#her kit focuses entirely on offense

[system-threat-detected]

Horizontober day 11: Royal

I didn't forget this time I just had to design two entire characters. It's a Persona 5 Royal crossover featuring our very own Sunhawk Talanah Khane Padish! Doing Persona designs is really hard for me even though I love the game and the aesthetics... I did my best! Talanah's image of rebellion is a cowboy/outlaw.

This is the most niche thing I could have possibly drawn but my target audience is myself so... Deal with it sorry lol

[wildissylupus]

With those abilities that that person made, for all Mirrorwatch characters fighting their normal selves one on one, how do you think it would go? Regular vs mirror for Mercy, Doomfist, DVa, Genji, Amelie, Sombra, Bastion, Echo, Reinhardt, Orisa, Hanzo, Kiriko, Symmetra, Zarya, Zenyatta, Tracer, Ana, and Brigitte

Ok so the thing is when it comes to one on one, it's a lot easier for same characters rather then others to decide, if we're doing teams then that also complicates things. You also have to consider that fighting styles in general would change due to stories also changing. So I'll explain that when I need to.

Mercy vs. Vengeance

This ones simple, in a one on one, Vengeance wins, mainly because she has the most offensive abilities.

Doomfist vs. Strike Commander Ogundimu

This ones hard but in a one on one but I have to say that Doomfist would win this one. He has abilities more focused on these types of fights while Strike Commander Ogundimu is a lot more team focused. Though that does mean in a team fight Doomfist would loose.

DVa vs. Junker D.Va

We don't actually have a kit for Junker D.Va (and for the life of me I can't find the poster where I talked about it) but I do think D.Va would win specifically because she's professionally trained and is constantly fighting the Gwishin.

Genji vs. Junker Genji

Genji wins, mainly because he got therapy and won't be entirely impulsive about the situation, but in general I could see Genji just being more skilled then his Mirrorwatch counterpart.

Widowmaker vs. Captain Lacroix

Captain Lacroix wins, I've already gone into detail as to why Widowmakers combat style in lore is flawed and doesn't work with her skill set, and I can guarantee that isn't the case for Captain Lacroix.

Sombra vs. Agent Colomar

Sombra wins for the same reason Doomfist does, her abilities are more focused on her then her allies, though that does also mean that Agent Colomar would win in a team fight.

Bastion vs. Gwishin

Bastion wins, purely because of his turret form, nothing against what they did with Gwishin but his kit would not work well against Bastion.

Echo vs. Stealth

Echo wins purely on adaptability, from what it looks like and how Stealth's kit works, it looks like she was made specifically to be at peak performance of her own abilities, while Echo was made to adapt.

Reinhardt vs. Fallen Knight

Reinhardt wins, though it is close. My main reasoning for this is Rein not only has free will, he's also not permanently blinded by rage, like how Fallen Knight is.

Orisa vs. OR-UNIT

Orisa wins for the same reason Echo does, with the added bonus of Orisa was made to be better then the OR-units in canon.

Hanzo vs. Hashimoto Hanzo

Another one we don't really have a solid case for but I am going to have to say Hashimoto Hanzo would win, mainly due to the fact I think he'd be a lot more ruthless when he fights and a lot more inclined to do close range combat.

Kiriko vs. Hashimoto Kiriko

Hashimoto Kiriko wins with the same reasoning with Hanzo.

Symmetra vs. Junker Symmetra

Junker Sym wins mainly because she has the freedom to explore what she's capable of, she's also a bit more chaotic the regular Sym which I think would throw her off her game.

Zarya vs. Talon Zarya

Talon Zarya wins, but she cheats cause she's got enhancements that she doesn't really need.

Zenyatta vs. Z-3N Destroyer

Z-3N Destroyer wins due to him being more combat focused then Zen in general.

Tracer vs. Operative Oxton

Tracer wins due to her chronal accelerator being a lot more stable and not causing her damage when in use. There is also the fact that I think Tracer would be more strategic about the fight in general.

Ana vs. Arch-Commandant Amari

Arch-Commandant Amari wins, this isn't really about skill and more on their outlook on combat. Basically, Ana doesn't really kill anymore and Arch-Commandant Amari can do headshots.

Brigitte vs. Talon Brigitte

Brigitte wins specifically because she has had more personalized training while Talon Brigitte was likely only trained by Talon agents. Brig has had more time with her own abelites to grow and is likely more capable in a one on one fight.

[crystalelemental]

Sync Pair Retrospective - New Years 2023

Last year, the New Years alts were leaked somehow, and I was personally really excited by the decisions made. It feels like New Years always lands on at least one really good inclusion. That year, it was two. But, now that it's been a year, how are they doing overall?

New Years Lisia Lisia is a candidate for the most unfortunate character in this game. Her base form sucks so badly that she's the only pair who is made weaker by the presence of zone. Her New Years alt aimed to fix this, making her an excellent damage dealer for Fairy type, and a rare physical one to boot! Giga Impact Fairy Shift is the Hyper Beam equivalent, and those are always in style. So great, she's gonna be amazing, right?

Well she should be, but no Zone support. Wally wasn't a good match. That's fine, we'll wait for the next. Oh, SS Hau has it, but is entirely specially inclined? Well okay, eventually they'll...oh, we're getting a third already, and SS Mina is also specially inclined? Well hey, that's fine, field effects are old hat anyway, now we're all about rebuffs which...also went to a specially focused support. At least eggmon Sylveon is there?

Lisia cannot catch a break. Every other Fairy type around her has received buff after buff after buff, and Lisia has stagnated completely in time. Her situation is downright depressing. To make her life worse, her designation as one of the only Physical Fairy type options was severely challenged by the inclusion of an F2P pair, BP Valerie, who can actually sync nuke comparably while on-type. So unlike, say, Raihan, who has merit due to Steel-weak Glacia, Lisia is not in a comparable boat.

Lisia's life sucks. She's maintaining as a good overall pair because high BP moves like this will literally always be in style. But it's hard to consider her exceptional, so much as flatly alright. At the very least, few pairs are as difficult to work with, given the unreasonable amount of Fairy support that all skewed special. I hate it.

New Years Dawn Dawn, on the other hand, is hilarious. Initially, everyone dunked on her because the kit seemed bad, but then we got to learn about what Extra Special Ghost Damage does, and that tune changed quick. Dawn has good damage potential, and a stellar sync, backed by some nice tanking potential. Evade tanking is risky, but her rapid debuffing of Atk and ability to hit other stats is divine. Her doubling of stat boosts is an ongoing blessing, as supports with a +4/+2 focus like Penny actually work for her, and Spectrier's TM becomes wildly powerful.

Dawn's trouble is that, despite her abilities, she remains heavily reliant on support. She can't get away with cheaper options, she needs heavy support. Her debuffs are also random, which limits her overall effectiveness with others despite how useful many of her traits are. Evade tanking is inconsistent, as is her MPR on trainer move, and her confuse status.

It's weird, because I do really like this pair, but I honestly never use her. I feel like something just always holds her back. I could not tell you what. Maybe it's a gauge thing? Maybe I just need to use her offensively more often. Whatever the case, Dawn's kit has merit that I just don't see a ton of use for.

Final Thoughts Like many New Years pairs, I think Lisia and Dawn are middling. They're not strictly bad, in the same way that NY Lance still has really good Flying damage if supported, or NY Sabrina can still Endure tank. But New Years never really excels, and that trend seems to be continuing. Oh well. At least the alts look good.

[lunareiitic]

Limbus Orientation #5: That Sinking Feeling...

Jefe de Los Mariachis Sinclair || G Corp Head Manager Outis Welcome back to Limbus Orientation, the series where I, your host, talk about Limbus Company units, what they do, and how to use them effectively. Today, we're discussing a team core for Mirror Dungeons I've had a lot of fun messing with. It revolves around two easy to access Identities, and then builds out into mostly free to play units.

So, why these two?

Sinking. The answer is that these two make an incredibly flexible core to build Sinking teams around. Now, what does Sinking do? It makes enemy units lose SP, i.e. lose their minds. SP directly affects your ability to hit heads on coins (which is what you want most of the time), in addition to potentially causing enemies to panic, making them take random status effects. Against abnormalities, Sinking does raw bonus damage, like Rupture or Burn. Let's start with everyone's favorite dancer, Sinclair.

On Sinclair's two basic cards, he inflicts Sinking (and it's bash damage!), he gains Poise (which increases crit rate) on his Envy card and together, both of those cause his Gloom card Piñata Party, to hit like a train. The lower the enemy's SP is, the more likely it is to crit, making Mariachi Sinclair a very solid Sinking Carry, despite appearances. The Heads Hit bonus of this card also makes him surprisingly tanky, giving him increased stagger resistance, making his relatively low speed less of an issue in longer fights.

But Outis is really what makes this duo work. If Sinclair is the dancer, perhaps Outis is the singer. Looking at her three cards, she shares two colors with Sinclair (Sloth and Gloom), giving you the easiest Sloth Resonance of your life. Her two basic cards allow her to buff very slow units (like Sinclair) with a variety of offensive and defensive buffs. Having a kit of entirely single coin skills, she either dominates clashes or gets bodied, but remember: we're lowering enemy SP, making them less likely to throw heads. Her final card, Focus, is a surprisingly effective nuke, while also throwing five Sinking onto whoever is unfortunate to hear her psychic onslaught. In addition, that easy Sloth resonance?

Makes your units faster. Remember, her buffs apply to the slowest ally, not the slowest unit. If your team are 3 speed faster than everyone on the board, her buffs will still apply to whoever is last in the chain.

To round out the composition, there are two units you could open a dungeon run with: Base Yi Sang and Base Meursault. Both provide additional Sloth to slam A-Res turn after turn. Yi Sang provides additional sinking, and his base EGO: Crow's Eye View can give everyone haste, further alleviating the team's speed issues. He provides slash damage also, which Outs and Sinclair are lacking in these forms. Meursault is tanky and slow, making him a prime receiver of Outis' buffs as well, atop of his base EGO, Chains Of Others requiring him to bear the brunt of damage. A solid fifth team member is, as always, Base Faust, who loves the extra protections this team provides, and if you can get her Lust requirements met by someone else, can easily keep everyone going with the overpowered Fluid Sac EGO, not to mention her ease in setting up Representation Emitter with Outis at her side.

This team also makes use of a surprising array of EGO Gifts, such as:

Outis especially loves single coin Gifts, such as Commemorative Coin. Gifts like Phantom Pain and Blood/Sweat/Tears are already incredible, but getting bonus effects certainly helps sweeten the deal. Given both Outis and Sinclair's Blunt centric kits, pulling Today's Expression at the start of a run can make clearing the early floors a breeze. Grey Coat and Sunshower are more relevant for Faust, should you pick her up (or manage to get enough resources for Outis' Ebony Stem).

Together, G-Outis and Mariachi Sinclair enable a dynamic, status focused playstyle that differs pretty heavily from a lot of other strategies, which can freshen up your weekly runs while still being effective. Give them a try sometime, if you enjoy relishing in your enemies' pain.

[gayemeralds]

If you could change like up to 5 things in the sonic idw comics what would you change?

okay that is a VERY dangerous question because i have thought long and hard about what i actually want from a sonic comic series but since this about idw specifically i will refrain from basically restructuring the entire thing and just say my biggest gripe is there’s too much focus on side characters. like no offense but i really don't care about tangle or that beetle (jewel?) or belle. starline was okay but they dragged him too long. surge and kit are interesting i think but i'm not super fond of the storylines they have for them atm. whisper is cool though i don't mind her.

so i think my list would be

make eggman more relevant he's literally the main villain

their characterization of sonic is just like, ten degrees off. he's not a goody goody hero, he's honestly quite morally gray, and i would like to see that explored more. like i think their characterization on things aren't horrendous but they're just Off Enough that i don't like it lmao

stop focusing on idw exclusive characters. i don't really care.

[anruraiocht]

marigold & willow (psychic damage)

botanical headcanons

marigold :   is your muse prone to jealousy ?  how might they handle envious feelings ?  & willow :   how does your muse handle sadness   &   depression ? ha ha funny that you, nanna mun, would send this :)

The short answer is yes, Miranda is extremely prone to jealousy. In particular, she’s jealous of Nanna, because Nanna stands for everything she wishes she had.

MARIGOLD POINT 1: KINDNESS

When Miranda talks about her father, her focus is entirely on how kind her father was, not his competency as a ruler.

“It all started when you fled from Leonster. My father was a kind man who loved peace. He had no reason to go against the Empire… But…but…!” (Thracia 776 Chapter 16B) 

“Father abhorred fighting and was unfailingly kind... And he paid a terrible price for his kindness!” (Fire Emblem Heroes, castle quote)

We find out through Dryas reprimanding Miranda that her father was a weak ruler that refused to involve himself in conflicts and even further, the light novel implies that it was Ethnia, not the king, who decided to take in Leif and co. By all means, someone as single-mindedly focused on restoring Ulster as Miranda should be mad at her father for being a poor ruler. But Miranda instead clings to the memory of her father as a kind man. 

Kindness is a trait that Miranda values, because she feels like she can’t let herself be kind. Compare Nanna’s ending, where her “sweetness and generosity” is stressed, to Miranda’s ending, where her “short temper and (proclivity) to misunderstandings” is what’s stressed. Even from a gameplay perspective, Nanna uses swords and staves and her personal skill boosts hit/avoid for allies. It’s a support based kit. Miranda uses magic (and swords upon promotion) and her personal skill guarantees a crit if the enemy attacks her first. It’s a purely offensive, selfish kit.

MARIGOLD POINT 2: LEIF (DEROGATORY)

Much like most things in Miranda’s life, it all comes back to Leif. Whereas Leif will always goes after Nanna, Leif will always leave Miranda behind. The most poignant example of the difference between the way Leif treats Nanna and Miranda is the scene after the final chapter of Thracia 776.

Miranda: “Well, yes, but… The people want more than that. My advisors are urging me to marry you so that we can unite with Leonster. They think they can just tell me what to do because I’m a girl…”

Leif: “Well, you and I are the only heirs that survived this turmoil. What your advisors are saying only makes sense. But I’m not sure…”

Miranda: “Do you not like me? That’s okay, but…”

Leif: “No, that’s not it. I still have things to do. We still have the Granvalle Empire and other divisions of the Loptr Church to deal with, and we also have to defend Northern Thracia from invaders. There’s just too much on my mind to be thinking about whether I love someone or not…”

... Leif: “Yes, you did. We grew up like brother and sister, but you were always the one helping me. I was able to come this far because you were always there for me, to support me and cheer me up. Nanna, once this war ends, I’ll go look for Lachesis as well. And when I find her, I’m going to ask her directly…for your hand, Nanna…”

These aren’t different scenes, by the way. The background doesn’t change. These interactions are only minutes between each other. Holy shit, Leif. To make matters worse, Miranda’s ending implies that if she hadn’t fallen in love with someone else, she would have waited forever for an answer that Nanna got immediately.

WILLOW

Miranda handles sadness through anger; I find it extremely apt that her personal skill is Wrath lol. She’s prideful and bares her teeth at the slightest provocation, because her anger is the only thing keeping her from falling into despair. She watched despair steal away her parents from her, she vows to avenge them, even if it means trying to kill Leif herself (in the LN). She uses anger as a shield, because it’s the only thing keeping her going.

[unofficialadamtaurus]

I was thinking Weiss vs Adam could had been more interesting than Yang vs Adam. So, the question is if you were to write a fight between them, how would you portraiy them? Bloodthirsty Adam? Ashamed Weiss?

Thanks for taking the time to answer. ✌️

So, a couple things that would heavily affect how the fight plays out: whether there’s a time limit (reinforcements arriving, for example) and what led up to them clashing (WF attack, civilian casualties, etc.). V3 doesn’t really work since Weiss is exhausted before she would have the chance to find Blake and Adam; we’ll skip ahead. Since the plot of V6 doesn’t really allow for Weiss to just take Yang’s place in that fight, we’ll take an AU route around V5. I’m going to operate under the assumption that there is a time limit in Weiss’s favor to make things more interesting and establish that she’s captured by the WF instead of Raven just to give us a sense of where we’re at in her skill development. Her summons lets her escape imprisonment and recover her weapon, and she furthermore makes it back to the crashed ship to activate the distress beacon before Adam catches up.

With that in mind…

Adam would be out hunting her with several other squads, but once he found her, he’d demand his men leave (to “set up a perimeter” but that’s just an excuse so he can enjoy this himself). So Adam is out for blood but he’s feeling very cocky and in control as the new High Leader - not unlike his dumbassery at Haven.

Both Adam and Weiss use swords, but Adam focuses on slashes rather than thrusts like Weiss. Both have demonstrated incredible speed and both use it as a key part of their kits, but if Weiss can use her glyphs, she’d have the edge over Adam. Whether she can buy the time and distance required to set up her glyphs or not would decide the fight. Her summons could catch Adam off-guard once or twice, but after that, they lose the element of surprise and he can counter the moment he sees her trying to call one up.

Essentially, Adam would be almost entirely on offense. Weiss would get a few solid counters in thanks to her wide array of abilities and natural speed, but once Adam learned the trick to each ability, they’d lose most of their effectiveness. When she tries for an ice wall to call her knight summons, Adam could use the energy he’s stored up to that point to demolish the wall. He could also use it to kill her, but he’d be looking to enjoy the terror in her eyes.

So yeah, very bloodthirsty and, more importantly, cruel Adam against a Weiss just trying to survive. If the scar was revealed during the fight, Adam would probably use that moment of shocked hesitation on Weiss’s part to land the decisive blow. Her learning about that scar would aggravate him, and her expressing any shame, pity, or sympathy would only aggravate him more.

Still, Weiss would get enough desperate emotional appeals in to buy the time required for backup to arrive. She’d live, but now Adam would be targeting her just as much (if not more) than Blake. It could function as a wake-up call for him to stop being a weirdo about Blake and focus on the company and humans who have actually caused him and his people pain.

[music-of-melody]

A Fanatic Heart

Author: @acotazriel

Word Count:  7k

Rating: T {canon-typical violence & language}

Relationships: Riven/Musa 

Summary: What if all the Winx fairies were specialists and all the specialists were fairies? What if Riven doesn't realise how he feels for Musa before it's too late? What if he never has another chance again? May be continued into a series.

A/N: So this started out as a simple picture but ended up being an entire universe thanks to the amazing @acotazriel - Skye you have been honestly incredible throughout this all, especially given that I gave you like 3 sentences to work with so all the kudos to you! It has been a joy editing this and being a part of the creative process!

Riven hovered on the balls of his feet as he scanned the forest clearing. The woods were far too silent, with no noise in the way of birds, insects, or even a breeze among the treetops. The forest was waiting, like him. He scowled, feeling familiar eyes on his back but not turning around to face them. The Burned One had disappeared only thirty seconds ago; he knew it couldn’t have gotten far. He took the brief moment of respite to wipe the sweat from his brow as his eyes raked over the stand of shrubs, seeking any and all movement that might betray his quarry’s presence.

A twig cracked to his left and from the corner of his peripheral vision he caught sight of a charging, blackened figure. He whirled and dropped into a crouch just in time for the Burned One’s misshapen claw to swipe uselessly at the air above his head.

It fucking snuck up on him. How the fuck had it done that?

Riven didn’t waste time wondering; instead, he leapt backwards away from the swinging, venomous claws. The Burned One snarled and snapped but still Riven danced backward, drawing his opponent onto the offensive, forcing it to take the lead. After several seconds of distanced swipes, it took his bait and pounced forward—just as Riven anticipated. He timed his own leap to react to the Burned One and took the smashing blow right in the center of his reinforced chest plate.

He smirked even as he staggered two steps backward from the force of the blow. Right where he wanted.

The Burned One was strong, and in the following second Riven focused his mind on that kinetic energy it had imparted on his chest plate. He lifted his hands upward with his palms out and then let forth that same force in a wave of energy, blasting right at the Burned One’s approaching figure.

Riven grinned as the Burned One immediately tumbled backward, heels over scaly head, until it finally rolled to a stop forty feet away. “Thought you’d like that,” he taunted.

It slowly got to its feet, baring jagged fangs at Riven as it straightened to reach its full height. Riven sank into a crouch and raised his hands, palms outward again, and focused on the Cinder at its core.

It charged, screaming its demonic yowl, legs striding faster and faster over the uneven ground. It was thirty feet away and closing fast. Riven’s leg wobbled beneath him, still sore from the wild kick it had landed on him when it had first jumped them from above. At least it hadn’t broken his skin—he wasn’t Infected.

Yet. He reached out with his mind and felt the Cinder as it smoldered within the approaching Burned One—hot to the touch and full of dark energy, friction, and hatred.

Fifteen feet away now, screeching for all it was worth, reptilian feet pounding over the earth as it lunged. Riven drew a deep breath and visualized the Cinder bursting into smithereens.

Nothing.

The Cinder stayed intact and still the Burned One charged. Riven exhaled sharply in frustration and rolled to his right to dodge.

The Burned One spun on its heel to follow Riven’s progress, and he braced himself for the bite of its claws into his left shoulder—

Just as Musa leapt over his head and slashed her staff downward with both hands against its neck.

It screamed again, that horrific squall that chilled Riven to the bone (though he’d never admit it), Musa’s staff splitting into the three sections with which she fought as she charged the Burned One. She was a blur of forest green and ivory, her staff appearing as three pieces or as one when it suited her, leaving no place for her opponent to dodge or avoid the striking metal. Riven watched with satisfaction as she struck its head, its gut, its thigh, and its neck in quick succession. It slumped to its knees in agony, its maw gaping with an unheard scream of pain, and Riven raised his hands again and closed his eyes.

The Cinder beat like a defective heart, seething and bubbling with aimless rage. Riven clenched his fists as if squeezing the Cinder from the outside and Musa raised a forearm to cover her eyes. The Cinder exploded into a thousand fractals of light and energy that ricocheted outward through the forest and faded harmlessly into nothing.

When the reverberation deadened, Riven opened his eyes to see Musa bracing a booted foot against the Burned Ones’ corpse to roll it onto its back.

She jerked her staff upward in the snapping motion that folded the three pieces parallel to each other and lifted her gaze to him. “Thought you were going to take that one down by yourself?” she asked in a mock casual as she sheathed her staff into its quiver on her back.

“I had it under control,” Riven said with a grin as he straightened up. He scanned his body quickly, looking for any tears in his armor or breaks in his skin. Coming up empty, he cocked his head towards the unmoving corpse. “Just didn’t want you to get lazy.”

She huffed a laugh. “Right,” she said, voice dripping with sarcasm. “Yeah, I’d be a real couch potato if I didn’t have to jump up and save your sorry arse every five minutes.”

“I was fine. I could have taken it,” Riven said. One of these days he’d take one down all by himself and prove to Farah he didn’t need Specialist support. Prove to himself that he didn’t need anyone.

“Whatever. Toss me the sampling kit.” She knelt to the ground beside the Burned One while Riven unclipped the small leather pack at his belt. He tossed it to her and she caught it deftly, unzipped it, and withdrew Professor Harvey’s biosampling tackle.

He watched her scrape some of the Burned One’s scorched flesh into a vial and wished he’d paced out his cigs better. Now he was restless and directionless until they could return to camp. “Maybe I’ll just let it get you next time,” Musa said after a long beat. He arched an eyebrow at her. “Once it Infects you and I have to kill it, maybe you’ll see why Farah wants everyone to fight in teams.”

“Yeah, Farah’ll really go for that,” Riven scoffed.

“Farah says mutual trust—”

“It’s not a question of trust,” Riven cut her off. He crossed his arms over his chest and leaned back against a tree trunk with his eyes narrowed. “It’s a question of you doing your job, and me knowing that you’re gonna do your job.”

He’d lost count of the number of times he’d had this conversation. He avoided her frustrated expression and uncrossed his arms to withdraw the small throwing knife he kept in his boot, running his thumb over the blade to test its sharpness. He checked that Musa was still busy with the sampling kit and made another notch in his leather chest cuirass. “That makes nine,” he announced.

She wrinkled her nose. “I thought it was eight?”

“No, I’m counting that one back in the moor for us.”

She huffed another laugh. “Sure, just don’t tell Silva that—I already saw him tally it up in his count.”

Riven shook his head and clucked his tongue. “He really lets getting chosen by a dragon get to his head, doesn’t he.”

Musa laughed, for real this time, her chestnut brown eyes glinting with glee. “You’re just saying that because he’s the only fairy to beat you in hand-to-hand combat.”

“That was a technicality—” Riven had just begun his retort when a loud shout echoed behind them. They both whirled, Musa already jumped up and her staff drawn and ready, studying the surrounding woods for the source of the noise.

“There,” Musa pointed out. In the far distance Riven could just make out a couple of trees that were swaying back and forth in an unnatural motion—not from the trunks, but from the roots. Another cry—this time a feminine scream.

They broke into a sprint at the same time. “I think it’s Flora,” Musa panted as they darted between trees and over shrubs.

“Nah, that’s Brandon’s style,” Riven refuted, thinking of the motion of the tree trunks. “Besides, I got way too good at recognizing Stella’s screams back when she was with Sky—”

Musa shot him a glare, but they both saved their breath as they ran through the woods. They reached the top of a ridge and paused when they caught sight of two Alfea uniforms—one Specialist, one fairy.

Brandon was down, lying on his side with one hand clutching his stomach and the other outstretched in front of him. Stella’s twin swords flashed in the sunlight as she hacked and parried the Burned One in front of her. The ground beneath their feet rippled and rolled like waves on a pond—every time the Burned One raised its arms, it stumbled on the erratic ground while the forest floor beneath Stella remained as steady as a rock.

But she was hurt, too—Riven could see from the way her left arm lagged behind her right, and sure enough, within a few seconds the Burned One managed to knock her left blade from her hand.

Musa and Riven didn’t wait another moment. They charged down the hill, Riven already reaching his palms outward, making sure to stay two steps behind Musa’s staff.

This one was bigger than the one they’d just killed - it towered over Musa’s compact form, although he knew this just played into her strength: speed. She was a flurry of flashing metal and darting green as she dodged the Burned Ones’ swipes and claws.

Riven reached Brandon and crouched on his haunches. “It got you?”

“Fuck me, yes,” Brandon hissed, and pulled his hand away from his stomach for long enough for Riven to see a smear of red blood and black Burned One bile webbing outward from the wound. “Got Stella too.”

“We’ll take care of it,” Riven promised. He rested a steadying hand on Brandon’s shoulder and turned to look back at their Specialists. Musa and Stella had already managed to bring it to its knees, and within a blink, Musa drew back with a powerful swing and leveled the Burned One with a furious strike to its neck. It keeled backward, and Stella raised her right sword with both hands and stabbed it downwards into its chest, pinning it to the ground.

Riven approached, palms outward again, and now—with little danger from the lifeless form—cradled the Cinder in his mind, then crushed it with minimal effort, squeezing his eyes shut as the energy rippling outward nearly surged through them.

Stella let out a slow, rattling breath as the Burned One’s life force drained away. She staggered back, catching her breath, and then immediately hurried to Brandon. In the span of seconds she reached his side, knelt, and rolled him onto his back. Riven and Musa approached as well, Riven drawing forth his first aid kit from the pack at his belt.

“I’ll be okay,” Brandon said thickly. His breath was ragged and both hands clutched at the wound in his stomach. His eyes never left Stella’s. “I’ll be okay.” Riven had the sense that his words were more of a plea than an assurance.

“Of course you’ll be okay,” Stella shushed him as she cradled his head in her lap. “It’s dead, we just have to get you fixed up.”

“And you’re okay, Stel?” Musa asked, running a questioning hand along Stella’s left arm.

“Fine,” Stella answered absently. “Just nicked my wrist, that’s all.” To justify her nonchalance, she extended her left hand out to show Musa and Riven. Her sleeve had torn and there was a line of blood where her forearm met her hand, but it didn’t appear serious.

Riven handed over gauze and healing potions. “Think you can walk?”

“I’ll be okay,” Brandon repeated. “Just give me a second.”

Musa took Riven’s forearm and pulled him backward to give Brandon and Stella space. They watched from behind Stella, handing her additional bandages and tinctures as she tended to her fairy. Within a few minutes, the color returned to Brandon’s face, although he couldn’t hide the pain that flicked over his features when he tried to stand. Riven offered an arm to help Brandon limp back to camp but the other fairy brushed him off. “I’m fine, I’ll just go slow,” Brandon said.

Stella looped Brandon’s arm over her shoulder so she could help him walk. “We’ll see you guys back at camp,” she said. “And thanks for the assist.”

“Yeah—thanks,” Brandon forced out before Stella led him forward.

Musa and Riven watched them walk away for a long beat before Musa collapsed her staff back into thirds, sheathed it, and then ran a hand through her hair. “That was a little scary.”

Riven shook his head dismissively. “I’ve been telling Brandon for weeks he leaves his core too exposed when he fights. And I’ve heard you yourself telling Stella she needs to tighten up her left side.”

She glared at him. “That’s harsh, Riv. People make mistakes—that doesn’t mean they deserve it.”

“I didn’t say they deserved it—and we don’t make mistakes,” he grinned. “We haven’t lost yet. Not with real ones, anyway.” The simulation Burned Ones that they’d faced back when they were still training didn’t count.

“Yeah, but…” Musa’s lips formed a thin line as she stared after Brandon and Stella’s receding forms. “Sometimes I wonder if you’re going to be saying that shit behind my back if I ever make a mistake.”

He hissed an exhale in frustration. “You think I wouldn’t have done the same for you? I’m doing my job, Musa, which means I’m not leaving you on the ground to die.”

“Even if I left my core too exposed or didn't tighten up my left side?”

She threw his words back at him, her tone mocking, and he stopped short and turned to face her. “Fine, you want me to say it? I do. I do care about you. You’re a fucking good fighter and I don’t want anyone else at my side.”

Her mouth curved into a mischievous grin. “So you do trust me.”

“That’s not what I said.”

“That’s what I heard.”

He huffed a sharp exhale through turned-up lips that ruffled his quiff. “Whatever. Let’s just keep patrolling.”

Before he followed her forward, he notched another mark on his cuirass.

===

They returned to camp a few hours later. The first thing they did was check on Brandon in the infirmary tent being tended to by Harvey, and then Musa went to wash up while Riven headed to the mess tent.

He loaded up his tray with as much food as he could fit before looking for Sky in the fairy tent.

“Heard you had a productive morning,” Sky asked from his cot, looking up from the throwing stars he was cleaning.

Riven nodded through a mouthful of stew and puffed out his chest to show the two new notches he’d made. “Told you we’re the best team,” he said with pride after chewing and swallowing. “What did you and Bloom do?”

“Killed three, actually.”

"Bullshit!" Riven exclaimed, but Sky just chuckled and shook his head.

“Ask Silva.” He stood up. “Actually, I’m heading that way, you should come with. He asked me and Bloom to try out his new idea—”

Riven's eyes narrowed, projecting his disappointment as irritation. "What about our debrief hike?"

Sky’s gaze dropped back to his hands and the pile of cleaned throwing stars at his feet. "Can't today—I already promised Bloom I would."

Scowling, Riven picked up his bread. "Right, can't compete with a shag now, can I?"

Sky frowned and glanced back up. "It's not a competition, Riv. I'm just moving our mates time, I'm not bailing so I can get laid."

"Right—you're just bailing and getting laid."

Sky rolled his eyes, set down his rag, and grabbed his cuirass from its hook over his bed and pulled it over his head. “You’ve got a letter, by the way,” he changed the subject and pointed at the desk against the far wall.

Riven lowered his head to his lunch and shrugged, ignoring the spike of inadequacy at its likely contents. "Don't care." Sky fastened the straps on his cuirass with a puzzled expression that made Riven's ears burn. He hated pity, and in his desperation to fill the silence with anything else he spoke again. "It's probably just Dad telling me not to come home next time we get leave."

"Riven..." Sky's tone was so full of unsolicited sympathy that it further frayed Riven's already irritated nerves.

"Read it, I don't care," he said through another bite. "Go on."

Sky finished tightening his chest harness, walked to the desk, and slit open the envelope. "'Dear Riven, you are most welcome at home in two weeks,'" he read, his voice rising hopefully. Riven raised a hand for him to read on, and Sky looked back down at the letter. "'...however your stepmother and I will be on holiday in Melody. You can let yourself in. Write soon.'" He finished, deflated, and dropped the letter back onto the table, at a loss for words.

Riven shrugged to prove to Sky that he didn't care. At least it was longer than his father's usual letters, he thought dryly.

"I'm sorry, Riv.” Had Riven been less peeved then he would have appreciated the sincere apology in Sky's voice. "Let's do our hike when I get back."

"Yeah, sure," he replied dully. "Enjoy spending time with your ball-and-chain."

"She's not my ball-and-chain, Riven," Sky sighed, exasperated as he laced his boots. "She's more than that... she's my lifeline."

Riven made a retching noise in the back of his throat, gagging at Sky's sentimentality, but after Musa’s comments this morning, the comment hit closer to home than he thought it would.

"Right, well, see you when we get back." He left the tent, leaving Riven to finish his meal in silence.

===

As soon as he was done Riven tossed his tray back into the mess tent and shoved his hands into the pockets of his uniform. As much as he didn’t want to admit it, he couldn’t help but feel let down by Sky. Sky was the one who’d dragged Riven on these hikes at first, a way for them to have some time to themselves away from the girls, just the two of them like before. Riven had gone along begrudgingly at first but had in the last few months found himself looking forward to them—a chance to compartmentalize and destress with his best friend from the furor of battle and camp life.

And now, Sky had blown him off.

He set his jaw as he paced through camp. He knew that Sky didn’t mean anything by it, but it still niggled angrily in the back of Riven’s brain. He kicked a rock in the path, savoring the sweet agony in his toe because it distracted him from the nervous energy in his mind. He could have that relationship with Musa if he wanted—he just didn’t want to. They were soft, all of them, and if Riven knew one thing it was that the people you trusted always let you down in the end. If you gave them a piece of your heart, it was inevitable that they would crush it.

“What is it?” A voice in front of him spoke and Riven looked up, surprised to find himself in front of the infirmary. Musa looked up at him from where she knelt in Professor Harvey’s herb garden. “Does Dowling need us?”

“What? Oh, no,” Riven said quickly, silently cursing himself. He knew better than to connect the dots that thinking about Musa led to him finding himself arriving at one of her usual haunts. “I, uh— how’s Brandon?”

To his surprise, instead of a simple answer Musa glanced back into the tent, then stood up and brushed the dirt from the knees of her trousers. “Let’s talk out there,” she said quietly.

Riven nodded, falling into step beside her as they paced along the path and out through the temporary barrier erected around their campsite. “Huh, I didn’t know it was bad.”

“It hit his aorta,” Musa admitted, pushing aside the underbrush as they walked vaguely north. “He’s not Infected or anything, it’s just going to take him a lot longer to heal than they thought.”

“That sucks,” Riven agreed. Still sensitive about Sky’s comment, he chose not to offer any more opinions about Brandon’s form—in fact, he regretted his previous remarks. He thought back to his earlier conversation with Musa and cringed. “Stella must be pretty cut up.”

“She definitely feels guilty,” Musa admitted in a low voice.

Riven pressed his lips together, holding a branch out for Musa to walk beside him and not get whacked in the head. “She shouldn’t—it wasn’t her fault. The one they knocked heads with looked like a nasty bugger.”

Musa allowed a small smile up at Riven. “It was—and someone’s being generous,” she teased. “Did Riven grow a heart?”

“Wow, say something nice about a guy on death’s door, and suddenly you’re a saint,” Riven shot back. “Brandon’s a damn good fairy. We need him.”

“Ah, that’s right,” Musa said, her tone dropping from teasing to mocking. “He’s just doing a job.”

“That’s not what I meant—”

“That’s what I heard,” she said again. She drew up short and turned to face him. “Tell me, have you ever trusted anyone?”

He stopped as well, feeling a twist in his gut. He didn’t want to continue this age-old conversation, but for a different reason than usual—he was alarmed that she was upset. He didn’t want one more person to push him away. “Why does it matter to you?” he asked. “Why do you care so much about trust when we should be worried about Burned Ones and Rosalind and fucking psycho Beatrix—”

“Because if I’m just a job to you, Riven, then I can’t do this.”

His lips parted and he stared, dumbstruck.

“If you can’t trust me then I don’t want to do this. I’m going to ask Dowling to be paired with someone else.”

His brain sagged at her announcement, briefly flashing through his life if he didn’t have his Specialist next to him. Having to start over with someone new… someone likely less capable… someone worse. Someone that wasn’t her.

“Musa—”

“No, don’t, Riven—”

An otherworldly scream cleaved the air above their heads. Riven flinched and looked upward in time to see a Burned One drop from a tree above their heads.

Fuck.

He reacted instantly with his training and skittered backward, stumbling at first and then more skillfully as his training took over. The Burned One had missed them in its initial lurch, but it was already upright and snarling towards them as they hurried to overcome the surprise.

“Got a shot?” Riven shouted as he ducked beneath a swipe of its jagged claws. He rolled to his feet and glanced quickly at Musa—thankfully she had kept her staff with her, and it was already twirling in her hands, a blur of metal and ivory.

“Take it,” Musa yelled back, and Riven acknowledged with a quick “Aye!” She was asking him to use his energy absorption powers to take a blow and then reverse the energy back onto it. Riven straightened up and danced backward, taunting the Burned One to prowl forward and away from Musa while she got her bearings. “Come here, you little fuck,” Riven shouted, hoping to distract it.

It lunged and Riven leapt sideways to take the brunt of its force on his breastplate. It struck true and Riven almost laughed in delight as he focused that energy back through his palms, and blasted the Burned One twenty feet backward.

With some breathing room now between the pair and the Burned One Musa charged. Her staff was a spinning twirl of silver and white as she advanced and struck forward as the Burned One pushed itself to its feet. Her staff struck over and over at any exposed areas the Burned One left open, causing it to keel backwards in pain. Musa rained so many blows on the creature that it keeled backward, stunned by pain, and if it had been anything but a Burned One Riven would have felt sorry for it.

Riven advanced with palms out, his mind sharpening on the Cinder at its core. Musa struck out again and again on Burned One while he located that beating mass of rage and hatred. He closed his eyes and focused on it, imagining it bursting into smithereens.

“Now,” he called out, their sign for her to shield her vision, and the Cinder exploded in another blast of light and energy.

The silence that followed the Burned One’s destruction felt more weary than usual. Riven dropped to his knees, cowed by the surprise and viciousness of their sudden fight, and opened his eyes to see Musa shakily folding her staff by hand into thirds before glancing over at him.

“Fuck, they’re getting bolder,” she said, and he nodded.

“Got to be on guard.”

“Luckily we’re ‘the best,’ right?” Musa said with a jittery chuckle. Riven’s lips thinned—they’d been caught by surprise. Only their training had saved them.

“Yeah, the best.” He righted himself, dusting off his uniform where he’d rolled on the mossy forest floor. Despite himself, he couldn’t help replaying Musa’s earlier words from that morning in his head—so you do trust me.

He knew by any other metric that’d be true. Riven finally forced himself to admit it. If Bloom was Sky’s lifeline, then he knew Musa was his. He could call it whatever he wanted, but it was trust.

The thought of admitting it to Musa made his gut twist again. It went against almost everything he stood for, to admit that he was wrong—except for his number one principle: honesty. If that meant admitting to Musa that he trusted her, then that trumped everything.

He opened his mouth.

Musa cocked an eyebrow at him—waiting for his smarmy retort—but before he could speak the brush behind her solidified from thorny oleander to the shape of a Burned One.

His words died on his lips, replaced by a silent scream.

The Burned One struck out at Musa from behind—her staff lay limply in her hand and her eyes were fixed on Riven. On him. Instead of herself and her back and the slim body that he should be defending.

It was like she recognized what had happened before he did. Her chestnut eyes sought his as the Burned One’s claw sank into her back, and he felt her scream on every level—physically, mentally, psychologically—and even fucking deeper than that. He felt her scream in his very bones.

He watched her fall almost in slow motion, her arms raising first in reaction to the pain, the staff falling from her grip and clattering uselessly to the forest floor—then her legs as she pitched forward, knees buckling, and the rest of her body followed, a rag doll to the deep wound from the Burned One’s dagger-like claws.

And her face. Her fucking face. Warped in surprise, with pain glossing over her features in a slice that made Riven feel as much if not more pain than she. His Specialist, in pain—attacked.

She crumpled. The Burned One stood over her body, crowing victory in its nonverbal tongue and still slashing at her body, and Riven felt a fire that he’d never felt before alight in his veins. It spread from his heart to his gut to his extremities, carrying surprise and rage and a loss that he had never before felt in his life.

Musa. It had hurt Musa. It had hurt Musa to the point that she’d collapsed and he was still standing, and he ceased to be Riven—he became a pillar of furor and mania.

It had hurt the one person who had fought by his side the last six months.

It had hurt the one person who was always there when he needed her, conscious or not.

It had hurt the one person who knew him inside out and still chose to fight beside him.

It had hurt his Specialist. His Musa.

He screamed in guttural rage and it felt as though his voice ricocheted through the entire forest.

Suddenly, in the midst of his fury, pain exploded between his shoulder blades. It wrenched through him with enough violence to cut short his cry, and he staggered forward as if pushed by an invisible force. Beneath the anger and passion he felt something else—something kinetic and physical, something fundamentally different about himself.

He fell forward onto his knees and pressed his hands to the dirt, blinking back tears of pain as something huge—something massive erupted against his back, ripping his shirt in half at the back seam. He crawled forward on his hands and knees, seeking to escape the burden on his shoulders, to slither out from beneath whatever-the-fuck-it-was now weighing him down and pressing him against the earth. It had to be a Burned One—another had snuck up on them, and gotten Riven this time, and this was what it felt like to be Infected, to have the venom coursing through his body, paralyzing him—

He wouldn’t be able to help Musa.

The thought made his head fly up and face her, every atom in his body resisting that thought. He had to save her. He fucking had to.

He grit his teeth through the pain and dared a glance behind him. Another yell escaped his throat at the sight—this time from surprise. Indigo talons twice the size of an eagle’s hovered over his shoulders, almost dagger-like in shape, connected with a lighter purple webbing—

He choked as he connected the pain between his shoulder blades with the apparition in front of his eyes.

Wings. He had fucking wings.

Riven fought to regain his breath as he pulled himself to his feet, stumbling a little as he compensated for the additional weight on his back. His shirt and reinforced breast plate fell from his chest but he barely noticed. He had wings.

More than that, he realized—he had power.

He could feel it thrumming through him—where before his magic had been a murmur, now it was a roar. It vibrated against his bones and he could feel it crackling at his fingertips. Power.

He barely had to focus—the only thing in his mind was Musa, collapsed at the Burned One’s feet, and Riven simply raised his palms.

The Burned One took a step backward, daunted by the change in Riven’s appearance. He flexed muscles that sixty seconds ago he didn’t know he had and spread his wings as wide as possible to make himself appear larger and more intimidating.

It recovered from its fright and charged at him in a frantic frenzy, but Riven found his reaction times halved by his normal standards—each swipe of the Burned One he met with a slap of his own hands, swatting it away before it could puncture his skin. It yowled in frustration and tried to clap its hands together around Riven’s torso but he simply ducked, leaving it hugging itself in a bizzare embrace. He closed his eyes—almost lazily—and within milliseconds cradled that Cinder in his mind—He didn’t need to concentrate on his focus nearly as much as before.

He focused that rage and energy onto the Cinder and felt it explode into nothing, from boiling hatred to empty peace, and then he opened his eyes.

It was gone. The Burned One had disappeared but Musa still lay on the ground. He knew she wasn’t in danger of Infection, but like with Brandon’s injury there was no time to waste. He scooped her into his arms bridal-style, and when her head lolled against his chest he felt a plunge of something deep in his chest, near where his wings had taken root.

Musa. His Specialist. He needed her.

He didn’t even know how he knew to take flight, but he just knew. His wings carried him through the forest, low and darting as a dragonfly over the brush and through the trees. His shoulders ached with the exhaustion of muscles weak with lack of use, but Riven didn’t care. He forced himself forward, not stopping until he reached the barrier, and even then he pumped his wings forward until he reached the infirmary.

He landed awkwardly on his feet and barrelled inside, Musa still in his arms, knocking aside equipment and paraphernalia left and right with his wingspan. He didn’t care. The only thing he cared about was the seep of her blood onto his shirt and then the floor, and how he had to stop it.

He had to save his Specialist. The one he trusted with his life.

Professor Harvey straightened up from Brandon’s cot, his eyes as large as saucers as he took in the sight of a winged Riven holding Musa’s limp body. A healing fairy stood in the back of the tent behind him, her jaw agape, gaze locked on the violet daggers of Riven’s wingtips.

Riven lifted Musa towards Harvey as if presenting a macabre offering. They weren’t helping. They weren’t moving. They just fucking stared.

“Help!” he bellowed at Harvey. “Help her!”

Harvey blinked but the spell finally broke. He leapt forward to take Musa from Riven’s arms and the fairy behind him hurried over as well. Riven and Harvey lowered onto a cot, her back and the worst of her injuries facing upward. Riven sank onto his knees and ran his hands through Musa’s hair, then over her face as if he could stroke life back into her. Her face was paler than he’d ever seen—even her lips looked desaturated. Her eyes were closed and looked far too relaxed, as if she was asleep, but he couldn’t think that because that’s always what people said when they d-

He forcibly stopped that thought and clutched at her head. “Musa,” he choked. “Musa, wake up—”

“Riven, I need to get by you,” Harvey said above him. Riven felt a pressure on his right side somewhere unusual and realized that Harvey was trying to lean over Musa through his still-flexed wing. He shifted two steps to the left so he was at the head of the bed, but he felt a hand on his arm.

He looked up at Sky, concern written all over his blue eyes. “Riven, come with me—”

“No,” Riven said, clutching closer to the metal frame of Musa’s cot. “No, not without her—”

Sky’s hand closed more firmly around Riven’s arm. “Riv, you’re in the way—let the healers work.”

Maybe Sky was right—the healing fairy squeezed past his wingspan to reach the supplies above his head—but he couldn’t leave her. It was his fault she was hurt, they’d been arguing—he should have protected her.

But Sky wasn’t leaving him a choice. Silva appeared next to him, and between the two of them they grasped Riven’s upper arms and pulled him from the tent, his errant wings still knocking bottles from shelves and curtains from their rods. Riven’s vision stayed fixed on Musa, dread pooling inside him at how small and frail she looked on that cot.

He didn’t even realize they had dragged him into the strategy tent until he blinked and Silva was snapping his fingers in front of Riven’s eyes to rouse him.

“Riven,” Silva said. “What the hell happened?”

Riven stared at Silva, but he wasn’t really seeing him. He saw Musa, her face torqued in pain, the way her knees and elbows bent as she fell, her brown pigtails splayed out against the earth. His fault.

“Riven,” Sky reached out with a hand and turned his chin to force eye contact. “Riven, are you alright?”

He swallowed thickly and jerked his head downward out of Sky’s grip to stare at the ground. “Burned One came out of nowhere—we killed it, but then there was another—camouflaged somehow. It got M—” his voice caught and he stopped, unable to finish.

“But you killed it?” Sky prompted, and Riven managed a brusque nod. “Musa’s gonna be fine, Riven—she’s hurt but not Infected.”

He screwed his face up at that. Sure, she wasn’t Infected. She was just unconscious with pain and incapacitated for who the hell knew how long, and it was his fucking fault.

“Riven.” He wished they’d stop saying his name. He didn’t want any of them—he wanted to be alone. With her. With Musa.

He felt another hand on his arm and tried to pull it away, but the hand clenched harder, forcing him to look up. Silva stared down at him, expression full of something akin to sympathy. “I know you want to blame yourself, but it’s possible to make no mistakes and still lose. That doesn’t mean you’re a bad partner—it means you are alive. That’s life.”

Riven shook his head, but as he ran the fight back through his head, he found the smallest bit of solace in Silva’s words. He drew a shaky breath and gave Silva the barest hint of a nod.

Silva released his grip on Riven’s arm and nodded back. “Want to tell us how you got those?”

Pushing aside his guilt about Musa meant that the sensations of his body all came roaring back, and Riven grimaced in pain. His shoulders ached at the notch of his wings, his chest was sore from taking the Burned One’s blow, and he felt a general sense of exhaustion from his flight back to camp. “When the Burned One got her,” he said and lifted his gaze to observe the tendrils of purple reaching above his head. “It just happened. I was so angry—and then they just burst out of me. It hurt like hell.”

“Looks cool as hell,” Sky said with a grin, circling Riven to admire the wings from all angles.

“What else happened?” Silva asked, and Riven turned back to face him with a quizzical expression. Silva gestured to the wings. “Anything besides these?”

“Yeah,” Riven said slowly, recalling that thrum of energy that had surged through him. “Power. It was like my magic was twice as powerful and half as easy. I’ve never killed one so quickly. Not on my own.”

Sky wolf whistled in admiration and Riven allowed a small grin.

Then his grin vanished, replaced by a grimace of pain. He stumbled forward and grabbed Sky’s shoulder to keep himself upright as his back muscles wrenched and contorted. A keen of pain escaped his clenched teeth—it felt like his back was splitting open between his shoulder blades. He gasped and sank to his knees, pulling Sky down with him, his legs unable to support him in his agony.

As suddenly as it started, it stopped. Riven stayed on the ground, hands on his thighs, breathing away the memory of the pain. He felt lighter and somehow lesser—more muted. He looked up and confirmed what he’d suspected—his wings had vanished, receding inside him.

“Now that was cool,” Silva chuckled.

Riven grimaced again and used Sky’s shoulder to haul himself back upright. “Does this mean I can go back now?” he asked, looking from Silva to Sky. “I can stay out of the way.”

Silva and Sky exchanged a glance, at which Silva nodded. At the smallest motion Riven immediately turned for the tent flap and hurried forward.

Sky came with him, for which Riven was silently appreciative. Even though he didn’t want to talk, he didn’t want to be alone with his thoughts either, and Sky was his best friend. He would be a silent companion if that’s what Riven needed.

Harvey begrudgingly let Riven back inside and Sky left Riven in an out-of-the-way corner, an agitated but quiet spectator to Harvey’s ministrations. He returned a few minutes later with water and a clean shirt, both of which Riven accepted gratefully.

They waited long into the night, Riven’s gaze never leaving Musa. Sky’s head drooped against his shoulder and he reflected on what his friend had told him earlier, about his Specialist being his lifeline. Fuck, he’d been right.

===

Some color had returned to Musa’s cheeks, but she was still weak from loss of blood and the extent of the Burned One’s claws in her body. Riven only left her side to eat, which Harvey did not permit in the infirmary. The other teams came in at various times to wish her well and congratulate Riven on his transformation. He always hated when they brought that part up. As impressive as it was (so they said), it was without a doubt the worst twenty minutes of his life.

After a few days’ recovery she lay on her stomach with the white bandages still wrapped around her torso while Riven perched on a stool beside her cot, one foot up on her bedframe and the other tucked on the crossbar of his stool. “I’m still mad I’m the only one who never got to see them,” she sighed and rested on hand beneath her chin. “Stella says they wouldn’t have been out of place at a spring fashion show.”

“My wings were extremely masculine, thank you,” Riven said, and Musa laughed hard enough to grimace in pain and clutch at her ribs. They fell silent and Riven ran a thumb along the seam of his trousers, still unable to think back to that time without flinching. “Maybe I’ll learn to control them, but until then I honestly hope you never see them.”

She gave him a bracing smile, and he knew she understood without him having to say it—that if it took Musa getting mortally hurt for his wings to appear, he’d rather never transform again.

She reached her hand out and he took it, thumbing a wide arc over the back of her hand. His Specialist. His partner. His life.

[lettheladylead]

Title: A Night Out Ship: Baloo/Rebecca Summary:  Rebecca decides to have a night out and goes with Baloo to hang at Louie's Place. ao3 link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30942905

It wasn’t often that she humored Baloo by coming along with him to Louie’s (or that he humored her by not complaining too much when she asked). But Kit had been begging to babysit more to earn money for some new toy he wanted and Rebecca had to admit...she could use a night off. Molly was an angel, but she’d been very needy the past few days.

And it wasn’t like she had any other friends to spend time with.

So off to Louie’s they went, though Baloo was side eyeing her the entire flight there, clearly suspicious of her motivations. They’d been out before and it wasn’t a problem! She’d been to Louie’s before, no issues about it. He had no reason to think that she was being sneaky.

“So, Becks…”

“What?”

Baloo tapped his fingers against the wheel. “...you’re not gonna try to get Louie in trouble again, are ya? He’s real sorry ‘bout what happened last time!”

Rebecca scrunched her brow at her partner’s words before the memory of her last visit to Louie’s hit her: one of his regulars had groped her and Louie didn’t kick him out until she threatened to call the police. She’d completely forgotten about it thanks to how busy she’d been with work and Molly starting school soon.

“It’s fine, Baloo,” she finally replied, rolling her eyes at his loud sigh of relief. “Just so long as it doesn’t happen again.”

“Oh, no worries there!” Baloo smiled at her as the Sea Duck started down towards the water. “I personally told Ralphie to never darken Louie’s door again!”

Rebecca huffed and turned to look at the pilot next to her, thinking he was making fun of her. She stared at his face to see a surprisingly serious expression - and not his standard Gotta Land This Plane Safely look. She took another moment of staring at his profile before turning away with a slight blush on her cheeks. She’d had a long week, maybe a night of drinking too much would be exactly the break she needed.

-

And they were making fun of her.

They were always making fun of her, but this time she tried to play along and then it just made it worse and now she was stuck with these two boys who bounced off one another like a comedy routine while she nursed a drink that she didn’t really know what it was but it tasted good and it was her third one and she was feeling quite a lot more relaxed than she normally would have when being mocked by two absolute morons.

“Ahhh, Becky, Becky, Becky,” Louie cooed at her. “You really should drink some water. Baloo tells me you’re quite the lightweight!”

“No, no, you got it all wrong!” Baloo said with a smirk, taking a big gulp from his beer. “I didn’t say she’s a lightweight, I said she fights me about my weight!”

They laughed together - a lot harder than Rebecca thought was necessary for such a bad joke - and she responded by taking a bigger swig of her drink than she probably should’ve. She hadn’t stood up since arriving and she knew once she did, all the alcohol would hit her at once. It was nice to know she could trust Baloo to get her home safe, at least. If nothing else, he was a good guy.

“Don’t you two have any material that isn’t at my expense?” she said, leaning on one arm. “Like if there was a different girl here, how would you entertain her?”

Louie and Baloo locked eyes for a quick moment before turning back to her. “If there was a different girl here, then we’d be having a very different -”

Baloo cut off his friend with a hand over his mouth and glared. Louie shrugged and laughed as the bear pulled his hand away. “What he’s trying to say, Becks, is that you’re a classy lady. Louie’s Place doesn’t get a lot of classy ladies, so most of our jokes aren’t exactly your style.”

“Oh? Since when do you care about my style?” Rebecca laughed, snorting once and immediately trying to hide it by taking another sip of her drink. “Considering the kinds of things you say to me on a daily basis, I can’t imagine you’re holding back.”

“Izzat true, Baloo?” Louie elbowed him and faked a shocked look on his face. “Are you not treating your lady here with respect?”

Baloo glared. “Not my lady,” he started as a quiet mumble. “...and yes, Becky, I do hold back a lot out of respect for you!”

She took another sip, raising a suspicious eyebrow at him. “Is that why you told me my new pants make my ass look fat?”

Louie’s burst out into laughter as Baloo blushed, glaring at his friend and then glaring down at Rebecca. “N-no, I mean...you asked for my honest opinion! I’m a spontaneous guy! I say things without thinking sometimes!”

“Sometimes, sure, alright.” Rebecca smirked, feeling proud that she’d produced the biggest laugh of the night so far. “I don’t think spontaneity is an excuse for pissing me off every other day.”

Baloo frowned at that, looking over to Louie for some help, but the monkey just shrugged and grabbed his own drink to focus on that for a minute. Baloo huffed before taking another long gulp of his beer and decided to go on the offensive. “That’s just ‘cause you don’t know anything about being spontaneous! Sometimes you piss people off, that's just how it goes!”

She sent him both a pout and a glare before opening her mouth again. “Says you! I’m not just some stuffy, boring office woman! I can surprise people!”

Baloo let out a harsh laugh, though this time Louie didn’t join in, opting to stare awkwardly between the two bears instead. “Come on, Becks, no point in pretending to be something you’re not!”

Rebecca dramatically slammed down her glass and glared at him again. Then she glared down at the bar and huffed before gripping the edge of the table and standing up. She climbed up onto the bar and tossed her hands in the air. “See? You didn’t expect this, did you?”

A moment later and the rush of drunkenness flooded to her head and Rebecca quickly sat down, her legs swinging off the edge of the bar. Baloo and Louie locked eyes again and Louie moved towards the sink to grab her some water.

Baloo slid closer to her - his elbow lightly grazing the edge of her thigh. “Yeah, so, standing on a bar isn’t as crazy as you seem to think it is. If you ever do something really unexpected, I’ll let ya know.”

She crossed her arms over her chest. “Like what?”

“I dunno!” Baloo shrugged, looking over at Louie to see the monkey struggling to find a clean glass. “You gotta take people by surprise! Make ‘em speechless. I’ve had too many beers to come up with somethin’ now, but trust me, you'll have to try much harder to catch me off-guard.”

Rebecca let out a hmph! as she thought about his words. They wandered through her muddled mind and her eyes widened as the perfect way to prove her spontaneity came to her. Plus - it was guaranteed to make Baloo speechless.

She looked over at him and before he could even ask what she was doing, Rebecca grabbed the collar of his shirt and pulled him to her while she leaned forward. Her lips crashed against his and she squeezed her eyes shut in anticipation of him pushing her away and calling her crazy.

For a brief moment, her fear wasn’t wrong. Initially, his eyes grew as big as dinner plates and the red on his cheeks was not just because of the alcohol. He was certainly tempted to push her off, but mostly because she was drunk and they’d never done anything like that before. Well, either she was hiding some intense feelings for him or she really wanted to prove him wrong...or both. Whichever her reasons, he felt his heart do backflips as the realization of what was happening set it.

At least ten seconds passed with neither of them moving, and then all at once, they came together. Baloo set his beer down and moved one hand to her waist while the other crawled around her back, cradling her closer to him as he leaned in to deepen the kiss.

Rebecca kept her hands wrapped up in his shirt collar, but tightened her grip as she tilted her head and slightly opened her mouth against his in a clear attempt to bring their kiss to the next level. She wanted to be shocked by his reciprocity, but she was really just focusing on the feeling of his hands wrapped around her. She’d kissed him before, as a joke, but only light pecks and he’d never kissed back. This was something very new.

Baloo followed her lead and pulled her even closer to him - her knee bumped against his chest - as the hand that was on her back moved up to the back of her head. He tilted his head, too, and pushed a little more towards her - relishing the tiny little, satisfied-sounding noise that came from her throat. He wouldn’t dare call it a moan, but it was definitely something. Never in a million years had he imagined this actually, really happening. He’d barely imagined it in his head! But…

“Whoa!”

The two bears broke apart at the sudden sound of Louie’s voice. Never thinking of manners or social graces, he gave them a big confused smile. “Should I give you two the room?”

Baloo and Rebecca were breathing a little heavily and staring into each other’s eyes as he spoke. Baloo’s hands slowly moved down to cradle her hips while her grip on his shirt loosened to the point where he could easily pull away. Instead they stared for another few seconds before Rebecca finally spoke.

“I…” she said quietly. “I...need to use the ladies’ room!”

The pilot didn’t react as she quickly jumped away from him and hobbled towards the bathroom, occasionally losing her balance and grabbing bar stools or tables to get upright again. Baloo stayed exactly as he was before, only turning his head slightly to watch her walk away.

Louie placed the glass of water in front of him. “My man...what was that?”

Baloo didn’t bother trying to hide the dark blush on his face. “I, uh...I’m...I’m not sure.”

“Well,” Louie leaned onto the counter. “It definitely wasn’t nothing!”

“Gee, thanks, Captain Obvious,” Baloo grumbled at his friend. “She was just tryin’ to prove that she can be spontaneous. I guess.”

“Uh huh. That looked like a lot more than her tryin' to prove somethin’, buddy.”

Baloo copied Louie and leaned onto the counter, partially covering his mouth with his hand. He could still feel her lips on his and it made him feel a lot of funny feelings. “...yeah, I know.”

Louie raised an eyebrow. “Wanna tell me what’s goin’ through that thick head of yours?”

Baloo huffed and opened his mouth to speak when he was interrupted by a voice that made him blush once again.

“I’d like to go home now.”

She was already turned around and walking towards the door before Baloo and Louie could see the look on her face. But the way she was cradling her purse seemed like she wasn’t in the best mood anymore. No doubt she was embarrassed, but Baloo was stuck wondering exactly what kind of embarrassed and how awkward this would be in the morning and if there was anything he could do to fix it.

And, well. If he wanted to fix it...or if he wanted to see where it could go. He wasn’t really sure about anything at that particular moment. He also wasn’t sure he should fly the Sea Duck after the amount of beer he’d had, but it wouldn’t be his first time flying with a buzz. Probably not the last, either.

He looked back at Louie and shrugged. “Maybe next time.”

Louie responded with a short laugh. “Baloo, if anything happens between you two, you’d better give me more than a maybe!”

Baloo rolled his eyes and chuckled in embarrassment before stomping off after his partner. He didn’t know what to expect for the ride home, but he was certain it was going to be the most awkward ride of his life.

Fortunately, when he climbed up into his plane, he found Rebecca curled up in the passenger seat, snoring loudly. He wondered for a moment if she was faking, but decided it didn’t really matter. Neither of them were ready to have a conversation about what happened and that wasn’t changing anytime soon.

[kitten-anarchy]

nothing but the truth (1/2)

His body is burning hot, shaking in the way it would in the early days. He doesn’t know where he is, everything blurring together as black spots dance in his vision. The tight feeling in his chest is a leaky and dripping thing, filling up his lungs and crawling up his throat, and Five just wants it out.

Distantly, he can hear a lock click.

“Five? Five!” Two strong hands wrap around his shoulders, a blurred face breaking through his haze of panic. Five blinks and the image focuses - it’s Diego, hauling him up by his shoulders. “What’s wrong?”

He bursts.

(Following their collective un-adoption, Five gets injected with a truth serum, has a bit of a breakdown, and finally gets a hug. Post S2 - S.A. exists.)

Part 2 (Coming Soon)

AO3 Link (Coming Soon)

They all practically collapse into a motel, bruised and bloody but alive. They no longer have a home, their lives are in shambles, but at the very least, he and his siblings aren’t dead. Five has learned to take what he can get. Allison rumors them two connecting rooms with ease, and they all file in.

Five plops himself down on a ratty wooden armchair tucker in the far corner. It’s got a good view of the rest of the room, and it’s close to a window. His side twinges at the thought of having to sleep upright on the uncomfortable and splintered insult to furniture, but it’s a small price to pay for safety.

“Is everyone okay?” Luther asks, collapsing onto one of the queen-sized beds. With the way it groans, Five is surprised it hasn’t collapsed under his weight already. Diego falls into the other one next to him, gripping his gut. “Diego?”

“I’m fine. It’s just the fucking stab wound Dad gave me acting up.” Diego mutters, face pinched.

“Join the club,” Five mutters. Amidst the chaos that was fighting the Sparrow Academy completely unprepared, the man had managed to stab him with a needle. Five had managed to shake it off before all of it was emptied into his body, but the fact that he doesn’t know what it’s going to do to him is… unsettling.

It’ll be fine. Five can handle whatever side-effects it throws at him by himself.

“You join the club,” Diego snaps back, bringing him back to the present. “Dad stabbed me first!” He pauses, brows furrowing. “Wait, when did you get stabbed by Dad?”

“Does it matter? It’s Dad.” Diego stares at him, pushing himself up on an elbow.

“Five—“

“Do we even still call ‘Dad’ now? I mean, he pretty much un-adopted us.” Klaus wonders out loud, stretching out next to Diego with his legs crossed. “Don’t even get me started on Emo-Ben.”

“‘Emo-Ben’?” Allison quirks an eyebrow, placing a first aid kit on the coffee table in the middle of the room. She tosses Diego a bottle of aspirin. Five makes a mental note to sneak some pills from it later.

“Yeah, ‘cause of his awful bangs. Where’d you get that?”

“Asked the motel owner while I was getting this room. It’s not great, I know”

“Should I get some food?” Vanya asks, wiping the sweat from her pale face. Fighting against the Sparrow Academy’s attempts to capture them had taken a lot out of her.

“No offense, Van, but you look like you’re gonna pass out,” Klaus says. “So does Five, honestly.” Five jerks slightly at the mention, instinctively gripping the briefcase tighter.

He doesn’t want to deal with their worry right now. (‘Where was it when the world was about to be destroyed?’ A quiet, bitter part of him hisses.)

“Actually,” Allison says, glancing between him and Vanya with her stupid mothering eyes. “I think I saw a small shop downstairs. Does anyone want anything?”

“I want chips! And a bottle of nail polish, thank you.”

“I can come help, if you want,” Five can practically see Luther’s tail wagging as he sits up to look at Allison hopefully. He’d laugh if his chest didn’t hurt so much.

“Some notebooks and pens would be nice,” Five mutters, absentmindedly rubbing at his neck. The injection point is starting to itch, and he digs his grimy nails in further, practically clawing at it in a vain attempt to get the sensation to stop. There’s a tight knot in his chest like he’s gotten heartburn, and he can’t seem to breathe. “I’m taking a shower.” He says, abruptly standing up and brushing past his siblings towards the dingy motel bathroom.

As soon as the lock clicks, Five throws up.

--

Five practically tears the shower curtains off of the rod when Klaus busts down the bathroom door, clothes in hand. “Oh, Five-y!” He chirps, setting them down on the cracked toilet seat. “I come bearing gifts!” They must have gone out for new clothes - Klaus has shed his 60s get up for a loose black skirt and some band t-shirt.

“The door was locked,” He hisses. “Do you even know what the word ‘knock’ means?”

Klaus laughs, turning to look at him. “Of course I do, Fi—ive, Christ on a cracker!” His mouth drops open. It’s the bruises, Five realizes belatedly and clutches the curtain tighter to his chest. “What happened?”

He bats away the hand that’s reaching to grab the shower curtain. “Unlike the rest of you, I haven’t exactly had the luxury of sitting around and playing house.” Between two apocalypses, there wasn’t any time to worry about old wounds and a couple of bruises. Besides, Five’s gotten used to the dull aches of pain. “It’s fine. It doesn’t matter anymore. Get out.”

Klaus stares at him. “Uh, I think it matters a lot? You look like someone used you as a punching bag. You need help, Five.”

You need help, Five.

Now they want to help? Not when the entire world is on the line?

His thin, fraying line of patience snaps.

“Get out, Klaus!” He snaps, throwing a bar of soap at the younger man. Klaus flees at that moment, leaving the bar of soap to hit the door and fall onto the dirty floor.

Great.

Five turns off the shower.

The clothes Klaus brought are clearly for adults much bigger than this stupid body’s skinny frame - the shirt comes down to his knees, and the leggings are baggy around his legs, only held up by the elastic waistband. He looks even stupider pulling the academy shorts over them, the only piece of his uniform that doesn’t smell or feel like something died in them.

It’s comfortable.

Fuck.

Klaus immediately zeroes in on him as soon as he leaves the bathroom, pushing a plastic cup of cheap microwave noodles into his hands. The synthetic chicken smell makes his stomach flip. “Five! I think we should probably talk about what happened.” He claps, looking at Five expectantly. This, unfortunately, attracts the attention of the rest of his brain-dead siblings who can’t seem to get the memo that he wants to be left alone. Five can practically feel the weight of their concerned gazes on him.

“You look like shit, Five.” Diego comments between bites. “What’d you want to talk about anyway, Klaus?”

“It’s about-”

“-nothing.” Five cuts in with a sharp glare. “It’s about nothing. Klaus just needs to mind his own damn business.”

“Five,” Vanya says reproachfully.

“I’m not apologizing,” He says shortly, ignoring the feeling of bile burning the back of his throat. Five doesn’t bother jumping to the armchair - he’s too tired, having burnt up all his energy to stop the apocalypse two times over, and now he has to burn whatever scraps he can find to figure out a way to get them out of this mess. He places the cup noodles onto the floor, grabs the cheap notebook and pen lying on the chair, and tries to start on his equations.

The keyword being tries.

“Aren’t you going to eat, Five?” Luther asks.

“Not hungry.” He bites out. Allison raises an eyebrow.

“Have you been eating?” She asks, pointing a fork at him. “I think all I’ve seen you drink is coffee.”

“He had a pot of coffee when we went to a diner back in Dallas.” Vanya offers up. He shoots her a glare. She doesn’t flinch, staring back cooly.

Huh. Look who grew a backbone. Five would be proud of her if her newfound confidence wasn’t getting in his way.

“I ate other things too.” His headache is getting worse. Maybe he’ll just take some aspirin now.

“Just eat your food, bro.”

“And I said I wasn’t hungry,” Five snaps, slamming the notebook down onto his lap. “I’m fifty-eight fucking years old, Diego. If I wanted a bunch of children half my age to baby me, I would have gone to a fucking daycare.”

Before anyone can say anything - though he can see Diego gearing up for a fight - Five grabs his things and jumps. He ignores the way he stumbles, the way his throat burns, or the way the itching spreads. He doesn’t have time for this. Right now, he needs to work.

There’s probably a closet or something around here that he can work in.

---

It was hot in the apocalypse.

In the first few days, when the bodies were still fresh and unburied and there was smoke and fire everywhere, the temperature never dropped. Even at night, the sweltering heat never eased up, keeping him in a choke hold. It was even hotter where the bodies of his siblings were. Dolores had told him not to sleep at their half-built graves.

It’s too warm, Five. You’ll burn up. She had been kind and gentle about it. It was more than he deserved. You can come back, but you can’t stay.

Five stopped listening to her and continued building.

He got heatstroke two days later.

In his dehydrated, fevered state, he clung to the sun-warmed bodies of his siblings, convinced that they were still alive. His heat-induced hallucinations would talk to him, begging him to help them. If it hadn’t been for a weak thunderstorm passing overhead, Five would have died there with his siblings, lying in a half-dried puddle of his own sick and piss.

He’s reminded of those times now.

His body is burning hot, shaking in the way it would in the early days. He doesn’t know where he is, everything blurring together as black spots dance in his vision. The tight feeling in his chest is a leaky and dripping thing, filling up his lungs and crawling up his throat, and Five just wants it out.

Distantly, he can hear a lock click.

“Five? Five!” Two strong hands wrap around his shoulders, a blurred face breaking through his haze of panic. Five blinks and the image focuses - it’s Diego, hauling him up by his shoulders. “What’s wrong?”

He bursts.

“Everything’s wrong, I don’t know, I never know, it just hurts so much,” The words leave his mouth unbidden, every secret he has ready to spill out into the open at a moment’s notice. “It always hurts, but I guess watching your family die, it’s- it’s always painful, and you look so much nicer alive-”

“Five? Klaus, w-why is he acting like this?”

“Klaus is there too? I never gave him his twenty bucks. I never came back for you either, I’m sorry, I wasn’t going to leave you, I swear, I love you all so much, I-” The world moves, colors blurring together. Next thing Five knows, he is being laid out on something soft.

When it refocuses, Five is staring at the worried faces of his siblings. “I don’t know why you care so much,” His mouth is still moving, and if he were a bit more coherent, he would have been mortified at what was coming out. “I left and even though I tried to get back, I never got back in time, I never get back in time, something always happens-”

“Did he finally lose it?”

“Maybe I did.” Don’t say it. “I spent so long in the apocalypse, I’m-” Don’t say it. “-sure I went insane, I, I thought-” DON’T. SAY. IT. “-about killing myself sometimes, but I didn’t try, I didn’t, I swear, Dolores would-” Something jams itself between his teeth. The taste of wet metal and vomit fills his mouth, and Five only realizes that it’s his forearm when the sharp sting of pain sets in.

His neck itches.

“Hey,” Klaus laughs, voice pitching high with hysteria. “What the fuck?” All of his siblings are staring at him, a little shell-shocked at the sudden confession.

“Ish the needul,” He blurts out, desperate to take the attention off that confession, half-muffled by his forearm. “Dad, he got’h me wiff ah needul.” The heat has died down some, after blurting out so much, but it’s still there.

“I’m sorry, Dad got you with a what?” Much to his chagrin, Diego pries his bloody arm from his teeth. Vanya passes him a roll of bandages. “Why the hell didn’t you say anything? Why can’t you let us help you instead of going off on your own all the time, Five!?”

“Because-” it was only a little, I could handle it, I’m not a kid “-I don’t want you to die again. I don’t want to see you die again. I’m always the last one left, and I’m going to be the last one left because I’m stuck in this stupid thirteen-year-old body, it’s why I hate it so much, though the patronization obviously doesn’t help much since I’m supposed to be 58, but all my wrinkles and white hair and sunspots are gone, and if they’re gone, was I ever really in the apocalypse at all? If a tree falls in the forest with no one around, does it still happen? Sometimes I wish-”

Fuck it. Five might as well put it all out on the table. He’s in no shape to teleport out, and his mouth isn’t going to be stopping anytime soon.

“I wish the bullet holes stayed when I rewound time, because these bruises hurt and maybe I’m the problem, and you were all so happy in the 1960s-”

A soft, calloused hand covers his mouth. “This is an invasion of privacy,” Vanya says quietly. Five can’t see their faces - doesn’t want to see their faces - but the silence says everything.

“H-He said he was hurt,” Diego says, bandages still in hand. “We need to... can you take off his shirt? He’s probably got something hidden under there.”

“Five, do you want me to move my hand?”

“Why are you being so nice to me?” He blurts out the minute Vanya moves her hand slightly to start taking off his shirt and check his injuries. “I don’t understand, I’ve done so many bad things, I ran away and left you to get beaten by Dad, I stranded us in the 1960s, I’ve killed so many people, I killed the board of directors, and it didn’t even get us home in the end because I was so fucking stupid to think the Handler wouldn’t go back on her deal, she always does! I know this-” His shirt is tugged over his head, effectively muting him.

Five resists the urge to cover himself as his bare chest is exposed. The audible gasps of his siblings don’t help whatsoever.

“Five,” Diego takes mercy on him, opening up the first aid kit Allison handed him. “There’s a lot to unpack here, and I know I’m still not entirely sure what’s going on with you, but here’s what’s going to happen.”

“I-”

“Vanya,” Her hand clamps down on his mouth. “We’re not going to force you to say anything else. This is- This isn’t something- what you’ve said. I’m sure there are things you really didn’t want to tell us. That doesn’t mean there aren’t things we won’t address, but not when you’re like this.” Diego’s fingers run through his hair soothingly.

“But why?” Five nearly sobs around Vanya’s palm, and maybe he is sobbing at this point. Everything feels far away and painful at this point, but he fights through it to focus on Diego.

“Because we love you, dumbass,” Diego lightly raps his knuckles on Five’s sweaty forehead. “You’re still apart of this family. Sure you’ve missed out on some stuff, but so have we. It’s a two-way street.”

“We’re here for you,” Vanya hums, Allison sitting down next to her with a smile on her face and a glass of water in hand.

“Yup. Time to shut the fuck up, Five-y.” Klaus grins at him. Luther, who had been standing a little ways away, comes over to wipe at his sweat and tears with a napkin.

“Is it okay if I give you a hug?” He sounds a little teary himself. Five doesn’t trust his mouth not to run away from him, and he nods. At this point, he’s too emotionally and physically exhausted to keep up any pretenses.

Everyone crowds on the shitty motel bed that’s way too small to support the weight of six people to join in on the hug, but Five finds that he can’t seem to care.

He clings to the first hug he’s gotten in forty-five years and doesn’t let go.

[crystalelemental]

Unit Viability Speculation - December 2022

Boy, I sure hate Greninja.  If there’s one Pokemon I can’t stand even more than Charizard, it’s Greninja.  I sure hope there are no Greninjas in this update.

*checks Twitter*

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

I can’t believe they made two of them.  At the same time!  And they’re both Master Fair, are you serious?  Ugh.  Barf.  I hate them.  Which is a pity, because Serena’s outfit is one of the best in the game.  She’s so pretty, I’d kill for that, but...Greninja.

I will say outright, I had reservations.  These are the first master fair units since 5/5 grids dropped.  But you will be delighted or disappointed to know, Master Fairs do not get 5/5 grids.  Yet.  So Serena and Calem only need 3/5 for max performance.

Champion Serena Serena is a Water and/or Dark Tech, specializing in multi-hit Water Shuriken and defense debuffs.  She seems honestly fine?  The only benefit she has over other Water-type damage dealers is a Rebuff, but so does Hilbert, so I guess they just really want Water content dead.  The big draw, at least on my end, is Dark.  Dark is a fairly rare offensive typing in my book, and this does cover that option fairly nicely.  But to be frank, Serena feels like a problem.  Her self-setup caps crit, but does not cap either offense.  She needs offensive support, and is a Master Fair, meaning you ideally want that to come from your own region.  Which means Calem, since she also kinda wants both offenses so her Buddy move works well.  The big money is just in debuffs.  Unfortunate Strike 9 means she hits a target for -5 in one Water Shuriken, does it again for -10, then gets -2 to both defenses on Buddy move and another -1, for -15 in one cycle.  That’s pretty good.  Her Dark form also has Staggering and Discombobulate, which...sure.  It’s worth noting, transformation occurs prior to damage being dealt, so you’re always with the preferred passives in either type.

That said, her grid seems like shit.  I can’t find too much that’s exciting about it.  Double Power Play, and Furious Brain, are about the only useful tiles.  Everything else feels like fluff.  I think Champion Serena will be good, because Master Fair with tremendous 1/5 debuffing kit, but I feel like this is a notable step down from the third year anniversary power level.  Thank god.  I hated the rats.  But Serena’s great.  It feels like just the right level of power.  Shame about Greninja.

Champion Calem Calem gets hit with the Support bat, welcome to Aura Cynthia status my dude.  Look at this dude trying to push into SS Kris’ territory.  His Buddy move can set Dark Zone or Rain, depending on its own type, and gives 2 stacks of physical (Dark) or special (Water) moves up next.  Calem’s similarly focused on Water Shuriken, but instead of max hits every time, he gets a 30% chance to restore some of his own HP per hit.  His trainer move is 1 use, and doesn’t cap anything.  Calem doesn’t seem so good at base.

Grid slaps.  Umbral Healing 9 is great.  Giving the entire team Endure on entry is bonkers.  Guaranteed Triple is at least getting decent consistency from his multistrike move.  Group Fortification seems fun, if you get evasion running.  Crit Squad at least caps crit.  There are legitimately great things here.

But.  Master Fairs tend to differ from PokeFairs in their 1/5 sufficiency.  They tend to have everything they need in their base performance.  SS Kris does this.  While speed can be a concern, her main role of Rain and capping special attack/crit for a team is all there in the base 1/5 kit.  Calem does not do this.  Calem feels hard required to take 3/5.  His consistent healing is 3/5.  His useful buffing is 3/5.  Capping any stat is 3/5.  He’s a Master Fair that’s demanding of move levels, and that feels...not ideal to me.  Of the two, I think Calem has overall more utility because of the field effect setting, but Serena’s more budget friendly given all of her best tools, barring one multiplier, exist at 1/5.

Lodge Serena Serena’s also our lodge unit!  Yay?  She comes with Fletchling.  Cute.  It’s a Flying Tech.  Sure.  Peck, Dire Hit+, Flame Charge, Trainer move gives +2 attack, +1 evasion, and Reflect for some reason.  Neato.  What’s really, endlessly funny to me is Overwhelm 9 and Trip Up 9.  She’s a debuffer.  Okay.  Oh I’m sorry, a debuffer with Staggering 2.  Sure.  Okay.

Grid got Unfortuitous 4, Slippery 1, 50% burn when she hits a foe for Gauntlet shenanigans, Fast Track 9 on Flame Charge, and...Cakewalk.  Ugh.  UGH.

She’s fine.  Like every other offensive Lodge unit, needs offensive support, but I think in this case, optimal play is something like Hop.  Just get rid of the trainer moves, and spam Flame Charge.  Guaranteed max speed and -3 speed on the foe for sync purposes.  Seems easy enough.  Though admittedly, I kinda like this less than Kahili and Winona.

Winter Whitney Good lord, what is happening over there?

Okay, let me start with some stuff.  Headbutt with Aggravation 1.  Great.  Already useful.  Horn Leech.  Chad Sycamore 2.0?  She has the speed and offensive stats to back it, but there’s more.  Move Gauge Boost.  Now, before you groan.  Hear me out.  Trainer move.  Crit Defense, Move Gauge Acceleration.  But.  Depending on the remaining PP on Move Gauge Boost?  Field Effect.  If 2, Grassy Terrain.  If 1, Psychic.  If 0, Electric.  Friends.  Whitney’s healing is through the roof.  Not only is this Chad Sycamore 2.0 with better offensive stats, it’s got inherent Terrain.  And blocks crits.  I...love this.  Oh but it gets funnier.  Her passives work with different terrain.  So in Grassy, it lowers the defense of all foes, then boosts the defense of all allies.  Yeah.  Defense debuffs and Terrain with a healing move.  I won’t even be mad if they don’t give her Master Healer, I don’t think she needs it.  Under Psychic Terrain, it’s special defense, so welcome another support to Giovanni.  And under Electric, it’s speed, so like...alright.  Sure.

Grid gets Mad Strength 9.  ...do...do I need to keep going?  She gets this shit at 2/5, man.  Empowering Overgrowth 3 for more damage under Grassy Terrain.  Sure girl.  Whatever you want.  Terrain Sync and Interference Sync 9.  That’s really good, but she is a Normal type, so...you know.  Flabbergast with Mind Boggler.  This is so unnecessary why are you like this?  Shock Recovery.  Can’t get your Grassy Terrain anymore?  How about another stack of passive recovery, on the house?  SYNC BURST?!  SHE GOT SYNC BURST ARE YOU SERIOUS?!  Okay, hold on.  ...okay.  Okay there’s the limitation.  She doesn’t get natural MPR on her trainer move.  Got it.  For a second, I thought she was the best unit in the game.

Whitney’s good.  Whitney might be real good.  A lot of this comes at 1/5.  The only thing 3/5 really does for her is her sync nuke, and Aggravation, which you’re probably not going for that often with Horn Leech around.  The core of her build?  The terrain and debuffs?  That’s natural.  She’s a sustain tank like Sycamore, but the offensive partner.  I kinda love it.  This is justice for Whitney.

Winter Jasmine I can’t believe they actually gave me the Jasmine I wanted.  She’s a support with Mega Ampharos.  No Electric Terrain, sadly, but like...it’s fine, I can flex with it.  Why?

Death to Classic Red.  About a year and a third ago, Classic Red came out, and people were mixed on the response.  On the one hand, Supereffective Up Next, applicable to a unit for sync nuking purposes.  That’s neat!  On the other, very little that he did was impressive outside of that.  We’ve since gotten to enjoy the concept of fast-ramping, so he’s still useful, but now there is another.  Jasmine can apply Supereffective Up Next.  Delightful.  She also has Potion, so that’s great.  Thundershock is the one-bar spam.  Trainer move...is Jasmine’s problem.  It buffs defenses of a target by 3.  A target.  Singular.  She does not buff the team all at once.  This...bugs me.  Her passives salvage a bit.  Endurance is nice, and she buffs team crit when she uses a trainer move, so that’s helpful.  She also buffs her own defenses by 1 when using a trainer move.  So that’s the plan.  She buffs an ally’s defenses to cap, then gets +1 to herself as well.  It’s not a terrible plan, except that her baseline defenses aren’t ideal until she mega evolves.  They’re not bad, but they’re kinda...Halloween Caitlin, if that helps categorize.  This is doubled to +2 per use when mega evolving, so in an odd twist, I kinda feel like Jasmine wants to save her buffing for after mega evolution.  Never thought I’d see the day.  It also replaces Endurance with gradual healing, so that’s nice.

Grid’s a mixed bag.  Thundershock gets Hostile Environment 2, but this is a fakeout because she has Static Cling 9 to paralyze regardless.  Team Shout 4 is big money.  When she takes hits, she can buff offenses for the team.  Unfortunately...SS Blue.  I don’t think I need to explain beyond that?  Like, if you want a defensive supporter that boosts offenses, SS Blue has Team Shout 9.  She gets Team Entry skills for attack or special attack, but it’s only +1, so not saving anything.  Double Potion MPR is great, and I like that her trainer move can also give stacks of physical or special moves up next.  That’s a niche.

On the whole...she’s fine.  I don’t think she’s exceptional.  I’m kinda bummed she’s not the Electric Terrain support we’ve been waiting for.  But she’s good and I like my defensive supports.  Just pair her with someone who can cap their offensive stats reliably, and you’ll be fine.

Fantina Grid Yes sir, I like it.  Mind Games 4, Smarty-Pants, Super Preparation 9, Sharp Entry to remove the need for MPR.  It’s good!  I like it a lot.  She does need help though.  Still not a self-sufficient buffer.  Still not a consistent debuffer.  But most importantly...she’s more consistent about her supereffective up next sync than Anni Lillie.  *sigh*

SS Leaf Grid Bad.  I’m sorry, it’s bad!  It’s bad.  Toxic Power 1?  On a PokeFair?  Seriously?  Toxic Freebie is something, I’ll definitely take it, but what is this Venomous 2 shit?  Just give me Venomous 4!  Make it guaranteed at base, then keep the 50% chance when mega evolved!  You don’t have to be like this!  Pinpoint Entry, Noxious Hit debuffing offensive stats, and Power Play are all solid.  Noxious Hit in particular is great for stall cores, effectively compressing the Toxic, offense debuffing, and healing into one role.  But, she got no additional support for healing.  And these nodes are full cost.  I’d have to see layout, but I’m willing to bet SS Leaf runs into energy problems out the ass.  I don’t like it.

Marnie Grid Solid.  Does what she wants.  High paralysis rate, buffs team speed per hit, buffs crit rate per hit, debuffs Atk/Def of a paralyzed foe per hit.  Very useful.

Common Grid War Act 13 Surge, Janine, and Agatha.  What’s good, you three?

Surge got Trip Up, Hostile Environment 3, Static Shock 3, Charging Infliction 1 on Eerie Impulse, Devastation, and Pep Rally on X Speed.  Oh, and Sharp Entry, for whatever that’s worth.  It’s fine?  Can’t complain.

Janine the stall queen, what is good girl?  Hostile Environment 5, and Hostile Environment 3, that is comedic.  Discombobulate is hilarious for a stall unit, just potentially dodge shit.  Venom Drench MGR4 is beautiful.  Safety Tether and Hit and Heal is hilarious.  Pep Rally is amazing.  But you may notice.  No sync multipliers.  Crit Strike 1, I guess, but come on.  Janine remains the stall queen.  Little else exists for her.  Which...is sad given how rough stall has been for the game lately.

Agatha does not have Troublemaker on grid.  I need to get that out of the way now.  She gets accuracy +10 and Pinpoint Entry, but don’t.  80% is too inconsistent.  Healthy Healing is fine.  On a Roll 1 and 2 is...sure a thing.  That’s like an 80% shot, right?  Into Brainteaser, not bad at all.  Lick Hostile Environment is nice.  Ramming Speed is nice given she instant caps.  First Aid 4 is cute, but HP Tradeoff 5 is hysterical.  Ramp Up on trainer move is something.  Rude Awakening 5, which you may as well given it’s the natural multiplier.  It’s solid!  I think she’s good, but I also think she’s a little bit of a mess?  Lick goes away on mega evolution, so sure hope you weren’t using her for damage purposes if she’s paralyzing.  They gave some decent move damage modifiers, and a great special defense debuffing rate, which I think is her new niche.  Sync doesn’t seem all that special, and is hard to set up with sleep.  But they didn’t perfectly lock in Hypnosis accuracy, which is funny because they did for Ramos’ Sleep Powder.  Not sure how much I love it yet, but she sure is interesting. 

[lumosinlove]

Sweater Weather

part iv

Remus hovered outside James and Lily’s house, waiting for Lily to answer the door and watching his cab drive away. Lily and James lived in one of the nice, private neighborhoods, not too far from Sirius and some of the other guys, but it meant a bit of a cab ride for Remus. He’d splurge though, for Lily.

The door swung open and Lily smiled, even if she did look a little frazzled. “Re.”

Remus raised his eyebrows. “Hi, Lils.”

“Hi, hi. What’s up?” She reached and pulled him into a hug—a tight hug. “Come in?”

“Yeah. Hey, are you alright? I haven’t heard from you in a while. You seem…” Remus struggled to find the right word, but ended up settling for, “James is being weird.”

“Well, hello to you, too, Lupin.” James appeared at the bottom of one half of their twisting, grand staircase. He was in what Remus assumed was most of the guys’ uniform on their days off—sweatshirt, sweatpants, and socks. All Lions labeled.

Lily huffed, but smiled a little at James as he came over to wrap an arm around her.

“Isn’t he always being weird?” She leaned up for a quick kiss. “I want ice cream and I want to watch movies. James, shoo, Remus is mine for the day.”

James feigned offense for only a moment before grinning and giving Remus’ shoulder a little shove on his way to the kitchen. “See you in a bit, Loops.”

“Yeah. Hey, I hope your shoulder’s taped under there.”

“Of course it is,” James said, and crossed his fingers behind his retreating back where Remus could see. Remus laughed as he was tugged away by Lily.

Remus eyed her carefully as she looped their arms together, leaning her head on his shoulder and practically dragging him to her and James’ media viewing room. Something still seemed odd with her. The projector was already on and it looked like its last use went to James watching game tape.

“Are you sure you’re alright?” Remus said.

Lily just looked at him, wide-eyed from where she was burrowing down in the many blankets on one of the huge couches, and Remus really knew something was up. First James at the dinner, now this.

“I’ll get the ice cream,” he said, half because he thought they’d need it, and half to give Lily a second.

“Yeah,” she said faintly, then groaned and face planted into the pillows.

James was still in the kitchen when Remus got back upstairs, seemingly fixing himself a sandwich for lunch. He nearly jumped out of his skin when Remus said hello.

“Jesus,” Remus laughed, “you just saw me. What’s up with you two?”

James laughed, but it wasn’t his normal one. He ran a hand through his hair, scrubbed it over his face, and then braced both arms on the kitchen island on either side of his sandwich fixings.

“No, sorry. I don’t know, I guess I was lost in thought. Or something.”

“Right.” Remus stooped to get the ice cream out of the refrigerator. He felt like James and Lily’s house was something like his second home, and there was nothing he was more grateful for than meeting Lily at that first pre-season barbecue. Remus had never really had that many fast friends, but him and Lily had talked all night. Remus thought she was part of the reason he was so close with James and all of the guys, unlike so many others on the Lions’ staff.

“Um” James cleared his throat, “so, what movie are you watching?”

“I don’t know yet.” Remus did look at James this time as he scooped chocolate brownie and mint into two bowls. “Pots.”

James looked up from where he was squirting mustard on his bread. James had his glasses on, the round ones that the boys made fun of on road trips. James wore them rarely, mostly when he needed a break from his contacts.

“Are you okay? Both of you, is everything…”

James swallowed a hard swallow and nodded, just a little. “I’m just gonna let Lils talk to you, alright? Don’t worry.”

Remus paused beside him, hand on the silverware drawer, “How am I suppose to not worry when you give me an answer like that?”

James picked up his plate and waved Remus off. “Your ice cream is melting.”

When Remus came back with his two generously portioned bowls, Lily was sitting back up and took one almost greedily.

“So.” Remus said, pushing his shoes off his feet with his toes and crossing his legs to face her, “Your boyfriend is remaining tight-lipped. What’s up?”

Lily just looked down at her ice cream, hair hanging so far over her face that it took Remus a good minute before he realized that her bottom lip was trembling.

“Lils, hey, hey…” His voice was nearly a coo as he took their bowls and set them just within reach on the table and scooted closer, wrapping an arm around her shoulders, “Lils…I’m sorry, I…” but Remus didn’t think it was him. He squeezed her gently, thumb rubbing over her shoulder. “What is it?”

“It’s—” Her voice broke and she sucked in a shaky breath.

Remus’ heart was suddenly in his throat again. Even if James hadn’t said anything, that didn’t mean… “I…Is it—are you and James…”

“No.” Lily gasped, even laughing a little as she wiped at her eyes, “God, no. James is perfect. We’re perfect. Fuck, I feel so stupid for even crying because it’s not actually—actually bad, I’m just—”

Lily looked up at Remus then, green eyes shining and bright. The tear tracks on her face made her many freckles look stark and beautiful. “I’m scared, Re.”

“Scared? What do you mea—” Remus’ breath cut off with his words. He glanced down at Lily’s stomach, noticing now that she had both arms carefully wrapped around it. Remus’ heart picked up and he looked back at Lily, wide-eyed. “You mean…”

“We didn’t—it was an accident, but…but we’re…”

“Happy.” Remus finished for her, feeling a smile start to cross his face.

Lily sniffled and then let out a half-laugh half-sob. “Yeah. Yeah, we are, but…you’re not freaked out? Like, we’re young—Fuck, he’s so focused on the team and he just got back from his concussion last year and he doesn’t need this right now—”

“Lily.”

Lily’s rambling cut off and she blinked at Remus, then groaned and put a large spoon of ice cream in her mouth. “What?”

“What do you want? Not worrying about anyone else. What do you want?”

This was suddenly so close to the conversation he had had with Sirius.

Lily was quiet for a moment. It didn’t seem like she was really thinking about it, exactly, more just taking her time with her words.

“I want this,” she finally said. Then she smiled a little, hand against her stomach, “more than that, I want—I want it with James.”

Remus had only just opened his mouth to respond when there was a sniffle from their right. They both looked, and Lily let out a tearful laugh because James was there, rubbing at his eyes behind his glasses, in the doorway.

“‘m not listening, I promise.” James said hoarsely, but he didn’t move.

“Oh, get over here, you idiot.” Lily said thickly, wiping her cheeks.

James smiled a little sheepishly and crouched in front of the couch between them, hand reaching out to take Lily’s and rub over her knuckles. “Feel better now?”

“Mhm.” Lily said, gazing at him.

Remus suddenly felt like a bit of an intruder on an important moment, but then James said, “Finally told your best friend. I told you it’d help. Remus is happy, isn’t he?”

“So. Extremely.” Remus said, arm still around Lily.

Maybe this special moment included him. By what James said, maybe, just maybe, even this little part of what was about to be a monumental part of their lives, was even about him.

“I think it’s a boy.” Lily suddenly gushed, cheeks pink from smiling. She did look like an entire weight had been lifted off of her shoulders.

“I think it’s a little soon to tell…or—how long has it been?” Remus asked.

“About four months,” Lily said. “we’ll be able to tell at my next appointment, that’s what the doctor said.”

James made a little noise and rested his cheek on her knee, grinning up at her. She smiled back, running her hand through his ever-messy dark hair.

“Who else knows?”

“Our parents obviously,” James said, “but from the organization, the team…”

“Just you,” Lily smiled at him.

Remus raised his eyebrows, “not even Sirius?”

James laughed, “he’s next. He’s my Remus to tell.”

Remus smiled. He liked that, the notion that Sirius was to James and he was to Lily. It made him feel more apart of the Lions than ever, left his chest warm.

The first road trip of the season was to New York to play the Rangers and Remus never sat down for more than a few minutes before a road trip. For the boys, on the other hand, everything stayed relatively regular paced. They went to practice, took pre-game naps, and played their heart out. Remus sharpened skates, made sure they had a good number of everyone’s sticks, kept track of the token and the pre-game kick around soccer ball. He brought the med-kits and the extra jerseys, the back up skates, and the back up skates for the back up skates. It was exhausting, which is probably why, when he fell into a chair in the Lions lounge with a coffee that evening, he didn’t register he wasn’t alone until he heard hushed tones coming from behind one of the taller chairs, dark leather and plush. Leo had taken to falling asleep in them, much to the delight of James and Kasey’s habit of taking embarrassing pictures and having them printed out to cover various parts of the lounge.

“Oui, maman, ma cheville…c’est bien,” Sirius said, voice low and somber, like every word was being dragged out of him.

Remus didn’t quite speak French, but he had taken a few courses in college, just to be able to talk to some of the French-Canadian guys on his team, and he registered that Sirius was talking about his ankle, saying it was fine. He registered that Sirius was talking to his mother.

Remus should move. He knew he should move.

“Je ne serai pas violent sans raison,” Sirius continued, then, after a pause, a little harsher, “Ce n’est pas une raison.”

Remus swallowed. Sirius’ mom was asking him to play dirty, to hit someone, maybe. God, Remus couldn’t imagine hearing that from a parent—

“Si ce n’était pas un accident…d’accord. Il est bas. Il est ignoble. Je n’est pas.”

Remus heart was in his throat. They had to be talking about Snape, and Sirius was—he was—

If it wasn’t an accident…okay. It’s a low blow, and he is low, ignoble. I am not.

Remus knew Sirius had it rough, but he was glad he could stand up for himself.

“D'accord, la prochaine fois que vous me verrez, vous pourrez me frapper tout ce que vous voudrez.”

Remus sat up then, gasped a little, and Sirius’ head poked out of his chair to see who it was. His eyes widened a little and he whipped his head back around and out of sight.

“I have to go,” he said in English, and then he was standing, facing Remus and sliding his phone in the pocket of his sweats. “Re.”

“I—I’m sorry,” Remus stuttered. “I didn’t really know anyone was in here, I was on my feet all day, I just was going to have my coffee and go—”

Sirius shook his head, shoving both of his hands into his pockets instead. “Re, I’m not mad. It’s fine.”

Remus didn’t know what to say, too focused on the sad tone of gray Sirius’ eyes.

Sirius just shrugged. “It’s not like it’s a secret.”

“That doesn’t make it okay,” Remus’ mouth blurted before he could really think twice about it. “Fuck. Sorry, that’s not my place at all.”

Sirius just shook his head again, head low. “I didn’t say it was okay. I—you know, I see Heather about it.”

Remus nodded. Heather, their sports psychologist. “That’s good, Sirius. A lot of guys wouldn’t do that.”

“Someone’s gotta be the example right?” Sirius pulled his hands free and shook them out, rolling his shoulders like he was trying to roll a weight off of them. “Or at least try to.”

Remus stood, too, took a step forward, because he wanted Sirius to listen to this. “You’re an amazing leader.”

Sirius froze up a little again after that. And it was quiet between them, just in the small space. Remus hadn’t exactly meant to get that close but…now Sirius’ eyes were flicking between his, his lips parted.

“Thank you,” Sirius said softly, then he licked his lips, his chest breathed in like he was going to—

“Boys,” Kasey banged on the doorframe a few times, as if he needed to alert his presence. Then again, Remus thought as he caught himself staring at Sirius’ mouth, maybe that was a good idea. “Coach says wheels up at ten AM sharp tomorrow.”

Sirius looked up. They took a step back at the same time and Remus took a long drink from his coffee.

“Sounds good, Kase, thanks.” Sirius said and pulled out his phone again. Remus went to turn, to go, when, “Need a ride, Remus?”

Sirius smiled at him, a slightly nervous, closed lip thing, “Or…veux-tu dîner?”

“Hungry?” Remus blurted, because it came to him faster than the word dinner and Sirius Black had just asked him if he wanted dinner, potentially with him.

A laugh burst out of Sirius, his eyes crinkled. “Oui.”

Remus loved the way Sirius said oui, loved the way all the French-Canadian guys said it—but especially Sirius. This drawn out sound that was almost twangy. It was lazy, confident, like they were sure of their answer, like they had already known the question before it had even been asked. Sirius sounded mostly Canadian when he spoke English, but it felt like that twang kept up in all of his words at least a bit. Sirius swung a little on his feet, hips dipping back and forth while he waited, hands in his pockets still. He tilted his head, puppyish.

Remus swallowed hard. “Yeah. Oui.” It didn’t sound nearly as good as it did in Sirius’ slight accent.

“Okay.” Sirius nodded, grinning. “We’re getting pizza, don’t tell anyone.”

“That’s not on your diet plan.”

Sirius swung around as he lead Remus out of the room, walking backwards, “Shh!”

“You have your first away game tomorrow night!”

Sirius just put his finger to his lips and beckoned him forward and back to the locker room to grab his stuff. “Meet me at the parking lot,” he said before disappearing inside.

Only, waiting at the door the players used gave Remus time to think. To dwell, really. He knew they’d be going to Sid’s for pizza—anyone in Gryffindor went to Sid’s—but he didn’t know anything after that.

“It’s just Sirius,” he mumbled under his breath to himself, then, “Sirius fucking Black, Sirius.”

“What?”

Remus turned sharply on his heel, “What?”

Sirius was standing there with his backpack slung over one shoulder. He pulled the door open and waving Remus through. “I thought you said my name.”

“No.” Remus shook his head, “No, no. So, none of the guys wanted to come?”

Sirius just sort of shrugged and instead of answering asked, “Where do you want to go?”

They looked at each other as they walked side by side. A hint of a smile started to form of Sirius’ face, and then they both nodded a little.

“Sid’s,” they said, and grinned.

“Of course,” Remus laughed, “where else?”

Sirius chirped his car and Remus climbed in, waiting for Sirius to stow his bag in the backseat. He climbed in and started the engine, turning around to back up, his arm going around the back of Remus’ seat. This close, Remus could see the few dark freckles that dotted his neck and the bit of collar bone revealed by the hem of his worn t-shirt. There was one just on the underside of his jaw, too.

Remus looked away, out the window at the fairly empty lot. “Hopefully we’ll get in.”

“Hopefully I don’t get mobbed, you mean.”

“That, too.” Remus conceded.

Sirius withdrew his hand from the seat but kept only one hand on the wheel, relaxed. “Busy day, huh? Excited for New York?”

“Always,” Remus said. “And that busy day is partly your fault.”

Sirius glanced at him for a second, then back at the road. “My fault?”

“You’re the one who needs your left skate to be sharpened first and from back to front. Sort of breaks up the process when you have to think about it.”

Sirius scoffed, but it took him one glance at Remus to realize he was laughing and he gave Remus a little shove in his passenger seat. “Fuck off.”

Remus felt warm from Sirius’ hand, “Your superstitions are ridiculous.”

Sirius flicked his blinker on with a little more flourish than necessary. “Excuse me, my superstitions work, thank you very much.”

“You mean you work. See, that’s the part I’ve never quite understood.”

“What part?”

Remus looked at Sirius—he might as well get an eyeful in while he had to be focused on the road. “Hockey’s so focused on superstitions. But it’s all you guys. You work hard, I watch you work hard everyday.”

Sirius nodded slowly, seemingly mulling it over in his mind. “Yeah,” he said, “but…it’s a little magic, too, don’t you think? The chemistry…the team chemistry, or the relationship to—I don’t know, luck. Lucky stick, lucky order, lucky way of taping. It’s all it is, really. I just—I’m just looking for a bit of luck. A lucky charm.”

“Nothing can be perfect. Not even honey and butter toast at 5:00 o’clock sharp.”

Sirius smiled, rolling his eyes a little, and Remus watched the way his eyes brightened, how he drummed his fingers on the steering wheel. “Maybe. But it feels nice to have something constant when nothing else is.” He looked over at Remus and held his eye for a second. Remus felt a little bit caught. “You know?”

Remus watched Sirius pull his bottom lip between his teeth as he looked back to the road, taking the left for Sid’s parking lot. His chest felt tight.

“Yeah.” He cleared his throat. “Yeah, alright. I’ll buy that.”

“Some guys wait a lifetime for their lucky charm, you know.”

Remus laughed. “Yeah, I’ve seen Leo and his lucky tennis balls. Yours will probably a lucky—I don’t know, brand of peanut butter. Let me know when you find it, alright?”

“Oh, I will.”

Sirius sent him a look as he pulled the car into park. A big smile and then ducked away, out of the car, and Remus was left staring at an empty seat before he got out, too.

Sid’s was crowded, as they expected, but the guy manning the front desks’ eyes went wide when he saw Sirius and they were ushered to a table in the back before too many Gryffindorians could realize who was among them. Remus was grateful for the privacy and the dim lighting. Now, if he made a fool of himself, no one would be around to watch and Sirius wouldn’t be able to quite catch the way his cheeks flamed.

“I could eat three pepperoni pizzas.” Sirius groaned as they sat down, gazing at the menu.

“I don’t really recommend that, but whatever floats your boat.”

Sirius scrunched his nose. “That will definitely sink my boat tomorrow.”

Remus shrugged, and picked out a small ham and pineapple pizza for himself. Sirius scoffed when he asked what Remus was getting.

“Dégueu.”

“It’s not gross!” Remus protested. “Have you ever actually tried it?”

Sirius sank guiltily in his seat, eyes innocent.

Remus flicked a straw at him from the canister at the table. He didn’t know what made him do it and he regretted it almost instantly. It felt—well, flirty.

Sirius’ eyes, however, lit up. He threw two back. Of course he did.

Once their pizzas arrived, Sid’s was in full swing and they had to lean in close over their food to hear each other. Sirius did the funny thing where he folded his pizza in half to eat it and he now had a little speck of grease below his lip. Remus was still deciding what to do about it.

“The guys really didn’t want to come?” Remus asked, just for something to say.

Sirius paused for a second, mid-chew, then wiped his mouth with his napkin. The small speck of grease was still there. Remus shifted in his seat.

“I guess not. The game tomorrow, maybe. Besides, sometimes small dinners are nice, eh?”

Remus nodded. “No, yeah. Yeah. This is—This is nice.”

Sirius smiled a little. “Good. I’m glad.”

Remus finally gave in. “Um. You have—” he motioned to Sirius’ mouth.

Sirius’ rolled his eyes a little, playfully at himself, and wiped his mouth. “Better?”

“Not quite.” Remus’ hand itched.

“Now?”

“No, um. It’s just—here, I…” He started to reach forward before he could really think about it.

And Sirius jolted back.

They stared at each other, Remus’ hand slowly lowering back to his lap.

Remus didn’t want to think about that, what all of that might mean, and so he touched his own lip instead and said quietly, “here,” then he nodded and looked down at his pizza, busying himself with tearing a new slice, “yeah, you got it.”

“Remus.”

“Hm?”

When Remus looked up Sirius’ eyes were sad, even a little panicked.

“What’s wrong?” Remus asked, trying his best to sound like he couldn’t fathom that anything from the last minute could have upset either of them. It sat heavy in his stomach.

“Just…pictures.” Sirius said, “Not—It’s just that anything can be taken out of context, and…”

Remus nodded. He knew that already. He knew what it could look like, especially with the scrutiny Sirius was constantly under by the public eye. Especially now, at the start of the season.

“Yeah, all good, Pads.”

But Sirius still looked incredibly guilty, his eyes pleading for something that Remus couldn’t name. That Remus thought it wasn’t really fair of Sirius to ask him to be able to name.

When Sirius just kept looking at him, Remus rolled his eyes. “Sirius, it’s fine. I know what you mean. It isn’t a big deal.”

“It’s not?” Sirius asked. His expression had turned careful, questioning.

Remus shook his head and bit into his pizza slice, mostly so he didn’t have to answer. He wished he had never done anything at all. He shouldn’t even have agreed to come to dinner. Remus had feelings, Sirius didn’t. Remus was gay, there were no openly gay players in the NHL, and that was probably because being the first one would be so difficult. Sirius wasn’t, anyway, but even if he was, Remus had taught himself not to hope for anything a long time ago.

The rest of the dinner was a little weird, stilted, maybe, and Remus was reluctant to get out of Sirius’ car, which had just pulled up at his curb, on such a note. Sirius seemed reluctant to let him, and turned his entire body towards Remus.

“Look. I know I keep bringing it up, but, about the—the thing. It’s not that I have a problem with anything like that. I don’t. I really, really don’t. Whoever loves whoever, I’m for it.”

“I didn’t think you did,” Remus replied, trying to steady his breathing. This was getting a little too close for comfort.

“I wouldn’t want you thinking that about me. I’m not my parents.”

Remus looked back at him. His face was lit blue from the dashboard in the dark. His eyes took on the color and looked strange and earnest. Remus wanted to reach out, but he didn’t know when he’d next have the courage—not for a while. “Sirius, I don’t know your parents. I know you. I know you aren’t like that.”

It was true. But Remus still couldn’t bring himself to say more. To say that he would be Sirius’, if he ever, in some universe, this one or otherwise, wanted that.

The car got silent again, but Remus didn’t look away. If there was anything he could give Sirius, if not himself, it was reassurance and friendship.

Sirius let out a long breath, pinching the bridge of his nose between his eyes. “I’m sorry I ruined dinner.”

“You’d be stupid if you weren’t jumpy about cameras. It sucks but it’s part of who you chose to be. I get it, really. Please don’t worry.” Remus tried to offer him a little smile. “It wasn’t—It wasn’t even like that anyway, so it’s not like you hurt my feelings or anything.”

It was a lie, straight through his fucking teeth, but it had to be said. But, contrary to what he expected, Remus watched as Sirius’ shoulders stiffened.

There was a hanging moment where Remus held his breath, sure Sirius was about to say something—something—

“Ten tomorrow?” Sirius straightened, chewing on his bottom lip. “Do you need a ride?”

Remus felt like there was no air left for him in the car and he cracked the door, slipping out onto the sidewalk. “Moody’s got me.”

Sirius nodded, “Okay.”

“Okay.”

Sirius smiled, tight around the eyes, and Remus had no clue how to fix anything. “Night, Re.”

Sirius drove away slowly, like he was looking back at Remus in his mirror, rather than the road.

“Night,” Remus said to the street.

~

Remus felt like he was nearly going to fall asleep in the elevator of their New York hotel. It was three in the morning, the Lions had lost 4-0 to the Rangers and Remus had only just finished helping the equipment staff re-load all the Lions gear back into the trucks, ready to be flown out in the morning with the rest of the team. It had been a tough game. They’d had to swap Leo in for Kasey in goal during the first period. It turned out Kasey had hurt his thigh again in practice and he was day-to-day. And Leo, in his first NHL game, had let four goals in while Henrik Lundqvist had gotten a shut out.

Remus had seen Sirius earlier in the locker room talking to him quietly, but tonight was bound to sting for a bit for all of them. After a blinding start to the season, it never felt good to fall so far.

The door dinged, but it took Remus a minute to open his eyes.

“Loops! Asleep in the elevator! Alert! Alert!”

“James—shh! Jesus fucking Christ.”

Remus snapped his eyes open to see James, Kasey, and Sirius standing there, all with what looked like m&ms and potato chips in their hands. James was grinning, Kasey was yawning and favoring his good leg, and Sirius was looking down.

Sirius hadn’t really looked straight at Remus since that night at Sid’s pizza a few days ago.

“What are you guys doing up? It’s three in the fucking morning.”

“Day off tomorrow. Just a plane ride, we can sleep then. Plus…”

James didn’t say it, but Remus nodded, knowing what he meant. It was hard to sleep after a loss. Remus could remember that from college.

“Right, well,” Remus caught the slowly closing door, “get in or take the stairs, I’m exhausted.”

They were all going to the team’s floor and Remus let himself settle against one side of the elevator while the others talked. He looked up and met Sirius’ eyes, who was leaning against the other wall while James and Kasey argued loudly, echoing in the small space. Sirius didn’t look away, but didn’t really smile either. Remus raised an eyebrow, and Sirius tilting his head.

“What?” Remus mouthed silently.

Sirius shrugged one shoulder, then waved one hand, just a little, so the others wouldn’t see.

Remus’ brow furrowed, but he waved back. Then Sirius looked away.

Fuck. Remus just wanted to go to bed.

“Night, boys,” he said when the doors opened and they all stopped at James’ door.

There was a chorus of good nights and Remus was just sliding his key card into the door when there was a hand on his shoulder. He turned into it, and Sirius was there, looming over him.

“I—hi?” Remus said.

“Hi,” Sirius looked back down at the hall where the door to James’ room had just closed behind the others, then back at Remus, “Do you—Do you want company? Or—Or you’re going to bed. You’re going to bed.”

Remus studied Sirius’ face carefully. He had said that, if Sirius needed him, he’d be here, and Remus couldn’t deny that there were few things he wanted more in life than to be there for Sirius, no matter what he had done or assumed. And Sirius obviously needed something, or at least felt like something was unresolved between them. Maybe if Remus let him in, he would finally drop it and they could go back to how it was.  A little distant, but friendly. That, at least, was better than this.

Remus motioned him in with a jerk of his chin, “Come on. We’ll watch something, get you wound down. Give me those skittles if I’m going to stay awake.”

Sirius handed them over readily, like they were his ticket inside Remus’ room, and shut the door behind them.

“I’m going to take a quick shower, if you don’t mind,” Remus said, already walking towards the bathroom, “Make yourself comfortable.”

“Thanks,” Sirius said faintly.

Remus shot him a smile that he hoped was comforting before shutting the bathroom door. He let out a long breath and started the water before stripping. Having Sirius Black waiting for him on a bed would get him moving quick enough, not that he took very long showers to begin with. This was like some strange fantasy of his come to life—except, well, they wouldn’t be…

Remus huffed and stepped under the spray, grabbing for the shampoo bottle.

He realized only he was towel drying his hair that he hadn’t thought to bring an extra set of clothes into the bathroom with him and froze mid-rub, looking at himself in the mirror, wide-eyed.

“Fuck,” he said quietly, and turned to stare at the door. He could faintly hear the TV.

He wrapped the towel around his waist, making sure it was secure before opening the door. It wasn’t anything Sirius hadn’t seen before. Naked guys, that is, not Remus naked.

“Hey, sorry, forgot to get clothes before…yeah.”

Sirius had kicked his shoes off  and was stretched out on the bed. He’d piled the pillows behind him and his shirt was hitched up on one side. Remus could see his flat, toned stomach. Sirius’ eyes found Remus in the dim room. His face was all soft angles in the flickering light from the TV. Sirius licked his lips, and then looked away. “s’okay.”

He still sounded unbearably sad and as Remus turned away he frowned, mentally planning his words instead of focusing on the fact that he was currently about to drop his towel and reveal his bare ass to Sirius Black, captain of the Gryffindor Lions.

He did it quickly, boxers at the ready, and soon he was in his sweatpants and pulling a sweatshirt over his head. He hesitated at the edge of the bed, and Sirius looked up at him.

“What?” Sirius asked. His voice sounded sleepy and content, much better than it had in the hall, tight and strained.

“Nothing,” Remus cleared his throat, then knelt on the bed, “You’re hogging the pillows.” He reached and tugged two out from Sirius’ mass.

It startled a small laugh out of Sirius, “Oh, sorry.”

Remus arranged the pillows to his liking, careful not to get too close to Sirius. “What are you watching?” he asked with a sigh as he flopped onto his back, “Fuck, that feels good.”

Sirius shrugged, “Just turned it on. You okay?”

“Yeah, just lots of loading and unloading today. My back is tired.”

Sirius hummed. “You guys work hard.”

Remus looked over at him. “So do you, just at different times.”

Sirius was flipping his phone idly in his hand. “Just giving you the credit you deserve.”

Remus smiled a little. “Yeah, I know.”

Sirius missed and dropped his phone on his chest with a little oof and it turned into a heavy sigh.

“Okay?” Remus asked quietly. He didn’t want to push too hard, but…

Sirius sighed. “I should be okay.”

“But you aren’t.”

“It’s one game.” Sirius let his head fall back and stared up at the ceiling. “It’s the beginning of the fucking season everything is fine.”

Sirius turned his head. Part of his cheek was smushed against the pillow and his eyes were somber on Remus. “And I shouldn’t even be dumping this on you. You’re tired, and this isn’t even a real problem, and I’m just—I’m being stupid and I can do better.”

“That’s not how it works.”

Sirius closed his eyes and sighed again. “I know that.”

“You have a team, Sirius.” Remus said gently, “It’s not just you.”

“I know.” Sirius’ voice was even softer this time and, looking at him, eyes closed, brow drawn together…

Remus wanted to kiss him. So much.

“I think you need to get some sleep.”

Sirius’ eyes opened tiredly at Remus’ words, his blinks slow, and he nodded. “I’ll just lay there. I hate just laying there, in the dark.”

Remus’ heart pulled as the words brought to mind a much younger Sirius, with no escape from the pressure, laying in a smaller bed staring up into the dark.

Remus picked up the remote and flipped until he found a cooking show. Mindless, comforting.

“Well watch a bit, eh? Take your mind off of some of it. I’m just warning you, I might fall asleep. But…I’ll be here. If you need me. Just wake me up, I don’t care.” I care too much.

Sirius’ eyebrows were still low and worried, but he was looking at Remus with something like disbelief. “Thanks, Loops.”

Remus nodded and kicked back against the pillows, the bed jostling as Sirius did the same. They ended up with their shoulders brushing despite the size of the bed. Remus didn’t know why, but from this distance he could feel Sirius’ warmth. It wasn’t just another weight in the bed, it was a person, close by. It was Sirius’ even breathing, the sound of him fiddling with the draw strings of his sweatshirt.

Remus wasn’t sure when his eyes closed, but with the soft sound of the TV and Sirius beside him, he’d never fallen asleep faster.

[thetemplarscreed]

Comfortable Moments of Silence

Summary: Never once have I hesitated in killing any of these women and men. The task has formed me into the shell of a man I once was. I am a stone cold killer… or so I thought I was. Today is the day I hesitate.

Word count: 14, 605

Link to work on AO3 ~  https://archiveofourown.org/works/25556491

I reach the end of the trail. The air is still, and I am a hunter.

Winter strikes New York. The tops of the buildings are covered in white, making the entire city look like a new world. People are scurrying about, seeking shelter in the nearest tavern or shop while the blizzard rages on. There is no one on the streets.

As I look around, the insides of establishments provide an entirely different life of their own. I see people happily dancing and drinking in the taverns without a care in the world. I see townsfolk hurrying their children into their shared homes to protect them from the harsh outside world. Behind me, the sun sets, attempting to push its last rays out for the people to see them, only to be blinded by the howling fury of the storm. Fighting fire with fire. Nature versus nature; it is the cycle of life.

Master Kenway assigned me a task yesterday. A new gang has established its stronghold in Stuyvesant’s Farm, the Grandmaster said. Take them down, and make sure they never even think of laying foot in New York. A simple task, really. This is something that I’ve done since years ago, after leaving the Brotherhood behind. Blow up the poison vats; kill the gang leader; burn down the Assassin flag; hand over the institution to the British regulars. It seems more like a laundry list than anything at this point.

A good time to strike the Assassin stronghold would be now, but the blizzard makes it ever more so difficult. I will seek refuge in my home and strike at the crack of dawn. Pulling my coat tighter around my shoulders, I begin my journey to Greenwich.

Stinging. My cheeks are stinging as are the tips of my toes and fingers and the entirety of my body. Winters in the east are entire monsters of their own. Though I’ve lived in New York for all of my life, I still find immense difficulty in fighting against the final months of the year. I feel patches of ice forming on my face despite having pulled up my mask. I feel a mock sense of frostbite assaulting my body even while wearing three layers of leather, cotton, and wool. At this point it may as well be real frostbite. Home is only a few blocks away, I reassure myself.

Hush. Hush. Hush. Whispers. I hear whispers. Through the howl of the blizzard and the whipping of the wind, I hear an ever faint sound ringing in my ears. Hush, the sound says. It’s all too familiar. Those damned Assassins are after me again, sending their foot soldiers to catch me off guard. They’ll never succeed. I’ve killed them like flies. Where could this one be, I muse to myself. I stop in my tracks and focus my vision, honing on the haystack a few meters to my right, the rooftops above me, and the vegetation to my left. There you are, little rabbit. A bright red outline catches my attention. It is a woman, as usual. It still perplexes me why the mentor would send lasses out to kill me. I can see the smirk on her face. She thinks she has gotten me. I don’t blame her; if I am her I’d be just as smug. She doesn’t know that I can see her, so I continue strolling down the alley to entice her.

A loud “I’ve gotcha now!” joins the screaming wind as the young woman drops from above the skies. Before she can even land on me, I’ve blocked her attack, using my leg to knock her tiny form over. The lass scrambles onto her feet with a look of surprise slightly obscured by her locks. She gasps in shock as she tries to stand, only to slip on the snow-covered ground. I flick out my blades and position myself into an offensive stance. She slips once again and I take the opportunity to run at her and sink my blade into her flesh.

I charge towards the Assassin, hidden blades ready and all. Just as I am about to end her life, she covers her face with her arms. Suddenly, I stop. What is that on her arm? Momentum, however, was not on my side, as I fall on the woman by mistake and slash my blade across her arm. The lass emits a blood curdling scream which was drowned by the blizzard. Red. Red drips down her arms. Red stains my leather uniform. Red covers my vision. Immediately, I press on the lass’s arm, trying to apply direct pressure to stop as much of the bleeding as possible. She is fading away. Her breath is becoming more and more labored as her eyelids begin to flutter close. Her groans are not stopping.

“Fuck,” I mutter to myself, as I remove her grey shawl and use it as a makeshift pressure bandage. After carefully tightening the cloth around her arm, I pick her up and sprint towards home. After running for a minute or so I spot the familiar gardens of the fort. Once I reach the door, I kick it open and immediately bring the woman to my chambers, where I place her gently on my bed. I have to cauterize the wound before she bleeds to death. I reach below the bed for the medical kit then rush to collect a basin of freshwater and a fireplace stoke. Blood spews all over the white covers as I remove the now crimson-stained shawl. My bed is painted in a vibrant red color, like a blood sunrise. The woman groans in pain continually as her eyes close.

I tear a piece of her golden dress and gag her mouth. “This is gonna hurt,” I say quietly, more to myself than to her. In her state of delirium, she couldn’t possibly hear a word of what I say or even fight back if she wants to. I immediately place the burning hot stoke onto the lass’s blood-drenched arm. A scream tears through the night, louder than the one from before. A scream of a thousand people, more like. Suddenly, I felt the familiar sense of guilt wash over me: just like in Lisbon. I remind myself, however, that this is for a different cause.

Buildings crashing and burning, people screaming and running for their lives, waves threatening to engulf the city. It is all too real. I can feel the perspiration forming at the nape of my neck. Why does it feel so real? Why is it so difficult to breathe? Why are the walls closing in on me, the room getting smaller and smaller? I close my eyes and take a few deep breaths, mentally reminding myself that those are merely figments of the past, that those events happened years ago.

The smell of burning flesh draws me away from my nightmarish thoughts. They help me focus on the woman. It is working; the wound is sealing. The blood, though staining almost the entirety of her torso now, is ceasing and drying. I remove the stoke and throw it into the fireplace before preparing the stitches. By now, the lass is unconscious, the pain having been too much for her form to handle. I place two of my fingers against her neck trying to find a pulse; a gentle but slow throbbing indicates that she is indeed alive. At least it would be easier to perform the operation.

A few hours, several stitches, crimson garments, and an unconscious woman later, I finally get to rest. I place her soiled clothes at the corner of the room. I will burn them tomorrow. For now, I must use the little hours of the night left to recover and prepare for the attack on the Assassin stronghold in the morning. I leave the lass to “sleep” on my bed as I have no qualms about taking the couch for the short night. Her silent, breathing form is so much different from the terrified and screaming one from earlier. I feel a sense of calm washing over me from simply watching her in this fugue state.

Some hair sticks to her forehead; I push it out of the way so it would not obscure her face. I do not bother changing my clothes as I walk to my living room. I sit on the sofa and release a sigh. Outside, the storm rages on, the wind causing a few tree branches to scrape against the window. It is nights like these that make me feel trapped. I am nothing but an ant in this big, cruel world. Yet, the presence of the young woman in the room next door says otherwise. This woman is like an anchor. She is subconsciously telling me that I have a duty, a purpose.

I normally defend myself quite well against these Assassin Stalkers, as they’ve been sent after me by the Brotherhood for the better half of several years now. Never once have I hesitated in killing any of these women and men. The task has formed me into the shell of a man I once was. I am a stone cold killer… or so I thought I was. Today is the day I hesitate.

The hunt has taken me to the forgotten edges of this world. Seasons pass, drawing me deeper into darkness, where I have found the truth.

Silence. Not a sound rings through my home. The quietness is unnerving compared to the cacophony from the night before. I lazily open my eyes and wipe away the grogginess. Taking a glance out the window, I see a faint glow of pink. The sun is trying to reach out once again. Nature reminds me that I must prepare for my mission. My feet, however, drag me into my chambers. Go check on the lass, my head tells me. And I do just that.

On my bed sleeping soundly is the girl. Her breathing remains the same as last night, not labored but not too slow. I check the wound; it has sealed properly, but in its place is a nasty scar stretching from her elbow to her wrist. A reminder of the night she tried to kill one of the most notorious Templars and turncoats known to the Assassin Brotherhood. A reminder of the night when she almost died, only to be saved by the enemy. I carefully reach over her body and for her hands. Her hands are delicate in their own unique way. Each ring finger contains the bleeding insignia of the Assassin’s Creed. The burn from the initiation is still fresh. Without time to waste, I leave the comfort of the fort.

The air is still. The silence pays kindness to me as it helps me clear my thoughts. I have to be focused in order to successfully take down the gang. Yet, my mind wanders back to the lass. Why would they send someone fresh out of novice training after me? After a man who has spent nearly a decade of his life training with and against both forces? Judging by her looks, the lass is probably four or five years my junior. Judging from her technique, however, she is decades behind my skill level. A fresh recruit taken in and sheltered from the evils of the outside world.

Before I know it I have already reached the border of Stuyvesant’s Farm and Greenwich. The stronghold is nowhere in sight. I’ll have to get to higher ground. Using the convenient rift next to the side of a worn-down apartment, I catapult myself on top of the building. There it is: the stronghold. The smoke from the hideout blends into the early morning glow of New York. Using my vision, I find that there are guards still on night shift: ten of them to be exact, all dressed in the same apricot uniforms. I can’t seem to find their leader yet; however, the snipers are still perched in their nests protected by the guard dogs on the ground floor. Behind the snipers is the flagpole and underneath that is the storage for the poison vats.

First, I will take out the snipers so as to not raise awareness. Then, I’ll destroy the poison reserves to create a distraction to lure out their cowardly leader. Finally, I’ll kill the sorry bastard and tear down their filthy flag. It’s all routine. I take a Leap of Faith and land in the pile of snow at the foot of the apartment. I have to keep a distance from the perimeter, or else the dogs will detect me.

No matter how many times I’ve rid New York of gang activity, I never tire of cutting down a gang’s flag. It is a symbol of failure. Of the dilution of the Assassins. One less gang means that the city will flourish. Before climbing down the flagpole, I take in the glory of post-storm New York on a grey winter’s morning. From atop, the city looks beautiful. The clouds are free flowing as the smoke from the Assassin hideout has been snuffed by the fallen flag. I see miles upon miles of buildings, all covered in white. Civilians are opening their shops as the day begins. I smile to myself as I jump down.

A squadron of the King’s men arrive at the entrance of the stronghold all wearing their red colors proudly. Their captain approaches me with his hand extended. The captain, powdered wig and all, firmly shakes my hand, “So you’re the soldier Colonel Monro wouldn’t shut up about, eh? Mr. Shay Cormac?”

“That’d be me, aye,” I respond. He should not be speaking so nonchalantly about Monro like that.

The captain gives a firm nod, “Well, I haven’t seen the city prosperin’ this well ‘fore your ‘rival. These gangs have been the goddamn bloody blight of New York.”

“I couldn’t agree more, Captain…?”

“Smith.”

“Smith. Captain Smith,” the soldiers around these parts know me quite well since their colonel and I had been so close, “well, sir, before I head on out, mind if I take a look at my organization’s funds?”

“O’ course not, sir,” Captain Smith says, “right this way, Mr. Cormac.” He leads me to an underpass where I spot a chest full of coins and silver sitting atop a mahogany desk. I thank the captain before heading over to check on the Order’s funds. With over fifty-thousand pounds and counting, it’s safe to say that the Order is more than capable. Before I leave, I take a quick glance around the compound to make sure no one is watching me. I withdraw a few hundred pounds. They wouldn’t suffer if I were to take just a fraction of the money.

In truth, I didn’t take the money for my own personal pleasures. I have all of the funds that I need for basic survival through industrial renovations in the coast and the frontier. What I did need, though, is extra petty coin to buy proper clothes and medical supplies for the lass. I wonder how she is doing. Hopefully she has not awoken yet… it would be quite a shock for her to discover her residence at a Master Templar’s home; the girl would probably go into shock again.

I leave the now British-controlled compound and make my way to the nearest tailor. New York is known for its fine fashion industry, most of the fabric materials having come from mass illegal trading behind the British Empire’s back. With the ongoing struggles of the conflicts against the French and natives, the British have been increasingly neglecting their trading children, allowing for the colonists to freely barter with foreign nations and not having to worry about interference.

After a good five minutes walk, I finally find a tailor who specializes in women’s clothing. I enter the establishment cautiously. An elderly woman wearing a clean, blue-checkered dress and white shift stands behind a counter with a welcoming smile on her face. Her eyes light up when they see me; I assume she is eager for more guests. I return her contagious smile and approach the desk.

The woman speaks with a Scottish lilt that even Robert the Bruce would be envious of, “‘Ello, dearie! What would you be needin’ today?”

“Good mornin’, madame,” I greet her, “do you happen to have anyone available to craft a pair of trousers and a blouse fitted for a lass about my age?”

The old woman gives me a puzzling look. I don’t blame her. It’s not often that anyone sees women wearing trousers.

“Well, aye, actually, we do ‘ave some people who can work on that for you, love,” the woman says, “but, I do ‘ave a query: why on Earth would any lass want to wear that?”

“She’s a special one, I suppose,” I say before I can even stop myself.

Rather than interrogating me further, the old woman simply smiles, “That’s mighty kind o’ you to consider yer woman’s own style of clothes, dearie. She must be a real important lass to you.”

I remain silent at her comment while awkwardly pulling out the bag of coins.

“How much would it cost to get it finished in, say, two hours from now?” I ask the woman.

“You in a rush, dearie?” the old woman chuckles, “I’d normally charge for less, but considerin’ that prices are droppin’ due to the bloody war… I’d say that the job’s worth seventy-five shillings.”

I remove the exact amount of money from the bag of coins and place it in her bony hands. The woman gleefully takes it and places it in a metal safe behind the counter. After storing the money away safely, she turns to me, “They’ll be finished with yer lass’s clothes in two hours time, love. Thank you for stoppin’ by!”

“The pleasure’s all mine, madame,” I bow, before leaving the shop. Well, that’s one thing off the list. I take a look at the liveliness of the city and begin my journey back to Fort Arsenal. Again, my mind wanders back to the girl. A recruit fresh out of training like her has no means to be sent out to assassinate one of the most dangerous Templars. Thinking back at her hands, I subconsciously remove my own leather gloves. My hands feel naked without the usual garments protecting them. The cold weather immediately attacks my exposed palms and fingers causing a shiver to run through my entire body. I run my hands over the scars on each of my fourth fingers, the exact same burn marks that the lass has, the only difference being her’s were fresh while mine were forged ten years ago.

I finally reach the front door of my home, the all-too-familiar establishment staring back at me. I take a deep breath before entering, opening and closing the door as gently as possible so as to not wake up the girl. After removing my boots and weapons and unstrapping the belts on my coat, I slowly enter my chambers, where the lass should be resting.

I release a sigh as I spot a familiar form still in the same position from the previous night and this morning. Her eyes and lips are both closed; she is sleeping peacefully. I notice, however, that her cheeks have a reddish tint to them. I approach her and gently place my naked palm against her forehead and then against her cheeks. She is burning. Her body temperature causes a nasty contrast between both of our skins.

“Shite, lass,” I curse. It is no surprise that she would catch a fever after that attack. The rusting of my blade is more than likely the cause of the infection. Luckily with the extra funds (and the extra time), I can find her a doctor. Once again, I prepare for another journey: this time, to the nearest doctor’s office.

“Give her these for the next few weeks and she will recover in no time,” the stout and portly physician orders as he hands me a large vial of foul-smelling amber liquid, “remember: her body can only handle small teaspoons every few hours. Giving her too much will send her into shock. It’ll hurt her even more.”

“Aye, doc,” I reply, “is there anythin’ else that I can do for her to speed up the recovery?”

The doctor sighs, annoyance plastered on his face, “If there were, I’d tell you, man. Unfortunately, there’s not much that can be done. I suppose that you can have her drink plenty of water and keep her clean as her wound will prevent her from getting around the house.”

I nod, taking in the advice of the sour man, “Aye. That I will do. Thank you for your help, doc.”

“Well, it’s my job ain’t it, mate?”

“‘Suppose so.”

I hand the asshole the coin before he takes his departure. Finally. My head is pounding just listening to that sorry excuse of a guy speak for almost two hours. More pressing matters are at stake here, however. I turn my attention towards the lass, who is still sleeping, albeit a little cleaner. While she was unconscious, the doctor and I replaced the sheets and cleaned her wounds. There is less blood, fortunately.

Suddenly, a thought appears in my head. “Fuck,” I swear to myself. I nearly forgot about the lass’s clothes at the tailor shop! For the third time today I have to leave my home. As the door shuts behind me, I decide to take a more direct approach to the shop. I spot a peaceful mare roped in front of a tavern. A cheeky grin slowly makes its way to my face. Surely the owner wouldn’t mind if I take his dear horse out for a run. Without any second thoughts, I untangle the reigns and hop onto the beast.

I’m back in my home… again. With the light, fabric package tucked under my arm, I tiptoe into my chambers to check on the lass. I round the corner only to find that my bed lays empty, except for bloodstained blankets. What catches my eye, though, is a trail of fresh blood on the wooden floor. To my right, I notice a bloody handprint plastered on my desk. The window is open as well, inviting a cold, saltine sea breeze into the room.

“Fuckin’ hell, lass,” I swear, “you couldn’t have gotten that far with that injury and fever.” After placing the package on the bed, I storm out the fort in search for the missing girl. Obviously she thinks that she can escape given that I was not present. I climb the windows of my home in order to get a higher vantage point. Using my vision, I spot the young woman hobbling towards the harbor clutching her arm. A poor choice, really. No one wants to assist an individual beaten to a pulp, lest they wish to suffer the same fate from whichever asshole caused the mess in the first place.

Well, there was really only one way to bring her back without causing a ruckus. I climb to the top of the fort and use the trees to my advantage. After freerunning to an area of foliage closer to the docks, I load my air rifle with sleep darts. The lass continues to walk, albeit slowly. People give her odd looks before she rounds the corner behind a stack of shipping crates. Unfortunately for her, she would have to end up in the hands of the enemy once again. I take a deep breath before adjusting the rifle to eye level. Click. One shot and the lass goes down.

It has been almost an hour. I do not see any signs of consciousness in the girl yet. While she sleeps, I ponder about why exactly I’m even helping her. What can I do for her, really? How would the Grandmaster react to this mess? What if she is a spy sent by Achilles himself? It makes sense, actually: trainees are expendable… to an extent. However, I believe that I am asking myself the wrong questions. Who is she? Why did she join the Brotherhood? Does she have potential to join the Templars?

She looks so peaceful. Her hair frames her beautiful, rosy face like a veil while the sheets cast a protective shield over her. The fever causes her lips and cheeks to be accentuated, covering her face in a red hue. Her frame, slightly visible under the thin duvet, is that of a strong and agile individual. It is obvious that the Assassins have trained her decently. Not well enough to kill a Templar agent, but well enough to pass training and to be sent on ground control missions.

My mind is focused on the lass’s face and body before I hear a soft groan from the bed. Before I know it, I’m face to face with her. She is frozen in fear. Her working hand clings onto the sheets until her knuckles are white. I feel as if I should say something to calm her nerves; the poor thing looks as if she would faint at any second.

“Easy, lass,” I say quietly, “I won’t hurt you.”

Her lips quiver ever so slightly before she asks in a meek, coarse voice, “Wh-why didn’t you kill me?”

Ah, the question that I have been thinking about for the past few days and still haven’t gotten a clear answer for.

I dodge the question, “How are you feeling?”

She shakes her head in fear; tears begin rolling down her pink face, “No- you can’t just… take me in like this! Why am I not dead? You’re Shay Cormac. The Templar. The Assassin killer.”

The girl begins to bawl, “Why am I not dead?” I can barely understand her through the hiccups and tears. Before I can respond, she goes at it again, “Why am I not dead while the others are? Brothers and sisters working for our Brotherhood to seek purpose in their lives… dead! And at the hands of you people, nonetheless!”

I let her grieve for a moment. Watching the lass cry, I feel a sort of pain in my chest. The pain reminds me of a time when I believed in the Brotherhood as well. When I sought out their cause in order to fulfill my life. I understand her loss. For a time in my life, I believed that one had to be dedicated to a certain cause, a certain creed, in order to have direction and motivation, else life would be meaningless. However, those thoughts have long gone now.

As the lass’s tears dwindle down to sniffles, I take a chance and speak, “I didn’t kill you because you were different. You have somethin’ that the others don’t. If you’ll allow me to show you, lass, I would be more than glad to.”

The girl looks at me warily while rubbing her eyes. Eventually, she nods and winces at the pain, knowing that there is not much else she can do. “Alright, lass. Calm down,” I reassure her.

I slowly reach over to her clean arm. As expected, she pulls back, so hard in fact that she accidentally hits the nightstand. “Fuck,” she mutters under her breath while hissing in pain.

I sigh, “I promise I won’t hurt you. Relax. Please, let me see your arm.”

Her eyes focus onto me as if I’m the bloody devil; she relaxes her working arm as I gently hold onto it, rolling up the cotton sleeve with delicacy. On her wrist and ring finger lay the fresh, bleeding symbols of the Assassin’s Creed. The blood sticks to my fingers.

I look into the girl’s eyes, “Tell me, when did they do this?”

She meets my gaze and answers in a quiet tone, “I was initiated into the Brotherhood three nights ago.”

If the look of disgust isn’t prevalent on my face before, it is now. I place her arm down and search for the medical kit.

“You know what that means, don’t you?” I ask.

Silence. She doesn’t say a word. I’m not sure if it’s because she doesn’t know the answer or if it’s because she is too fearful to tell me the truth.

I place the medical kit onto my desk and remove the roll of gauze. Before I wrap her wound, however, I look into her eyes, “Now, why would the Assassins send a recruit, fresh outta trainin’, after a skilled Templar agent, hm? ‘Specially a Templar that has hunted down and killed several Master Assassins? You know what happened to Master Adéwalé, right?”

I can see that the girl has difficulty containing her true feelings. She knows that she is expendable, that she is a pawn. Yet, she is too afraid to admit it. “You claim that your brothers and sisters have joined the Brotherhood to seek purpose and direction in their lives. Is that the same for you, too?”

Again, her lip quivers. She’s trying too hard to hold in her emotions. Alas, a few tears slip down her burning face as she answers me in defeat, “I- They told me that the Assassins needed someone with dignity, honor, and conviction. That their Brotherhood fought for the principles of freedom for the people against the evils of tyranny. Yes, I guess you can say that I did join them for the same reasons as the others.”

Damn him. Damn Achilles and the so-called leaders who blindly follow him. Damn them all. The Assassins’ power is beginning to dwindle in the colonies and he’s seeking any new and sorry souls to join the Brotherhood. To him, they are merely pawns, dispensable beings with no other purpose than to supply the Brotherhood with numbers so that they can daunt the Templars. He and the other Masters don’t care for these trainees at all. And this poor girl is simply roped into the centuries old war.

“Now you have your answer as to why I didn’t kill you,” I say, “it ain’t fair to murder someone who doesn’t have as much experience as me. Hell, how old are you anyway, lass?”

“I turned twenty last summer,” she says.

“Christ,” I mutter in shock, “you joined ‘em quite late.”

“I suppose so.”

An awkward silence fills the space. Neither of us say a word. I actually enjoy the silence, as it gives me ample time to think of a plan. After the lass heals, how should I bring her to Master Kenway? Should I even bring her to the Grandmaster? The questions linger in my mind, though I push them aside in order to focus on her health. Hell, another thought crosses my mind: I don’t even know her name yet.

“I’m gonna wrap your burns with this,” I bring the roll of gauze to her eye level, “don’t worry. I won’t hurt you.”

She does not put up a fight and lets me wrap her arm. She hisses as I gently place the fabric onto the burn mark, “God, my head’s spinning.”

“Aye, that’s ‘cause you caught a nasty fever,” I interject, “after I wrap your wound, I gotta give you that cursed drink over there.”

Both of our eyes glance at the amber medicine sitting on my desk. I catch her gaze and try to get a laugh out of her, “Doctor’s orders, love.”

I swear, I see her cheeks turn even more pink at the nickname. It’s nice to know that the lass has a sense of humor.

“You seem to know who I am. Now, pray tell me your name, lass,” I say.

She tells me her name. I repeat it in my head a few times; it’s a beautiful name that’s well-suited for a girl like her. Despite the tiredness present on her face, she still retains the beauty of youth, something that has been long gone for me. My days working for the Order have drained all my energy, leaving barely any time for me to deal with physical appearances.

After giving the lass her medicine and cleaning her wounds, I depart the room to give her more time to rest, turning around to give her one last piece of advice, “You need to stay in bed. It’ll be a few weeks until the fever dies down.” I can see the look of worry etched onto her innocent face. I know that she’s terrified of what the Assassins would think if they are to find out what has happened to her.

I reassure her with a soft smile, “You don’t need to worry ‘bout the Assassins. They won’t know that you’re here.”

“How can I trust you with that?” she asks.

“Why’d I keep you alive, then?” I counter.

She doesn’t know what to say and remains silent.

I sigh as I get up from the armchair, “Get some rest. I’ll be right next door.” The lass shifts in my bed, getting herself comfortable before closing her eyes and drifting off into a deep sleep. I respect her. I truly do. It takes a lot of balls to go on a suicide mission. Well, what other choice did she really have? I would not have expected her to turn down the mentor’s orders; hell, I didn’t turn down his orders when I served under him all those years ago.

I can see the glow of the moon through my windows. It’s about time I retire for the night. I remove my boots and begin the arduous task of unbuckling the millions of belts wrapped around my body. After a few minutes of mindless undressing, I’m finally in a state of comfort in a simple shirt and pair of trousers. The only remnants of my day’s clothes that remain on me are my hidden blades. I’m not yet ready to enjoy a night’s sleep without them yet. I close my eyes and drift into an endless sleep.

“Tell me a little ‘bout yourself, lass.”

A few weeks time has passed. The girl is well on her feet now, her fever having been completely eliminated. Unfortunately, her wound still remains. Though none of the wounds are painful, they are quite obvious: she has a giant scar stretching from her wrist to her elbow. Her fingers are bleeding less, but the Assassins’ insignia burns brightly on both. All of her wounds still remain. Not only the ones on her arm and fingers, but the one in her heart as well. The betrayal.

These past few weeks have been difficult gaining her trust. I don’t blame her. Who would trust the enemy? She is only now beginning to open up to me. She trusts me enough to let me make her meals in the morning, afternoons, and evenings. She also trusts me enough to sleep in my home, albeit with hidden blades equipped all day and night.

She twirls a lock of hair around her finger, “What do you wish to know?”

“Anythin’,” I say while filling a cauldron with water and lugging it over to the fireplace.

She ponders for a moment before drawing in her breath, “My family emigrated here years ago. We moved to Virginia. My father was a tenant farmer while my mother raised me at home.”

I take a seat beside her after getting out the cutting board and vegetables. As I dice the fresh produce, I make brief eye contact with her, signalling for her to continue. She says, “We were very poor. We were constantly moving across Virginia and sheltering near slaves’ cabins.” Her eyes show her sorrow. Ah, her story is one of an immigrant’s: like mine.

“My father decided one day that enough was enough. He managed to raise enough coin through cash crops to move our family to New York,” she says with a soft smile on her face. The way she speaks of her father brings a familiar feeling to me, one that inspires warmth in my chest.

“We lived happily there for a while in New York. I remember, I was about eleven at the time,” she draws in her breath again, “While my mother raised me in the home, my father taught me real world skills. Soon enough, I learned how to pickpocket, how to talk my way out of situations, and even how to handle a gun and blade. At the time, my father switched careers and was working as a deckhand and ship navigator which allowed him to gain all of his physical knowledge and pass it onto me.”

She pauses for a moment. The look on her face tells me that she does not want to speak any further. I don’t say a word, hoping that my silence would encourage her. Soon enough, she does. The lass stares at the coffee table and says in the quietest voice, “One day, he was assigned on a transportation trip. He was to help with the navigation process,” Wait. Transportation trip? Nine years ago? It couldn’t be… “the crew didn’t know that there was a storm that day. I think you can guess what happened next.”

There is a moment of silence between us. Eventually, it is interrupted by her sniffles. She shakes her head, “I will never forget the day the captain came to our house and told us the news. My mother was heartbroken.” I so desperately want, no need to know if this shipwreck was the same one that I lost my father to.

“Wait, love. Before you continue, I must ask,” I say quietly while placing down my knife, “was the ship that your father was assigned to a merchant fishing vessel captained by Mr. Connelly?”

She gives me a look of surprise and answers the question, “If I can recall correctly, yes. His name was Connelly. I know that it was a private merchant vessel, but the captain, Connelly, was to share a part of the proceeds with the British. My father had worked with those Brits, Scots, and Irishmen for a while. How do you know his name?”

That is all I need to hear. I can hardly believe my ears. I guess the world truly is a small place. Before I reveal to her the coincidence, I wish to hear her entire story. I tell her not to worry about it and to continue. 

She regains her composure before finishing the tale, “Ever since then, it was only my mother and me,” she chuckles, a small laugh filled with venom, “work isn’t easily found for a single woman. She told me this, one night. This one statement. She told me: ‘Whatever you do, my child, don’t become a whore. A whore like me.’”

The lass purses her lips. I can tell that this is a sensitive topic. The most I can do now is offer my ear and shoulder. I do not know what women in her profession must endure.

“She died when I was thirteen,” the lass says quietly, “syphilis can be quite the killer.”

Again, a moment of silence. We seem to be able to share these moments of quiet together with little awkwardness. It’s quite natural. Two streams of tears flow from her delicate eyes. I so desperately want to tell her that it will be alright. I pick up the knife and resume chopping the vegetables. It isn’t until a few minutes later that the girl speaks.

“Apologies,” she coughs into her arm, “she was the only family I had after my father passed away. I made do with the little money that I had before it ran out. By then, the landlord kicked me out, after bargaining to sleep with me, of course. It took me a while to learn how to survive on the streets, how to pick pockets without raising awareness or how to hide in taverns and inns during closing hours. The years felt more like days, or even hours, to be honest. Until several months ago, life felt like a blur.”

I continue listening to her while at the same time preparing supper, getting lost in her story- or rather, the way she tells it. She really does have a way with words, weaving together a story like a distinguished poet. I can listen to her for hours. She inhales, “After seven years of living on the streets like a dog, a miracle happened. This man approached me out of the blue. I remember the day quite clearly, actually: right after I picked the pocket of a poor, unsuspected fellow, this brute in a grey hooded outfit slaps his hand on my back. I recalled my fear; I was afraid that the victim of my crime would have noticed. The mysterious man whispered to me, ‘Go pick seventy pounds worth of coin and bring it back to me.’ He had that musical Irish lilt, kind of like you. But then, I thought, to hell with that. I might as well just run off with the damn money!”

I know exactly who you’re talking about, love. There’s only one bloke that would go around testing folks.

“And that was exactly what I did. I picked the pockets of about ten different people in Greenwich before making a run for it to the countryside. I figured that the guy would make an effort to hunt me down and that this was how my life would end. I mean, the man was covered in weaponry and his presence radiated power and fear. Besides, who in his or her right mind would even consider asking a street rascal for money?” she scoffs at the last part.

A smile breaks out on her face, “Well, ‘lo and behold… the brute did track me down. In fact, he was at the abandoned farm before I damn well even got there! To say I was shocked was an understatement. Let me tell you, though, the guy looked terrifying. Yet, he had a sense of calmness to him. He didn’t look angry, even though I basically robbed him of seventy pounds. I’d go as far as to say that he looked glad. Relieved. He came over to me and said, ‘Congratulations, lass. You passed.’ I remembered being more confused than an immigrant in a foreign country. He introduced himself to me as a certain Liam O’Brien. From that moment on, my life was changed. He told me about the Assassin Brotherhood and how it sought to restore freedom in the colonies, to advocate, serve, and protect those who cannot support themselves. He said that it was the Templar Order which would guarantee the rise of the British Empire and the fall of the people. ‘We fight the Templars because we seek the betterment of these lands. Their belief is that tyranny is the only way for peace to occur,’ he said to me. Pretty words, all of it. I fell for it. I really did.”

I say, “Aye, them Assassins tend to sugarcoat the nuances of life quite often.”

She gives me a brief nod, “Yeah, and they’re damn good at it, too. Before I knew it I followed him to the Homestead, where he introduced me to the Mentor and the rest of the Master Assassins. Though, Shay, I wouldn’t say that their bogus rhetoric was the only thing that attracted me to the Brotherhood. The Mentor and the others provided me with a home. They welcomed me with open arms. I think that is what makes saying goodbye to them so hard.”

“I, for a time, felt the exact same way, lass,” I admit, “it, too, was Liam who brought me into the Brotherhood.”

She gives an understanding nod, “He spoke of you, but only briefly.”

“Bet all he had to say was bullshite, anyways,” I scoff.

“He said that you were a good friend, but that you were disillusioned by the grandeur of the Templar Order.”

“Funny comin’ outta his big mouth,” I say nonchalantly while bringing the cutting board over to the cauldron and throwing in the chopped vegetables.

She smiles again, “I guess it is funny. It’s also funny how he and the mentors decided that it was a fabulous idea to send me, a trainee Assassin, to kill you, a Templar known for his atrocities against his old allies in the Brotherhood.”

“‘Atrocities’ is quite a subjective way to describe my actions,” I retort, “”Justice’ is a better word to use.”

She does not look impressed. She sighs before continuing, “Anyways, a few months passed and all they had me do was train with the other novices and run small tasks in New York. Mostly eavesdropping missions. They claimed that my work was ‘vital to the destruction of the Templars and the British Empire.’ It wasn’t until two months ago that they assigned me to this suicide mission.”

I see the look of pain on her face. Her lips are ever so slightly drooping down at the corners, her eyes avoiding my gaze. It’s as if she’s ashamed to even be associated with them. It’s a special sort of pain, one that very few people can understand. I understand it. I understand her feelings because the Assassins did the very same thing to me. Sure, the procedures of their moral downfall weren’t exactly the same. The scenarios, though, are practically identical. We didn’t betray them. They betrayed us.

“What are you looking at?”

I quickly turn my head to look at her. She appears to be confused. I answer her, “Nothin’. Just thinkin’.”

“About?” she inquires.

“Us.”

She gives me a funny look. That came out wrong. I cleared my throat, “I mean- I’m just thinkin’ ‘bout how our circumstances are so similar.”

“Really? How so? Liam never mentioned your background any more than he did,” she pipes.

“Aye,” I reply, “guess he doesn’t want you knowin’ ‘bout the ‘enemy.’ I’ll tell you how we’re so similar. For one, you recall how I asked you ‘bout that shipwreck, aye?”

She nods.

“Well,” I say, “that very same shipwreck that your father was on… was also the one that killed my da.”

The look on her face. Her eyes look like they’re about to pop out of their sockets; her jaw is hanging down to the ceiling; her eyebrows are scrunched up. I’ll have to admit, she does look cute like that.

I bark, “Careful, else you’re gonna catch some flies like that.”

She closes her mouth.

“He wasn’t the only one on that ship, either. I was there, too.”

She opens her mouth again, this time, her hand flying up to cover it. She scoffs and says slowly, “Y-you… you can’t be serious… right?”

“I’m dead serious, love,” I say, “yeah, that’s why I was so damn curious when you brought up that event. Can’t believe the stars have aligned in such terrible circumstances like that.”

She asks, “Were you a deckhand, as well?”

“Aye,” I answer, “my da wished to train me to become a sailor. He thought it lucrative work, at the time. Since it was only him and me, I was more than excited to accompany him wherever the seas may take us. It was actually where I met Liam, too. Before Liam’s father passed away, they used to work on the docks with us.”

She swallowed, “You guys really did go way back, huh?”

I smile and nod. It’s so odd telling a stranger my story about Liam and my father. Well, I don’t even know if I should consider the lass a stranger; after all, we’ve both been through some pretty damning things.

“I remember how rough the waters were that day. I don’t normally get sick out in the ocean, but on that day, I was throwin’ up over the railings!” I exclaim, “Winds weren’t the kindest either. We lost our first man through the winds. Swept him right off his feet and into the dark abyss.”

The lass scoots her chair closer and leans forward slightly as if she has trouble hearing me. Her attentiveness brings a soft smile to my face. I’m surprised that she’d even want to hear anything from a Templar, no less one that almost killed her. She waits for me to continue.

“Soon after, we realized that it was impossible to transport the goods through the god awful weather. We had to throw some of the shite off board. Connelly wasn’t too happy ‘bout it. After all, he’d be the one they deemed responsible for it,”I breathe, “when we shifted courses to head back to New York harbor, the mast broke. Unfortunately, one of the younger deckhands was almost knocked off the ship; he was barely hangin’ onto the railings. My father rushed over to help him,” I pause to glance quickly at her. She still has the same look on her face, a look of sadness. Sadness for me.

“The gales took both of them. Just like the other poor sucker. Lost in the abyss,” I say. Suddenly, she shifts her chair. She is closer to me now than I remembered before. The lass extends a hand and gently rests it on my shoulder. I jump a little at her contact; I am shocked, to say the least.

She ignores my sudden movement and instead looks me in the eyes with a gaze that meant only empathy, “I’m so sorry.”

I give her a soft grin and clear my throat, “Quite alright. Not your fault. Unless you have the magical ability to conjure up storms like a siren… which I highly doubt is the case.”

She chuckles at the lighthearted jest before rubbing the area between my shoulderblades. The look on her face has not changed. We both lost our fathers to the same storm... I don’t know if she is doing this for me or for herself. Again, we share a comfortable moment of silence. It’s so odd how we are so similar yet different. Our experiences mesh as if we are the same person. Betrayed by those we once called family. Losing family a second time.

After a few minutes I look at her and say, “What the Assassins did to you was wrong. It shouldn’t have happened. I don’t know what’s goin’ on through their bloody minds, but they are only making things worse in the grand scheme of things.”

“I know. Yet, I think fate has a unique way of bringing people together at the most unconventional times,” she says.

“I guess you’re right about that.”

Before I can even stop myself, I blurt, “I think I should take you to our Grandmaster.”

The color on her face drains making her look like a ghost. She turns to me with a look of fear like that of a child experiencing a scolding. She says softly, “You can’t be serious, Shay. I- the man’s going to kill me. On the spot.”

I poke back, “Keep in mind, lass, that I was in the same boat as you once. I was lucky enough to be saved by a British colonel working for the Templars. He saw potential in me and brought me to Master Kenway. And I,” I take her hand in mine, “shall do the same for you.”

She does something that I did not expect. The lass yanks her hand out of my grasp and stands up with enough force causing the chair to fall. She says sternly, “I don’t even know if I want to join the Templars, Shay! You can’t just bestow a fate upon me that I didn’t even ask for! Do keep in mind that I was only just betrayed by my ‘family’ no more than a month ago.”

I take a moment to ponder. I should not have given her that option too soon. Unlike her, I was able to adjust into Templar duties at a slower, more natural pace. If only Monro were still here. How did he do it?

“You’re right,” I say, “that was a bit brash of me. My apologies, lass.”

She did not say anything. There is nothing to say.

“Lass, I think, though, that it is worth your time to at least learn what the Templars truly seek,” I attempt to compromise.

She raises an eyebrow. I explain to her, “The Assassins probably assume that you’re dead, by the looks of it. Which, in turn, gives me ample time to introduce you to what the Order really is about.”

The look on her face shows that she is still skeptical. She asks, “You can’t keep me a secret forever. Eventually, your superiors will find out about me. What then?”

“That,” I say, “is a problem for another time. For now, I will train you. And I will teach you. Besides, where else do you have left to go?”

I can tell that the question catches her off guard, as she sharply turns her head towards me. She knows that I am right. Her only family has severed ties with her. They were the turncoats, the turncoats to their own followers… not the other way around. At the same time, her face shows one of relief. I see the muscles around her eyes and mouth relax as she softly exhales.

“You make a valid point,” she concedes,” Very well. When shall we begin?”

The boiling of the broth in the cauldron briefly steals our attention before I turn to her and ask, “Why not now?”

That my redemption is found in ashes. That I must burn away the past to set things right. 

The following months I spend training her. While the Assassins taught her the basic freerunning and assassination techniques, frontier survival skills, and sneaking patterns, she brings her own skill to the table: pickpocketing and lockpicking. I have yet to see a trainee master either skills so quickly like her. She tells me that she has a knack for both, as she was forced to spend many years on the streets. Her natural talent is evident.

Despite her adaptation to everything the Assassins have taught her, she still lacks the one thing that distinguishes the skilled from the dead: perception. Her lack of perception and awareness was what landed her in hot water with me a year ago. It is a natural ability that the Assassins rarely delve on. What she lacks in awareness in the senses, though, she makes up in dedication. The lass is one of the most dedicated initiates- no- people that I’ve ever met. I thought Liam and Hope were some of the most hardworking folks there were to be, but I was wrong. This girl has potential. Potential. Such a silly word thrown around by the ones seeking to bait those beneath them. I will be a different leader. If not for her, then for the future of the Order. I know that she will be vital for us.

At the same time, though, I don’t want her to join our cause. I don’t want her to align herself with the Assassins, either. I want her to be her own person. As the year runs its course, I realize something: the lass is who I wanted to become. She is given an opportunity to run away from the war, to run away from the deep, dark philosophy. The Assassins believe she is dead, and the Templars do not know of her existence. She is living a life of secrecy. She is given a second chance. This is a life that I wanted… that I want. And I am wallowing in my own self pity by dragging her into the depths of this centuries-old feud with me.

It is winter. The frontier is encapsulated in white. It is a beautiful sight that I will never forget. The white-tipped trees remain still as the winter sun shines down on us. The birds sing their song while the other animals of the forest carry on their typical days of hunting and being hunted. Despite the magical setting of the frontier, my mind is drawn to more personal thoughts. Exactly one year ago from this day, I encountered a young woman who was sent after skin. This young woman grows on me every day. I am unsure if she knows her effect on me. Though we have limited time to train together, I allow her to stay at Fort Arsenal for however long she wishes to. So far she hasn’t left, or should I say, made any attempts to leave.

Neither of us have made a move on each other. We have kept our relationship strictly professional. Does she want more? Do I want more? I don’t know. We have made one major decision together, however. The lass has agreed to finally meet Master Kenway. Now, this can go one of a few ways. Either he will accept her and my word and bring her into the Order, he will kill her or assign me the task of doing so, or he will let her go and chastise me for holding secrets against the Order and against him personally. I hope Haytham gives her a chance like he gave me all those years ago.

“Shay?”

I wipe elk blood off my coat, “Hm?” Today is yet another day spent in the frontier. The lass is learning more hands-on techniques in the outdoor environment. I am teaching her how to use an animal carcass as shelter. She sticks her hands under her armpits while shivering, the cold biting into her skin.

“What do you think the Grandmaster will say about me?” she asks, her voice laced in apprehension.

This is something that I have been thinking about for a while. I am unsure of how to answer her. Though I can often read the Grandmaster like a book, him having shared some of his darkest secrets with me, I know that Haytham can be unpredictable at times: especially when the circumstances involve the Order.

I give her a half-assed answer as I am cutting open the elk’s stomach, “Frankly, I’m not too sure, love. The Grandmaster takes the Order very seriously, obviously. He may think that you’re a spy. But one thing I do know for a fact about him is that he is open to new possibilities. Before I joined the Order, Haytham was skeptical of me. Yet, he took a chance to learn of my abilities and what I could provide for the Templars.”

After cutting open the stomach lining, I turn to the lass, “I am only hoping that he does the same for you.”

She sighs, “Well that’s reassuring.”

“I’m not trying to give you false hope. I am not confident that he will appreciate me keeping secrets,” I turn to her and notice her scared expression, “but, I don’t think you should worry about it too much at the moment. We still have a few days before our meeting with him.”

The girl nods in defeat as we resume our outdoors lesson.

A week passes. We are currently seeking refuge at the Green Dragon Tavern in Boston while we await the Grandmaster’s arrival. During the past several days, the lass has been incredibly quiet and reserved. It makes sense; I do not blame her. Haytham Kenways is a leader who demands the utmost respect and civility upon meeting. The man radiates class and intimidation. Though, under that skin of propriety is a man of puzzle. Of vulnerability. Haytham is a man of two faces- of two lives. I can only pray that she will be brave enough to meet the man face to face.

The joviality of the establishment brightens her mood, however. The sounds of the residents and patrons enjoying themselves provide a lighthearted atmosphere while the songs and shanties from the musicians make the tavern more vibrant. Earlier, the barmaid Catherine offered her a drink to which she denied. The girl claimed that she did not want to look too casual in front of the Grandmaster. A wise choice.

I spy from the corner of my eye the lass biting her lip so hard that it is turning white. I place a hand on her shoulder, “Relax, love. It’ll be fine.”

She looks at me and releases her lip from the confines of her teeth; she sighs and gives me a quick nod. As if her nod is a signal, the door to our shared room opens. The lass freezes; she holds her breath. I pat the small of her back before the door opens fully, revealing the Grandmaster himself. Haytham slowly closes the door so as not to disturb any residents and locks it- seems like the conversation in this room stays in this room.

“Master Kenway,” I nod to Haytham.

“Master Cormac, a pleasure,” he smiles at me, and then turns his head towards the girl, “and you must be her. The woman who Shay has delighted in my knowledge with for the past few weeks.”

The lass clears her throat and nods, almost as if she’s giving a bow. She responds, “Y-yes, sir. It’s a pleasure to finally meet you, sir. Shay- I mean, Master Cormac, has spoken highly of you.”

Haytham raises his eyebrow before glancing at me with what seems like a look of contempt masked with feigned delight. He says, “Ah… yet, it seems that he has spoken less of you with me, miss.”

It is awkward, but true. I have not been entirely truthful with Haytham about my meeting the lass. Well, it’s rather a lie by omission. I had only recently told him about the girl’s existence two weeks ago. Both the Grandmaster’s and the lass’s eyes are on me.

I swallow before saying, “Only so you two could have a proper introduction. I didn’t want her being too intimidated by your presence and authority, Master Kenway. And I wish for you to see her potential and abilities first hand.”

Haytham seems to find my response acceptable. He and the lass trade some pleasantries and formal introductions before he explains the work of the Order.

“I’m aware that you used to work under the Assassins, but that your allegiance has somewhat shifted. And I’m also aware that Shay has furthered your knowledge on what the Templar Order is truly about,” Haytham says.

The lass straightens her back and answers, “Yes, sir. I was deployed in Greenwich as a Stalker, the men and women assigned to track down high profile Templars in the cities and the frontier. When Shay brought me into his home, he learned of the betrayal. The Assassins’ betrayal against me.”

Haytham nods but remains quiet. I can see the cogs rotating in his head. He is wary of her, as he should be. After a moment of silence, he speaks, “Funny that you bring up the topic of betrayal, miss. I’m not sure if you have heard, but Shay has actually experienced something similar to your little anecdote.”

I am surprised why Haytham would bring that up during our conversation. I begin to sweat a little. The lass looks at me in confusion before the Grandmaster continues, “However, that is a story for another time.”

Haytham takes a step forward, causing the lass to take a step back. He smiles at her, “Very well. You’ve given reason to at least consider you for the Order. Now, I need you to demonstrate.”

I knew that he’d say that. The lass swallows, but nods. I have trained her for this. I know that she will make him proud- will make me proud.

“What will you have me do, sir?” she asks with a little more confidence than before.

Haytham beckons the lass and me to follow him, “Follow me, and I’ll show you.”

Boston in the winter looks identical to New York. Once again, the buildings are topped in layers of snow while small flecks of white rain down on us. Though the sun has already taken its rest, the nightlife in Boston provides ample cover, as hundreds of folks are still out and about. Haytham turns towards the lass and says, “You see that lone pigeon over there? On the balcony of that inn?”

I use my vision and spy the little bird, happily perched on the railing of the building. I know that the lass sees it, too, even with her lack of the vision; I’ve trained her well. She confirms and asks the Grandmaster what to do next.

“Attached to the bird’s foot is a letter. I want you to extract it, and bring it to me,” Haytham says calmly with a smirk on his face. Shite. I have not taught her interception yet. The lass nods, but before she takes off, Haytham calls out, “Oh! I do not want any harm done to the little fellow, as well. Understood?”

“Yes, sir,” the girl says, her voice cracking a little. She turns to me one last time and we share a brief, yet silent exchange of encouragement. Use your skills, lass. 

About ten minutes later, the lass returns with the letter in her hand and a toothy smile on her face. I reciprocate the same smile; I am proud of her. She has proven herself well. She has not let me down. Haytham seems to think the same as he takes the letter out of her hand.

The Grandmaster nods in approval, “Well, miss. I’m going to be completely honest: I did not expect you to succeed. You have, indeed, subverted my expectations,” he turns to me, “and you, Shay, have not disappointed me.”

Master Kenway asks us to return back to the tavern, as he has an assignment for us. As he turns his back, the lass and I share yet another quick glance and beam at each other.

I whisper to her in admiration, “You’ve used your skills well, love.”

“Only because I was taught by one of the best.”

Once an Assassin, now their pursuer. I must destroy those who I once called brother. 

“Do you swear to uphold the principles of our order and all that for which we stand?”

“I do.”

“And to never share our secrets nor divulge in the true nature of our work?”

“I do.”

“And to do so until death, whatever the cost?”

There is a pause. Hesitation. A moment of silence. Is this the right choice?

“I do.”

“Then we welcome you into our fold, sister. Together, we will usher in the dawn of a new world. One defined by purpose and order. You… are a Templar.”

“Shay?”

“Yes, lass?”

The lass picks at her hand, a habit of hers that occurs when she is nervous, “Did you feel hesitation during your initiation into the Templar Order?”

It takes me a while to answer her question. In the past, I had dwelled on it all the time. Finally, I turn to the lass and say, “Well, I believe that everyone feels a bit uneasy durin’ such a life-changing event. Personally, I knew that I had to join the Templars in order to stop the Assassins. It was my calling, thus it wasn’t really ‘life-changing’ for me. Sure, I was nervous during the initiation, but what’s more important is how I felt after I made my decision. I was confident. I had no regrets. I ask you the same questions, love. Do you still feel hesitation? Like you’ve made a mistake?”

The lass shakes her head, “No, I do not. Like you, I think I’ve made the right choice to leave those who I once called family.”

Then, she asks me something that I have long waited for, “What happened between you and the Assassins, Shay? Every time someone alludes to it, you always shy away. Every time I ask, you always push it off. Please,” she takes me hand, “tell me what happened.”

It’s a story of pain. Of suffering. It’s something that I do not wish to relive again. Even thinking about it is making me nauseous. During moments of silence, my mind always manages to trail back to it. I can still hear, see, and feel everything. I begin to shiver and sweat.

“Are you alright?” the lass asks worriedly.

She needs to know the truth. I’ve kept it away long enough.

“I’m… fine,” I saw weakly, “i-it’s just a story that I really don’t divulge in often. But, you deserve to know what happened, love.”

I tell her the entire story. Of Lisbon. Of the Precursor Temple. Of the earthquake. Of the aftermath of the tsunami. Of the millions of innocent lives lost. Of the lies and treachery fed to me by the Mentor and Master Assassins. Of the betrayal that I experienced from those who I called family. Of the nightmares that have plagued me for years on end. Of how real it feels. Every. Single. Day. 

I feel my face. It is wet. Since when did I start crying? I can’t look like this in front of her. But at the same time, I feel light. It feels as if a sliver of weight has been lifted off of my chest. Like I can breathe. Why? Why does it feel like that? I didn’t even feel like this when I told Haytham everything. 

Suddenly, a soft hand caresses my cheek. Two thumbs wipe away the streams of tears. I turn my face slowly towards her. The lass’s lips are pressed together lightly, forming a straight line. Her eyes seem just a bit shinier than they normally are. They show sympathy. Not empathy… I know that she has difficulty relating to the severity of the Lisbon event. Few people can. And those people are long dead. Killed by the exact same betrayal.

How could I continue without her by my side? The girl is the light to my darkness. For the past year, she has been by my side, through missions of peril and through moments of joviality. I’ve felt more alive in the year of 1759 than any other years of my sorry life. She has grown with me. We have grown together.

“Shay… I didn’t know,” she whispers, “I’m so sorry you had to deal with this.”

I hear a few sniffles coming from her end. Even though she never had to experience Lisbon or Port-au-Prince, she understands how to care during the moment.

She gently tilts my face towards herself, “I can’t even begin to imagine how you dealt with it all these years. How you felt. This pain… no one deserves to go through this pain, Shay. One thing I want you to know, Shay, is that Lisbon is not your fault.”

“My conscience begs to differ, lass,” I snap unexpectedly. I didn’t mean to. Please don’t take it the wrong way, lass.

Thankfully, she does not. She keeps wiping away my tears, “I am in no position to say otherwise, for this is something personal to your story. I apologize if I overstepped any boundaries. I just want to at least bear some of this pain in order to lessen it for you. I don’t want you having to think about this anymore, darling.”

Darling. Now that’s a first. I perk up a little at the pet name. I feel my cheeks warming up a little, and I’m certain it’s not because of the lass’s hands.

I place my own gloved hands over her small ones, “Thank you, love. Thank you for listenin’ and for not strikin’ me down. This story is so hard to relive, but I know that it’s an important mistake to share, especially with the youth of the Order. It’s a shame that the Assassins never told you what really happened in Lisbon and in Port-au-Prince.”

She smiles, “Of course I will listen to you. Listening to all sides of the story is better than only listening to one. I learned that from you. Also, the Assassins actually didn’t tell the recruits anything about Lisbon or the other Precursor sites. They claimed that the earthquake was a natural event.”

I scoff, “‘Course they did. Connivin’ bastards, the lot of them.”

She nods in agreement, “Let’s go to sleep. It’s quite late.”

“Where is your boss?”

“I’ll never tell! She’ll kill me!”

The lass and I both walk up to the Grandmaster’s impromptu interrogation of one of the Assassin gang members. Haytham seems to have a knack for these types of “sessions,” given his intimidating demeanor.

“If you don’t tell, he’ll kill you,” I say with a smirk. The lass chuckles at the comment.

After extracting the information from the footsoldier, the Grandmaster slits his throat… with a Hidden Blade? The lass seems to think the same thing as she glances at me perplexed. The three of us begin our journey to Hope’s mansion.

“Sir, you didn’t mention that you had a Hidden Blade,” the girl calls out.

Haytham claims, “You two thought that you were the only ones?”

“Well, yes, I suppose… where did you get it, sir?”

“It was… donated by the Brotherhood, miss.”

Again, we exchange peculiar looks. We are both wondering the same thing. What does he mean by “donated?”

In front of the lavish abode, a skirmish unfolds between Hope’s Assassins and New York’s redcoat authorities. Master Kenway, the lass, and I assist the King’s men in subduing most of the gang forces.

“Our mission was a success. The army should make its move any time now,” I tell him.

Haytham agrees, “Good. We lack the resources in New York to handle these criminals ourselves. With a little luck, we might be rid of them once and for all.

I couldn’t help myself, “I make my own luck.”

Out of the corner of my eye, I see the Grandmaster and the lass both roll their eyes in unison. No matter who much it irritates them, I’ll never drop it.

“Now, let us cut off the snake’s head…” Haytham says, his focus honing back to Hope.

As more British troops head into the area, I conjure a plan of attack for the girl and me.

“I’ll go in and get Hope myself,” I turn to the lass, “and she’ll follow in behind me.”

“Very well,” Master Kenway says.

The lass and I stay low to avoid the rain of bullets from the gang and the soldiers. We are making our way through Hope’s garden while I explain to her my strategy, “Hope specializes in dangerous chemicals and gases that are known to incapacitate even the strongest of men. I need you to keep your distance between me while I deal with her. If anything happens, love, I want you to forget about me and use your skills to track her down and eliminate her.”

“What do you mean by ‘if anything happens?’” she inquires.

“I mean that if I become incapacitated, leave me behind to finish the mission,” I say firmly.

I know that the lass feels uncomfortable by this statement, but she will listen. It is for the greater good. We both know that Hope is dangerous to not only the Templars, but the city’s populace as well. It is difficult for me to admit this, though I must convince myself that what we are doing is right. Even though it involves killing one of my closest friends…

I dread this day. The day that I would have to kill Hope Jensen. The woman that used to be my anchor, that used to be the one I dreamed of to keep me afloat. The one that when even she was swayed by the Mentor, I thought that there is no hope left for humanity, no rationale, no reason.

But, I look to my side and see a familiar face. One that has been with me for the past two years. One that is my current lifeline. I really do care for the lass. Always and forever. Now, in the present, she will help me with one of the hardest missions of my lifetime. She’ll soften the blow.

“Okay,” she responds to me quietly, her voice wavering.

We stop under an overpass in the garden. I gently cup the lass’s face, “I’ll be alright, love. Quit your worryin’. I want you to stay at least several meters out of my sight so that the chemicals won’t affect you. After all, I can't risk losin’ my greatest soldier.”

She blushes at the compliment before sprinting to her position. I take a deep breath, and head into the snake’s den.

“You never do give up, do you, Shay?”

I hear her taunting voice ringing in my ears. The poison is coursing through my veins. It hurts so damn much. I don’t know what hurts more: the venom in my body or the fact that I have to kill someone who at one point in my life I considered more than a friend. Must. Keep Moving.

“No matter… the poison will kill you.”

Remember what I said, lass. Finish the job for me. Whatever the costs.

The streets of New York are just as crowded as I remember. Swarms of civilians are running to the sides of the road as I continue my hot pursuit on Hope. She weaves through the people, pushing unsuspected bystanders out of the way. Because of the poison, I could not afford to climb any structures: I had to chase her by foot.

Our chase continues down a dark alley, away from the populace. Suddenly, a figure drops on top of her. I know who you are. The figure slashes into Hope with her Hidden Blade. Hope manages to push the person off of her. The two fall down, only meters away from each other. The mystery person’s hood falls down to reveal a familiar, pretty face.

Hope snarls, “So you’re working for them now? Being their little lapdog?”

The lass doesn’t say a word. Rather, she reaches into Hope’s pockets and takes out the antidote. She throws the little vial of elixir at me before backing up and leaving me room to interrogate her.

After drinking the antidote, I walk up to Hope, “Not for us. With us.”

“I should have known…” Hope coughs, “you’re late, again, Shay.”

I kneel down to her level with a pained expression on my face, “Hope, I didn’t want to do this.”

“I trained you to do this,” Hope looks at the lass, as if she’s directly speaking to her instead of me, “I expected nothing less.”

I have to get answers. I ask her, “Then why-”

“To give Liam time to leave. Soon, Chevalier will be on his way to the Precursor site.”

“I will stop him.”

“He will see you coming. Pity… you had so much potential.”

She fades away right there, in front of my very eyes. Potential. A word that has so much to offer, yet so little to show. I feel a hand caressing my back. I turn around to face the girl. Her eyes are cast down, as if she is trying to avoid my gaze.

“She seemed very close to you,” the lass says.

I nod gravely, “Aye. Hope believed in me for a while,” I take her hand, “it’s in the past, now. We have what we need. Let us report back to the Grandmaster.”

She seems unconvinced. She wants to know more.

“Hope used to be one of the few people that I confined with during my time serving the Brotherhood. We had a close bond. It pains me to see her go like this, to see her go down thinkin’ that she is right,” I squeeze the lass’s hand, “but, overtime, my feelings have changed. Don’t get me wrong, I still saw her as a mentor. It’s just… that initial spark isn’t there anymore. I feel that for someone else, now.”

The lass gives me a pained smile. Now she understands. She nods to me before saying, “Come, Shay. Let’s go meet with Haytham.”

I raise an eyebrow. That is the first time I’ve heard the lass refer to the Grandmaster by his given name. I think that she is beginning to feel at home, once again.

The air is still...

“Hope was right… I do make a good distraction.”

In a fit of rage, I throw the sorry French bastard’s body off of the side of the ship. How could I have been so stupid? A fucking distraction? The Assassins are more clever than I thought, sending the Templars on a wild goose hunt across the entire globe. It only shows how desperate they are, now that half of their pathetic Brotherhood is dead.

Once I am at the helm of the Morrigan, I thank Captain Cook for his assistance. After our pleasantries, the man boards his ship, leaving Master Kenway, Gist, the lass and I to discuss our next course of action.

I tell the Grandmaster, “De la Vérendrye’s dead. I have the coordinates. I know where the Assassins are goin’.”

Haytham says, “Then, let us make haste.”

I believe that the Grandmaster made the correct choice. While he and I are to go after Achilles and Liam into the Precursor Temple, the lass and Gist are to remain aboard the Morrigan for behind-the-lines assistance. While Haytham was giving instructions, the lass was visibly upset. I was, as well. Though, we both know that it is for the best, in order to limit distractions and to end the Assassins as quickly as possible.

The freezing Arctic air pierces through my uniform. The scenery, though, contrasts the violence of the weather. The Arctic is a sight to behold: a different land, covered in white, just like New York, Boston, and the frontier during the winter. There is not a speck of color out of place. The inlet is littered with floating ice plates, allowing us to cross. I breathe and see my breath escape as a puff of white air; turning to the Grandmaster I say, “This would be beautiful if it wasn’t so damned cold.”

All of a sudden, one of the ice floes crumbles as Haytham places his foot onto it. He pulls back just in time before warning me, “Tread carefully… some of this ice is rather thin.”

“Is this the Apple?”

“No! Don’t touch anything. Shay was right.”

“What would he know?”

“More than me, apparently…”

I can hear them conversing. Fucking finally. Finally they understand how dangerous these Precursor sites are. It only took them years of pointless chasing to realize the danger of the natural world. Haytham and I reach Liam and Achilles.

Years. Years wasted for one simple realization. I cannot bear to listen to these fools anymore. I yell, “Finally you understand, Achilles. This is a structure to hold the world together, not a weapon to control it. This whole calamity could have been avoided if you’d only listened to me!”

The Mentor jumps as he hears my voice. Master Kenway and I are unexpected visitors, I presume. He quickly regains his composure and scoffs, “Disrespectful to the end.”

“Yes, we’ve been working on that,” Haytham chides, causing me to roll my eyes.

Liam steps into the conversation, a look of disappointment on his face, “Right or wrong, Shay, you betrayed the Brotherhood, Achilles, and me.”

“Says the man, the friend, who shot me in the back,” I snarl.

“At the Homestead?” Liam laughs, “That was Chevaliar. I don’t miss.”

What in God’s name are you doing, Liam?! Liam pulls out a flintlock and aims directly at me. He is a fool to think that that is a wise thing to do in a place like this.

Achilles lunges at him, screaming, “Liam! Don’t!”

It is too late. Liam falls onto the artifact, knocking it off its pedestal. The little spiked orb disintegrates into black dust. Well, we’re fucked. The temple begins quaking, slowly yet surely. Large icicles fall into the abyss and pierce the snow-covered grounds. The glowing First Civilization structures are falling, separating me, Achilles, and the Grandmaster. In the chaos, I spot Liam gaining a head start and running past me to the end of the temple. I guess it’s just you and me, old friend.

I give chase. Using one of the temple’s structures as cover, I dodge Liam’s stray bullets. As I am avoiding the crumbling foundation and ice shards, my mind goes back to the lass. Please… I pray that the earthquake has not reached the outside of the site yet; I pray that she is not hurt. If anything happens to her, I cannot live with myself carrying that blame.

“How could you do this to us? How could you kill Hope?!” Liam bellows in fury. I can hear the pain in his voice. I do not have an answer for him. Instead, I use this emotional moment to attack him. Our skirmish causes the platform to break. My heart jumps as we begin falling down the frozen waterfall.

I feel light as I, luckily, land into a pile of snow. Liam, however, isn’t as fortunate. I hear a loud crack as his body hits the cold, hard ground. Blood begins flowing from his head, seeping through his hood. The man can barely move his body. Yet, he makes out some words; Liam struggles, “That… was lucky.”

“How many times do I have to tell you, Liam? I make my own luck.”

Liam frowns, “And how’d you do that, you bastard? You broke the Assassins. Betrayed… everyone you knew… you sided with our worst enemies; you soiled our legacy; you molded our youth into blinded sheep, and for what?!”

Wait… ‘blinded sheep?’

“What are you talkin’ about, Liam? Who are you talkin’ about?” I ask, heat rising through my body.

He coughs, a cough laced with venom, “You know who I’m talking about. Damned fool. I hope whatever world you are oh-so valiantly trying to save… is a good one.”

No. A loud sound pierces through the freezing Arctic air. It is the sound of a flintlock. I bolt in the direction of the noise toward the shoreline in search of Master Kenway and Achilles. Instead, I see three people: Haytham, Achilles, and... no. It can’t be.

“No! What is going on here?!” I scream, breathing in exhaustion. My chest feels heavy. Constricted. Why did this have to happen? Why have my actions, once again, caused death?

Haytham sighs in frustration, “Shay, I am sorry to say this, but… she is no longer with us. You can thank your friend Liam for that.”

I can’t even look at her. Her bloodied, lifeless body lays beside the Grandmaster. There is a large tear on her torso where the blood seeps from. Her garments are stained in red. Red. Red just like how I first met her. Her eyes are closed and her arms are folded over her chest with her hands placed upon one another: a position of respect. My friend, gone. My protégé, gone. My lifeline, gone. How does a man feel in this position? What do I have left to live for?

In front of the Grandmaster lies a screaming Achilles with a bleeding leg. A man who I used to respect. Who I used to call my Mentor. A man who I cannot bear to see alive one more second.

“Allow, me, Master Kenway,” I growl, holding my hand out. Haytham hands me the gun.

“No! Shay! Don’t do this! You monster!”

Click. One shot and the monster goes down. 

… and I am a hunter.

[prettycottonmouthlamia]

Kiara Sesshoin (Moon Cancer)

tl;dr There are no offensive Moon Cancers, only Kiara

Sesshoin Kiara (Moon Cancer) Max HP: 15,336 Max ATK: 11,128 Attribute: Earth Star Absorption: 50 Star Generation: 14.8% NP Charge ATK: 0.6% NP Charge DEF: 3%

QAABB Quick: 3 hits, Arts: 3 hits, Buster: 4 hits, Extra: 5 hits Quick: 1.8%, Arts: 1.8%, Extra: 3.0%

Mermaid's Flesh EX Grants self Guts status for 1 time, 5 turns. (2000 -> 4000 HP) Removes own debuffs. Recovers own HP every turn for 3 turns. (1000 -> 2000) Increases own NP damage by 20% for 3 turns. Grants self Mermaid's Nourishment Regeneration buff for 4 turns. -Grants self Skill Rank up buff (4 turns) every turn for 4 turns. -2 Skill Rank up buffs can be used on her second and third skills. Will be consumed when used. Cooldown: 8 -> 6 turns

Supernatural Power (Ink) B, B+, A Charges own NP gauge. (20 -> 30%, 30 -> 40%, 30 -> 50%) Gains critical stars. (10 -> 20, 15 -> 25, 20 -> 30) Cooldown: 7 -> 5

Clam Palace A, A+, A++ Grants party Evasion for 1 attack, 3 turns. Removes all enemies' Ignore Evasion buff. Inflict stacks of Bewitchment debuff to them for 3 turns. (1, 2, 3) -Reduces critical attack chance by 10%. Reduces their defense for 3 turns. (10 -> 20%, 15 -> 25%, 20 -> 30%) Reduces their Arts resistance for 3 turns. (20, 25, 30%) Cooldown: 8 -> 6 turns

Territory Creation EX: Increases own Arts performance by 12%. Spiritual World Creation EX: Increases own NP damage by 12%. Indepedent Manifestation E: Increases own critical damage by 2%. Increases own mental debuff resistance by 2%. Increases own Instant-Kill resistance by 2%. Logos Eater D: Increases own defense against Humanoid enemies by 14%.

Nirmannarati - Heaven's Foam Arts 3 hits Deals damage to all enemies. (450% -> 750%) Deals (100% + 20*N%) extra damage to enemies with mental debuffs. (N: mental debuffs on enemy, max 10) Chance to Instant-Kill them. (100% -> 150%, OC)

Primary Role: Farmer, Looper, Debuffer Secondary Role: DPS, Solo Situational Role: DPS Support

You know, I don't remember Summer Musashi or Summer Nero or Summer Tamamo or Summer Artoria or Summer Atler being this gimmicky...honestly not even sure if Bunnytoria counts. Kiara swoops into being the latest 5-star Summer Servant, and comes in with one of the most absolutely bloated kits in the entire game. I have her and can barely be arsed to remember everything she does. To start however, and to make things simpler, let's look at her fundamentals.

Her base stats aren't amazing. Like most Moon Cancers, she has very high HP and more middling ATK. Her ATK isn't that bad, but I'll never say no to having more ATK on a Servant who has an AoE NP. Her NP generation is...very average. She'll generate on average 34% of her NP gauge with her AQA chain, which isn't spectacular really for her card set. Her star generation isn't great either, with her best chains generating 15 crit stars on average. Blame her single 3 hit Quick for that.

Moving onto her skills...first we have Mermaid's Flesh EX. It gives her a powerful 5 turns Guts on a 6 turn cooldown, which is already enough to give praise, but it also removes her debuffs, gives her a decent HP regen, boosts her NP damage, and gives her a unique buff. I know I talked up Cu Chulainn's Guts buff when it was revealed, but this makes it look laughable in comparison. Her unique buff gives her another unique buff that lasts for 4 turns, ever turn for 4 turns. What this means is at Level 10, and honestly probaby at least Level 6, you will always have some number of this unique buff active all the time, since the last one will last a couple turns in. This buff is used to power up her second and third skills, which is the primary gimmick of Kiara and her unique one. This skill is fantastic, its a great survival option, and does basically everything else you want.

Her second skill is Supernatural Power (Ink), of which I am pretty strongly annoyed that Kiara gets a stronger version of this, at base, than Hokusai does. Why did that happen? Anyways, this is an NP charge with a star bomb baked into it, granting 30% of her NP gauge and 20 crit stars at max. On a 5 turn cooldown, this is a rather fantastic skill that helps to remedy both her average NP generation and poor star generation. Of course...that's before rank-up. With one Skill Rank Up buff used, the charge is boosted to 40% and the star bomb boosted to 25, and with two, it becomes 50% and 30 stars. At max skill rank, Kiara has access to one of the most powerful NP charges in the game, and it's only really slow for its first use, since you should always have some Skill Rank buffs active from that point on. It basically solves her NP and star generation problems every time its used.

Clam Palace gives Kiara not one, but two skills with a ton of different effects. It gives the party 1 hit of evasion for 3 turns, being a slightly weaker Harp of Healing in that regard, removes Ignore Evasion buffs from the enemy, inflicts a unique mental debuff that reduces crit chance, reduces defense, and Arts resistance. This skill is her damage steroid, and its very good for what it does. It turns on the special damage clause on her NP, boosts her Arts damage by 44%, 56.25%, or 69% depending on the rank, and is even a solid support option, although one that's not immediately available. The cooldown is even reasonable for this skill. It's very good.

Even her passives are good. Extra Arts performance, NP damage, and Defense all are appreciated, especially since they're at very high levels for passive skills. It's truly something.

Onto Kiara's NP, it does okay damage if the enemy isn't inflicted with a mental debuff. Thanks to her class and low ATK, it actually doesn't do as much as one would hope, even with her steroids factored in. It's enough to kill hands, at least. But when mental debuffs are involved...the damage goes up pretty significantly. I've heard from sources I trust that this is an effective damage buff, so not only do I have to edit the Quirinus analysis, but it makes Kiara's damage very strong, more than doubling it. Her NP will do about 68k damage on average to neutral targets with just the 3 Bewitchment buffs her 3rd skill gives, which is quite notable. It's not as powerful as say, Arjuna Alter, but it's comparable. With proper supports, Kiara can also function as a decent boss killer, since her steroids are a little on the low side and she can hit some pretty high damage in the right team comp, but her efficacy compared to ST NPs is questionable.

Onto looping discussion for a moment, it's possible. Due to the way Kiara works though, it's a bit complicated to determine how to optimally farm enemies. Since all of her steroids except for the NP damage on Mermaid's Flesh are debuffs, you need to hold them for the final wave, especially since with two stacks of Rank Up buffs she'll have a maximum power NP to use. At NP 1, this will restrict her to farming Rider and Caster mobs since she can't get the necessary amount of overkill hits from even neutral NP mobs like Sabers, and even then, this has a limit of about 40,000 HP since she'll need 6 hits of overkill in total, and requires the use of Fragment of 2004's NP gen buff. With Sign of Smiling Face or Royal Icing, she can farm Saber enemies with less than 30,000 HP optimally, and again with Fragment of 2004. With Assassin and Berserker enemies, with Royal Icing / Sign of Smiling Face, she'll need to use her 3rd skill turn 1 along with Fragment of 2004 to farm, which will dramatically lower her NP damage turn 3. If you have Kiara at a higher NP level, she's far more efficient at looping, and actually becomes a pretty great looper due to being able to largely ignore strong wave 3 enemies. At NP5, she'll do more than enough damage to be able to easily beat any mob with her Skill 3 up.

Support Options: Kiara really should be used with pretty much every single Arts support you can throw at her. They'll boost his damage, her consistency, and in many cases her survivability. It really doesn't get more straight forward than that. You can do gimmicky teams with Fuuma, Summer Abby, and another Kiara focused on mental debuffs, but it really isn't that worth it to give her a bit of a stronger NP.

Command Code: You'll want to focus on Command Codes that increase the star absorption of her Arts cards, in order to give her better access to crits, and NP generating codes. The majority of Kiara's damage is focused in her NP, so she doesn't benefit from card damage boosting command codes as much as other Servants.

Craft Essences: Really depends on the team you're using her in. For the majority of situations, The Black Grail, Royal Icing, and Sign of Smiling Face are her strongest options available, dramatically boosting her damage. Dive to Blue, Sumo CE, and Painting Summer are also good options thanks to her delayed 50% NP charge, and she can even use Kaleidoscope for instant NPs if that's what you need. Favor the first batch of CEs on dedicated Arts teams, and the second batch for general use teams.

Competition: Space Ishtar is, surprisingly enough, Kiara's main competition. Kiara's advantage over Space Ishtar is her ridiculous NP damage potential, but Spishtar is a much easier Servant to use for farming. Kiara's NP damage is so good that she comes out as the best Moon Cancer DPS, outshadowing everything else. Both BBs and Jinako still have their benefits, but they can't really claim to provide stiff competition in the damage department comparatively.

Pros: -Three incredible skills with powerful and varied effects -Guts, HP regen, and Evasion give Kiara surprisingly survivability -Large NP charge and star bomb -NP damage is very high for an AoE Servant and she can easily trigger her effective damage buff -Solid looping potential -Can solo well thanks to her Guts and HP regen, especially versus Avengers

Cons: -Getting the most out of her skills is difficult thanks to the delayed nature of her Rank up buffs -Looping potential is reliant on NP level, low NP levels will farm less effectively than usual -Moon Cancer class is bad offensively, only hitting Avengers SE -Skill 3 is nothing but debuffs, meaning she generally will only hit hard for one wave -NP damage is much more mediocre without Skill 3

Kiara is probably the best offensive Moon Cancer we have right now. Her damage is pretty great, she can farm well in Arts teams, and she has good survival options. Despite her flaws natural to her kit, she's a very strong 5-star thanks to her great kit and good NP. Learning to use her might take some time, but you'll be better for it.

[calitraditionalism]

Arc One: Chapter Eleven

Flyfang’s first impression of this apprentice was of a shrunken, half-drowned snipe with a long, muddy tail. The little thing was shivering with not an inch of dry fur – even her belly was dripping water – and she looked like she was trying not to seem as stressed as she obviously was. It had never occurred to Flyfang that other cats outside of the marshes would not have pelts made to be dunked in water without getting the undercoat wet. Wherever this cat (she had to be a brand-new apprentice, she was so small) came from, she clearly did not have to deal with water very often.

“Well…” the apprentice said, and shook out her fur too, scattering droplets that were smaller than the raindrops pelting the both of them. “Maybe we can help each other. I’m from the Hillock, and I’ve never been this far away from there, and I’m completely lost. I was trying to find someone who might know where the Margays are.”

Flyfang blinked. “That far away? What are you doing out here alone?”

The apprentice looked around, as if expecting someone else to be listening in. She leaned in to say quietly, “I actually ran away this morning. I’ve been traveling nonstop since I woke up.”

“Wow,” Flyfang said, and laughed. At the apprentice’s surprised and mildly offended look, she added, “Don’t worry, I’m a runaway too. Just left the Marish myself.”

“Really?” The apprentice’s offense vanished, replaced by distress. “Well, then…then I must be pretty far south.”

“I have no idea.” Flyfang looked behind her. “Once the rain clears up, we’ll be able to tell.” She turned back to the apprentice. “You must be freezing. Here, come on, I saw an empty den close by. We can wait out the storm there.”

The apprentice hesitated and looked Flyfang up and down, scrutinizing.

“I’m not going to take you home, if that’s what you’re worried about,” Flyfang said, offering a confident smile. “I know how it is, wanting to leave. It’s just that you’re going to get sick if you stay out here.”

The little molly’s blue eyes lowered as she thought, and eventually she nodded. Flyfang turned and started off, the apprentice squelching along in the mud behind her.

The entrance to hollowed-out earth beneath an old stump was close enough that Flyfang found it easily despite the weather. She ducked her head and dipped into the den, which was completely dry and almost warm compared to outside. She didn’t bother shaking out her fur again, the water not having even started to penetrate her double coat. Instead, she got into a corner and settled down with a sigh.

The apprentice did shake out her fur, not that it did much good, and followed her in, choosing the opposing corner to rest in. She started grooming out her pelt, tail trembling a little from the cold.

“I didn’t get your name,” Flyfang said after a moment of silence.

The apprentice paused and lifted her head. “I’m Littlepaw.”

“Apt,” Flyfang remarked, and added, “My name’s Flyfang.”

“Hello,” Littlepaw said. “Thank you for showing me this den. I’ve probably been passing by tens of them, but I don’t know what to look for.”

“They’re doing their job, then,” Flyfang said as Littlepaw resumed grooming. “We couldn’t really make our own dens in the ground at the Quag – mostly grass-coverings and such – but when you’re close enough to the north, you get to learn how to locate burrows. But wouldn’t you make your own dens in the hills?”

“No,” Littlepaw said between licks. “We have some scrapes, but we never dig for ourselves. They were there already, and they’re pretty easy to find.”

Flyfang hummed a response and let Littlepaw continue with her grooming. Meanwhile, she considered what her next course of action should be. This was a tiny and very young apprentice out here on her own and, like Flyfang, fleeing some situation at home. Living with the Marish was miserable. Were the rest of the families that bad? How many apprentices were running around, trying to escape their parents and deputies? Would Flyfang have to find more of them and guide them like she did her sisters?

“So what’s your story?” she said abruptly, her words sounding much louder in than she intended, ringing in this carved-out den. “Why did you leave?”

Littlepaw stopped again and swallowed air. Slowly, she turned fully to Flyfang and gave her front paws a nervous shift.

“Well,” she mumbled, looking down, “It’ll sound dumb, probably, but... my mother is really overbearing, making me be a seer, trying to push me to work for the leaders - and no one was telling her to leave me alone or let me be a normal warrior. And I didn’t really have any friends there, so I thought… I thought I’d find the Margays and travel together, and make friends with them.”

She had been shrinking further and further into herself, getting quieter and quieter as she spoke. When she finished, she was almost crouching, wet tail curled as far around her body as it could go (which was quite an unusually long distance), looking deeply ashamed of herself.

Flyfang felt a sharp stab of protectiveness and anger in her chest. “Hey, I know how that feels. The Marish are just the same way. They try to control every aspect of your life, down to how you raise your kits.”

Littlepaw looked up. “Really?”

“I have sisters there,” Flyfang said. “Their father is worthless and tried to give control of their lives to the deputy, so I stepped in to raise them with the freedom to be whoever they wanted to be.” Her voice darkened. “The rest of the family isn’t very fond of me for a lot of reasons, but that’s the biggest one. I know they’re going to try and take the spirit out of my sisters, so as soon as they turn nine months old, I’m going back and getting them out of there.”

Littlepaw said nothing at first, drawing out the silence and giving Flyfang time to make herself relax. After a while, Littlepaw spoke up.

“How come you left them there?” she asked. “Instead of just staying with them?”

Flyfang sighed. “I couldn’t stand another second in the marshes. I made sure they have good mentors who will encourage their personalities… or about as well as one can when you’re in the Marish. The broad in charge of that stupid family made sure to tell me that I wasn’t going to be tolerated if I kept getting involved after they became -paws, anyway.”

“Oh,” Littlepaw said softly. “That sounds a lot worse than what I had to deal with.”

“No, no,” Flyfang hastened to assure her. “It’s about the same. If your entire family wasn’t helping you with your mother, they might as well have all been against you. Did the deputy even say anything?”

Littlepaw shook her head. “Never. She kind of…deliberately ignores bad things that happen.”

“And my deputy was overly focused on everything and treated it all as bad.” Flyfang’s smile returned, bigger than before. “So we’re in the same stream, more or less, just facing different directions.”

Littlepaw did return a faint smile at that, though it looked like it took a lot of effort. Silence fell in the den as she continued clearing off the water and Flyfang took to thinking again. The only sounds were the rasp of Littlepaw’s tongue on soaking fur and the steady pummeling of the rain outside.

“You’ve got it rougher, though,” Flyfang said finally. “You might have to go back, being as young as you are. Unless someone were to claim you, or-“

Littlepaw’s head jerked up. “I’m nine months old. I can travel.”

Flyfang gawked at her. “You are?”

This time, Littlepaw managed a tiny, weak laugh. “I’m just runty, that’s all.”

“That could be to your advantage, you know,” Flyfang said. “Just pitch up your voice a little and come up to older cats asking for prey. You wouldn’t have to hunt until you became a warrior.”

“I actually caught my first prey today.” Littlepaw straightened further to puff out her soggy chest. “I was never taught how to. I guess I got lucky.”

“Your mom wouldn’t even let you learn how to hunt?” Flyfang guessed, angry again.

“She said it’d distract me from my connections with StarClan,” Littlepaw replied, and smiled a little wryly. “And yet they were the ones to tell me to do whatever I wanted. So joke’s on her, I guess.”

“Thank the stars, eh?”

“Thank the stars.” Littlepaw’s smile melted away. “But now I don’t know where to go. I have no idea where the Margays are going, and I’m worried my mother will track me down and drag me home.”

Flyfang felt a sudden pressure to be the experienced, smart adult and make decisions for the both of them. She knew Littlepaw probably wouldn’t travel with her, but she couldn’t just let someone who only hunted once in her life wander into the great big world with no one to help.

“What about the Clast?” she blurted.

Littlepaw blinked.

Flyfang fumbled for further ideas. “Well, no one goes to the Clast unless they’re looking for a fight, right? And your mom wouldn’t expect that of you, would she? You don’t seem like the fighting type.”

“I’m not,” Littlepaw admitted.

“And they might have someone there who knows where the Margays are going,” Flyfang continued, quickly becoming enthused by the idea. “No need to stay there for long, but it’ll throw everyone off – your mom, the Marish, if they come after me-“

“Ah-“ Littlepaw interrupted, immediately looking apologetic and shy. “I didn’t know we would go together.”

“Is that an issue?” Flyfang tilted her head. “I can hunt and fight, and do both pretty well. I could teach you what you need to know. And I’d feel bad just leaving you alone after the storm’s done. Plus, I’d like to see the Margays myself. I’ve never gotten to watch their stories, but I hear they’re great.”

“They’re awesome,” Littlepaw said with such enthusiasm that Flyfang almost drew her head back in surprise. “I saw one yesterday. It’s amazing. They have so many stories memorized! I’d love to learn them all.”

Flyfang laughed. “I like stories myself. I have pretty much all the ones about Derecho and Calcine memorized.”

“The disaster stories?” Littlepaw said, paw lifted to her mouth to poorly hide her amusement. “Those are a little grim.”

“They’re action-packed,” Flyfang corrected her. “Very exciting. I’m sure they’re popular in the Clast settlement too.”

Littlepaw gazed at the ceiling, head tilting back and forth in thought. She eventually looked back down at Flyfang, beaming. “I guess we’ll find out when we get there.”

Flyfang nodded her affirmation with a grin.

[mille-marteaux]

[T-A-C] Marte: how delirious do we need to get you in order to write a maid tier list

@t-a-c​ never ask me for anything ever again (you may feel free to ask me for things in the future.)

I will be rating the maids that I know of on the following criteria, on a baseline scale of 1-10:

Are they actually a maid: A yes or no question. If they are not actually a maid then they are disqualified but will still get ratings anyway because it makes the list funnier.

Modesty: How reasonable their maid uniform is. The "sexier" the costume is, the lower the score.

Professionalism: How they behave while on the job. The more they flirt with/actively torment/etc their employer, the lower the score.

Competence: How good they actually are at performing domestic tasks, such as cooking and cleaning. The worse they are, the lower the score.

Combat proficiency: How effective they are in battle. The more of a liability they would be in a fight, the lower the score.

Devotion: How devoted they are to their employer. The more disinterested they are, the lower the score.

Extra input: A miscellaneous category that does not award points, but is more room for my own observations and extra opinions.

I will be going down the line from series that I know about. I do not actually actively seek out maid content - it mostly finds me. But I'm bored, so whatever. (Don't expect to see Rem on this list because I never watched Re:Zero.)

i am not inserting images as i’ve already spent two and a half hours on this fucking awful post like three people are going to read. find images yourself

PHANTASY STAR ONLINE 2 This game has at least one maid.

LUCOTTE IS A MAID: Yes MODESTY: 5/10 (despite being an android, she still expresses herself with a "sexy" maid-like design) PROFESSIONALISM: 8/10 (she is very serious about what she does but is a little eager to dote on others) COMPETENCE: 5/10 (seems decent enough at chores but will break brooms using them as weapons) COMBAT PROFICIENCY: 10/10 (trainer NPC for the Etoile class; helps all Etoiles grow stronger) DEVOTION: 10/10 (loves her friends and all her peers and will protect them with her life) OTHER NOTES: checked my vibes when we were introduced to her and basically made me admit that i do, in fact, like maids to some extent

THE AVERAGE ARKS MEMBER WEARING A MAID COSTUME IS A MAID: No MODESTY: Anywhere from 3-10 PROFESSIONALISM: Anywhere from 0-10 COMPETENCE: Anywhere from 0-10 COMBAT PROFICIENCY: Anywhere from 1-10 DEVOTION: Anywhere from 0-10 OTHER NOTES: putting on a frilly dress does not automatically make you a maid. spend money on your gear instead of trying to seduce others

==================

PUELLA MAGI MADOKA MAGICA Fuck you. Fuck you fuck you fuck you fuck you fuck you god damn it son of a fucking bitch fuck you

MELISSA IS A MAID: Yes MODESTY: 10/10 (very tasteful uniform and magical girl costume) PROFESSIONALISM: 10/10 (she does maid things and treats everyone with respect) COMPETENCE: i don't remember. like at least a 8/10. it's been a while since event ran and i don't feel like reading it for this list COMBAT PROFICIENCY: 0/10 normally, 9/10 if contracted and transformed. her personal memoria implies she got darc killed at least once due to being on the front lines and not as a magical girl DEVOTION: 10/10 (she will take an arrow for darc without hesitation if she has to but darc would take the arrow first) OTHER NOTES: the first magireco event character i uncapped and four-slotted

KANAGI IZUMI IS A MAID: No (she works part-time in a maid cafe; otherwise is not a domestic worker.) MODESTY: 6/10 (as her work uniform is a "sexy" maid costume it scores lower than usual, but it could be much less modest) PROFESSIONALISM: 5/10 (she treats all customers with respect but does not behave in the cutesy bubbly way you'd expect a maid cafe employee to behave) COMPETENCE: 9/10 (excellent worker; but accidentally messed up a ketchup drawing once) COMBAT PROFICIENCY: 10/10 (is a veteran magical girl) DEVOTION: 0/10 (she does not put any love into anything she does and is only a part-time worker) OTHER NOTES: AABBC is a good disc loadout

==================

GRANBLUE FANTASY oh you know it has maids

DOROTHY IS A MAID: Yes MODESTY: 10/10 (wears an actual proper maid dress) PROFESSIONALISM: 8/10 (has a few... moments. professionalism drops to 2/10 when near MC) COMPETENCE: 10/10 (is very good at her job) COMBAT PROFICIENCY: (8/10; is only held back by game mechanics. 10/10 when paired with claudia) DEVOTION: 15/10 (she will kill a man for her employer) OTHER NOTES:

CLAUDIA IS A MAID: Yes MODESTY: 10/10 (also wears an actual proper maid dress similar to dorothy) PROFESSIONALISM: 7/10 (is fond of napping on the job. would be 8/10 but she loses one point for flashing her thigh during a combat tournament battle to distract and defeat her opponent.) COMPETENCE: 10/10 (is very good at her job) COMBAT PROFICIENCY: (7/10; is only held back by game mechanics. has a slightly worse kit than dorothy as her big damage skill can miss. 10/10 when paired with dorothy) DEVOTION: 10/10 (she will break a few legs for her employer if needed but is lacking in empathy for non-employers) OTHER NOTES: she scares me

==================

AZUR LANE whY ARE THERE SO MANY MAIDS IN THE ROYAL NAVY

BELFAST IS A MAID: Yes MODESTY: 5/10 (while her skirt is fine, her top is minuscule and requires copious amounts of fashion tape) PROFESSIONALISM: 2/10 (she sees the commander sleeping once and decides to move their head onto her lap so they awaken to a lap pillow, just to see how they react) COMPETENCE: 10/10 (despite everything, she is very good at her job) COMBAT PROFICIENCY: 10/10 (goes to 14/10 if equipped with a HE gun) DEVOTION: 10/10 OTHER NOTES: she is not as lusty as the fandom would like to make her out to be but she would still jump the commander's bones in a heartbeat if given consent to do so

EDINBURGH IS A MAID: Yes MODESTY: 7.5/10 (her maid uniform is more akin to a maid cafe costume than a proper domestic worker uniform, but isn't offensively alluring like SOME OTHER PEOPLE in this section of the list) PROFESSIONALISM: 6/10 (she's doing her best) COMPETENCE: 0/10 (do not trust her with actual tasks) COMBAT PROFICIENCY: 10/10 (goes to 13/10 if equipped with an AP gun) DEVOTION: 10/10 (she's doing her best) OTHER NOTES: she's doing her best

GLASGOW IS A MAID: Yes MODESTY: 8.5/10 (it's not perfectly modest but it's much more modest than SOME OTHER PEOPLE in this section) PROFESSIONALISM: 9/10 (she reads during active secretary work if she thinks nobody is around) COMPETENCE: 9/10 (seems good enough) COMBAT PROFICIENCY: 9/10 (is held back by lower stats due to lower card rarity) DEVOTION: 10/10 (even if she hates the commander, she will continue to do work just fine) OTHER NOTES: i do not know anything about this character and only just read her lines about five minutes ago as of the time of writing this assessment

GLOUCESTER IS A MAID: Yes MODESTY: 7/10 (while the majority of her uniform is fine, she loses three points for the strange underbust window in her blouse that seems to be entirely there to distract perverts) PROFESSIONALISM: 10/10 (she will scold the commander for staring at maids instead of focusing on their work) COMPETENCE: 10/10 (as expected of one of these maids at this point, i imagine) COMBAT PROFICIENCY: 10/10 (i am running out of witty comments. i will stop making them here unless i have something funny to say) DEVOTION: 10/10 (will continue to work even if she dislikes the commander but will refuse to speak to them) OTHER NOTES: did albert design her uniform or something

NEWCASTLE IS A MAID: Yes MODESTY: 6/10 (looks more akin to a maid cafe uniform than a domestic worker uniform) PROFESSIONALISM: 2/10 (very friendly and flirty. easy to get along with) COMPETENCE: 10/10 COMBAT PROFICIENCY: 8/10 (loses a point for rarity, another for having anti-air mode in her kit) DEVOTION: 10/10 OTHER NOTES: friend

SHEFFIELD IS A MAID: Yes MODESTY: 10/10 (finally a normal uniform) PROFESSIONALISM: 9/10 (while normally curt, she loses a point because of a distressingly weird scene in the anime where she nonchalantly flashes her peers during underwear discussion) COMPETENCE: 9/10 (loses one point due to being trigger happy) COMBAT PROFICIENCY: 10/10 DEVOTION: 0/10 (rises to 2/10 when oathed) OTHER NOTES: wow i don't trust her at all actually

SIRIUS IS A MAID: Yes MODESTY: 2/10 (this is just getting ridiculous) PROFESSIONALISM: 0/10 (it appears everything she knows about being a maid she learned from pornography) COMPETENCE: 7/10 (despite everything, she's still relatively good at her work) COMBAT PROFICIENCY: 10/10 DEVOTION: 15/10 (a little too devoted) OTHER NOTES: you have likely seen fanart and pornography of her without even knowing who she is

DIDO IS A MAID: Yes MODESTY: 1.5/10 (imagine albert designed a maid cafe uniform and you have dido) PROFESSIONALISM: 3/10 (she has severe anxiety issues that get in the way of her behavior but is at least not actively trying to jump the commander's bones) COMPETENCE: 9/10 (is good enough at her job that her anxiety makes her think she's being ignored because she isn't being watched all the time) COMBAT PROFICIENCY: 10/10 DEVOTION: 30/10 (this is fed into due to her anxiety and fear of being abandoned) OTHER NOTES: albert really should not be allowed to design outfits

CURACOA IS A MAID: Yes MODESTY: 8/10 (drops to 3/10 after retrofit) OTHER NOTES: it's incredible how little i seem to care about her and curlew

CURLEW IS A MAID: Yes MODESTY: 8/10 (drops to 2/10 after retrofit; lower score than curacoa as she is in a more seductive pose) OTHER NOTES: see curacoa and replace "curlew" with "curacoa"

HMS NEPTUNE (not to be mistaken with HDN NEPTUNE) IS A MAID: No (she is a waitress) MODESTY: 6.5/10 (her uniform is very flashy and alluring) PROFESSIONALISM: 0/10 (she will regularly ask the commander to get on their knees and beg to her for a good reward) COMPETENCE: ??/10 (she does not seem to actually do domestic tasks) COMBAT PROFICIENCY: 12/10 (rises to 17/10 if equipped with an AP gun) DEVOTION: 10/10 (she will devote herself to the commander but may also attempt to monopolize them; use extreme caution) OTHER NOTES: i'm fucking stupid. make of this comment what you will

==================

FIRE EMBLEM fire emblem fates was a mistake

FELICIA IS A MAID: Yes MODESTY: 7/10 (the nohrian maid outfit is nice but still a little fetishy with its short skirt and stockings making it resemble a cafe maid outfit more than a domestic worker uniform) PROFESSIONALISM: 6/10 (she's trying) COMPETENCE: 0/10 (not very effectively) COMBAT PROFICIENCY: 10/10 (while a bumbling fool in domestic chores, she's skilled martially) DEVOTION: 10/10 (she will follow you even if you decide to defect from nohr) OTHER NOTES: heroes introduced me to her and i bought conquest to have her hit things in a good game and also to marry her

FLORA IS A MAID: Yes MODESTY: 7/10 (see felicia) PROFESSIONALISM: 10/10 (much more curt) COMPETENCE: 10/10 (she tends to have to fix felicia's mistakes) COMBAT PROFICIENCY: 9/10 (skilled in battle but not as skilled as felicia is) DEVOTION: 10/10 (she normally would lose a point because she'd kill you if cornered but that's entirely garon's fault so she is excused) OTHER NOTES: i reinstalled heroes to roll for her and got her so i still have it installed

THE GENERIC NPC NOHRIAN MAID IS A MAID: Yes MODESTY: 7/10 (see felicia and flora) PROFESSIONALISM: ??/10 COMPETENCE: ??/10 COMBAT PROFICIENCY: anywhere from 5/10 to 15/10 depending on difficulty DEVOTION: 3/10 (if captured and bribed, they will join your army) OTHER NOTES: i'm stupid

ANY CHARACTER RECLASSED INTO A MAID IS A MAID: No OTHER NOTES: putting on a frilly dress does not automatically make you a maid

==================

LOVE LIVE god fucKING damn it

KOTORI MINAMI IS A MAID: No (works part-time at a maid cafe) MODESTY: 10/10 (finally. some proper fucking maid uniforms after all this weird fetish stuff) PROFESSIONALISM: 10/10 (falls to 0/10 if her peers are present) COMPETENCE: 10/10 (earned a nickname with "legendary" in the title due to how well she serves her customers) COMBAT PROFICIENCY: ??/10 (MIERNO "IDOLA" - VOLPHORNO playing loudly in the distance) DEVOTION: 9/10 (her customers usually come first but she loses a point for trying to flee work when discovered by her peers) OTHER NOTES: use extreme caution

EVERY OTHER CHARACTER IN THE SERIES THAT HAS A MAID-THEMED CARD IN THE MOBILE GAME(S) IS A MAID: No OTHER NOTES: SHUT UP DERX LEAVE ME ALONE

==================

TOUHOU PROJECT

RUUKOTO IS A MAID: Yes MODESTY: 10/10 PROFESSIONALISM: ??/10 (has no spoken dialogue nor personality to go off of) COMPETENCE: 0/10 (is noted to be bad at performing domestic tasks) COMBAT PROFICIENCY: ??/10 (is nuclear powered; while she could be harboring massive latent powers she poses a huge risk if she were to detonate) DEVOTION: 10/10 (is a good noodle) OTHER NOTES: she is probably my blog mascot in another timeline

SAKUYA IZAYOI IS A MAID: Yes MODESTY: 8/10 (while mostly fine, she still has a rather short skirt in the fighting games) PROFESSIONALISM: 10/10 COMPETENCE: 8/10 (loses a point for every time she lost to the mc during the events of eosd; gains a point for running the mc off if playing on easy) COMBAT PROFICIENCY: 10/10 DEVOTION: 10/10 OTHER NOTES: alice's quicksilver is more fun to use than marisa's thousand knives but is infinitely worse for speedrunning so you never see it

YUMEKO IS A MAID: Yes MODESTY: 10/10 PROFESSIONALISM: 10/10 COMPETENCE: 9/10 (loses a point for losing to the mc during the events of mystic square) COMBAT PROFICIENCY: 10/10 (throws swords) DEVOTION: 10/10 OTHER NOTES: superior maid

==================

HYPERDIMENSION NEPTUNIA

FINANCIER IS A MAID: No MODESTY: 10/10 PROFESSIONALISM: 10/10 COMPETENCE: ??/10 (is not actually a maid) COMBAT PROFICIENCY: ??/10 (has not been playable DEVOTION: ??/10 (i think she was evil in the original neptunia and then was good in the re:birth series) OTHER NOTES: cute

==================

HONORABLE MENTION AS I TYPED THIS UP AND REALIZED ANGEL MORT IS A RESTAURANT, NOT A MAID CAFE, BUT DO NOT WISH TO REMOVE THE WORK I PUT INTO THE SECTION:

HIGURASHI NO NAKU KORO NI SHION SONOZAKI IS A MAID: No (works part time at a maid cafe) MODESTY: 3/10 (this isn't even a maid costume anymore) PROFESSIONALISM: 10/10 COMPETENCE: 10/10 (is almost indistinguishable from mion when she tries) COMBAT PROFICIENCY: 10/10 (is trained in handling firearms due to her family connections) DEVOTION: 10/10 (she is a good noodle in a bad situation) OTHER NOTES: higurashi was among the first anime i watched and was a powerful formative experience on me