#he’s a former feral who did NOT go near a lap for more than a year

[angsty-aliens]

My cat contributing to rent via Only Paws. Look at those beans.

[mmvalentine]

Pomegranate pt 2 | Feysand

Hades/ Persephone inspired AU. Read Part 1 Part 3

Rhys returns to the fields of the Spring Court the next evening. And the next, and the next, and the next, true as the moon rising. He teases and grumbles about it sometimes, but if he's honest, Feyre has become the very best part of his day.

The breeze that ruffles the wildflowers surrounding them is easy and soft, and so is Feyre. She is generous with her touch, letting her fingertips touch his shoulders and stroke in his hair like leaves landing. Rhys can’t get enough. Because it is always Spring, the evenings are balmy and warm, and by nightfall Feyre goes back to the manor on the hill. Feyre likes to tell him that she tires of him, but Rhys realises eventually that she has a curfew.

“Let me come with you,” he says one evening. It’s been a month and Rhys has just made a particularly good bargain: a story for a kiss.

“Okay,” Rhys had said, lying back amongst the flowers. Feyre remains sitting up, and is threading a daisy crown for the High Lord. “I’ll tell you the story about how I met my two brothers, Cassian and Azriel. Hopefully you’ll get to meet them one day.”

Feyre snorted. “Not while my father’s still alive.” Rhys smiled gently and continued.

“When I was a child I was put into an Illyrian training camp, in the heritage of my mother’s family, and the only ones who fit in less than I did were Cass and Az.”

“What’s an Illyrian?” Feyre interrupted.

“A warrior race from the mountains of the Night Court.”

“And your mother was an Illyrian? You look like High Fae.”

Rhys smiled then, and did something that he never thought he’d do. He didn’t know why he felt so at ease with Feyre. Maybe it had something to do with the fact that every time he came to see her here, it was only the two of them in the field, and that made it feel like it was only the two of them in the world.

He rolled onto his stomach, arms folded under his chin, and unfurled his bat-like wings. He spread them lazily and gracefully, and watched her face change from shock to awe to delight as they stretched to be as tall as she where she was sitting.

“Rhys they’re beautiful,” she breathed, reaching one hand forward. Then she pulled back as if remembering herself, and glanced sidelong at him. “May I?” she asked. And again, Rhys surprised himself by nodding his assent. The only time his wings had ever been touched was when they got bruised in a brawl.

Feyre very gently stroked her fingers down his left wing, and Rhys shuddered beneath her touch.

“Sorry,” she said. Rhys’s mouth quirked.

“What are you sorry for?” he asked.

“It… it looked like that wasn’t very comfortable for you. Does it hurt?”

“No it doesn’t hurt,” Rhys laughed, bumping her with the talon at the top of his wing's arch.

She smiled her relief, and stroked him again, and Rhys’s laugh choked off into a moan that had him biting down on his lip. Goosebumps rolled down his arms, and he tried not to let Feyre see how much her touch affected him.

“I’ll take that kiss now,” he said, and before she could argue he rolled around and pulled her into his arms. Feyre landed on his chest and smiled as he kissed her. His wings curled lightly around them both, making her feel even closer. Rhys licked at her lips in askance, and she let him sweep his tongue across hers before she pushed him off, laughing and landing back in the grass with him.

“No,” Feyre says. She places the crown delicately on Rhys's head, and looks pleased with the effect.

Rhys runs a finger from her wrist to the inside of her elbow. “Please let me. I’d love to see where you live.”

“Where I live, or just where I sleep?" Feyre challenges. Rhys flashes her a wicked grin.

“That too.”

“No.”

"I'll owe you a favour."

"You already owe me a favour."

"For what?"

"For making you king of the daisies." Feyre gestures, and the flowers nuzzle their heads against his elbows. Rhys nods magnanimously at them, then fixes his amethyst eyes on Feyre.

“Why not?” he asks softly.

“Because my father would skin you the second you walked through the front door.” Feyre nips the skin of his neck with her teeth to make a point.

Rhys huffs. “My father's been dead over a decade. Old men can hold a grudge.”

Feyre shifts. “It’s not just that. He… he doesn’t like anyone, Rhys. I told you. He’s very protective, and he gets upset when people come too near me. I’m not supposed to cross the forest line.”

“But… we’re on the other side of the forest.”

Now it’s Feyre’s turn to grin. “The flowers miss me," she says. She runs her fingers through the stalks. Then pokes him in the chest. "And they'd miss you too if you were a rug in my father's study."

“Well then come visit me,” Rhys presses. “You’d love it at the Night Court. The stars have as many secrets as the flowers do.”

It's a thought Rhys can't get out of his mind. As long as Feyre stays in this field, she's just a daydream. But then he gets home and nothing feels as real as Feyre does, and he's been sleepwalking through Velaris.

“Rhys.”

“And you could actually meet the people I tell you about.”

“Rhysand.”

“And you wouldn’t have anyone telling you what to do or where to go or who you could see.”

Feyre waits. “Are you done?”

Rhys sighs. “Yeah I’m done.”

“Rhys you know I can’t.”

“I know. Look just… promise me that you’ll come one day, okay? Even if you have to wait till ol’ Tambourine’s dead and buried." He gives her a smile to sweeten the deal. "Promise me you’ll come see the Night Court.”

Feyre's smile is so sad Rhys feels it under his ribs. “And what will you give me, young Kingling?” she asks softly. “What will you offer in return?”

“Everything,” Rhys whispers, much more serious than he had intended. “Anything and everything you want.”

Feyre looks at him with leagues in her eyes, and says, “Just a kiss will do.” And Rhys obliges.

“Do you know,” he tells he between kisses, "every time I kiss you I think I'll feel relieved. But the wanting just gets worse. How are you so soft?”

“How are you so hard?” Feyre asks, then blushes deeply when Rhys gives her a look. “Your chest. I meant your chest, you’re like a solid wall.” Rhys stares at her.

“The latter, because my father too was a glutton for punishment. I’ve trained everyday since I was eight years old.” He traces the shape of her cheekbone, and then her lower lip. “The former, well, for that I blame you.”

Rhys shifts his hips and indeed he is hard all over, from the muscles in his abdomen, and lower. Feyre shivers a little as she feels the press of him between her legs, and her fingers tighten on his shoulders. “So are we friends yet, Feyre darling?” Rhys asks her, the words blowing hot against her lips. Feyre laughs huskily, and the sound makes him twitch under her hips. Now that he has drawn attention to the evident pressure between them, he’s sure Feyre feels it.

“Do you think I do this with my friends?” Feyre asks him, and presses her next kiss under his jaw. Rhys groans and slides his hands around her waist, heels sliding in the grass.

“Probably not?” Rhys gasps, feeling every inch of her body on his.

“Just kidding,” Feyre says. “I don’t have any friends.”

Rhys can’t think of what to say to that. “Kiss me again,” he tells her.

“What will you give me this time?” Feyre asks, still very much on top of him. Rhys stares into her lovely eyes, and tries to see what she’s keeping behind her smile.

“A kiss in return,” he says quietly, because the best way to pay for a kiss is in kind.

Feyre folds her fingers with his, and leans down. And Rhys finds himself thinking that he wants this, of course he wants this, but he does also want to be her friend. That he wants her to have friends.

And then he thinks very little at all because now Feyre is straddling his lap and she’s got her tongue in his mouth and his blood is singing in his veins.

Rhys slides his hands up Feyre’s back and under her hair. He flips them smoothly so that she’s on her back and his wings are flaring, and when he finds her hands again, stalks of flowers brush their entangled fingers. Feyre is liquid and pliant beneath him, and although they’ve kissed dozens of times before, this is something new between them.

"You're making the daisies blush," Feyre whispers, and she looks like an angel beneath him.

Rhys makes a shaky exhale. He is half hungry, and half scared that she’ll push him away at any second. Touching Feyre is like catching a sparrow- sometimes she’s flying so sure and fast he can barely keep up, and other times she’s skittering away from him. He can never be quite sure of her, but then again, he’s rather enjoying the chase.

Feyre’s hands tangle in his hair when he kisses her again. They pull at the roots and Rhys begins to lose it. He’s only got so much careful in him, and if she keeps going like this…

At that moment Rhys is grabbed from behind. Rough hands seize him by the wings and throw him off of Feyre. Rhys hits the ground, then immediately rolls up into a crouch with his teeth bared. He’s already in a rage from the contact with his wings, half feral and looking for his attacker.

He does not expect to see the High Lord of the Spring Court snarling right back at him.

“You little fuck,” Tamlin growls. “You come into my land and assault my daughter. You have exactly three seconds to be gone before I tear you limb from limb.”

“Father!” Feyre says sharply. He rounds on her.

“And you. I gave you very clear instructions on where you are to be at any given time. I’ll deal with you later.” He waves his hand and Feyre is winnowed, with time only to meet Rhys’s eyes before she’s gone.

“Fuck you,” Rhys spits.

“Leave, pup,” Tamlin tells him. “This is my Court and you are in violation of my rules. If I see you again I will kill you, and I will have no qualms about doing so.”

Rhys growls, but he knows Tamlin is right. He can’t attack him in on his own land without starting an all out war. Rhys kicks at the ground savagely, then winnows.

****

MASTERLIST

TAGLIST: @ghostlyrose2 @highladysith @feysand-loml @tillyrubes10 @ratabrasileira @live-the-fangirl-life @maybekindasortaace @annejulianneh111 @thebonecarver @rowaelinismyotp @loosingdreams @whythefuckdoiexist @inejsarrow @swankii-art-teacher @sjmships @courtofjurdan @teddytdr @positivewitch @thalia-2-rose @darling-archeron @rapunzel1523 @fairchildjace @philosophorumaurum02 @story-scribbler @allthecolorsneverseen @asteria-of-mars @fandomstalker27 @realbookloverproblems @dealfea @s-tormwitch @cretaceous-therapod

[notchesandbullets]

Misunderstanding (Husband!Jae-ha x Wife!Reader)

"Jae-ha, could you please pass me the roasted duck?"

You were surprised when he flat out ignored you, choosing to drift over towards Yona. Raising an eyebrow, you slid over to where Yoon was watching the whole thing. He looked just as confused as you.

The Happy Hungry Bunch was spread out around an empty field, lounging around while the pretty boy genius cooked up some dinner. Jae-ha went off with Yona and you suppressed a sigh. Lately, he had become more and more distant with you, and it was starting to drive you a little crazy.

You both were young, even though he was older than you. A lot of people said your marriage wasn't going to last, but you didn't care and you thought he didn't either. Now, you were having second thoughts, the insecurities getting the best of you as you watched him flirt with Yona.

You knew that was just his nature, and that it was harmless. Mostly. But it still sent a turmoil of conflicting emotions inside of you, and you were unsure if you should even be feeling this way.

You pushed up off your feet, wiping your dirty hands on a damp cloth. Yoon gazed at you worriedly as you turned away from them, trailing after where Jae-ha and Yona had disappeared.

A giggle floated through the air, enabling you to find them easily. You crossed your arms and leaned against a tree, staring at them with narrowed eyes.

"Excuse me, Yona, may I talk to him for a moment?"

Yona nodded, just about to leave when Jae-ha stopped her.

"Why do you want her to go?" He questioned, mistrust swirling in the depths of his eyes.

Both your and Yona's eyes went wide with shock. He never took this tone with you.

"I would just like to talk to you for a moment in private, Jae-ha." You picked your words carefully. You didn't know why, but he looked ready to explode at any second. You had no idea why he was so angry.

"She can stay here."

Yona let out a squeak as Jae-ha tugged her back to his side, unprepared for the sudden jostle. A beat later, she was freed by none other than the Thunder Beast.

"Keep your hands off of her." He glared, making the threat obvious.

"Then don't touch what's mine!!" Jae-ha snarled.

At this point, you were completely confused and starting to get mad. "Jae-ha, you aren't making any sense."

"No?!?!" He thundered, whipping around to face you. You had never seen him this angry and it was terrifying. "You think I'm making this up!!"

You huffed. "That's not what I said."

"Yeah?! Well it sure sounds like it!!" His hands flailed in the air in frustration, and you instinctively whimpered, eyes growing as wide as saucers.

He didn't notice the change in your demeanor, but someone else did.

"Droopy-Eyes, knock it off."

Jae-ha turned on him, kicking him harshly in the abdomen. Hak had been ready for it, but it still knocked the wind out of him. Jae-ha reached for Yona again, but that was a mistake.

He was shoved back harshly and Hak brandished his glaive with a feral gleam in his eyes.

"Touch her again. I dare you."

Jae-ha let out a growl. "You can't have them both!!"

You were shocked. You had never seen him like this before. You had never seen either one of them like this, they looked ready to rip each other apart at a moment's notice.

You couldn't stand it any more. You didn't want to fight.

You let out a quiet, reserved sigh. "Jae-ha... it's okay..."

His head whipped towards you and you took step back at the red aura emitting from him.

"Okay?!?! That's all you have to say?!" He yelled at you, continuing to raise his volume despite the way you flinched back, not registering your fear through the red haze. All he could think about was how he couldn't believe you didn't trust him, after all this time together.

After everything you've been through.

You had both saved each other from a life of despair and hopelessness. You brought out the light in him, and he brought peace to you.

You never thought things would come crashing down around you like this. Least of all, now, when it was so critical that your group stayed together.

Quickly, you walked away, praying that he wouldn't follow you. Today wasn't your lucky day. He stormed after you, completely furious with the way you were talking to him, how you were treating him.

"Stay away from her." Zeno demanded, no longer in the mood for games.

"You can't tell me what to do. She's my wife." Jae-ha declared.

Shin-ah stubbornly shook his head. The snarl painted on his features was nothing to take lightly. "Stay... away."

The low tenor shocked everyone, but Jae-ha wasn't deterred. "You can't keep me from her."

Hak stepped up aggressively. "Yes, we can. She's terrified of you right now. We're going to make sure she's alright before we let you anywhere near her."

At this point, Jae-ha finally took in your trembling appearance and he froze. The tears that stained your cheeks and your knocking knees hit him dead in the heart.

You were afraid. Of him.

Jae-ha couldn't believe he let it get this far. He ran into the tent you two shared as you were escorted away by the blue and yellow dragon.

Hak pushed back the flap of the tent once morning came. Jae-ha hadn't made an appearance once after yesterday's fiasco, and it was time to figure out just what was going on.

"Droopy-Eyes, what the hell were you thinking?"

As furious as he was for making you cry, he knew there was something else going on.

The green dragon might have been older, but over time, the former general had learned to read him like a book. There was something bothering him.

He was right.

Ryokuryuu was crouched on the ground, his back slumped and shoulders stiff.

Hak wouldn't be surprised if he had stayed like that throughout the night.

Jae-ha breathed out a heavy sigh, finally confessing, "I thought you guys were cheating on each other behind my back. I wanted to protect Yona, and maybe get back at you. Because no matter how much it hurts, I still love her."

Hak narrowed his eyes and then frowned.

"You're an idiot."

Jae-ha sputtered at the insult, but he wasn't finished. "You honestly think that we're sleeping together? Even though you're probably the only one who understands the depth of my feelings for Yona?"

Jea-ha was floundering to come up with a response.

"But you two have been spending a lot of time together, and yesterday at the market, you spent the entire day together. It's the first day she didn't fall asleep in my arms."

Hak crossed his arms over his chest and rolled his eyes exasperatedly, a blush settling across his cheeks.

"Jae-ha, she was helping me pick out a ring for Yona. She was helping me figure out how to propose." Hak explained quietly. "I wanted it to be perfect for her."

Jae-ha's jaw dropped to the floor, speechless.

"B-But— Y-You... I-I-I—"

"Yeah, yeah," Hak brushed off his excuses. "Just go apologize to her, will you? She's been crying all night."

Jae-ha left without a second thought and the ex-general followed soon after.

Your head was laying in Zeno's lap, and he was stroking your hair softly. Shin-ah was positioned near you, keeping watching out for any unwanted guests. His legs were criss-crossed, and Ao's fluffy tail was brushing under his ear once in a while.

When Shin-ah abruptly jumped to his feet, you knew something was wrong. Zeno's carefree expression was wiped off of his face and his eyes narrowed as the blue dragon snarled the second your husband cautiously entered the tent.

He at least had the decency to look apologetic, but you stiffly turned away from him, not ready to forgive him. His shoulders slumped and Shin-ah nearly growled. "Get out."

"Wait, please." Jae-ha begged. "Y/N."

"The miss doesn't want to see you right now." Zeno's voice had a light lilt to it, but there was an underlying warning that came with it.

"Y/N." Jae-ha whispered brokenly.

Your eyes softened, and you slowly turned around. Shin-ah looked about ready to throw Ryokuryuu out of the tent himself, but you shuffled towards him, pulling on his pant leg to get his attention.

"Shin-ah, Zeno, it's alright. Can you two give us a minute?"

The two dragons reluctantly left the tent, Zeno shooting you a worried glance but you offered him a reassuring smile.

Jae-ha settled down across from you, with respectable distance.

Your face was blank, but your eyes were puffy and the skin around it was rubbed red.

You had been crying.

He felt awful. He jumped to conclusions, and wrongfully accused you of things you didn't do.

"I don't deserve you."

Your head snapped up at his defeated tone.

"What?"

Jae-ha shook his head in regret. "I thought you and Hak were..."

You recoiled back in shock. "W-What?! No, you got it all wrong!! He's going to marry Yona, I was—"

He closed the distance between the two of you, cupping your jaw tenderly. Soft breaths fanned out against your face and warmed your skin soothingly.

"I know, I know. Hak told me what you were doing." Your eyes fluttered closed in relief. "I'm so sorry for assuming the worst."

Your hands reached up to cradle his face. "Come to me next time." You pleaded. "Talk to me."

He nodded furiously, finally pulling you in a tight embrace.

Relaxing in his hold, you didn't hear them come in.

"Yay!!" Zeno cheered.

"Is everything okay?"

Yona's worried voice floated through the air, breaking the two of you apart. You smiled at your husband, weaving your fingers together.

"Yeah... we're alright now."

Jae-ha leaned down, capturing your lips in a soft kiss and you melted against him.

Yona cooed at the display and Hak pretended to barf.

"Lunchtime, you rare beasts!!" Yoon shouted from outside.

One by one, the dragons, the princess, her bodyguard all filed out of your tent obediently. As he dished out the portions, you shared a look with Jae-ha as Hak fumbled with Yona's bowl.

It would be awhile before he got down on one knee, since their journey took precedence, but you couldn't wait to see it.

After all, You thought to yourself as Jae-ha pulled you against his chest, curling his arms securely around your waist. Despite its ups and downs, marriage is worth it.

[danger-xylophones]

Family Reunion (Darth Maul x reader) Pt. 6 Discretion

P.S.A-don’t do what the reader does to Wild-kids deserve the truth. I’m planning something so I needed it this way. 

Warnings: other than the reader fucking up royally, some real suggestive language, Maul being a little OOC, you’re all good here

Notes: This is another filler I’m sorry but I wanted the reader and Wild to talk. 

Words: 4684 

{masterlist}

<- Previous (Part 5)

……………………………………………………….

“What are you doing out here, my love?” The inquisitive voice coming from behind you startled you for a moment but you quickly relaxed at the hand Maul placed on your shoulder blade. You peered up at the zabrak who was looking down at you expectantly. 

“I couldn’t sleep so I wanted to look at the stars.” You answered quietly, feeling embarrassment start to invade your system. When you said it out loud it sounded rather ridiculous that you would leave the embrace of your zabrak lover in favor of staring at pecks of light millions of klicks away. 

“But it’s freezing out here. Come back to bed.” Maul hummed and moved to wrap around you, one arm curled around your waist to cage you to his exposed chest, the other moved up so he could take your chin between his thumb and index finger. The position was intimate and rather controlling in the best way possible. “Besides,” Maul could do whatever he wanted to you and you would go along willingly which terrified you to no end. “Why would you desire to look at the stars when you outshine them all, my angel?” 

Your nose scrunched as you pulled Maul’s cloak tighter around you. “Where in the galaxy did you get that one?” You asked amidst some breathy giggles. Maul’s face fell into a mock offended scowl. 

“I came up with it, angel.” Maul almost whined, making you laugh a little harder. Maul couldn’t keep the scowl for long though. With a playful growl, Maul swept you up in his arms and tossed you into the air, eliciting a shriek that cut through the otherwise silent night. The zabrak male caught you in a bridal hold, chuckling at your reactions while you were completely dazed by his shift in attitude. Mere hours ago he was hissing and spitting, taking his anger directed towards his master out on you in what was arguably the most sinful duel you’d ever been a part of with him and now he was nothing but soft, loving, and playful. Grinning down at you in an almost predatory manner, Maul began to carry you back into the ship (which in all fairness, was probably for the best-it was quite late and you needed to sleep). “If you’re going to poke fun at me, I would like to remind you that you did not seem to mind my praise while you were screaming my name.” The zabrak rumbled and you could feel his chest vibrate. 

Your giggling cut off abruptly as your face grew warm. Maul simply chuckled at your silence and leaned his head down to place a soft kiss on your cheek. You whined in response and attempted to bury your face in his chest. Tutting, Maul sat down cross-legged on his bunk and tauntingly poked at your cheek. “Don’t hide, my love, I want to see your beautiful face.” You gave him a deadpan look in response which pulled a rumbling laugh from him. “There you are.” He cooed. 

“I’m not going to sleep with you anymore if you’re just going to be mean afterward.” You threatened half-heartedly and worked to roll out of his arms but Maul only gripped you tighter. 

“We both know that won’t happen, you love me too much.” Maul grinned, incisors catching the moonlight that streamed in from the viewport. His lava-like eyes glowed in the dim light. 

You sighed in defeat and reached up a hand to caress one of your lover’s horns as you simply took a moment to admire him. “That I do, Sith, that I do.” You hummed moving to kiss at the corner of his mouth. You felt his lips quirk at the sensation and before you knew it, he had moved to lay down; which left you to sprawl out over his chest and tangle your legs with his. 

“I know, Jedi,” he teased lightly, nudging his nose against your temple, “and I suppose it is a good thing I feel the same.” 

…………………………………………………..

“Mom, wake up!”

With a soft, agitated groan, you pulled yourself from the dregs of sleep to address the persistent shaking of your left shoulder. You forced your eyes open and your gaze was immediately met with the luminescent saffron of your son’s eyes. “What’s going on, son?” You asked as you sat up and stretched. 

“He’s screaming again.” Wild sighed in exasperation, running a hand over his face. You leaned back, head tapping against the wall, as you just sat for a moment and listened. Indeed, Maul was screaming again, tortured howls of phantom pain and agony ringing throughout the metal walls of the ship. You were almost impressed that the man still had the energy to scream considering how raw his throat must have been by now. With a sigh of your own and a stifled yawn, you swung your legs over the side of your bed. “I’m on it. Can you go get me a cool, damp towel, some water, and a ration bar? Maybe he’ll eat.” The young boy nodded and skirted out of the room, eager to help you silence the agonizing screams of Darth Maul (presumably so he could go back to sleep, Wild always been a light sleeper). You padded pass Savage who was completely out of it, snoring into the extra pillow your son had unceremoniously tossed on his uncle’s face to quiet him down. 

Hopefully, come tomorrow evening, Wild would be able to get a restful sleep. Savage had decided that the planet Dathomir, his home, was the only hope you had for helping Maul and thus he had set a course for it. But, considering how far away Lotho Minor was from Dathomir, the trip had been excruciatingly long (a whopping eleven days so far). Maul barely slept, if at all. Most of his time was taken up screaming, muttering, or just acting like a caged animal and it had taken a toll on him. He had come down with a fever which only put him through more pain which only worsened his howling. Suffice to say, you, Savage, and Wild were all exhausted. You especially as he would only quiet down when you were near. 

When you got to the door separating the cargo hold from the rest of the hijacked freighter, you paused to press your forehead to the cool steel for a moment to steady yourself. The door slid open and you entered to, sadly, a common sight. The blankets you had used to make a makeshift bed/nest for Maul were strewn about, boxes were knocked over and tossed aside, scratches were etched into every wall and all over the floor, and in the corner, cowering and crying was Maul. His back was to you and his hands were over his ears, clawing at the skin. You felt your heart shatter at the sight of your poor lover.

Quietly, you went about gathering up the discarded blankets and set them down somewhere to be dealt with later. When that was finished, you settled on one of the overturned boxes. “Maul?” His cries silenced instantly as your voice cut through whatever waking nightmare he was suffering through. The man turned, eyes flicking around the hold before locking on you. “Maul, my love, come here.” You held your arms out to him and that was all it took for the zabrak to come running to you. It was still unnerving to see him charge at you with his lower spider body but the need to comfort him (even in this state) greatly outweighed your fear. He crashed at your feet, arms wrapping around your legs and face landing on your thighs, horns precariously close to poking you in your stomach. Regardless of that, you rested one hand on the back of his neck and gently massaged it while the other traced the base of one of his broken horns. You could feel his upper body shiver though from relief or the fever you weren’t sure. 

Maul couldn’t communicate much in his current state but what he could communicate, you latched onto tightly. And one thing that he had made clear was that he remembered you. “Far above, far above…” Maul had resumed sobbing though now he was far quieter, his face didn’t leave your lap. “Kenobi, Kenobi-” He growled, grip tightening on your legs. 

You shushed him, hand smoothing over his shoulder to steady him. “I know, Maul. He is to blame for this and he will get what he deserves but for now, Maul,” You dared to lean forward to place a peck on his head, careful not to poke yourself in the face, “stay with me.” You mumbled against his tattooed skin, subtly checking his temperature. He wasn’t nearly as warm as the last time you had checked. Maybe the fever had broken? You hoped so, for all your sakes. 

The door suddenly slid open as Wild entered and Maul shot up with a snarl in his direction. The boy blinked back at the feral male placidly, not even slightly perturbed by the reaction. You simply grabbed the zabrak’s chin and got him to look at you which immediately distracted him as to allow Wild to approach. The boy eyed Maul as he set the canteen down and hopped up on the crate to unwrap the ration bar for you. You thanked him quietly and took the towel he had also brought and delicately placed it on Maul’s forehead. The former sith lord sighed in relief at the cool sensation, his mutterings ceasing for the time being. “You should go get some sleep, Wild, I can handle him.” Your son looked up as you spoke, surprise written over his face which told you you had pulled him from deep thought. 

“How do you know Darth Maul?” Wild asked without breaking eye contact. If you didn’t know better, you would have thought he was trying to probe your thoughts. You closed your eyes briefly, knowing this question was bound to come up bt still regretting what you were about to do. 

“We go way back. He…” Maul suddenly shifted, letting go of your legs in favor of trying to mess with the towel on his brow, you had to grab his wrist to stop him. “He knew your father.” Wild’s interest peaked for a moment so, you swiftly grabbed the ration bar to stop yourself from saying much more on that topic. You released Maul’s wrist so you could break off two small pieces of the bar, the zabrak watched you carefully. You handed one of the pieces to Wild and ate one yourself; a trick you’d learned to get Maul to eat. The young boy followed your lead before you handed the remaining food to Maul. 

“How did dad know a sith?” Wild’s voice was hard to dissect. He sounded curious yet fearful. 

“He never really told me.” Gods, this felt awful-lying to your son. “We tried to keep talk of his...career out of things.” You patted Maul’s head when he rested it on your lap again and coaxed him to take a drink from the water Wild had brought. The aforementioned zabrak began to purr, softly, as he settled further and you nearly began to weep at the sound. Gods you had missed that sound.

“Maul, do you ever think about the future?”

“Constantly, my love, why do you ask?” Maul answered immediately, voice low and relaxed as the two of you stood in the confines of your room. The zabrak dragged his eyes away from the busy city below and to you where you stood at his side. Your hair was still damp from the bath you had taken and was putting up quite the fight while you tried to redo your padawan braid. Amused at your effort, Maul took the stubborn strands into his own hands and calmly began to braid them, a small rumble emanating from his chest as you pressed against him. It was dangerous for him to be here, in the Jedi temple, but the temptation had been too much for him. He had told you that his master had given him a new mission, one that could take a while considering the nature of it. He had to locate the queen of Na-

 “Why do you ask?” You coughed in an attempt to stifle the sorrow. 

“I was just curious. Are there a lot of red zabraks?” Oh no. You had to fight the urge to react, opting to do so by mocking thought. When you looked at Wild, he did not meet your eyes as he was too focused on Maul. Had he caught on? If he had, he wasn’t saying anything. 

“No,” you began carefully, monitoring Wild like a shriek-hawk, “I’ve only met two-Darth Maul and-”

“Dad?” Wild concluded. You nodded, Wild hummed. “Huh,” He began, bringing his legs up and crossing them as if he was getting ready to meditate, “were they related?” The young half-zabrak grabbed his ankles and began to rock from side to side-something he would do when he was anxious as a way to get rid of the excess energy. 

“...sort of.” Wild raised a brow at you. “Your father was from Dathomir...same as Maul and the men there are all partially related.” 

“Savage was telling me about Dathomir and the witches.” His carmine nose wrinkled in distaste, slightly warping the black v-shaped tattoos on the apples of Wild’s cheeks. “They sound awful...are you sure they’ll help Darth Maul?” 

“Considering all I’ve learned about them, the lure of his power will be enough to persuade them.” Your voice was clipped, unpleased with the thought of letting the witches anywhere near Maul but you did acknowledge that they would be your only hope. “It’s good to hear that you and Savage have been getting along.” 

“Yeah, he’s actually pretty nice.” Wild huffed amused, most likely, at the discovery and you two fell into a peaceful lull. Maul had long since fallen asleep, still clinging to your legs as though you were a lifeline but now faintly snoring as he did. Wild had returned to staring at him, contemplating something. Your own mind began to wander. 

.............................................................

“I’ve been thinking about it more often.” You confessed timidly. 

Maul hummed to show his intrigue. “And what do you think of?” 

“Us.” The word fell from your mouth with surprising ease and you could sense the shift in Maul’s aura. He was reminded of something at the word. “What...what we would do if I left the Order and you turned on your master.” Maul’s hands fell away from your hair and landed on your shoulders to which you were swift to grab one and hold it in both of yours, bringing his arm around you. “Do you ever think of that?” You idly played with his fingers while Maul was left to mull over your question and revelation. 

Maul trailed his free hand down your back till he could place it on your hip with a soft squeeze, a funny little breath escaped you at the touch. “Sometimes, when my master’s training becomes too much, I think of sweeping you away.” His thumb tenderly rubbed circles into your hip while he curled his other around your hands, ceasing your fidgeting. “Away from the Jedi, away from Coruscant, away from my master, just...away.” His grip grew tight, possessive. 

“What else?” You mumbled, reaching down to grab his hand on your hip and using it to pull him closer. His chest bumped against your back as Maul curled his arms around your waist with a questioning hum. “I can sense you’re not telling me everything.” 

The zabrak pressed a kiss behind your ear, an unspoken question which asked if you would stay. You answered by bringing your hand up to clasp the side of his face, blindly caressing the horn that protruded from his temple. It was enough. “I see us, side by side, forever as Empress and Emperor. We rule as one, me with an iron fist and you with the delicate grace I lack.” His voice was low in your ear, hypnotic even, as he willed you to see the vision he saw. You did, you could see yourself clad in red and black with a crown on your head to match the natural one of your lover. You could see droves of subjects all bowed before you to worship the ground you walked. You could see guards, ready to die for you should you wish it. But, above it all, you could see him, poised and regal and dangerous. Your lover, your emperor. Maul. Tears pricked your eyes as the vision faded. You wanted the life Maul saw though you knew it was wrong. “You’re beautiful, Y/n, my beautiful empress, and together we destroy the Jedi and we destroy my master. The galaxy would bend its knee to us, my love.” Maul’s lips trailed along the skin of your neck as he spoke, warm breath causing goosebumps to rise wherever he touched. “But what do you see?” 

Your chest heaved as you struggled not to sob. “Maul...all I see is us.” You turned in his arms then, your own looping around his torso so you could press your head to his chest. His dual heartbeats were erratic. “You and me, side by side, holding what we created. It is a quiet existence, my love, and one I cherish above all.” You were openly weeping by now, your tears splashing against his tattooed chest as you fought with something inside yourself that you had battled since Maul revealed himself for what he was. The Dark Side was tempting but Maul was even more so. “I would follow your vision, Maul if it meant I stayed beside you. I feel weak when I am with you and I do not enjoy it but, still, I crave your presence.” 

Maul remained quiet through your confession, tenderly petting your head as you collapsed. Amidst your soft hiccuping breaths, he began to speak. “And when I am with you, I feel powerful, Y/n. Such is the dichotomy of us; where you are weak, I am strong but where I am weak you are powerful. We must embrace this, my love.” The red zabrak moved your head away from his chest, blazing eyes burning into your very soul. Delicately, as though you were made of glass, he wiped your tears with the pads of his thumbs. “Marry me.” 

You blinked. “What?” 

“Marry me, Y/n.” Maul’s forehead met yours which ensured that you kept meeting his gaze. “Marry me and we can both have what we want-we can have each other forever.” 

“I...of course.” You breathed out, new tears starting to fall in little rivers down the apples of your cheeks as they lifted into a smile. He mirrored it and you could see tears forming in his eyes as well. 

……………

“I think I’m ready to get more tattoos.” Wild confessed sleepily as you were tucking him in. Although he protested that he didn’t need you to (he was, after all an eleven-year-old and such motherly affection was for kids-you had snorted at his complaint, nearly waking Savage) you knew he strived to impress you every day and that this was one of the assurances he needed that you were proud of him. 

You raised an eyebrow at your son. He currently had three major tattoos (five if you counted them separately)-the two v’s on his face, one in between his shoulder blades which was comprised of three large dots, and one on either forearm in the shape of a four-pronged star with a dot in the middle and jagged lines surrounding it. While you had initially taken issue with the young boy permanently marking his skin up after he confessed a desire to follow the tradition of his father’s species you hadn’t stood in his way. “I thought you said you didn’t want anymore-that the ones on your face hurt too much.” 

“Yeah, but, Savage was talking about what his tattoos mean and…” Wild mumbled, slightly ducking under his blanket to hide. 

“What did you have in mind, hun?” You asked, taking care to convey that you were listening to him. You took a seat on his cot as he began to explain. 

“Well, Savage told me that every man on Dathomir has the back of his head tattooed black.” 

You bit back a grimace. You had, of course, noticed that the back of Maul’s and Savage’s heads were completely black and you could only imagine how painful that had been. “I’m going to cut you off for a moment to say this-if you want the back of your head tattooed, you will be asking Savage because that is a lot of ink, Wild.” Your son nodded, apparently expecting that answer. You quietly told him to continue, sensing he had more to say. 

“I know, he already offered to help.” He had? Your brows furrowed slightly. “And I was thinking about tattooing my nose kind of like Maul’s but instead of leading up the horn in the middle of his forehead-I want mine to make a crescent.” Wild finished, looking up at you expectantly. 

With a thoughtful hum, you tilted your head to the side as you tried to visualize what it would look like. “If you can remember, try and draw it out for me in the morning, sweetpea, and I’ll see what I can do.” Your son furrowed his brows at the nickname but you just giggled and leaned over to press a kiss to his forehead. “Goodnight, Wild, get some rest. I love you.” 

“Love you too, mom.” The young half-zabrak mumbled back before rolling away and starting his drift back to sleep. You smiled at him one last time before taking your own advice and heading to your cot. As you lay on your back, blankly staring up at the ceiling you began to wonder what made Wild want to continue with the tattoos. He had previously expressed that he only wanted to get them after milestones. The three dots were from the first time he managed to beat back a bounty hunter that had tried to hijack your ship. The four-pointed stars were from when he learned to pilot. The v’s were from when you took him to be your apprentice and he had started to master the force. Why did he want another one? Still, without answers, you decided to ask him in the morning. 

………………………………………………………………………………………….

“Marry me, Y/n.” Maul’s forehead met yours which ensured that you kept meeting his gaze. “Marry me and we can both have what we want-we can have each other forever.” 

“I...of course.” You breathed out, new tears starting to fall in little rivers down the apples of your cheeks as they lifted into a smile. He mirrored it and you could see tears forming in his eyes as well. Blinking rapidly in an attempt to hide the watery eyes, Maul took your hands in his.

With no rings to exchange and no one to officiate, it wouldn’t be legally binding but you two didn’t care. “These are my lightsabers, my life. I give them to you to have and hold as I give my self to you.” You pressed the weapons into his hand, unable to speak without smiling.

“And, this is my lightsaber, my protection, and my weapon. I give it to you to show that I entrust you with my life.” Maul handed the double-bladed saber to you. “Y/n L/n, do you take me as your husband, your life-long protector?”

“I do. And do you, Darth Maul, take me as your wife, your life long protector.” You were beaming by now but so was he. 

“I do.” Maul surged forward to capture your lips in a passionate kiss that left your mind reeling and knees weak. His hand not currently holding your lightsabers snaked up to cup your cheek as he pressed closer. Your hand was pressed against his chest, anchoring yourself to him as the other hooked around his neck once again. Maul’s tongue dared to poke at the seam of your lips but you playfully denied him, earning a threatening growl in response which vibrated up your arm. Determined as ever to get his way, Maul began to march you back till your knees hit the edge of your bed and you two fell over in a tangle of limbs and muffled laughter. As you separated to catch your breaths, a knock sounded at the door. Maul was swift to peel off of you and stalk to the darkest corner of the room to remain hidden, swiftly you hid his lightsaber as well. 

Ensuring you didn’t look like you had just been in the middle of kissing, you opened the door to meet the gaze of your master, Ki-Adi-Mundi. “Oh, hello, master. What did you need?” You chirped happily which earned you a smile in return. 

“Good evening, Y/n. I’m sorry to disturb you but I have some wonderful news, padawan.” The cerean’s voice was calm (like it always was) but you had learned the undercurrents that often cut through to reveal what he was feeling. He was excited. You cocked your head and he began to explain. “I have been speaking with the council and they believe that the time is approaching for you to go through the Trials.” 

“...The-the Trials? Do they really think I am ready?” Your confusion was palpable, you had only been training for ten years which was the bare minimum for most padawans. 

Ki-Adi’s brow furrowed. “Do you not think you are ready, padawan?” 

“No, no, I...I think I am ready, master. It was just-I was not expecting them to come up so quickly.” You couldn’t help but glance towards Maul who was watching on with a strange look on his face. “Believe me, this is wonderful news, thank you, Master Mundi.”

The Jedi bowed his head with a kind smile before reaching out to lay a familial hand on your shoulder. His gaze was warm. “Get some rest, Y/n, your training will intensify soon. Good night.” With a single squeeze of his hand, he turned and began to walk away.

“Good night, master.” You mumbled after his retreating figure before letting the door slide shut. With a relieved sigh that Ki-Adi had not sensed anything amiss, you turned around to speak to Maul but before you could, you found your back colliding with the closed door and Maul’s face in yours. 

With a low chuckle that sparked a familiar flame in your chest, he spoke. “Where were we?” His hands were on your waist applying a gentle pressure that screamed that you were his. 

“G-getting married.” You stuttered out, terribly excited. Maul needed little encouragement for him to slant his mouth against yours once again. In contrast to his earlier kiss, this one was gentle and sweeter. He still dominated but in a much warmer away, like darkness takes control when a star dips below the horizon of its orbiting planet. As Maul’s tongue slid past the seam of your lips to explore, he pressed you harder against the door. The cold durasteel stole your warmth away though it was swiftly replaced by the flame Maul was fanning into a blaze. 

Maul suddenly pulled away, leaving you to chase after him desperately until he pushed you back. “Y/n, listen to me. I know that this marriage isn’t official but I want you to know that I am going to marry you, legally, as soon as I return.” His hand came up to tuck a stray piece of hair behind your ear. “Wait for me, please.” Your eyes grew wide, in all your time together, you had never heard Maul beg. “Will you wait for me?” His voice was soft, barely even a whisper and you found yourself entranced. Your heart swelled. 

“Forever.”

<- Previous | Next  ->

[sleepdeprivedheretic]

When I Find You Ch. 2

 Notes: Trying to write out kissing scenes

The sky was a beautiful, layering shades from the darkest blue to an almost white as clouds swirled overhead. The sun shown so brightly, yet it was nearing the end of summer, thus perfect for your head to rest on your hunter’s lap as he gently smoothed over your canine ears, watching them twitch a little as he held a soft smile. It had been a year since he took you in. He helped you socialize with the villagers, had given you new clothes,  cooked for you, housed you, and basically taught you how to live life as a human. Gratefulness didn’t scratch the tip of the iceberg on what you were feeling. He was the kindest and purest soul in the world, to you. Not once did he ask for anything, but you tried your best to reciprocate his efforts.

It wasn’t much, but the cottage that the two of you lived in had deer, fish, nuts, berries, and anything you could think of piled at the front doorstep. If he wanted to hunt, you chopped wood and took care of the place in his stead. All in all, it was an equal setting, although you found yourself wishing to do more, seeing that he gave you a home and dare you say it, he was your family.

 There was no doubt that the villagers talked. They would give inquisitive stares, smiles, and whispers in hushed voices as their eyes were trained on the two of you. You didn’t mind. Although he wasn’t your mate, you liked the idea of you being close to him and were happy. He didn’t seem really interested in the single villagers, and you had wondered why. He was attractive, the unclaimed ones in the village knew that he was, too, for they would giggle and blush around him and you had to fight your own primal jealousy and possessiveness.

He was an adult, he could have any pick of mate that he wanted. Some sad thoughts lingered in your brain. If he did return somebody else’s affections, didn’t that mean that you had to go? Surely no person in their right mind would want another around their mate, just like in your pack, another omega being near the leader omega’s alpha, spelled trouble. Although your kind mated for life, jealousy and primal instincts always arose.

Right now he was helping you get accustomed to the life of living as a human. He didn’t say that you had to leave or find your own place, but you were sure that he wouldn’t want you there if he found a spouse, and your own insecurities told you that you were probably over-staying your welcome if he did want one. You observed him, seeing that he didn’t really react to the flirting, giggling, or shy stares. It eased your mind and instincts a little.  

He treated you a little differently, a little warmer and friendlier. You didn’t know what you did to deserve this sort of treatment, but you welcomed it despite your insecurities and minor jealous stares from those who were your rivals for affection.

Today was the day you were going to break the ice, after you’ve awoken from your nap, you relished in the feeling of the platonic intimacy between the two of you. Your former pack-mates rested upon each other, and when you first mentioned it, your hunter was bewildered and flushing brightly, and you couldn’t help but eat up the human’s endearing reactions as it fueled the warmth in your heart. He eventually gave in to your mildly annoying but cute whining persistence, and you could tell that he liked the softness of your ears, or your little omegan purrs of content.

Shifting your head to where you were flat on your back, you had both views of the sky and his pink-tinted face as you looked into questioning amber irises. You felt brave, and you wanted to chase it before you lost it to silent insecurities again.

“Taishiro?” You asked tentatively.  

“Yeah?” He then gave you his full attention, lightly biting his lower lip as the seriousness overcame the two of you. His hands stopped petting your ear, letting them rest against his sides.

“Why are you not mated?” It was soft, so soft, but he could hear it. He stammered, but you continued.

“The unclaimed people within our village tend to pursue you, quite heavily. Yet, you aren’t returning their affections. Why is that?” You finished, feeling an eerie calm wash over you and the weight on you had suddenly lifted, only to be placed on top of your now stammering and flustering hunter. He fussed out some indescribable guffaws and small grunts, and it would be a little funny, if you didn’t feel so serious, now. You had to know.  

“W-well...um...ya see, Sugar…I’m interested in somebody else. Someone who’s a lil’ dense. Too dense.” He murmured as he looked away, briefly glancing at you, to gauging your reaction.

“Oh. You should tell them, then.” You felt a little disappointed as your tone flattened. So he was interested in somebody else? Before your thoughts could go further, he grunted with pure surprise and displeasure.          

 He then turned to fully look down to you, annoyed as his eye twitched in bewilderment.

“Been flirting with her for about a year. Sweetheart.” He quipped. Your tail twitched at the nickname, but you still didn’t understand. Why was he mad, now? Was it because of your bluntness?

“It looks like you’re not gettin’ it. Fine.” He all but huffed, as the tint in his cheeks flushed into a more vibrant shade of red . You were about to ask, but before you could, he wrapped his arms around you, and brought you up to him. Your heart began racing as your eyes widened with complete surprise as he was this close to you.

“Ya’re gonna find out, soon enough, Hon.” His lips ghosted over yours, barely touching yet you could feel his sweetened breath upon your lips. He leaned forward, covering the space between the two of you in an innocent, chaste kiss. He pulled away a little to briefly for your liking as you took in the newness. Your lips felt hot and weird, and you knew that your face was red as his.

“Ya finally understand? Because if ya don’t, I swear, I’ll kiss ya- mph!” He started, but you cut him off with your own mouth. It wasn’t chaste as his, but it did get your feelings across. He turned it into a little more heavy, biting and licking at the plumpness of your lips, eliciting a surprised chirp from you  as your fingers reached up and threaded into his hair, causing his groan to reverberate into your own throat. You gave out a surprised, needy whimper as he bit down suddenly, close enough to draw blood, but not yet. He licked the bite in apology, only to shift your body closer, so he could deepen the kiss, slipping his hot and large tongue inside your cavern as your hands were fully grasping tufts of his hair now, fully surprised and pleased with the situation, trying you best to learn how to cooperate his ministrations.

You held in your surprise as his wet muscle ran through your teeth, the roof of your mouth, and finally, roughly yet with a gentleness, swirled around your own tongue, as if goading you to do the same.  

However, inexperienced and needing air, you pulled away first, breathing heavily as your eyes were glossed over, looking at his equally flushed and exerted face as you bit your bottom lip, trying to sooth the aching burn as he gave you another chaste kiss, licking your bottom lip before reluctantly pulling away to stare at you.  

“I think we both understand, now.” He gave you a large smile full of warmth as his eyes lighted up like a candle, and you found yourself smiling, a genuine warmth and relief spearing through your entire being.        

       “Are you my family, now?” You found yourself asking. He froze, staring at you in shock, but before your could regret your choice of words, his warm, genuine demeanor returned with gusto as his eyes crinkled with lightheartedness and humorous disbelief. He laid you down back on his lap gently, sighing as he stroked your ears ever so softly as he took in a breath, and let everything out.

“After takin’ ya in, it was too damned easy fallin’ fer a cute but stubborn thing like yerself. Ya coulda turned tail n’ run, but ya stayed. Ya stayed n’ helped an’ that was more than I could’ve ever asked for.” He started, and your eyes zeroed in on his lax smile as he looked at you, releasing a weight that’s been on his chest. You listened in quietly as he kept explaining. Although he was popular among the village, he liked to work and keep to himself, mostly. Then you came along. Insisted on pulling your weight and be equals, pushed him to relax, help balance out his busy and lax days, and you honestly were just a genuine treat to be around with. Although he presumed you to be feral and withdrawn, you were curious about everything and couldn’t help but open up to such friendly faces of the villagers.

 “I mean...it wasn’t hard for me to like ya. I felt like we’ve just clicked. Yeah, we’re family. Ya will never get rid of me, even if ya tried.” He gave you a playful wink, and your chest alighted with a burning warmth.

“Good.” Was all you said, because it was.

[vincent-frankenstein]

Oooo!! Could you do "I think our house is haunted" with any (or all?) of the sides?

YOU BET YOUR SKELETON I CAN

(i had so much fun writing this that im probably going to write a part two so dont get too stressed over the cliffhanger, there’ll be more in 10-12 business months when i can wrangle my creativity long enough to focus on this again)

Title: Touch-Tone Telephone (Disbelieving, That’s The Real Crime) 

Summary: Roman’s apartment is haunted.

He knows there’s something sinister in their house, something deep and dark and dreadful, and he knows he can stop it, if only his roommates would help. If only they believed him.

But his search for proof brings him face-to-face with something more horrifying than he’d ever expected. Can he survive, faced with the specter of the brother he never knew?

Warnings: ghosts, disturbing imagery (but only for one sentence near the end), knives, sleep paralysis, generally just Spooky Vibes™ also sympathetic deceit and unsympathetic remus

Gen Taglist (ask to be added or removed!): @joygaytrash @ruh-roh-emer-has-an-account @aliferous-ly @im-crunchie @triton-bear @emiisanidiot @jemthebookworm

It was a cold October evening when Roman gathered his roommates in the living room for one of those fam-ILY meetings Patton seemed so fond of. He sat atop his “throne” — a worn crimson armchair he’d had for years — and crossed his hands in his lap, his face set and solemn. His roommates shifted where they sat — some uncomfortably, worriedly, others just confused.

“I assume you’re all wondering why I’ve gathered you here,” Roman said, with the grim air of someone about to impart life-changing news.

Cecil rolled his eyes, sarcasm burning on his tongue. “No, no, Roman,” he simpered, his voice slow and insincere. “Whatever gave you that idea?”

Virgil elbowed him in the side, and Cecil abandoned his sarcasm in favor of wheezing in pain.

“Cecil, this is serious,” Roman said seriously. “What I’m about to tell you will change our lives forever. It may even ruin them.”

“Oh gosh, are you —” Patton cut off with a gasp of horror, his hand flying to his mouth. “Are you sick? Are you hurt?”

Virgil’s face grew pale. Or, well, paler than usual, which was a significant feat, because Roman hadn’t thought that was possible. “Princey, I swear to fu —”

“Language,” Cecil and Logan said in unison, the former reaching to cover Patton’s innocent ears. Virgil growled.

“I swear to Gerard Way, if you die on us —”

“No!” Roman cried, holding up his hands. “I’m not sick!”

“Then what is going on?” Logan asked, sitting forward. “This needless drama is only causing Virgil and Patton unnecessary stress.”

“’Needless’? ‘Unnecessary’?” Roman gasped with over-dramatic offense, an over-dramatic hand pressed against his chest in shock. “Au contraire, ye of little faith. I come bearing news of the most heinous caliber. News that could shock each of you to your very cores, news that —”

“Oh for the love of — spit it out already!” Cecil growled, slamming his hand down on the arm of the couch and making Patton jump.

Roman leaned forward, allowing just enough time to pass, just enough stress to up the shock-value. “I think our house is haunted.”

His words had the exact effect he’d hoped for: profound, reverent silence. Logan sat back, his face set in a serious scowl as he pondered Roman’s words. Virgil and Cecil shared a look, both faces set as stone. Patton leaned forward, his eyebrows furrowing. Roman basked in their shared awe, pride blooming in his chest despite the grim nature of their situation.

Logan snorted, and the moment shattered. Virgil and Cecil both burst out laughing, clutching their stomachs with twin looks of glee. Patton was the only one who didn’t laugh, though the corners of his mouth twitched.

Roman scoffed. “What, might I ask, is so funny? I’m being serious!”

“Mhm,” Logan hummed, raising an eyebrow. “And what exactly is it that makes you believe our house is haunted?”

“I’ve been hearing noises, every night, after everyone’s gone to bed. Footsteps, doors opening and closing, muffled, moaning voices. There’s a shadowy figure that has passed my bedroom door several times, bringing with it a feeling of utter dread.”

Cecil rolled his eyes. “That’s just Virgil,” he said, earning another elbow in the side that left him wheezing all over again.

“No!” Roman cried. “It absolutely is not Virgil! It’s all hunched and baggy and strange, like — like some sort of ghoul.”

Virgil shrugged. “As much as I’d love to live in a haunted house — and as much as I hate agreeing with Cecil — he’s probably right. I go downstairs for midnight snacks all the time.”

“At five in the morning?”

Virgil shrugged again.

“No,” Roman insisted. “I don’t buy it. There’s something — something bad in this house.”

“There are five people in this household,” Logan countered. “How do you explain the fact that none of us have ever seen it?”

“I-I don’t know! Maybe it’s only showing itself to me?” Roman shook his head, scowling. “I should’ve known you wouldn’t believe me. You wouldn’t believe in ghosts if there was one right in front of you.”

“Falsehood,” Logan said. “Given proper evidence of such a thing, I would have no choice but to believe. However, you have provided no evidence beyond your own experiences, which, while strange, can be easily explained.”

“’Easily explained’? How? And don’t tell me it’s Virgil.”

“It could be any one of us,” Logan said, “including Virgil. You cannot expect a household of five to remain perfectly silent throughout the night. The fact that you hear footsteps and doors opening and closing means nothing, and the shadowy figure is most likely one of us passing by your door on the way to the bathroom.”

“And the feeling of dread?” Roman asked, eyes narrowed. “It’s the most awful feeling in the world. It sits on my chest and it’s so heavy I can barely breathe. Unless one of you is capable of doing that —”

“Like I said, that’s just Virgil,” Cecil said, the corner of his mouth quirking up into a smirk. “Feelings of dread are his specialty.”

Virgil readied his elbow, and Cecil reached behind himself and snatched up a pillow, whacking Virgil across the face. With a feral growl, Virgil lunged, and the two rolled off the couch and onto the floor, pillows flying, laughter laced beneath their mocking voices.

“Hey, c’mon,” Patton said, holding the table steady as the two roughhoused beneath it. Cecil kicked Virgil into the table, and Patton’s glass of hot cocoa nearly toppled. “Hey!”

“Enough,” Logan said, eyes narrowed. When the two didn’t listen, he stood, and Roman and Patton both covered their ears. “Enough!” he yelled, at a volume loud enough to rival an airplane taking off, and the two leaped apart. Logan sat back down, rubbing the bridge of his nose.

“Roman, what you are experiencing is purely psychological,” he said, once again the epitome of calm. Virgil rubbed at his ears, shoulders hunched. “Shadowy figures, a feeling of dread, and a weight on your chest can all be explained by sleep paralysis, which is —”

“I know what sleep paralysis is!” Roman said. “It absolutely was not that. I hadn’t even fallen asleep yet! And I could move.”

“Alright,” Logan said, nodding, “then it is just your mind playing tricks on you. Halloween is a handful of days away. Tell me, how many horror movies have you seen so far this month?”

Roman glared at the floor. “… Quite a few,” he admitted.

“Right. And how many horror festivals have you been to?”

“Three.”

“Mhm.” Logan readjusted his glasses, his eyes glittering smugly. “You see one of us pass your doorway, and, believing us to be some creature of supernatural origin, you begin to panic. However, you’ve mistaken that panic for a ghostly feeling of dread brought on by some malevolent outside force. The amount of horror you’ve consumed in the past few weeks has primed your brain for a haunting. You’re jumping to conclusions.”

“I am not!” Roman insisted. “I know what a panic attack feels like, Logan. This isn’t it. Something’s wrong, and — and I’ll prove it to you!”

“How?”

Roman stood. “You’ll see. I’ll get proof, and I’ll make you all believe.”

“Aw, I believe you, kiddo!” Patton said, his smile wide and earnest. Roman managed a smile back.

“Thanks, padre,” he said. Patton’s support, while appreciated, didn’t do much to lessen the righteous fury he felt at Logan’s dismissal. It was like a participation trophy — always there, whether you were right or not. He wanted first place, the golden medallion of Logan’s belief — and he was going to get it.

“Good luck, Dib No-Brain,” Virgil said, offering a sarcastic thumbs up. “Now that that’s outta the way, next order of business: who the fu —”

“Language.”

“— heck has been stealing my eyeshadow?”

Roman tuned out the conversation — which was boring, and overly predictable, really. He already knew who had stolen Virgil’s eyeshadow, but he’d never confess. It looked so much better on him. Besides, he had more important things to think about.

He knew he was right. Logan’s explanations made sense — of course they did, everything that asshole said made sense — but he couldn’t explain away the awful feeling Roman had. It wasn’t a panic attack, or sleep paralysis. It was something darker, colder than any of them could fathom, and it seemed he alone had to shoulder the weight.

Night fell, and Roman prepared for battle. With a camera as his shield and a vial of holy water — a gift from his cousin, Remy, who was as superstitious as he was sassy — as his sword, he sat on the edge of his bed and waited.

And waited.

And waited.

The house was silent. Not a floorboard creaked, not a door moved, not a creature stirred. He’d drained his 12-hour supply of coffee roughly three hours in, and now his head nodded down towards his chest, eyes fluttering, sleep chasing away the last dregs of caffeine in his bloodstream.

What a waste of time. Logan was right — he was always right, really, could he be any more insufferable? There weren’t any ghosts; their house wasn’t haunted. Roman dragged a hand across his face, a heavy sigh falling from his lips. He was wrong again, too imaginative, too overdramatic, too —

Footsteps. There were footsteps in the hallway. There were footsteps in the hallway and by the time Roman stopped fumbling with his camera and managed to lift it, the shadowy figure had appeared, a baggy mass of darkness that stopped in his doorway and —

And laughed?

Wait. He knew that laugh. A small snort, stifled behind a hand, as if the act of laughing alone was enough to indict him as a human being and therefore must be hidden at all costs. “Don’t tell me you’ve been awake this entire time, Roman,” Logan said, stepping into the room with a thick blanket wrapped around his shoulders.

“It was you,” Roman said lowly, his voice thick with ultimate betrayal. “This whole time! It was you!”

Logan readjusted his glasses. “Well, not entirely,” he said. “I’m sure Virgil contributed to your hypothesis at some point, he tends to wander the house during the night. However, I wasn’t doing this intentionally to scare you.”

“Bullshit,” Roman scoffed. “Why didn’t you say anything? I’ve been up all night!”

“I did say something, Roman. I told you that your ‘shadowy figure’ was merely one of us passing your doorway. I could have reiterated, but…” The ghost of a smirk passed his face. “I didn’t want to miss the opportunity to see you like this.”

Roman promptly threw his pillow at Logan’s face. Logan dodged. What an asshole.

“So is that the only reason you came down here? To see me suffer?” Roman placed a hand against his chest, shaking his head. “I never thought you capable of such cruelty. I guess I’m just wrong about everything these days!”

Logan raised an eyebrow. “You are not the only reason I came down,” he said, “and you’re not wrong about everything. Just several, inconsequential things.”

“Thanks,” Roman deadpanned. “Why did you come down, then?”

“For Crofters.”

“Oh. Of course.” Roman grabbed his pillow from the floor and set his camera on his bedside table, rolling his eyes. “Go ahead. Leave me to my shame. Enjoy your jelly.”

He flopped down on his side, hugging the pillow to his chest, and heaved a long, pitiful sigh. Logan hesitated in the doorway, closing his eyes and breathing in for a long three seconds. “Roman,” he said. “Would you… perhaps, care to join me?”

Wow. Sure, Roman had been angling for Logan to offer, but he hadn’t expected the nerd to actually do it. His guilt-trips only ever worked on Patton, and occasionally Virgil, once in a blue moon and every other holiday. First time for everything, he supposed.

“I. Uh. Sure?” He stood, still holding his pillow to his chest. “Only if I get the last of the concord jelly.”

Logan shot him a look. “Absolutely not. Die.”

Roman collapsed against the wall, clutching his chest, head lolling, eyes rolling back into his head. “Agh! Sweet embrace of death, come so soon to gather me into Her arms! How could this beeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee~”

He dropped to the floor, onto his hands and knees, and fell sideways, a heap of limp limbs. When he was sure his performance was enough, he released his final breath. Logan blinked down at him, unimpressed, and kicked him in the side as he passed.

“Fine!” Roman called after him. “You’re not invited to my funeral!”

Logan flipped him off without even looking back. What an asshole.

Roman shoved himself to his feet and scrambled after him, mind set. He was going to get that jelly before Logan could even blink, and he wasn’t going to share a single drop of it. That’d teach him to ignore Roman’s acting gold.

He slid past Logan and rushed into the kitchen, not realizing that Logan had stopped in the doorway, not noticing the dread that settled deep in his bones until he slid to a hasty stop, a sharp gasp flying from his lips.

“Oh,” he squeaked. His heart attempted gymnastics in his chest and only succeeded in lodging in his throat, choking away every attempt at a response Roman could possibly give.

There was a knife.

Floating in midair.

There was a knife floating in midair and really, a sight like that should have sent him running, but there was a knife floating in midair and it wasn’t supposed to do that and simply the shock alone was enough to lock his legs in place. He glanced around; surely there were strings, somewhere. Surely the others were pranking him. Surely —

The knife was moving.

“Logan,” he managed, in a voice several dozen octaves higher than usual. “Logan, please tell me you’re seeing this, please —”

“I —” Logan tried to speak several times. His voice failed, words cutting out again and again. “I — Yes. That’s — mhm. Yep.”

The knife was floating away from them, thank god, and Roman couldn’t help but watch, mesmerized. “What do we do?” he hissed, and he could practically feel Logan struggling to find an answer. He was speechless — the great Logan Sanders, king of Being Insufferable, had been stricken speechless, and Roman didn’t even have the time to enjoy it. “Do… Do we call an exorcist?”

And wow was that the wrong thing to say, because the haunted-demon-ghost-knife heard him, and it whipped around in midair — and suddenly a figure appeared around it, and Roman collapsed backward, wheezing, the weight on his chest so suddenly heavy that he couldn’t draw a single breath. Logan looped his arms through Roman’s and held tight, his own breathing sharp and erratic.

The figure — tall, horrible, green, a rotting face, the barest wisps of a mustache above a skeletal smile, and eyes that Roman recognized, eyes that had stared him down in the mirror every day since he’d been born, his eyes, the ghost had his eyes — grinned, raising the knife. Roman couldn’t breathe.

“Boo.”

[post-itpenny]

49 :3

Pinkie Promise

Progressing the storyline in the mafia Au, sorry how long this is.

Tagging @grotesquegabby because Billy and Ama are here.

Oof

It was in the morning that the news broke of a sixth victim being found. Body just as mutilated as the others.

Now it was evening, the streets not as crowded as usual as the city was on high alert. There was one figure that seemed to walk under the streetlights with confidence. The older woman wore a scarf over her head and a smile on her face as she carried a large tote bag of which a small dachshund rode in with a smile all his own.

Some smiled at the cute dog, most ignored both dog and owner. More than once the pair was stopped as someone asked to scratch the little dog’s ears. Finally they turned a corner down an alleyway. Shimmying up a fire escape and to a rooftop.

She picked a corner overlooking a conjunction of alleyways. A spot within the area the past several deaths had been and seemed idea for another victim. Magpie has done quite a bit homework.

She pulled the dog out of her bag along with a small stuffed toy and treats to entertain him. She scratched the dog’s ears and proceeded to pull out the different pieces of what was soon assembled as a sniper rifle.

“Now the boring part,” she chuckled as she scratched the dog’s ears again and settled in for what she was certain would be a long wait.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Maggie was quiet. Not her usual quiet that came with intense listening to the world around her, but more of a withdrawn quiet. William could not help but notice the redhead’s fire had seemed to have gone out. No more snark, no sass, no sneaking out, no sliding down banisters when she thought he wasn’t looking (he knew and he wasn’t happy), if the bags under her eyes were a clue she wasn’t sleeping. But for someone who seemed to be operating on a low battery he had never seen her on such high alert. Jumping at any and every sound.

William wasn’t quite sure what had gotten into her, but then the news broke of a sixth body being found and he couldn’t help but notice how pale Maggie became.

Ah, that explains it. Time for a talk then.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Atlas sat on a bench outside the library, swinging his legs as they hung in the air, toes just barely touching the concrete.

He was currently reading “The Hound of the Baskervilles,” a part of him enjoyed pretending he was with Watson and Sherlock on the case. Solving crimes with their intellect alone. Would that make him a traitor to the family?

“Heya short-stack, what are we reading today?”

Atlas looked up as his cousin Juno sat down. Ruffling his hair with a grin. “Sherlock again?”

“Yeah, he’s cool.”

Juno smiled, “well he must be if you like reading him so much. I’m here to pick you up since your dad had work ok?”

Atlas nodded as he hopped off the bench, tucking the book into his backpack. The two of them walked down the street. Turning into a small cafe instead of walking home like he was supposed to.

“We’re visiting,” Juno explained with a wink as the two of them were seated in a private room away from everyone else.

Atlas looked around in confusion before the answer came in a tiny “yip!” As a woman with a dog in her bag came strolling into the room.

Atlas gave a shout of delight as he hopped off his chair and ran to give his Aunt Magpie a hug. Getting caught up in a torrent of dog kisses as he did so.

Magpie chuckled at the sight, “looks like Trouble likes you. You may hold him if you wish.”

“His name is Trouble?”

“First day with me he chewed up a set of shoelaces and the leg of a chair. Yes, his name is Trouble.”

Juno ordered drinks as they all sat down. She and Atlas having lemonade and cookies as Magpie had her tea, something Juno recalled her always being near religious about.

“Business first,” Magpie declared. “I had no luck last night but they also didn’t have any new targets. I plan to stake out the same area again.”

Juno nodded, knowing her aunt knew what she was doing. “From what we could gather someone staged a lockdown drill and used the confusion to make sure their cell doors were tampered with. Not unlocked but easy to break out of.”

“Enough to fool a guard then.”

“There were several cell doors with the same issue. About twelve attempted to break out and only two made it. Taking nine guards with them.”

Magpie frowned, a dread filling her stomach at Juno’s information. She knew the sisters were bloodthirsty but…”

“All the more reason to get rid of them,” she sighed.

“Is this why everyone calls Maggie crazy?” Atlas asked. “Because it’s her family you’re talking about right? They wouldn’t hurt their family would they?”

The two women cringed, how could they tell him the truth?

Juno tried first, “well Maggie lived with us because they hurt their family. So yes they would hurt her.”

“Is Maggie crazy too?”

Magpie took hold of Atlas’ hand, being so heavily reminded this was a child in a world children shouldn’t be in. “Do you think she’s crazy?”

“No.”

“I don’t believe so either, I think she’s… rambunctious and definitely stubborn. But she would never hurt the people she’s supposed to care about. She would however do whatever she could to take care of them.”

With this the conversation ended, the three sitting in silence for a moment save for the slight snoring of the dog in Atlas’ lap. It was this that made them all giggle, a lighter conversation starting after.

“So has your brother gotten anywhere with that one boy?” Magpie casually asked, Juno grinning in response.

“Don’t think so, he’s been weird lately about it. Avoids the topic like the plague”

Atlas took a sip of lemonade, “maybe they hooked up.”

Both women choked on their drinks.

“A-Atlas!” Magpie coughed. “Where did you learn that?”

“Juno.”

There was silence then. If looks could kill, Juno would have been dead on the floor.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

There was a knock on William’s office door.

“Enter,” he called knowing fully well who it was.

Maggie slipped through the cracked open door, watching her boss with uncertainty. “You wanted to see me?”

William nodded with a hand extended to the chair in front of his desk. “Please have a seat.”

Maggie arched an eyebrow, of course she caught the change in his tone. Not his usual “everyone listen to me” tone but calmer. Naturally she didn’t trust it.

William rolled his eyes, sensing her uncertainty. “You’re not fired, I just need to speak with you, sit.”

“Speak about what then?” Maggie asked as she sat down.

William sat down as well with a sigh, “well…”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Magpie hugged her niece and nephew goodbye as they left the cafe.

“The next time you meet with that little D’Vitt girl and her brothers be sure to be polite.” Magpie instructed Atlas, “you would do well with friends your age.”

Atlas nodded, “are you gonna be ok? You have to stay out all night again?”

Magpie nodded as she knelt down with her pinky extended. “I used to make pinky promises with Maggie when she was your age. I never once broke one.”

Atlas nodded, locking pinkies with his aunt with a smile.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“So you are getting rid of me then.”

“No, no. I’m suggesting you take a vacation. I’ve already put too much money into you already to just toss you out.”

Maggie rolled her eyes, “I’m so relieved to know you value your employees as people. Truly, your kindness knows no bounds.”

The corner of Williams’s mouth twitched, there she was.

“Maggie dear you’re not well. I’ve read your file and I know why this is getting to you.”

Maggie turned away, pulling her boa tighter around her.

“I’m not criticizing you.” William insisted, “but you haven’t been sleeping, you’re not functioning at work. You shouldn’t have left the manor but what’s done is done.”

“I’ve been perfectly behaved-“

“Sliding down the banisters.”

“You can’t lie and say you’ve at least never wanted to do that.”

“Sneaking into the kitchens at three in the morning.”

“I was hungry.”

“You tried to have a Gila monster mailed here.”

“To surprise you! But I haven’t done anything lately, I’ve been perfectly behaved.”

“Maggie,” William sighed, “yes you have but you’re not yourself. A vacation wouldn’t hurt.”

“But what if-“

“Believe me I’m half tempted to go after your sisters myself-“

“No!”

William arched an eyebrow in surprise, Maggie turning bright red but holding her ground. “You’ve read files but you don’t know. You could shoot at them and they think it’s funny.”

“The Blackwood’s former hitwoman is out there.”

“And I hate that she is. You know if you send me away I’ll just be coming right back.”

“Then what do you want?”

“Let me just work, send me out all… all be fine.”

William arched an eyebrow, “if you’re at work I cannot guarantee your safety. What would happen if you’re caught out alone at night?”

Maggie turned pale, seeming to shrink a little in her chair.

Williams’s eyes light up, an idea popping into his head. “You want a job then? I’m certain Pierre would enjoy a break so why don’t you watch over Amaranthus for the rest of the day?”

“... you want me to babysit?”

“You do well with her, and my Angel is so well mannered.”

“Yeah, so what are you gonna do when she’s a teenager and wanting outside?”

“Don’t change the subject.”

“You’re avoiding the question.”

“It’s this or I’m sending you to Siberia.”

“Right! Got it! Ok!” Maggie shouted as she walked backwards out of the room pointing finger guns at her boss. “Yes sir! Your honor, your majesty! Big boss man! He whom I am blessed to share the same breathing space with!”

She continued on as she walked backwards out of the room. William wondering if having the old Maggie back was worth the headache he now had.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Magpie was set back up on the roof with her dog Trouble at her side. She was worried, worried about Juno who was following a lead tonight in enemy territory. Worried about Atlas who was more and more exposed to a world that was so unkind to children.

Magpie remembered the first night a small Maggie stayed with her. Being woken up constantly by the poor child screaming at night terrors. Acting near feral in her distrust of the world and need to survive. Magpie read the files but she knew she never could fully understand that certain kind of evil that could destroy a childhood so thoroughly.

But she could get rid of that evil for good.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“You’re grumpy.”

Maggie looked up at the small child with angel wings that was standing over her. They were in Amaranthus’ room playing tea party at the child-sized table. Maggie with her knees to her chest frowning at a small tea cup.

“I am grumpy, but I’m allowed to be grumpy. I’m not having the best week.”

Amaranthus nodded, “you need a nap.”

The way she looked as she gave the order looked so similar to her father it took all of Maggie’s power to not laugh.

“Fine,” Maggie finally decided. Rolling out of the chair and onto the plush carpet. “I’ll nap here.”

“But that’s the floor.”

“Yup, want to take a nap too?”

Amaranthus paused before electing to curl up in an enormous pile of plushies with Mune the cat doing the same.

“Um,” Ama began, “after the nap we can play princesses some more right?”

Maggie smiled as she held up her hand with a pinky extended. “Pinky promise.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

There was movement below Magpie’s perch.

They came dragging a man beaten and bloody but still alive down the alley.

Magpie observed as they chartered in hushed whispers. Noting how the way Zilla walked seemed so much like Maggie when she was moving for quick stealth. The way Faline’s smile was like a larger- twisted version of her baby sister’s.

They had gotten ahold of a rusty set of butcher knives. No doubt having been scavenged from some dumpster.

They stood over their victim arguing over who got to stab first.

There was a wizzing sound as something bit into Faline’s shoulder. Causing the large redhead to stand up screaming.

Magpie lined up another shot before something went wizzing by her head. A rusty knife.

Wow, what an arm.

Magpie ducked, pulling Trouble close to her side, the sound of the sisters cackling below in the alley.

Another knife came wizzing by as she quickly sat up again and fired off a shot, the silencer working its magic.

This shot snagged a dancing Zilla in the hip. The mad woman flinching in pain but giggling as she and her sister took off. The injured man scrambling to his feet and running in the opposite direction.

Magpie cursed and she pulled a handgun from her bag and scrambled down the fire escape. Trouble at her heels.

Magpie reaches the alley with gun drawn and ready, following the blood splatter on the ground till at last she found her target.

They were waiting for her.

Faline has the same hair as Maggie, but it was longer and matted. Her smile too wide to be natural. Zilla was tall with dark hair, her eyes held a hollow look to them.

Magpie kept her distance, gun trained on Faline’s head.

There was a clicking sound behind her, a gun being cocked.

Magpie turned around in surprise, “you bastard.”

Outside the alley all was quiet, a car sitting quietly in the street with its engine humming. Inside the alleyway arguing could be heard. The sound of someone cackling.

Bang!

Bang!

Bang!

There was the screech of tires as the car peeled away, followed by a small dog running away crying in freight.

Something damp and red splashed on its fur.

[damienthepious]

Give Megamind a pet. GIVE HIM AN EMOTIONAL SUPPORT ANIMAL! H E D E S E R V E S A P E T T H A T I S N T M E T A L

hey now i will not stand any position that devalues the brainbots!!! they may be spiky and not always great to hug but they are VERY IMPORTANT PARTS OF MEGAMIND’S FAM

with. that. said. I feel like there is probably… a rather large chance of a big feral cat population in the area around Evil Lair. big warehouses standing empty they can sneak into for shelter, rats to hunt, few humans to harangue them, etc

and yeah when Megamind started capturing them to bring in to a vet to be looked over and spayed/neutered, he probably insisted that he was only doing so because it would be a nuisance if the population got out of control, that he didn’t want to deal with the cats getting inside the Lair itself and risk them interfering with experiments or tangling with the brainbots (he had already tweaked their code so there was no chance the brainbots might accidentally hurt the cats, but he wouldn’t have mentioned that)

but that really didn’t explain the big chunk of change he donated every year to the cat rescue/sanctuary in the city that his ferals tended to go to after he got them off the streets, or the renovation plans he contributed to the building, or that one cat

there’s that one cat, of course

an escape artist extraordinaire despite the fact that the she’s completely blind, with big, cloudy eyes and a scruffy coat that might have been tortoiseshell under all the dirt and grime. Megamind couldn’t even get her to the vet for weeks after he found her creeping around in the belly of the Lair the first time because she could disappear like a magician, she could hear him coming a mile away, and she was terrified of people, alien or otherwise

there are definitely some mouse-hunt level shenanigans trying to Get That Damn Cat Out. Megamind invents some off the wall shit to try to scoop her up, even goes so far as to dedicate a small idea cloud to the effort, but even when he manages to grab her she has an uncanny ability to wriggle her way out of nearly anything, and he won’t risk hurting her to capture her so he winds up at a stalemate with the creature (Minion pretends not to laugh through this whole process, but he takes to calling the cat ‘the little hero’, as if she’s a new rival for Megamind to throw himself fruitlessly against, and as infuriating as that is Megamind can’t exactly call him wrong considering his miserable success rate with both of his foes)

Megamind eventually swallows his pride and asks Metro Man (the big hero, Minion helpfully chimes) for advice during a lull in a battle, because Wayne has like six cats (some of which may or may not have been former Megamind-rescues; the Scott family are equally generous donors to different animal nonprofits in the city and That One Sanctuary in particular), and he knows more about dealing with animals than Megamind does. Wayne laughs, but only a little, before he drops a bunch of tips on how to earn the trust of a suspicious cat.

Megamind scowls because he doesn’t want the cat to trust him, he just wants to get the cat out, but he begrudgingly takes the advice anyway because he’s just sick of getting run in circles by this little monster.

so. it’s a slow process, because cats require effort, especially ones that have been so obviously hurt by people before, but Megamind is nothing if not persistent. he keeps cat treats on him at all times in case he spots her, and he stops trying to chase her when he sees her. She creeps into his workshop and he he stops what he’s doing. she freezes when she hears him, waiting for a reason to bolt, but he doesn’t chase her. Wayne had explained cat body language, but Megs doesn’t know how much of it translates for a cat who can’t actually see. He crouches down, makes that ridiculous kissy noise Wayne had suggested (he has worries that Wayne is pranking him, but there’s no one to see him make a fool of himself here anyway), and waits.

obviously it didn’t work that first time, but she hadn’t run away yowling, at least. she just stood, wary, for a few long minutes before she slunk back out of the room and disappeared again.

Megamind picked a spot in his workshop (somewhere he was bound to be most often, somewhere she could get used to his presence), and started leaving out a bowl of water and a dish of food. she still flinched and bolted when he made too much noise, when he got anywhere close to her, but after a few days she started spending most of her time in there when she wasn’t off disappearing, happily chowing down and smacking scraps of paper around the floor.

Megamind had a habit of talking to himself while he was inventing anyway, so he rolled his eyes at himself and started to aim that monologue specifically at the cat while she was in the room. She seemed wary of the extra noise, but occasionally she would settle into full loaf form with her ears perked his way as he chattered. he accidentally called her little hero too, and thoroughly blamed Minion for getting the name stuck in his head instead of something more appropriate 

eventually she started chattering back, little chittering mrrrrps when he paused between thoughts, though the first time she did that Megamind laughed hard enough to scare her from the room.

after a week or so he found himself stuck on a project, and he sat on the floor beside his workbench to bemoan his position to the little hero, grumbling and gesturing while she listened from across the room, bantering back with her little whirring meows. She stood up from her loaf after a bit, stretched her legs out in front of her with a squeaking noise, and padded a little closer.

She had come near him once or twice before, edging close enough to sniff around near his boots and then darting away. This time, she crept closer and sat, cleaning herself off for a few minutes nonchalantly while he talked through his dilemma. She crept a little closer,  then closer again, eventually sniffing at the tip of his boot and- rubbing her cheek against the toe.

Megamind fumbled at his pocket, pulling out a handful of the treats that had been fumigating his pockets for weeks now, and he carefully, carefully held one out. He could see the moment she smelled it, the way her frame perked up, her nose in the air, and she came step by wary step closer until she could nudge her nose against his fingers and pull the treat from between them.

she ducked a few steps back, then, crunching furiously as if she hadn’t been as well fed as any other housecat for the last week or so, and Megamind held out another treat and waited. She took that one too, and this time she didn’t bother backing away to devour it. When she was nosing around for the third treat he reached out with his other hand first, and she pressed her entire face against his palm, snuffling against his skin, and she didn’t pull away from his right hand when he let her snag the treat from his left. 

He rubbed his fingers against her ear (he was mentally cataloging the treatments she would likely need when he brought her to the vet, eardrops and eyedrops and flea medication, her poor fur was matted on her back and sparse where she had scratched herself raw), and she made a curious noise as she chomped enthusiastically on treats four and then five.

she stepped onto his lap for treat six, and rubbed her cheek against his knuckles, and then she started up a rumbling, motorboat-loud purr as he started petting her ears and neck and shoulders properly. She didn’t even seem to mind that he’d run out of treats.

Minion found him still cross-legged with the little hero curled up tight on his lap hours later, and he grinned and snapped a picture despite Megamind’s quiet but furious protests.

She didn’t stop purring the entire way to the vet, didn’t stop purring so long as Megamind kept a hand on her. 

After the checkup and treatments were over, when the vet asked Megamind (in disguise, of course, but Megamind suspected that the entire staff of this vet’s office knew who he was under the layer of hard light) if he wanted them to hang on to her and arrange for transport, if he wanted them to send this little cat to the sanctuary like the others-

Hero purred wildly in Megamind’s arms, and Megamind shook his head

[segwaytoursofseattle-blog]

How hard is it to ride a Segway?

Until last week, when a humble, trundling scooter took out the fastest man in the world. At the World Athletic Championships in Beijing, cameraman Song Tao interrupted Usain Bolt’s 200m victory lap, knocking the world’s greatest sprinter clean off his speedy feet with a misjudged lean against an unseen barrier. The Segway was everywhere, again, for the wrong reasons, again. It looked as if Tao’s battery-run vehicle had careered out of control. It looked painful. But how hard can it be to learn to ride the world’s most talked-about gyroscopic balancing machine? I went to Segway Unleashed to find out.

It’s hard to say Segway Unleashed without sounding like you’re doing the voiceover for a disaster movie trailer. On the way to one of its two centres – where we are promised “the most exciting Segway experience in the south east and Milton Keynes” – I asked my friend what she thought of when I said “Segway”. She thought about it for a minute, then said, with certainty: “fleece”. To Segway is to trundle, in a fleece. Clearly we have preconceptions.

The branch of Segway Unleashed that I visit is just off the M25, in the grounds of a beautiful farm near Godstone in Surrey. I stick my head into the workshop and say hello to Ben Morling, founder and MD of both branches, who got into the Segway business after some success with a sphering, or zorbing, company. (You’re strapped into a giant, inflatable ball and rolled down a hill. Ben shows me the shape of his broken fingers, all sphering-related injuries, and I can see why he got into Segway instead.) Ben is reassembling a Segway, which came back from the repair shop this weekend, with a £1,000 bill.

I thought they might cost around £1,000, which is twice as much as the car I arrived in, so I ask him exactly how much a Segway would set me back. Six thousand pounds, he tells me, immediately dashing my dreams of zipping around Guardian HQ using only my natural balancing skills and the scientific might of gyroscopic sensors. Can’t you get one cheaper? “That’s why a Ferrari is a Ferrari,” he tells me. “It’s not the cheap, plastic crap. I went to the Gadget Show and I tried them, and nah.” He shakes his head. There will be no cheap, plastic crap at Segway Unleashed. “We’ve never taken out an Olympic runner on one of these. We’ve taken each other out, but not a runner!”

Ben is pretty sure it wasn’t a Segway that took out Usain Bolt. Not an official one, anyway. He shows me a still from the incident on his phone, and zooms in for forensic analysis. The rubber footplates that distribute the rider’s weight were absent. He thinks the mudguards were too small. The charge port is the wrong colour. There is no red line on the battery. It just wouldn’t happen at Segway Unleashed.

The price tag is one of the reasons people think Segways haven’t really taken off – even though other companies have brought out cheaper versions costing a few hundred pounds. That, and the fact that in many places, you can’t just jump on one and use it to nip to the shops, or for your daily commute. In the UK, they are banned from pavements (though only one man has ever been prosecuted – Philip Coates, from South Yorkshire, who was fined £75 under Section 72 of the Highways Act 1835). In Germany, they must be licensed. In Canada, they are banned from public roads and sidewalks. Legislatively, they are confusing, at best.

But here, on private land, seven of us are ready to learn exactly how far these two-wheeled mean machines will take us. We have signed to accept that there is some risk of a broken bone. I agree that I am not under the influence of alcohol or narcotics, and do not have any medical conditions that might impact my ability to control the unit. I am given a red motorcycle helmet that I decide makes me look like a Power Ranger, though when I say this to my friend, she has a look that suggests she is thinking, “Power Plonker, more like”.

We are ready. To be. Unleashed!

The Segways are in beginner’s “turtle mode” and will go at a maximum speed of 4.5mph.

Our group – me, my friend, a couple in their 20s, and a father and his two kids – begin the session in Zone One: a field in which we learn how to balance and lean. Our instructor, Kieran Richards, is on his third season at Segway Unleashed. He got into Segway after a couple of seasons of sphering, where he met Ben, who introduced him to the harder stuff. Confounding my notions of fleece, Kieran is a laidback skater who says he falls off the Segways all the time, but only because he’s trying to do tricks on them, which even he admits can be foolish. Leaning, he says to the group, is the key to everything. “Be consistent with your leaning,” he tells us. “Don’t be too aggressive with your leaning.” Usain Bolt has made his life a whole lot easier, because people didn’t really think you could fall off a Segway, and then suddenly, a video went around the world proving that you could, and how. Poor Song Tao, I think. Once a noble cameraman, now a “how not to” punchline in an off-road Segway experience on a farm in Surrey. Kieran says that people only fall off when they catch their wheels, like Tao did, or when they get too cocky.

I resolve not to get too cocky. 4.5mph sounds pretty slow, until you’re standing on a self-balancing scooter controlled by a gyroscope that relies solely on your ability to lean forwards and backwards with just enough oomph to make sure it moves.

It’s a bit like stepping onto solid ground if you’ve been on water for hours. It should be the easiest thing in the world to stand still and upright, but suddenly my legs are untrustworthy, and I rock back and forth. The trick is to relax, apparently. I am glad I don’t have a chest full of camera equipment to carry with me. Once balance is established, it’s fairly easy: forward to go, back to stop. Don’t be aggressive with your leaning. The seven of us zip around the training field, at 4.5mph. I avoid the bumps. After five minutes, I seek out the bumps. I wonder how hard it would be to do Segway tricks.

Zone Two: the woods. In the woods, we learn to use our knees as shock absorbers, and Joe Hammond, another skater-turned-instructor, starts “catching air” from a tree root that acts as a launching ramp. “You will not catch air,” he reassures us, though I start to think I would like to catch air. The woods are fun. They’re muddy and bumpy and even though the Segway is still going at 4.5mph (maximum), it no longer seems like a trundle. This is what extreme sports must feel like! If you’re doing them very slowly! I go over a root and feel my Segway lifting at least 2mm off the ground. I wonder if I could get sponsorship. Perhaps Nike would like to see their logo on my raincoat as I amble around a track in a wood. Maybe Vans would pay me to wear their trainers, as I lean forward into the unknown. An Adidas helmet. A Red Bull jumper. Perhaps, perhaps. I am ready for the final step. Zone Three: the time trials.

The time trials are the most dangerous part of the session. “This is where the psychology kicks in,” Ben tells me. Simply, he says, people are desperate to be the fastest, even though “there’s no prize or anything.” I am desperate to be the fastest. We get a practice run around the track, after a final lesson in leaning. Here, Kieran explains, you can actually put your weight on the sideplates, like a parallel turn if you’re skiiing, or like taking a corner on a motorbike. Joe does some leans that say: I mean business. None of us quite pull it off, but it’s getting serious.

Turtle mode is switched off. We are about to enter maximum Segway speed: 12.5mph. “I’ve come off at that before,” says Joe, like a man who has known trauma. We line up for the time trial. I lean forward as hard as I’ve ever leaned, except on the corners, which are muddy, and look as if they could be slippy. Then I lean some more. I whizz – no more trundling – across the finish line, and wait for our times to come in. I am not seventh! Applause. I am not sixth! More applause, this time for my friend, who fell off taking the corner a little bit too keenly, proving that I was right not to go feral. I am not … hold on. I am fifth. I am only marginally faster than someone who stacked it and had to get back on before she could continue the time trial. I get my applause. The sponsorship dream dies. We were all beaten by an 11-year-old, who managed the track “with a very quick time indeed, very fast”, according to an impressed-looking Kieran. Kids are fearless, we agree.

It does not look like Segways are going to take the UK by storm, but Joe thinks a version of them may become mainstream yet. The “new, smaller, cheaper things” he refers to have yet to adopt a common name, but are called swegways by some, hover boards by others. They are, essentially, Segways without handles, made more cheaply. Segway Unleashed has had people bringing their swegways to the farm, to see if they can be repaired. “I tell them, send it back to who made it,” says Ben. They are more of the “cheap, plastic crap” of which he does not approve. “You’re saying it’s a Segway like you’d say Hoover for a vacuum,” he says. His Segways are metal, not plastic. They are built to last.

Down and out: Segway’s other celebrity victims George Bush: Of course George Bush has had a Segway fail. The former president could no more stay away from a two-wheeled transporter than a Thanksgiving turkey could keep out of his trousers. In 2003, while visiting the family house in Maine, the then president stepped on to a Segway and went down instantly. Being Dubya, he got back up and proceeded to cruise up the driveway with his father, George Bush Sr, bringing up the rear on, yep, another Segway. One wonders if the company slogan – “simply moving” – was inspired by this very scene.

Piers Morgan: After Bush’s fall from grace, Piers Morgan’s Daily Mirror ran the gleeful headline: “You’d have to be an idiot to fall off, wouldn’t you Mr President,” adding that “if anyone can make a pig’s ear of riding a sophisticated, self-balancing machine like this, Dubya can.” However, Segways have their own way of redressing the gyroscopic balance of power and soon enough the another powerful white man was beckoned on to the bucking bronco. Four years later Morgan had an epic fall off a Segway while cruising along the promenade at Santa Monica beach, breaking three ribs. “Since only [Bush] and I appear to have ever fallen off one,” he later said, “I think the makers of the Segway can probably still justifiably claim the machines are ‘idiot-proof.’”

Joe Previtera: Aussie cameraman Joe Previtera provided a foreshadowing of Usain Bolt’s fate when he catapulted off his Segway during the 2011 Australia v India Test match in Melbourne. The culprit this time was a helmet on the ground, which Previtera drove over. The commentators burst into laughter and Previtera, who was helped to his feet by the wicketkeeper, confessed he had earlier bragged: “No way, I will never crash this thing ever.” Fact: sports cameramen cannot shoot and Segway at the same time. They would be safer, cooler (and possibly faster) gliding about the pitch in kids’ roller shoes.

Ellie Goulding: It’s not just world leaders and cameramen who are cocky enough to think they can tame the 12.5mph Segway. Pop star Ellie Goulding hopped on one on holiday in Miami, at first “taking off effortlessly along the pavement by the beach”, according to the tabloid who captured the tumble frame by mind-numbing frame. Disaster (OK, sand) struck, Goulding went flying, then got up and took a bow. In beachwear. You can see why this made the news.

Ellen DeGeneres: At the start of 2010 the US talkshow host did a monologue on the Segway X2 that Portia de Rossi had just bought her for Christmas. During the skit she rode the machine around the studio, then admitted: “I’ve already hurt myself on it twice.” The first time was on Christmas morning when, heading for a flowerbed, she threw herself off and split her shin open. The second was rehearsing the monologue and falling off while demonstrating her ability to go backwards. Cut to a clip of the fall and DeGeneres shouting: “Did we get it on tape because that’s the most important thing?” What a pro (or ego).

Jimi Heselden: The Segway falls into the tragic category of inventions that have killed its inventors or owners. In 2010, less than a year after taking over the company, millionaire businessman Jimi Heselden was driving his off-road Segway X2 when he fell off a cliff and into a river near his West Yorkshire estate and died. The coroner later said the 62-year-old reversed the machine to make way for a dog walker and died as a result of this ‘act of courtesy’. Less than 48 hours after Heselden’s death, research was published indicating that accidents involving Segways are on the rise. Chitra Ramaswamy

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[codylabs]

Chapter 25: The End of Fate

Links: P 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24

Wendy strained one last time at the webs holding her to the wall. She thought she felt a few strands breaking near her legs, but their failure did nothing to weaken the rest of the material. In fact, the more she wiggled around and tried to loose herself, the more the webs just stuck and mashed together, the more they bonded to her skin, and the more her muscles yielded to fatigue. After a minute or so she gave up, no closer to freedom and feeling significantly more like a cocooned insect.

She could move her fingers. She could move her toes. She could move her neck and her eyes, but that was the limit of her. Her arms, legs, torso, all her body… It no longer obeyed her. All she could do was stare at the monster, as it stared back.

The Shapeshifter’s mother. Some kind of time-traveling mystery character, who’d seen thousands of years of history, who’d killed people throughout them, who seemed to know everything, and who most likely ate people. Wendy could feel the eyes probing and inspecting, as indifferently as one might regard a museum piece, or a slab of meat.

The beast took a step toward her.

She could kill me. Wendy knew. She could kill me if she wanted, and I can’t even move.

…Wait, was she an ‘it’? Or was it a ‘she’? Wendy briefly wondered to herself. A person or a thing? How do you refer to intelligent creatures which act like this? Are they still rational beings? Or can you really be so evil and twisted that you forsake your own soul?

Wendy was quite too mad to really care.

“Let me down.” She told her, as she came closer. “Come on, you grimy old sack of phlegm! Let me down or I’ll beat the living daylights out of you! Come on!”

She stopped about 3 feet from Wendy, and peered down at her face. “I thought I gagged you.” She replied calmly, as she inspected the stray scraps of webbing around Wendy’s mouth.

“Yeah, well, maybe you should use more than weird spider webs next time.” Wendy growled. “Something I can’t just chew up and spit out.”

“Probably good advice.” Her head widened slightly, and her teeth shapeshifted into some kind of slobbering, many-tendrilled orifice, which then secreted a stringy mass of webbing. She rolled the material into a tight ball with her hands.

“Well, it’s just common sense.” Wendy tried to shrug. “I mean, if I had some alien tied up in my basement, you can bet I’d make darn su—” She squeezed Wendy’s cheeks, forced her mouth open, shoved the ball in between her teeth, and pasted it in place with another web across her face.

Wendy took a deep breath in through her nose, as she silently glared.

The creature calmly wiped the excess gunk off her hands, then eased to a seated position on the floor. They were both silent for a moment, one by necessity, one for thought.

“I know lots of things.” The shifter finally remarked. “From lots of times, from lots of places.”

“Mmf mf.” Wendy retorted.

“Some of them happen to be about you.” She said. Her body rearranged into the form of Mr. Sherman, her PE coach from grade school. “Wendy Blerble Corduroy…” Mr. Sherman’s voice hummed with perfect clarity. “You did pretty well on the football and wrestling teams during elementary and middle school… And word on the street is, you ‘kind of ruled’ in the annual lumberjack games…”

“Rgf mmf.” The gag made it easy to hide her confusion. Wait a minute, was Mr. Sherman the shapeshifter all along? How does THAT make sense? What the heck?

The shifter’s form changed again, this time solidifying as a short, intense Asian man: Mr. Chiu, her science teacher from just last year… “Although both your grades and extra-scholastic endeavors declined steadily through your teen years.” Mr. Chiu’s voice told her. Wait a minute! Wendy thought. Mr. Chiu has a human daughter. He couldn’t have been her all along… She must have… Wait, what? “Perhaps.” The image of Mr. Chiu continued. “Was it because you discovered friends in lower circles? Or as you became increasingly disillusioned with the world…?” She transformed into Toot-Toot McBumbersnazzle, aka Blind Ivan. “Or perhaps as the late Blind Eye Society trimmed back your working knowledge whenever you happened across something you ought not see…” Okay, there’s no WAY that HE was her this entire time… So how DOES she know so much…? It morphed again, and she was looking at and listening to her own dad… “However it worked, you got it through yer noggin’ that everything ya did was just useless and pointless… Guess ya figured on how easy it was to sit on your butt and do nothing at all. So ya threw yer life away, and turned inta the lazy one…”

Wendy glared.

The mimic of her father leaned in a little closer. “Yeah, that’s it, ain’t it? The Wendy that allll them school records show. Always so darn chill, always calm, level, and cool… But as far as the world’s concerned, less than useless…” It sounded and felt like her own dad talking. Gruff as ever. Candid as ever. Right as ever…

The shape changed again, to Stanley Pines. “No…” Her former employer scratched his chin skeptically, and adjusted his glasses. “No it’s not. That’s ain’t you, not anymore. Now I hear yer doing better in school, ya had a hand in eliminating the Blind Eye, in that rascal Bill’s defeat, and now in even deeper, stranger matters…”

She took the form of Robbie, which set off some alarm in Wendy’s mind, as she remembered that Robbie was probably dead… “You, like, don’t fear anything at all…” Robbie’s voice told her. “You fight robots on Tuesday, Aliens on Wednesday, ghosts on Thursday… All sorts of crazy adventures, you’re probably real close to a lot of things you really shouldn’t see…” And now the shifter looked like Tambry. “People don’t ever change.” Tambry told her. “They get changed. So why are you different all of a sudden? What changed you? Your job at the tourist trap selling junk? Mr. Pines, that old jerk you worked for?” Tambry put her hands on her hips. “Or something else, like your new friends?”

Now the shifter shrunk down to the size of a child. A very familiar size. A very familiar shape… Before Wendy had a chance to mentally prepare herself to look at this, she found her eyes locked with those of Dipper. “Was it me?” It was his voice again, his old, familiar, youthful voice. The voice tore into the weird corners of Wendy’s mind, upsetting everything, confusing everything; she was defenseless against it. Dipper. She blinked. DIPPER! She tried to shake her head. Dipper’s dead… Dipper! “…Was it Dipper…?” Dipper asked.

Wendy couldn’t quite find words.

“Sorry.” The Dipper mimic smiled awkwardly. “I didn’t mean to ramble. I guess… I guess what I really want to get down to is the cause of things. Why are you the way that you are? What happened, where, when… What made you? If it was Dipper, then what made him who he was? Who guided you? Trained you? Inspired you, knighted you, blessed you? What force of fate, chance or choice placed this destiny in your lap, and bid you go and become a hero?”

What a strange thing to ask.

“You do know.” The Dipper mimic insisted. “I know you’re not stupid, I know you know what I’m asking… Just c’mon, please Wendy?” The intonation of his voice matched Dipper’s so perfectly for a moment that she couldn’t help but recoil. Dipper’s hands reached up and peeled the gag off her mouth. “Like, c’mon, I can tell there’s something you’re not saying. Maybe many things? …No, just one thing… Yeah, there’s one secret you swore to always keep from me, and what’s that? C’mon, you can tell me… I mean, why not at this point, huh? Ha ha… Yeah…”

Wendy flexed her jaw, enjoying the ability to once again breath freely. Dipper’s hand reached up and brushed gently across her cheek. The thin, cold little fingers felt just exactly like his… Cognitive dissonance hit like another wet slap, as half her brain believed for a moment that it was him.

But of course, it wasn’t. And she didn’t believe it. “Go die in a hole, you PSYCHO!” She screamed.

“Whaaaat, c’mon Wendy!”

“You—”

“Hey now, you don’t want me to use the tentacles.”

“The? Wait, tenta—”

“I guess I wouldn’t mind though.” Two of the fingers on Dipper’s hand grew and expanded into a pair of stiff, thin, sharp little appendages, which he then shoved up Wendy’s nostrils.

It hurt.

Wendy thrashed around, tried to pull away, tried to turn and hide her face, tried to reach her hands in to help, but nothing worked; they were working their way deeper into her skull. Wendy’s furious struggling managed to break some of the webs holding her head in place, but the extra movement just made the probes hurt a hundred times worse.

IT HURT.

“You.” Dipper said. “Who were you? Who are you? And why?”

Wendy emitted a furious cry; a guttural, feral sound she didn’t know she had in her, and arched up to try to bite the hand. Her teeth clacked in the empty air.

Dipper’s voice burst out laughing. “An animal!” He said, as he drug Wendy’s head back down to face forward. “An animal pretending to be a person! A person priding in its ingenuity, modesty, fair judgement, rationality; the kinda things that set it above the beast. But deep, deep down, beyond the walls of faith and friendship, only nature remains. Now that you have lost these things, you’re getting the point where you cross the line. Maybe you already crossed it?”

“Die! In! A! Hole!” She managed.

“How can you say that? Look at your body, sick, weak, helpless, invaded, bound… It’s not your body, it’s mine now, and I see it as nothing but so much meat… So what do you hang on to? How can you spit in my face, when you dangle precariously at the end of yourself? Why aren’t you afraid? Do you believe yourself to be strong? Indestructible? Or is this fleshy body nothing but meat to you as well? What made you into this thing, this thing that thinks itself fearsome?”

“NONE OF YOUR BUSINESS!!”

“Remember everything you still have left to lose! Your sanity! Your honor! Your dignity! Your soul! How long until there is nothing left of Ms. Corduroy for me to speak to? How long until there’s nothing on this wall but a wild, snarling dog?!?”

“YOU SHUT UP!” Wendy screamed.

The lights flicked off in the room, leaving Wendy with no perception of the world except the sloppy sounds of creature’s movement, the taste of her own blood, and the pain…

She felt the fingers curling inside her nose, pulling her forward. Then they pushed, and slammed her head against the metal wall behind her. Then they pulled again, and they slammed again, and again, and now her entire head hurt and she could barely concentrate, and she could feel something inside her head splitting and stinging, as if with every blow was drilling the dreaded things deeper, closer to her brain.

Tiny, sharp, incredible pains shot through her arms and legs now too, and she guessed the shapeshifter must have put other limbs to work as well, poking and prodding and crawling over her like the probing limbs of some spidery thing, drilling and cutting and who knows what else. And all through it, there was just this darkness, hiding whatever else may be in store…

Why is this even happening? Why does it have to hurt? And why do I care whether this THING knows or not anyway? It’s not like it’s super important, or even true… What’s the point in keeping secrets? What’s the point in screaming threats? What’s the point in even trying? Just kill me! KILL ME!

All alone, in great pain, at the end of everything, Wendy finally panicked.

“11:03 THIS MORNING!” She gasped.

The pounding ceased. The poking and the stabbing paused.

“What was that, red?” Dipper’s voice asked.

“Eleven…” Wendy screwed her eyes shut, and felt tears trickle down her face. “Eleven-oh-three this morning… This morning… You’ll see… My secret…”

Slowly and painfully, the fingers pulled out of Wendy’s nose.

She sneezed up blood.

“Broken at last.” The creature remarked in its natural voice.

The gag was crammed back in her mouth, the loosened webs were reinforced, and then the monster retreated. She must have had a second time machine besides the one she gifted her son, because she promptly disappeared in a flash of blue light, leaving Wendy alone.

All seemed suddenly quiet and still… But not empty. All around her, she could feel the evil standing; threatening, near, haunting… It was danger, it was fear, this malignant force that watched and taunted and worked deeper, searching out those corners of her brain that hadn’t yet been violated. And one by one, as hopeful thoughts stood, up, it crushed them down, reminding her that she was broken, and helpless, and small. Nothing but a tiny, squealing animal, hanging on the wall.

She blinked.

I need to escape…

Wendy knew she couldn’t escape.

I need to bust loose…

How on Earth could she ever bust loose?

I need to stay conscious. Alert…

That was looking difficult…

I need to think…

Wendy couldn’t think.

I need to think…!

She wasn’t good at thinking.

I NEED TO THINK!

She never had been the thinking one. She was just the athletic one. The fighting one. The level one. The calm one. Dipper was the thinking one. Dipper was the creative one. Dipper was the hero, and I was just his crush. Just his sidekick. Just there to make sure he didn’t get hurt…

Dipper…

I knew you.

Know you.

I was your crush. I was your protection. And I was your calm.

Now I guess I’ve failed all three.

She sneezed again. Her chest heaved painfully, and more blood dribbled over her lips and down her chin. Dipper… She could barely breath, past her flooded nose and the gag in her mouth, so she gasped and wheezed every breath, as she croaked, and coughed, and cried, and bled. I’m sorry… I never told you that you were a great guy…. I never told you how much you meant to me… I let you die, left you for others to bury, I just stormed off and got myself here… And now I panicked… And now I played the fool with a monster who doesn’t even know you… I gave up my secret… I gave up OUR secret… She cried and she bled. I’m sorry…

He wasn’t who the shifter pretended to be. He wasn’t that. He wouldn’t say or do those things, wouldn’t taunt her for not being as indestructible as she seemed…

What would he say if he were here?

If Dipper were here…

Well. First of all, he’d probably be all like: ‘Wait, what secret? What’s so special about 11:03?’ He was a curious guy; always did have a hard time knowing when to mind his own business.

Wendy scraped her cheek against her shoulder as hard as she could, and managed to loosen some of the webs holding the gag in place. After a minute or so, she was able to get her tongue past the edges of it, and break the rest of the strings. Then she spat the ball to the ground, and was able to breathe easily again. The oxygen was little reconciliation for the rest of her suffering, and she may have swallowed some of the sticky gunk by accident.

If Dipper were here…

‘At 11:03 this morning…’ She would have muttered to him. ‘I… Kinda let Stan in on my secret… If creepy-face warps back to then, she’ll know too… Ha ha… I just wanted to make sure I wasn’t going crazy, that’s why I told Stan… But I guess I’m still not sure… Guess I’ll never know…’

He would’ve been quick to deny her angst. ‘You’re not crazy… Y’know the stuff she said about being an animal isn’t true. You… You’re not. You’re not crazy. You’re not.’

‘… I guess everyone reaches a point, dude… Guess it just takes one bad day…’

He wouldn’t be quite sure how to counter that. ‘So… I dunno. So what’s the secret?’ He would’ve changed the subject.

Yeah, I never did tell him that one. Real shame, because I guess it was his secret as well as mine… If he were here, if things were looking this bad, I guess I probably would have admitted it to him. If we’re both to die, he deserves to know. She would have told him. ‘…I met myself last fall.’ She would’ve blurted reluctantly. ‘My future self. She came time-traveling back from maybe a decade down the road, and she talked to me… So she’s a big part of the reason I’m working harder in school, going on these adventures, and doing better with things in general… Like Momma Shifter said, I got changed…  Didn’t want her to know, because… I don’t know. It’s private. It’s cool… And after everything I lost, I didn’t want to lose that too…’

‘Woah… What was she like?’ Wendy turned her head to the left in the darkness. If Dipper had been here with her, he would have been captured too. He would’ve been webbed up in the empty spot next to her… She imagined him there now, and wondered again if she really was going crazy.

‘Uh… Real chill… Real chill.’ Wendy recalled. ‘Totally decked out in futurey gear though, like some kinda time-cop. She was wearing this big robotic suit of armor, she had weapons, and a time machine…’

‘…Did she say anything about me?’ Dipper would have asked. Well, no, actually he wouldn’t say that. He’d just think that. Out loud, he’d just nervously mumble something lame like… ‘Huh, wow. Robot suit, huh?’

‘Heck yes she mentioned you.’ Wendy would have replied. ‘Yeah… She said you were a great guy. An example to learn from, even… In fact!’ Wendy crossed the point of no return, and spat it out. ‘She said! She said that you end up being my husband for some reason! We’re married! How ‘bout that?’

That would have taken a couple seconds to sink into his brain. And then he would have freaked out for a several minutes at least.

‘Yeah, c’mon, see? See why I never told you?’ She would’ve scoffed, tried to downplay it. ‘You make this whole relationship weird and awkward enough without me dropping the “oh-hey-it’s-destiny-or-something!” bomb in the middle of things.’

‘WELL! BUT! I! UGH! AH! WHAT?!’

‘Look… Just calm down, it doesn’t matter, all right? I mean… It’s not even true. You’re dead. And now I’ll be dead. Somehow it wasn’t real… And now I don’t even know what’s happening! Everything’s falling apart and dying so fast; you, my friends, my dad… And to top it off, I sang like a canary after a measly 5 minutes of torture! I lost my calm! She got to me…! Like, what’s the point in even trying? I’m not strong any more… Dipper, if I’m not the strong one, then who am I?’

He would’ve forced his mind back on-topic; he was good at that. He would’ve thought about it all for a minute, trying to think of something wise to say. Then he’d finally say it, and it wouldn’t be very wise at all; just sweet and simple and caring… Something like, ‘Don’t you remember? You’re a flippin’ Corduroy!’

‘A flippin’ Corduroy…’ She sighed. ‘…Why did you idolize me so much, dude? Everything meaningful I ever did was just because I had to or because I was bored…’

‘Well—’

‘You know you could’ve done better than me… Guy like you could’ve set your sights higher; fallen in love with somebody beautiful and talented… A genius, or a super hero, or a princess…’

‘UH…!’ He would’ve hurried to interject ‘W-w-would it, like, be too cheesy to say you’re a princess to me?’

‘Oh my friggin’…’ She tried not to roll her eyes. ‘You…! Oh… Geez, okay, focus. C’mon Dipper. C’mon, help me out here, look at this rationally, what do I DO? How do I get out of this? I can’t fight time-traveling monsters, can I? Time traveling monsters that can be anyone, do anything…’

‘Well… I don’t… Uh…’

‘You have to know! I got myself into this mess, and now you have to get me out of it! Come on… You always know! You’re the smart one! You’re always able to ad-lib some kinda plan! Always!’

‘Umm… I don’t know… Oh man, I wish I could reach my journal…’

Wendy’s eyes drifted across the darkened room to the place where it was lying among her other confiscated stuff. ‘I can’t reach it either… But well, hey, I have been reading it the last couple nights since you died, so I remember a lot of it… Why?’

‘It’s got my notes on time travel…’

‘Uh… Oh, wait wait, yeah, I read those! I read them… What about ‘em?’

‘Well… Okay, think. Think about it: When did you see your future self?’

‘Huh?’

‘When did you see her? Before I died, or after?’

‘Before! Duh… I tried to write down a time and date to bring her back AFTER you died… But she didn’t show…’

‘Okay… Okay… Okayokayokay… Okay, So! Why wouldn’t she show up after Sam killed me?’

‘Umm…’ Wendy thought about that. Up to now, she’d just blindly accepted that something changed; that for some reason, it didn’t work anymore. But why? She tried to put it together. ‘Maybe… Maybe when he killed you, he changed the future? Yeah, so in this reality, I die right now instead of later, so she isn’t able to come back for me…’

‘But if you die right now, then how would she have been able to come back in the first place? If this is the way the future goes, then how could she ever have existed?’

‘The future changed…’

‘No no no! Remember my notes! What did I say?’

‘Uh…’ Wendy racked her brain. ‘I don’t… There wasn’t anything in there about this. Just one part about you trying to fix a mistake and then something about a baby and some gladiator battle…’

‘The first one. The mistake. Do you remember what happened?’

‘Well… I remember you were pretty vague; what was the mistake again?’

‘Doesn’t matter. All that matters is what happened! What happened? Remember!’

‘Uh… Well… Didn’t you say it didn’t work for some reason? Right? Yeah… You said it didn’t work…’

‘Right!’

‘And then…’

‘Then?’

‘Then one time… You said you tried really really hard, and actually did change it… But even then, circumstances forced you to go back in time by your own free will, and change it back…’

‘Exactly. No matter what I did, no matter WHAT, fate intervened to set history on its proper course… Even when I succeeded in one place, another place failed. Eventually even I gave up.’

‘Okay… So what does that mean?’ Wendy forced herself to think. ‘What does that mean, how does it all connect?!? Does that mean no matter what I do, I’m gonna die here?’

‘No! It just means that there’s only one reality, Wendy. You can’t change the future more than an inch, and even if you do, it’ll iron out the wrinkles itself. It’ll stabilize… And… And now this is great! This is great! Because remember, you’ve seen the future!’

‘…The future where I become… Like, a time-travely warrior thing?’

‘Yeah! Where we’re mar—’

‘Shut up.’

‘Ah! Sorry. I mean…! …I mean that future-you must have come from a time after all this… After the wrinkles get ironed out. After reality stabilizes. Which means that after today, after whatever happens next, somehow that’s the reality that’ll remain. And that’s probably why she couldn’t come back to today! Because this time is fated to get decay out and disappear. Get replaced…’

‘But…’

‘But what?’

‘…But how? What do I do to do that?’

‘Umm…’ Dipper came up short. This was as far as his optimistic reasoning took him, and he really didn’t know what to say next. ‘Well… I… I dunno. Time logic says something has to happen… I think… I guess you might outsmart her, or you might outfight her, or outfox her or out-time her… Uh… Heck, it might not be you; maybe somebody else entirely will find a way to change things. But I’m pretty sure something has to happen sometime, and if you’re the last one left, then… It’s pretty much up to you… It’s like destiny or something.’

‘But… Are you sure? What if… I mean, you don’t know everything. Your journal doesn’t know everything. What if this is all just… Stupid wishful thinking…?’

‘…You tell me; are you sure that it was you last fall? The time traveler?’

‘…Yes.’

‘And…’ His voice would have faltered just slightly. ‘Are you sure that that future is something you want?’

‘Well…’ Wendy thought for a minute.

If he were here, he would be trying not to stare at her, but still hanging on her every word, waiting for her reply. He’d said all he could say, and now he wanted to know if she would fight to the bitter end. Whether or not she could still keep her faith, even when everything seemed to be standing in the way, even after everyone who could ever help was gone, even if unspeakably twisted beasts tried to cut their way into her mind. He wanted to know if she would be willing to fight to the death to save him. He wanted to know if she loved him.

Wendy almost laughed when she realized what was being said. ‘Well, duh! Come on dude, of course!’

He would have nodded nervously; he was still a little stressed, a little overwhelmed, a little frightened. But now, he knew how she felt. He knew her secret. He wished he didn’t know it, because yeah: it did make everything weird. But still, he knew that this weak and hopeless prisoner would one day be his wife.

He believed it.

So he would have found a way to smile, and ask. “Then what are we waiting for?”

Wendy awoke with a start.

Just a dream.

…Just a dream? Naw… Naw, wait a minute, why would I have been sleeping anyway? Blood loss? Shock? General weirdness? No, that’s no reason to sleep… And that wasn’t a normal dream either… I dunno, that must’ve been Dipper’s ghost or some crap! …Or a wizard. Or some kinda time-traveling pseudo-memories from a timeline that never happened. Or the Shifter using psychic powers to deceive me… Or maybe it was just some kinda weird, prophetic dream that happens because… Reasons…

Oh, who am I kidding? It was nothing! Nothing at all… Everyone knows dreams never mean anything at all.

Of course they don’t.

But meaning or not, it made sense. It actually made a whole gob of sense.

She believed it.

Wendy shook her head to clear the last of her confusion, then took a deep breath to prepare herself. Her nose was still totally clogged up, but at least the bleeding had stopped, and she’d gotten that blasted gag loose.

Please God. She thought to pray. Make it all true. Help this all turn out alright.

She began to breath really heavily and quickly. She’d heard of scuba divers doing this before a deep dive; it’s to flood the body with oxygen and give you more energy.

When she felt fully riled up, she threw her entire weight to the left, curled with her left arm and pulled on her right, trying with every ounce of strength to pull it loose. When the webs digging into her wrist became too excruciating to bear, she threw herself to the right and tried to pull her left arm loose. That didn’t work either.

Dang it.

She relaxed after a moment, defeated yet again.

But when she wiggled her shoulders, she found the bands to be loosened at least partially. Maybe if she tried again in a couple minutes, after her muscles stopped hurting, and then another couple minutes after that, and again after that… Maybe she could eventually get free? It all depended on how long the shifter would take to get back… What was taking so long, anyway?

“Thought I gagged you.” The voice interrupted.

Wendy jumped. The voice unnerved her, startled her, reminded her of the pain that was still so near, and filled her imagination with pain to come… Before Wendy had time to fear, she reminded herself that she angry.

Bitterly, furiously angry.

Wendy Corduroy. Angry Corduroy. Flippin’ Corduroy.

There was gonna be payment. There was gonna be pain.

“You do realize I was able to just reappear the split second I left, don’t you?” The monster asked, with a tone like a smirk.

Wendy’s voice came out rather calm. Surprisingly calm, even to her. “…Oh yeah, I knew that.” She nodded smoothly. “Simple time logic, that’s what that is… So hey, I guess you know my secret now? How you like it? Bet you’re pretty surprised to find out you’ve got a time traveler locked in your basement, huh?”

“No… Not really. I get all types…” The lights in the room flicked back on. They weren’t very bright all considering, but after perfect blackness, Wendy still felt like blinking. The monster gestured to one of the skeletons on the wall. The body was human; and seemed to have some kind of cybernetic thing hanging from one eye socket. Its torso was plated in dusty, dark grey armor. “That one was a time traveler too.” She said, as she wiped a bit of dust off the hourglass insignia on the breastplate. “Lieutenant something-or-another. Very brave old man, very proud. Wouldn’t speak a word besides his name and rank… At least at first. But he cried out for his mother days later, and now I know all that he knew.” She pointed to another human cyborg skeleton. “That one, also a time traveler. He was head of his class at the time-academy, but applied all that knowledge just three and a half seconds too late.” She pointed again, this time to the lanky, squid-like skeleton of one of the ship’s crewmembers. “And the clever nuclear engineer. He knew every single bolt and beam of this vessel, and yet he failed to hide from me. That one? Top security officer of the whole place. He didn’t want to surrender the drone control codes, but such is the way of things… That one? A most prestigious scientist, master of everything from nanobiology to embryotic mutation decay. One of the smartest men I’ve ever talked too, he almost convinced me not to eat him. And her? Ex-convict. Stowed away on the ship to escape a death sentence on her homeworld. She devised all kinds of clever ways to escape from me too, but you can see how they ended. That one?” The shifter pointed to a metal skeleton, with clawed hands, a mouthful of saws, and dead aluminum eyeballs that had never quite rotted. “You know him; maybe even met him… Yes? Last survivor of a colony of intelligent machines. He was a truly great man in his life. Intelligent. Determined. Prepared. And an entirely good and noble man as well, stood for nothing but truth, honor, and the safety and preservation of loved ones… But he’s gone like the rest… Such a shame.”

“Yeah.” Wendy shrugged. “Nice collection… But, uh… None of them were destined to kick your butt though.”

The shifter turned to her. “So.” Her voice grated menacingly, like the tearing of cloth. “You claim a future version of yourself came into your life and directed you to become who you are… I’m sure it was a strong and powerful woman that came striding forward, reaching out to you as if out of your imagination, out of a dream, a wish, a vision, and made itself come true… Except it didn’t. Over time, this hard life beat you right back down from the lofty heights it raised you to, until it has proven to be just a wish after all, just a fancy, a youthful dream…” She chuckled. “Really, the only surprising part of your story is that you would even consider your secret a secret. The only surprising thing was how defeated and dejected you acted when I extracted a piece of trivia so petty and meaningless…”

“Yeah, well…”

“Oh, wait… Hold on a moment; you still think it’s true, don’t you? Really! What a wild idea; that a thing could give rise to itself. And not just some twisted, random, chaotic thing, but a thing of beauty, pride, heroism… It must have a cause, but what? Who sent it? Who sent it to you, that you might send it to yourself? And if nobody sent it, then how and why would fate choose a wild, rebellious animal like a Corduroy? Didn’t it ever dawn on you that somebody’s been lying to you all along? Did it ever even cross your mind?”

The shifter’s voice broke and changed now. Wendy couldn’t quite place it; it sounded familiar from somewhere… But then her body began to shift and morph. Four legs became two. White mucus hardened into flesh. Hard, dark plates formed together, rose up, and interlocked into armor. Little bioluminescent lights began to glow in high-tech patterns, and features solidified on the face.

The eyes… The hair… The suit of futuristic robotic armor… Wendy stared.

“Look familiar?” The monster ran a gloved hand through her long red hair, smiled her freckled, adult face, and twirled a futuristic axe. “You get good enough at shapeshifting, you can start inventing forms. How do you like this one? All I had to go on was your own appearance, and a little imagination…”

Wendy stared, and blinked, and stared again. She found herself at a loss for words.

“Perhaps I’ll head back to last Fall with this, and say some nice things to you. To make you do all the helpful things you’ve done since… What do you think of that?”

Wendy didn’t speak.

“…Or…” A smile twitched at the corners of the mimic’s mouth. “Or do you still believe you know the future?”

Wendy thought about this, as she stared at the perfect image of her dream. The image rested a hand on its hip, and stood in that characteristically powerful, proud, relaxed way… It really, truly was exactly how she remembered it.

My future self.

The promises. The mission. The hope. The vision.

It was all lies…

No…

No.

“No…” Wendy said.

The mimic cocked its head.

“No…” Wendy repeated. “Wait… You’ve seen her.”

“Hmm?”

“You’ve seen her! Seen me! That’s how you know what she looks like; you’ve met her… You’ve probably fought her, that’s it!” Wendy flexed her fingers, preparing to assault her bindings again. “You knew it all along! You’re trying to get in my head, trying to probe me and hurt me and BREAK me to prevent me from becoming who I AM, but you KNOW! You know the reason she didn’t show up this morning! It’s ‘Cause I’m gonna escape! This… This is destiny or something! I’m gonna fight my way across time and space to save my friends and my family, save the day, be the HERO! And then we’re gonna take what’s left of you, feed half to the pig and use the rest as VEGETABLE OIL!”

“YOU?” It scoffed, and gestured again to the skeletons. “When I’ve hunted and killed and eaten all who came before? Time travelers! Warriors! Scientists! Inventors! Heroes…! And now you! Hanging among the remains of better people, tell me:” Her voice rose to a screeching, furious, monstrous pitch as she raised her arm. The hand flattened itself, and sharpened into the fine edge of a large blade. Then she leapt at Wendy, lashing the deadly blade directly for her torso. “WHO DO YOU THINK YOU ARE?!?”

Wendy didn’t blink.

*BEEP! BEEP! BEEP! *

The computer console in a corner of the room chimed loudly.

By some unforeseeable, freak act of fortune, the alarm seemed to distract the shifter for a fraction of a second.

The blade missed Wendy’s body.

“WARNING!” The console chimed, in a language that was most certainly not English. “INTRUDERS DETECTED INCONCLUSIVE REFERENCE CODE RETURN THREAT LEVEL UPGRADED TO JELLY ROLL ONE: ERROR 443\]kl;/oij#JE’~~3Dde~~~”

The Shifter spun toward the computers and began to head toward them, outraged at the improbable, incredible, inconceivable timing of the interruption.

Wendy realized that the blade had actually severed most of the webs.

She threw herself forward, and her left arm ripped free. Her right arm followed it. Then she grabbed a sharp scrap of metal, and with one long slice tore through the material on her legs.

With a final push, her boots landed on the ground with a dull thud.

She stood up.

The Shifter glanced back at the human. She saw the tangled, matted hair, the faded blue hat, the clenched fists, the blood-stained lip, the furious little scowl, and the dark, murderous thoughts behind those green eyes. She thought that this was getting a little too complicated and improbable for a standard hostage situation; she should probably time-travel back by about 5 minutes, to find out the source of the alarm ahead of time, and undo her accidental severing of the human’s bonds.

Quickly though, before something worse happened.

But she was too late, because something worse was already happening.

There was a brilliant blue flash of light,

a tiny yellow machine was suddenly flying through the air,

And Wendy caught it.

“Who do I think I am? Funny you should ask that…” Wendy smiled, as she ad-libbed a plan.

“I’m a flippin’ Pines.”

[bluraaven]

Broken Few

Chapter 1

Despite it being earlier than the time they'd agreed upon, Dismas was not the first to arrive at the former bus station, a few miles outside of Arlip's center.  It was a squat grey shelter, but beneath the concrete roof one could at least find refuge from the pouring rain.  The outdated schedule and map in the back reminded of an era when what was now called the Old World still had had an infrastructure.  On weekends, the line 1614 would take passengers from the suburbs to the big city in hourly intervals.  These days, weeds and saplings grew out of the cracks in the pavement, and the smiling faces on a nearby advertisement poster had long since faded to colourless outlines.  

              Dismas' employer, a woman called Suki Hanou, already sat on one of the rusted benches.  A backpack that was close to bursting at the seams and two large suitcases were piled around her feet.  The young journalist was furiously typing away on a notebook that sat in her lap, only reaching up from time to time to brush away a strand of hair that had escaped her neat ponytail.  As far as bosses went, Dismas had had worse.  

              By Suki's side sat a man who – well hello there!  He had a handsome, tanned face framed by a short beard and a mop of brown, wavy hair, the tips of which were lighter, bleached by the sun.  A Southerner, then.  

              But then Dismas' gaze wandered lower and he saw the man's getup: He was dressed in full battle gear, including a bulletproof vest.  A sun was stitched to the sleeve of the jacket he wore underneath and a heavy-duty helmet rested on his knees.  Add the assault rifle slung over one broad shoulder and the fucking sword on his belt, and Dismas briefly considered turning around and legging it right back into the city. 

              As that would mean having to spend more time in the downpour, he decided against it and walked up to the two of them, unceremoniously dropping his own duffle bag on the free bench.  

              "Really?" Dismas asked in place of a greeting.  "I know you said you had contacts, but where on this scorched earth did ya find a Crusader, lass?"  

              "Secret of the trade, I'm afraid," Suki answered, then looked up from her notes and shrugged at Dismas with a smile.  "Glad you made it.  Dismas, meet Reynauld – Reynauld, this is Dismas."  

              Reynauld gave the new arrival a once-over.  The man looked like a vagabond.  His clothes were shabby, and he wore a heavy coat that was patched in at least a dozen places, contrasting with the slightly antiquated but clearly well maintained six-shooter on his hip.  

              Dismas had the face of a man who had spent his entire life outdoors; gaunt and weather-beaten, and with deep-set black eyes that were currently regarding Reynauld in a calculating manner.  

              The soldier noticed how the other man's gaze caught on the Order's badge, before quickly flittering away.  Reynauld thought that Dismas had the air of someone who attracted trouble and enjoyed starting fights.  At least according to his broken nose and crooked jaw.  

              The soldier turned to watch the road again.  The bus was late.  

              Since 'Reynauld' stayed quiet, Dismas nodded at the man and took off his coat to shake it out properly.  "Let me guess, she pulled ya out of that Abbey near the main square?"  

              "At least she didn't pull me out of the dumpster," Reynauld responded coldly.  Whoever had punched Dismas must have had good reason.  

              "Oh, it talks," Dismas huffed, but the rest of his retort was interrupted from behind by a new voice with a thick northern accent.

              "Easy now, gentlemen."  

           Another person had jogged through the rain towards them.  When Dismas turned, he looked at a middle aged man with a bag in one hand and a leash in the other.  His shaggy blond hair and beard, both greying with age, gave him an uncanny resemblance to the huge and equally shaggy hound by his side.  The stitching on the dog's protective harness had been ripped off, but Dismas recognized a K9 cop unit when he saw one.  

              Suki however, smiled and got up for a friendly handshake.  "Glad you made it in this weather.  So let's see.  Everyone, this is Sergeant Brodhan McAlister, an old friend."

              "Mornin'.  The smelly missy here's Laika," the man rumbled, upon which the dog started to shake water out of her pelt.  

              "Pleasure," Dismas said in a tone that indicated it very much wasn't.  A cop and a Crusader?  The fuck did he get himself into?  

              Suki either missed or ignored his rude demeanour and looked down the rainy road.  "That means only Nora is missing.  Well, she and the bus."  

              Reynauld gave the officer a nod, without offering handshakes.  This was already more people than he was comfortable with having around him, enough to make him want to reach for the small tin can he kept in a breast pocket out of habit.  But that was for emergencies only.  The addition of another companion, a lanky blonde woman with a ridiculously oversized hat who trotted over a couple of minutes later, was anything but.  The drive, however, would be another matter.  

              "Sorry I'm late!  Couldn't find a ride with half of Arlip under water."  The woman gave them all a big, broad smile and a wave.  "Pleasure to meet you lot.  Bus not here yet?"  

              "Nora, you made it!"  Suki answered, filling in for three brooding men.  "Nah, though it's not surprising in this weather.  Reynauld, Dismas, and Brodhan are already here, so the only thing left is to hope we get there in one piece.  It's not like anyone's doing much roadwork these days."  

              "There's worse things on the road than mossy potholes, lass," Dismas replied and gave the new arrival a closer look.  Finally, he liked what he saw.  Over the years Dismas had learned to recognize a kindred spirit.  "Love the hat, sweetheart," he grinned.  "Saves you the trouble of an umbrella."  

              "Maybe you should have chartered a boat, Suki."  Nora laughed and sat down next to the man her friend and employer had introduced as Dismas.  "Love the scarf, hun.  Didn't have a towel at hand?" she shot back, tongue-in-cheek.  Then, she slightly inclined her head in the direction of the guy in full combat gear with a lifted eyebrow, as if to ask 'what's up with him?'  

              "Nah, red's just my colour," Dismas replied.  Yeah, at least with her he'd get along fine.  At her silent question, he shrugged and warningly tilted his outstretched hand a few times where none of the others could see it.  Be careful with that one.  

              When the man did glance over to them, Dismas gave him a leery grin.  "Don't worry, love, your outfit is very pretty too."  

              Meanwhile, completely oblivious to their exchange from showering Laika with love, Suki raised her head and promptly jumped up.  "Look!  The bus – I think.  Shit, how does it even drive?"  

              Everyone else turned their heads when Suki pointed down the road; and indeed, there was a bus headed their way.  It was so old and run-down, Reynauld should consider himself blessed to witness the miracle of it still driving.  Instead, he only felt sick to the pit of his stomach.  

              With several worrying noises, the bus came to a halt right in front of their small shelter and the front doors opened to reveal the driver – a man who looked just as ancient and fucked up as the vehicle he was driving.  Even Dismas, who'd seen plenty of crazy and feral folk in his time, both on the road and in prison, raised a silent eyebrow.  

              For a few awkward seconds, the old codger just stared at them until he spotted Suki, then his face split into a wide, toothless grin and he climbed out of his seat with surprising agility.  Dismas instinctively clutched his bag tighter, resting his hand on his colt.  

              "Miss Hanou, yes? Oh, a pleasure, a true pleasure to meet the heiress!  Yes, yes, I'm the Caretaker!  You see, I drive, I clean, I take care."  His weird cackle confirmed Dismas' 'complete nutcase' theory.  

              "I'll take care of your bags too, I will!  Please, please, this way."  The Caretaker reached out for their luggage with bony hands.  

              "This guy is craaaazy," Nora whispered to Dismas in a singsong voice.  "Let's go!"  She grabbed her own bag – no way she was letting that... that Caretaker get his gnarled, warty hands on her possessions, and hurried after the soldier who'd had the right idea storming the bus, sitting down.  

              "No thanks, m'good," Dismas mumbled at the increasingly disappointed madman, and tightly clutched his duffel bag to his chest, before following Nora onto the bus.  He picked a pair of seats right by the middle door, which guaranteed him a quick way to get out if things went to shit.  

              Suki had handed the Caretaker her own bags with a nervous smile  and sat down near the front, the sergeant and his dog joining her.  The cop had kept his bags as well and gave Dismas and Nora a suspicious look before sitting down.  Meanwhile, the Crusader made himself comfortable in the back row.  Fucker.  

              "Hey, is it ok if I sit with you?"  Nora had come up to Dismas, pointing at the seat next to him.

              "All yours, sweetheart," Dismas grinned and took his legs off the cushions to make room for her.  "At least until I wanna grab some shuteye."  

              With a vicious screech the doors closed and the Caretaker returned to his seat behind the wheel, twisting around to look down the aisle.  "Last stop is the Hamlet!" he cackled and started driving, though none too gently.  

              "Do you play cards?" Nora asked once she'd caught her bearings over their sudden and rather bumpy departure.  

              "I sure do.  My deck or yours?"  

              "Mine of course!" she replied with a cheeky grin.  "I stacked it in my favour!"  

              "'Course you did!" Dismas replied – he'd done the same to his own.  But she was polite enough to let him shuffle the cards under her watchful eye.  

              "So," he finally asked, after he'd dealt out and they'd passed the first watchpoint along the road.  "How'd the girl drag you into this?  I daresay you ain't of the same make as that cop and the huffy Holiness in the back."  

              "I'm an archaeologist," Nora answered.  "If there's ruins to be discovered, you can count me in."  

              "Mhm," Dismas grinned, not believing a word of it.  "Plenty of ruins expected outside the New Cities.  Though I can't say I ever met an archaeologists that carried that much edge around with 'em."  He'd caught a glimpse of several throwing blades on the inside of her jacket when she'd placed her bags in the overhead compartment.  

              "True.  But some of these are also crawling with nasties, so it pays to come prepared.  I'm mean with a spade."  

              "With a spade?" Dismas snorted.  "Well, as far as weapons of choice go, at least it's solid and handy."  He didn't push the matter of legality further – not like he was in any position for it.  "So let's see, apart from me, we have a journalist, an archaeologist, an ex-cop and a Crusader, probably 'ex' too.  Feels like the start of a bad joke."  He briefly glanced to the back of the bus before looking at Nora again.  "Honestly, I have no idea how that girl manages her sources.  What do you make of the Holy Armour back there?"  

              Nora too chanced a look back, but the topic of their conversation thankfully had his eyes closed.  "Honestly, I'm a bit scared of him.  Man runs around with a rosary and an assault rifle, well... ," she tapped her temple lightly and shrugged.  

              Dismas silently nodded in agreement.  "I guess we'll find out soon enough just how sane he is – and how well he handles that rifle.  And that damn sword."  He shook his head.  "Crusader in this part of the world means trouble, I say."  

              "Think he's," Nora leaned forward so the man behind them couldn't overhear, even though that was unlikely with how the bus rattled and creaked.  "Spying?"

              "For whom?" Dismas shrugged, though the thought wasn't entirely ridiculous.  "His order ain't exactly the subtle type.  They're the vanguard, heavy hitters who also make sure all reclaimed land has the proper amount of abbeys littered across.  And the Light don't actively persecute 'heathens' anymore, far as I know.  I mean, it's not entirely unlikely, but he looks more like a deserter to me."  

              "As far as you know," Nora repeated sweetly.  "But yeah, you're right.  He looks a bit rough."  

              "I guess we'll find out soon enough," Dismas conceded wearily.  "I hope you keep that spade close by, sweetheart."  

              "I always do," she assured him.  "I always do."  

              The bus passed the last watchpoint that marked Arlip 'safe' perimeter.  Out of habit, Dismas turned his face away from the eyes of the patrolling guard.  Beyond the gates, the open road stretched out before them.  It was mostly wild lands with a few minor settlements between here and their destination.  At the familiar sight, Dismas couldn't help but let out a small sigh of relief, a tension he hadn't even noticed falling off his shoulders. This was his terrain, his home. Fuck the cities, he needed open roads and wilderness to feel safe.

              "Ah," Nora sighed, watching the small military base and its electric lights and fences disappear in the distance.  She pulled a bottle of whiskey from her pack, raised it and took a swig from it.  "Here's to the butt end of nowhere."  

              Dismas grinned and pulled out a flask of his own, clinking it against hers before taking a gulp as well.  "Let's hope it stays boring until we reach that Hamlet."  

               After a while though, the bus drew to a stop at a shoddy little station.  A family of four sat there, huddled together under the small shelter.  Although they seemed to be going in the same direction, none of them got in when the Caretaker opened the door.  Instead, fearful eyes pointedly looked away, and the young mother pulled her two children closer to her herself.  The Caretaker just smiled in that creepy way of his, closed the door and drove on.

              "Did you see their faces?" Nora chuckled.  "I bet we had the same looks when that old codger jumped out of the bus."

              "Yeah, can't exactly blame them," Dismas agreed.  "He don't have the most inviting nature – or the most reliable looking bus."  As if on cue, they hit a pothole and Dismas winced when he hit his elbow on the window.  "Still, it's a popular route, at least the first part of it.  You'd think they'd take the chance to get out of that piss."  He nodded at the window.  

              Nora shrugged.  "What do I know?  Maybe we don't look like the most inviting bunch either.  She saw your mug and decided she prefers the rain."  

              "What, my mug not to your liking?" Dismas gave her an amused smirk.  "And here I thought you were the only decent company around."  

              Nora broke out into a cackle, then whispered, "Oh, but I am.  How long did they say the drive was again?"  

              "Bit longer than twenty-four hours."  

              Nora groaned.  "Sounds like fun."  

              Dismas sighed, then handed her the card deck back with an apologetic smile.  "Which means I'll use the time to get some rest.  And since the gentleman back there is currently occupying the only decent bench for himself, you gotta get your own bed, sweetheart.  I wanna stretch my legs some before the next round."  

              Nora snorted, but took back her cards, got up, and wished him sweet dreams.  

              The rest of the day went by in a rainy, boring haze.  Dismas killed time by sleeping, talking with Nora or playing cards with her, all in changing intervals.  The bus stopped several more times for other passengers, but not once did anybody get on it with them.  Eventually, the bus stops became rarer and rarer as the countryside became more

              Around mid afternoon Suki had walked up to the Caretaker to ask for a break and they stopped at an abandoned roadside full of picnic tables.  Apparently, Laika needed her walkies, but Dismas welcomed the pee-break as well.  

              Everybody except for the soldier in the back was getting up, eager to get out, even if it was only for a couple of minutes.  "He looks like he's out cold," Dismas commented towards Nora when a glance at Reynauld confirmed the crusader was still lying on the back seats.  "Think we should wake him up?"

              "You go right ahead, I'll be cheering you on from the sidelines," Nora said, stretching and knuckling her back.  

              "Figures," Dismas huffed but went down the aisle nonetheless, leaning against the second last row of seats to get a look at the man.  He did appear to be fast asleep, hands clasped around a dark wooden rosary, because of course they were.  When a quick check for earbuds showed that he didn't have any, Dismas loudly cleared his throat.  He knew better than to touch an armed, sleeping man unless absolutely necessary.  

              The bus had stopped moving, but this time it did not start immediately after like it had before.  Then there was a feeling of being watched, and when Reynauld opened his eyes, the trash-talking gunslinger was standing over him.  

              "Oh good, you're up!"  Dismas swung away from the seat he'd been leaning on and clapped its headrest twice.  

           Reynauld's breath caught in his throat, and for a split second it wasn't Dismas looking at him, but another man, a ghost from his past.  

           Hey!  Hey, Rey!  

           Hm?  Reynauld remembered turning away from his pack, momentarily blinded by the unforgiving desert sun.  

           Guyot was kneeling on the seat before him, drumming a beat on the headrest with the palms of his hands.  But there was something not right about the picture.  His hair has been auburn, and his eyes green and not black, not at all like those of the man before him now.  Gone were the freckles, the cheeky grin, and then the sun, as if extinguished by some higher power.  It took Reynauld a moment to realize Dismas was still talking.  

           Dismas had already been partway into an explanation of their current whereabouts when he stopped, took a closer look at the Crusader and realized that the man wasn't actually listening.  There was a blank look on his face, one that spoke of him being miles away.  Great. He better be more focused in a damn fight. Dismas gave the man a calculating look and carefully started over.

           "Pee-break, thought you wanted to take the opportunity to stretch your legs and whatnot.  It's still raining though."  

           Reynauld searched for an answer, but sometimes the words, although so simple and already formed in his head, just wouldn't come.  Most of the time he had little to no energy for any form of social interaction anyway, the White wasn't helping in that regard, and he was still fighting off the vision of his best friend being incinerated in the explosion that had spelled the end of his career and was directly responsible for him being here.  

           In the end, he simply nodded and got up, leaving behind his backpack but not his weapons.  Reynauld followed the others to a small and overgrown picnic area, the relief from being out of the vehicle instantly washing over him despite the fact that Dismas had been right; the weather was just as disagreeable as it had been throughout their trip.  The novelty of rain had worn off rather quickly and Reynauld wished for a hood to pull up as he wandered off in search of a spot where he could relieve himself in peace.

           Oh well.  Dismas smiled and left the man to his business.  He'd get him to talk eventually.  Until then, he didn't mind watching him leave all that much – those combat pants were rather flattering, and who was he to ignore a nice ass when he saw one?

           Silently, Dismas had to admit that the rest of the soldier didn't look too bad either.  He'd gotten a better glance at the man's face while he'd been sleeping and taken some time to admire it: Full lips, relatively unmarred skin, a strong jawline… seriously, his face reminded Dismas more of one of those Old World movie actors or models, rather than a battle-worn soldier. He looked young though, even the slightly scruffy beard couldn't hide that  – if pressed, Dismas would guess Reynauld to be somewhere around thirty years old. But even with sleep softening the man's features, one could see the effects of battle and trauma in the sunken eyes, the lines on his forehead and the tightness of his mouth.  It made him wonder just what kinda things the soldier had seen down south.

           By the time Dismas realized that he was still thinking about Reynauld's damn face while staring after his ass, the soldier had already left the bus.  Dismas forcefully pulled himself back together and shook his head like a dog shaking off water to get rid of those thoughts.  Caught up on a pretty face and ass like he'd never seen either.  The fuck was wrong with him?  It wasn't like he'd had much of a dry spell during his week-long crawl through Arlip's bars, pubs and fight dens, so why did he get so hung up on it now?  Well, whatever.  No harm in looking, after all.

           As he passed Nora on the way to relieve himself, Dismas winked at her.  "You know, he's almost prettier than you, sweetheart," he teased.  "For a maybe-deserting, AR-wieldin' zealot, at least."  

           "The impudence you have!" Nora gasped, one hand resting on her décolleté, mimicking shock.  She waited until Reynauld had returned from his trip to nature loo so she could form an educated second opinion, then bent closer to Dismas to hum an affirmative.  "I'd totally tap that if it wasn't so... angry."  

              "Ah, I bet he's a proper gentleman behind all that jaded soldier demeanour.  Maybe even a shy virgin," Dismas laughed.  "Come on, Caretaker's back.  Seems like the break's over."  

              Nora snorted.  "If you say so.  Alright, can't wait 'till we're finally there."  

              "Don't expect too much, lass," Brodhan huffed after calling Laika to his side.  "It ain't much to look forward to," he said as he lined up behind them.  

              "Can't be worse than the bus," Nora answered.  "My brain's still rattling around in my skull from that one pothole."  

              "Well, from personal experience I can tell ye it's an unsecured backwater shithole so... take yer pick," the unkempt man huffed once they were back inside the Rustmobile, and flopped down on a free bench while his dog hopped on the one behind him.  

              "And apparently, I now own the place," Suki sighed as the bus sped up again.  

           The back row wasn't a good place to be, but it was better than the other available ones, with the rest of the group scattered all over the bus and none too close, and his backpack repurposed as a backrest.  Reynauld pulled out his rosary again, running his thumb over the beads which were smooth and shiny with wear.  

           He would have liked to sleep, to just pass out and wake up when the ride was over, but unfortunately that was out of the question.  White Noise was keeping him awake, and the best way for him to get some manner of rest was to close his eyes and say the Light's Grace, and any other prayer that he could think of.  The repetitiveness was soothing, and it kept his mind from wandering.  

           And then, from one second to another, everything crumbled.  

           An explosion shook the bus, the book mixing with screams and the sound of screeching tires.  

              "Ah, FUCK!" Dismas had just gotten halfway comfortable in his early evening snooze when the bus suddenly made a wild swerve and came to a screeching halt, so suddenly that he banged his head against the seats in front of him, falling halfway into the leg space.  He wasn't the only one.  He could hear Brodhan and Nora cursing wildly, and even the dog yipped in surprise.  Then it was silent again, the bus having come to a standstill.  Immediately he sat up, colt drawn and peaked out of the window for any possible ambushers.  Nothing.  

              "What the feckin' hell, man?!"  Brodhan asked the Caretaker who'd turned off the engine and stumbled out from the driver's seat.  

              "Terribly sorry I am, terribly sorry," he mumbled.  "The wheel, I think.  Weak, weak wheel!"  

              Dismas slowly calmed down and, after exchanging a look with Nora, glanced back to the Crusader.  Who looked anything but good.  "Hey," he called out.  "You alright?"  

           Reynauld didn't understand what was going on.  People were milling about, but no one took charge, gave any matter of orders when they had to form up and move out to fight back the enemy.  He'd been shot at and bombed enough times, so he knelt down, and readied his gun with a sick feeling in his stomach and his heart in his throat.  

           "Shit!" Dismas cursed when he saw the soldier ready his gun as if on autopilot and he looked at Nora.  "Get them all out of here, I think he's a goner.  Go!"  

              "Who– oh.  Shit!"  Brodhan now saw it too.  "Laika! Out, go!"  

              Careful to show his face and hands at all times, Dismas slowly walked down the aisle, weapons where the man could see them.  "Hey, holy guy – Reynauld, right?"  Dismas knelt down in front of him.  "You with me?  Come on, deep breaths."  

           They were leaving now; good.  If the bus blew up they'd burn.  Reynauld could almost feel the heat of the flames, see that orange glow behind his eyelids.  

           Guyot's smiling face was in there too, somewhere.  Hey, Rey!  

           He should have died too that day, but the Light had not seen fit to bestow such mercy upon him.  There was a part of him that recognized the lack of screams, and fire whether real or from guns, but there was no fighting the part that had spent the last seven years this very thing.One stayed behind.  Injured, or in shock, or  Before the other man could flinch he had him in a lockhold and was getting them both out – his pack, the rest of the belongings,  none of it mattered.  

           "What the– hmpf!"  Dismas had no time to react when  suddenly two strong arms had effectively pinned his limbs and then the soldier was dragging him down the aisle with only half-surprising strength.  "Fucking– HEY!  Let me go!"  It was to no avail.  Panic welled up before Dismas pushed it down again, noticing how the Crusader did nothing more than evacuate him by force.  

           They made it out, and Reynauld was hit by an icy shower.  Now that – that was wrong.  It was enough of a shock for him to pause in confusion for a moment.  When it rained, it was just few warm drops that evaporated as soon they hit the parched earth, not this – not a torrent of cold water that turned the ground into mud.  He wanted to ask where he was and what was happening, but the words, although fully formed in his mind, wouldn't make it past his lips.  

           Apparently the rain did the job and the Crusader stopped dead in his tracks, slowly coming to his senses.  Dismas risked a look up at Reynauld's face – he was deep in thought and obviously haunted by the memory of something, but at least he seemed to be more receptive to the outside world again.  Still, Dismas remained where he was, refraining from elbowing him in the head for now.  

           "There, good! That's it, stay calm, take a few breaths.  You with me, soldier?  You're about a day's drive north of Arlip, it's, what, nine at night?  You're safe.  There's no attack.  Can anyone else explain what happened by now?"  The last part Dismas yelled at the lot of miserably drenched onlookers, who huddled together under the one small umbrella Suki had wisely grabbed upon evac.  

           Reynauld was trying to fit the pieces together in his head, but they wouldn't make a complete picture.  The guy was talking again; his lips were moving.  Reynauld wished he'd stop as it was pointless anyway.  He jerked violently at the shout though, scanning his surroundings, bracing his gun.  The other people were not soldiers.   Civilians?  They looked scared.  Slowly it began to sink in that this was one of those times.  When everything was a confusing jumble of events he could make no sense of.  

           Dismas could feel the soldier wincing and cursed under his breath.  Right.  No shouting then.  He glared at Brodhan who'd curled his hand tighter into Laika's neck and had placed a hand on the shock baton at his hip.  

           In the soldier's confusion, Dismas managed to wriggle one arm free and place it on the one still squarely wrapped around his neck.  "Right, let's try contact.  Can you talk to me, Reynauld?  Come on, it's pouring, let's have a meltdown somewhere dry, alright?"

           Reynauld looked at the man, really looked, and realized he knew him… fleetingly.  He tried to recall his name.  They'd been introduced.  Suki had introduced them.  He focused on that and after a while he remembered.  Dismas.  It was something.  Something to hold on to.  Reynauld shook his head and tapped his ear.  Other sensations were beginning to filter in as well.  The ache from his locked up muscles.  His hair, plastered to his head from rain this time rather than sweat and blood.  

           There was probably still the blood rushing in his ears.  Dismas sighed and nodded, deciding to wait a little longer.   "Can you talk?" he eventually asked.  "You with us again?"  Sooner or later, he'd just have to knock the soldier out if he kept being unresponsive. It wouldn't be the easiest feat, but they needed to move into cover.  While there had been no actual attack so far, they were sitting ducks out on the road and Dismas really didn't like it.  He never liked it when his professional experience kicked in from the side of the prey, not the hunter.  

           Reynauld repeated the action of shaking his head and tapping his ear.  At least everything else around him was becoming more focused, more real.  He realized he was still holding the guy – Dismas – and let go of him, reaching into his pocket for the rosary he always kept there, before stumbling away from the group on legs that were stiff and unresponsive.  

           Dismas simply slumped over, hands on his knees, feeling very relieved all of a sudden.  It was still a fucking terrible situation, but it could've gone a lot worse.  

           "Fucking hell, how do comfort plushies deal with that on a daily basis?" he wheezed out, but then pulled himself together and, carefully, gave chase.

           Reynauld rounded the bus; it smelled of exhaust fumes and hot brake pads, and he felt like being sick, which he might well have been if he had eaten breakfast.  Small mercies.  He sank down a little ways off, waiting for the shakes to start.  Having expected them unfortunately didn't make them any more pleasant.  

           Brodhan, meanwhile, had ordered his dog to follow as well, and the animal understood well enough.  Oh his sign, Laika sat down next to the startled Crusader and pressed her wet nose into his free hand.  

           Reynauld prayed, each beat a prayer, over and over again, the repetition of it bringing him down to a point where he no longer felt like he was drowning.  His breathing turned ragged but regular, and all the while the dog sat with him, licking his hands and panting.  

              "Shit.  Should we – should we do something?"  Suki carefully held the umbrella so both Nora and Brodhan could get at least some amount of coverage – the latter smelled as much of wet dog as the actual dog.  

              Nora shrugged and kept watching Dismas who seemed to be doing just fine.  "Maybe let's give them some space?" she suggested.  

              "You're probably right," Suki agreed.  "I'll go see if our batshit chauffeur needs a hand.  Umbrella's yours."  

              In the meantime, Dismas carefully stopped beneath a tree, a few metres away from the collapsed Reynauld.  Near enough that the man could sense his presence, but far enough so as not to crowd him.  And despite his instinctive dislike of the cop, he was sure glad they had that dog on board.  

           "Are you good to talk?" Dismas asked after a while, when Reynauld's breathing had calmed enough to for it to return to a regular rhythm.  

              Reynauld turned his head so he could hear better, and after a moment, gave a slight nod.  Perhaps even worse than the actual panic of believing himself to be under attack was dealing with the aftermath.  There was always the question of what if he had hurt someone, the guilt.  The anger.  The shame.  He'd be a long time praying for it to ebb again.  

              "Good."  Dismas carefully approached and sat down next to Reynauld in the tall grass.  He was already drenched to the bone so it wouldn't matter much.  "Let me guess – frontline deserter?"  

           Reynauld had to suppress the initial urge to punch the other man in the face.  At least it was harder to be panicking when you were furious.  "We were on our way from Bakhar to Tirna," he told Dismas in a tight, controlled voice.  "The bus got bombed."  He had survived only because the blast had knocked him through the bus's back window.  "I was discharged."  Presumed dead.

              "Well, shit."  Dismas closed his eyes with a sigh and leaned his head against the back of the bus.  "My condolences."  A pause went by, filled with nothing but the splatter of the rain, then Dismas continued.  "Look, I guess it don't really matter how you got out, only that it happened.  But you gotta talk to the Hanou girl about this."  

              Shit.  A fitting word to describe the whole mess of a situation.  Maybe given enough time with people who knew how to treat this.  But he had neither, and had to make do.  

              Reynauld let his head hang between his knees, breathed, and waited for the wave of exhaustion to crash over him.  

              "So how are you holdin' up?" Dismas eventually asked.  "Right now I mean, 'cause we gotta get moving."  He gave the man an intense look.  "There ain't no sweettalking this. Out here, either the rain'll get us or an actual ambush.  Can ya pull yourself together for a little longer; just so we can get out of the wildlands?"

              Reynauld considered the question but the truth was there was no getting back on the bus for him.  "Could you get my things from the bus?  You can go straight away; I'll walk."  

              "Wha– are you fucking kidding me?!"  Dismas had his patience, had remembered his lessons but even he had a limit and he'd reached it with the crusader.  "Look, I get the 'no bus' thing and I get the 'avoid people' thing but if you think we're just gonna let an utterly unstable Crusader with an assault rifle and a fucking sword run around alone through the wild, well think again, Sunshine! You wouldn't last through the night!"  

              "Don't call me that!" Reynauld growled, bristling at the derogatory term often used for soldiers of the Order and at Dismas' overbearing way in equal measure.  He had walked over two thousand miles from the Blessed Lands, at least one third of it through enemy territory and active war zone.  He'd survive some trees and mud.   Reynauld climbed to his feet.  

              "Hey, HEY!  Where do you think you're going?!"  Dismas jumped up and so did Laika behind them, shaking water out of her pelt.   "Stop being stubborn, it'll get you killed, especially in this state!  No way you're walking alone through the night!"  

              "Actually," Brodhan had heard the last bit and he sounded as pissed as he looked.  "It seems like we're all going to be walking.  That old codger's got no spare wheel and if we stay here we'll have bandits swarming us like wasps before dawn.  Get your bags, both of you.  You alright there, soldier?"  

              Perhaps relief was the wrong emotion to feel upon learning that they were practically stranded out here with the threat of an ambush looming over them, but nonetheless that was all Reynauld felt at that moment.  The danger allowed him to become functional again.  He gave the officer a nod and the dog a pat, and once more asked Dismas to get his effects.  Going back on that bus was not an option, not yet.

              "Yeah, yeah, I'll get the damn bags," Dismas grumbled and went to work.  He'd been choked, drenched and almost shot before they'd even reached their destination.  He took the time to change into somewhat drier clothes on the bus first and finally slip into his jacket – he hadn't had the time to take it with him before getting dragged out by the scruff of his neck.  At this point, he was proud of himself for not having stabbed anyone yet.

              Reynauld picked up his bag.  Its contents were pretty much unchanged from his army days, and most of it was ammo, clothes, and what was necessary for survival  The others would have to sort through their belongings, leave behind what was unnecessary or at least redistribute the weight.  

              Suki wasn't actively showing it, but the reporter was furious while having to reduce her spare clothes and media gear down to what would fit into her backpack.  She could only hope the Caretaker would get the bus back on track and that nothing would go missing by then, but she highly doubted it.  

              Bag slung over her shoulder, she joined Brodhan and the old driver at the tip of their little group.  "Everyone ready?  Then let's go before the mould starts to set in!" 

AN: Co-written with @kriladoodles; the first chapter of our modern AU DD story is now up! 

You can find it on AO3! 

[thereluctantinquisitor]

:: Darren Miller ::

Companion/Non-Inquisitor

Age: 17 at Haven (turns 18 shortly after arriving at Skyhold).

Height: 5’7” (170 cm).

Class: Warrior (no specialisation).

Weapon of Choice: Short sword.

Religion: Andrastian, but not devoutly.

Nickname Courtesy of Varric: Junior / Dandelion

Family: Jorah Miller (father), Elise Miller (mother), Claire Miller (little sister), Cian Miller (little brother - deceased).

Positive Traits: Loyal, kind, determined, genuine, sunny.

Negative Traits: Trusting (to a fault), awkward, sensitive, clumsy, self-critical.

Love interest(s): none so far.

Gets along with: Hanin, The Dawn Squad, Sera, Delton, Maraas, Varric, Krem, and The Iron Bull.

Does not get along with: Cole, most of the recruits in his former squads, Maraas (initially), Cassandra (she intimidates him).

Backstory

Darren grew up on a farm with his family, and lived there for all of his life until the explosion at the Conclave. Nestled at the heart of Ferelden, their small town had somehow managed to avoid the worst of the Fifth Blight. Darren loved working the farm with his father from the moment he was old enough to keep up, but also learned important things like sewing and how to prepare a meal from his mother when it was raining or he got sick and had to stay indoors. He loves his family more than the sun in the sky, and the surprise arrival of a pair of twins when Darren was eight was one of the most exciting moments of his life. On a weeping morning in early spring, his sister Claire and brother Cian were born.

Sadly, when Darren was thirteen and the twins were five, Cian got very sick, with Claire following soon after. With no healer in their town, and the closest one over three days ride away, Darren and his mother did their best to take care of the two children while their father borrowed a friend’s horse and rode for help. By the time he arrived back with a remedy, Cian had already passed away. Claire, sweating and with skin like glass, took the medicine and managed to survive, but things were never quite the same.

Darren kept a close eye on his little sister after that. Sometimes he heard her talking to herself in her room, or giggling joyfully alone in the field, but his mother assured him she was just playing with an ‘imaginary friend’, and that children her age tended to do that. Satisfied that it was simply his sister’s way of coping with the loss of her twin, Darren slowly eased off, thinking it was safe to let her out of his sight. It was by sheer luck one day that he caught her marching away from their farm with a strange determination in her tiny steps. She looked like she had somewhere to be, and Darren knew that couldn’t be right because she was five and five year olds had nowhere they had to be.

Uncertainly, Darren followed Claire all the way to one of the cliffs past the Tanner’s farm that fell away into a rocky valley. By the time he exploded into a run and hauled her into his arms, Claire was only half a step away from the sheer, crumbling edge. Like a feral cat, she kicked and shrieked and scratched as Darren dragged her away from the deadly drop, but her protests quickly dissolved into wretched sobs and she clung to Darren’s arm, wailing. Once they were at a safe distance, he dropped to his knees and pulled her into a hug. She buried her head against his chest and, sobbing, told him that Cian was waiting for her. That he said if she trusted him she wouldn’t fall. Between hiccups, she told him they were just playing like they always did. Darren, terrified, eventually managed to calm his sister down until she all but sobbed herself into an exhausted half-sleep. He carried her back home in shaking arms and moved her bed into his small room that same night. From then on, he vowed to never let her out of his sight again.

True to his word, Darren and Claire became inseparable, and neither sibling seemed to mind at all. She followed him around, helping with chores, making him laugh by pulling faces or chasing ducks while quacking loudly. He joined her whenever he could, never once met with disapproval from his father or mother. It was on one sunny afternoon, about half a year later, that Darren realised Claire had stopped talking to herself when she thought he was asleep or otherwise preoccupied. That when she played, she played with Darren and no one else, seen or unseen. The relief he felt at that was so immense he teared up and pulled a very confused Claire into a tight, overwhelming hug. Used to his emotional outbursts, she just aww’ed and hugged him back, patting him comfortingly on the back as she recited all the appropriate sentiments for comfort. There there.

At fourteen, Darren had his first kiss with his best friend, Raylan Tanner. He was a lanky boy, all knees and elbows, and they had been close since they were young children, growing up side by side much like the positioning of their family farms. In fact, it was the Tanner’s horse that Darren’s father had borrowed all those years ago when he rode desperately for a healer. They’d never even questioned it, despite how valuable a horse was in their small rural community. Sadly, the Tanner’s farm had yielded poorly for three seasons in a row, the soil souring for reasons beyond Darren’s comprehension. He’d heard his father mention something about the wind and the trees that had been cut down by soldiers along the edge of the valley, but he didn’t know enough to piece together the puzzle for himself. Despite their town’s shared efforts to support the Tanners, they had been forced to relocate two towns over.

The night before their departure, wagons packed and unwanted goods redistributed, Darren and Raylan went out to the nearby stream for the last time. It was where they had taught themselves to skip rocks and make whistles out of the reeds that grew along the water’s edge. There, sitting on the grass, Darren worked up the courage to kiss his oldest friend. Just quickly – barely a peck – but it was enough to leave them both in silence for a long, tense time. Crickets sang, the river flowed, and Raylan didn’t try to kiss him back. But, after a time, the tall boy reached out a nervous hand and twined his fingers in Darren’s, the water lapping lazily at their bare toes. Silently, they both admitted the truth; that it would be too painful to do anything more. To confess any deeper how they felt. Some things just weren’t meant to be, and they were both old enough to understand what it meant to go easy on themselves.

Darren and his family saw the Tanners off the following morning, and by early afternoon Claire, with her seven years of wisdom, found herself whispering soothing words through the door to Darren as he cried in their room. It was his first kiss, his first love, and his first heartbreak, all in the span of a single day. He only ever spoke about it to his sister, and even then, rarely.

Seventeen was when the next major upheaval occurred in Darren’s life. He had been working the farm, tugging a plough through the ready soil, when an earth-shattering crack shocked a yelp straight from his lips. A flash of green blossomed on the far horizon, spiralling up towards the sky like a wind funnel, then stayed there, swirling slowly like ink in still water. Horrified, Darren dropped everything, grabbed his sister who had been planting seeds, and made straight for the house. They locked themselves in for the rest of the day, completely overwhelmed, uncertain of what it all meant. Two weeks later, word reached their town of the Conclave and the Herald of Andraste, sent to save them all from the tear in the heavens and the demons that lay within.

They also heard about the rifts that had started opening up all across Ferelden, possibly even as far as Orlais. They were told that demons poured from them like a flood, tearing apart anything and anyone that stood in their path. Claire, now ten, whimpered and buried her face in her mother’s arms at the town meeting that broke the dreaded news. At the very same meeting, a man in a shining uniform asked if there was anyone willing to join the fight. That the best way to protect themselves was to stop the poison before it spread. That once it arrived, it was often too late.

Darren stood on shaking legs and signed himself up, ignoring his mother’s protests, his father’s grunt of shock, and his sister’s furious sobs. He signed up because he knew the man spoke the truth. If one of those demon-rifts opened up near their town, there would be nothing he or anyone could do. Even if he stayed, there was just no way he could stop a hoard of demons from killing everyone he loved. He was no soldier. He didn’t know the first thing about combat. But if what the armoured man said was true, he could find a way to help. To make himself useful. If a rift opened up near his home, his family was as good as dead. But if he could work for the Herald and somehow stop the tears in the veil from spreading in the first place…

Darren marched out the following morning, the only recruit gathered from his town. His parents saw him off, faces regal behind lines of grief. Claire, despite going from screaming to begging to screaming again for the entirety of the night before as she desperately tried to convince him to stay, held him tight for almost a full five minutes. They clutched each other as if for the last time. Both were drained of tears. The recruitment officer waited patiently until Claire was ready to let go of her brother, likely in every sense of the term. Then, during the ninth hour of morning, Darren set his boots on the dirt road that wound its way towards a place called Haven, and stepped outside the boundaries of his hometown for the first time in his life.

Darren had a rough time in the Inquisition. A part of him had expected something wonderful – something worthy of a divine herald – but all he’d found was a makeshift base of operations and recruits who held none of the discipline of trained soldiers. He tried hard, running the endless drills assigned by Commander Cullen meant to whip him into shape, but having absolutely no prior training and no natural affinity for the blade, Darren soon found himself lagging well behind his peers. Darren’s lack of prowess quickly became the standard by which all failure was measured, and his fellow recruits mocked him for getting teary-eyed with frustration whenever he messed up yet another simple sequence of lunges and parries.  

Cullen was not blind to the problem and tried to move Darren around squads, but most groups had already been established and formed a bond of trust with one another. No matter where Darren went, he was an outsider with a reputation for being utterly useless, and his squad mates resented having to compensate for him. Cullen was too busy to offer one-on-one training for any recruit that couldn’t keep up, so Darren, resenting himself, fell farther and farther behind. He spent nights painfully awake, sick to his stomach, certain that coming to the Inquisition had been the worst mistake of his life. He had been genuinely considering fleeing home, his rucksack half packed, when Haven fell to Corypheus and his dragon.

A week or so after arriving at Skyhold, everything changed for Darren. He was in the training field, practicing the drills meant for fresh recruits, when Cullen and an elven man approached him. The Commander announced he was being moved to a new squad, and Darren immediately felt a stone plummet to the pit of his stomach. It was there, fighting back tears at being passed along yet again, that Darren first met Hanin Lavellan. He became the fifth and final member of the Dawn Squad, a handful of misfits and last minute additions that had no place anywhere else. What would have insulted anyone else came as a relief to Darren, and despite all their differences, they grew to love and trust each other, even if they showed it through slaps on the back and playful insults hollered across the training field. Beneath Hanin’s watchful tutelage, and with the support of what became a second family, Darren slowly gained back the confidence that had been wrung from him like a rag. For the first time since leaving home what felt like a lifetime ago, he felt like he��d finally found a place where he belonged. 

Finally, he could start to make a difference.

[acornrising]

Going Back

hey man it’s only been three years I guess now’s as good a time as any to sort out what the fuck Irda’s deal is right?

It was surprising still to Iman that any of the Underclan refugees would choose to live underground again. It wasn’t just that she’d heard the stories second-hand. She’d re-lived a few, holding the hands of shaking survivors as the memory of caving walls and falling earth clawed through them. She understood why they wanted them removed. They did not understand why she refused them this service.

Most members of the Underclan now lived in lean-tos and tents, propped up homes that stayed well above ground, whose collapse would mean little more than an inconvenience or a few smart bruises. But some, as if born under the wrong gods or simply unphased by the tragedy they had survived, returned to the ground. “A tundra must dig.” Galagar had told her. “It is as much in our blood as our traditions.” But she had seen him hesitate at the mouth of his home. She had seen him flinch at the sound of rocks rolling together.

Borrowed memories gave her borrowed paranoias- Iman kept looking up at the ceiling, at the skylight, just large enough to put her hand through, and tried to remember that it wasn’t going to fall in on her. The sun cast a dim light through the burrow, a low, wide round room shored up with red clay and stone (There were not many trees in the deserts of Dragonhome, and the few they’d grown were still yet saplings.). It was a simple home, with few decorations beyond some piled furs and fabrics, on which Irda reclined, and Iman sat respectfully.

“I don’t want to make promises I can’t keep.” Iman said carefully. “And I don’t wish to sound… discriminatory, but your… heritage, makes this-”

“Please speak plainly. If you feel this is beyond your ability, then say so.” Iman’s own ‘heritage’ had taught her a polite, but tedious means of mincing words, a habit her (No longer quite ‘brief’) time in the Underclan had not yet broken her of. Not that politeness was discouraged, but in cases like this, Irda had always found it unnecessary. She was a leader, but not a very good one. Such formalities were a waste of time.

“No! No, it’s not beyond my abilities, I don’t think-” and here, Irda quirked an eyebrow, and Iman flinched. “It is not beyond my abilities to dig that deeply- It’s just that it can be beyond the tundra mind to store memories that long. I can go as far back as you like, but there might not be anything to find.”

“Then I’ve nothing to lose for looking.” She lay her head in Iman’s lap. “Whenever you are ready.”

Iman did not need long to prepare. She placed one hand to the side of Irda’s temple, and one to her forehead, and breathed deeply. “Focus on now. Think of now.”

This was how she got her grounding. It was not long before she could feel the echo, the peculiar feedback loop of remembering what was still happening, the dissonance of time felt in two places at once. From here, she could begin to wind it back, like a spool of thread. Grip the thought, grip the memory, grip the now, and pull until the past came tumbling in.

It was always slow, at first. But like all things, the past had momentum, hurtling desperately into the distance. Slowly, they pulled past that morning, past the night before, past the previous day, past the day before that, and the day before that, and slowly, it began to pick up speed. There was the digging of the burrow, the planting of seeds, the embarrassingly intimate process of laying eggs, arriving in Dragonhome, the flight across the canal.

It made more sense, Irda’s willingness to return underground, when you realized that she had never been part of the cave-in. They snapped past the conflict, past the battle, past the screeching shamble of bone and skin and magic so raw and potent you could smell it burning through the air. The taste of cold blood and the tearing of raw flesh, now flicking by so quickly Iman could barely register them. And soon, somewhere between a hatching nest and a bountiful harvest, the memories all began to blur. Then they began to slow again, like a thread tangling itself. Iman found herself groping in Irda’s mind, reaching blindly for memories that may have long since ceased to be. Invariably, she found the thread. This happened many times.

Irda grew younger. The clan grew smaller. The stuttering stops and starts became more frequent, the gaps in time between where one memory started and the next one stopped grew wider, jagged pieces of a puzzle dragged from the abyss and crookedly fitted together. It was imperfect- it was always imperfect with Tundra.

It was with a shock that Irda’s depth perception returned- the actual memory of losing her eye came and went and suddenly, the world was twice as wide. The clan was little more than a huddled mass of dragons, barely held together by the knowledge that those alone in the wilderness of the Labyrinth rarely survived it. Galagar, young and broad enough to be a warrior, but without the heart for battle. The twins, Frinzy and Rok, before the former found her lust for combat and the latter gone devoutly feral. Hesti, and Arpa, untrained, unscathed. And, while neither of them saw him, there was, for a time, the near constant sensation of someone small and afraid in the crook of her wing that could only be Slinky.There were others, of course, though Iman recognized none of them- eventually, they too faded into the future, wiped away by the far reaches of the past.

There was no Galagar. There was no clan. Every day pulled from the depths was a tug-of-war between time and her own stubborn insistence, slowing the whole process to a crawl. Irda was young, but not yet, or long since, a child. There were years yet to unravel. Iman paused, for only a moment, to collect herself, then wrenched at the memories, pulling them back with sheer might of will. There was no clan. There was no Galagar. There were dragons, of course, they came, and they went, and they saw her with suspicion. The word ‘runt’ was whispered suspiciously. There was talk of blood-scent among other tundra, of her uncanny lack of history.

And then, as if toppling over a cliff, it all went black, and it all went green, and Iman began to pulse. There was nothing but the pulse, and a dull hum, and the never-ending blood rush of adrenaline. It was almost like fear, but more like mania. The giddiness of flight, the pressure of canned energy, she could feel herself laughing, screaming, an echo in her own body, the desire to run, the desire to fight, boundless energy in spades and buckets and avalanches.

Exactly when she ended up on the floor was hard to say. But at some point the ceiling whirled back into view, and she could hear voices.

“- really anything I can do about it, it’s all mental, from what I can tell. Physically, she’s just fine. Keep her feet elevated, and let me know if she doesn’t wake up within the next eight hours or so.”

Slowly, still dizzy, Iman pushed herself to a sitting position. Slinky and Irda turned to look at her, surprised. But, nearly immediately, Slinky turned back and said “There, see? Fine as a fiddle.”

“My head hurts.” Iman said dully.

“Fine as a slightly untuned fiddle.” She couldn’t tell where he conjured it from, but the good doctor handed her a flask. “Drink this. How does it hurt?”

The water was crisp, but did nothing to ease her mounting headache. “It just… hurts.” It felt like something had attempted to stretch her skull from the inside out, and now her head felt oddly light, and empty. It was hard to think.

“Lie back down dear.” Irda gently pushed her over, and Iman couldn’t find it in herself to argue. “You can stay here until you feel better.”

“Thank you…” her own voice sounded distant. “Do you know… what that was?”

Slinky cocked his head, and looked quizzically at Irda, who only shrugged. “I couldn’t say. I wouldn’t even know who to ask.”