored, so here's a silly question about my HK fanfic

[sasa-gay-yo]

Just Us (Chapter Four: Pretend)

← Chapter Three

Levi had accustomed himself to come at one on the Saturday he had off. He would walk in and order black tea, knowing I would give him the complete opposite. When the rush of people was over, he would take the cloth from my hands, commenting on how soap adds to dryness, and clean the table tops to his liking. I never understood why it took him one pass, but when I did it, he would complain over and over again. Secretly, he must want to clean. Maybe it’s his idea of normalcy. Being able to clean up inside the walls when it was hard to do the same on the outside. It gave him a sense of being in control that he didn’t have over there, so I let him clean while I swept. 

Then, we would close the windows, lock up shop, and he would take the entrance in the back of the café up to the apartment so no one would suspect anything. It felt weird having to sneak around doing no wrong, but Levi was the master of it and insisted. We would sit across from each other, tea in hand, and just talk about anything. The topics included the best water source in the walls, the gossip that plagued Trost, and how many kicks it takes to knock out all of someone’s teeth. While certain topics about the Scouts or the current expedition would come up, they were short and never really taken care of. He never asked for my time in the underground or the details about me gaining ownership of the café. It was a good game of pretend for the time being, but it got me thinking about what we were pretending to be. As we sat there, in my home, sipping tea, what was this “normal” that Levi was playing out? If he wasn’t Captain and I wasn’t civilian, then what characters were we? And at what point will this game morph into reality… if it for me hasn’t already. 

We’ve met three times more after we started the game. Twice after expeditions and once on a random day in the middle of a blizzard. The Scouts were preparing to go out for an expedition, but it was suspended for the day until the weather had cleared up. 

I never went to see Levi off. I’d listen to their shouts from the comfort of my café, but never went to see them leave the town square. I think that’s when the game we were playing would break. Seeing Levi and Captain Levi leaving and me as the civilian, hoping he’d return. I would only go meet them on their way back and we could pretend again once I saw his face and knew he was alive. It was dangerous, like I had said before. Deep down Levi had to know that too.

Now, we were in the last month of the year, and the Scouts were off on a shortened expedition so they could spend the end of the year festival with their families. I didn’t have any idea what Levi would do then. We never had the opportunity to meet for more than one night a month. Would that change?

“What the hell are you thinking about so hard? A new recipe?” I turned to Jonas who was sitting next to me. We were going over what extra I was going to order for the holidays. People desperately wanted fresh bread and pastries, and I had to include fruit in them as tradition states. I would be busy the week before the festival time, so I would have to close up for a few days and hope that my profit for the holidays would outweigh that of which I lost. It usually did and I had most of my savings because of the year-end. Last year, I had enough saved to even go out and enjoy the festivities they put on in Trost. 

“I’m doing math in my head, hold on. If it takes four berries per pastry and twelve a batch and I plan to make twelve batches that's...I wrote it down, that's like, round up, six-hundred. And you said you can guarantee there to be twenty plus in each box, so I’ll have to buy… thirty boxes! That’s so much money!” I whined on the table and Jonas wrote down the number on the form. At least I would get a friends and family discount. 

“I think people will want more than you have anyways. I mean, this is the time of year you usually have a line outside of the café.” He put a hand on my back and I sat up again. 

“It’s just I hate spending money every year on a business gamble. Especially when I have to get gifts for people too. With the increased prices, I’ll have to dig into reserves and I have yet to buy just regular working items in the capital. That's another five or six days off.” I put my head in my hands again. Too much to think about. 

“I could go to the capital with you this time. It would be easier since I know a lot of the merchants there.” I shook my head no.

“I don’t just get supplies at the capital. Sometimes I go to get my hair cut, other times I shop for a whole day for gifts. It’s really boring, and besides you have to deliver things. I know the volume of orders is also a lot during this time.” He nodded and looked dejected that I rejected his offer, which made me smirk. Don’t think I’ve forgotten what June said to me… and I’ve noticed it too. The hand bandages, bringing in extra stuff from Reeve’s, showing up right when Levi does and talking for an hour. He may not be that smart, but the common sense he has is astounding. 

“Well, if you don’t let me go to the capital with you, then you have to go to the year-end-” 

“The Scouts are back! Only two casualties!” I cut off Jonas from whatever he was going on about and walked out the café door with the other customers. The two casualties remark got them on their feet, excited, but any talk of casualties got my stomach turning. It would never be Levi, but there was always an off chance. 

This time, lots of people gathered around the streets, probably even some visitors to see their child return from the Scouts. It was always something that happened during this time of year. A long vacation meant that the families could finally be together and rejoice about another year alive. It made me think about the families that had those hopes devastated. This year-end would be different for them. 

The Scouts turned the corner with less than before, but not because of death. People had gotten off the convoy when they had seen their family. Some people would not get off and ride to either lodgings in Trost or the HQ. Levi was one of those people. If I had known about the way the Scouts do year-end, I would have invited him to come and stay in my apartment and not have to ride back and forth from outside Trost. Even if I did that, for threat of rumors, he probably wouldn’t have gotten off at the café. 

I saw him by Erwin, all near the end this time so that the others could leave the line undisturbed. We locked eyes and he nodded once before staring ahead again. I smiled and turned back around, entering the warmth of the café. Jonas followed looking back and forth between me and the Captain on his horse. If anyone had suspicions about Levi, it was him and the older women who seemed to always show up at one on Saturday. This time, I had no idea when he would show up to the café, as he was much more freer than usual. 

“Is Captain Levi going to buy some pastries for his Scout comrades?” It was probably jealousy that made him act so hostile. I wish he would just act normal in these situations.

“I hope so. That’s a lot of pastries to buy. I might even force him to for how many cups of my tea he drinks.” That wasn’t a lie. I would need to buy peppermint tea in the capital by how much we’ve both drank in the past 2 months. Who knew three nights could ruin my supply of tea? And I was worried about the Garrison.

“He pays for all of them, right?” I nodded and signed the order form. Jonas was just trying to find one crack in Levi’s personality. Something to make it easy to hate him more.

“Every third cup is free though. Maybe I’ll eliminate that policy just for him.” I wanted to get Jonas to laugh, but I guess when talking about Levi that was impossible. 

“Since this is such a large order, you have to put fifteen percent down. Company policy.” I reached into the bag that held some of my money and sadly dished it out. Why must this world run on a monetary system? 

“Well, I’m off. The bar down the road has a lot of wine to order. I’ll see you in a few days, yeah? You’re planning to go to the festival, right?” I nodded and stood up, walking him out. 

“Of course! I have to give you your gift, too. Don’t tell anyone, but I think you’re going to like what I planned.” He smiled and raised one hand in the air to wave goodbye as he walked through the crowd. In all honesty, I had no idea what I was going to buy him or anyone. I just went to the capital and hoped the items at the marketplace spoke to me. 

“Do you have something for me planned too?” I jumped and almost slammed the door on him. Levi was leaning against the outside wall, one leg up, like he always did. I just wasn’t expecting him to come today or this quickly. My heart started beating fast again. 

“I thought you’d be going to HQ.” I looked him up and down. He was in black slacks and white shirt, his regular, everyday outfit. That was a quick change. I tried to tell him that he still stuck out because we don’t dress like that, but he refused. Even his clothes had to have crisp, clean folds and edges that made them stand out.

“Erwin thought it would be nice to have the Scouts without families to board together in town for the festival. So we wouldn’t have to go back and forth.” Convenient. 

“That’s cute. Is it also because Mitras doesn’t want to send in any MPs, so they put you all in charge for the district you’re closest to?” He smirked for a second then dropped it. 

“How did you guess that?” I smiled and moved out of the way so he could walk into the café. 

“It happened last year too. I forgot you weren’t there yet. The old ladies aren’t here to oogle at you, so you’re going to have to deal with no female attention.” He followed me behind the counter where he leans against to watch me bake or make coffee when he’s too bored of the window. With the news of the Scouts and families reuniting, the café was now empty. Levi would allow himself to play the normal game again. 

“I think I’ll be fine.” He stood there, watching me make puff pastry for what felt like forever. Even if it was comfortable to have his eyes on me, sometimes when I knew he wanted to say something, it was annoying. 

“If you’re so interested in how to fold puff pastry, I can show you tonight.” 

“O-Oh… Um, I can’t stay tonight. We have an officer’s meeting to plan all of the expeditions for next year.” Oh. That’s a first. Why did it make me so sad that he said he couldn’t stay? I’m not used to it. We’ve only done it four times.

“I’ll be going to the capital tomorrow. I guess we’ll both have to wait a few days to finish our conversation on what color to repaint the walls of the Scout HQ.” He switched sides of the counter so he was leaning on the one I was working on. When he did this, it meant he wanted to know I understood something. Very Captain of him.

“Capital? By yourself? At this time of year?” I nodded and pushed aside a finished puff pastry sheet. 

“I always do. I have to get a lot of things for the festival. I also buy gifts, so if you want to have an amazing gift like Jonas, I have to go.” That made him blink and I’d never seen that look before. He seemed dumbfounded with the idea I was going to travel there myself. 

“You’re actually buying me a gift?” Oh, so it wasn't the trip. It was the fact someone was going to get him a gift. I’m sure he’s had someone give him gifts before; his fellow officers or friends or someone.

“Of course I am. I’d consider you important enough to get a gift for.” The reddening of his face didn’t go unnoticed. Another win for me. I’ve made it my mission to get him to show emotion on a daily basis so I wouldn’t have to guess what he was thinking. So far I’ve gotten one smile, three instances of blush, and one small laugh.

This is what I meant by pretending to be normal. If he wasn’t a Captain right now, and Captain Levi would never blush, then who was he? What person was he playing that would stand right next to me and blush? Who am I playing to have the right to elicit this type of reaction from him? Right now, I wasn’t playing. When I talk about paint and not about how curious I am about Levi’s time in the underground, that's pretending. How far does Levi take it?

“I guess I’ll have to buy you a gift at the capital too.” I stopped folding dough. My heart picked up speed again. 

“Huh?” 

“Well, you can’t go on your own to the capital. Someone who’s capable of defending you from the Underground pickpocketers has to go with. I know how they work too. Plus, I have to get gifts for people. It’s just convenient that you happen to be going tomorrow.” I raised an eyebrow and remembered how easily I had denied Jonas. Was it real me or pretend me that didn’t want to deny Levi of escorting me to the capital? It all seemed like a fairytale; being escorted by a handsome, capable male. Short, but capable. Who was I to deny myself of that?

“I’ll think about it. I might leave you if you show up though. You don’t even know what time I’m going,” He pointed to the door, one hand still in the pocket of his damn slacks.

“Assuming that the sign you put on the door is correct, you’re closing tomorrow at noon. If I come at noon, I’ll catch you just in time for you to deny me.” He seemed to be in a good mood today if he was making jokes like that. Levi’s conversation depended on how that last expedition went it seems. Once he came back and barely talked to me. At that point I prepped dough while he sat on my couch staring hard at the wall. The other time he came back, he was his normal self. Not talking much in the morning, but then talking about all the ways he’d remodel the Scout HQ if they had the money at night. No matter what mood, he wouldn’t talk to me about the expeditions. The line he wouldn’t cross, I’m assuming. 

The next day the café was extra busy as everyone wanted to get their orders in before I closed early. There were bulk orders for parties, the buying of heavy amounts of bread, and regular coffee sales. When noon came around, I was proud to say I was legitimately out of bread and only had a few pastries. I decided to take those along on the ferry ride. 

I went upstairs using the back way, going to grab my bag and the amounts of money I put aside. Last night, I made sure I calculated four or five times, allotting only a few extra amounts of change if I went over budget. During year-end, I had to be very strict with my spending if I didn’t want to go in the negative like Mr. Flynn had taught me. 

“Eva.” I stopped walking up the stairs and saw the person sitting on my steps. Was it bad that I felt disappointed that it wasn’t Levi? He said he was going to come at noon.

“Jonas. What can I do for you? I gotta run soon to buy a ticket to the ferry.” He smiled and held up two pieces of paper. Oh gods. 

“I bought them already. Like it or not, I’m coming with you.” That unsettled me, because I had subconsciously accepted Levi’s offer. Jonas might be a bit heartbroken if I say that. 

“Uh, Jonas, you should go return those tickets so you don’t waste your money. If you do it an hour before the ferry, they give you a full refund.” I tried to push past him to get to get into my house, but he held his hands up. This was getting frustrating. He wouldn’t even let me get into my own house. 

“You shouldn’t be going alone at this time, Eva. You remember what happened last year, you got robbed!” I rolled my eyes and tried to push past him again, but it didn’t work because I wasn’t a six foot tall man who lifts heavy boxes everyday. 

“They tried to take my money, but it was an empty bag, Jonas. I’m not stupid enough to be carrying things around like that. If anyone knows how pickpockets work, Jonas, I’m one of them. Please, can I get into my house.” He stepped up one more step and held his arms out wide like he was doing something heroic. I couldn’t tell him that I wasn’t going alone, so he’d just have to trust me on this one. 

“Do I have to kick you off these stairs?” Jonas froze and his eyes almost bugged out of his head. I had to lean over so I could see where the harsh voice came from. Curiously enough, he was standing there in my opened door. How the hell did he get into my apartment? Did I not lock it this morning? His voice was the harshest I’ve ever heard it.

“What are you doing here?” Jonas snapped his head back and almost hit mine. This was the first time Jonas had probably said a full sentence to Levi that wasn’t full of stutters. 

Levi’s eyes were scary too. Meeting them, I could see his unfaltering glare towards Jonas. Chills. It didn’t help that he was looking down at us the whole time. 

“I’m here to escort Miss. Flynn to the capital so she can fill out a personal order for the Scouts.” It was a good lie that even I wouldn’t have been able to think of. He even used my last name which made it sound more legitimate. The only thing that might have been against us were those damn black slacks. 

“Is that true?” Jonas whipped his head back around and again almost hit me. I gave him an annoyed look before scratching the back of my head. 

“Yes, it’s true. Now, if you’ll let me by, I need to get my bag.” He looked defeated when I walked by him and I honestly didn’t think it was this serious. Maybe he had something planned but now Levi had come by and ruined it. Money was wasted on those tickets.

Without a word, I walked into the door past Levi and he slammed it behind me. I didn’t think he’d do that and thought it a bit rude to Jonas, but we didn’t have time for apologies. I’d give him a free cookie when I got back. The ferry was going to leave in about an hour and it takes twenty minutes to walk, not even mentioning the lines. 

“Do you have money to buy a ticket to the ferry? I didn’t budget two people.” He put on a tan winter coat before shaking his head no. It was a nice coat with the wings of freedom on the back and a fur lining in the hood. It mimicked that of their capes, but these were definitely for winter. It looked nice and warm. 

“We’re taking horses.” I dropped my bag and turned quickly to him. 

“Huh?! I don’t even know how to ride a horse!” He let out a huff in laughter and slung his bag over his shoulder. I hated horses. 

“It’s not hard. Besides, your horse is tied to mine. All you have to do is sit.” Oh, yeah, sit on an animal running at top speed. Of course the soldier is making it sound so easy. I’m even in a skirt, how is that going to work?

“I’d rather buy you the extra ticket.” 

“Don’t tell me you’re afraid of a horse.” He sounded… annoyed? Tough. I wasn’t going to tell him he was right though.  

“I’m just more comfortable going on the ferry. It’s what I always do.” I put on my coat and he opened the door slightly, probably checking to see if Jonas was still there. 

“Your boy seemed extra confident today. He even glared at me from less than 5 feet away. Usually he stands by your counter and does it. You should tell him I’m proud.” I rolled my eyes and headed out the door. My boy. What kind of… 

“Are we still trying to get on the ferry or have you snapped out of your delusion that it's better than horseback?” I shook my head and put my hands in my pockets. I couldn’t risk them getting any dryer in this weather. Hopefully, he had some spare gloves.

“You can take the horse. I’ll meet you in a few days.” He groaned but kept walking next to me. 

“If we take the horses we’ll get there early in the morning tomorrow. It would reduce it down to a three day trip instead of a six day one. You’d lose less money that way.” 

“I have enough money. Even more now that the Scouts want to order some pastries from me.” It was supposed to be a jab at him, but he didn’t falter at all. 

“Erwin said he wants something sweet. I’m assuming something with fruit too. I don’t know what these people like, so I’ll just order the most common thing I can.” I stopped walking and he went a few steps ahead of me before turning around. 

“You were… Y-you were serious about the order?” He nodded.

“At the meeting yesterday, I volunteered to get desserts for the officer’s year-end party they always have. You’re the best in Trost, aren’t you?”

Somehow that got me on his damn horse.

Chapter Five → 

Chapter Masterlist

[recklessjerry]

A Note from The Underground

This is a backstory of Philomena from Apocalypse AU, which belongs to @feetinspace

Lots of text so read it only if you really want to c:

Johnathan Pulleze, who is being mentioned in further text, belongs to @elementalgod-aj​

Darkness. Nothing but endless darkness around me.

Even though I cannot see it, due to the talent I was born with, I think after spending so much time here I have learned to feel it.

Thick as resin. It sinks through my skin, runs within my veins, fills my guts and my head with dirt, mold and insanity.

Makes me feel like a mosquito in one of those souvenirs. Stuck, trapped and frozen here for eternity.

I do not know how much time has passed since I was left alone here. But who cares about such nonsense as time anymore? There is no reason to rush, to be on time or to be late. No one is waiting. And no one is coming.

Is not that ironic? I talk about time as if it is some velvet skirt that went out of fashion while, it seems, time is one of the only two things that is left for me.

The second one is my memories left. Not all of them, but those I could save seem to be clear enough to make me feel something else but desperation.

I still remember the day it all happened. We were on our way from the bar, Richie and me. Together with a group of other people we managed to hide in the tunnels. There were not many of us.

Well, from a perspective of being the only survivors it looked like so. But we were not alone here.

At first everything was peaceful. Until we found out there was no way out of here. That is when the real ending of humanity started for us.

I have never thought of that before, but then I opened my eyes. Fear.

Fear is what motivates us.

It does not matter how strong it is or what are you afraid of specifically. Fear as a feeling is one and the same for the whole humanity.

We are scared of being poor and dying of hunger – that is why we have jobs. We are scared of somebody being more powerful than we are – that is why we start wars. We are scared of dying alone – that is why we make families.

Fear is like a virus. Someone gets sick and then all the rest catch it one by one.

It covers everyone and then starts eating people alive, destroying them, slowly reaching the peak.

And with the peak comes panic. Chaos. Massacre.

Everybody is dead. 

Richie and I were able to escape the plague. Together we had hope that two of us will be enough to find a way out.

But we were foolish. A way out was a blessing we did not deserve. Not after what we had done to those people.

I guess I could say we were only following the rules of this brand new world we were so brutally thrown into against our will, but rules do not exist anymore. Our world became an endless anarchy.

I am surprised I am still able to feel bad for what we had done. After all I have seen, how am I still able to believe in such nonsense as morality?

Morality is dead. I think it was dead even before this mess took place but we still were playing a game of caring about each other because that is what society wanted from us.

But society is dead too. Rotting somewhere among the ruins of what we called “civilization” and corpses of those who were taking parts in building it.

It was only a matter of time when we all will take off our masks and show what we actually are.

Animals, thirsty for blood, only caring about our own wellbeing and ready to destroy anyone who gets in our way. Everything worth survival.

Some may think this situation made us do that, but speaking honestly, that mask was not even fixed well enough not to fall off accidentally every once in a while. I would know…

So it was either them or us. And we made damn sure it was us. Back then I thought, perhaps, that was just a temporary insanity against the background of general madness because I have never seen my brother using his strength to do something so gruesome to people, but now I am sure we always had that in us. Somewhere deep inside, suppressed well enough not to get out, but it probably was there all the time.

Despite what we had gone through we were still able to hold on. We never talked about our actions during the massacre, but sometimes I could feel the tension in the air when we were silent.

We became different now. And Richie was not dealing with it well. Every day he seemed to be more and more apathetic. Even that electric blue light in his eyes was fading. I could not see the sparkles in them anymore. His beautiful sparkles…

Sometimes Richie would wake up in the middle of the night (at least we were considering the time we were asleep night) and silently staring at something further down the tunnel. From time to time he would stand up and go somewhere, then come back and sit beside me, waiting for me to wake up.

I tried to ask him where he was leaving but he never told me. Until that day.

We were standing on the edge of a huge crack in the ground. I am not sure where in came from, but speaking honestly, I did not care.

Richard was looking down there for a while. That is why I decided to ask him about his night walks again.

-      I can hear them, – he answered.

-      I still can hear their screams, echoing in the tunnels. It was happening ever since we ran away and at first they were quiet. But they were becoming louder every night. Now they seem to be almost real.

He was shaking. I knew I should have comfort him somehow but what could I do? I – the one who helped him murdering people who were just trying to defend themselves from the nightmare that surrounded them? So I was just standing there, listening silently.

-      They seem to be so real I tried to find where they were coming from. A part of me knew they were just in my head but… - He went silent for a moment. His voice was shivering as he whispered:

-      The other part secretly hoped I would find them. And then they would do with me what I have done to them. They would pay me back with what I deserve”.

Richie looked at me. His eyes were barely glowing and the tears were running down his dusty cheeks.

-      How can we live like this? After what we have done! How can we still live with hope when we took away someone else’s lives and hopes?!

Then he did something I certainly did not expect. He hugged me tight. So tight I could barely breath.

-      Twinkle, - I think I flinched when he called me that. I haven’t heard that nickname for a very long time.

-      I hope someday we will be forgiven. But I want you to know now that I forgive you. And I hope you can forgive me too. I love you, Twinkle. I love you and that is the only thing I am still carrying and will be carry with me forever. I love you.

I managed to break out from his strong hands before it was too late. I do not know why did I do that and how did even I feel him leaning back. I guess my self-preservation instinct and reflects were still on guard somehow.

I remember his face as he started falling. It was calm.

His hands were stretched out towards me, as if welcoming me to go with him. The last invitation.

Maybe I should have let him take me with him. Maybe that would be better than what I have now. But I have made my choice. And Richie had let me do that. Otherwise he would have hold me tighter.

He knew I still was strong enough to search for another ending. And he decided there was no place for him there.

I was sitting at the same spot for a very long time. The sound of him falling was echoing in my head every second. I think I even heard his bulb breaking. Such a ringing sound. It was cutting my brain every time it played repeatedly like some jammed record with a catchy song you cannot stand anymore but keep hearing everywhere.

I was alone. For the first time in ages.

I used to think I loved being alone all the time but in fact, I never was. Someone has always been beside me. Richie, John, Martha, Jordan, even our parents. But now there was no one left.

I remember thinking about what happened to everyone I knew and where would I be if they were there with me. And the more I thought, the more hopeless I felt.

There was no reason for me to go on anymore.

Everyone is dead. The whole world is dead. What is the use of me in a world, filled with emptiness and lost memories of those I once loved?

I was ready to jump into the crack. I have lost everything I could already so that probably was the only option for me.

But I did not.

Even if suffering was my new standard of living, I could not let those precious memories to fade away, to disappear into the darkness of the underground. I had to keep them. I have to keep them all alive, even if it was just in my head.

So I stood up and started walking. With no goal or destination, I was just trying to make sorrow retreat with concentrating on my steps.

I walked, and walked, and walked.

I walked so much I could remember every tiny stone, every convex on the walls, every drop of water coming down from the sealing of these endless dungeons.

Long time has passed until I noticed something was wrong. Surprisingly it took me a while to realize what that was, and when it hit me I did not even stop. Maybe I did not care that much about it or was just too concentrated on my thoughts, but the fact is – I was still alive.

Why was I still alive? I walked for so long it must have been days. I think I felt hunger and tiredness but they did not seem to bother me.

Sometimes I would stop and sleep, but not because I felt the need to, it was more like a basic setting. I had to sleep because I had to. Does that even make sense?

Soon I noticed the changes in my body. My hands became longer, my finger and nails merged into something single. I could not explain why they were happening. At that time, I thought that was just a natural reaction to being trapped under the surface for weeks.

I mean, I have never been interested in what happens to a person if they spend too much time underground so I could not tell for sure.

But then I noticed blood on me after waking up one day. I checked my body thinking I was injured during sleep but I was fine.

Besides, the blood was only on my hands and a little bit of it was also on my face. That means, I found someone else there and somehow their blood got on me. I was not alone there anymore

This mystery started opening its curtains for me very soon as I understood I did not feel hunger anymore. And the more filled my stomach was, the dizzier I felt waking up every day.

I had troubles concentrating, my head felt heavy and hurt a lot. I could not think straight anymore.

And then one day I found the bodies. They were not far away from the spot I was sleeping at the day I found blood for the first time. By the wounds and missing parts I understood what happened.

I understood everything.

So here I am.

This is how my story ends.

I guess a bad ending it is. From family issues, good friends, promises for life, love, secrets, regrets, parties, losses and finds, through tragedies and tears – to this.

There is no words that can express how sorry I am for the way it all turned out to be for all of us, no tears to express how much I miss them all.

I wish I would not be the last one standing.

I wish I could see John in his top hat I laughed at the first time I saw it and feel his heart beat again, put my hand on his cheek and tell him how much I regret saying “no”.

I wish I could tell Martha how good she is at her job and make her blush again because I knew why and how much my words meant to her.

I wish I could call Jordan in the middle of the night again just to tell him about another crazy idea I have been obsessing about and discuss it for hours, wondering how he is still able to handle me after all these years.

I wish I could come to my office late again, drive Gwendall mad and make him come and yell at me. Just because I always secretly loved the smell of flowers he puts in his head.

I wish I could hear Dedrick rumbling and Eddie’s crazy laughter again and try to reconcile them because out of all people in the universe I may be the only one who knows how much they care about each other.

I wish I never told my parents that I hate them. Because I know it was not their fault and they were doing their very best. I wish I listened to them instead of being headstrong.

I wish I told I love them. At least once.

I wish Richie was still here because he did not deserve an ending like this.

None of them did. And I believe neither do I.

But I am not scared. There are no reasons to be afraid of inevitable.

At least my life was colorful. And I was lucky enough to have happiness among those colors too.

Writing this down and putting it all together into something readable was hard, mostly because my head hurts constantly and I am barely able to think.

But a good journalist has to write no matter what, right?

So if you are reading this would you kindly do me a couple of favors?

First one is: please, take the memory of me with you and keep it as long as you can. Because while it is alive, the memories of my loved ones are alive as well. At least I believe so.

And the second one: please, for the love of whatever you believe in – leave.

I am not sure how long I will be able to hold down that thing I turn into. Hopefully when you are reading this someone had already taken care of me, but if you do not know for sure, then please, go away as soon and fast as you can.

But while I am still here, I am hoping for you.

And I hope your future will shine as bright as sparkles in Richie’s eyes every time he looked at me.

 Sincerely yours

 Philomena Casey O’Bulb.

[prosopopeya]

New Year’s Meme

this survey has been a tradition among my friend group for YEARS, but i haven’t filled it out since 2015 apparently. i’m not entirely sure why except 2016 was the year a lot of stuff changed for me, namely in that i finally got out of school in some form and started a new job, but i also had a few health problems that kept plaguing me (thyroid medicine being off, vitamin d) and my anxiety was all over the place. so here we go i’m doing it again and feel free to do it too if you want!!

1. What did you do in 2020 that you’d never done before? tried on wedding dresses. taught virtually. dealt (poorly) with drunk teenagers. performed in a pep rally. wore face masks all the time. i’m going to lump in living with someone. jon moved in october 2019, but i don’t think i did this quiz last year so. taught ap.

2. Did you keep your New Years’ resolutions and will you make more for next year? i don’t really like resolutions. they put too much pressure on me and i am a fragile person when it comes to setting expectations and living up to them. i did want to try to read more this year, and i maintained that until the pandemic, and then just kind of gave up requiring myself to do anything but live.

3. Did anyone close to you give birth? i don’t think so. a coworker did.

4. Did anyone close to you die? jon’s cousin committed suicide in march or april. the circumstances were pretty upsetting. um. andy died in february, very suddenly. andy was my high school boyfriend for four years with whom i had a very... he scarred me in a lot of ways when it comes to sex and consent. it’s taken me a long time to unpack all of that. and i struggle with how much any of that was his fault or just bc he was a stupid kid too. our mutual friends had nothing but nice things to say about him on fb. anyway. he would guilt me into saying he’d kill himself if we broke up, and jon’s cousin killed himself over his girlfriend. so that was a complex part of the year.

5. What countries did you visit? none. literally the week before the quarantine, we went to asheville to visit jon’s cousin.

6. What would you like to have in 2021 that you lacked in 2020? maybe a different job? or at least some peace at doing mine.

7. What date from 2020 will remain etched upon your memory, and why? march 13 we cancelled classes and had a technology training day; the 15th we had another one, and then we were virtual the rest of the term. it was such a sudden shift and while i so loved working from home tbh, it was such a relief after a supremely shitty january/february work-wise, i still had a lot of keyed-up, stressful days centered around transitioning to being the senior upper school spanish teacher. i hate it!

8. What was your biggest achievement of the year? writing 50k in the month of november. i have literally never done that before and actively reject nano as being typically unhealthy for how my mind works, so it was nice to do it entirely by accident.

9. What was your biggest failure? mishandling the drunken teenagers on that field trip in january.

10. Did you suffer illness or injury? i sit crosslegged in my virtual teaching chair and i did it so much that my ankle hurt for the entire summer.

11. What was the best thing you bought? we put a deposit on our elopement in ireland. jon’s wedding ring. (i didn’t buy my wedding dress.)

12. Whose behavior merited celebration? my best friend at work who keeps me sane and is represented by benny in my au, which other than the fact that he is not my sidepiece, is perfect he is crucial to my survival at work and i love him so much. (also he is gay and the french teacher so the benny parallels just keep coming). everyone who tore down a statue in virginia (and other places, but especially monument avenue). everyone putting their lives on the line during this pandemic.

13. Whose behavior made you appalled and depressed? guess! but aside from all the obvious, i found out a friend of mine at work voted for trump. my work bff and i had been trying for years to sway his politics, but that had us both deciding to give up on him.

14. Where did most of your money go?  food, ALCOHOL. god., our savings account. i did a pretty excellent job saving this year, though a good deal of that is because jon moved in and makes more money than me, and also we split all the bills.

15. What did you get really, really, really excited about? my wedding dress but strangely only when i went to try it on after it came in bc after the purchase i was so sure i’d made every mistake possible. my wedding band. wellbutrin changing my whole life. and, last but certainly not least, the gay angel and the bi(lingual) hunter. i wouldn’t have survived nov-dec in school without that distraction. the election.

16. What song(s) will always remind you of 2020? the entirety of taylor swift’s oeuvre this year, maybe specifically “this is me trying”

17. Compared to this time last year, are you:  i. Happier or sadder? happier, i suppose, perhaps contrary to what should be the case, but wellbutrin is a hell of a drug. ii. Older or wiser? wiser. ii. Richer or poorer? richer.

18. What do you wish you’d done more of? reading. cleaning. exercising.

19. What do you wish you’d done less of? stressing. chaperoning.

20. How will you be spending Christmas? so, an update; last year was the first year i didn’t go to my mom’s for christmas. i was supposed to see her for thanksgiving last year, but she basically told us not to come bc she wasn’t feeling up to it (cool!), and we went to jon’s for christmas and my mom’s for new year’s. 

this year, obviously we couldn’t go to my mom’s. instead, we rented a little cabin by the lake. it was perfect; it was really really nice inside, the beds were SO SOFT, the pillows were the best things i have ever laid my head on, like i took off the pillowcases to try to find the brand. we had a little tiny christmas tree with tiny ornaments from walmart that we decorated. the 23rd, we went and picked up our wedding bands. we slept two nights in the (cold) back bedroom so i could wake up and look out at the lake. it snowed for christmas. :)

we opened presents on christmas eve, per jon’s family’s tradition. on christmas eve, we also went to his family farm and sat outside and hung out a little. every year his family does like a secret santa sort of thing and i got my first present in that exchange, which is notable bc jon and i are not yet officially married. i got a remote control car -- jon’s idea bc i couldn’t think of anything, and he was so delighted to hear that i loved playing with rc cars when we went to the beach as a kid.

christmas morning we facetimed my parents and opened some presents together. then jon and i marathoned mandalorian (after spending the previous few days watching several die hard movies), and then we watched wonder woman 1984 which was a bad movie.

21. How will you be spending New Year’s Eve? ok LAST year for new year’s, we were in a hotel room, so that was nice, bc it meant minimal stress with my parents. i had always wanted to go to this restaurant near us that has a special new year’s menu, so we did that. the night before or after i think we went to cheesecake factory, which was also amazing.

this year currently i’m tumbling and he’s playing pokemon, and in a bit we’ll try to time it so we finish schitt’s creek in time for the new year.

22. Did you fall in love in 2020? i re-fell in love with supernatural so that was nice.

23. How many one-night stands? 0. i submit we should randomly change question 23 each year to something more relevant to any of our life experiences.

24. What was your favorite TV program? what did i even watch this year. schitt’s creek. mandalorian. i mean obviously we know supernatural. the circle. are you the one (the queer season). pose. unsolved mysteries. we’re here! perry mason. watchmen. oh maybe that mcdonald’s monopoly fraud documentary. avenue 5. i’ll be gone in the dark. of those i think my favorite maybe is... pose or we’re here.

OKAY UM. on my 2014 version of this there were a bunch of questions about tv shows that i’m putting back in if only for the memories:

25. Which TV shows did you start watching in 2020? the haunting of bly manor, which we still need to finish. derry girls.

26. Which TV shows did you let go of in 2020? HERE’S WHY I WANTED TO RESURRECT THESE. here was my answer in 2015: “supernatural. goodbye, my sweet prince.” CAN YOU EVEN FUCKING BELIEVE

27. Which TV shows did you mean to get into but didn’t in 2020? Why? so far, queen’s gambit and that one on hulu with catherine the great. EVENTUALLY. 28. Which TV shows do you intend on checking out in 2020? fleabag. queen’s gambit. 29. Which TV show do you think you might let go of in 2020 unless things significantly improve? idk i drop things pretty regularly if they don’t entertain me 30. Which TV show impressed you least in 2020? GUYS HERE’S MY ORIGINAL 2015 ANSWER: “supernatural. :(”

anyway back to the rest of the quiz:

25. Do you hate anyone now that you didn’t hate this time last year? every person who refuses to listen to facts and information.

26. What was the best book you read? killers of the flower moon: the osage murders and the birth of the fbi, or the his dark materials series.

27. What was your greatest musical discovery? well i knew about tswift so i’m not going to count her albums. i will count this song that jon played for me once in the car that got stuck in my head for two weeks straight and led me down into a great related-songs spotify playlist: through the roof ‘n underground.

28. What did you want and get? a wedding dress and a very specific kind of wedding band. a gay angel. a christmas getaway. animal crossing.

29. What was your favorite film of this year? idk i don’t know how many films i saw this year. maybe mucho mucho amor: the legend of walter mercado

31. What did you do on your birthday, and how old were you? i was 32. we went to an escape room with a BUNCH of people -- work bff, my old work bff and his wife (old bc he quit and we’ve fallen out of touch :(), the cool new physics teacher and his fiancee, and the aforementioned trump voter and his wife, before we knew... we went out for brunch/lunch after. it was pretty great!

32. What one thing would have made your year immeasurably more satisfying? not having to chaperone that school trip in january. dean being bi in english as well as spanish. cas just ilke, appearing in 15x20. not having to physically go back to work this fall.

33. How would you describe your personal fashion concept in 2020? no! real! pants!

34. What kept you sane? jon. supernatural (in a way?). animal crossing for a while. wellbutrin! i haven’t really been able to detail this yet, but finally i did something about tumblr and my therapist making me think about adhd. my doctor gave me wellbutrin (bc i lack any official diagnosis and was on anxiety meds anyway, and he was like let’s try this!) and it’s fucking. it’s a fucking godsend. surprisingly enough, my students. trying to provide them a safe space has been a calming thing for me.

35. Which celebrity/public figure did you fancy the most? jensen ackles’ silence. misha collins again, i guess.

36. What political issue stirred you the most? the summer was so fucking intense. i guess though it was me trying to exert my influence in a responsible way with my students without trying to try to make them feel uncomfortable but then one kid was a vocally upset trump supporter after the election and i had to try to defuse that situation.

37. Who did you miss? my old work bff. several old friends that i’ve fallen out of touch with bc i have no object permanence.

38. Who was the best new person you met? people i met through the spn resurgence!

39. Tell us a valuable life lesson you learned in 2020: if you manifest it in an au, it will come. no really though. maybe that expectations are only as important as i make them out to be.

40. Quote a song lyric that sums up your year: usually i have a hard time coming up with anything for this and i default to looking at my most played songs of the year. my most played song of the year received each and every one of its plays within the month of november and you can guess why. anyway see if this works

I had all and then most of you Some and now none of you Take me back to the night we met I don't know what I'm supposed to do Haunted by the ghost of you Take me back to the night we met - the night we met, lord huron

[gav-san]

White as the Driven Snow

-Wash-

1/7

------

You wondered how long it had been since you had seen the sky. Or breathed fresh air (and not the sharp ventilated afterbite of it). It was too long since you held felt the prickly blades grass between your toes or the wind fluttering your hair. Too long since you had seen the sun.

Your skin had once held a rosy glow but now was reduced to a sickly shade. This seemed supremely ironic as being locked away underground was supposed to prevent the grime and grit that the world above offered. But like a child picking up a dirty lollipop of the street, some things couldn't be prevented by you alone. Not that you would scream. No one would hear you, and at this point, you wondered if anyone good was even looking.

Your mother never exactly revealed why you weren’t allowed to meet her side of the family (totally understandable in retrospect), and your dad had been remarried after your mother’s death. Now all of that growing apart and not calling much was going to get you killed. 

But even if your life had been truly unfair in many respects, there were a lot of good things going on. You were in your second year of college, part of your college’s cheer squad, famous for performing at the UA sports festival, and had lots of friends.

This was not the slightest bit fair.

The slightest uncareful sound from your lips could cause these monsters to descend again, but not for any rational sort of torture. These masked creatures with false beaks were a special sort of savage. Clean wasn’t good enough for the plague doctors.

You needed to be spotless. Pure.

Ever since they had invaded the safety of your home, kidnapping you, all they murmured about was making you pure enough.

You hated that word.

You weren’t sure what the correct definition of Pure meant, but you soon got a dark idea of what it entailed.

Stolen, you had imagined many horrors. Human trafficking was not common in Japan, but it did happen. Girl shackled to beds, placed on drugs so they could neither escape mentally or physically. The plush doctor’s office didn't entirely fulfill that morbid fantasy. And upon waking, it took hours to connect the dots. Not until the female doctor with a large wart on her cheek gave you the worst surprise appointment of your life, did you fully realize how twisted the situation was. You didn't speak, trying to pick up on any fragment of conversation.

But all you heard were mutters of Overhaul, requests, Hassaikai, and those meant nothing to you.

Strapped up by one of the ‘expendables’ as they called themselves, you were subjected to several cosmetic procedures, some dangerous, teetering between being vaguely awake and unconscious. You finally break, begging for an explanation, and receive none, just a gag accompanied by a breathing mask. The woman examined you from head to toe, removing moles, and just so much touching. Lasik, teeth whitening, minor surgery, freckle removal, chemical peels, and microdermabrasion. She probably had some sort of medical quirk, because you should not have been able to do so much so quickly. Any hair specifically not on your head was lasered off, and your skin scrubbed and polished with creams that removed any hint of spots or blemishes.

The last memory in that awful office was of a large needle, and finally, through the cloth in your mouth, did you screech.

You awoke out of the drugged stupor with breathing mask strapped on you. No longer strapped down you quickly sat up, but didn't tear it off. You could feel the heaviness in your chest, and waited a long while, trying to take in your surroundings before doing anything rash. Your mother, long paranoid of some monster sweeping you away, had taught you to remain calm in an emergency. The long white dress you are in is light, and cool air pierces it easily from the air conditioning in the ceiling. The bed is screwed to the ground, and so you can't even adjust it away from the airflow.

The whitewashed room was small, featureless save for a large TV embedded behind glass in the far wall. The bare outline of a door was next to it, and it looked so much like a mental ward that panic did fill you. What had happened? Surely you had never done anything to warrant this! You tried to think of what had happened... Your last memory wasn't so clear, just you sitting at the dorm room kitchen counter, eating cereal. There was a knock on the door, strange as most people are on spring break. Perhaps a roommate got locked out? You opened the door, and then it was nothing... just black.

Clarity and an explanation don't come quickly.

Your only link to the outside world is the instructions that occasionally flash on the TV.

EAT. Meals appear on cue, painfully scanty and light.

SLEEP. The bare light on the ceiling goes out.

EXERCISE. You are not a lazy person. You had been on the Mustafar University Cheer team, taking tumbles, dancing and flirting riotously at events. But they don't care about your muscles and refusals. They want you thin, not fit. With a diet that rivaled celebrities and daily exercise routines, your body became slender and lean.

The day SHOWER appeared on the screen, you were perplexed. They had left you to sit in your filth and sweat for days, so the change in routine was sharp.

You didn’t have a shower in the room, and so the moment the door opened you got a real look at the monsters who moonlighted your nightmares.

It's another woman, with ugly, bulbous eyes and arms that twisted into tentacles as the elbow. Someone who would be bullied. Some quirks were worse than none. An ugly retort was on your tongue but as she lumbered forward, something black and viscous dripping from her body, you zipped your lips shut. A large, bird mask lay on her features, the beak twisted and unfriendly, like a toucan with a disease.

Down flat empty halls with no windows, she led you to a bathroom contained the most high-powered torture device spray possible. Brutal water pressure and you discovered one of the guards was female, as she was the one who forced you in, sprayed you down, and stuck soap all over you, all while telling you how fortunate you were. Apparently, your mother happened to be the second child of a prominent mobster, and the current head was looking for someone in the family to marry and continue the bloodline. You earned a slap when you suggested that your dog was still single. She told you since you were quirkless, you might as well be a dog.

You didn’t know how much more you could take. Any more showers and ritualistic cleanings by people with gruesome quirks who refused to look at you for long, only scrubbing when you have been insufficiently rubbed raw.

The smell of disinfectant and whatever was in the awful shampoo was all you smelled anymore, and they used something similar for laundry, done daily, if not more often. Was there a thing as too clean? You had never been dirty but this was an obsession. They were a cult of cleaning fanatics, and your body was their fixation. The mere white dress was your only article of clothing.

Even if you still had the strength to fight, the red reminder on your skin still stung from the decontamination chamber (what as you had named it). The tips of your fingers were still shriveled and pruned from grabbing the bottom of the shower. There was no more fight on you tonight, just the little desire to sleep.

Which is why you almost broke into sobs when the door opened again. She was back.

“The boss is coming tonight for final evaluation. We need to finish making you presentable.” 

“How  thoughtful.”

“Watch your mouth. Overhaul has little patience, and even if you share blood with the old boss, he will finish you himself.” She didn’t slap you. Instead, she just gazed at you with dark, hateful eyes.

“Is that his name then?  Overhaul?”  This earned a smack.

“You will treat Master Overhaul as a god. For all intents and purposes, he is one.” She carefully wrapped you in one of her clean tentacles. You didn’t get the heavy bath treatment, and you realized that she was being unusually considerate as she ushered your down endless long hallways. At the end of one, she opened a door and your eyes widened. 

Did it look like... a beauty parlor? In a mafia hideout? 

Not totally new, but spotless, and utterly white like everything else. There was a nervous-looking woman there to transform you was in all white as well. You looked at her, and she turned away, unable to look you in the eye. You turned to a mirror and didn't question why.

“Make her pretty. Try not to use much makeup. The boss has no patience for unclean things, so nothing with a heavy scent either.”

The technician went to work. There was the first hint of color as she opened her bag, glorious colors of tan, orange, brown and off white. The fierce smell of a beauty salon escaped and for a moment you were outside again. It made the next bit bearable, the part where she painted you, fixed your hair, and made your look alive. Unwilling to drag the terrified looking technician further into the delusion, you didn’t fight her. 

As she finished curling your hair, you glanced at the mirror, to see how she had done. What you had seen in the mirror for twenty years was gone, replaced by an almost photoshopped version of you. Real people didn’t look so strange. It wasn’t you.

A huge wave of nostalgia and misery hit you, bringing tears to your eyes. You desperately wanted your couch, sitting and watching some reruns of CSI or something normal. You just wanted to be normal again, eat ramen and wear your hair in a ponytail and enjoy the sun. Now pretty, clean and polished, you were given another white dress, this one much more fitted than the smock you had been in. Forced into the snug creation you were dragged to the last room.

You weren’t this woman in the mirror. You didn’t diet to be this thin or have hair this color or have eyelashes this long. This was a lie. And after the tears subsided, your only slim comfort was that it would be over soon. It was coming, the moment you couldn't do it anymore.

Mob blood withstanding, you were a bit mouthy, and that never boded well for you around people who had large egos. You had already lost several jobs and were barely funding your college tenure with your latest one at a bookstore. Well... had. It was just so unfair. 

A bitter thought kept coming to you, over and over. 

Where were the heroes?

The tentacle around you tightened.

“Don’t cry. I’ll get angry if you mess it up.” You sniffed, anger coursing through you. Who did these people think they were? If you were going down, you decided that they were all coming with you.

  The end of the line was one last room, generously sized, but filled. Rushed in by the tentacle woman, you still had time to see the final set-up. There were several other women here, all dressed the same as you. Each with their own handlers, each looking upset and panicked as the situation rightfully called for, each sitting tied to a chair, hands tied behind them. They looked to you, eyes wide and fearful, and you gazed back, understanding and upset.

You were led to the end, the last seat available, and forced into the same position. And then the entire group waited, and not a single soul uttered a word. Their handlers had beaten obedience into them. Well, for the moment.

The slowly growing dread that was starting to eat away at your nerves, and it was only a matter of time. Someone finally broke down, the girl with pink hair at the other end, a sob erupting. It was followed by a hard slap, and the sounds of a rag being stuffed in her mouth. She choked on the vile cloth, but finally managed to calm down, her 'handler' swearing viciously at the mess. 

Ten minutes passed.

Twenty minutes. Two more girls broke. They both received a rag in their mouths.

Thirty minutes. 

Fourt-

 The door opened.

 In a world rife with quirks that deform and mutate it isn’t unusual to see people who are suffering from the backlash of horrendous deformation and downright disability. It was almost as common as not for someone to be born with pink or green hair, then just brown or blonde. You hadn't given much thought to who are the monsters behind this desecration of women is, but you are sure he is no catch. How could someone who is so merciless to a potential wife be anything but ugly?

The other girls are curious as well, and you see eyes struggling to stay down. But caution is hardly going to help at this point, so you glance up. And before your head is shoved down, into your knees, you catch a glimpse of a pale face, delicate shaped, and exquisite amber eyes pointed away in disgust. Your chest feels an uncomfortable weight as you realize that not only ugly men are monsters. Even handsome men with glossy, golden eyes can be them, and the color sticks in your eyes, burning them. It’s not even an uncommon color, yet paired with black lashes and a narrowed expression, they appeared to be glowing. All of this is topped off with a bird mask.

No, you tell yourself, this must be the son of the man.

After a moment your thoughts return, enough to hear the sound of the man's measured steps, hurried and impatient. They come near, examining each downturned head, and you wonder if he can even see your faces. You can only see the faint image of your plucked face in his shiny leather shoes that appear in your downturned vision. You faintly register a second pair of shoes that follow, light as a child, but don’t see anyone.

“Repulsive. They’re all filthy.” He says, and you realized that this is the boss. There's no mistaking it. This was the guy with the phobia. It shocks you, as mob bosses were never this young, handsome or disgusting... right?

You don’t know his age, but his voice can’t be over thirty. It's something from a well to do accountant, not firm and deep like an evil All Might, but almost cracking and boyish. But such a mild voice wasn’t running off numbers. Just contemplating just how unworthy you all were. Obviously, the group hasn’t made a good showing. You can’t bring yourself to care anymore. All rational emotion has left you discontent, and needing a drink of water.

A high voice answers the boss, some lacky, probably with a crap quirk.

“These are the best we could find. Each is from an aligned mafia family, and most are quirkless. If not, well, that’s always fixable.”

One of the girls sobs through the napkin in her mouth, and you can imagine the anger in his glowing topaz eyes.

“You think any of these creatures are worthy of being next to me. Look at them. They are shaking. A disobedient woman is just as bad as a being  unclean.” The boss says flatly. "Where's Chronostasis-"

A monster with a cleaning disorder, and a bigot. He's talking like it's your fault, that you were here by choice, and your chest fills with a disdainful, mocking swearword. Unable to contain your utter vitriol as the absurd conversation, you wheeze out a  laugh. Well, at least it wasn’t the swearword, you think fatefully.

The room goes deathly quiet.

The other women are quiet, knowing you have just signed your death warrant, the first of the day. The leather shoes had retreated out of sight, but the sound of them returning is ominous. Not only that but the hand on the back of your head has twisted you forward painfully. She's very upset, you guess. The position is bad, and your lungs struggle to function properly. Tears pool in your eyes, and the makeup in coming off. Your hands strain, trying to escape the bounds. Your accompanying cough does nothing to improve your case. If there was ever a sign of uncleanliness, you’ve displayed it. Perhaps all those freezing cold showers had, ironically, gotten you sick.

One moment you are coughing to death, the next you are on the ground, the chair under you cracking into a million pieces. The surprise takes the air out of your lungs, and you manage to stop coughing. Your hands are freed, though still tied together, and wood in poking your back. Your dress rides up dangerously to your thighs.

None of this matters as much as the hands that are firmly around your throat. Small ones. For on top of you is what looks like a stuffed puppet come to life, a bird mask attached to his front. The top of the beak is dangerously positioned over your throat, weirdly strong for being a puppet. You laugh again, hysterical, and he drags your throat up.

“How  dare you insult Overhaul!” He says, and you slowly blink the mascara away, senseless.

The puppet turns up, glowering. The tentacle woman is in trouble. 

“Who is this creature who you have brought?!?!” The masked woman is pressed against the wall, sweat pooling around her face. Her tentacle hands are gripping the wall. “We  instructed you to only bring the best!” His hand is getting tighter, and your already strained breathing is getting even harder.

“She’s the old bosses granddaughter, from his estranged second daughter.” The woman whispers, frightened to death.

There's an audible pause. 

  “Mimic. Don’t kill her just yet.” The voice of the boss says, breaking the silence. The hand around your throat loosens, just a touch.

“She’s..." The words seem to fail the creature named Mimic. "Her? His granddaughter? The one?”

The handler nodded, and Mimic's hand is suddenly gone from your throat. You breathe in that overly sterile air, unsure of what had just happened. Had you been saved from death? You slowly sit up, coughing violently in your sleeve, and once the attack is over, you look around you.

The other girls and their handlers are gone.

Before you is a pair of black slacks, and you can see the expensive fabric he's wearing, though his ankles are bare between his white shoes and the pants. Your eyes trail up, slowly taking in the man before you, hitting the thick brown belt, hands in white gloves, a green parka with a purple color, until you see a mask that belongs 1656 and resolutely look down. You don't want to see his eyes again.

You have the undivided attention of Overhaul, who is giving you a similar appraisal, taking in the softness of your mouth, a slender tilt of your shoulders, the curve of your waist under the dress.

You wondered if he would lift his foot and crush your skull in himself, or if he saved that sort of thing for his cronies. 

A hand reaches out and not aware enough, you don't flinch. The plastic glove encasing his hand brushes your cheek, coming away with black and tan makeup. He brings it up to examine it himself, putting two fingers together to rub the colors together.

"My apologies. I didn't realize that you had come." You aren't sure what to say to such unhinged civility he provided. "It looks as though your stay here has been less than what is demanded."

You aren't looking up, so you don't see that his gaze has turned away from you, twisting to the woman on the wall behind you. You don't even realize it's happened until it's over. One moment the mob boss is standing before you, the next he has moved beside you, hand clutching the handler who had done little to gain your favor. But you don't realize that your silence is enough to sentence her.

You look over just in time to see him holding her.

As his hand squeezes the trainer’s face the woman just...  explodes.

Blood, organs, and sick flesh litter the room behind him, and your eyes widen in disbelief and disgust. Red drops hit your white dress and your feet move before you can think. Fear floods you, the ache in your back fades to a thrum as you scramble up, standing next to the door, trying to open it. It is shut like it never was meant to be opened in the first place. You glance back to him as he is straitening his stance, looking furiously animalistic at the mess he has made.

But upon hearing your cry of fear, the sound of your nails against the door he seems to regain sense.

He straightens, walking forward to the door, his one, plastic-covered hand placed on it. He's boxed you in, and you are forced to stare at his mask, refusing to look in his eyes. Never look into the eyes of a wild animal.

"It seems as though you will need some adjustments. Your mother has done you a disfavor." He doesn't explain himself, just raising a bloody hand to raise your chin. You don’t break into tears, just close your jaw so your teeth stop chattering, refusing to look him in his eyes. You can see that perhaps it's not just a mental disorder, as his skin has broken out into hives where the blood has touched, red angry boils that marr his pretty face.

He puts a plastic-encased finger to your lips. Nothing happens. 

“Acceptable. If just  barely .” It’s a threat and a promise rolled into a proposal you couldn’t refuse. 

Read more at https://archiveofourown.org/works/21353212/chapters/50860795

[stillthewordgirl]

LOT/CC fic: All Stories, in the End

Mick knows that stories can't really fix things. They can't bring people back, and they can't mend broken hearts. Or can they?  (Captain Canary and platonic Coldwave)

So, today is my three-year ficaversary for Legends! This fandom has been so wonderful to me and brought me so many new friends-and got me back into writing fiction, which has had excellent repercussions in many ways-even professionally. In honor of the anniversary, here's a little tribute to stories and their power. Hope you enjoy it!

So many thanks, as usual, to LarielRomeniel for the beta and to Pir8grl for being a great sounding board!

Can also be read be here at AO3 and here at FF.net. Please be aware that it’s divided into two parts on those websites, but both are posted.

We're all made of stories. When they finally put us underground, the stories are what will go on. Not forever, perhaps, but for a time. It's a kind of immortality, I suppose, bounded by limits, it's true, but then so's everything.” 

― Charles de Lint 

 Once, Rick had resented the pirate queen who’d drawn his partner, his friend, his blood brother, into this mad quest.

To be honest, she hadn’t been a pirate queen at the time. And she hadn’t been trying to lure him, either. She’d been a pretty face and an untold story when she’d joined the rest of the old captain’s motley crew of hand-picked losers. But Rick had seen the light of curiosity in Sean’s eyes when he looked at her, and he should have known then.

This wasn’t going to go the way he thought it was going to go.

Mick sighed and put down the papers he’d taken from their locked box in his room on the Waverider. There was a reason he’d put this story away unfinished. More than one reason, really.

But today, Haircut had actually brought up Snart while they were all sitting in the galley, telling his new squeeze Spooky Girl about the lost Legends—one of the lost Legends—and it’d stirred up all sorts of memories.

Not for just Mick, either. He’d been looking at Blondie when Haircut had dropped the name “Snart,” and he’d seen the stillness in her that was more telling than even a flinch. It was what Blondie did when she was holding back a flinch, really. Mick had seen the lines of pain around her eyes, and he saw her look away quickly, rising to her feet when it became apparent the oblivious Ray wasn’t going to leave off his story.

He’d thought about stopping her as she swiftly left the room, then thought about following her. But Sara had been a bit—touchy? probably wasn’t very healthy to be calling a former assassin ‘touchy,’ even in his own thoughts—since she’d split with Bureau Chick, and maybe she needed the space. Mick let her go.

But that didn’t mean he didn’t think about it. And when he’d returned to his room, he’d pulled out this story, rereading it with the usual feeling of somewhat awkward regret.

Sean Lance had a reputation some might call cold. Icy, even. He’d built that reputation very carefully over his lifetime. Being cold and careful kept you safe. He was even cold with Rick Mor, his partner in crime and the closest thing he had to a best friend. Rick had led the same sort of life he had. He was pretty sure the other man understood.

But. Lara.

The blond badass hadn’t been anything he’d planned on. Certainly, he hadn’t planned on falling for her. That was stupid. That kind of shit didn’t happen in real life.

But ….she’d worked her way under his skin somehow. Made him want to be a better person—and wasn’t that a riot?

Mick sighed again. It’s not like he’d known for a fact that Snart had that kind of…feelings…about Blondie. But he’d put the pieces together, from both before and after Snart had…after the Oculus, and goddamned if it didn’t all fit. Snart deciding to go all hero-like (which probably had a good bit to do with Allen, too), choosing the team over Mick (who was willing to admit, now, that his actions on the Acheron had been pretty damned stupid) and then…and then…

And Blondie’s reaction, afterward. It wasn’t like Mick really wanted to…oh, sit shiva, for Len and everything that entailed. But especially after Savage was toast (literally, a thought which still gave him some satisfaction), he might have liked to sit down with a drink and a friend…someone else who’d known Snart…and remembered, just a little.

But Sara had avoided the topic like the fuckin’ plague, and she’d also gone from someone who seemed kinda uncertain about hooking up with anyone to flinging herself at any woman who seemed the least bit interested. Never guys, although Mick knew she liked guys too, and that was maybe a little telling in its own right.

Just because Mick never liked to talk about feelings didn’t mean he didn’t understand them in his own way. In others, anyway.

Lara Sahfer knew she was the deadliest person on this ship. That went without question. Far deadlier than the priestess and her boytoy. Deadlier than the alchemist and his apprentice. Deadlier than the eager crusader or their hapless captain.

And deadlier than the clever thief and his partner.

The partner was dangerous, but she knew the type. He was content to let his friend be the brains of their team. But the intriguing Sean Lance…

She didn’t know what to make of him.

Though she did know he kept watching her ass given the merest opportunity.

If Mick was being honest with himself (and he tried to be, these days), he’d started putting this thing down on paper first because he could see Blondie struggling and couldn’t figure out how to manage the words to talk to her about Snart—even if she’d let him.

And in stories, you could give someone—more than one someone—the happy ending they didn’t get in real life. Maybe someday, Sara would even be ready to read it.

Then all sorts of shit had happened, and Mick had stopped writing again. He’d been stuck at the bottom of the ocean for years, even if it didn’t seem like so long. And then Ghost Snart—who hadn’t been real, but who had seemed real at the time—had showed up and snarked off about even the hint of the feelings Mick was starting to acknowledge.

And then, that asshole in the Legion (well, more of an asshole than real Snart—he was still convinced that Legion Snart hadn’t been real Snart) had showed up. And Mick decided, painfully, that he wasn’t ready to write about even fictionalized Len for a while.

He locked the pages away, taking the lockbox with him when Rip had taken the Waverider back—and bringing it back with him when they’d stolen the ship in return. He added a few more bits and pieces here and there—especially, with a certain grumpy annoyance, when he sensed Sara’s interest in Bureau Chick, who really couldn’t be more different from Len. (It’d felt like a betrayal in a way, though he’d never tell her that. Snart was gone.)

And then there was Leo. Leo, who merrily flirted with Sara (and just about everyone else). Leo, who everyone seemed to like. Personable Leo, the hugger, who was the only Snart the newbies had ever met. And it seemed like everyone but him forgot about real Snart just a little bit more.

He quietly tucked the pages away and hadn’t taken them out since. Until today.

The voyage had lots of ups and downs. Rick knew that; hell, he’d caused a lot of them. He’d committed mutiny against the captain himself when the man had thrown his own lack of status on the ship and elsewhere back in his face. And he’d paid for that, paid more than a lot of those fools would ever know.

But the thing he regretted most was that it’d cost him Sean’s friendship.

Oh, he’d been angry first. Enraged, even. That bastard had hauled him out of the pirate haven where they could have been kings, just because the captain and Lara were in trouble. And then he’d chosen the crew instead of Rick in the mutiny. Because of Lara, Rick thought. And then Sean had marooned him on that desert island and left him behind.

It’d taken time and distance to see things clearly again.

By then, it was too late.

Snart had definitely had a thing for Sara—Mick had known the man long enough and well enough to have seen him show interest in men, women, and folks who mighta been either or both, though Len had always been real quiet about any lovers he took. Still, he knew the signs.

But that hadn’t gone how Mick thought, either. He'd figured the two of them would have a fling. Get it outta their systems. Snart didn’t have a heart any more than Mick did, and it wasn’t like he and Sara were gonna fall for each other or something. That was story shit.

Mick looked down at the pages in front of him and sighed yet again.

Instead, Snart had circled around Blondie like he was planning a heist, careful and curious, and Blondie had reacted much the same way. They’d started spending time together, playing cards, and while Mick had wondered what was going on there a few times, he hadn’t asked. Even when Snart had gone back to get Sara in Russia, even when he’d insisted on saving her and Rip in Star City, and, yeah, even when he’d iced Mick in the engine room.

A few days back, Mick had overheard Zari and Charlie talking about Sara and Bureau Chick, about how (they thought) Sara’s tendency to happily break rules and apologize later, if at all, had finally taken a toll on the two and led to the breakup, along with Sara’s resistance to becoming more…domesticated.

Snart wouldn’t have tried to change her. Snart had liked her just the way she was.

Sean couldn’t help being fascinated by the assassin the captain had recruited. OK, she was gorgeous, attractive in a way that seemed designed to appeal to his sense of danger, and he wouldn’t have minded having some sort of a fling with her. But flings were all he did, these days, and dipping a toe (so to speak) into those particularly dangerous waters while on this ship seemed like a bad idea.

But that didn’t keep him from watching. Or them from playing cards. Or talking. Or watching each other’s back. Or...

Oh, hell.

There were a lot of reasons Mick himself wasn’t fond of Bureau Chick. (He knew perfectly well what her name was, he just liked to pretend otherwise.) But her attempts at changing who Blondie was…well, Mick had had too many people trying to change him to what they wanted him to be over the years. People who generally didn’t get what’d made him who he was. He didn’t take kindly to it.

And he didn’t take kindly to it happening to his friends, either.

Oh, sure, he’d changed, by this point. But he’d chosen to change, himself. It was different.

Now that Bureau Chick was out of the picture…

Mick sighed, putting a hand down on the partially written story. Snart was still dead. Nothing would change that. Ever.

No matter how much he tried to fix things in a stupid story.

Lara had been through a lot in the past few years. She wasn’t looking for a lover, or even a fling. She hadn’t been down that particular road since before she’d died and come back, and she wasn’t ready for it now. Maybe she never would be.

But. Sean.

The thief didn’t seem to care that she’d killed for hire. Didn’t seem scared of her bloodlust or intimidated by her history. He just seemed intrigued. And, somehow, he had an uncanny sense of why she wanted to be...better. She got the feeling that he did, too.

She wasn’t scared of anything. But...

She thought maybe she should be scared of this. Not because it was bad.

Because it could be all too good.

Mick had just pulled out the pages of another story, his latest sci-fi epic, the one he’d asked New Girl to read sometime soon, when Gideon’s voice echoed through the ship.

“Captain Lance would like everyone on the bridge,” she announced, sounding just a little harried. That wasn’t good. “Immediately.”

Then the ship shook. That definitely wasn’t good. Mick cursed, dropping the pages on the desk and turning for the door.

He didn’t even consider that he’d left the other story out, too.

It was quite a bit later when Zari wandered into the room, smiling a bit as the door slid open to admit her, per Mick’s orders. She was glad he’d come to trust her that much. She didn’t think Mick trusted many, and it felt like a rare and rather precious accolade.

Even if it was mostly so she could play editor.

The unexplained temporal storm earlier still had the ship in disarray, but there wasn’t really anything she could do about that at the moment. Mick and Sara and Ray were going over temporal data that was nonsense to her and the others were dealing with some variety of seasickness. Time sickness. Whatever. It’d been caused by the ship’s motion through the storm, so close enough. Zari had tried, but poor Charlie, who’d had a really bad reaction to it, had refused any help at all, locking herself in her room and snarling through the door.

Zari hummed to herself as she looked over Mick’s desk and the old typewriter he still insisted on using. There were a few different piles of papers, but they’d been knocked around a bit by the turbulence. Looked like one had slid to the side, and another toward the front of the desk. Which one had Mick had in mind?

The one at the front caught her eye, so she picked it up, gathering the pages into a pile, turning to find a seat amidst the clutter of the room and settling in to read.

Once, Rick had resented the pirate queen...

The cult that’d started this whole damned thing had them again, even after all the crew’s plans and attempts to change things. They had Rick, minions strapping him down into a chair while one of the cult leaders—the one who’d broken him the first time—stared at him thoughtfully. Rick stared back, determined not to show any fear.

Maybe, he thought, even as the manacles closed around his wrists, Sean and Lara had gotten away. They’d been holed up again, like they did sometimes. Neither of them was stupid. They might have gotten away.

Gods, he hoped they’d gotten away.

Zari had completely lost track of time when Mick came through the door and stopped, acknowledging her presence with a grunt. She blinked, slowly coming back to reality as he ambled toward the desk and gave it a cursory look—before suddenly freezing and then spinning to stare at her. And the pages she was reading.

“You can’t read that,” Mick told her abruptly, something odd in his tone, even as Zari tightened her grip on the papers involuntarily. He sounded almost...upset. Embarrassed? Mick?

“It was right on your desk. I thought it was what you wanted me to read.” She studied him, then looked back down at the story, letting out a long breath. She liked Mick’s writing, but she’d really been caught up in this one.

“Mick, this is great,” she told him, lifting her eyes again and giving the pages a shake for emphasis. “You’ve got this...this incredible romance going on between these awesome, real, flawed characters, the thief and the assassin, and this amazing...platonic soulmates thing with the male protagonist and his friend at the same time.” She shook her head, impressed. “And you don’t see enough of that in fiction, especially in cases where the romantic relationship doesn’t eclipse the platonic one and they’re both good stories on their own. It’s great.”

Mick stared at her, expression still opaque. Zari stared back a moment, then rifled through the papers. Now that she was near the end, she didn’t think there was enough...yes, it just left off there, right in the middle of a scene.

“You need to finish it,” she insisted. “And there are a few places you just fade to black...and I want to see how it ends!”

But he turned away then, toward the desk, shoulders set.

“I can’t,” he said, tossing the words back over his shoulder at her. “He died.” A pause. “The end.”

Zari blinked again. “Who? Rick? Sean? You can’t...”

But her voice trailed off as she saw Mick leaning on his desk, hands gripping the wood and knuckles white, staring at his typewriter like it’d hurt him. But it hadn’t; she had, somehow, by sticking her nose in where it didn’t belong, even though she hadn’t meant to. So, after another minute, she got to her feet, quietly putting the pages down where she’d been sitting and taking a step toward the door.

Mick didn’t move.

“I’m sorry,” she said quietly. And left.

The others had decided to destroy the cult, and possibly the island it claimed as its base as well. Sean couldn’t say he was surprised. He wasn’t fond at all of how much power the group claimed, far more than they’d originally suspected. And now that they knew the cult was supporting the warlord they’d vowed to stop, it was necessary if they ever wanted to complete that mission.

Still, he could see Lara watching him out of the corner of her eye as all the others chimed in, agreeing to this plan. Even Rick was in—though, of course, he had more reason than most to hate the cult.

“We set out on this mission to stop Vindictus and save the world. To become legends and change our fates,” the crusader, Edmund, said earnestly. “That mission hasn't changed.”

Sean made a scoffing noise. “This is madness,” he said, glancing around at all of them before letting his gaze light on Lara—and an almost-smile touch his mouth. “I like it.”

She smiled back at him.

Behind her, Rick rolled his eyes. But the other man was smiling too.

He died.

Zari frowned to herself as she strolled the corridors of the ship, pondering Mick’s reaction and his words. Given that no main character had died yet in that story, it was apparent that the tale must have been based on a true one. But...

She stopped dead in her tracks.

Lara, assassin turned (at some point) pirate queen. Sean, the thief. Rick, his friend and partner.

Oh.

It seemed to fit. She only knew the sketchiest bits of what the Legends had been up to when their original captain had first recruited them, but she should have figured this out sooner. The power of Mick’s tale had obfuscated the reality behind it. And she knew almost nothing about Leonard, Mick’s former partner, just that Mick missed him and that he’d died, doing something that had saved the world.

Had he and Sara really been a thing? Almost a thing? Zari nibbled her lip, thinking. She didn’t think she’d heard Sara so much as mention his name. Ever. Which...actually did point more toward some powerful feelings there rather than the opposite.

Zari thought for a few more minutes. Then she turned toward the bridge.

Lara knew that Rick had taken refuge in one of his hidey holes in a cargo bay, probably drinking his way through more of the captain’s rum. She’d figured Sean was with him.

Which was fine. Really. After the thief pulled a gun on her after the cult members had taken their friends, she wasn’t sure she really wanted to talk to him. Oh, she could have had that gun away from him in a heartbeat, and he’d backed down awfully quickly, given how stubborn she knew he was, but it was the principle of the thing.

She’d been furious. And heartbroken, though she wasn’t ready to tell anyone that and probably never would be. She’d thought they were friends, at least. Maybe...maybe skirting around something more?

But he wasn’t in the cargo bay with Rick, after all, as it turned out. He was here. At her cabin door. Now. Looking at her with eyes that had a veneer of his habitual attitude over even more uncertainty. It probably said something, too, that she recognized that.

Sean cleared his throat. “Hi,” he managed. “Can I come in?”

Lara leaned on the doorway and glared at him. “What do you want?”

“To talk.” A look from under lowered lashes. Damn him. “And apologize.”

“You could do that right here.”

“Mmm.” He glanced away. “Maybe I want to say more than that.”

She shouldn’t let him in. She should shut the door in his handsome face. She should...

Lara stepped back, letting him in.

Sara was sitting in the captain’s chair. Oh, there was no particular flying to be done right now, but she wasn’t in the mood to go back to her quarters. Her empty quarters, with no sign of Ava in them. More evidence that she’d fucked up for real this time.

Or not. Frankly, Sara kept waffling between anger and annoyance at the other woman’s conviction that Sara needed to change and grief over the loss of someone else she'd cared for. OK, loved. Sure, Ava was back in the Bureau offices, healthy and fine compared to some of the people Sara had lost, but Sara had lost her regardless.

Or maybe she’d never really had her to begin with. Had they both been operating under false pretenses? Ava, thinking Sara would settle and become a good little soldier, or wife, or both? Sara, thinking that Ava would stop wanting her to? Would stop wanting to make her over in a different image?

Sara wasn’t sure how long she’d been there, slumped in the chair with her jaw in her hand, eyes closed, thoughts and feelings circling in her head, when she heard the footstep. Closer than she’d usually let someone get, but she’d let her guard down, knowing that Gideon would warn her if it wasn’t a friend.

“What’s up, Z?” she asked, seeing Zari there, watching her with a rather enigmatic expression. “Everything OK?”

The other woman shrugged, moving closer and studying Sara as if seeing her in a new light. Sara was just about to ask again when Zari glanced away, nodded to herself, and looked back.

“Who was Leonard Snart?” she asked, point blank.

Sara was pretty sure she didn’t move, but for a moment, she almost felt like she’d reeled. “What?”

“Mick’s old partner.” Z tilted her head. “One of the original members of the Legends, right? But no one ever talks about him. Why is that?”

Get him out of here.

No.

Just do it.

Sara swallowed. “He died,” she said abruptly, knowing her voice sounded harsh. “What’s there to talk about?”

“Other people have too, died or left, and the team talks about them.”

“Why are you asking this now?” Sara’s hands tightened on the arms of the chair. “Mick...”

Zari seemed to consider. She looked a little like she regretted bringing this up, but she was too stubborn to back down now. Sara knew that well. “He wrote something about him. Snart. Well, you and Snart.”

“Me and...Snart.” She should say there was no “her and Snart.” She should.

“I wasn’t meant to read it, but I didn’t know that. And the story just...ended. And when I asked, Mick said he died.”

What on earth could Mick have written? How would he even have known...?

...what the future might hold for me...and you...and me and you.

Zari’s eyes are direct. “Did you love him?”

I might have.

“I don’t want to talk about this now.” Her broken edges and Leonard’s, they’d somehow fit together.

“Sara...”

“Don’t push it, Z.”

The bomb in the center of the island wasn’t working right. Someone needed to hold the button down for the connection to be made, for it to blow the whole thing to kingdom come.

The crusader had been going to do it. But he was the sort of guy the world needed, one able and willing to help people, to fix things that needed fixing. Not like Rick, with all his damages. It’d been an easy decision to knock the other man out and take his place. And the captain—pragmatic, despite all his fine talk—hadn’t hesitated to take Edmund and leave Rick there, hand on the bomb, considering his fate.

But then:

“Rick!”

After Zari left, Mick had stayed in his room for a while, stewing, discontented and angry at the memories. He didn’t blame her—he'd left the damned story out, after all, and she didn’t know enough about what had happened to connect the dots right away. But, still, it’d been a stupid thing to write down in the first place.

With most books, anyway, writing things didn’t make them come true.

After a while, he left the room, trying to pretend nothing had happened. He had dinner with Haircut in the galley. He worked out a bit in the training room. He watched an episode of “The X-Files" with Charlie, who’d laughed so hard at the show’s version of shapeshifters that she’d nearly gotten sick again.

Then he’d slowly sauntered back to his room, wondering if he should go find New Girl and apologize.

But there was someone else in his room.

Blondie was sitting in one of the chairs, knees pulled up to her chin, a posture that looked more vulnerable than nearly anything he’d seen from her in a long time. She looked up as he entered, and he was startled to see red-rimmed eyes—and a sheaf of papers in her hand.

Damnit. He’d left that locked up again. Honest, he had.

Mick looked back at Sara, who smiled a little at him.

“I did learn how to pick locks,” she murmured. “It wasn’t hard to find.”

“New Girl.”

“Sort of. She said you wrote something about...about Leonard. And me. I didn’t realize what it was. And I shouldn’t have gone into your things, but I. Well.” She looked down at the pages. “I wasn’t at my best. I’m sorry, Mick.”

Mick dragged in a deep breath, then let it out slowly. They’ve been through too much together to let this get to him, especially since it’s so unusual. “S’OK.” He took a seat himself, watching her.

Sara met his eyes, then glanced away. She looked at the pages again and the quiet drew out.

Then: “This is really how you saw...it? Us?”

Her and Snart, she meant. Mick hesitated.

“Saw what could have been,” he said finally. “Was I wrong?”

A long silence.

“No,” Sara admitted. “No. I think...I think we could have been something...something really good. If we’d had more time. Isn’t that how it goes?” Her fingers contracted, wrinkling the papers, but then she smoothed them out, handing them back to him. “And you knew Leonard longer than I did, better than I did. If this is what you saw...”

“Eh. In some ways, I knew him better. People change.”

“True.” Sara sighed, getting up from the chair. “I’m sorry, Mick,” she said again. “I shouldn’t have just come in here and rummaging around. That was beyond rude. I just...needed to see...”

She shook her head, as if trying to get a grip, then gave him an arch look. “No sex scenes though, I noticed.”

Mick could actually feel his face heat. “That woulda been way too weird.”

Sara laughed a bit evilly—and a bit sadly, which was an odd mix. But still, she just patted his arm again, sighed, and hurried out the door.

Mick watched her go. He looked down at the pages in his hands, then put them down on the desk and studied them for a long moment.

Then he fed a clean piece of paper into his typewriter, nodded to himself, and started to type.

Time to give those losers—all of them—a happy ending.

You could do that, in stories.

About three months later, Waverider time

“Heard you been writing again. Since I...well.”

The words were casually said, in the usual drawl, but Mick could hear a number of things in them. Regret, for having been gone. A pleased attention, because Snart had always accepted his writing in a way others hadn’t. Amusement, probably because New Girl had almost certainly been the one to tell him that. And guilt, he thought, for so many reasons.

Snart stood in the doorway to Mick's room and looked around, his expression still and not real informative. But he hadn’t commented on the clutter or anything else, focusing after a moment on the typewriter still sitting on the desk.

Mick nodded, watching his long-lost friend. “I’m doing the final edits on a manuscript that’s goin’ to a publisher,” he volunteered. “Got two other books out, too. Sold pretty well.”

The other man actually smiled.

The temporal storms that had started that day about three months ago had gotten worse and worse, while both the Legends and the Time Bureau had tried to figure out what was causing them and were kept busy trying to clean up their aftermath.

Finally, they’d figured out the storms had been touched off by the deepest part of the time stream trying to rid itself of an irritant, something that shouldn’t be there.

And that irritant had turned out to be Leonard Snart.

The real one. Now back on the Waverider, confirmed by Gideon, whole and healthy—albeit with an uncanny sense for temporal disturbances and a weird ability to reset time a few seconds here and there. They hadn’t quite fully sorted through the repercussions of that power yet.

Snart was...different, now. Apparently, he’d been at least somewhat aware of the passage of time while he was stuck in the...well, Haircut called it a time pearl, a barrier the time stream had formed between itself and the annoyance. It hadn’t felt like three years to him—more of an odd, lengthy waking dream—but it had given him lots of time, he said, to think.

His personality was a step closer to Leo now, in a way, though he was still extremely capable of pointed snark and sass, as Haircut had already found out. But he was also a little less cold, and a great deal more thoughtful in a way that didn’t seem to have much to do with heists. (As far as Mick knew, anyway. Could be both.)

Now, Snart was looking at the manuscript on the desk with a definite glint of curiosity in his eyes. “Yeah?” His hand hovered over the neat stack of papers. “Can I…”

Mick hesitated. And Snart curled his fingers again and withdrew his hand in that smooth way he had, tucking it behind his back and acting like he’d never reached out to begin with.

Classic Snart.

Well, Mick was done with that old dynamic. He’d lost too much, and he’d been so lucky to get some of it back. Abruptly, he reached out too, scooping up the papers and extending them to Snart, who took them with a blink of surprise.

Mick waved a hand at them a bit awkwardly. “Uh,” he said, “that one wasn’t originally for publication. New Girl…Zari…talked me into finishing it and sending it out. And Blondie gave me…permission. Even wrote some bits.”

Snart had frowned, just a little. “Why would Sara have to…”

But he stopped, fingers tightening on the papers. And Mick sighed inwardly.

When they’d pulled Snart from the time stream…time pearl, whatever…there’d been more than one person who’d been intently watching the groggy, dazed crook when he first came face to face with Sara, who’d been staring at him like she was seeing a ghost.

But all they’d gotten was a breathed, barely audible “Sara” from Snart before the man had crumpled and Mick had carried him off to the medbay. Once he’d woken and gotten a clean bill of health, well, it seemed they were rarely in the same place at the same time. In fact, Mick was pretty sure they were avoiding each other.

Which made no sense at all. New Girl agreed.

Well, maybe this will get them to pull their heads out of their asses. Worth the embarrassment for the chance of that.

“You nearly died, you jackass,” Lara whispered to Sean, standing there on the boat with her hands wrapped in his coat, holding him close. Not as close as she’d like, but...even after everything, she knew he still had his lines that were tough to cross, still had his damages, his own rocky shores. “What the hell did you think you were doing?”

“I couldn’t just let him die.” Sean didn’t seem to mind that she was holding him. In fact, his hands slipped up and around her shoulders, pulling her closer too. His blue eyes looked seriously down into hers, making it hard to breathe.

“Of course you couldn’t.” Lara took a deep breath. “But...”

But then Sean was kissing her, right out on the deck in the open, a kiss that was everything their desperate kiss while he was holding the bomb hadn’t been. A promise, not a farewell; an invitation and a dare. Lara tightened her hold on him and kissed him back, the rest of the world fading around them, focused for once on the here and the now...and just maybe, a little bit on the future.

And if there were a couple of wolf whistles from Rick and the others...well, they just ignored them.

Mick had tried to be unobtrusive about watching the door to Snart’s new room. Fortunately, since it was right down the hall from the galley, he could just lurk in there and listen, occasionally peek outside. He’d been nursing the same beer for a while when New Girl slipped in, too, eyes brightening as she saw him.

“Snart’s reading it?” she whispered. He’d passed on the message through Gideon.

“Yeah.” Mick shifted a bit uncomfortably.

Maybe he shouldn’t have let Sara add the sexier bits. But there was no way in hell he was doin’ it, not with this book, and his publisher expected a certain amount of that. Sara, at least, had seemed to get a kick out of it—just how much of a kick, he’d decided he really didn’t want to know.

He also didn’t think he wanted to know how much of it had really happened—though he suspected, at least, that the kiss at the Oculus/bomb had.

New Girl looked pleased. “This has to be the kick in the ass they both need,” she said.

“ ‘Less we were all wrong.”

“We weren’t. Sara said so. Right?”

“That was before Snart came back.” He thought about it a minute. “Easier to say that when it was just a ‘mighta been’ and not a ‘could really be.’”

New Girl got an odd, considering expression on her face. Mick wondered what—maybe who—she was thinking about. “Yeah,” she acknowledged after a minute. “That’s true. But...”

There was a sound. A door opening. Mick and New Girl—he really should start calling her Zari, he supposed, or Z—exchanged a look, waited a moment, and then peeked out the door.

Snart was headed down the corridor. Toward Sara’s quarters.

Z made a happy sort of humming noise, waiting until Snart turned the corner before stepping out of the galley. Mick followed her as they both slunk down the hall, pausing just before the corner. Close enough to Sara’s doorway.

They heard it slide open.

“Len.” Sara sounded a little surprised. Not unhappy. Thoughtful. Waiting.

“Sara.” Had he really said her name like that before? Ugh. Mick couldn’t believe he hadn’t noticed that tone. That was get-a-room territory all on its own.

Another pause. They heard Snart step inside, heard the door close...mostly. It was cracked, just enough to hear what was being said, as long as they snuck a bit closer and the occupant used normal voices. Mick heard Z whisper a “thank you” to Gideon—who, in her usual way, knew perfectly well what was going on around her ship.

“Mick apparently thinks we had some sort of great torrid romance going on,” they heard Snart say to Sara. There was amusement in his voice and Mick breathed out a sigh of relief. So, he wasn’t mad or too embarrassed.

There was amusement in Sara’s voice, too, as she responded. “You read it.”

“Yeah.” A pause. A long one. “He said you did too.” A shorter pause. “Said you even added...a few things.”

Sara’s laugh was low and rippling. Z elbowed Mick, who ignored her.

“Wishful thinking,” the captain said quietly. “I thought you were gone.”

“Hmmmm. I’m back now.” Pause. “Can’t change the earlier story. But maybe could...start a new one?”

Z clapped a hand over her mouth, her grin obvious. She darted a glance at Mick, eyes shining.

“What sort of story, though?” Sara’s tone was teasing...but not without a hint of real question. “Comedy? Adventure?” Pause. “Torrid romance?”

“Well. Kinda partial to the idea of that last, at the moment.” Snart’s own tone was low, a bit rough. “Not too late?”

Z stepped forward, listening intently.

And Gideon firmly slid the door shut the rest of the way.

“Hey!”

“What happens next, Ms. Tomaz, you certainly do not need to be privy to.” Gideon sounded just a little prissy.

“I most certainly do!”

But Mick grinned, reaching out to put a hand on her arm and pull her back toward the galley. He knew Snart, and he knew Sara. And he figured they’d be just fine.

“They gotta write their own story now,” he told her. “Let’s leave ‘em to it.”

“We’re all stories, in the end. Just make it a good one, eh?”

— The Doctor

[islareeveswriting]

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INSTAS

Nothing can last forever.

The older Molly got, the more she continued to realise just how much of life that included. As a six year old it only seemed that her grandmother Molly’s apple pie fell under that umbrella. It didn’t matter how many apples Molly and Jeanie shook from the trees in the orchard, how full the wicker basket their grandmother handed them was when they returned to the country kitchen where her grandmother had the pastry ready to go, chilling in the fridge, the pie never made it past a single helping. Everytime Molly snuck into the kitchen, as the adults reclined in the comfy lounge with tea and coffee, the pie dish was already empty, waiting on the side for the dishwasher to finish it’s cycle.

At the age of twenty, Molly knew it was more than the best apple pie she was aware of that couldn’t last forever. It included summer holidays, and the unknown bliss of teenage years, and first loves. However, she was sure the ease with which she’d gotten over the end of her relationship must be exempt from the ever growing list. But it seemed even that couldn’t escape the claws, and even that couldn’t last forever either.

Six weeks. It had been a good run, and Molly had sailed through it, lulling herself into a false sense of security, assuming the hard part was over. The ending, the first week of single life, finding out her ex was seeing someone else. It had all been fine, she’d pulled herself back together with ease and a little help here and there and continued to stride onwards. Six weeks though, and Molly felt further back than where she’d started from. There was no chance she’d have seen it coming, but when it did, it came hanging on Ryan’s arm, through the door of Mr & Mrs Greens annual New Years Party, clad in a sparkly black cocktail dress that showed off all the assets Molly didn’t have, with a tumble of thick blonde hair, and pretty blue eyes that put Molly’s to shame.

When Ryan had told Molly he was already seeing someone else, it had come as a shock. But she’d ran and hidden behind the reassurance and pleasant distraction of Harry and pushed back the bits of her mind that made her think maybe Ryan had just done a very good job of fooling her, and he’d never really been as in love as he’d made her believe. Maybe she couldn’t read him like she thought she could, maybe she had just been a convenience, something easy and thoughtless. Just there and not a lot else. Until she wasn’t just there, and his eyes were opened to bigger and better things. Yes, running from the thoughts had kept them at bay for a good five days, but seeing him with her, the girl he was ‘seeing’, had been seeing for six weeks give or take, felt like a slap in the face.

The way it made her feel, the spark of anger, and rush of sadness, the stampede of thoughts that ran through her as Ryan smiled the brightest Molly knew he could, introducing Felicity to all the people Molly had known all her life, took her back. If the sight alone had been a shock, Molly’s internal response was something else. Of course she smiled politely, but whether that hid how sick she was feeling, how shunned and worthless she suddenly felt in the high neck starry dress and fishnet combo she’d opted for, Molly couldn’t say.

No one really seemed to pick up on it, though Suki did whisper that Felicity was clearly a rebound before she took a sip from her drink and Molly faked a low chuckle, eyes stuck to the back of the blonde head like she was hypnotised by it.

The fact Molly was a homebird, did not run parallel with the fact that her friends from university knew her far better than anyone she’d been friends with pre-university. Within an hour of Lauren walking through the door, her and Natalie were both in Molly’s room, sat on her bed with her, coaxing out of her whatever it was that was ‘so obviously’ playing on her mind - as Natalie put it. It didn’t take Molly much to open up to them, tell them what happened on New Years Eve, how it had made her feel, the quiz her mind had continued to plague her with since about her ability to read people, about how well she really knew anyone, even herself. About rebounds, and genuine feelings, and the hurt of seeing someone that she obviously still cared about with someone else.

It was Lauren who suggested going out, absolutely sure Molly needed a night out of the flat, and out of her head. Molly wasn’t as easily convinced, mainly because she was content in the cashmere jumper she’d gotten for Christmas, and the soft leggings she was glad to be reunited with after stupidly not packing them. There was a pizza coupon on top of the fridge that she was sure Ben had forgotten about, with her name on it, and that seemed like a better idea than a night full of alcohol consumption, the one or two cigarettes that would undoubtedly go with that, and feet squeezed into heels. However, Lauren was set on it, and before Molly could even really try to put her foot down, there was a Jack Daniels and coke in her hand, and Lauren was rifling through Molly’s wardrobe finding something for her to wear.

The four Jack Daniels that followed, because that was the only alcohol they seemed to have in the house, sufficed as pre-drinks, and got Molly feeling a little giggly and a little more sure that a good night out with her girls was exactly what the doctor would prescribe. Dressed in ridiculously ripped jeans, fishnets underneath, and a very cropped, off the shoulder top, Molly felt ready, and in the mood for it. They agreed to go somewhere different, somewhere other than The Haunt, somewhere a little classier.

And so they headed to the West End.

It wasn’t a part of town they frequented. In fact in the near two years Molly had lived in the area, she’d probably wandered under the metal ‘West End’ arch, once, and that was in broad daylight hunting for a fabric shop that ended up being in the far less classy East End. It was the part of town that was sprinkled with tiny wine bars, and fancy restaurants where it was frowned upon if a customer didn’t taste the wine before accepting a glass full. Cocktail bars, gin bars, all very niche and well designed, far away from the cocktail buckets and three for a fiver jager bombs Molly and her friends were used to.

As they headed for the third bar of the night, teetering on their heels, Molly tried not to feel underdressed in the outfit that was perhaps more suited to her place of work than the fancy looking cocktail bar they were headed for. It looked like she was the only one who didn’t get the memo, her chunky boots stomped against the cobbles as Lauren and Natalie’s stilettos clipped each stone in their modest outfits. It wasn’t like Molly to feel self conscious but she couldn’t really help it, especially when the bouncers eyes lingered over her bare stomach for longer than necessary.

Once inside, they were faced with a circling metal staircase. Molly glanced down through the rails to the bar area below. It was dark in an underground sort of way, as if a little rough around the edges, deep red floor, black walls and furniture, hanging light bulbs and a bright white sign behind the bar that read ‘Woodies’ in thick cursive. Molly found herself slipping into a character she was semi-familiar with, strutting from the bottom step to the bar to the beat of the low music that played, the only thing she was short of was a tray of drinks. Most of the seats were full around the place, but the bar was empty save for one single man at the end being served.

There was something about the stranger that was distantly familiar to Molly. He had tattoos up both arms, his head was virtually bald, cut so close his hair looked more like a dark haze over his scalp. He was broad, thick across the shoulders and back and legs like tree trunks through the tight jeans he was wearing. Molly narrowed her eyes at him trying to place the recognition. All she could think was Coyote. It had to be down to Coyote, a regular maybe. It frustrated Molly. There was something about him, something so obviously distinct about him, it was on the tip of her tongue, but not quite fully formed. Who are you? She wondered as Natalie and Lauren joined her side, scooting in close like they were the new girls in the lunch hall, though no one seemed to have noticed them enter, or their presence at all.

The stranger began to walk away and Molly turned just as another bartender approached her and her friends, a bright smile on her face. Then it clicked. Molly snapped her head back to the stranger, but looked straight past him to the direction he was heading in. And then she saw him, before the stranger could even get there and confirm her assumptions. It was from Coyote that she recognised him, from that night, the stag do, and there was Harry, sat on the edge of the booth one leg hanging off the edge of the seat thanks to his widespread hips. The strangers hair had grown back a little since his stag-do, Molly wondered if the woman sat next to him wanted it longer for their wedding, she had to admit he looked better for it. Molly’s mind didn’t linger on the happy couple for long though, not when Harry had one of his arms draped lazily around a woman. Dark hair that blended into the back of the leather seat they were in, eyes just as dark and heavy from the lashes she was wearing.

Just another antithesis of Molly.

“Mol!” Natalie snapped, breaking Molly’s unfaltering stare over the room, and pulling her back to where she should have been. “What do you want to drink?” Natalie asked a tinge of frustration in her voice, pointing out the patiently waiting barmaid with a nod of her head.

“Oh,” Molly started, turning on her stool to the young girl, wearing a falsely friendly and tolerant smile that Molly knew well. Drinks weren’t exactly on Molly’s mind anymore, and when she tried to think of anything her mind just pulled up Harry’s face behind her, bright and smiley, his chest bare from all the buttons undone on his shirt. May as well not have bothered. Molly shook her head and tapped her fingers against the bar, appearing to think, but actually just attempting to clear her mind. “Erm a mangorita please?” Molly requested without really considering her choice, the words just slipping out, just like the next ones. “Harry’s here.” Molly announced, though without meaning to or knowing why, it was as if her mind hadn’t quite caught up with her mouth.

“Shit really?” Natalie asked, though Molly just nodded now, swallowing down on nothing and keeping quiet, scared what she might say next. “Do you want to go somewhere else?” Natalie asked quietly, looking out to the room for Harry. She obviously found him, because it didn’t take more than two seconds for Natalie’s, now sympathetic, eyes to land back on Molly. It grated her a little, the pitying look Natalie offered.

“No, why would I want to go somewhere else?” Molly told Natalie scoffing a little as she did so.

“Well it’s just he’s, and Ryan was, and well, yeah.” Natalie dodged words like bullets, Molly rolling her eyes, knowing exactly what she was getting at.

“He’s a friend Nat, I can cope with seeing him with another woman if that’s what you mean.” Molly told Natalie seriously, though it felt like a lie. Molly didn’t know why, she was fine, it was fine, even if there was a plummeting feeling in her stomach, even if she had an unprecedented desire to stare into that girls skull until it started to burn.

“Ok, just after Ryan and this new girl, and then Harry and...I thought maybe…?” Natalie drifted off as Molly shook her head with a slightly arrogant smile on her face. “Ok then.’ Natalie finished with a wide grin, eyes leaving Molly as the barmaid brought their drinks over. Molly grabbed hers and took a large mouthful out of the glass, swallowing it down, wincing a little as she did so having forgotten just how sweet the drink was.

Since seeing Ryan with Felicity she’d stepped off the gas with Harry. It felt reflexive and it sort of happened without Molly even realising. In the back of her mind she’d begun to wonder if she was just filling a hole she didn’t know was there with Harry. They hadn’t spoken properly in days consequently. Of course Harry had still messaged, checking in, trying for conversation, but Molly just played the busy card and put her phone on silent, screen down and tried to get lost in another episode of Outnumbered. There was no way she could blame Harry for going quieter in the last couple of days, she wasn’t exactly being receptive, but when she saw him, arm around a girl with falsely black hair and hoops in her ears that nearly hit her shoulders, she hated him for being so quiet. It was her who had made the bed, made it with doubts and questions, and she now had to lie in it, while he sat across the way laughing til his eyes creased with her.

Somehow it felt worse than when she’d seen Ryan with Felicity. It coiled in her stomach more and played on her mind louder and clearer. It kept her distanced from the conversation Lauren and Natalie were having though she tried to nod and laugh in the right places anyway. It was a different feeling, it didn’t just make her feel inadequate or worthless, in fact it didn’t really make her feel those things at all. Those feelings were soft, gentle in their destruction. What Molly felt at the sight of Harry with someone else was pointier, sharper, savage and unapologetic as she tightened her lips and tried not to think about it.

There was a part of her mind that was imagining strutting over there, Coyote character in full force, taking the girls arm and pulling her away, cementing herself in next to Harry and making sure this new girl was well aware there wasn’t space for her. It was laughable, and if it hadn’t had the potential to make her look crazy, she would have laughed out loud at herself. There was no reason to feel like that. They were just friends. It was what they kept saying, kept promising themselves. There was jealousy rising in her, Molly knew that, but there was nothing to attribute it to.

Unless it was just that. Just that they were just friends and Molly didn’t want that to slip away in the clutches of long red acrylic nails that looked completely impractical. How on earth she’d managed to glue her eyelashes on so neatly, Molly couldn’t know, she supposed she had to credit her at least that. Girlfriends, don’t like friends who are girls. That was universal knowledge. If that girl was around to stay, Molly may as well say goodbye to the late night phone calls and text conversations that lasted hours and the dinner dates there and then. They wouldn’t be happening once little miss fake nails got her claws in. Why are they so long?

Molly forced herself out of her head and back into the evening with Lauren and Natalie. It didn’t take long for Molly to pick up where the conversation was, and a little nod was all it took to make it look like she hadn’t been out of it at all. She couldn’t help herself though, she had to have one last look. It was clear to Molly he had no idea she was there, he was so engrossed in his table, little nods and laughs, eyes fixed on the nearly bald man opposite him. Molly didn’t know if it was that, that got under her skin more, or the arm over the girl. Or the way he laughed so obviously, making a show of it. She’s not that funny. Molly bit in her head, sneering as Harry chuckled again.

“Ok, what the fuck is going on?” Even with her eyes on Harry, Molly knew Lauren’s question was aimed at her. Both pairs of eyes were on her as she turned back, and Molly took a sip of her drink. “Have you two fallen out or something?” Molly shook her head with a downturn of her lips as if there was nothing strange going on at all, as if there wasn’t the most unprecedented, inappropriate feeling inside her. “Then why are you not talking to one another?”

“I’m not just gonna walk over there and disturb his evening am I?” Molly justified, with a little shrug. “Looks like he’s having the time of his life, I wouldn’t want to get in the way of that.” Molly explained, ignoring the repeating image of pulling the girl away from Harry that told her quite the opposite of what she said.

“Not jealous at all are you Mol?” Lauren jeered, a small, breath of a chuckle sneaking out of her nose.

“What?” Molly snapped, her chin jutting back into her chest as she did so. “Are you joking?” Molly laughed sarcastically looking from Lauren to Natalie who were both just looking at her a little taken back, but knowingly. “That’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard, why on earth would I be jealous?” Molly chided, taking a sip of her drink and hoping to hide the blush that she could feel heating up the apples of her cheeks. Lauren just shrugged, biting her smile back and widening her eyes as she did so.

“Were you jealous when you saw Ryan with another girl?” Natalie asked coyly, chidlike, the corners of her lips lifting a little into a secret smile as she wound the reel tighter.

“I’m not jealous!” Molly fired. Once more she looked over her shoulder, Harry had tucked his hair behind his ear, that jaw line that made Molly’s knees weaken on full display. “What the fuck have I got to be jealous of? They look awful together, she’s so…” Molly drifted off not wanting to sound out loud like the bitch that was rattling off snidey comments about the girls appearance in her head. And if Molly was honest, truthfully honest, she looked more suited to the environment than Molly did. She looked like a regular, classy and probably not thankful she had a student overdraft to pay for the incredibly overpriced cocktails she was sipping on elegantly. If Molly was honest, she was probably a perfect match for Harry. His age, more in common, probably had her own place, not a five bed shared apartment owned by his uncle. Only if she was a perfect match, it meant Molly was anything but and that festered in the pit of her stomach as it tumbled over itself.

“So not like you?” Lauren barely whispered. Molly rolled her eyes as she turned back and shook her head at Lauren, her pony tail tickling the back of her neck as she did so. “I’m just saying, you’ve been looking over at each other all night, it’s ridiculous, you obviously want to talk to one another.” Molly froze, though tried to hide the sparking feeling that came from the knowledge that maybe Harry had been looking at her too, and she’d just been missing it. Why he had been though, Molly couldn’t work out. Lauren turned to catch the attention of the bartender, her glass empty, and Natalie was focused on finishing her current drink before Lauren did so, slurping up the frozen pink slush through the straw noisily, so Molly took the opportunity to glance over her shoulder one more time, without being caught.

Harry was staring back at her, fully and unabashed, almost like he had read her mind and knew she was going to turn to him the second her friends weren’t looking. The arm that had been over the girl was relaxed by his side now, the sleeves of his black shirt rolled up over his wrists, the ink on them just visible as dark patches rather than the artwork Molly knew. Harry smiled, delicately but obviously, his lips just curving enough so Molly could see. She offered the same in return eyes fixed on him, mind on the rush of feelings suddenly screaming through her, jealousy eradicated by a fluttering heart and flapping butterflies. Harry’s hand rose and he beckoned her over with a flick of his wrist, but Molly shook her head, her smile falling. She didn’t want to go over there, she didn’t want to be introduced as ‘a friend’ and she didn’t want to hear the words ‘girlfriend’ spill out of his mouth. And so, when Harry beckoned her again with a wider grin, Molly just shook her head harder and turned back to Lauren and Natalie.

It’s quite amazing how much noise two people ignoring one another can make. It screamed through every conversation she plodded through with Natalie and Lauren. No matter how much she forced herself to concentrate on it, take in every word the two girls said so she could do a little bit more than simply nod and laugh in the appropriate places, the fact Harry was sat on the other side of the room and they hadn’t said a word to one another was more prominent. Lauren kept looking past Molly, Molly caught her everytime and she knew who Lauren was looking at. She wanted to look too, but she wouldn’t let herself, not again. If he beckoned her one more time she wouldn’t be able to say no, but not because she wanted to go over there. That was the last thing she wanted. The idea of being stood on the edge of that table, four pairs of eyes on her as she smiled politely and shook the girls hand as she found out her name, trying not to crumble and show her true feelings, made her feel sick.

“I’m gonna go for a smoke.” Molly announced with a sigh, opening her bag. There were two cigarettes in there, stolen from a packet she’d found in Jimmy’s room before leaving. That was all she was going to allow herself. It was the alcohols fault, it was a habit she was unable to kick. Though the fact she’d pretty much finished a bottle of Bailey’s with Jeanie on Christmas day and not once felt the urge to find a cigarette said otherwise. When they ventured out to the West End she told herself she wouldn’t smoke them. But it was a little more than the alcohol that made her crave the nicotine rush. “Do you want-”

“Evening all.” The voice was instantly recognisable. Molly tensed up, her throat tightening around the end of her question and eyes fixed on Lauren, the cigarette dangling from her fingers, crushing between them a little. Out of the corner of her eye she glanced up at Harry. From where she was sat he appeared even taller than normal, and he was close enough to her that Molly could smell the musky, dark scent he wore, stronger than it normally came off and clinging to the silk of his shirt. It was definitely silk, Molly could tell at a glance and her fingers itched to feel it under their tips.

“Hi.” Lauren smiled brightly. Molly felt his hand slide along the back of her chair, his thumb catching her spine as it passed. “You ok?” Lauren asked.

“Yeah I’m good thanks, you all having a good night?” Molly still hadn’t said a word, and she began to feel invisible.

“Yeah not bad, me and Nat were about to go to the loo, look Mol you won’t have to hold the seats by yourself now.” Lauren chattered, grabbing Natalie’s wrist and standing from her stool. Harry chuckled as Natalie jolted to life.

“What?” Molly hissed, but Lauren just smiled and pulled Natalie away, in the general direction of the toilets. Harry rounded the chair and Molly met his eyes as he lowered into one of the seats, offering a friendly smile as he did. Any onlookers would think they were strangers who knew nothing about one another. The truth only made the silence feel more awkward.

“You ok?” Harry asked, sliding forward a little, his long legs allowing his feet to reach the floor where Molly was forced to sit on the edge of her seat just to reach the foot rest. Molly nodded in response offering a quiet smile.

“You?”

“Would be better if you weren’t being so weird with me.” Harry grumbled unapologetically.

“I’m not being weird with you.” Molly told him, dropping her eyes to her handbag clutched to her lap and the cigarette still between her fingers, twiddling between them distractedly. She heard Harry huff but didn’t look up.

“Well you can’t even look at me, so shall we start there or with the fact you’ve barely spoken to me for like a week.” Harry bargained sarcastically, Molly glanced up through her lashes, hoping to let him know she was unimpressed. “You can look at me like that all you like, what’s going on?”

“Nothing, I’ve just been bus-”

“Do not tell me you’ve been busy, it’s the biggest load of bullshit.” Harry snapped, folding his arms across his chest.

“You are such an arse when you’re in this mood.” Molly hissed sneering at him a little.

“You put me in it.”

“I didn’t ask you to storm over here and talk to me like shit cause I don’t want to come and sit with you and your girlfriend like a third wheel.” Molly snapped, quickly reeling herself back when she realised what she’d said. It felt like she’d been caught red handed, like the spotlight was suddenly only on her, and it screamed jealous friend for the whole bar to hear.

“Well she’s not my girlfriend for starters.” Harry glowered. “And you’ve been off with me for days so you can’t blame it on that anyway.” Harry pointed out. There was a lightbulb hanging behind Harry’s head, giving his hair a golden tint, that Molly chose to focus on until her eyes started to burn with the intensity of her glare. “Come on Lol, what’s going on?” Harry pushed gently, reaching forward but stopping himself. Molly wished he wouldn’t. He never had before, he’d always been so forthcoming with his gestures, offered his hand so freely without a care for anyone else. The fact now he was checking himself made her nostrils flare. Quietly she began grinding her teeth, her breath threatening to get heavier. “Lolly.” That time he reached for her, taking the cigarette out of her fingers and wrapping his in between them instead. “Fucking things.” He mumbled as he dropped the stick of tobacco and nicotine on the bar. “Tell me, please, I’m going out of my mind.”

“I just,” Molly caught herself and sighed, looking into his eyes heavy with care and soft as his touch, as green as they ever were, but possibly not as green as her own metaphorical ones. “I...there’s…” Molly hesitated, words coming to her and faltering, hiding again behind just friends, and envy, and a little heartbreak that seemed to cloud most things a little too much for her liking. It got in the way of everything, in ways she really wished it wouldn’t. It would be so much easier if Harry had walked into her life now, it would be clearer and far less affected by the remnants of Ryan. “It’s just Ryan’s seeing someone else and he bought her to a party we were all at for New Years and I had a typical, stupid, Molly crisis about it and went it to shutdown.”

“Lolly.” Harry sighed loudly.

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry, don’t.” Harry urged, squeezing her hand. “And it’s not stupid for the record.” Harry tried to assure her. Molly nodded as if to agree though her eyes fell to her lap again. “You sure that’s it?” Harry asked. Molly looked up at him and nodded quickly with a smile. “Really?”

“I promise, it’s daft I know it shouldn’t be a big deal, was just a shock, and I…” Molly trailed of again because she what? Wanted to make sure her friend wasn’t just a rebound, wanted to make sure her feelings for her friend weren’t just bought on by the sudden lack of romantic interest, wanted to make sure she hadn’t been reading her friend as entirely wrong as she’d clearly been reading Ryan for the last months of their relationship. “It was just a shock.” Molly settled on quietly. Harry nodded seeming to accept it, but they both knew there was a little more to it, the same way they both knew, he wouldn’t push for the whole truth if she really didn’t want to give it.

“I’m sure it was.” Harry offered that same pitying look Natalie had when she’d seen Harry with the dark haired girl. It slithered over her the same way Natalie’s look had, she didn’t want it or need it, but especially off him. For once she didn’t want to be the broken hearted girl that he pitied, the girl with the shit boyfriend, ex-boyfriend, that continued to toy with her emotions and make things more difficult. It just made her wish harder that they were meeting for the first time there and then, that she was a stranger to him, who hadn’t just been through a bit of a rough breakup, who hadn’t been fobbing him off for reasons even she couldn’t get her head around completely. “Is that a mangorita?” Harry asked nodding to the glass in her hand, noticing her getting inside her head, pulling her out before she started to drown in there.

“Sure is.” Molly nodded with a slightly lopsided smile.

“Told you there were good huh?” Harry jested, letting go of her hand and reaching into his pocket as Molly took one of the final sips, the glass nearly empty save for the ice still lingering. “Buy you another?” Molly nodded, her smile evening out and her teeth just showing underneath. Harry turned to the bar, resting his elbows upon it as he leaned forward a little to catch someone’s attention. Molly just watched as the fabric of his shirt stretched tight over his back, highlighting the way each muscle twitched with his movements. There had never been any doubt that Harry was in good shape, but Molly could see the outline of muscles she didn’t even know existed as Harry’s shoulder blades spread open with the way his elbows widened over the bar.

The glass in Molly’s hand felt light, her grip looser than it had been during her conversation with Harry. When it fell out of her hand, and Molly jumped to her feet gasping in shock from the freezing ice that slid down her stomach and the equally cold remainder of her drink that soaked the front of her top and trickled down her skin, Molly thought she’d just absentmindedly let go of the glass for a second. But then Harry was pushing past her, and Molly was suddenly aware of the stranger trying to apologise next to her.

“Fucking watch where you’re going mate yeah?” Harry all but spat, his fists clenched at his side and his eyebrows knitting together. Two seconds ago he’d been leant across the bar calmly waiting to be served, a soft smile pulling gently at the corners of his mouth. Molly hadn’t seen the switch but it was scary how instantaneous it was.

“Harry, it’s fine.” Molly tried to insist though she got largely ignored, at least by Harry. The strangers eyes fell on her though and he offered a sympathetic smile, though Molly couldn’t pin whether than was down to the drink that was soaking through to her bra now, or the way Harry had reacted to the accident.

“No it’s not, he coulda-”

“Come on, it’s fine.” Molly forced, grabbing Harry’s arm and pulling him back with all the strength she could find.

“Look I’m really sorry, I didn’t mean to, I can buy you another one.”

“You should be so fucking lucky.” Harry hissed. Molly just grabbed his arm tighter, her nails digging into his skin a little as she watched the strangers eyes flick to the angry hulking man she was holding onto for seemingly dear life, her knees pressed into the back of him with how close she’d managed to pull him back.

“It’s fine, thank you, but it’s fine.” Molly smiled kindly. The stranger nodded and headed away from the pair, assumedly back to his table, probably to tell his friends about the psycho who nearly started a fight with him over a spilled drink, that wasn’t even a full drink. With a sigh Molly let go of Harry’s arm and grabbed her bag and the cigarette still lying on the bar after Harry had taken it from her fingers earlier. “I��m going for a smoke, you coming?” Molly didn’t give him a chance to answer, just strode past him towards the back door.

It was freezing outside, bitter January biting at every piece of Molly’s exposed skin. It only felt colder thanks to the mangorita drying on her and the ice that had slid off her lap as she stood. Quickly she found the lighter she’d shoved into her bag with the two cigarettes and lit up the one hanging between her lips. With one arm now free she cuddled herself, trying to find some warmth left in her own skin. The door opened and closed behind her, and Molly turned to see Harry striding through it. The smoke lingered in the air for a second as she blew it from her mouth away from his face, trying to ignore the distaste in his features. He’d just flipped a switch over a spilt drink. Neither of them were exactly free of sins.

“I wasn’t going to hit him.” Harry grumbled, shoving his hands into his pockets as Molly took another drag on her cigarette. “I wouldn’t do that infront of you.” He tried to promise her, but Molly raised an eyebrow and reminded him he already had. “Again, I wouldn’t do it again.” Molly just shrugged and let the smoke out of her mouth again, turning away from him, Harry clearly not getting that she’d rather he didn’t hit anyone at all.

“Do you want a cigarette?” Molly offered, guessing what the answer would be.

“I’ll have a toke on that.” Harry told her reaching for the one she was flicking ash from. It took Molly back a little and it obviously showed on her face. “What? You offered.”

“I didn’t expect you to say yes though.” Molly explained, handing him the half smoke cigarette.

“Why?”

“Cause you have a tendency to look at me like I’m eating a baby when I have a smoke.” Molly told him. Harry choked on the smoke, but not because he didn’t know what he was doing. A breathy chuckle followed as he passed the cigarette back to Molly.

“Worst analogy ever.” Harry laughed as Molly took another drag. “Wanna get out of here?” Harry asked, looking out to the street. Honestly, she did. Leaving with Harry sounded like it would feel perfect. Leaving with Harry sounded like exactly what she needed, it felt like a normality she’d foolishly gotten used to, but there was a niggle in the back of her head that she couldn’t shake.

“Should you not let Becky with the good hair know you’re leaving?” Molly commented snarkily looking at the glimmer of glowing ash she’d flicked to the floor. The cigarette was nearly done, and she didn’t really want to smoke the rest of it, so she just stared at the burnt tip of it, waiting until it dwindled down enough for her to flick more ash to the floor. Eyes glued to it rather than look up at Harry who seemed to be stunned into silence, at least he hadn’t said anything yet.

“Are you taking the piss Lol?” Harry laughed, though it didn’t sound like he was amused. Molly didn’t say anything, just shrugged and stared at the pebbled concrete under their feet. “What is wrong with you? Are you jealous or something?”

“I am not fucking jealous!” Molly snapped, lifting her head quickly as she did so. Harry recoiled a little with her tone, but softened quickly, the look in her eyes giving more away than how she spoke to him. “I’m not jealous.” Molly repeated, quieter this time, her voice cracking a little.

“I was only messing Lolly.” Harry told her stepping forward. It was clearly intended as a joke, but it stung like a slap in the face and twisted nastily inside her. Molly rolled her lips together and dropped the cigarette to the floor only so she’d have something else to look at, so Harry wouldn’t see the way her eyes were beginning to flood. “What’s going on love?” Harry asked quietly, tipping Molly’s head so she had to look at him and so he could confirm that he had indeed seen the shimmer of tears in her eyes. “Tell me, please.”

“It’s just shit.” Molly announced, sniffing back on nothing apart from the emotion that made her voice sound sticky.

“What is?” Harry pushed gently, treading carefully around the boundaries Molly seemed to have put up in the last week, though Harry was at a loss as for why. There didn’t seem to be any reason. To him at least.

“Just everything,” Molly started loudly throwing her head back and looking up to the clear night sky. “Ryan with another girl barely a month after we split up,” Molly dropped her head again, her words running away with her. “And then,” She started again throwing her hand at Harry but cutting herself short and sighing instead. “Just shit.” She pouted, her voice barely a mumble as Harry tilted his head to the side.

They stood in silence for what felt like minutes, though it took barely seconds for the cogs in Harry’s mind to click into place. If Molly had looked hard enough, she probably could have seen the moment they did, the way his eyes shut slowly and his shoulders fell. The moment he remembered what it felt like to see someone who made your heart skip a beat on the other side of the bar with their arms around someone else. How it felt like your heart stopped beating all together and instead sunk through your body as they laughed, or pretended to laugh, at something they said. How soul destroying it felt to be falling for someone who only had eyes for someone else. Not knowing they were wishing it was you in their arms.

“Oh Lolly.” Harry sighed stepping forward and wrapping his arms around her tightly. Molly stopped trying to hide how much it got to her, how utterly rubbish it made her feel, and she shook in his arms as the tears flooded out of her imprisoning eyes. Part of her felt selfish, she knew she wasn’t leading Harry on, she knew she could feel something for him that really seemed like something real and strong, but she wasn’t in a place where she wanted to say it outloud yet. She didn’t want to rush in. There was clearly a small part of her that was confused by having such strong feelings already, and she really wanted to secure it in her head before she acted. She just hoped Harry could be patient, she hoped he didn’t think she was playing him like a fool or leading him down a path that just lead to a dead end. There was something inside of her for Harry that promised so much. She just had to be sure this time.

“I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry.” Harry whispered dipping his head into her hair and breathing her in, holding her tighter to him, her skin cold to the touch and dotted with goose pimples. Neither of them could really say what he was apologising for, but either way it comforted Molly somehow. “Don’t let him make you feel worthless, you’re not, you’re really not.” Harry promised. “Please don’t lock me out because of him.” Harry begged quietly, his fingers beginning to trace over the bare skin of her back that they were laid gently over, his large palm covering her lower back until he began to tickle intricate patterns into it. Molly shivered, though not from the cold. His fingertips were rough on her skin, calloused from his work, but somehow still soft and light and delicate as they ran over her.

Slowly Molly lifted her head from Harry’s chest and wiped her hands, that had been squashed between their bodies, over her eyes. The heel of her hand dug into her eye sockets as she tried to stem the tears, but Harry was quick to pull them down.

“Don’t do that you’ll make them sore.” He told her, letting go of her wrists and sliding his arm back round her middle. The other one raised, and he tucked her hair behind her ears gently, before sliding tears from her cheeks with the pad of his thumb. “Let me walk you home?” Harry asked, though he needn’t have. It was a given by that point. Molly nodded nonetheless and stepped close to Harry, head resting on his shoulder as he guided them out onto the street from the back of the bar.

It was quiet through town, most places having closed for the night. Molly knew on the other side of town, the side she was more often found in, it would be a different story. It made a change though, a pleasant one as Harry and her walked quietly, side by side, through the streets towards her house. The busses would have stopped running by now, and besides Molly was enjoying the air on her clammy face. It was cold, freezing, like ice, and it stung her skin a little, in a restorative way though. Like a dip in the ocean. The street lights hadn’t quite gone out yet, they still had an hour or so left in them and their golden glow guided the pair to the park that made a shortcut of the centre of town to Molly’s street.

The quiet of the town didn’t compare to the absolute silence of the park. It was like they’d walked into another world. Even the screeching of taxi cabs died off as they wandered under the sky of trees that bent over their heads to meet one another in the middle. There were no lights in the park, but it wasn’t exactly dark, especially as the trees dispersed to make way for the expanse of perfectly kept grass and the large lake in the middle. The stars were out, and the moon was full in the sky, it’s silver light illuminating their faces just enough.

Molly wondered at the stars, looking between them steadily, glancing up from the pillow she’d made of Harry as they walked.

“Do you know anything about the stars?” She asked quietly, her voice a little dry and croaky as she let out the first words since she’d cried.

“A little.” Harry told her, taking his turn to look up at them. “Clear tonight.” Molly hummed in agreement, their pace slowing equally as they gazed up at the night sky blanketing the world.

“Let’s stop.” Molly suggested, halting completely. Harry fell back in line with her and looked down at her from his advantage, smiling as she continued to stare upwards.

“I’d rather get you home, it’s freezing.” Harry told her, squeezing her waist a little where his hand was on her still.

“Just five minutes, please?” Molly begged squirming out of Harry’s arm and finding his hand with hers. Harry sighed his admission and let her lead him to the grass where she dropped to the floor and laid back, knees in the air. Harry chuckled and followed suit, their shoulders touching as Harry got comfortable next to her on the grass that was beginning to dampen. “Tell me about them?” Molly asked quietly, as if the stars could hear, and they might run away the second they figured out she was talking about them.

“Well, I don’t know a lot,” Harry disclaimed for starters, but Molly nudged him with her elbow a little to encourage him onwards. “That’s Orion.”

“Doesn’t everyone start with Orion?” Molly asked.

“I wouldn’t know, I’ve never been asked to tell anyone about the stars.” Harry admitted, twisting his neck to look at her. Harry watched the way her eyebrows dipped with that information. “I’ve never had any particularly serious relationships Lolly.” Harry admitted, hoping that would clear her confusion.

“Really?!” Molly gaped turning her head to him quickly. Harry just nodded pouting his bottom lip a little as he did so. Not in a sad, disheartened kind of way. “But you give such good heartbreak advice.” Molly told him looking back to the stars.

“Oh don’t get me wrong, I’ve had my heart broken.” Harry told her with absolute certainty. “Don’t let yourself believe that only serious relationships can end in a broken heart love.” Harry advised with that endearing wisdom he wore so well.

“How old were you?” Molly asked quietly, rolling onto her side and looking at Harry fully.

“Twenty.” Harry told her, shifting a little to try and relieve the tension in his neck from where he’d twisted awkwardly. “It was very complicated, very, very complicated, but it worked out for the best and it will for you too.” Harry ascertained offering a reassuring, though admittedly lopsided, smile with it. Molly sighed rolling her lips together.

“I guess I just didn’t think it’d feel like I’m the only one who’s actually a little hurt by the end of it.” Molly explained and Harry nodded, fully aware she had more to say. “It sounds ridiculous but I think I thought if I ended it it was in my control, god that sounds so selfish, Jesus I take that back.”

“No, it’s fine, you’re allowed to be selfish sometimes Lolly that’s the whole point.” Harry told her. “He’s being selfish, he bought the new girl he’s seeing to a party he knew you’d be at, don’t beat yourself up because you ended a relationship you weren’t happy in.” Harry pointed out. “I know it hurts, I know it sucks, and you’re confused and your head feels a mess but I promise it will get easier.” Harry told her and the way his eyes held hers as he said it made Molly sure he meant it. “Just think how good it felt, and it didn’t work, but it still felt that good, so how good is it gonna feel when you find something with someone that does work?”

“You’re right.” Molly smiled lightly. “God I hope I make you feel as good as you do me.” Molly sighed, unafraid to admit it suddenly.

“You do, but it’s not about me right now.” Harry reminded her with a grin. “I’m sure you’ll have to pick me up at some point.”

“I doubt it, you’re like the most together person I know, and I know Lauren so that’s saying something.” Molly laughed, Harry chuckling along but shaking his head like he didn’t exactly agree.

“I wouldn’t be so sure.” Harry laughed. The sound of Harry’s gravelly chortle tickled Molly for some indiscernible reason. Molly folded in on herself as she giggled, her stomach cramping as she struggled for breath, her hands reaching for Harry’s shirt and laying over his chest as she vibrated with laughter. Harry joined in, the pair of them feeding of one anothers display of humour, creasing into one another as they laughed tangling in the grass. Harry held Molly’s arms and her forehead rested on his bare chest, the shirt giving way to skin due to how he was laid, as she slowly began to calm down, delirious from a trainwreck of warring emotions. “You ok?” Harry asked, breathless from his own giggling fit. Molly nodded and turned to sit up. She pulled her bag around her and opened it up pulling her phone out. “What you doing?”

“Just messaging Lauren to let her know I’m on my way home.” Molly told him as she tapped the message out before locking her phone. The reply was pretty much instant.

You don’t have the key

“Shit.” Molly hissed, rummaging in her bag to make sure Lauren was right.

“What’s up?” Harry asked, a touch of panic in his voice as he moved to sit up beside Molly, watching over as she rifled through the small bag she was carrying.

“Basically Lauren was the only one to bring a key out, I couldn’t be bothered to find mine and we figured we’d all be going home together.” Molly explained, still searching for what she knew she wouldn’t find. Her key was on the lanyard, in her tote bag, at home, on the floor of her bedroom. “Fucks sake.”

“So you haven’t got a key?” Molly shook her head to answer Harry, knowing opening her mouth might result in a sarcastic snap.

“I’ll have to go back.” Molly sighed, standing back up slowly. She hadn’t drunk a lot, but maybe it wasn’t the alcohol that made her head feel light and her legs a little weak. “Sorry, wait here yeah? I’ll only be-”

“When are you gonna realise, I’m not letting you go on your own?” Harry smiled, half laughing as he spoke.

“But-”

“But you can stay at mine.” Harry interrupted again before Molly could try and talk her way back to the club while Harry waited in the park for her. As if that was even a possibility in Harry’s mind. “Come on, you can stay at mine, and you can sleep on the couch, because you’ll insist you can’t possibly take my bed, even though I’d rather you would considering it’s more comfortable, ok?” The way Harry said it made it sound like she didn’t have a choice, though Molly wasn’t entirely sure she’d have taken the other option even if there was one.

“Ok.” Molly smiled, offering her hand to help Harry to his feet, though whether she actually helped at all was questionable. “Thank you.”

“You don’t have to thank me, it’s what friends do isn’t it.” Harry smiled wiping dirt from his jeans that wasn’t there. With his eyes on the black denim, he didn’t see the way Molly’s own smile faltered and cracked as she tried to remember when ‘friends’ became a word she was tired of hearing.

I’m just gonna go hide under a rock for a bit cause I feel like this is gonna be an either you love it or hate it chapter and I’m scared. Ihope you love it though and if you wanna let me know either way please do :)

Thanks for all the love as always, and my bae @harrysmeadow for practically being my proof reader always. She’s the best

Have a good weekend, all the love I x

[cosmiciaria]

Dragon Age Origins review! (spoiler free - long post)

Dragon Age 2 review

Dragon Age Inquisition review

So at last I closed this cycle and finished Dragon Age: Origins. I'm still playing Awakening and will probably comment on it but it won't be a proper review.

I left Origins for last because I had a few mishaps in the way here. My first Dragon Age ever was Inquisition, so I'm so so sorry for having started this story by the third installment. However, you may be very happy because thanks to that awesome game I plunged myself into the world of Thedas and now I'm stuck in that dark pit of hell forever.

After I was done with Inquisition (for like… eight times), I said to myself, hey, I should play Origins. I don't own a ps3 so it kinda discouraged me quite a bit, because I am a trophy hunter after all, but the PC version had to be enough for me (the same with DA2). I booted the game, created a female mage warden, played through her origin story, met Alistair, fell for him, recruited Leliana, Morrigan and Sten and… arrived at the Broken Circle main quest. Boy was I put off by it! I had a ragequit when I reached the Fade mission and left the game for dead.

But lately I've been hearing things about a possible DA4… and fangirled about Inquisition with a friend and… Well I wanted to play Inquisition again, but the thing is I know that game by heart now and I wanted something new. My friend insisted that I should fall for Fenris, Fenris this, Fenris that, and so I obeyed her and played DA2 only to fall for Anders (sorry my fren!). And once I was done with this? Alright, I went back to Origins. But I discovered my save files had been eradicated from earth! I almost quit but gathered courage and said to myself that I hadn't lost much gameplay hours. I restarted the whole thing, a new mage again.

And this time, I used mods!

And this time, I finished the game!

It was SUCH an experience. I'm really put off by the graphics of this game. Let's face it: it doesn't push the ps3 hardware to the limit, not at all, on the contrary I might add, and sometimes it may very well be a ps2 quality game. Textures are all dull, brown, grey. The color palette isn't very broad, character creation is quite limited (thank god for the mods) and animations are rigid and repetitive. So much so that I noticed (and I think everyone noticed it too) that animations are the same across the three games. DA2 added a few more, specially for mages, but they reuse the same five or six animations all over again. Faces all look the same, except for some important characters; gameplay is slow, ordinary fights take up too much time and playing as a mage in this first installment is a nightmare (whereas in the other two games it was greatly improved and accelerated).

I can understand if the game had low budget. Great things can be achieved with low budget. Just look at The Witcher! Just beware: if you really care about graphics, you're going to suffer through this game, because some scenes look cringy and terribly animated.

Some quests and dungeons drag on forever. You know of what I'm talking about. The Fade side mission inside the Broken Circle main quest (which is recommended to be done early in the game) it's such a huge warning for players, because it's even longer than main one. It can greatly discourage people to keep playing, as it is long, it doesn't add much to the actual plot that we care about, and it feels like a filler for the sake of adding more hours to the story. The other "oh god please end me right now" main quest that lasts forever, is the I STILL DON'T KNOW WHY mandatory Deep Roads level. I just, I just really hate the Deep Roads, guys. For those of you who don't know, the Deep Roads are the underground labyrinth built by dwarves. After playing The Descent expansion pack of Inquisition, I began to feel dread whenever I entered a dwarven architecture, I felt claustrophobic. The experience was such of running around with no goal whatsoever in these endless halls that I can't bring myself to enjoy it. So when there's a Deep Roads quest, I always have a bad time.

But… does all this make it a bad game? Not at all.

So you play as the Warden, a main character you create. You can be a human, an elf or a dwarf. Depending on the class you choose (warrior, mage or rogue) you are going to have a different origin story. For instance, a rogue or warrior elf can be both a city elf or a dalish elf (you choose), but if you make them a mage, then you're forced to play the magi origin. Also, not all classes are available for everyone, as dwarves cannot be mages. So on and so on.

The interesting thing about these origins (it happens the same in Inquistion) is that all the possibilities that you can have at the beginning, actually happen. It's just that it's the character you create the one who is chosen to be a Warden. I mean: if you choose a human mage, all the other characters you didn't choose (human noble, city elf, dalish elf, dwarf commoner, dwarf noble, mage elf) they all happen and go through their origin stories as well, it's just that they aren't lucky (or unlucky?) enough to become a Warden. Proof of this is that Hawke (our main oc in DA2) is linked through their mother to the Amell human mage, whether this one was the Hero of Ferelden or just another ordinary mage with no heroic career in the Circle. You encounter the secondary characters of each origin story across the story of the main quests, just as it happens with Jowan, a mage you meet in your magi origin, but if you're not a mage, he still appears in the Redcliffe main quest. This is confirmed by the wikia, and it's pretty interesting! You, as the player, have the power to manipulate these threads that intertwine: you are the one who decides whose fate will be heroic.

Depending on your origin, your initial story varies. But at one point or another, you're going to come across Duncan, a Grey Warden who is recruiting lads and lasses to the Joining. Duncan offers you to accompany him to Ostagar, and you must accept.

And what the nugs are Grey Wardens? Grey Wardens are an "elite" army who fight the darkspawn, and they are the only ones who can fight them. Darkspawn are their own version of zombies let's say: they live underground, in the Deep Roads. They're not intelligent but crave for surviving, so they're dangerous and a plague. Every now and then, a Blight occurs: a creature called Old God – a dragon – transforms itself into an Archdemon and commands these armies of darkspawn, giving orders and destroying everything in their stride. Wardens exist to fight the Blight, as it is the moment the world is in more peril.

And why so much secrecy? Why not an ordinary army? Grey Wardens are different from an ordinary soldier since, to become one, you must drink darkspawn blood. From now on, you'll sense the darkspawn, you'll hear their whispers in your head, and your lifespan is heavily reduced. This is the price Grey Wardens pay: many see it as an honor, others as a punishment.

You've joined the Grey Wardens: alongside the other junior Warden, Alistair, you're going to take part in the next battle in Ostagar. People are still arguing if this is a Blight or not, because there had been no signs of an Archdemon, but everything changes when the armies strike, and a huge, blood-red dragon pierces the sky with its shrieking howl.

King Cailan has come to your aid and he fights valiantly with Duncan on the field. Meanwhile, you and Alistair must head to the tower to light the beacon for the reinforcements led by Ser Loghain Mac Tir know they must come to the rescue. You are overrun by darkspawn, your Wardens can't take it anymore, you manage to reach the top of the tower, you light the beacon – you can make it, you can…!

…Only to watch Loghain command the order to his armies to retreat.

And they do.

And everything turns black when an arrow pierces your chest.

You wake up fresh and recovered in an old hut, where Morrigan and her mother Flemeth live. Flemeth has saved your life with her obscure powers – she remains a calm force, albeit a mysterious one. Alistair is safe and sound as well and as the only two Wardens left alive in Ferelden, you must regroup with those in Orlais and recruit as many possible allies as you can. The world opens up for you: you have the power to reach each corner of the map to make use of your title. Morrigan joins your team, forced by her mother, with a somehow vague motive, and soon you're sent to your main quests to gain allies.

And from here on out, the game will take the route you, the player, desire. In each of the main quests you'll end up having to make a huge decision that will undoubtedly change the future of the plot. Then again, you feel like the god of this game, choosing what to do, who to save, who to side with. It's all up to you! And since this is really dependent on the player and spoilers, I won't delve into it. Just know that there are multiple endings, and that there are characters you can save (or not). My piece of advice: trust in your team members!

And since we're on that topic, let's talk about companions! As it is a staple of these games, you can recruit not only allies for the war but also companions for your team. Your first party member will be Alistair, that I have mentioned a few times before. He's a junior Warden as well and the golden boy with a golden heart. His past is soon presented to you: he's the bastard son of late King Maric, and half-brother to King Cailan, now dead as well. This changes your whole view on him, now that the throne is being disputed for. He was training to become a templar when Ser Duncan recruited him. He highly respects Duncan, who took him in, and the Arl Eamon, the man who raised him. He's awkward, has some funny interactions with Morrigan and is easily teased because he's just too good. And I don't know what are you doing with your life if you don't romance him.

Morrigan is the mysterious daughter of Flemeth, the Witch of the Wilds. She'd lived secluded in a hut in the Korkari Wilds with her mother, learning black magic and how to shapeshift. She's witty, and her greatest weapon is her tongue, for she can be cruel and deceitful with just a few words. But if you open up to her and she starts to trust in you, behind that veil of "I don't care" you'll find a great friend who speaks her mind. Personally, towards the epilogue, I felt so much joy in having befriended her, because she truly shows her caring side.

Leliana is a sister of the chantry who happens to know how to fight (convenient! Or suspicious!). She joins your team because she had "a vision" that told her to do it, and so following the light she reaches you. She used to be a bard in Orlais, but now she has renounced her freedom to the Maker, their god. But if you dig deeper in her life… you'll find some interesting things and a very protective and supportive friend. She seems naïve, always wishing for a peaceful approach, although when she readies her arrows she's as deadly as Morrigan with her words.

Zevran is an assassin elf who was hired by Loghain to kill you, but he soon realizes he's outmatched by you. You can spare his life or not, but if you, you'll gain a very handsome and funny ally. He comes from the Antivan Crows, a guild of mercenaries who kill for the best bidder. He wants to leave that life behind, but he also wants to be free from a past who is (literally) hunting him. It's up to you to help this poor precious man or not!

Sten is a qunari whom you can free quite early on. Qunari are a race of big guys with horns that come from across the seas to conquer these lands, so they're mostly seen as criminals and scum. Sten is actually not a name but a title: he won't tell his real name though. He's very hard to talk to at the beginning, since qunari take everything a little bit too literal, and his culture differs greatly from what we're used to. But once he starts talking about his past and you learn about his principles, he becomes an easy man to deal with.

Wynne is a potential companion if you decided not to slaughter all the mages in the Broken Circle main quest and I advise you to do so, because she'll be your best healer, for at least the early part of the game. Wynne is an old woman who's seen her fair share of things in life, from tortured mage apprentices to demons taking over bodies. She holds a secret she kinda is ashamed of, and despite her full life, still has a few regrets here and there. She's kind and wise, but she may sound a bit nosy when she wants to interrogate you about your personal life. Still, she does everything with the outmost love and devotion, so she deserveS the WORLD ALRIGHT DON'T HURT MY MOTHER!!! AND SIDE WITH THE MAGES DAMMITTT

I should mention Shale, although I was too stupid not to recruit her. I thought I didn't have the dlc needed for her, as she isn't one of the vanilla party members. Shale is a golem brought to life with dwarven magic. I can't say much about her but people seem to love her a lot, as she brings a new fresh perspective into this too much humanly story. Many of the main quests may change her fate, so be careful when you act in her presence!

And last but not least, how could I forget about best boi in town, Dog. Yes, you have a dog as a party member. Yes, it's almost as good as Persona 3 where you have a dog who can summon other bigger and badasser dog to fight, almost as good. Dog plays out as any other warrior in the game, you can play as him as you can play as Alistair, and he's got his own ability tree and his own set of armor. And you can also interact with him as well! He loves you so much that you start the game at 100 love with him and that number will never diminish. He's always present at party camps, and sometimes you can trigger cutscenes of him with the other companions for the comic relief section of the game.

With these guys you up against the world, yay!

Decisions play a huge role in this game. Each playthrough can differ immensely from another one from the very beginning. Since it's a lot to cover, I'll leave all the discoveries to you. But don't be afraid to choose! Although, like I said before, trust in your comrades. The rest comes and goes.

So, is this a good game? It definitely is. The amount of possibilities, the countless sidequests, the ability to shape the story as it unfolds – it has the perfect recipe for a good plot. Do I think it's the best out of the three? Well, that's personal. I do think this game lacks in a lot of aspects that DA2 and Inquisition have mended and even improved upon, but that's because this one was the first attempt at something like this. You can't blame it for trying! In the story department, it is a good story, don't get me wrong, but maybe a bit too Young Adultish – in the sense of that you're the chosen one, you become the hero, you're a special snowflake and you can romance Alistair who's taken straight out of a love story for teenagers (I'm not complaining though!). It's a bit like all the other stories we've been seeing, watching, reading, playing for a while. If you're an avid reader of fantasy books (like me) then this game won't bring any new concepts to the table, except perhaps for the Grey Wardens and the fact that you can choose your adventure your story. Gameplay was sluggish and many a time I felt like I was playing World of Warcraft, specially when my mage had to cast a huge spell. Luckily, mods exist and they make everything easier, smoother and faster.

I would've loved to have played this game in a console, but alas, I'm stuck with my non-trophy-hunter pc version. I encourage everyone who's new to the series, to give this one a try. And if you don't dig the graphics or the long ass quests that never end, don't stop here, try the others! You might be like me, who played them in complete disorder, and still managed to love them all.

I'm in love with Thedas, with its lore, its characters and its endless possibilities for future titles. I just hope that someday, somehow, Dragon Age 4 can see the light.

[writingdotcoffee]

SHORT STORY: The Dead Borough #2

Read part #1 here.

Jack was on the 29th floor of the fridge-shaped office tower at 20 Fenchurch Street, working on a feature on the Brexit negotiations when the explosions happened. The first five were mere echoes of something horrible from far away. The sixth one shook the foundations of the building. The seventh made Jack hide under his desk. The eight had blown the fancy ground-to-ceiling windows out over his head. Thank god for safety glass.

Blackfriars, Millennium, Southwark. He watched the bridges burn and crumble into the Thames, breathing the noxious smoke that the steady northbound breeze brought his way. The power was out, his phone wasn’t working. He sat next to the broken window, incredulous, shaking all over until it dawned on him that the top of a skyscraper wasn’t the safest place to be when things around it were blowing up. At that time, he didn’t know that those explosives were detonated by the British Armed Forces. He had no idea that they flooded the underground tunnels and set up barricades up north, sealing the City of London closed. Strictly nobody was allowed in or out until a cure was found.

The government believed that a deadly virus had spread from a plague pit uncovered during deep excavations at a building site in Fleet Street. Unlike anything that people had ever seen, the mutated pathogen embedded itself deep inside the tissue, causing black open sores all over the infected person’s body. In one in three, the virus would spread into the brain and cause irreversible damage to the prefrontal cortex reducing the bearer to a bloodthirsty monster, attacking anything and everything in its way.

With no known cure or remedy, the only honourable course of action after discovering the first sore was a bullet through one’s own head. Not many cared about honour back then, and that’s how the Dead Borough came to be.

The last rays of sunshine filled the desolate streets with amber. The light found its way past the burned cars and soot-covered facades. It reflected off the broken windows and roof AC units that rust hadn’t consumed yet. The sun dipped behind a tall concrete gate at Mile End Road, casting a long shadow across the wide boulevard. Two figures dressed in black emerged from behind a wrecked double-decker and made their way into what used to be a dirt cheap chicken shop on the ground floor of a three-floor townhouse on the corner. The shop window was already gone. No need to bother opening the squeaky door.

Jack followed Victoria through the greasy kitchen with friers still full of rotting oil. A dead rat floated in one of them, its mouth ajar with two sets of crooked incisors showing. A lesson learned the hard way. They crept up a narrow staircase at the back. Jack would wait for Vic to assess the situation on each floor before moving on until they reached the top and found the door they were looking for.

Their eyes met as they were standing with their back against the wall on either side of it. Jack’s breath grew heavier. They both wore black scarves to conceal their identity, but they knew what that subtle nod meant.

Without warning, Vic spun around and kicked the door open. The latch broke, sending splinters of wood flying across the room. Then both of them burst inside. Should anybody be home, Vic and Jack had the element of surprise on their side.

‘All clear,’ Vic said. She placed her Glock into the holster under her arm and pulled one of the heavy curtains open. A puff of dust lifted in the air. Jack squinted at the golden light that poured in from the outside. He turned his headlamp off and walked over to the sash window.

’This is perfect,’ he said. The window gave him a view of the gate and anything that might come through it. He put his backpack on the floor and started taking his gear out.

‘Hurry up and don’t touch anything,’ Vic said when she emerged from the kitchen, her gun back in her hand.

‘What do you mean?’

‘We’re in a drug den.’

That didn’t really surprise Jack. The place was squalid. The sofa in the middle of the room had ripped cushions, the carpet was stained with god knows what, the smell putrid. Every horizontal surface in the room had empty beer bottles and gnarled cigarette butts piled on it. The doorframe around the kitchen was blackened as if it had gone up in flames. There were no discarded needles or crack pipes. They were so scarce that the junkies protected them more than their own fingers.

After the bridges came down and the barricades rose up north, people were desperate for anything that could alleviate the misery, make them forget if only for a few hours that it was just a matter of time before they became infected too. The rapid increase in demand along with massively diminished supply turned drugs into a currency. Having access to any sort of snortable, smokable or injectable substance made people ready to do anything just to get some—most often shank you in the eye and take it.

‘Calm down. It looks like nobody’s been home for weeks,’ Jack said. Instead of cleaning up, junkies often just move two doors down.

Vic rolled her eyes.

‘I’ll need at least half an hour to set up.’

‘You’ve got 15 minutes.’

Jack trusted Victoria’s judgement, but that didn’t mean he didn’t find her military attitude annoying at times. Alas, she was the one with the gun. Frankly, even without a gun… Let’s just say he was happy that they were both on the same side.

She was a full foot shorter than Jack with a fringed bob of bloody red hair. Not the sort of red that oozes out of a paper cut. The deep crimson that squirts out of a severed jugular which made Jack refer to her affectionately as Vicious Vic. She wore a survival knife in a battered sheath attached horizontally to her belt. The massive blade had undoubtedly met with many a jugular.

In her past life, Vic was a professional soldier commanding one of the units they sent in to cover the others building the barricades. The radio simply went quiet when it was time for pickup. Nobody had told them that they weren’t coming back.

Jack spread out the telescopic legs of his tripod. He zipped his bag open and took out a brand-new, professional-grade DSLR and a giant telephoto lens. He had picked up both from an abandoned camera showroom at Strand. All this equipment would have set him back £8,000, but it was worthless when people had barely anything to eat. He mounted the camera onto the tripod and positioned it in front of the sash window. He switched the lens to manual mode and focused it on the ground just in front of the gate. With aperture at f/11.0, that should keep most of the scene safely in focus.

The first few test shots he took came out grainy, not because of the settings, but because of the thick film of dirt that covered the outside of the glass. After thinking about it for a while, Jack stuck his knife under the lower window pane. The wooden frame squealed as he lifted it up just enough to be able to wedge the lens hood under it.

‘Hey!’ Vic hissed from behind, making him jump.

‘Jesus Christ!’ Jack took a deep breath. ‘What?’

‘I said don’t touch anything.’

‘I’m not touching anything. The window was too bloody filthy.’

‘How long?’ Vic asked impatiently.

‘I’m almost done.’

He readjusted the tripod and fixed the exposition parameters on the camera. The sun had set already, but expecting that it would get a little darker later on, Jack adjusted the settings accordingly. He put the camera into time-lapse mode. It would snap a photo every second throughout the night and save it onto one of the two 512GB storage cards inside. All he needed was one photo taken at the right time that would give him an irrefutable proof that people were entering and leaving. Publish that, and the Internet would take care of the rest.

The camera snapped away, and Vic sneaked back out to the corridor while Jack went over everything one more time. Out of all their hunts for electricity in the past, he had never seen her as nervous as today. Her anxiety was contagious.

Composition, focus, exposition, quiet shutter mode, display off, front status diode—shit. It was on. A short flash of bright green with every photo taken wasn’t exactly inconspicuous. Jack was sure he turned that one off last night. He must have forgotten to save the settings.

It took a five-minute crawl through the camera’s endless menus before he found the right option to turn off. Then he formatted the storage cards and restarted the time lapse.

A muffled echo of Vic’s voice sounded from the stairwell. Jack couldn’t quite understand, but he replied anyway. ‘I’m coming.’

He switched his headlamp on and cut a thick bin liner bag along its long side. He wanted to wrap the camera body so that if it resolved to blink again, it wouldn’t attract any unwanted attention.

The distant howl of sentries—the massive patrol drones that scoured the borough during the night marked the beginning of tonight’s curfew. And then came the shots. Two blasts sounded out of the corridor in rapid succession.

Jack threw himself to the ground, instinctively wrapping his arms around his head. Seconds passed. His ears were ringing.

‘Vic?’ Jack shouted, but he could barely hear himself. His heart was racing. He grabbed his knife from the filthy carpet. In one swift motion, he leapt back to his feet and went for the door. He called after her again. She didn’t answer.

Jack’s knees trembled as he crept into the darkness outside of the flat, illuminated by a narrow strip of white light coming out of his headlamp.

‘Vic? Are you all right?’

The air stirred behind him. Jack turned around frantically. The headlamp illuminated a pair of wide-open eyes, unkempt beard and toothless grin. Something came down on his head, and everything turned black.

The Dead Borough #3 is out now!

(C) Radek Pazdera

Thanks for reading! If you’d like to a weekly message from me with free stories like that, subscribe to my mailing list.

[crazy-jabberwock]

Planet Rosetta, Knight world with dirty secrets.

The Planet Rosetta is a Feudal Knight world under the Imperium of man, it has a trio of forge world moons orbiting it and a ring around it, the equatorial region is mostly volcanic with industrial hives standing in contrast to the alabaster stone cities elsewhere upon the world’s iron rich deserts with oasis's forming around underground springs and rivers branching from the polar seas.

Pre-Age of Strife Rosetta was once a Garden world with gleaming cities that hovered above the untouched landscapes, during the age of strife an Ork WAAAHHHG! Led by warboss “Apawfist” crashed two of its moons together and razed the planet, forming the rings around it and throwing off its rotation, triggering volcanic eruptions and crashing the cities down. These cities would join the sand of the rust deserts, and its once proud people forced to eek out survival among the ruins. During this time Weapons and tech was forgotten, leaving only tribals to fend off the Orks poorly understood machines that slowly fell apart without the knowledge to keep them in proper shape, as each knight fell to the orks, they turned to metal spears, stone and bare hand if they had too, in many ways they would become like their greenskinned foes

Great Crusade During the Great Crusade the Thousand Sons Leagion and Explorators of the Mechanicum with Legio Cybernettica support made effort to salvage the planet and its beleaguered populous, Exterminating the Orks, Salvaging whatever tech was left to recover, Building new artifical moons and setting the third to be a base for the Mechanicum. These three moons became a collective forge world, turning the planet itself into a Knight World. The Mechanicum and later Mechanicus would naturally come planet side for raw ore, and food for whatever needs they have, in return they have added some infrastructure, roads to traverse the great deserts and the volcanic divide, and knowledge of how to maintain, repair and build their Knights in return for continued service to the machine cults as well as the protection of the Legio Cybenetica and the Skitarii. This positive exposure led most to revere the Emperor in the form of the Omnissiah. Seeing Technology as a great blessing they must prove worthy of. The Ad Mech like this arrangement as it keeps the populous easily controlled. During this rebuilding time The Marines of the Thousand Sons offered assistance in educating the people, making them quite scholarly for a feudal world and impressing their architectural influences upon them. In the wake of this the knights pilots formed into the House Kepoth, Knights of the Cog.

During their Survey of the planet the Thousand Sons found an entrance to what would one day be known as a Necron Tomb, Magnus wisely ordered the Tunnel sealed off, the Mechanicum in no position to debate. Unknown to them The Tomb however was already awake waiting, watching and weighing options

Post-Heresy The Legio Cybernetica force in this system was among the few to remain loyal to the Imperium and thus had to take strict binding oaths. The People Mourned the betrayal of the Thousand Sons, the heroes who freed them from the Orks, they would remember them as they were and vowed to help destroy what they had become.

In the 41st millennium the Planet had entered a state of comparative normalcy in the Imperium, serving the forge worlds, sending people into the guard tithe and loaning out its knights at the back of their masters in the machine cult, The House itself expending to other nearby systems, but like any world has stories to tell.

Come M42 the planet is trapped behind the Great Rift, severed from the Imperium, turning to any resource and means they possess to survive and grow as the Knights make Ready for a crusade to defend and reclaim worlds, staking to expand their own territory in the name of the machine god.

Notable Post Heresy Events The Sons Gambit/Necron Revelation/The fracturing of the knights A Thousand Sons Veteran by the Name of Ramun Soket recalled his work on Rosetta , as he was one of their recorded heroes from the Crusades, Arriving in his Flag Ship "Hsagan’s Glory" with his Rubrics, Chaos machinery and a force of Nurglites called "The Noxious Bite". He had deceived the Nurglites into believing this would be a joint operation, offering the planet to Nurgle to ensure a victory for all of chaos. In Truth his intent was to only support behind the scenes so his forces could crush the Bites, stepping in as saviors once again.

Seeding the world with cultists to subvert the PDF and summon deamons was simple, as the Noxious Bite and Thousand Sons summoned terrible plagues, Rivers flowing with blood, mutant frog beasts, plague and pestilence into their house, their streams, into their streets, and bread and drink, upon their cattle and Grox, Their fields, Into their sleep and dreams, until they would break and yield.

The Knights and Skitarii rose to the challenge exterminating the cultists and horrors as best they could, holding out for marines or Guard, only to progressively call down more blows like Thunder and fire, like hail of burning ice on every town. Worse still, the warband had distorted warp traffic, the backup sent to them was now on a direct path to the war in heaven.

Blight Drones stormed the fields and forest, every stalk and leaf, threatening to leave nothing of green. The planet was on the verge of breaking, Ready for Ramun to betray the Bites and become Rosetta’s Savior anew….

Only for a different yet equally terrifying Savior  to rise up from the sand, vast pylons charged and dispelled the plagues, weakening the abominations, while what the common folk of the planet could only describe as Angels of the Omnissiah blinked into existence to exterminate the rot.

What No one had known was that the Tomb world under Rosetta 's surface was a staging area for a band of shattered tomb worlds, all united by their own brokenness, the necrons in charge had been working under the planet, traversing via stargate to act on their plans, fittingly the world had at one point been touched by the Triarch between the age of strife and the great crusade, subtly ensuring the world would last just long enough to meet the crusade. The world as it currently existed was a perfect shield from scrutiny, a shield now under threat, while different lords saw the Mechanicus presence here differently (to some they were simply useful idiots, to others a sort of kindred spirit) all agreed that they needed them alive.

Naturally this left the Thousand Sons leader without a threat to easily destroy, but assumed he could use the necrons as the new threat to save them from, this backfired badly as to his shock, as he and his Rubriks strode out of their pods, that the Arch-Magos and the Phearon were Parlaying, Moreover the common folk saw the presence of the Thousand Sons Rubriks as an insult to the memory of their original saviors, ousting him as a traitor. Ramun attempted one last gambit, to tell the knights of Rosetta of the fall of Magnus, how the Emperor had sent the wolves to kill them all simply for trying to warn him, and how the metallic agents where vial xenos seeking only to destroy them. His gambit half succeeded, successfully inciting a not insignificant portion of the knights to turn traitor and join his warband.

Though the combined forces of the Mechanicus and their Skitarii, the necrons and remaining loyal knights would ultimately drive the Thousand sons off, the warband did not leave empty handed, they took many citizens of the planet captive and had a fresh set of traitors knights joining their Retinue, the all encompassing whisper “All is Dust” leaving the world feeling this was a pyrrhic victory.

In the wake of this the world was now stuck forced to keep the necrons awakening secret from the rest of the Imperium, a Tenuos co-existence also lured certain Radicals into collaborating with them, the Necrons for their part humored these radicals every once in a while with ancient or antiquidated designs they felt no current use being handed to them as bread crumbs.

Fall of Cadia With the fall of Cadia Rosetta and its surrounding worlds were left cut from the greater whole of the imperium, out of contact and iscolated they and the necrons beneath were forced to work together to defend the planet from strikes of revenge by the Thousand sons and other enemy forces. Eventually they did receive a transmission from Belisarius Cawl. Though garbled it did inform them that a leader of some sort had “returned” and was crusading to regain contact with them, as well as a critical resource for them to gather at all costs  Blackstone” and its source, necron tomb worlds. Suddenly more at odds with the co-tenants of their home world than ever, the two factions constantly shift from ally to enemy as their perceived needs of mutual survival and gaining this new precious resource change in priority

Culture The planet strongly believes in a work ethic, To create is the highest virtue, seeing the ability to preform massive amounts of labor as a display of greatness, many will their bodies to become servitors should they die, notably the Mechanicus favors slightly more aware servitor variants.

The Mechanicus often recruits fresh disciples from the world, resulting in cross cultural pollination between the planet and its moons. Their cities consist of egyptian style architecture, while on earth the pyramids were simply glorified headstones, these ones have large living quarters, often serving as vast housing complexes to shelter people from the heat, or as castles for the nobility, and even as docking bays for the Imperial Knight Houses. These Pyramids often have external accouterments to accommodate living residents, like large balconies and skylights. In contrast to the Red Mars like sand, the Pyramids are white with Gold filigree familiar to the Imperium.

In more rural farming areas the people instead make cleanly formed mounds resembling pyramids to place their dwellings on top of, elevated to have a cooling cross breeze, these psuedo pyramids are often planted with lush grasses and flowers along the sides, in addition to decoration the roots serve to further support the mounds.

Along the Volcanic regions of the Equator are a small number of hive cities, used primarily to mine the raw ore from the large lava cracks, and energy harvested from the geothermal vents available to them. As far as hive cities go they are better off than some with a steady supply of proper food shipped in via caravan or railway.

The Dead are typically taken to public Mausoleum Temples resembling the ancient Terran Der El Bahri

The PDF lack much in Vehicles and weaponry, save the basic Lasguns, flak vests and such which are kept in reserve for outer planet invasion, codes in place against using them for conflicts between cities, They Make heavy use of the local wildlife to make up for this, often kitting them with large weapons, hitching hover chariots to the largest birds.

The Knights of the House Kepoth are a gilded work horse, when not in combat or being maintained, the Knights typically take part in helping build/rebuild the cities, going back to the work ethic. Rosetta  not being the Only world the House presides over, it is however their Home World.

Ecology

Most native vertebrate life is Reptilian or Avian, often blending the two, what mammals live are aquatic or amphibious specialists, large insects make up a large portion of the fauna

Plants are fairly normal though many of them have Blue leaves

The planet also has feral Orkid life that has been assimilated into the ecology, leaving some places as fungus forests prowling with squigs and the occasional Gretchin or Snotling for the PDF to train against

Notable animals

The Greater River Amitaspinax

resembling what a 2n'd millenium paleontologist would call a spinosaurus with a feathered mane, they are Apex river predators who's behavior can be described as a mix of crocodile and Lion, they Prey on most anything, either ambushing land prey from under water, or fishing on the bank for fresh water sharks, smaller breeds exist. But a well tamed one of the Greater breed is a well sought prize of noble families.

Jakowls

Dromiosauroid creatures with beaked faces resembling a Terran owl, they hunt in packs across the deserts and plains, Tamed like any dog, they are favored pets and the largest breeds can even serve as mounts for their rough riders

Apep Sand Serpent

large, venomous snakes capable of swimming through the loose rusty sand, capable of striking without warning, they are the most feared predator of the planet. Their hooded hides and rattles are prized trophies

Phoenix vulture

Great flyers resembling a mix of a bearded vulture and a microraptor, they fly long trips on the planets thermals seeking easy prey and carrion, sometimes used to ship supplies on hover platforms across the world

Geboliths

Large tortoises that graze on foliage, they grow seeds in their back, the plants leach water from the spongy tissue under their shells, in turn these plants enrich them with sugars via photosynthesis, sometimes however they can grow carnivorous plants, given the size of these creatures these carnivorous plants be very dangerous and the tortoise becomes known as Man-eater-backs, otherwise they make superb livestock, able to serve as mobile groves, traveling with the water and can serve as meat too.

Grox

Ordinary Grox , imported to the world for hide and meat.

Mantadon

Thought to be transplanted in the early days of colonization from what is now thought to be the Home world of the Mantis Warriors Space Marines Chapter, presumably to help deal with the pests now known as Rust Roaches and Keprikets. These are large Solitary Insects, prowling savannas or hiding in trees to ambush prey and are about the size of a Prehistoric Terran Smilodon, otherwise Resemble a large Mantis.

Keprikets

Winged arachnid creatures who live in antlike colonies, supporting the tunnels with a network of webbing, the size of large wolves they are dangerous and troubling, they carry food, building material and meat in large rolled balls, only recently have any means of taming them with harvested queen pheromones been found, their shells make fine decoration and silk incredibly versatile.

Rust Roaches

raccoon sized Roaches that live in rust

Kirradon

a Sauropod that slimmed down, tall like a Giraffe, but some similar more stalky breeds exist

Hyppoderm

an Amphibious Elephant breed, bearing a total of six tusks, 4 external and an inner set, though herbivorous they are terribly aggressive and territorial beasts, competing with Amitaspinax for river territory, Only the largest with seeds in their back like that of the Geboliths, ever go far from land

Red River Shark

Large fresh water Sharks resembling sting rays that prowl the rivers

Icthysuchas

Fully aquatic reptiles that live in the north polar sea

Coolacetus

Car sized otter/dolphin like creatures, some in hairy or smooth variety, living south of the Volcanic Equator

[on-the-wings-of-hope-prose-en]

Immunity

Hope dies last.

But how could have Gale hoped for anything right now, when the last hopes of the dying alive humanity were rapidly crumbling into thousands of tiny shards, precisely like the fragments of a broken mirror, in which it, humanity, in a moment of brief spiritual insight, was able to behold itself for a brief moment of its history?

Hope for salvation. Hope for earthly life. For the life after death. Is there one?

Today, by some kind of a miracle, Gale finally managed to get inside into one of the overcrowded churches, where divine services had been held without stopping for several months already. All over the planet, the temples of the three world religions have been crowded for a long time, during both day and night. Now, when the so glorified by earthly materialists science could not answer the challenge thrown by natural forces, people tried to find it in their appeals to the Gods.

Now, standing at a distance from the altar of the temple in the sea of other people pressing down on him from all sides and towering over them like a two-meter giant, Gale observed. He needed to understand what was driving these people now when they had almost no hope left to bear. What made them appeal to those of whose very existence this earthly life had made them doubt time and again?

Faith in the possibility of salvation? Fear of devouring nothingness that is opening its greedy mouth? Love for everything they have created – including the very nature that has become so deadly?

As for Gale, until the events of recent years, he believed only in science. It has been his holy grail for many years of life. It, with due diligence, observation, and long experimentation, was able to grant humanity an answer to any question and challenge... if you do not take into account the existence of a Higher Mind.

A sea of human faces. An ocean of emotions. A kaleidoscope of feelings. Raised either in prayers or silent threats, lowered in despair hands. Would anyone see them, would anybody hear this voiceless speech? Gale possessed no answer to this question that had been tormenting him for so long. The day of the answer has not come yet.

* * *

“Mining of antibodies. Participate in a volunteer program to test new vaccines. Earn pharmacoins. Give your answer to novovirus!”

A huge holographic billboard floated around the corner of the skyscraper right in front of Gale’s eyes as soon as he stepped out into the central square. Gale grimaced in disgust. The endless attempts to create vaccines will all die in vain. It’s never possible to accurately predict the shape of something that changes every moment of its existence.

“Virt-club “Pleasure”. There is no fear of death. There is life’s pleasure!”

A three-dimensional rainbow-colored hologram of a girl with her legs spread wide enlightened with neon-laser beams a couple of dozen meters away from Gale, sensitively and quickly reacting to the approach of a lone wanderer. No, he definitely doesn’t need to go that way. When the whole world is going straight to hell in front of your very eyes, there is no more time for pleasure.

“Life after death. Cryostasis. The latest military development. Call us right away!”

As if a living hologram of a man in a blue and seemingly frozen space suit waves his hand in greeting, inviting Gale to come to the next “saviors”. No. There is no escape from novovirus, there is no salvation. All the scientific researches of the best bio-geneticists on the entire planet were unshakable proof of this.

Novovirus. This pestilence had many other names, too. A new plague. Black Death. Reaper. Punisher. Wrath of God. Doom.

Being fueled by fear, the human fantasy gave birth to more and more associations. And more and more cases of infection and either mass death or mutation of people only fueled this hysteria of universal fear. What can the smallest virus do against a man who thinks of himself as the master of nature? Anything. Especially if there cannot be an antidote for this kind of poison.

The government records to which Gale had been granted access after he started working on the “Salvation” project contained a wealth of data on the primary localized cases of infection and their associated symptoms. South America. North Africa. Southeast Asia. First, second, third wave. Initially, the disease was considered to be a new type of malaria and didn’t gain significant attention – until the moment of a rapid surge in the number of infections across the entire planet. And all of a sudden the concept of a “mosquito bite” started looking not so harmless at all.

Along with the development and evolution of the virus, the symptoms also changed. Fever, chills, nausea, and vomiting were only the initial stages of the virus-induced disease. Then the infected ones started to cough up their bodily innards along with the blood. Then came the nerve paralysis and cardiac arrest. Genetic mutations followed their steps. And after them, human madness knocked on the door of omnipotent science.

The virus mutated rapidly, changing its protein-molecular structure within a matter of days. More and more cases, together with the accompanying symptoms, began to be recorded by the governments of many countries every few days. The entire civilized world was swept by a wave of panic. People stopped leaving their homes. Looting, arson, and street looting came into action. Many new “apocalypse witness” sects have raised their heads, each with her mad prophet and course. The quickly approaching collapse of social spheres threatened to plunge the entire world into chaos, hunger, and poverty.

Governments in numerous countries have made huge financial investments while trying to produce a life-saving vaccine. But what seemed so simple and routine at first to many scientific minds, stuck like an irresistible curse of a mad old woman-death on many groups of virologist scientists. The vaccines did not keep up with the virus mutations in the infected cells. And cell mutations inevitably led to the mutation of humankind. And this was so much more terrible than the casual and familiar conventional war – because in the flames and fumes of this new war for survival, the very concept of “man” was about to become the ashes of history.

Vaccines didn’t work. It was paramount to find different ways of salvation, locate it at any cost. Thus the “Salvation” project was born, uniting many of the best scientists around the globe. All they had to do was find another way to save humankind – even at the cost of the lives of thousands of infected people who had become new experimental material in underground laboratories, even at the cost of the lives of the scientists themselves. Everything for the scientific battlefront, everything for victory. And Gale desired to be on the edge of it.

* * *

Gale’s flycar roamed through the depopulated streets of the once-overcrowded metropolis, increasing and decreasing its altitude in violation of all the rules of multi-level traffic, rapidly obeying the commands of the machine’s artificial intelligence, soaring over the arches and billboards of skyscrapers, and diving into high-speed underground tunnels. But no people were willing to issue him fines.

Simon’s words were still ringing in his head. Uninfected one! One among hundreds of millions, one who somehow miraculously passed through the gates of this earthly hell and remained unharmed. A soldier with no signs of novovirus mutation delivered to the “Salvation” scientific laboratories.

A miracle? But science does not believe in miracles, science believes in experiments. And the relentless logic of science demanded that this experiment was to be carried out immediately for the sake of all the living. And if the life a new-found test subject it to be put at stake – it had to be done without the slightest portion of hesitation and remorse of unnecessary conscience. Agitated by the morning’s message that came to his audiovisor, Gale raced through the streets of deserted Chicago with his lips silently whispering prayers to the scientific gods only he knew.

* * *

“Good afternoon, Professor Gale. Simon is in his labs, waiting for you early this morning.”

“Thanks, Miranda. I’m just in a hurry catching up with him.”

“Looks like you have something really interesting planned for today,” their young assistant winked on her way, and after a couple of seconds disappeared around the corner of the sterile white corridor inside the underground laboratory complex.

Gale literally flew through the massive glass doors of the laboratory, almost breaking his forehead – all their outdated automatic opening system based on solar cells seemed to be too slow for him at that instant.

“Where’s the uninfected test subject? I want to examine him!” he shouted from the doorway.

“My, oh my, it must be no less than Professor Gale Newman himself, safe and sound! Did you pour a whole pack of nitro-coffee pills into yourself before the trip, so as not to fall asleep at the wheel at such an early hour?” Dr. Simon grinned through his mustache as he caught a glimpse of a colleague who had flown into the lab, while deftly adjusting his glasses with a free hand. “And Miranda and I were just arguing about whether you’d make it to us before sunrise, or whether you’d be completely put asleep by thoughts of a Higher Intelligence. Did mysticism get the better of you due to old age?” Simon said in a friendly tone, his fingers still working silently on the holo-terminal.

“Have you got a file on him?”

“The NSA transferred a piece of data this morning. Corporal James Cassle, Marine Corps. Participated in the rescue of civilians in Brazil and Venezuela after the outbreak of the pandemic wars. He was seriously injured by marauding gangs of mutated infected ones during the last operation. Received the Purple Heart Medal for battle wounds. He was taken out of the operation area and hospitalized in Seattle. This is all we know so far.”

“And the screening, how did he manage to pass the infection screening?!”

“After being extradited by helicopter from the infection zone, he was examined at a Seattle clinic. They confirmed this fact. The NSA reported that the local medics there literally dropped their jaws opened when no sign of novovirus was located inside his bodily cells, even in a latent state. You know – by today’s standards, this is something akin to a miracle.

“Have you confirmed the diagnosis with our equipment?”

“Not yet, only the general survey was conducted. He was delivered here just a couple of hours ago.”

“Simon, do you even realize that this may be our only chance to…”

“I clearly understand everything, Gale. Go ahead, he’s in the Alpha Bay right now,” Simon said softly, patting Gale on the shoulder, “Authorization code for today: Miracle”.

* * *

“Disinfection of the compartment is complete. Welcome back, Professor Gale Newman."

The voice of artificial intelligence, “Ada”, filled the sterile-white space of the Alpha Bay. As he walked in, Gale checked the protective functions of his tessa-suit once again and nodded in satisfaction. At the very least, this suit will protect him from potential physical aggression or infection for at least half an hour, if somewhere in the higher ranks a mistake was made with regards to the diagnosis of this notorious corporal.

“Do you have a habit of putting your guests in handcuffs these days, or is it just that I was so incredibly lucky today?" demandingly questioned James, shaking his huge cryo-cuffed fists in a show of force as soon as Gale entered the Alpha Bay, which served traditionally as the pre-interrogation cell.

A huge and strong one. Ones such as he usually tend to get away of troubles unscathed. Except for novovirus, perhaps.

“It’s for both your and ours safety, Corporal James. You are a very special case for us. But your true intentions and capabilities remain to be seen.”

“I hope it won’t take too long. My military command did not give me the order to go “awol” after the completion of my treatment.”

“You are within the borders of our responsibility here, with the NSA’s permission. Take my word for it, your commanders won’t have any questions concerning your temporary absence.”

“Is that so?” James leaned his beefy arms on the table and squinted at Gale’s face, his jaw working, “And to whom do I owe the favor of being invited to your party?”

“It’s thanks to your fighting skills, James. And your potential immunity to novovirus," Gale decided not to delay revealing his cards.

“Considering the so-called immunity – is it what your grandmother-midwife sang to you, or did a bullet suddenly fly into your forehead?” James chuckled bitterly and shook his head. “I have no immunities. None of us have. We are not the ones to decide the length of our own lives. Only the width.”

“Whether it exists or not remains to be seen. If the diagnosis made in Seattle is not confirmed – tomorrow you will be a free man.”

“Sure, great! That’s what I am going to do anyway!” James agreed abruptly, fixing Gale with his gloomy gaze. “Come on, don’t delay, your scientific majesty, I still have ordinary mortals to save from hordes of infected!”

“We were not the ones to develop this virus, James," Gale retorted, suddenly serious and edifying, “The virus is currently spontaneously mutating every day under the influence of natural forces that we don’t fully comprehend and…”

“Yeah, sure! Tell those who have been turned into animals alive about where the experiments on genetic material have led to in an attempt to create the desired vaccines! I saw with my own two eyes how the hordes of these madmen were tearing my fighters apart on the battlefield!”

“I understand your pain, Corporal, but our department has nothing to do with…”

“Be off with your lies, doc, or find a more attentive audience! What exactly do you need from me – blood plasma tests, cortical screening, a smear from the fifth point? Spit it out!”

“Nano-molecular cell screening. Observation of the reaction of cell membranes to the injection of viral molecular structures.”

“Simply put, you want to re-infect me with a new strain of novovirus and then observe with genuine scientific interest how long I will suffer in mortal agony? Am I missing anything from your plans, doc?!”

“If our tests are correct, this will be an attempt to develop a primary immunity to a new form of the virus.”

“Do I have any choice?”

“I am afraid you don’t,” Gale spread his hands, “until the test procedures are completed, you are placed at our direct disposal by your superiors.”

“More like being sold out.”

"However you desire to think of it. If you are ready, security will extradite you to the testing bay right now”.

“Then don't delay. I still have other unfortunate people to save from you and similar experimenters.”

* * *

Gale could not believe his own eyes. Over and over again, he rechecked the data coming from molecular nanoscopes, adjusted the scanning frequencies, and even rubbed his own eyes with bare hands. But the tools weren’t lying. The miracle lived on and did not intend to die out like misguided humanity.

The virus mutated, continuously rearranging its molecular structures, repeatedly trying to break down the protective cell barrier, to overcome the membranes separating it and the cells – and time and over again, as if an invisible and insurmountable wall stood in its way. These unsuccessful attempts of a newly created by nature bio-weapon to enslave and turn its next victim into a mad monster lasted about a dozen minutes. And then... then it finally came, a Miracle.

“Finish your experiments. You can see that, can’t you? I feel no fear!” James’ powerful voice ringed in the room.

He yanked at the inner levers of the terra-capsule he was trapped in with all his might, trying to free himself, but even his enormous strength wasn’t enough. And during that exact moment, the virus that had been trying to inject itself into the cells over and over again seemed to explode from the inside, rapidly disintegrating into hundreds of individual tiny molecules. It was as if a wave, invisible to both the eye or the instruments, had hit it, crushing, knocking over, and smashing to dust. The defeated micro-Goliath fell, and so did Gale’s glasses, hitting the lab floor.

“You... what… but how…”

“I am not afraid of you! Freedom!” James pounded on the inside of the terra-capsule with his powerful fists.

“Calm down... I just need to... readings…” continuing to fastly whisper something under his breath, Gale was rapidly pushing the keys of the terminal. “The reason for the disintegration of the viral structures… the impact of an unknown type of energy... the wave generated by the cell... I don’t understand!”

There is always room for wonder in genuine scientific discoveries.

“Cellular mitochondrial synthesis of unknown origin... Bipolar intracellular currents... But from where?”

“I am afraid of neither of your viruses, nor you nor anyone like you!” the violent impact from within caused a small dent in the outer surface of the terra-capsule.

“What... what did you just say?” Gale cast a confused glance at the prisoner who was struggling to get out of the capsule. “But this cannot be! If... only… A feeling! What kind of feeling did you experience a few seconds ago?!” Gale screamed in a frenzy of excitement that filled his entire being. “Please, James, repeat it!”

“Freedom! Life!” – another dent in the surface of the terra-capsule.

And the remaining viruses are scattered into molecular dust. Eternal – to eternal. Dust – to dust.

A feeling!

It was as if a new great revelation was descending on Gale at that very moment, breaking and overturning all the materialistic theories of the world, all the endless scientific skepticism and incalculable human stupidity in a single, unrestrained rush.

Spirit was prevailing over matter. The feeling was overcoming the disease. Fearlessness has become an immunity.

And this was echoed in unison by the laboratory devices that were going off scale from the waves of new-found energy.

“You are… free… to go," Gale Newman whispered helplessly, opening the capsule’s locking mechanism, “We are all free now…”

* * *

On this great starry night, Gale was once again flying in his now-adult dreams.

His spirit, freed in one fell swoop from the yoke of all materialistic prisons, was floating in this wonderful dream between seemingly absolutely real planets, moving like a great trailblazer starship on a hitherto unknown thrust. It was unspeakably calmly and joyful – as if wings had suddenly grown on his back.

And then an invisible warm wave lifted him and carried him somewhere high up. Two great figures, radiating with an otherworldly light, whose love for him surpassed any human love, tenderly took him into their enormous warm hands. They gently lifted his tiny spirit to their faces – and in that infinite moment, a wave of rapture and bliss, together with tears of joy, swallowed up his whole being…

“Blessed are those who weep, for they will be comforted…”

12.05.2021

[sparkledeerfr]

Dear Director pt 2

[Pt One here]

Lady was angry, and yes some of that anger was directed at herself, but a good chunk of it was at how stuck she felt.

She knew the Director was lying- whether it was to protect herself or another didn’t matter at the moment- the point was others could be in danger and Lady did not know how to find the truth. She could roll up to Lightning territory herself, but likely the Director would see her coming a mile off. Lady had destroyed her last corporation and laboratory in a fit of altruism, after all. It wouldn’t happen a second time. That meant Lady would need help, but from where?

(read more link)

Of course there were plenty of people she could ask and no doubt they would help, but that would mean revealing her past, what she had done. She did not mind that so much if it got the job done, but the problem was being certain that the job would be done correctly. Viltri could certainly lawyer the place to oblivion, but Lightning types were nothing if not masters of corporations and shell games. The first official paperwork sent their way and the shredders would get to running and the answer would be buried under another five aliases. This wasn’t a job for Daud, or Adeline (if they could even find the time)...but who else was there?

Lady ran names through her head as she paced, trying to think of someone. If only Max hadn’t left! That was exactly the type of person she needed- a spy. But of course they no longer had a spy unless you counted Vice and Hox policing the underground, and they would be about as useful as taking a hammer to the situation, which honestly she almost felt like doing.

Finally her mental deck went to the cards of the Casino Quarter- entirely useless of course aside from a gift here or there. There was no way she could call on any of them for help unless it was something that directly affected them or the safety of the cities. The lesser members...Bells, Lysander, Vaughn...nope. Though Vaughn could probably track their expenses like a champ and follow the financial trail if she got him the information. Snow? No way. Jesse?

Jesse. Now that was a thought.

----

Jesse’s natural curiosity got the better of her when the invitation to meet Lady for a ‘special side job’ was put forth. The ridgeback was nothing if not ruggedly dependable and lawful, so the thought that Lady could use her for something was deliciously tempting.

They met at Prizma’s, which was of course the place anyone of importance did their underhanded work and/or drinking and/or socializing. It was a sort of holy ground for all factions- everyone knew you didn’t start crap there, not unless you wanted to get a whole heap of it back on you. Jesse spun a coin on the table as the ridgeback sat down at her booth and Prizma herself came over to take their order. The way Priz eyed them told Jesse that even she found this unusual, though not quite enough so for the midnight ridgeback to care. Priz made a lot of money off of not caring and keeping her mouth shut, after all.

But Lady surprised Jesse again by ordering three martinis, the first of which she downed like a shot. It was empty before it hit the table.

“That bad?” Jesse asked, spinning a coin and taking a sip of water with lime.

“Want one?” Lady asked.

“I like to keep my head clear when considering a job,” Jesse replied. “Now what matter of job can’t you complete on your own? I shudder to think.”

“I’d like to give you a bit of background so that you understand why this needs to be done, but it's something quite personal and something that I’ve never told another dragon, not even those in my old clan. If I tell you this, it can never leave this table. Can you agree to this?”

“Personal is one thing,” Jesse said, eyeing the ridgeback before looking down to spin her coin again. “But never ever I can’t promise, I’m afraid. Things have a way of coming back that might pose a danger to someone else, but I can promise that I’m good at keeping my mouth shut unless that danger shows up.”

“A reasonable distinction,” Lady said, sitting back to think as she sipped on her second martini. “Basically I was involved with some genetic manipulation and child rearing programs designed to create a sound individual. For my end I merely helped design the genetic code and lent my expertise in robotics. I had no idea the program was actually loaned eggs from families and experimented on them.”

“Genetically sound individuals?”

“I thought it a fanciful pursuit- could we design a dragon that could, for example, withstand Plague territory without being Plague born? Could a dragon that could do that also see in Shadow territory, or withstand the magical arcs of Arcane? To me it really seemed like research into the limits of dragon kind, until I found out that some were serious about it.”

“And they experimented on eggs? Children.”

“Oh yes. Once I found this out I was of course furious,” Lady said, her eyes somewhat glazed as she sipped more of her drink. “I raised a stink and got the program entirely shut down, but it was too late. Some children were already changed by what we- what I- had done. They were still being taught and overseen by the program.”

“And they...lived?”

“Some,” Lady said, looking even further away as though thinking. “You know West?”

“Yes of course,” Jesse said, at first wondering where this was going and then it dawned on her. “Oh. Oh dear does he know?”

“I think he just believes that he was in a very high end school,” Lady replied. “I don’t think he even knows what he can do. And of course the real problem is Eights.”

“How is this more of a problem?”

“Eights is not identified in any paperwork. I know there was another dragon going further with the research without supervision. I’d heard her refer to ‘mistakes’, and when the program was shut down I made sure she could never work legitimately again, but still. I don’t know what happened to her ‘mistakes’. I had thought she was just referring to defunct lines of genetic code, but now I can’t be sure. West and Eights have too many similarities. I have to be positive that she’s not harming others, that this isn’t still going on.”

“And you would like me to check this out?”

“Yes,” Lady said, looking down to the smaller skydancer. “They’ll see me coming a mile off, as I was the one to destroy the program last time. I need you to find out what’s going on, please.”

Jesse sat back and considered, though her mind privately was already made up. “I’ll need all the information you have, of course.”

“I can’t pay as much as Swank.”

“My dear if what you say is true, I will do this job for free. And if I find anything like you describe I will burn everything to the ground.”

“This is precisely that outcome I would like.”

----

The Lightning corp knew how to hide things, but they were not prepared for Jesse. Of course few are.

She was prepared to wait, prepared to look in the small corners, to smile at the terrible in order to get the job done. After all she had done it before.

Swank sent her messages wondering where she was, but Jesse was determined and only sent a message that she would be back later. Lady was not one to lie, and Jesse despite herself would do whatever she could to save an innocent that needed it. She would find Lady’s mysterious doctor and determine what had happened at all costs. And if Lady had lied, well...

At all costs of course turned out to be compliments and and a bit of snooping. Jesse went to Iman first and determined that the Director was nervous but prepared to cover for the mysterious other doctor that Jesse only knew as Maria. It was not the kind of nervousness Jesse knew as covering for a friend- the kind of anger underlying ‘please don’t test this’. This was covering one’s own butt because once long ago you did so for another that did not deserve it. She found the trail easily enough. Posing as a skittish but willing intern seemed almost like cheating once she had uncovered how to unseal documents thanks to Lady.

The deepest of Maria’s trail ended at an abandoned underground facility that had been sealed tight, littered with traps and plastered with warnings- but all that to Jesse just meant she was in the right place. The first level was rather boring to her, no information and nothing but outdated equipment left to rot and gather dust. A few yellowed notes and printouts of no interest.

But the basement...the basement was filled with giant vials, each large enough for a skydancer to grow in. She found preserved bodies of everything from hatchlings to grown adults, each with a decayed corresponding note telling why they had failed and why they were preserved here. Each had a number and no name.

But one she had found was empty- number 88. Vaulted because they were determined to be too weak and small to survive. It was broken open. Someone long before her had seen that 88 was alive and saved them. A mystery to be sure, but not one that she was concerned with right now.

Jesse’s hand clenched involuntarily as she read the notes on the other preserved dragons. How many others had been alive that Maria had decided to preserve? How many others had she decided to end because they did not meet her expectations? How many had lived and what did she do with them?

Jesse checked each of the giant vials, smashed them open and buried the bodies in rubble because they at least deserved this, what she could give them. Someone would care that they had died. Some bare part of her hoped that one would be like 88, but none were. Each were pale and lifeless despite their dark coloration. She set fire to what was left.

Jesse clenched her jaw and determined the she had a new purpose. This would happen to no one else. They would know what a dragon declared to be inferior at a young age could do. 

---

Maria was found dead three days later, and the inn keepers were she had stayed were disturbed. She had always seemed so kind, but the way she had died….they alerted the authorities and slept with a light on at night.

---

Director Iman was on edge. She was first alerted when Lady had written her, knowing that the ridgeback was as tenacious as the Stormcatcher himself, and was prepared to out Doctor Maria should it be necessary to save her own career. Iman had set up the necessary paperwork trail and had run through a few lies in her head to smooth things over should things come to that.

Director Iman was prepared for Lady- a lawful member of society who chose mercy above all else.

She was not prepared for Jesse, the intern who smiled nervously and wore large nerdy glasses and dutifully did all of her paperwork. When she heard about Maria, Iman only grew more anxious but she was glad for her reliable and supportive colleagues, including this intern who smiled and asked if she’d like these copies stapled. Security around here was tight, and honestly Maria being gone was perhaps a blessing in disguise.

Director Iman died on her office chair after Jesse had determined nothing else of her old corporation was left aside from Lady and the few project dragons.

After all Jesse had thoroughly checked.

---

“The job’s completed,” Jesse said, passing the paper that was on 88’s vial to Lady. “They were the only one left alive I’m afraid, but I don’t know who saved them. I may be looking at that on my own time.”

“Perhaps another doctor grew a conscience,” Lady said, eyeing the note carefully (Jesse turned her head at this, knowing there was no other living doctors, because she would have found them and asked them). “This sounds so….detached. I’m glad they at least survived. Thank you, Jesse.”

Lady was disturbed for a moment at the way Jesse was looking her over. “You will let me know if anything like this happens again?” Jesse asked, her voice level as she sat with her chin resting on her hands.

“Yes of course. Thank you again, knowing what they are really helps….but what happened to Doctor Maria?”

“It was a burn to the ground kind of scenario I’m afraid,” Jesse said, her red eyes burning into Lady’s bright blue ones. “And you I like, but if this thing of you deciding to help others changes and turns into what I saw, you know what happens my darling.”

“I would be glad for the correction.”

[thorne93]

Who Will Win? (Part 15)

Prompt: Jefferson (Once Upon A Time) sees you on the sidewalk one day, his “dead” wife.

Word Count: 1698

Warning: Threats, language, angst, sadness, darkness, gore

Notes: This will span from season 1 through 5, if you don’t want spoilers, maybe don’t read this, haha. Also, the reader’s Storybrooke name is Alice. Beta’d by the amazeballs @like-a-bag-of-potatoes and badgered @amarvelouswritings Thank you both! Could never get this done without you!

Tags:  @amarvelouswritings @cocosierra94 @essie1876 @magpiegirl80 @letsgetfuckingsuperwholocked @harleyquinnandscarletwitch @iamwarrenspeace @marvel-imagines-yes-please @superwholocked527 @myparadise19982sand @missinstantgratification @thejulesworld @nedthegay @marvelloushamilton @munlis  @bubblyanarocks3​​ @thefridgeismybestie​ @kaliforniacoastalteens @hardcollectiontrashworld

Sebastian Stan Tags: @nedthegay @lostinspace33 @alwayshave-faith @elleatrixlestrange @buenostardissherlock @the-red-world-of-jess-chibi  @lenawiinchester​​

Who Will Win Tags: @mrs-lancelot @elivanah @ultrarebelheart @learisa @isis278

Song: Castle - Halsey

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You knocked on the apartment door.

As soon as David opened it, you said, “Don’t shoot, please.”

“Y/N,” he breathed. “Come in.”

“Thank you.”

You walked in and found Emma, Henry, and Snow.

“Y/N, what are you doing here?” Emma wondered.

“It’s about Henry. He’s in danger,” you informed.

Everyone bristled.

“Not from me. I’m trying to save him. It’s Cruella. She wants to take Henry and make him use his powers.”

“We have to hide him then,” Emma said, her eyes darting to her parents.

“I’m way ahead of you,” you said, holding your hand up. “She came to me, asking me to take him, I told her to go choke,” you informed.

“Okay so if you told her no, why is he in danger?” Emma asked.

“Are you new here, Emma? When a villain doesn’t get what they want, they finds other means. I’m going to use my power to stop her, but I do need your help. I found a spell that can help protect Henry.”

“Great, let’s do it.”

“Mom, it’s dark magic,” Henry tried, looking to you.

“Henry, this won’t hurt anyone, I promise. I’m trying to keep you safe. But I can’t just cast this spell. It has to come from someone that truly loves him,” you said.

“Okay, so what is it?” Emma asked urgently.

“Emma, wait, we don’t know this magic,” Snow tried.

“Snow, it’s me. I know I look and sound different, but do you really think I would hurt any of you after everything we’ve been through?” you asked sincerely.

“I want to say no, but Y/N, you're...you’re different now. You’re not just Y/N, you're Y/N with darkness in her, it’s a different case.”

“I am not Rumplestiltskin, I am not the Evil Queen. I am not here to hurt anyone.”

“I trust her,” Emma said suddenly.

“Emma,” Snow said cautiously.

“Mom, it’s our best chance to save Henry and if we don’t trust Y/N...well...we’re no better than what we say we are.”

Everyone seemed stuck for a moment.

“Okay...Do it,” Snow agreed.

“Here. Just say this, and it will help keep Henry safe.”

You handed her the shot of the spell. The part she needed to chant.

“With this power, I unbind. With this power, I unwind. Only I can let go, to friend or foe. To have is to hold, for all of eternity,” she said. “I don’t get it, Y/N, this doesn’t sound like a protection spell it sounds--” But her speech was cut off as she jolted backward, crying out and clutching her stomach.

“Mom!”

“Emma!”

You stood, taking your phone back, ready for the spell to work its magic.

“What’s happening?! What did you do to her?” David demanded as he stood up and got in your face.

“Calm down, Charming,” you said simply. The white magic started to flow from Emma’s mouth and over to you.

“Emma!” Snow screamed, wanting to hold her, but afraid to touch her. “What did you do?!” Snow screamed over the swirl of the air and magic. You couldn’t answer though, your mouth was open, accepting the magic coming from a paralyzed Emma.

Once it was done, everyone in the room was staring at you in angry shock.

“You lied to us!” Snow accused loudly.

“No, I didn’t. This spell will save Henry. I promise. And I will give Emma her power back as soon as I’m done using it. Just trust me and please don’t go after her yourselves.”

With that, you disappeared in a cloud of red smoke.

You went off into the woods by yourself to practice. Ready for anything Cruella had planned. You exhausted your powers and strategies.

You stood at the clock tower, five minutes early, your hands clenched in fists.

“So you made it!” the familiar voice cheered. “Wait, where is that insufferable little boy?” she asked, Rabbit on a leash next to her. You noticed the townspeople were coming out of stores and stopped walking along the street to see what was happening.

“Safe.”

“We had a deal,” she said, shifting her body, pointing down to the ground.

“No, you had a threat. I don’t know if you forgot who you’re talking to,” you said, stalking toward her. “But I’m the Dark One now. I’m not Rumplestiltskin, I don’t make deals.” She went to raise her hand but you blasted her back with magic and she went flying. She landed in the pavement, making it crater under her landing. The sensation of causing pain gave you such a thrill it was intoxicating, like the best drug you could ever have. “You threatened my dog, my family, and my friends. I want to make it very clear who you’re dealing with,” you said darkly as she stood up and you blasted her again down the street. Each blast was like another hit off the best drug or swig of the best alcohol. Nothing could compete with this feeling.

“Maybe we can work something out,” she said weakly as she stood up, a bloody mess.

“No, I don’t make deals with villains. I’m not the Charmings, I’m not Rumpelstiltskin, I’m Y/N,” you answered, clutching her dress and lifting her. “Now let’s take a little trip.”

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

You appeared way underground, deep within the bowels of the tunnels that Regina had built long ago to house Maleficent. You flicked your hand and Rabbit was back home, safely in the house as you continued to walk, holding Cruella in the air.

“What are we doing here?” she asked weakly.

“Call this your prison sentence, dahling,” you stressed, mocking her.

“What are you doing with me?” she asked. You slammed her onto a board you conjured up and handcuffed her to the table. You bound her mouth.

“That’s enough talking. Plus we both know what can happen if you open your mouth,” you said overtly sweetly as you leaned over her. “You see, you’ve hurt a lot of people, and a lot of animals. That’s something I can’t stand for.”

You pulled out the wavy dagger, happy to have it in your hands for the first time.

“You like skinning things, right? I’m going to take a page from your book.”

You smiled wickedly down at her and pressed the knife to her skin and ever so slightly pricked under it, the knife gliding under her skin like hot butter. She screamed out a muffled cry of pain.

“What was that? I’m sorry, I couldn’t hear you over the tortured people--” You twisted the knife under the skin “--and animals you hurt.” You continued your handy work of slowly skinning her, the feeling of giving her the same torture and pain she’d given others. “How does it feel? Hm? This is what all of them felt.”

Blood was pouring everywhere on the table, onto the ground. Until eventually, she was entirely skinned, but still alive. You reached into her chest cavity, and pulled out her heart.

“Crush it,” Rumple coaxed.

“No.”

“Come on! Smash it! She almost took your dog away.”

“No!” you shouted at him. Then quietly said, “I’m not going to crush this...not yet anyway.”

You resurfaced to the streets, only to find an angry mob waiting for you.

“What did you do?” Grumpy demanded.

“What happened to Cruella?”

“Are you two working together?”

“People, calm down. I took care of her.”

“Yeah? How can we be so sure? You’re the dark one, you could be helping her!”

“If I was helping her, would I do this?” you said, holding the heart up and squeezing it tight.

Everyone gasped.

“Let me make this perfectly clear,” you started, “I am a Dark One, yes, but I am not any of the ones before me. I am not Rumplestiltskin. I am not here to make deals. I will never lie to you. I know in the past they made deals with the villains, but I, for one, am tired of the villains constantly getting away with the shit they pull!” you shouted as you stood on a pile of rubble in the street where Cruella had landed earlier. A hum of agreement fell over the crowd. “Yes, I kidnapped Victor Frankenstein's brother, but I was in pain. My dad died. I wanted to make him pay. I’m sure a lot of you can sympathize with that…” Another hum and shrug came. “Cruella? Who here has a good memory of Cruella? No one, right? I just did you a favor. I’m tired of people like the Charmings thinking that the villains will change. They’ll never change. Because of their blind faith, who gets screwed over? Us! I’m not here to make your life a living hell. I’m here to get rid of the villains once and for all!”

The townspeople cheered at you.

“I promise I will never deceive you, lie to you, manipulate you, make a deal with people who are going to ultimately screw you over. I’ll never take advantage of you in a bad situation, because I’ve been there. I’ve been where you are. Scared, helpless, doomed to the hands of the Dark One or the Evil Queen or the Wicked Witch or the Snow Queen or even the Charmings. You just have to sit and hope they’ll help you. Me? Ask me for something and I’ll do it. I’m not going to make you owe me. I want to finally clear this town of the plague that is known as the villains. I want to use this power within me for good. So, if you’re tired of evil winning, and the good thinking it’s going to get better, raise your hand.”

The entire town raised their hand.

“Good. I promise, I will not harm a single person in this town, so long as you don’t hurt me or my family. Deal?”

Everyone nodded and murmured a yes.

“Excellent,” you said, looking out over the crowd. “You will find me at my new home.” With that, you whipped your hands into the air and a rumbling came over the ground as an enormous, pointed, black castle rumbled up from the ground.

[mountphoenixrp]

We have a new citizen in Mount Phoenix:

                          Na Kibin, who is known by no other name;                                         a 22 year old son of Apep                                 He is a student and host at Sakura.

FC NAME/GROUP: Choi Chanhee (New) / The Boyz CHARACTER NAME: Na Kibin AGE/DATE OF BIRTH: 22 / June 23rd, 1998 PLACE OF BIRTH: Namwon, South Korea OCCUPATION: Special Effects Makeup student and Host at Sakura HEIGHT: 5’6” (167 cm) DEFINING FEATURES:

A small tattoo of a cross on the outside of his left pinky.

His eyes are big, having been described as “doe” eyes, and they normally have a faraway, dreamy look to them.

He enjoys keeping his hair in eye catching colors, such as blond or pink.

Kibin has a small scar on the right side of his abdomen from a knife point.

PERSONALITY: Kibin is generally more on the quiet, soft spoken side, possessing a “go with the flow” aura that masks the myriad of thoughts in his head. He enjoys analyzing everything, viewing things in a philosophical manner that may seem strange to anyone not accustomed to thinking outside the box. Being an artist, he’s imaginative and creative, rarely seen without a sketchbook. Kibin is always examining things and picking apart their symbolism, and he believes that nothing has only one meaning. He is three AM deep conversations in the dark, a young maverick in his own right.

Kibin may be confident in his thinking, as he’s not shy about sharing his observations, but he’s always open to various interpretations. He keeps his mind free, more water than rock, and he’s quite fluid with his thoughts except for his core values. He tries to be a good person with sometimes limited success, but it never stops him from attempting. Years spent having guilt about his parentage and what his legacy represented used to plague him with guilt, but Kibin has now since come to understand more about his father. He no longer feels guilt for carrying what he once believed to be tainted blood, but he remains cautious.

His unique outlook allows Kibin to take interest in the creepy and macabre, and his sense of humor often reflects this with a certain darkness. Kibin can be a wavering presence in someone’s life, not unlike a drifting stray cat, but he always comes back to the ones he has affection for. He gives this affection freely, loving to cuddle and treat his friends with gifts and spontaneous hang outs. On the other hand, Kibin has no use for people he mistrusts or dislikes, and he does what he can to avoid those people. Being adept at getting a feel for the energy of others and “reading the room”, it isn’t often that Kibin gets tricked into giving too much of himself to the wrong people, but it has happened.  Because of his past, Kibin is secretly terrified of showing any vulnerability, even to his most trusted people.

HISTORY: (tw: parental death and kidnapping)

Na Kibin was born beneath the dark satin of night, mere minutes past midnight. For his mother, it had been a hard and challenging labor, but to see the cherubic face of her baby boy for the first time was a blessing she would have never imagined. Na Minhee hadn’t wanted to be a mother, and hadn’t been the slightest bit ready for the responsibility, but she’d met a mysterious man with a head full of philosophy and she’d fallen for him. Minhee’s parents didn’t approve of her being a second year university student with a baby, and soon it was only mother and child together as she was forced to go out on her own. Though life was a challenge for the young and single Minhee as the man she loved hadn’t stuck around, Kibin spent his infant years protected from hardship, his mother a sturdy shield.

Kibin was only five years old when he was kidnapped. Memories of the event are more like passing lights in a subway, too fast to make sense of, a senseless blur. He remembers being torn from her arms, the terrible scream, her silver cross necklace clutched in his small hand. He remembers a loud bang, and then nothing. Kibin grew up among strangers in a small colony tucked into the forests surrounding his hometown. His childhood passed without much incident. He had other children to play with, and the smiles of the adults were kind, for the most part. Kibin was too young to understand the looks of envy and ambition directed his way.

When Kibin turned fifteen, the dynamic of his life shifted. The people around him, people he’d accepted as his family because he knew nothing else, changed in their demeanors. Where once they were warm and inviting, they were now cold and indifferent toward him. Kibin also noticed changes within himself: renewed vigor whenever night fell, blessing him with strength and excitement that made it difficult for him to fall asleep. Lights that fell into darkness just by him wishing them to do so. The third ability, Kibin had no knowledge of until the night his “family” came to him and pulled him from his bed, bringing him to a hidden underground chamber he’d never been in before. Tired and suddenly afraid for his life, Kibin struggled to no avail against the physically strongest of the colony.

As someone uttered strange words and lit candles, another brought forth a ceremonial knife. Kibin remembers the first sharp bite into his flesh before the candles all extinguished at once, and then he remembers slipping through the darkness. He remembers weaving between stamping feet to the sounds of confusion and anger. Kibin hadn’t even realized what happened until he’d ran through the forest in the dead of night, stopping when he reached a small town and collapsing in the yard of someone’s house. He’d shifted into a snake to escape, something that should have been impossible. Kibin spent the night in uneasy sleep, rising cold and damp the next morning to make sense of everything that had happened to him.

Through research and those that had defected from the group, Kibin learned that the “family” who had taken care of him had in fact been a cult. They were dedicated to an Egyptian god of destruction, Apep. These facts alone were chilling enough, but Kibin’s role in everything chilled him even further: he was supposedly a son of Apep that the cult had tracked down and stolen for their own gains. It had been their hope to sacrifice him when he came of age (by their standards, fifteen) to summon Apep into their service. Everything Kibin had known was a lie. The people he’d loved as his own blood were traitors to him, only out to use him, and they’d taken his mother away. The feeling of betrayal crushed Kibin and, having nowhere to go, he wandered as a drifter for five more years, working odd jobs and barely scraping out a living. There was also still the cult to worry about, and he evaded them successfully, but he worried his luck would eventually run out.

A saving grace at last came in the form of a former cult member who’d left for fear of what the members were planning. After sending a letter to Kibin to arrange a meeting, Kibin accepted with some hesitation, mistrusting of anyone even remotely involved in the cult. However, if it meant he could gain some more understanding of his situation, what could it hurt? The former member told Kibin that the cult had once been more of a benevolent group, made up of people who understood Apep’s true nature. Over time, and as leadership changed hands, the group formed into the dark cult that they were today, bent on annihilation of the world’s current order with Apep as their ally.

The informant had one more piece of knowledge to tell Kibin: she spoke of a place where he might be safe, somewhere the cult had heard of but were unable to reach. It was an island of people just like him, a land inhabited by gods and their kin. If he could make it there, he could have a chance to finally learn about himself and his father. More so, he could have safety and a prosperous life. Following the meeting, Kibin took on the task of finding Mount Phoenix and left everything behind like so many before him. No more days spent huddled for warmth in ragged clothing and looking over his shoulder. Kibin could make something of himself on Mount Phoenix, and that was exactly what he intended to do.

PANTHEON: Egyptian CHILD OF: Apep POWERS: Kibin can manipulate lights around him to dim or shut off completely. This applies to both fire and artificial light, and only works with lights close to him (ie: he couldn’t shut down an entire building at once, just as he passes). During the night time, he gains surprising strength for his small stature, and enhanced speed. Kibin can transform into various breeds of snake as long as he knows the particular breed.

STRENGTHS:

Night time is his element. After the sun goes down, he has increased strength and can travel fast on his feet.

He has an eye for detail and is very observant. Strong sense of judgment even if he doesn’t always use it.

His ability to turn into a snake can and has been used to get him out of sticky situations.

WEAKNESSES:

The cold. If Kibin uses his snake form in the cold, he risks becoming sluggish and freezing to death as he can’t regulate his own body temperature while in that form. Outside of being a snake, he has sensitivity to the cold as a human.

He craves being close to others, but his tendency to drift and fear trust can alienate him from someone.

Injuries carry over between forms. If he gets harmed as a snake, his human body reflects this as well.

[swipestream]

New Release Roundup, 29 September 2018: Fantasy and Adventure

Steampunk airships, buried Egyptian ruins, fallen angels, and the Titanic feature in this week’s roundup of the newest releases in fantasy and adventure.

Assault Against the Heavens – Robert Wagner

Daon is a Bronze Man, a member of an elite force of lawkeepers who protect and carry out the will of The Celestial Lord. Even though he was sold into this life as a child, just like his fellow soldiers, his beliefs are much different than theirs. Daon hates The Celestial Lord and would like nothing more than to be free.

His hope is a small thing, since The Celestial Lord is a God, who came down from his throne in the heavens to rule the people of Eur directly.

When a stranger to the capital city arrives, Daon finds himself swept up into a conspiracy, along with his friends Naya and Gal, to depose The Celestial Lord.

Caught between the duty ingrained in him and his desire for freedom, his loyalty to his friends or the loyalty to his God, one thought dominates all the others.

Can Daon even fight against a God?

Avenging Ava (The Heroes of Razak #1) – C. J. Evans

“The bear stood on it’s hind legs, and it appeared to stand twelve feet tall. It’s roar paralyzed the forrest in terror and dread. Even the birds stopped singing out of fear.“

Nate and his family live just outside of the village on their farm. One day Nate’s younger sister, Ava, is gruesomely killed by a bear. Nate goes out and seeks to avenge the death of his sister, so he joins a hunting party to go out and kill the beast! Yet there is something about this bear that doesn’t sit right… there’s something different about it… almost some sort of dark magic… Nate is in for more than he bargained for…

This novelette was partially inspired by the same story that inspired J.R.R. Tolkein, Beowulf. This is the first story in a fantasy anthology, and it’s a fun introduction to the world of Razak!

The Eternal Chamber (Relics of Deathless Souls #1) – Tom Hunter

Archaeologist Samuel McCarthy is on the verge of a groundbreaking discovery. The treasure map had led him this far, but the ancient Egyptian defenses and advanced cloaking technology guarding the cave prove impossible for one man to penetrate. Unfortunately, the men who answer his call for help may be more dangerous than the powerful artifacts buried deep underground…

Antiquities Ministry staffer Shafira Khouri longs to trade her desk job for the dig site. But when an office overhaul turns deadly, she knows she’s her colleagues’ only hope of survival. After the ministry falls into enemy hands, she fears her first field assignment could be her last…

If Samuel and Shafira can’t stop a shadowy organization from grabbing hold of a terrifying relic, the entire world could become ancient history.

The Fight for Rislandia (The Adventures of Baron von Monocle #3) – Jon del Arroz

The Wyranth Empire is marching on Rislandia City. Zaira Von Monocle and her airship crew are all that stands between the invading army and the total destruction of her country.

After her expedition to the Zenwey continent, Zaira discovers the Wyranth have a new source of their giant’s blood soldier serum. The enemy has pressed the advantage and used the lack of an airship threat to gain ground. Meanwhile, the Rislandian Grand Army is running low on supplies and food. They can’t hold out forever.

Join Zaira and her crew as they try to take on the full might of the Wyranth Empire and deal with a deadly surprise the Iron Emperor has waiting for them in the conclusion to this epic steampunk trilogy!

First Level (Replay #1) – John Gunningham

Waking up in a strange place with no memory of who you are or how you got there is bad enough but when Lana finds out she’s stuck with Peter, who seems overly excited by the prospect of an adventure, she starts to get a bad feeling. To make matters worse, Lana finds out she’s dead, has no memory of the past, and all the talk of skills, leveling up and questing make her want to scream.

All Lana wants to do is find a way to get home, wherever that is, but Peter is more than content to stay and see what this strange world filled with merchant gnomes, minotaur bartenders and angry house toughs have to offer.

Could Peter have something to do with Lana’s current, infuriating state or is he just as lost as she is as they fight towards answers and their FIRST LEVEL!

It Ain’t Easy (The Valens Legacy #10) – Jan Stryvant

With his home now secure, Sean can take the time to start catching up on the million and one things he’s been meaning to do, but never quite seemed to have the time. However, life is really never that simple. Sean’s two armies, run by his friend Chad and his great uncle Maitland are coming across a few things hinting that the Vestibulum aren’t ready to give up the fight quite yet.

The government and its minions are still not quite sure what to make of Sean or the lions he claims to represent. Divisions exist at the highest levels, and when the president decides to open a line of communications, those who are opposed to the idea are quick to act. The problem however is that while politics may make for strange bedfellows, when dealing with forces that aren’t quite human, discretion is highly advised before jumping into bed.

Masters of Deception – J. C. Kang

Hunting a traitor to the clan that raised her, half-elf spy Jie just wants to complete her mission and return home. Instead, she finds herself trapped in a foreign port, where warring crime factions vie for control of the city’s pyramid.

Cassius Larusso, a local diviner and conman, knows why: atop the pyramid sparkles a Dragonstone, preventing the Orc Gods from returning to the world. His family’s thousand-year mandate to protect the ancient artifact is almost as important to him as filling his coffers with gold, his stomach with delicious food, and his bed with a different type of delicacy.

Joined by Sameer, a paladin pursuing his forbidden love, and Brehane, a sorceress seeking her lost teacher, Jie must choose the right side in a game of shifting alliances and deception. Cassius will lie, cheat, and steal to get her to pick his.

A wrong choice doesn’t just mean that Jie can’t go home; it could lead to the downfall of humanity.

The Night Crossing – Robert Masello

Bram Stoker kept secret a tale even more terrifying than Dracula.

It begins among the Carpathian peaks, when an intrepid explorer discovers a mysterious golden box. She brings it back with her to the foggy streets of Victorian London, unaware of its dangerous power…or that an evil beyond imagining has already taken root in the city.

Stoker, a successful theater manager but frustrated writer, is drawn into a deadly web spun by the wealthy founders of a mission house for the poor. Far from a safe haven, the mission harbors a dark and terrifying secret.

To save the souls of thousands, Stoker—aided by the explorer and a match girl grieving the loss of her child—must pursue an enemy as ancient as the Saharan sands where it originated. Their journey will take them through the city’s overgrown graveyards and rat-infested tunnels and even onto the maiden voyage of the world’s first “unsinkable” ship…

Nostrum (The Scourge #2) – Roberto Calas

Sir Edward Dallingridge survived his journey through the anarchy that is now England, leaving in his wake the bodies of mad lords, foul invaders, friends, and the risen dead. There was nothing on earth that could keep him from the woman he loves.

Nothing but the horror that has already consumed her.

His journey is over, but his mission is far from complete. As a knight of the realm, he has defended England from every enemy it has. But how does one drive away a plague sent from hell? His only hope lies in the rumors of a cure–a treatment concocted by a strange man on an island fortress. Edward will do everything in his power to find this alchemist and to bring Elizabeth back from the walking terror she has become.

The Solitude of Sin (The Exinar #2) – Mikkell Khan

Twenty years have passed since the annihilation of the god ruler, Gudrunn. Yet, fractures and remnants of his domination still remain.

Princess Athena, the royal couple’s daughter, is a shining example of the benevolent rule that is loved by both the countryfolk and the rebels and is seen as one to bring peace to the Kingdom.  One night in desperation, she is kidnapped by a power-hungry tyrant and discovers the universe is far stranger than she ever thought. One day she is living a fairytale life, the next she becomes a gateway between her kingdom and Alpha Sinteres – a metaphysical plane of existence and a source of unlimited magic.

Ruil, a young man with wizardly healing abilities, could not imagine he would transition from lowly stable-boy to member of the princess’ rescue mission in a single night. He had no idea that this coming of age quest would bring him to the likes of, witches, shapeshifters, telepathy, and machines with the power of gods. Nor was he prepared for the level to which human betrayal, pain, love, and survival would take a person.

This experience would change them both, this unbinding from the comfort which they both knew, this Solitude of Sin, to which they would never be the same again…

The Warrior’s Path (Tales of Gorania #1) – Karim Soliman

Discover the world of Gorania with Masolon, the warrior from the mysterious lands beyond the Great Desert, the outcast who refuses to be the warring monster his clan needs and instead he becomes a kinslayer, the sinner who forges his path of salvation in the broken empire of Gorania with the help of his most—and probably his only—trustworthy friends: his sword and his horse.

As he wanders the kingdoms sprawling over the sun-blazed south and the snow-frosted north, Masolon builds his army to enforce his own notion of justice. His war provokes the ruthless lords of the warring realms, and the merciless outlaws who infest every corner in Gorania—a war he might survive with his body, but not with his mind.

Now enemies and false friends close in from all sides. And Masolon, shrouded in his own cocoon of guilt, meets one fiery girl who could help him find peace for his restless heart. Or maybe peace is just a delusion, and his path to redemption is nothing but a lie.

Vessel of Venus (The Diary of an Ex-Angel #2) – Richard Cain

Mark is a down-and-out IT professional with a secret. When he discovers a sorcery app that gives him incredible powers, he sets out to win his ex-girlfriend’s love and start a new life – until Venusians show up, sharing the story of how their civilization was destroyed by global warming and giving Mark the chance to fight climate change. All he has to do is offers them a sacrifice once in a while.

Will he get the girl? Will everyone finally realize that he’s the most amazing person ever? And will that damn talking locust ever shut up and leave him alone?

You’ll find out in the dementedly hilarious Vessel of Venus.

“Read this to find out the real story behind: The clean up after the the deluge to eliminate evidence of the prior civilization, such as air conditioning and the Nephilim. Pixies. Haunted houses. Crop circles. Aliens.” – Reader Review

.44 Caliber Preacher (Ben Baxter’s Western Adventures #1) – Troy C. Wagstaff

Ben is honor bound and obligated to get revenge when everything turns against him, including getting charged for murder and other crimes he didn’t commit. A sheriff and posse go after him as well as every other lawman and bounty hunter in the west desert.

In spite of the numerous challenges and obstacles Ben presses on. His integrity is challenged when one of the lawmen after him is wounded and falls under Ben’s care. The sheriff wants to see Ben hang. Will Ben get the wounded sheriff the help he needs or let him die?

In spite of the hair raising adventure Ben is on, he comes across evil men determined to destroy a town. The town offers him the job of being their sheriff. What does Bens honor dictate? Will he take the job or keep looking for his pard’s killer?

Preacher Zachary Monroe, a preacher from San Francisco is running from his painful, haunted past. Suddenly the preacher and Ben cross paths. Do they join forces to help each other in their quest or do they go their separate ways?

  New Release Roundup, 29 September 2018: Fantasy and Adventure published first on https://medium.com/@ReloadedPCGames

[psychicdan]

Fallout: No Man’s Land

Rating M for graphic depictions, language, violence and suggestive themes

Warning: The following is a work of fanfiction and is not intentionally connected to real world places, events, or people, and is not intended to copy others’ work. The Fallout video game franchise is the work of Bethesda, Interplay Entertainment, Black Isle Studios, and the many people that collaborated and worked with them. This is solely fanfiction for fun and not for profit.

Chapter I: Begin Operation

Narraration: War, war never changes. Since the beginning of civilization, humanity has always segregated themselves into groups and fought for the simplest of reasons to the most abstract. Whether over control of resources or what way of life should be pursued, humanity has always resorted to mass murder labelled war when different groups can never agree.

As humanity advanced, so too did their capacity for violence, war, and murder, to the point where they developed weapons of mass destruction, a world killer called the atomic bomb. In 2077, conflicts between the two superpowers, the United States and Communist China, escalated to atomic warfare. In two mere but devastating hours, the Great War ended with the entire world, with no victor, all lost.

But, some of humanity managed to cling to life in spite of the atomic hellfire and falling darkness of nuclear winter. Some had hidden in old shelters and bunkers, emerging when the wastes had grown to minimal stability. A special group of fallout shelters though, vaults, held the greatest vestige of humanity, but also held terrible secrets in store for their vault dwellers.

Designed by the U.S government and Vault-Tec, these vaults lured the populace with the promise of survival and comfort, but were in fact experiments to test stressed living standards and experimental procedures in post-nuclear settings. Some were subtle, such as simply selecting particular ethnic or socioeconomic groups and grouping them together, like Vault 15. Others were control vaults, with no changes to the vaults or populace, releasing them after a few decades when it was safe to leave. But many of the vaults held inhumane experiments that ended in catastrophe, such as Vault 11’s experiment that forced a person to be sacrificed every year to test the power of authority vs ethics.

But, this is not the story of Vaults discussed before. This is the story of Vault 120, a vault constructed between both Vault-Tec and the U.S military. To test how well a military force would be prepared to retake the U.S from hostile forces following many years of sheltered isolation, military personnel and their families were led to this Vault on the day the world ended. Since the massive steel door closed, they and their descendants have trained as soldiers, an entire battalion of 1000 awaiting the Call Out Signal from the government to begin Operation: Reclaim the American Dream. But, no such signal came. As the 211-year wait period nears the end though, the day approaches where they will march into the city area that was once Wellspring City, now known as No Man’s Land.

…

           [Year 2279, Vault 120] 16-year-old Richard Paxton yawned as the alarm rang, not wanting to get up. Then, knocking came. “Sweetie, come on, it’s time for school.” his mother said. “Ugh, that just means more training.” Richard said as he finally got up and shut off the alarm. He would take this opportunity to look out the window and see the outdoor neighborhood and morning sky. At least, that would be the natural thing to do, if he didn’t live a steel underground Vault.

He began to get dressed into his Vault 120 jumpsuit, which was pretty repetitive in everyone’s wardrobe. He walked into the kitchen to the smell of long preserved bacon and eggs cooking to see his mother at work over the stove. His father sat down at the table. If this was before the war, one would think he was reading the newspaper, but that wasn’t a thing in a Vault. Instead, he was reading the Vault’s military guidelines. Again. Richard sat down at the table lazily, still feeling groggy as he waited for breakfast.

His father looked up at him sternly. “What’s with the half-assed attitude there? Don’t think you can pull that crap when you turn 18 and join up. Your supervisors will chew you up and spit you out if they catch you like that.” he said. “Oh, leave him. He’s just enjoying his freedom before then. You and I both know what it was like to grow up and then join the force.” his mother said back to the father as she brought over breakfast. “Hmph, don’t see what he’s upset about. I was so damn proud to get my uniform and first position. He needs to be ready to stand at attention at all times, especially immediately after sleep.” his father grumbled as he munched on the preserved bacon.

“Hey, Richard, get hell off your ass and wash the dishes! I want it done yesterday, understood!” his father ordered as they were done eating. Richard got up in resignation and walked over to the dishes, knowing the scalding remarks would only grow worse if he didn’t comply. As he washed the dishes, he really wished his father didn’t take his work into the living unit and force it on him. It wasn’t like he didn’t get enough from the drill sergeants that were his teachers. His parents got up and walked to the doors as they put on their Vault military uniform jackets on. “Hey, be at class at 0800, understand?!” his father shouted. Richard sighed again, saying “Understood.”.

           In a darkened classroom, a projector was playing old footage from before the war. It was another Vault instruction video, featuring the titular Vault Boy giving the thumbs up alongside a Vault Boy version of Uncle Sam. “After nuclear war, this great nation of ours will likely be plagued with all manner of hostiles. Mutants, bandits, and of course, Commie Meanies. That is why we at Vault -Tec are here to do our part and help Uncle Sam reclaim our proud nation. You will be the next generation of fine men and women to fill out our new military and bring prosperity back to the good old U.S of A. When your Vault hears the call to arms, the Call Out Signal, that is when you will begin Operation: Reclaim the American Dream. When that happens, Vault 120’s military will begin operations to reclaim U.S territory and save and recruit survivors to build up the rebirth of the country. So, continue to train and salute under the Red, White, and Blue, and America will prosper again, thanks to you!”.

           As the projector turned off and the lights lit up, the students looked up at the instructor. “All right, you got the spiel. Basically, you’re here to train to be ready to join the Vault military and be ready to march into that wasteland. You’re all 16 now, so soon you’ll have your initial positions decided for when you turn 18 and join up.” the instructor told. Richard yawned in response, knowing all this for years now. It excited him when he was a kid, the thought of joining the military, but what’s the point when the military does nothing? They’ve been stuck in this Vault for over 200 years, there was no Call Out Signal coming. But, he wasn’t the Overseer, and he had to follow orders like everyone else. He wasn’t going to end up like all the insubordinates who, in worst case scenarios, got executed by firing line.

           Richard felt a tapping behind him. It was Carol Hayes, a friend of his for years now. “Hey, what do you think of all this?” she asked. “Dull and a waste of our lives.” he said. “Yeah, I know. It’s not like anything goes on in the military. You’d think they’d wise up and drop all that protocol crap, huh?” she said. Richard chuckled at that, saying “Yeah, screw the Vault military and their shitty protocols.”. “I’m sorry, what were you two saying about our protocols. Looks like we need another demonstration of disciplining insubordinates. Paxton, Hayes get up here and do push-ups till the end of the class!” the instructor shouted. They would both groan if not for the fact that would earn push-ups after class.

           The instructor yammered on and on about military procedures and tactical movements as the pair sweated through the Vault suits, ready to pass out. Finally, the bell rang and the pair dropped as the other students stood attention. “All right, that’s enough for today. Now, remember that you have the Generalized Occupational Aptitude Test next week, or the G.O.A.T. It will be held to help decide your position in the military. You better not get sick, and if anyone skips out you are on bathroom duty for the whole Vault for the next month!” the instructor shouted. “Yes sir!”.

…

[November 21st, Year 2288, Vault 120] 25-year-old 1st Lieutenant Richard Paxton stood at attention. Before him was the Overseer, the woman with authority over the entire Vault regiment. “At ease, Lieutenant. I have a lot to discuss with you, so you need to loosen up for this? Are you ready to hear the details?” she asked. “Yes ma’am.” Richard said. “Very well. As you know, Vault 120 is a facility designed by both Vault-Tec and the U.S military to train a new military force following nuclear devastation. We were to await the Call Out Signal, but it never came, so we followed protocol and prepped for more than two centuries.”

“Fortunately, Vault-Tec assigned a wait period should this happen. Should a wait period of over 211 years expire on a particular date, we will have permission to begin Operation: Reclaim the American Dream. That date is today.” she said. “Wait, Overseer, you mean…” Richard said in disbelief. “Yes, we can finally put our training to use and leave the Vault. But, there is the problem. We have been isolated for so long and our intel of the surface is completely outdated. We know not of the dangers or hostile powers that control the atomic wasteland. To send our entire military without knowing our enemies could result in mission failure.”.

“That is why I am entrusting this mission to you. You are to take a small platoon of around 20 with you and begin scouting operations. Try to obtain the nearest secure base and gather intel on the area, locals, and armed forces there. Should you find hostile factions, try not to antagonize them, but bring back what intel you can. You will have reports sent to me once a month, and I will decide when the military moves out.” the Overseer stated.

“But, why me ma’am?” Richard asked. He might have gotten the rank of 1st Lieutenant, but his record a few years ago showed anything but an ideal soldier. He really just got serious about his job so all the friction and harassment would stop, as the Vault itself wasn’t changing. “I am aware of your record. That is why you are being selected. Too many meatheads down here recite military protocol like it’s the Bible. Military protocol can’t prepare you for an atomic wasteland. I need soldiers that can think on their feet and have an open mind. You have that. So, are you ready to move out?” the Overseer asked. “Yeas, ma’am!” Richard saluted.

…

“Hey there, “Lieutenant”.” said a joking female voice behind Richard. Richard looked back with a smirk towards Carol, glad to have a good old troublemaker who stuck with him through the worst on this mission. “Nice to see you too, “Sergeant”. But seriously, cut the protocol, you know I hate it.” he said, feeling formality was wrong between him and Carol after all their escapades. “Just a joke, Richard. But God, never that we’d be leaving this steel box, huh?” she said. “Yeah.” Richard stated as they both stored at the massive Vault door in front of them.

It was hundreds of feet tall, larger than other vault doors so the military and their stored arsenal could come in and out. Even now, the many mechanisms in it were shifting as it began the long process of opening up. In front were three APCs, each carrying supplies weapons, and the 23 soldiers Richard requested for this mission. Finally, the Vault door opened, spilling sunlight into the entrance. “Ready to go?” Carol asked. “Yeah.” Richard said, ready to leave to stuffy strict vault behind for the action of the wasteland.

Author’s notes: Hello everyone. You here either because you’re a Fallout fan, or you’re here for my Samurai Jack fanfic, Renegade Samurai. That is still ongoing, it’s just I took a small break from that to start this. If you visited my tumblr @psychicdan, you’ll see I am a massive Fallout fan. I mostly like Fallout 4, but I completed 1, tried 2, have been playing 3, and after that hope to play New Vegas. It’s just that each is so long, and 4 has the most up to date mods and gameplay, so I keep going back to it! Well, I own all on PC, so there’s that. This was partly inspired by the plot of Fallout Tactics. Seriously, how did they confuse the Brotherhood of Steel’s origins anyways? They never came from a Vault. Anyway, they will be here in a way that ties into Fallout 4, and there will be a few factions in the new region I called No Man’s Land. Also, complete coincidence Richard Paxton is similar to Fallout lore BOS founder Richard Maxson, that was not intentional, but I don’t plan to change it since only the name is similar, and I honestly wracked my brain for that one. Now, I am devoted to Renegade Samurai updates, so this will probably only get updated at a slower rate, sorry. Hope you enjoy it!