#i know you were dealing with a robbery and a stock move and only had two of you working but. these hangers askew

[embers-burning-bright]

i am actually so sick of retail it isn't even funny

[c1tyhaunts]

FOR A MOMENT, THIS SCENE LOOKED LIKE SOMETHING OUT OF AN EARLY 2000's FAST & FURIOUS-ESQUE FILM — cop sirens blaring all directions, crowds of people rushing to the streets to see what's going on, and, occasionally, one of the criminals of the hours ( @clownfile ) staking themselves out at the small pharmacy as if no one else was inside. Unfortunately, her shift just started, and now she had to deal with this.

Briefly mulling it over, Avian thought it was a smart move. Customers don't typically come in on a Monday evening unless they were stragglers from last weekend's hedonism. And even then, those stragglers came out at the dead of night, not at the edge of dusk after a major robbery nearby. They definitely did not come in fully masked and dressed down in near combat armor, and when she's quick to notice the gun, Avian started to think fondly about the panic button beneath the front counter...

Which sat closer to the only exit that the stranger stood by. The backroom being a dead end and the chance of casually slipping by seems null, Avian thought of what she knew what to do best: bullshitting her way through.

"You know, I really, really do not get paid enough to deal with this." Avian sighs in displeasure, aloud to catch the attention of the new guest. Her expression stays true to her: dull, unimpressed, even standoffish for a moment. It helps to smother any anxiety that could stem from the situation, weary on how the stranger will react. "If you're going to be here, can you at least turn off the open sign so no customers walk in. I can just... mop or stock shelves or something..."

[duhragonball]

I was thinking about Goku and Krillin's friendship and it occured to me that they spent months training with Roshi together but then only saw each other for maybe a day every few years. Have you ever had a realization that tripped you out like this?

This is a really good ask, anon, and I just wanted to take a moment to say so. 

I have had a few ‘a-ha’ moments like these, but I’m kind of blanking on specific examples.  I’ll see what I can come up with.

1) For openers, there’s the whole thing where the Red Ribbon Army has a Dragon Radar, but it’s nowhere near as sophisticated as the handheld one Bulma invented.  I think the same holds true for Emperor Pilaf, but his gang is only three people.   You’d expect the RRA to have the best equipment possible, because that’s their whole deal, and by normal standards they probably do have the best possible Dragon Radar... but Bulma’s is simply that much better, because she’s on another level.   And it’s easy to overlook that, because Bulma’s supposed to be a genius teenager, like Donatello in TMNT, but the RRA’s Dragon Radar is the first hint that she’s even more special than we could have guessed. 

2) Rewatching Dragon Ball in 2019, I gained a new appreciation for the filler episodes where Mr. Popo trained Goku.  The first time I saw them, I was hoping we’d see Goku grow up and make progress over the three year gap, but instead they just focused on his early days on the Lookout, with Popo just saying things and Goku failing to understand.  It was very frustrating to watch.  

But in 2019, I noticed that all those episodes get paid off in the Piccolo Junior fight.   Popo kept telling Goku to be “quicker than lightning” and “quiet as the sky”, and Goku just couldn’t figure out how to do that, let alone fight at the same time.   He had to unlearn all the stuff that had helped him defeat King Piccolo, and he couldn’t do it... at first.    But by the time he fought Piccolo Junior, he put it all together, as demonstrated with his big finishing move.   Piccolo thought he had vaporized Goku, only for Goku to fly up into the air and crash into him.   Why didn’t Piccolo sense Goku’s presence?   Because Goku had learned to become as “quiet as the sky”.  Why couldn’t Piccolo dodge it?   Because Goku had learned to become “quicker than lightning.”  So it vindicates those filler episodes pretty nicely.   They weren’t just marking time, but they were setting up what the manga was going to do later.

3) I think last year, it hit me that Vegeta had probably never lost a fight before he went to Earth.   That alone isn’t probably any big deduction.  The only people stronger than him were all working for Frieza, and he knew to steer clear of them until he was ready.   But it explains why he was so giddy about the zenkai effect.   He had always known about it, but he never mentioned or cared about it until he experienced it for himself after losing to Goku, and then Zarbon. 

Yeah, I think this occurred to me during a conversation about Vegeta killing Nappa instead of helping him.   In theory, Nappa could have recovered and gotten a lot stronger, just like Vegeta did.   But Saiyans Saga Vegeta didn’t care about that.   He only gave his henchmen one chancemand discarded them as soon as they lost.   This attitude would also explain why he never dared to challenge anyone at a higher level.    He knew no one would show him any mercy, so the zenkai boost would have been meaningless to him. 

So he might have regretted killing Nappa after he experienced the zenkai firsthand, although he was so drunk on his own increased power that he probably never stopped to consider it.   But before Earth, Vegeta probably dismissed the zenkai as a crutch for lesser Saiyans.   In his mind, a truly great Saiyan never loses battles in the first place.  Or so he believed, until he lost a few times, and became stronger for it, and had to reconsider.

And that also explains how he warmed up to the Super Saiyan Legend over the course of one afternoon.   He and Goku made such sick gains that week that he started to wonder if you could zenkai your way to Super Saiyan, and then he was begging Krillin to shoot him just so he could get a step closer.

4) In the same vein, it occurred to me at some point that Bardock was probably stronger than King Vegeta, and neither of them realized it.   Maybe it was just a dub-ism, but I’m pretty sure “Father of Goku” has a line about Bardock’s power level being 10000.   At the time it was released, 10k wasn’t that big a deal, but in the Saiyans Saga, Vegeta was somewhere around 18-24k. Later, he would claim to have surpassed his father as a child, so I think it’s fair to assume that King Vegeta must have been in that 10,000 neighborhood. 

Which makes a nice subtle commentary on why the Saiyan Kingdom failed. They tried to breed better warriors, putting all their stock in the royal family, when the true secret lay in warriors like Bardock, who were constantly getting clobbered and healed.  Prince Vegeta only started to make real progress once he began fighting on that same regimen.

5) Also about “Father of Goku,” Frieza only wanted Planet Kanassa subjugated because of the psychic powers of its inhabitants.   I think the dub insinuated that the planet itself gave people those powers, but whatever the case, Frieza heard about these people with unusual powers and wanted them stamped out immediately.   Just like he wiped out the Saiyans over the Super Saiyan Legend, and just like he planned to destroy Namek to prevent anyone else from using the Dragon Balls. 

In short, Frieza fears and despises legends.  Why?  Because he’s so powerful that real people can’t hurt him, so his fears naturally turn to half-truths and folklore.   He chases down ghost stories and rumors, because let’s face it, what else does he have to occupy his time.   That’s why King Cold was happy to have the Saiyans working for him, while Frieza wanted them all dead.   Cold didn’t share Frieza’s hangups.   Cold barely knew what a Super Saiyan was, while Frieza thought about it all the time. 

6) One day I thought about that timeline where Cell killed Trunks and took the time machine to find the androids.    That specific timeline is pretty much empty.  The Z-fighters are all dead, and so are all of the androids and Trunks.  They don’t even have a Cell anymore because he went back in time and never returned.   There’s still a population, I guess, because the Trunks of that world wouldn’t have just stood by while Cell absorbed everyone on Earth, but that’s about it.   Bulma might have survived Cell’s attack on Trunks, but she’d be the only “name” character on the board.  It just sounds like a pretty depressing world.   Maybe this was the timeline Whis picked out to relocate Blunks and Future Mai in Dragon Ball Super.

7) It sort of blows my mind that the entire Majin Buu arc takes place over a couple of days.    Like, episode 207 through 250 all takes place over one day.   We know this because Goku only had 24 hours to be back in the living world, and that time was cut short by his use of SSJ3.  Then the Elder Kai started doing his ritual to make Gohan stronger, and that took like 25 hours, I’m pretty sure.  That wrapped up in #262, and there was no break in the action from that point onward, all the way up to the defeat of Kid Buu in #287.  So yeah, eighty episodes over two days.   It’s practically real-time footage, save for skipping over the Elder Kai’s ritual and Goten and Trunks practicing and sleeping. 

It’s hard to catch on to this, though, because so much stuff happens in the anime version that leads you to think that it’s a much longer span of time.    After Vegeta wrecks the stadium, the anime can’t decide whether or not Mr. Satan would stay there or return to his dojo.   In the Fusion Saga, Mr. Satan wanders from Buu’s house to the nearest town, then he wanders to the next town over, doing his “Last Man on Earth” bit, except this all happens during the Gotenks/Super Buu fight, which barely lasts half an hour.   In the afterlife, Chi-Chi is worried that she can’t find Gohan, but she wouldn’t have even been there that long, and wouldn’t she still be in line to meet King Yemma?  She was one of the last Earthlings to die, so how did she end up in heaven so quickly?

8) I used to think Movie 13 (the Hirudegarn one) was canon, but the last time I watched it, I noticed all these glaring problems.  They use the Dragon Balls in this one, which means it has to be set six months after the wish to make everyone forget about Majin Buum which means it’s been a year since Kid Buu was defeated.  Okay, fine, except Gohan and Videl are still in high school.   Shouldn’t they have graduated by then?   

More importantly, their high school and Bulma’s house seem to be in the same city.   I guess that’s an easy mistake to make.   It took me a long time to even notice, but Orange Star High is in Satan City, which is a totally different place from West City.   I mean, right?  They’re not terribly far apart, but they’re not the same place either.

Then again, they seemed to make the same error in Episode 287, where Bulma’s out shopping and Great Saiyaman 1 and 2 foil a robbery.   Are they in West City or Satan City?  Maybe there’s more to this...

[squidproquoclarice]

For the @rdr-secret-santa exchange this year, I got to write for @tiredcowpoke.  The request I wrote was “Molly/Mary-Beth, possibly a post-game au thing related to their writing?” Happy Holidays, Cowpoke, and I hope you enjoy! 

~~~~~~~~~

December 1919

St. Denis, Lemoyne

It had been a solemn few years for a poetess, for the world looked upon things with a grim eye, and who could blame them?  Between the war and the Spanish flu, that was bad enough.  Even a bloody flood of molasses of all things taking lives in a strange and even absurd way.  She needed a change from Boston, feeling that urge come over her.

Just as she’d needed a change so long ago and left Dublin for Cousin Brian’s horse farm in California.  Back in another life, back when she’d then left Cousin Brian’s horse farm after a few months based on the dark good looks and smooth charms of Mister Aiden O’Malley, or so he’d called himself.  Back when she’d been such a fool and become an outlaw’s woman--outlaw’s whore--, something within her liked to hiss still.  That part was the one that had been raised to love and fear her father, God the Father, and Father O’Connell alike, a paternal trinity that seemed to have no room for any woman once she wasn’t a virgin.

Some parts of Molly O’Shea clung beneath the skin of Margaret McCarthy nonetheless, and she’d long since had to accept that.  Though she listened to them less and less as the years rolled on in their relentless pace.  Early on had been difficult.  She couldn’t go back to Cousin Brian, couldn’t go back to her father by any means, couldn’t bear to face their condemnation of her shame.  So she had gone to Boston, after leaving Dutch and his band of grubby fools behind, a place she had never belonged with a man who used and discarded women.  For a woman raised to be an ornament to a man, a true lady, it had been a struggle.  But she found eventually that her pen was enough to keep her, rather than the need of a man for it.  Forged on into a strange new world where she alone was mistress of her fate, and found it to her liking.

Now here she was in St. Denis for the first time in twenty years, and certainly she was older and wiser and a trifle stouter than the lass of twenty-six who’d never genuinely seen these streets, drinking as much as she had for the heartbreak of it all.  It pleased her in some ways to truly experience the city for the first time, finding the old, cultured, European feel of it much to her liking, as opposed to the brashness of Boston that had never quite fit her, no matter how many Irish lived there.  

No sooner had she arrived, not even fully unpacking her trunks at the opulent Castille House hotel, built seven years before, than an invitation came from the Krewe of Minerva, whom she was given to understand, had something to do with the Carnival season of Mardi Gras here in St. Denis, and the misspelling of “crew” was quite deliberate, but mostly that it consisted of some of the most prominent women in St. Denis, the wives and daughters and sisters of the powerful, and a handful of independent women as well.  

The invitation, printed on heavy card stock, gilt decoration and with neat, flowing copperplate script, asked her to attend an evening celebrating St. Denis’ most prominent female literary luminaries.  Oh, the glory of it, to be among people who appreciated such little social niceties as a proper invitation.  She thought she understood what they were about--another woman writer had arrived in their midst, and they wished to draw her into their circle.  Something in her was giddy about it, even at her age, so delighted to be included, welcomed, in such a way.  It hadn’t always been the case.

It was no hardship to attend either given that the reception was in the ballroom of the Castille.  So here she was, dressed in a flattering green gown that highlighted her eyes, here to meet the best and brightest lights of St. Denis’ women.  Hearing snippets of their chatter as she passed, introducing herself or being introduced one by one, recognizing a few of them from their prominence in the papers.

Henrietta Wicklow, the journalist and ardent suffragette who’d marched for the vote right alongside her deceased mother Dorothy, “Next year we ladies shall all be voting for president--”

A loud voice from a group of ladies clearly enjoying their champagne, a young woman declaring with a glass in one hand and a cigarette in the other, “Enjoy it now, gals, we’ve only a month until this government foolishness of abolishing liquor begins--”

Philomena Castille, wife of Claude Castille, owner of the very hotel they were now in, “--think that the Mardi Gras ball should reflect the theme of a new dawn for a new decade after the frightful few years we’ve had”, and Mrs. Castille then took charge of her to make further introductions with the brisk efficiency of a talented hostess.

Mary Barrett, wife of one of the men involved in St. Denis’ most prominent bookstore, and apparently also the local literary critic Martin Gillis, hiding behind a man’s name.  Something about the woman, small, dark, and neat, with a striking small beauty spot on her right cheek, looked oddly familiar.  But Margaret couldn’t quite place her.  Perhaps they’d met at some literary event before?  “Very pleased to meet you, Miss McCarthy, your book of poems is quite memorable.”  From her, it somehow didn’t sound like a platitude.

Now another person approached, and Mrs. Castile said, “Oh, and here’s another of our ladies with a talented pen.  We call her by her real name in the bosom of friends here, so here’s Miss Mary-Beth Landry. Though,” she winked one sapphire-blue eye, “you would know her better by her nom de plume, Leslie Dupont.  Miss Landry, this is Margaret McCarthy, the poetess.  She’s moving down from Boston to grace our city.” 

She’d heard of Leslie Dupont, a semi-scandalous writer of semi-scandalous books.  She had read several and rather enjoyed them, though some part of her blushed to admit it.  But there was the part of her that would always adore romance and adventure.  Though she hadn’t touched a great deal of Leslie Dupont’s books, including her most popular novel, “Sunset Over The Red Sage”, because those ones were about outlaws, highwaymen, bandits, and pirates.  If there was one thing she had no wish to read in this life, it was a romance involving that sort of man.  She’d been hurt enough by her own fantasies of that life without needing to read another woman’s ignorant rose-tinted version of it.    

Oh, but she wasn’t so ignorant at all, because as Mary-Beth Landry turned, it had been twenty years, but Margaret still recognized her.  Not Landry at all, oh no, but Gaskill.  Those tumbledown golden brown curls, the soft blue-grey eyes, the liberal sprinkling of freckles across her cheeks and nose that all still gave her something of an appealing girlishness even though she must have passed forty herself, and the lines beside her eyes and mouth said it as much as the ones Margaret saw in the mirror.

Her first instinct was the desire to turn and run before Mary-Beth could say her name, her old name, and expose Margaret in front of all these people as every bit as much an imposter as her.  The second was a flare of anger because even all these years later, she could remember being forced to endure watching Dutch sniffing around her, flirting with her shamelessly, and thinking to herself with raging despairing humiliation, That cheap little tramp, what does she have that I don’t, aside from a few more years of youth?  The third was to calm herself, because that was all old history and Dutch Van Der Linde wasn’t worth her concern, and frankly, she had drunk a glass of very fine whiskey eight years ago in pleasure at hearing the government’s Bureau of Investigation had finally caught up with him.  Bastard.  I hope the Devil himself has you as you deserve.  

Mary-Beth’s eyes went wide and startled, and she blurted, “Molly!”

Margaret might have slapped her, but she held herself together.  “My, it’s been so long since anybody called me that.”

“You two know each other?” Mrs. Castille said, looking at the two of them with surprise, but at least no suspicion.

“Oh, it was so very long ago,” Mary-Beth said, recovering rapidly.  “I’m ashamed to say that I...I broke her cousin’s heart.”

“You’ve broken quite a few hearts, my dear,” Mrs. Castille said cheerfully.  Yes, Margaret had heard about Leslie Dupont’s fast ways and string of romances never quite come to fruition.  Was there such a thing as a rakess?

Mary-Beth’s gaze stayed on hers, and she gave Margaret a shy, apologetic smile.  Surprisingly, she felt her pulse suddenly jump at the gesture, and it didn’t feel like alarm or anger.  “I do hope you can forgive me, M--Margaret.”

“Oh, long since forgotten,” Margaret assured her, glad she’d jumped quickly to cover her gaffe, and happy to follow her lead with that story.  “The fellow wasn’t worth the bother in the end, now was he?  We both said good riddance to him.”

“I’ll let you two catch up,” Mrs. Castille said, gesturing towards the balcony.  “The night air is quite fine.”

Given two weeks before she’d been in a miserable Boston winter, the weather here made for a pleasant change, she had to admit.  Knowing there was no escaping it, she followed Mary-Beth onto the balcony, some part of her very reluctant to have this conversation, but another part strangely intrigued by what the woman had become.  Curse her eternal romantic streak, but of course moving from dreamy guttersnipe and pickpocket to a successful authoress made for quite the tale.

Mary-Beth spoke first, keeping her voice low.  “We all wondered what had happened to you.  You just--vanished.”

“There was nothing to stay for,” she said, managing to keep the bitterness from her tone.  “I was never quite one of you, now was I?”  So she had simply not followed them when they cleared out from Shady Belle in an almighty hurry, saying the bank robbery had gone terribly wrong.  She’d gone to St. Denis and drunk herself silly for nearly a month, and then she’d sobered enough to tell herself she would take the first train in the station, wherever it was bound, which brought her back to Valentine.  Of course she would never stay there.  The first train into the Valentine station was bound for Omaha.  And she kept doing that until chance brought her to Boston.

“Oh, Molly--”

“Margaret,” she corrected with all the fierce, frosty bite of those Boston winters she’d left behind her.  “Molly” was only for her intimate friends, and Mary-Beth Landry née Gaskill was and had been nothing of the sort.  She relented somewhat, and asked, “What happened to them, if you know?”  She might not have belonged to them, they had made that quite clear, but that didn’t mean she wished them ill, let alone shot to pieces by Pinkertons.  She’d read about the big gunslingers of the gang dying in the papers over the years, of course, but all the little people like her, like Mary-Beth, had escaped notice.

“We got lucky.  Nobody else died that year after Lenny and Hosea,” Mary-Beth answered.  “I left a couple of weeks before the end of it all, Pearson and me together, but I’ve run into enough of them in the years since here and there.”  

“Arthur died, though?” Margaret said in confusion.  He clearly had been killed.  The papers had blared it everywhere in triumph, the Pinkertons bagging one more significant quarry even if Dutch himself slipped through their fingers.

If there had been anyone else in the gang she probably should have let herself like and consider halfway to a friend, it might well have been Arthur.  There was an awkward gentlemanliness and kindness towards her and all the women beneath that drawling uncouthness, as if he tried to keep the best of himself well hidden.  Fetching her that mirror only because she mentioned wanting one?  That was the sort of man Arthur Morgan had been, even if she’d been too much of a snob to see it at the time, far more swayed by Dutch’s smooth manners and darkly seductive charisma, the veneer of the proper gentleman of the sort she prized.  She couldn’t say she had mourned Arthur at the time, but she had thought about him now and again since.  He seemed like a better man than Dutch had let him be, and that felt like a shame.

Mary-Beth leaned closer, and she gave a knowing cat’s smile.  “The reports of his death may have been exaggerated.  The Pinkertons left him for dead, but it seems that wasn’t quite the case.”

“No!”  Delicious gossip, that, even if she could never tell another soul.  “Then--what?  Who?”

“Sadie’s the one who got him out alive.  They stayed together, ended up married, and they’re up in Canada with their children.  We don’t write much, just the occasional Christmas card, but it sounds as though they’re well last I heard.”

Margaret had to shake her head, trying to not laugh.  Arthur Morgan had married Sadie Adler?  That brash, angry half-feral woman strolling around in her pants and swearing a blue streak and toting a rifle, who had made it clear she’d as soon kill a man if he looked at her wrong?  But that was old Molly O’Shea talking, a posh lady looking down her nose at Sadie as a coarse farm wife who prided herself on being unnaturally mannish besides.  Well, well.  Hidden depths to her, I suppose.  Or perhaps she changed herself to something finer when it was all said and done.  She had done so herself.  It seemed Mary-Beth had, at least in some ways.

“Some of the rest are up there in Canada as well.  Charles, Karen, Abigail, and such.  Pearson’s out in Rhodes, and the Reverend in New York, last I heard.”  Abigail, still chasing the feckless boy-man father of her child when the boy was growing old enough to read.  Karen, a loudmouthed, chubby creature who fancied herself a hellraiser, had even punched Margaret in the face once.  Though I suppose deserved it, mocking her as I did.  Saying Sean MacGuire was a brainless, reckless fool and I knew hundreds more Irishmen just like him.  Certainly we both turned too much to the drink for the love of men who could never love us as we needed.  Abigail never did that at least, though John wasn’t nearly worthy of her that I saw, but the heart wants what it wants.  I made quite a solid proof of that lunacy. “Susan, Miss Grimshaw, she stayed around here for a bit, but she always was restless.  She’s out in San Francisco now, moved there a year after the earthquake.”  Margaret absorbed that, remembering the older woman and her need to feel relevant by bossing people around.  The two of them had quite the mutual disdain, Dutch’s young lover versus his older former flame.  Whereas back then she’d rolled her eyes at the jealous old biddy who clearly had it in for Dutch choosing another woman, now she was about the age Susan Grimshaw had been then.  She could look on it with some sympathy--how much it had hurt to see Dutch already abandoning her, and Susan’s loyalty and love for Dutch had been there even so many years later.  How hard must that have been?  How hard must it have been to be an unmarried woman approaching fifty, who most men now didn’t value at all?  Margaret had escaped that snare, but Dutch had kept Susan dependent on him all that time.  Perhaps that was the softening of years, and wisdom, that she could see such things now. 

Mary-Beth continued, “Tilly was actually here until earlier this year.  She and her husband Henri headed north to Chicago.  Better opportunities there for them there, though.  I do miss her dreadfully.  We used to try and meet every other Thursday at least, sometimes with the children.  I’d spoil them with candy and books and toys, and Tilly would always just smile at it.  Five children under twelve, quite the handful, but oh, how wonderful they all are.  I wonder if baby Amelie will even remember me.  She’s only two and a half now.”  She wore a wistful, faded, sad little smile at recounting those memories.  

Hearing Mary-Beth talk about all the women that had been with Dutch’s people then, it eased something in her to hear they all seemed to have done well and lived happy lives.  She’d long since had to face the idea that her youthful dismissal of all of them as a pack of cheap, coarse unmannered creatures not worthy of her time, as different from her bearing and breeding as chalk and cheese, had been wrong.  Learned that the line between being one of those women in the gutter and safely embroidering samplers in a graceful parlor was painfully razor thin.   Then Mary-Beth shrugged in a sharp, almost dismissive way, and there was something striving too hard for chipper casualness in her tone when she said, “So now it’s only little old me left here in St. Denis.” “And me now, I suppose.”  She said it before she could think better of it, laying claim to something she hadn’t cared about in so long, and hadn’t even felt a part of when she was in the thick of it.  And yet.

She’d heard that loneliness in Mary-Beth’s voice, and recognized with a startle that she’d felt that same seemingly indefinable loneliness all too often, for all she hadn’t been around anyone else who ran with Dutch’s gang, let alone thought she’d wanted them there.  

There was a part of her she couldn’t ever truly talk about, both from the shame of a foolish romance that would have labeled her as firmly ruined, and from the fear of being known as someone who’d been involved with all that unsavory outlaw business.  To be with one person she didn’t have to fearfully conceal that behind an ironbound mask, and recognizing the sheer bloody effort it had been these past twenty years to do it, felt like an agonizing relief that she had never known she wanted.  Like taking her corset off at the end of the day, laced stern and tight now against the ever-encroaching flesh of middle age, and breathing.

Mary-Beth looked at her, a gentle smile curving her lips.  “And you now.”  She hesitated, and then said almost shyly, “I did read ‘Odes to a Far Country’, you know.  Though my favorite poem in it is ‘The Butterfly and the Phoenix’.”

“Oh!”  She felt herself blushing, pleased but surprised.  “That’s unusual.  Nobody ever likes that one best.” One of her earliest published poems, and she looked back on it now as a somewhat mawkish, clumsy rumination from a woman facing an uncertain future, writing about metamorphosis, slumber, and fire from the ashes.  The symbolism in it felt treacly and heavy-handed to her now.  “It’s...very untidy.”

“Well, I like it.”  Mary-Beth spread her hands and shrugged.  “It’s honest.  It’s a very messy thing to remake yourself, isn’t it?”

She thought she understood now, with a flash of insight.  Mary-Beth had always seemed dreamy, even a bit dull at her insistence on painting everything in a romantic light, as if she simply couldn’t see the awful reality they lived in.  How much of that was true then and how much was an act, Margaret couldn’t say, given she wouldn’t give herself much credit for being terribly perceptive in those days.  But she had the suspicion Leslie Dupont now saw things clearer, and still chose to write those silly romances only because they brought some joy to the world.  Perhaps she wrote about outlaws and pirates only to purge her own demons in some way.

She felt that flicker in her chest again, confessing, “I liked ‘Ribbons of Scarlet’ best.”  That one was about a French noblewoman bound for the guillotine, and her love for the humble gardener who’d been her childhood friend.  Who then, of course, helped break her out of the Bastille itself, and they fled together, escaped to freedom in America.

“Nobody ever likes that one best,” Mary-Beth said, imitating Margaret’s Dublin accent dreadfully, turning it into some God-forsaken stage Irish and a poor one at that, and Margaret found herself smiling helplessly at it.  “People prefer their French Revolution stories with tragic and doomed endings, I’ve found.”

She sighed, looking out into the electric lamp-lit city at night, like a thousand fireflies glowing, fighting back the darkness. “I think we’ve had rather enough of tragic and doomed endings.”

They’d been young enough then, and foolish, and unable to see things clearly, let alone each other.  She’d been twenty-six, and Mary-Beth, what, twenty-one perhaps?  Now here they were, two middle-aged women brought together again in St. Denis by fate and literature both, and looking at the other woman, Margaret thought she felt something about Mary-Beth that just fit in some peculiar, easy way.  “I think we have,” Mary-Beth answered softly.  “I only wrote one.  My first book.  And I only implied it that way, and then, well, I undid it in the sequel anyhow when I thought better of it.”  She turned to look at Margaret.  “But here we are talking away and you’ve just gotten here to the gathering, and I’m keeping you all to myself.”

“I don’t mind, not at all,” she blurted, before she could help herself, and found herself blushing hotly again, and was surprised to see an answering blush in Mary-Beth’s cheeks.  At their age, no less, blushing like two schoolgirls in braids!  “But I probably should make the rounds, of course.  See and be seen.”

“Of course.”  Mary-Beth smiled at her.  “Do you have plans for Christmas?  I certainly don’t, not aside from the usual round of parties, but you know what I mean.  Real plans for Christmas Day, not social ones.  If not, you’d be welcome to come to my home, if you’d like.”  She reached out to touch Margaret’s arm gently, and oh, how glad she was the fashion was no longer for elbow-length gloves along with an evening gown, because the touch of those fingers on her bare arm sent a frisson of longing through her like she hadn’t felt in years.  She’d taken some to her bed discreetly when the mood struck, pleasant enough interludes, but there had never been anything of her heart in it.  This, oh, this?  This had destroyed her once and it could destroy her again, but how she suddenly wanted, something that wasn’t the overwhelming possession she had craved from Dutch, but something finer, brighter, something like kindred souls finding each other after so long.  

She didn’t have a mean bone in her body then, and I very much doubt she does now.  She’s not Dutch.  Telling herself that, feeling her heart hesitantly peek open only a crack, it was enough for now.  She looked up into Mary-Beth’s eyes, and smiled back.  “I’d like that very much.” 

A/N: Since it was a “Molly lives!” AU already, I decided to just go full “The gang members who died in Chapters 5 and 6 actually live!” AU, since neither Molly nor Susan are tough to spare their sad Beaver Hollow fates, Karen’s is ambiguous, and I’ve definitely explored the idea that there was a clear chance for Arthur if Sadie came back for him.  Especially the chance for Molly to reflect a bit on Susan and Karen with greater age and wisdom and see the similarities felt too good to pass up.

[clairecrive]

“Unsaid”- Bane x reader [Requested] (Part 1)

Hi everyone, this is for the anon that requested a Bane x reader imagine based on the robbery at the bank. I know that it took me ages to write this but as I’ve said in a previous post, this is going to be a multichapter of probably 3 parts.

I know that it’s Saturday night and most of you are out and about so this probably flop big time, or maybe you’re not given this coronavirus situation we’re all dealing with. Anyway, whenever you read this I hope you like it! Can’t wait to hear your thoughts.

Tag list: @mollybegger-blog​, @br0ck-eddie​, @shadow-of-wonder​, @evelynshelby​ (let me know if you wanna be added)

To an outsider, your workplace seemed like the most eventful ad exciting, probably because of all the buzz and fuss around it. And they were right in a sense, the only thing was that after the first few days, it had been void of any positive connotations in your eyes. It was rather eventful, thanks to all the shouting of the men talking on the phones, at the same time though it was exactly the reason why you had grown to hate the place. Loud, frantic. Those were the words you would use to describe your workplace if anyone asked. Nothing special about it but the work you were doing was too important to you to give in and quit.

You were an intern at the Gotham Stock Exchange. You weren't there for the obvious reason, finance wasn't your major, psychology is. Through this internship, you were allowed to study human behaviour in different situations, mostly stressful ones. You were also there to offer counsel and support if needed but your main focus was to observe these men and see what made them successful. Did extroversion and introversion play a role in their career? If so, in what way? This was the focus of your work and your thesis, which you had to discuss not in a long time. The stakes were so high for you that you somehow managed to thrive in such an uncomfortable situation. You were adaptable but the fact that you could do your job while listening to music helped a great deal.

Few months had passed since your first day, that meaning that you had collected a fair amount of data already. So some mornings were just spent in organizing your notes and attempting to write the first draft of your thesis. Not having an office, just a desk in the main room, meant that you could still observe. Without the distraction of loud chatting and angry shouting that was buffed by the music in your ears, you would notice things that would slip through the cracks otherwise. The way some men talked to the phone like they were ready to fight or men that talked so much that you wondered if they were having a monologue, compared to others that would listen carefully to the person at the end of the receiver strategically deciding when to speak and what to say. This proved to be gold for your research and made your morning more productive than you'd thought it'd be when you first walked in.

Immersed in putting in black and white your incohesive thoughts, you didn't notice the chaos that had erupted. The upbeat rhythm of "Back in black" coming from your earphones filled you with energy but at the same time it isolated you from the outside world, which was what you wanted, but in the midst of a heist it didn't turn out in your favour. You weren't aware of what was happening around you until you felt a tap on your shoulder. Without lifting your head, you help up a finger asking to wait for a second to whoever it was, adamant to finish your sentence at least. When you did end up to lift your head from your notebook, you noticed a man you had never seen before. You certainly would have remembered that black menacing mask and those eyes.

"You don't work here." That was rather stupid and obvious but those were the words that left your mouth.

"An acute observation. Would you be so kind as to hold this for me?" He asked handling you his helmet. This whole situation was absurd but you took it without saying anything before looking around and noticing all your co-workers cramped at the end of the room shivering in fear. Those were the same men that could sell ice to the Icelandic, interesting. After a quick scan of the room, you noticed that there were a couple of armed men guarding the people in the room. The man that had tapped you was towering over a guy you recognized as the computer technician who was muttering something about some issue over the wi-fi connection. Knowing the problem he was talking about and that the guy probably wouldn't make it if he kept blabbering without finding a solution, you made your way towards them. Tapping on his shoulder like he did to you a few moments before, he just turned his face in your direction looking up and down at you quizically. 

"If you connect to the public wi-fi, you'll be here 'till Christmas. I know how to connect to a faster router." You explained looking straight in his eyes but didn't move forward waiting for his approval. Better safe than sorry. Studying you for a while, the man eventually nodded and gestured for the guy to get out of the way and to keep hold of his helmet that he had previously given to you.

"They have a hidden wi-fi that's so fast you can find whatever you want in less than half a second. Of course, they don't talk about it." You didn't know why you were trying to make conversation with him, he wasn't exactly warm and friendly. It was to try and make the situation less tense, you told yourself.

"So how did you find out?" he asked much to your surprise. You couldn't figure out his tone, barely his words, but the fact that he was engaging you was good. He couldn't kill someone while talking to you, right?

"It was their mistake to underestimate me just because I'm a woman." You sent a smirk his way, briefly turning towards him and if you didn't know any better, you'd say he was smirking too. 

Neither of you said anything after that but you could feel his eyes on you the whole time. When you had successfully connected the computer to the wi-fi, you took a step back. You didn't want to know what his plan was and you didn't want to so you just made space for him to do what he had to. He went ahead and plunged a USB to the side of the computer and asked you to make sure that everything was running smoothly. Hw was downloading stuff from the database and even though you were completely clueless about computer stuff, you didn't bother to tell him. You valued your life after all. He was roaming around the room when the sound of sirens was heard. The man looked unfazed by it but he asked you how was the downloading proceeding. 

"There's still a 20% left, these files are pretty big." You told him fearing his reaction. He didn't acknowledge you though.  

He nodded to his men that began shooting in the air while he retrieved his helmet and held you with the other hand. Up until this moment, you hadn't feared him. Maybe stupidly so but you thought that as long as you helped him, he wouldn't hurt you. Now that he was urging you outside the building and putting you on a motorcycle, you weren't so sure anymore. As a reflex, you tightly held to him and when you noticed that the people grabbed by his men were being unceremoniously thrown off into the streets, your hold tightened even more. But you weren't sitting in front of him and his hands never reached behind to pull you down. You didn't realize that he had spared you until ou entered in some tunnels under the city where he stopped. You were too afraid and slightly panicking, just a little. Why didn't he throw you off? Why did he take you in the first place? Does he think that you can help him with breaking into a server or stuff? Omg, what is going to happen when he learns that you're no computer geek? 

These questions all swirled into your mind and didn't let it process the fact that not only he had stopped but he had also killed the engine and was probably waiting for you to go down. Your arms were still pretty tightly wrapped around his waist but it didn't occur to you that it was the thing that was preventing him to mount off the bike. Not until he spoke.

"You can let go of me. If you haven't noticed we're not moving anymore." His breathy voice registered in your head and for the first time, you lift your head and look around. These tunnels were huge, they were more like a maze really. Still, you didn't let go of him. Not even when he wraps his hand around yours.

"If I let go, will you turn around and kill me?" stupid thing to ask, sure, but he had engaged you before so you hoped he'd do it now too.

"I'm not going to kill you." He answered. His hand on yours wasn't even pressing on them, you realized when he could easily pull them apart and get away. So why was he being so gentle with you? Convinced that he had no reason to hurt you and never showed the intention to, you relaxed and pulled your arms away from him. He got off without a word, then turned around to look at you. Maybe he was asking himself what to do with you or he was wondering why you hadn't got off yet. It's true that you were observing him to see what his next move will be but it was also true that this bike was beastly tall and let's just say you're not. You'd probably break your leg or ankle or both if you attempted to climb off alone. Maybe he noticed that or maybe he was just manhandling you but after a little stare off, he got closer to you and without batting an eyelid, he literally lifted you up and of the bike like you weighted nothing. But then again, this man was huge and his muscles were even bigger so no wonder that lifting you was such an easy task. He put you down and with a gesture of his head, he urged you to follow him. And you did.

It was the perfect opportunity to look around and try to memorize the place so that you could eventually plan an escape, but the muscles of his neck were so distracting. He must have taken some kind of drug to be this burly, it wasn't possible to naturally be this fit. You usually despised men that were obsessed with the gym and proteins and stuff like that but there was something about this man that was calling to you. You just couldn't put your finger on it. He had led you to a room, it wasn't empty as you had presumed but filled with a bed, a wardrobe and a desk full of papers. This must be his room. He entered after you and shut the door behind him. Leaning against the desk, he crossed his arms over his chest and just stared at you.

"What's your name?" he asked after a while without breaking eye contact.

"Y/N and yours?" If he wasn't surprised he didn't let it show, the only indicator the twinkle in his eyes.

"Why did you help me if you didn't even know my name?"

"Should I have asked you first? Seems inappropriate and time-consuming, don't you think?" you joked and he let out a noise that because of the mask you didn't know whether it was a chuckle or a heavy sigh.

"Why did you help me?" This time his tone was more serious, firmer.

"Thought you would hurt fewer people if I did and because I could." you simply said shrugging. With his eyes studying you, he just nodded, deep in his thoughts, trying to figure you out. Having everything that he needed so far, he went to get out of the room when your voice stopped him.

"Why did you take me?" The question that was eating you inside. He didn't even turn around but with a cheeky tone, he answered you before finally leaving.

"Because I could."

[mst3kproject]

Exo-Man

Failed series pilots were very much part of MST3K’s stock in trade.  We’ve sat through San Francisco International, Stranded in Space, Code Name: Diamond Head and I’m sure there were others.  I generally recall all of those movies being kind of dull and lacking in personality, and I can’t imagine this 70’s superhero mess being much better.  I don’t think anybody in Exo-Man was ever on MST3K but Jose Ferrer (the first Latino actor to win an academy award, for 1950’s Cyrano de Bergerac) was once in a movie called Zoltan, Hound of Dracula, which I am deeply remiss in not having seen yet.  You may also recognize Harry Morgan, who was Colonel Potter on M*A*S*H.

Dr. Nick Conrad is a wacky physics professor of the type nobody has ever encountered in real life.  He’s somehow both smart enough to invent anti-gravity and memory plastic, and stupid enough to chase after a fleeing would-be bank robber.  The latter stunt, set to wakka-chicka Mitchell music, makes Nick the target of a mafia assassin, who kills his lab assistant and leaves Nick himself paralyzed from the waist down.  He wallows in self-pity for a while, but then rediscovers his passion for invention and builds himself a suit of armor that will allow him to walk again… and to take on the mob single-handedly.

I don’t know why they called the movie Exo-Man.  That name is never used in the dialogue.  I guess the more accurate Fiberglass Avenger just wouldn’t have sounded as cool.

The first thing you’re likely to notice from the plot summary is that Nick’s story starts off as Dr. Strange and then takes a hard left into Iron Man.  I’m pretty sure the latter at least was an intentional ripoff, with bits of the first thrown in, knowingly or not, to distance Exo-Man from Marvel’s lawyers. What’s funny is that posterity has actually made it a hat trick: the movie opens with a weirdly homoerotic jogging scene, so now he gets to be Captain America, too!

Exo-Man is a really stupid, often boring, and consistently ugly movie.  The actors are mediocre, the music bland, the effects terrible, and stuff is made to look ‘high tech’ by sticking lots of blinky lights on it.  Way too much time passes before we get to the action and when we do, we find a deep pit of disappointment.  Yet at the same time… I kind of enjoyed it.

A major part of why has got to be the incredibly dopey super-suit the main character wears, which looks less like ‘Iron Man’ and more like ‘Fiberglass Commando Cody’.  It moves really slowly and I doubt the guy in the costume can see very much.  Nick controls the bottom half of it using switches on one sleeve, which appear to have simple functions like ‘sit’, ‘walk’, and ‘jump’ (there is, of course, no ‘run,’ because nothing happens fast in this movie). He puts the thing on by lying down in what looks like a tanning bed (or maybe one of those contraptions from Avatar).  My personal favourite is the warning light labeled malfuntion.

All this is in a movie that sometimes manages to be surprisingly subtle.  We are introduced to Nick while jogging, we watch him play tennis with his girlfriend, and see him maintain this exercise regime even while he’s supposed to be under police protection.  These shots are in brilliant sunshine, and the camerawork is as active as the subjects. Post-injury, Nick never outwardly complains about his inability to participate in sports, but we now see him sitting in his wheelchair in dark surroundings, with the camera held perfectly still.  We feel that he has lost something he loved dearly, and we never need to be told it outright.

We are also introduced to Nick as somebody who is devored to furthering minorities.  His two lab assistants are an east Asian student and a Jewish one (the latter identified as such by a surname, rather than appearance), and the reason he was at the bank was to help a Latino student get a loan.  Again, the script trusts the audience to get this without having to draw attention to it through dialogue.  These minority characters are, of course, still just accessories to Nick’s story. The Jewish guy in particular is there to be fridged – its his death that leads to Nick flaunting his police protection and getting hurt.  But the effort was made to say that minority rights are important to Nick, without hitting us over the head with it.

Theme-wise, Exo-Man is about a man coming to terms with a disability.  I should preface this by saying that I am not disabled, so my perspective is necessarily biased.  If anything I say below is offensive, that is out of ignorance, and please let me know so that I may edit or delete the review and do better next time.  I was actually pretty impressed by how the script and director handled the life-changing nature of Nick’s injury… mostly.  I’ll start with the bad stuff.

The attack on Nick comes with a heaping helping of victim blaming.  As an important witness in the bank robbery, he was offered police protection.  The assassin tries to get around this by putting a bomb in his car, but one of the lab assistants borrows the car for a late-night pizza run, and gets killed in Nick’s stead.  This leads Nick to deliberately place himself in a vulnerable position, hoping to draw the killer out for capture and punishment.  In the hospital with a broken back, Nick blames the police for failing to protect him, but I’m pretty sure the movie wants us to think that this is really Nick’s own fault.  Like the tragic accident victims in Days of our Years, he has nobody to blame for his own misery, or that of his loved ones, except himself.

After that, however, the movie’s treatment of Nick’s disability improves quickly.  His girlfriend Emily leaves him, but that’s not because he’s in a wheelchair, it’s because he’s too busy wallowing in self-pity to even let her into his apartment. Later when he apologizes to her, she takes him back and they resume their happy relationship, and the fact that they can’t play tennis together anymore is not an issue.  She does not treat him as something to be pitied, she speaks to him on his eye level, and they avoid that weird trope of having the abled partner sit in the wheelchair-user’s lap.  Emily loves who Nick is, not what he can do.  His colleagues and students, likewise, treat him with respect and help him with his chair, and never make the latter feel like a burden.

By the end of the film Nick has come to terms with his disability.  The suit he’s built is not a cure for his condition: in fact the first time he wears it out, it breaks down and he needs help getting back to his high-tech armored van.  It’s a tool he has built for a purpose, and he doesn’t feel the need to wear it in non-superhero situations.  Based on what we see, he could have built a legs-only version to wear under his trousers and let him go jogging and play tennis again, but that is no longer who Nick is.  And when and whether to wear the suit is always Nick’s own choice, not something imposed on him from the outside.

Of course, it would also be really helpful in later maintaining Exo-Man’s secret identity, and I suspect the writers were thinking of that a lot more than they were of things like parents forcing questionable ‘cures’ on disabled children.  The secret identity probably would have been a big deal if the pilot had sold, but in this stand-alone story, I thought the suit worked well as a metaphor about a disabled man at peace with himself.

Exo-Man also takes a quick little peek at the morality of vigilante justice, although this comes in pretty late and clearly isn’t something they wanted to get into in any detail.  The first person Nick confronts in the suit is the assassin who actually beat him up. He says he didn’t go into this encounter with any real plan… perhaps he just wanted to scare the guy.  What ultimately happens is that the assassin climbs a drainpipe to get away from the terrifying robot man, the pipe comes off the wall, and the man falls to his death.  Nick feels this is his fault, and so the next time he takes the suit out he does so with a particular goal in mind: he wants to capture the mob boss and provide evidence of his wrongdoing to the police, not to kill anyone.

The mob boss’ name, by the way, is Kermit Haas, which is probably the least intimidating name a movie has ever given to its big bad.

Would that work?  Is evidence a guy in a robot suit left in your dumpster for you admissible in court?  Isn’t where stuff was found kind of important?  I honestly have no idea and I’m not sure how to go about finding out.  People might wonder why I want to know and I don’t think saying it’s for my blog would allay their suspicions.

At the end of Exo-Man, I was more entertained than not, but mostly on the level of laughing at the dumb-looking suit and appreciating the fine art of ripping off comic book characters.  If that’s your kind of thing then this movie ought to put the fun in malfuntion for you. If that’s not your thing, well… this is an MST3K blog.  What are you doing here?

[jinmukangwrites]

New Perspectives

Batfamweek2020 Day 4 / De-ageing / @official-batfam-week

Summary: Sometimes crazy villains can get lucky shots. Damian just wished the lucky shot hadn’t hit Grayson, his current mentor and Batman. This complicates things quickly.

Might expand on this someday? Hmmmm. This week is giving me too many opportunities to try my hand out on stories I’ve been wanting to write >.<

AO3

-o-o-o-o-

“We’re almost there,” Damian says, trying not to pay too much attention to the boy behind him that’s clutching his stomach so he doesn’t fall off the cycle. The boy doesn’t respond, just clutches harder as Damian takes a sharp turn into a hidden and underground entrance to the cave. He doesn’t know if this tunnel had existed back when Grayson was Robin, but judging by the shocked gasp that vocalizes behind him: it didn’t.

The going after is just a few moments that are hardly worth remembering. The boy behind him is completely silent, and Damian’s sure if he turned around and looked into his eyes, all he would see is a cloudy, confused fog blanketing his normally lively electric blue irises.

Grayson is, understandably, “out of it”. Damian feels out of it. The night started off like any other; he and Grayson put on their uniforms and Batman and Robin emerged into the streets to fight crime and do good and all that ridiculous nonsense. However, it turned out someone wanted to attempt to make their villainous debut that night, some man with way too much knowledge in technology and what it can do to the human body. A bank robbery turned into a standup, the burglar ripping off his ski mask and leather jacket to reveal a ridiculous domino mask that appeared to be made out of felt from a lowly stock supermarket and an even more ridiculous costume that appeared to have been put together from a green-man suit and a mess of glued on scrap fabric and pipe-cleaners.

“It is I!” He had screamed, wielding a gun like device that looked straight from Halo. “Reverser! Batman and Robin! Tremble before me!”

Damian would sooner tremble to Condiment Man; which is another way to say no way in hell.

He was easy to take down, unfortunately he had gotten a few laser-like shots from his gun but he ultimately went down like a bag of bricks when Damian swiped his temple with a well placed kick from his heel. After he restrained the miscreant with cable ties he turned around, expecting the normal bout of praise Grayson loves to give him, only for his eyes to widen in shock as he sights three children who were not there before the battle.

Each child, a girl and two boys, swimming in adult clothes and all looking very dazed and confused.

He didn’t recognize the first two, but he did recognize the bright blue eyed one with raven hair and tan skin looking down at the mess of Batsuit around him with a far-off look and a frown on his lips. Damian didn’t hesitate, he just darted forward, gathered up the kid and the suit, and pressed the button on his belt that would summon his cycle.

He forgot to grab the weapon that did this, but he sent a message the commissioner’s way explaining the situation with the other two children and the weapon that did it. Damian will drop Grayson back at the manor and let Pennyworth deal with him while Damian went back out to retrieve the only key to reversing... fixing this mess until the Reverser woke up from his concussion.

The child thankfully has enough sense about him to clutch onto Damian as he drove, and he thankfully didn’t fight Damian forcing one of his own extra masks on his face and only gave minimal resistance to Damian stripping him of the Batsuit and shoving him into a various selection of clothes he definitely didn’t steal from a near-by dry cleaner that Pennyworth will be none-the-wiser of.

Desperate times call for desperate measures.

So, now, he comes to a screeching halt in the cave with the Bat-suit stuffed in a bag around his shoulders with Grayson hanging on just behind in borrowed clothes and a borrowed mask. He spots Pennyworth rushing down the stairs up to the manor with a visible amount of concern on his face, but Damian ignores him for now as he gets off the bike and drags Grayson off with him by a hand gripping the... younger boy’s bicep. Damian tries not to think about how the tip of his middle finger and his thumb are close to touching or how the borrowed mask looks way too big.

Grayson cannot be more than seven or eight years old at the moment. He’s so small compared to Damian, and Damian cannot be more than two years older. Damian doesn’t know how young Grayson started his career fighting Gotham crime, but Damian secretly and truly hopes it wasn’t this young. It wasn’t this small. Which is rich, because Damian’s been fighting since he could crawl.

Knowing his father, it was probably this young. This small.

Grayson stumbles to his feet and groans, bringing the hand that belongs to his freed arm to his eyes and rubbing at them, making the mask covering his identity grow slightly askew. Damian tuts as Pennyworth finally arrives, mumbling a British expletive under his breath that Damian will not address because the old butler will very stubbornly and effectively deny. Besides, Grayson is more important.

“What happened?” Pennyworth asks, bending down—knees cracking and Damian fights a wince—to grab Grayson’s cheeks to keep his head still long enough to peel off the borrowed mask. Damian lets go of Grayson’s arm to return to his bike.

“He got hit by something that reverted him to the age of a child,” Damian says simply. “Watch over him while I visit the precinct to retrieve the weapon that did-“

“No alone, you’re not,” Pennyworth snaps and Damian frowns. Grayson has yet to show any kind of familiarity with Pennyworth, but as Pennyworth stands up to give Damian a hard stare, Grayson wraps his thin arms around the butler’s hips and buries his face into his lower leg. A pathetic show of a child needing affection. Grayson is clearly still very out of it. Damian must fix this, and quickly.

“I’ll be fine,” Damian argues back and Pennyworth’s lips dangerously thin. Damian fights back a nervous swallow. He quickly found out Pennyworth was no one to be trifled with, after calling him a servant and getting an intense scolding from his father, he had been careful since to treat the elder man with tolerance. It was then that he noticed the lethal way the butler moved. He was a soldier, a dangerous one before this. A soldier hardly ever forgets how to not be dangerous, even in old age. Tolerance turned into respect.

And fear, of those stern eyes and scolding lips that thin before they go for a killing blow.

“You will go to the precinct tomorrow. Mr Gordon will not lose the weapon in eight hours. You need rest.” Pennyworth puts his hand down at the top of Grayson’s unruly mess of hair. Grayson has yet to emerge from his clinging grasp on Pennyworth’s leg. “You both do.”

Damian huffs angrily, jerking his body away from his cycle with a growl. He knew the battle was lost the moment the butler told him no the first time, but Damian is more stubborn to give up the first try.

“Alf...” a small voice says and Damian has to fight jerking his head down to the small kid who’s released his clinging just enough to look up at the older man. “‘m tired...”

“Of course, Master Dick,” Pennyworth says, a warmth in his voice that Damian has never heard directed his way. Pennyworth looks over at Damian one last time with a stern eye before he expertly unwinds Grayson’s grabbing and spindly arms to bend down and place his hands on Grayson’s shoulders. Grayson wobbles slightly and blinks sleepily and Pennyworth tuts. “We will head to bed immediately. Do you need to be carried?”

Damian bits his lip as Grayson gives a jerking shake of the head. He looks dead on his feet, Damian wouldn’t even have asked, but Pennyworth just nods and stands tall, offering a single gloved hand.

“Hold my hand then, you’ve had a long night.”

Grayson nods and grabs Pennyworth's hand, taking steps along the butler’s strides much like how a newborn deer would as it tries to keep pace with a buck.

Damian hears a tiny “where’s Bruce?” as the pair make their way towards the stairs out of the cave. Damian reluctantly follows close behind, curious as to what answer Pennyworth is about to give.

“He was held up at work, young man,” Pennyworth says back, helping Grayson up the first stair. “Will you be alright with just Zitka?”

“Yeah...”

“Very well, are you hungry?”

“Nah...”

Pennyworth’s mindless questions for Grayson’s well being quickly become background noise to Damian’s thoughts as the trio walk into the study. Damian closes the door in the clock behind him and the two other occupants of the house quickly turn a corner and begin to leave Damian behind.

He decides to quickly retreat to his room while he lets Pennyworth deal with the dazed miniature Grayson. Grayson hadn’t noticed Damian there and he inquired the location of his father, which makes this situation feel already leagues out of his abilities to even attempt to help the tiny version of his mentor. Damian needs to sleep, because the sooner he sleeps, the sooner he can leave the next day and get the weapon and hopefully interrogate Reverser or whatever his birth name is because honestly Damian refuses to call him by that idiotic name for much longer.

He doesn’t stumble into his room, just like how the weight of the situation doesn’t hit him like a truck and cause him to flop on his bed with a verbal sigh. He doesn’t turn in his sheets so he’s facing the direction where Grayson’s room is and he definitely doesn’t focus his hearing on the quiet and muffled murmuring of Pennyworth coaxing the child into bed.

None of this happens because no one is around to see nor hear him do it.

If a tree falls in a forest, and all that.

He will fix this, he thinks, closing his eyes as Pennyworth’s footsteps retreat down the hall.

-o-o-o-o-

It’s close to four in the morning when Damian wakes again. Confused because he’s trained his body to always sleep in till at least six, he slowly brings his arms under him and lifts his body up so he can effectively look around the room to maybe spot whatever disturbance woke him up. There’s nothing but shadows, no light illuminating from the window because of the twilight before morn. His furniture is all where it should be, and there’s no unknown forms where there shouldn’t be.

He lays back down on his bed again, eyebrows drawn together and very awake for no reason at all. Strange, he hardly ever wakes up before he’s trained his body to unless he specifically plans an early rising with an alarm.

Perhaps the manor life has been getting to him, maybe his body is deciding to have a little fit about the time zone difference between this place and the desert he grew up in.

Nothing to cause worry, for sure.

Then; he hears a tiny pitter-patter of feet walking quietly outside his door.

Perhaps this was the disturbance he was looking for. He silently slips from his covers and tip-toes to his door, waiting for the footsteps to get a bit further from his room so he can quietly open the door without being noticed. He pokes his head out and blinks at the almost pitch blackness of the wing hallway to see a small form turn a corner towards the stairs that lead to the main floor of the manor.

The realization washes over him like those blasted artificial waves at that pool Grayson forced him to go to on a rare weekend off for the older man. He glances down the other end of the hallway towards the direction of Grayson’s room, knowing it is now empty, before fully exiting his room and quickly rushing down the direction Grayson had gone without making a single noise.

What could a shrunken kid be doing this early in the morning? He was practically dead on his feet the night before. Damian’s almost shocked that he’s up before noon let alone sneaking around the manor. Damian is just lucky that Grayson as a child isn’t as good at sneaking as his adult counterpart. Worst case scenario, Grayson could have exited the manor and left to the streets of Gotham all before Damian and Pennyworth could notice.

He pokes his head around a corner to find Grayson just reaching the bottom of the staircase. He watches as he looks around the large room before taking off thankfully not towards the front doors. A small inkling of worry fades from Damian’s conscious as he quickly rushes down the stairs just in time to see Grayson disappear through the halls into the doorway of the kitchen.

Curious, Damian sneaks closer and pokes his head in to see Grayson already struggling to jump on the counter and open a high up cupboard, pulling out a box of frosted mini-wheats and hopping down to place the box on the counter. Damian has to resist a snort of amusement as the child then carefully opens the fridge door, recoiling from the light of the fridge ever so slightly and blinking squinting and close to teary eyes from perhaps exhaustion, to drag out a gallon of milk and shove it next to the cereal. Grayson then heads to another counter and hops up again with practiced movements to open another just for his hand to freeze when he meets the sight of glass pans and fancy decorative serving bowls.

“Huh,” Damian hears Grayson huff. “Alf reorganized.”

He’s looking for the bowls. Damian places his hands over his mouth to stop an embarrassing giggle. This is all so amusing. Grayson had gotten up at four in the morning to steal a bowl of cereal. He wonders if he still does this as an adult and Damian just hasn’t ever noticed, but then he shakes his head because it’s ridiculous to think that first of all, an adult man sneaking under Pennyworth’s nose to get cereal and second of all, that Damian wouldn’t notice.

Grayson opens the next cupboard closest to him just to huff again when he meets the sight of spices. There are many cupboards in the kitchen, and the poor shrunken man is on the opposite side of the room where the bowls actually lay.

Damian wonders what he should do. It looks like Grayson is simply just hungry and might even go back to bed without suspecting a thing. Damian isn’t sure how much he remembers, but if the way the other boy is slowly starting to growl with each cupboard he opens, muttering things like “Alfie really outdid himself this time” and “doing this just because he doesn’t want me sneaking food at midnight” and even “watch. He probably hid the bowls in his room this time” with growing frustration was anything to go by: not much.

Damian shouldn't make his presence known if Grayson woke up with munchies thinking he was back to eight years old. Back then, it was only him, Pennyworth, and his father all living in the same house. To Grayson, he’d probably just be some random ten year old kid who broke into the manor or something.

He should go wake Pennyworth, he decides as Grayson calls out in victory, pulling out the first bowl he gets his hands on. He steps back, but of course it’s that second Alfred the cat decides to make himself known by tripping Damian up. He hadn’t noticed the feline standing curiously behind him, but Grayson definitely notices Damian’s call of alarm and Alfred’s yowl and hiss as he runs away. Damian lands on his rear with a thump and next thing he knows, Grayson is standing a few paces away, holding perhaps the first long and weighty thing he could find up as a weapon. Unfortunately, that item is a rolling pin. A hit from that, even from Grayson’s skinny noodle arms, would leave a mark, especially with Robin training.

“Who are you?!” Grayson hisses, holding his rolling pin of doom out in front of him at an awkward and wrong angle for optimal self defense. On instinct, Grayson has lessened his abilities to appear as an actual child who’s been startled, not a trained vigilante that could use a paperclip as a weapon if need arises.

Damian slowly holds up his hands in surrender and rises to his feet even slower. “I’m not going to hurt you, Grayson.”

Damian almost curses his instinct to call the boy by name, but Grayson doesn’t react. It’s then that Damian remembers that he’s the first adoptive son of the elusive Bruce Wayne. Everyone in Gotham knows his name, more so than Todd, Drake, Damian himself, and especially Cain. However, what Grayson chooses to get angry at is the rest of the sentence itself.

Grayson raises his weapon higher and Damian follows the action with his hands, keeping his gaze firm on Grayson’s eyes.

“Tell me who you are or I swear I’ll-“

“Master Richard John Grayson,” Pennyworth suddenly gasps from behind, startling both Damian and Grayson out from their heated glaring contest. Damian hadn’t noticed the man, though Pennyworth is often unnoticed when he wants to be. He’s sure the older man has startled his father himself a few times from his silent walking.

There’s a thunk of a rolling pin falling to the ground and Damian watches as Grayson stares wide eyed at Pennyworth, mouth slightly open in shock. At first, he thinks it’s because Pennyworth used Grayson’s full name, signifying how angry he is, but when Pennyworth steps forward Grayson takes a startled step back. He looks like he’s about to dart.

Something else is wrong, and Damian realizes just what when Grayson lets out a shocked whisper.

“You’re... you... Alfred, you look old...?”

Pennyworth sighs and kneels down on the ground, holding out his bare hands. He’s in his nightgown and a little hat and nothing more. It looks like he woke from bed in a cold sweat and grabbed the nearest garment to be decent enough before tracking down his target. Grayson takes a slow step forward and grabs Pennyworth’s hands with his own, and after a tense moment of the two of them staring at each other and Damian feeling like he’s intruded on something private, Grayson relaxes.

“But it’s you. You’re old... but you’re you.”

“The one and only, lad,” Pennyworth says with a somber smile to his voice.

Suddenly, Damian is in the spotlight of Grayson’s attention once again when their eyes meet. “You’re old,” Grayson repeats softly, almost to himself as he looks Damian up and down as if he’s assessing a threat. Which is good, Grayson is young and should always assess threats, but it hurts that he’s on the receiving end. “And you’re new... Alfred, what’s going on? Where’s Bruce?”

“Richard,” Pennyworth says, dropping the honorific, which is very rare for him to do, “do you remember anything from last night?”

Grayson’s eyebrows come together, making him look even more like the child that he is. It makes something in Damian’s chest tighten. He wonders if he’s ever looked that small. “I... no... a... a light..?

Clearly, thinking too much is giving the younger version of Damian’s mentor a headache. Pennyworth takes pity on him by letting go of his hands and transferring his grasp onto both of Grayson’s arms in a steady hold. “I was hoping we could ease you in once morning came,” Pennyworth says with a sigh. “Sadly, it seems we must explain things now. Master Dick, please put the pin away and finish making your bowl of cereal then go upstairs to join Master Damian in the study, I will be right up after I make us all some hot chocolate.”

Grayson nods slowly and Pennyworth gives him a small pat on the arm before standing up and preparing the milk before anyone could say anything else. Damian feels the hairs on his neck rise and he re-meets Graysons studying gaze. Damian clears his throat and takes a step back—careful this time to not trip over any cats—and forces something that could maybe pass as a smile onto his face.

“Yeah,” he says smartly, before turning tale and retreating up towards the study before Grayson could say anything.

[destielstuffandthings]

Fire And Feathers

I can’t stop writing this so here, have chapter two! Ready for some snarky shrunken heads and a failed meet-cute?

Summary: Castiel is a clumsy witch with a famous bloodline who never seems to get a spell right. Dean is an unattached familiar who stumbles his way through life seeking a purpose.

Pairing: Castiel Novak/Dean Winchester

Characters: Dean Winchester (young and present age), Castiel Novak (young and present age), Sam Winchester (witch), Gabriel (witch), Mary Winchester (mentioned), Charlie Bradbury (familiar)

Tags: @cateyes315​ @omrj007​

If you’d like to be tagged in this please let me know!

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

Castiel scrubbed his knuckles over the growing stubble on his cheek as he frowned at the bubbling pot. He pulled off a sprig of lavender and tossed it into the cauldron. A wisp of smoke poofed out and curled into the air.

“I think it needs more bruisewort. What do you think?” He looked up past the drying herbs hanging from the ceiling to his only companions.

“Don’t ask me.”

“Mrrff! Nrrrm grmml ffrrn!”

“Are you ever going to unsew his mouth?”

Castiel sighed and reached for a small knife. He ducked under a small bundle of yarrow and reached up, lightly grabbing a very angry looking brown shrunken head. He turned the head towards his face and raised an eyebrow.

“Are you going to play nice with the others?” The head rolled its eyes then blinked twice. “Good. Hold still.” He lifted the knife to it’s mouth and gently cut away the yellow twine holding the heads mouth shut. Once free, the head opened it’s mouth wide, stretching it’s jaw.

“It’s about time. I thought I was going to suffocate!” the head shouted.

“Balder, you don’t even have lungs,” Castiel groaned.

“You better not try to bite Flox again.”

“Oh would you shut up, Pital!”

“Stop!” All of you, or so help me--” Castiel braced himself against his rickety altar, digging his toes into the soft dirt. He looked to the potion that was now a syrupy goo and sighed. “Thirty years old and I still can’t make a healing potion.”

The creak of his door pulled him from his wallowing.

“Haven’t you ever heard of knocking?” Castiel sighed.

“On what, Cassie? The wall of moss you call a door?” Gabriel walked up behind his brother and whistled through his teeth.

“What’s uh---what’re we trying to make here?” he asked, pulling the spoon from the pot and watching the potion ooze off.

“Healing potion,” Flox called out.

“I thought you got that one down years ago?” Gabriel asked, leaning in to sniff the goo and regretting it immediately.

“I did. This one,” Castiel gestured towards the pot, “was for my hive. The queen is injured and keeps fighting off the drones who come too close.”

Gabriel dropped the spoon and stared at his brother. “It’s for a bee? A bee, Castiel?”

Castiel grabbed the pot and walked over to his makeshift sink, pouring the contents down the drain. 

“Did you need something, Gabriel, or did you come here purely to annoy me?”

Gabriel squinted and poked Balder in the cheek. “I was on my way to the markets. I thought my little bro might want to get out of the house--well, hut--and get some fresh air.”

“You do need more Vervain,” Pital chimed in.

“And Poppy,” Flox offered.

“Looks like I’m going with you,” Castiel sighed.

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

Dean let his fingers sink into the coyotes pelt. He hated this part of the market, but humans loved their rugs and scarves made of fur.

“Poor guy,” Dean murmured. He patted it once more before moving on to a stand with dried meats hanging from the awning.

“Fine selection of goods today,” he merchant said from behind the booth, gesturing towards his items.

“Yeah, I can see that. You have any rabbit?” he asked, poking at a string of venison strips.

The merchant smiled, his brown teeth making Dean grimace. “How much ya needin’?”

“Just enough to get me through the afternoon.” He looked in his brothers direction, seeing him look carefully through a wicker basket full of feathers. His arms were already piled full of burlap bags stuffed with books and spell ingredients. “Gonna be a long one.”

The merchant sliced Dean off a generous chunk of jerky and skewered it onto a stick. “Five silver pieces,” he said expectantly.

“Five! That’s robbery!” Dean scoffed.

The merchant waved the dried rabbit back and forth in front of Dean.

“Three. And these.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out two shiny brown feathers with black streaks.

The merchant scoffed and waved Dean away. “What am I going to do with bird feathers. Get out of here, I have actual paying customers.”

“They’re feathers from a red tail hawk. A familiar’s, actually. But if you aren’t interested...” Dean started stuffing them back into his pocket.

“No, no-no, wait.” The merchant raised his hands. “Let me see.” Dean grinned and handed them over and watched as the merchant delicately ran his fingers through them. “Fine. Here,” he handed out the rabbit as Dean dropped three coins on top of the feathers.

“Nice doin’ business with ya,” Dean said before biting off a chunk of the jerky. He walked towards his brother and bumped him with his shoulder. “Want some?” he asked, waving the meat in Sam’s face.

“Gross, Dean. No.” His eyebrows shot up. “Hey, how’d you even pay for that? I thought you only had five coin?”

“I bribed the merchant with my feathers,” Dean said around his meat, his cheeks sticking out like a chipmunk.

“Dean,” Sam sighed, “you know they lose their power if they aren’t given to your witch. They’re useless otherwise.”

“Yeah well he didn’t know that now did he?”

Sam shook his head as they walked to the next tent and inspected small glass bottles. “Hey, have you seen Charlie? She shifted and ran off about ten minutes ago.”

“Nope, been to busy scamming an idiot,” Dean laughed.

“Do you think you could---” Sam lifted his chin and nodded his head up towards the sky.

Dean groaned and shoved his meat stick against his brothers chest. “Fine. There better be some of that left when I get back.” Dean rolled his shoulders and took a deep breath. Crouching slightly, he jumped into the air as his arms were replaced by wings. His legs shrunk down to scaley feet with razor sharp talons. Shifting mid air was something Dean was always immensely proud of, it was the one good thing he could do as a familiar. He soared above the market, his eyes tracking everything and anything that looked remotely like Charlie in her cat form. He let himself glide for a minute, letting the wind drift him over the livestock section and sure enough, there was Charlie. She was in the cow’s pen lapping a bowl of milk two little kids put down for her.

Found her, live stock pen, he thought to Sam. Gonna stay up for a bit and stretch my wings.

He let himself glide around the whole market and watched people come and go. There was a strange electricity in the air today. Maybe there was a storm coming, but there wasn’t a cloud in the sky. Dean felt himself being pulled towards an herbs tent which was odd, because he never had the use for them. He watched as a blond haired merchant handed a man bunches of yellow flowers and bulbous pods on long stalks. He lowered himself so he was flying just above the tent.

“If you’re making healing potions, might I suggest Echinacea? It’s good for colds, infections and even wounds.” The merchant offered Castiel a small pouch.

“Thank you, yes I will take some. Do you also have Valerian root?” Castiel rummaged around in the glass bowls while Gabriel tapped his foot impatiently.

“Cassie come on,” he whined. “We’ve been here forever and I’m bored.” He looked up to the sky and blew out a deep breath.

“You’re the one who wanted me to ‘get out of the hut’. Deal with it.” Castiel let his fingers sink into a bowl of dried Evening Primrose but stopped when he felt a chill run up his spine. He whipped around and faced his brother.

“What was that?” he gasped.

Gabriel raised an eyebrow. “What was what?”

“You didn’t feel that?” Castiel turned around in a circle, his eyes darting in every direction. A small gust of wind, barely enough to rustle the dried herbs nearly knocked Castiel to the ground. He bent over, grasping his knees and sucking in deep breaths.

“Castiel, what’s going on? What are you feeling?” Gabriel hovered over his brother and held onto his shoulder.

“I don’t know,” Castiel winced. “It feels like I’m being---aarg.” He cried out as he stood up straight as an arrow, his head tipped back to the sky. “Feels like I’m being pulled---”

Castiel dropped his wares and his arms instinctively shot out just in time for a large red tailed hawk to fall awkwardly into his arms.

[enabledarmy]

Kpop merch: a UK buying guide 🇬🇧💜

Top 5 places to get kpop merch and albums in the UK

Hi! I live in the UK (as you may have guessed) and support many different groups, but since I first became a kpop fan it's been really hard to find affordable and responsible sources for merchandise. It seemed like everything came from America or South Korea, which can be pretty expensive when you add shipping and import and also isn't super eco conscious (I know most things are shipped in bulk but I still like to buy locally if I can). Plus sometimes it's hard to tell if the site is really legit.

You see new merch releasing online, look it up and it's only available from Singapore for the small price of your life savings and first born child...I'm sure I'm not the only UK fan who's been pretty confused by it all 😅

But recently I've found some great places, mostly based in the UK and slowly but surely my collection is growing and my room is getting happier 😊 It took a while to find these because they're not big/popular places but I've found them great so if you're a UK based fan I'd recommend giving them a try. Here goes!

(Note- none of this is sponsored or anything, just trying to help fellow kstans out)

1) Oxfam online shop (Charity Shops)

Huh, charity shops? Do they even know what kpop is? Well, no, but that doesn't mean they don't stock it 😂 Charity shops are everywhere over here, you probably have a few at least in your nearest town and they stock a pretty random selection of stuff, so you never know what will be there.

I recommend Oxfam in particular. If you check out their online shop and scroll through the music section (there's no kpop section and it won't turn up any search results but sometimes 'korean' works) you'll find a pretty good selection of albums including Jay Park, BigBang, 2ne1, Orange Caramel, Block B, AOA, ZE:A, KARA and more.

The best part is that, apart from of course being a sustainable and ethical way to shop, the person listing doesn't always seem to know how much these albums are worth so you can get a bargain. You might even find some rare albums that you'd be hard pressed to find elsewhere. For example, this signed and sealed B.A.P album is still for sale on their site

I bought these ASTRO albums from the Oxfam site for a LOT less than it would have cost me elsewhere, especially because they're both signed and unopened!

2) Depop

Another perhaps more sustainable choice because it's second hand, Depop has some gems if you dig around a bit. Be sure to check the seller reviews so you know they're trustworthy, but so far I've only had good experiences. You can message sellers directly, get bundles to save on shipping and it's just a nice personal experience. My last order was packaged so nicely I thought it was from a friend, and it came with freebies too!

You can also get fan merch too, I got some lovely art prints for only a few pounds! (Felt like robbery to be honest 😅)

3) Oseyo

Oseyo is a 'Korean food and culture hub', with shops and shops/cafes at multiple locations. If you stop by the Waterloo hub you can get hot Korean food to eat in while watching kpop on the TV, buy snacks and ingredients to take home and they have a few albums and cosmetics in store too.

The location is Soho has no hot food but is a supermarket so there's a much wider choice of snacks, ingredients, general home supplies and merchandise. I haven't been to any others but apparently there's one in Manchester with a lot more kpop merch.

I got this calendar from the Soho location, and from the Waterloo one I've bought albums and face masks.

They don't have their own website, but direct online shoppers to 'hmart'. Currently the kpop section seems empty but you can get food there

4) Sokkolab

Sokkolab is an independent shop in London run by kpop fans. It's only been open for a year, but has a good selection of merchandise from different groups, new releases and cosmetics. The shop itself is quite small but still had good stuff, and they're moving to a bigger location soon with seating.

The staff are really nice, the playlists are good and they run events during concert season (SuperM one soon I think) so definitely check them out.

You can order online, including preorders for new releases. I've ordered online as gifts for friends before, and it got here fast although there was a little too much packaging (I'm sure they'll work on that though, they hadn't been open that long).

I also went to the store itself in London, which was really sweet and I got some good stuff even though a lot of it had sold out recently and they were awaiting new stock. I had some birthday money from family and managed to get more than I thought I would for my money, including TXT's The dream chapter: Magic which I'd been trying to get for ages. It had technically sold out but the cool person working there gave me a copy that they had under the counter.

5) Redbubble (for fanmade merch)

I love this site because you can find merchandise for pretty much anything, with art designed by fan artists and printed on the items that you choose. You won't struggle to find your favourite group here! Of course it's not offical merch, but I find them particularly good for stickers, which make good gifts in the post to friends or easy decoration for walls (the vinyl peels off with no marks), device cases etc. They often have deals on so keep an eye on the website.

Honourable mentions:

-HMV

-Etsy (for fanmade merch)

-emp.co.uk (for BT21)

-Argos (for BTS mattel dolls and albums)

-WHSmith (for the occasional stray kpop guide book or magazine)

[strawbewwysamurai]

Soba is a Dish Best Served Cold [Sanji | Soba-Mask fic | Chapter 1]

Rating: Gen  Warnings: Canon typical violence  Characters: Sanji, The Straw Hat Pirates

The Straw Hats stop on an island to relax and refresh after their adventures in Wano, but after hearing about some dark happenings nearby, Sanji decides he'd rather skip resting, and don a certain caped costume once again, looking to help those who need him instead.

-----

Sanji took one careful step over towards the edge of the roof he was currently standing on, crouching down slowly to perch there, the very tips of his boots sticking out and over the side as he peered intently down over the cityscape below him. It was both noisy, and quiet. The sounds of the city still roared this late into the night, from people shouting gleefully or drunkenly at each other in the streets, to dogs barking as people passed the alleyways they hid in. Yet the night somehow made it feel so much more quiet than any shouts in the day, and Sanji couldn’t tell if it was just the still of the darkness, or if it actually was quieter, no matter how intently he listened.

He was looking, well- listening, for something, anything really. A suspicious figure making their way down the dark alleyways and backroads of the city as they spoke hushedly on a transponder snail, a commotion caused by a robbery or an attack of some kind, or even just a scream for help that echoed through the barren streets that night. Anything of the kind would be enough to move him from his perch and into action, looking to help whoever should need it.

The Straw Hats had stopped here on this booming and bustling island earlier that day, looking for some sort of refresher after everything they had been through in Wano Country just mere weeks prior. Goodness knew they needed it, after dealing with what they had there, and no one had had any qualms about taking a slight detour on their way to the next island.

Leaving Wano had been bittersweet, of course. It always was. Saying goodbye to those they had sailed with, who they had fought with, and had befriended through their journey was painful, as usual whenever they made new nakama on their many misadventures, but it was also tinged in the sweetness of accomplishment and how they had achieved their goals on their journey, and that they had befriended those along the way in the first place. It was all another step to making their captain the Pirate King, and every one of them were grateful to be a part of it.

Yes, they all loved the excitement and chaos of a good adventure on their journeys, but a good few days of relaxation and avoiding mishaps was always a good thing to have in between.

Well, it would be, if Sanji were to actually relax...

Yesterday, Nami had found this city-filled island on the maps along route to their next destination, and had adamantly decided they all needed a break after Wano at such a place that promised rest and relaxation, and boasted it’s seemingly endless restaurants, spas, and shopping. It was blindingly obvious that Nami’s intentions weren’t just to get everyone rested up for the next adventure, but rather to bargain and haggle her way into bankrupting half of the shops here. But none of them would dare to argue with her or call her out on it.

Besides, they all needed to stretch their legs up and away from each other for a bit, so this seemed like the perfect opportunity. And everyone had done just that as soon as they had docked earlier in the afternoon, with Nami heading for the spas and shops, Zoro looking for a tavern with Luffy, and Sanji himself separating from any of the little groups to head to the food market by himself.

He was in search of things they needed to stock up on before they set sail again next, or refillings of little treats that everyone enjoyed having on the ship. It was his job as the chef to ensure everyone could snack happily, and he was also looking forward to possibly finding local ingredients that couldn’t be found anywhere else. He loved figuring out new recipes to go with them whenever he found something new, and the new flavors were always so exciting.

He hadn’t been in the markets long though, before he caught onto a few whispers.

It started out with just a few whispers, and concerned looks in his direction. The faces of people trying to figure out who he was, who the brand new face was. Normally, Sanji was used to it, given how many little island towns they had stopped at over the years together, but here it just felt- out of place. It was a big city, not a small town. Why did it feel like everyone was trying to figure out if they had seen him before or not?

Admittedly, it wasn’t just him. He noticed the distrusting glances traded every now and then between other market goers, and it did nothing but worry him just slightly. He could sense something was going on in this city, and he wasn’t sure it would be anything good from what he was finding.

It was only a bit later on in his shopping did he hear any sort of firm information as to why everyone was looking so distrusting at one another.

“Here you go sir! That’ll be five hundred berries.”

“Thank you, mademoiselle. Please, keep the change~”

“Aww, why aren’t you sweet!” She blushed and waved a hand at him as he laughed and took the bag of fruits from the stall girl. She was adorable, and as per usual, Sanji was falling fast. Peppy and sweet, she had thrown in an extra apple for free if he’d promise her he’d try an apple tart recipe she had given him during his browsing of her stand. He wondered if he’d be able to have a drink with her later that night, and decided the question at the very least was worth a shot.

“One more thing, miss-”

She looked back up with him with a smile and a tilt of her head. “Ah, yes sir?”

She was adorable- A face covered in freckles was framed in fiery curls that were held back by a forest green bandana, both complementing the greens and reds of the apples and other fruits she was selling, with a slightly muddied dress to match. She would occasionally wipe her hands down on the apron she had tied around her waist, though Sanji wasn’t sure what she was wiping off, or if it would even help given all the flour that had taken up residence on her apron. He found it entirely endearing, nonetheless, and had found his latest crush in her. He took in a slight breath before he popped his question.

“I was wondering if you would be so kind as to join me for a drink sometime later tonight. You could pick your favorite place, and it would be my treat.”  

“Ah!” She exclaimed, her demeanor changing suddenly. Her smile fading, she was no longer peppy, she wrung her hands together once and let out a nervous laugh.

“Honestly, sir, I wouldn’t advise going out too much at night if you can help it. What with everything going on lately…”

He blinked at her once, barely processing the rejection over her slightly concerning choices of words before he shook his head slightly with a laugh. “My apologies miss, but I’m mostly just passing through here, so I’m not very aware of the local happenings. What would be so wrong in going out for a drink tonight?”

“Well… There’s been quite a few… attacks lately…”

“Attacks?”

"Yes sir, attacks." She let out a sigh with another wring of her hands. Sanji hated to see her so worried, but he had wanted an explanation as to why the whole city seemed to be so distrusting of each other, even more so than others they had stopped at in the past, and it was looking like this was his best bet at getting an answer.

“Have people been getting badly hurt?” He pressed gently, trying his best not to upset her, but actually get information at what was even going on. She shook her head.

“Um… I guess you could say that, but… it’s usually much worse…” She rubbed the back of her neck. “I don’t think one person who’s gotten attacked has made it out alive, at least to my knowledge.”

Sanji gaped slightly, a chill running down his spine.

“Not one? Then how do you know what’s causing the disappearances? I mean-” He shook his head and waved a hand lightly. “Not to doubt your information, just to question the-”

“Because the local law enforcement always finds puddles of blood with some sort of belongings that belonged once to the now missing person, or people.”

Sanji went silent after that, unsure of how to respond or even if he should after hearing something like that come from such a frightened lady’s mouth. He had his explanation, though. And he knew he wouldn’t like it, not based on the looks people gave around the city and the way they had been carrying themselves, but this was a completely different level. Possible murders or brutal kidnappings? That was the work of disgusting people and pirates that riddled the streets of gambling and port towns that were meant for such leeches, not a city that boasted about it’s leisurely activities and shopping districts.

Something sinister was patrolling the shadows, it seemed.

He would admit, he didn’t see himself as one who got involved in situations like this by his own choice, not at all. The very life of a pirate was living side by side with danger, and ignoring the fall out from such. That involved not helping everyone he would come across on every single island they would stop at, no matter how docile or hostile the island was. His nakama would laugh though, claiming there wasn’t a person in the world he wouldn’t drop everything to help, and no matter how much he threatened to not let them have dinner that night or snacks that morning, it did nothing to deter them from cheering about how weak he was for those who needed help, and how kind his heart was because of it. Not even he could help but smile, throwing out more empty threats as they always carried on despite it all.

Besides, the stall girl seemed quite distressed anyway, and who was he if he chose to ignore a woman’s sufferings?

“And is there… a certain area of the city where most of these incidents are taking place?” He questioned, trying to seem casual but it was probably obvious right now what he was doing regardless. “Maybe a corner of the city that whoever has been doing these things has been hanging out in more than other areas? A home base, so to speak?”

It took her a moment, he’d give himself that. But her jaw slowly dropped open as she realized what he was questioning of her.

“You’re… you’re not seriously thinking about going out and finding out who’s doing all of this, are you?!”

He shrugged, nestling his paper bag of fruit into the crook of his elbow.

“I don’t know, I just thought it’d be nice to see the city during the few days I’m going to be here, and would rather avoid the less safe and tasteful corners of the neighborhood.”

“Has anyone told you how awful of a liar you are?”

He couldn’t help the grin that spread across his face in the next second. Oh, if only she had seen him throughout his years as a pirate- how much he had lied to their enemies faces and gotten away with it so smoothly- To the point where he was right behind Nami and Usopp in terms of who could lie the best and get away with the most.

“No, never, mademoiselle~”

She only continued to stare back at him, almost disbelieving of what he had just asked her a moment ago. So slowly began to shake her head as she lifted a hand to the bridge of her nose.

“Right. Sure. A random man who claims to be new in town wants to take down a possible serial killer that no one, not even the local law enforcement, has any clues or leads on yet. Wonderful. Wow, Bea, you’re really about to tell him aren’t you?”

“Well Bea, I would first like to say you have a beautiful name befitting of such a wonderful young lady-” Sanji began, his smile only growing bigger as he gave her a little bow, careful not to spill the contents of the bag he held. “- And secondly, if I were to, say, take down a possible serial killer that no one, not even the local law enforcement, has any clues or leads on yet…”

He held his right hand out to her, and waited to continue until she had given him a confused look and put her own hand in his. He kissed the back of her hand lightly before looking back up at her, a smile still ever present as he spoke again.

“Would you be so kind as to join me for a drink sometime later this week?”

She let out a groan slowly, but a smile began to form across her face despite it as he let out a laugh before finishing his sentence.

“You could pick your favorite place, and it would be my treat.”

She just watched him for a moment, trying to read him in some shape or form, before she shook her head defeatedly, a few curls escaping her bandana as she did so with a smile.

“Look, if you’re so willing to recklessly chase someone who’s somehow managed to take so many lives, be my guest. But don’t you expect to play hero and then come waltzing back here to take me on a date without actually catching the guy and making it out alive.”

“Oh darling, trust me, I don’t ‘play’ hero.”

“Sure.”

“So.” He straightened up, letting go of her hand as she gently pulled it back away. “Where are most of the crimes happening? Is there a general area I could look?”

She gave a hesitant shrug. “Most of the cases I’ve heard have been happening on the south side of town, near the far port. There’s taverns there for any sailors or pirates to stop in and it makes for good business usually, except lately with everything going on.”

“And you’re sure it isn’t just some pirate activity going on? Bar fights with innocents getting wrapped up into it all?”

“There’s never any bodies, just blood and something belonging to the victims.”

He rubbed his goatee as he thought it over. It was the perfect place to do whatever the culprit was doing- choosing an area that was both usually busy and also a bit shady. A place where pirates and sailors frequented, coming and going so much that the local authorities would assume at first that the culprit of the crimes was a passing pirate, and that there wouldn’t be any need in locating them in the first place, given how quickly they would have left the island after doing something so horrible as what they had if they were even slightly smart.

He could only hope that everyone had caught on that this wasn’t just a passing pirate anymore, not after how often it was happening long after the criminal should have escaped after doing what they had. This was someone who was here for a long haul, or a resident of the island themself. And if it was the former, Sanji needed to catch them quickly, in case they were on the ending half of their stay here or risk losing them.

And the taverns… That just ensured drunken victims and witnesses to entangle themself with. Less likelihood of them getting caught should they slip up if no one was in the proper state of mine to identify them in the first place. At the very least, this person- or people- had been smart enough to think of a good location to do what they were doing. He would just need to be smarter in order to catch them.

Easy enough.

He gave Bea another smile before adjusting his paper bag once more and giving her a little wave goodbye.

“I think that’s all I need, thank you mademoiselle~”

She stared at him once more, before rolling her eyes with a smile.

“Sure, well, good luck with your little murder mystery, sir. Please don’t go dying as well, alright? You actually seem sweet, and I’d hate to see you in the paper tomorrow for any other reason besides being crowned a hero for taking down the perpetrator.”

“Sweet you say? Why, you flatter me, my dear!” He laughed, taking a step away as he began to leave. “The name is Sanji, and I hope to hear you exclaim it tomorrow when I come back here to take you out for drinks that evening, alright?”

She watched him walking away, nodding at him as he did so, so he could leave with an answer to his flirts at the very least. She could only hope he would cower away from what was going on by nightfall. He seemed like a nice man, and his eyes were nothing but kind.

Sani, however, was confident. He’d dealt with emperors of the sea, Marine admirals, and warlords of every shape and form. He’d faced greater threats than most, and even faced his abusers again for the sake of his true family. It would take more than a street criminal to make him cower from a fight, much less when a date with a lady was at stake, or the lives of whoever else this criminal planned on taking too in the future should Sanji not stop them here.

He wouldn’t be cowering anytime soon, no. That much was obvious. It was simply a matter of how he was going to go about tracking down the guy, and taking him down…

He had a bit of an idea as to how, though.

-----

His wait in silence on the city rooftops ended abruptly, the moment a piercing scream echoed through the alleyways and reached his ears.

He jumped into action, quite literally, off of the building. The scream was coming from the direction of the port and taverns, and he hadn’t seen anyone go by for a while now, which could mean very little witnesses to what was going on, much less credible and sober ones. He needed to be fast, or else whoever was causing the scream, and whoever was doing the screaming, would be gone before he could get there.

The cold air bit his cheeks where they weren’t covered in his mask as he jumped, and the wind whipped by him as he fell. It was a free fall- He hadn’t yet activated his boots, or made any attempt at sky walk, and there was no need to. Falling was faster, a more direct route to get to the source of the screaming, and yet somehow- it was as if time itself slowed.

He could never place it, not when he dropped from sky walking, and not when he first dropped from flight when he had first donned the raid suit when fighting against Page 1. It was a freefall, and time moved slowed for the mere seconds it would last, seeing as he never got high enough for it to last any longer. The world was unmoving for the time, and the stillness held a calm unlike any other he had experienced. His entire senses were somehow both screaming out all at once, and not there at all, his heart beat pounding once and then nothing, not until his descent was complete.

He wondered if any of the others felt this way whenever they jumped from high places, be it Luffy launching himself off of something headfirst into adventure or a fight, or Chopper jumping from a floor up to change forms before mowing down an enemy or join the others in whatever fun they were having. Maybe it was just him, just Sanji who felt this strange sense of calm wash over him in the moments before he caught himself midair and stuck a landing, or launched back into flight.

Whatever it was, he enjoyed it. He enjoyed the feeling of the fall, and he enjoyed the moment that seemed to last forever, yet in reality only lasted a second or two before he would flip around and catch himself, dashing off in the direction of the screaming as fast as his suit would take him, to save someone. To solve what was going on. To help someone who needed him.

Who needed Soba Mask.

[shenanigans-and-imagines]

A Strange Coincidence: Part 6

Stephen Strange x Reader, Slow Burn, Female Pronouns

A Strange Coincidence Masterlist

AO3 Link/ Support Me on Ko-fi

Summary: You’re a student who just moved to New York City to finish your PhD in Archeology.  But, things turn for the strange when you accidentally stumble upon 177a Bleecker Street.

A/N: Wow, it’s been a long time.  Hopefully y’all still remember me! This have been a little crazy on my end, mostly my post-grad existential crisis, but I’m mostly over it now.  I’m going to me moving to Burbank in the next few days so things are going to still be a little up in the air, but they’ll be stable enough for me to be hopefully posting on a somewhat regular basis again. Thanks for all your patients.  Love you guys!

Word Count: 3.2 K

         You woke up in a haze. The light shined through your bedroom window, blinding your already bleary eyes.  

          All sense of time was lost.  It could have been seven in the morning or three in the afternoon and you wouldn’t have known the difference.  You rolled over, giving yourself time for your mind to catch up with your body.

          Everything hurt.  Not the dull throb of a hangover hurt, rather the morning after doing five hours at the gym when you hadn’t gone in six months. You tried to remember the events from the night before.  You were still in your clothes and your mouth didn’t taste of anything besides sleep. It hurt to think.  Every time you tried to remember you were instead bombarded by the images of a nightmare until reality and dreams blurred together.

          Your phone rang, forcing you from your thoughts.  You didn’t even bother to check caller ID when you answered.

          “Hello?”

          “Ms. Y/L/N.”

          You bolted upright, your mind pulling into sharp focus at the sound of your boss’s voice.

          “Doctor Lewis,” you greeted, swallowing the roughness of sleep from your throat.  “What can I do for you?”

          “I need you to come to the museum right away,” he answered in a clipped tone. “There’s been a break in.  The police need to question the entire staff.”

          It was then, everything came back to you.

          “Of course,” you said, automatically. “I’ll be there right away.”

          “Good, I expect you here in less than a half an hour.”

He hung up before you had a chance to respond, leaving you in a stunned stupor.

          You got up and dressed in a daze. It couldn’t possibly be real.  Doctor Strange, Dorgrath, your nightmare, magic, elder gods, all of it, it couldn’t exist. But then again, you weren’t that imaginative. The images from the night before and Strange’s promise echoed in your mind, following you until you were out the door and walking toward the museum.

          Real or not, you needed a plan.  There was no telling what the security cameras picked up. ��How were you going to explain what happened when you didn’t even know for certain what did happen?  How were you going to explain what it was you saw?

          You shuttered at the memory, forcing yourself forward. All you could do was wait and see.

          Two police cars were parked outside of the entrance to the Tomb.  Several of the staff were already gathered around while Doctor Lewis was talking to a detective.  

          It was an odd sight.  You had never met anyone who looked more like a stock image of an old history professor, than Doctor Lewis. He always wore a tweed jacket the same way a high school football player would wear their team letterman jacket. Well-kept white hair and bread gave the air of aged dignity paired with a British accent to allow just the right amount of presumed superiority.  It was such a cliché that having him talk to the police looked like something out of a police procedural.  Unfortunately for you, it was anything but fictional.

          “I am well aware of the state of our security,” Doctor Lewis defended.  “I still don’t see how it’s our fault we got robbed.”

          “I’m not saying that,” the detective said, in a tired tone. “I’m simply stating, I’m surprised you haven’t been robbed earlier.  None of your cameras picked up anything during the time of the robbery, and your wiring isn’t up to code.”

          It took everything in you not to audibly sigh in relief.  

          “What are you saying?” Lewis asked. “Somebody saw the lights were off and in the spur of the moment decided to steal from us?”

          “No, but it wouldn’t take much to tamper with the power, not the mention the door was unlocked.”

          Doctor Lewis jaw twitched. “Yes.  Rest assured I will give our security staff a good talking too, and prompt termination.”

          “It wasn’t their fault,” you said, calling attention to yourself.  The detective looked at you with professional interest while Doctor Lewis reminded you of your father after you stayed out late with a friend.

          Your swallowed, in an attempt to steal your sudden nerves. “I told Jimmy to leave the keys with me.”

           “You’re Ms. Y/N,” the detective asked, taking a quick look at his notes.

           “Yes sir.”

           “You were the last one to leave the museum last night?”

           “That I know of.”

           He nodded. “Ms. Y/N, where were you between the hours of 9:30 and midnight last night?”

           “Either going insane or being processed by a demon, yourself?”, you thought. But you answered with, “I was at home.”

           “Can anyone verify that?”

           “No,” you said, your stomach twisting a little. “I live alone.”

           You had the sudden wish for Doctor Strange to appear beside you.  Between the two of you, maybe you could come up with a better lie.  Just knowing someone was on your side, and an assurance you weren’t going crazy would be enough.

           “What did you do before you left?” the detective continued.

           “I was working, but then the power went out, and I got scared.” You shifted your stance, and looked down, hoping to portray the right amount of embarrassment. “I guess, I must have left the keys on the desk when I ran out.”

           You glanced up slightly to see the detective and Doctor Lewis exchange an exasperated look which screamed: “Women? Am I right?”

           Never in your life were you so grateful for internalized misogyny.

           “Ms. Y/N, did you by chance catch a Dale Clemton on your way out?” the detective asked.

           “No, sorry.”

           “You’re not suggesting—” Doctor Lewis started, but the detective cut in.

           “He didn’t show up for work last night and he hasn’t been responding to any of your calls.  I think he’s worth looking into is all.”  The detective then turned to you, with a half-smile.  “I’m sorry to take up your time, miss.  If you think of anything, please give me a call.”

           He went to hand you his card, only to be intercepted by Doctor Lewis.

           “If any of my employees think of something, I will let you know,” he said, coolly.

           The detective knew better than to argue.  With a nod, he walked back to the police cars.

           “Disgusting,” Doctor Lewis mumbled. “Insignificant little…something or other.”  His shoulders were still tense, but he kept the rest of his choice profanities to himself.

           “If I can ask,” you said, careful to make sure his frustration remained with someone other than you. “What was stolen?”

           “Only pieces in the basement, thank God,” he answered. “Some of the Egyptian statues, a handful of Nordic ruins, and a good deal of the Assyrian collection.”

           You let out a breath. Sympathy for your colleagues aside, it did pull the spotlight off of you as a suspect.

           “Oh, I am sorry Y/N,” Doctor Lewis said, remembering himself. “Your thesis. I’m not sure how you’ll be able to finish without the pieces.”

           Your stomach dropped out from under you at that little reminder. A fresh new panic washed over you.  Right. The reason why you worked at the museum in the first place was now gone. Lovely.

           “I don’t feel it’s right for you to have to start over,” he continued.  “But given the circumstances—"

          “I’ll be able to finish!” you said, quickly.  You could feel your hands shaking.  “I’ve done so much research already.  I have all my notes compiled. I promise I can finish based on what I have. It won’t be a problem.  Please.”

          Doctor Lewis eyed you wearily, but slowly nodded his head.

           “If you say so. There are still pieces on display you can examine, and a few which weren’t stolen.  But you are certain you can finish.”

          You nodded insistently, even as your insides turned over.

          He seemed to take it at face value before letting out a long sigh. “You might as well go home.  The museum will be closed for a few days.  I expect at least ten pages on my desk by Friday since you’re not working.”

           You didn’t need to be told twice.  With a quick promise to do just that, you took your exit.  Writing would have to wait, you needed to see a Doctor.

           You bounded up the last few steps to the Sanctum Santorum, taking a pause to catch your breath.  

           As soon as you were out of sight of the museum, you had broken out into a full out sprint.  You were out of practice, but the combination of fear and excitement had pushed your forward. If you had been dreaming, and the robbery at the museum was just a coincidence, then there was a good 75% chance you were going completely insane.  But, if you weren’t dreaming.  Doctor Strange had made you a promise, and you were going to make him keep it.

           Straightening up, you raised your hand to knock.  

          The door opened before you could touch it.

           A wide smile spread across your face.  Without a second thought to the outside world, you stepped inside.

           The entry way felt brighter now.  You hadn’t realized until that point you had only seen it at night.  Light shone through the windows giving a warm glow to the wood interior.

           A soft click caught your attention.  Turning around, you saw the cloak floating there, presumably having closed the door behind you. A wave of relief washed over you at the sight.  

           “Hello, again,” you greeted.

           The cloak gave a little excited wiggle as it glided toward you, spinning quickly around your body before flying up the staircase. You let out a small laugh, taking it as an invitation to follow.  

           It was hard not to stare at everything as you walked further in.  For all you knew any tapestry or trinket you walked passed was secretly a magical weapon or ancient summoning ritual.  There idea of anything there being décor for its own sake struck you as rather silly.

           Soon you found yourself in a familiar space, surrounded by glass cases holding items of what could only be great significance.  The cloak led you forward until you were in view of a large round window with an odd, eye shape design overlooking the skyline of Manhattan. And there, with a growingly familiar half smile, stood Doctor Strange.

            “You came back.” His tone was light, but it couldn’t hide the trace of genuine surprise.

           “Did you think I wouldn’t?” you asked.

           “I wasn’t sure,” he said, honestly. “I wouldn’t have blamed you if you didn’t.”

           You shrugged.  “Like I said, you’re not getting rid of me that easily.”

           “Clearly.” A small, almost proud smile crossed his lips. You weren’t sure why, but you felt your heart beat a little faster at the sight of it.  

           “I was called to the museum is morning,” you said, deciding not to dwell on it. “Apparently there was a break in.”

           “Oh, that’s a shame,” he said, innocently.  

           “And apparently whoever robbed us took quite a variety of items.”

           He paused, in mock thought. “Well, it sounds to me whoever broke in was just grabbing all they could find.  Not all that sophisticated.  Some of the items will probably pop up on the art market sooner rather than later.”

           A small bit of relief filled you. “Thank you. But don’t you mean, all of the items?”

           “Some,” he emphasized. “That museum of yours is a minefield of mystical energy. I’m surprised something wasn’t brought to this world earlier.”

           “Should we be worried?”

           Strange shook his head. “Wong and I put a seal around the building.  Even if something does come through, they won’t make it passed the perimeter.”

           “You make it sound easy,” you joked.

           “Trust me, it isn’t.”  

          You weren’t sure what to say to that.  Luckily, it wasn’t required as Strange took a step down towards you.

          “But, first things first.  Let me give you the tour.”

           There didn’t seem to be an end to it.  Every time you thought you had covered every inch of the Sanctum, there was another door which lead to more doors, and rooms and places you either could or could not enter.  It seemed impossible, and then you realized it probably was.

           It was all so peculiar that rooms as simple as a kitchen or bedroom felt like out of place. You said as much to Strange, causing him to laugh.

           “I’d say you get used to it, but you never really do. Luckily, this next room is nice sanctuary from it all.”  

           He led you down the hallway to a set of large double doors.  He paused in front, turning to look at you over his shoulder.  With a smirk, he pulled the doors open, revealing the largest personal library you had ever seen in your life.  

           You stepped into the room in awe. Shelves and shelves lined the walls with even more running down the length of the room.  The only reason they stopped was for the large table in the center. There were already a stack of books and paper littering its surface illuminated by a source, you couldn’t place.

           “Impressed?” Strange asked.

           You glanced at him to see he was looking at you with an amused expression. Under normal circumstances, you would have been annoyed, but you were too enraptured to care.

“This place has everything, doesn’t it?”

“Not everything,” he admitted, with a shrug. “There are some books you can only read in Kamar-taj. It would also be best to practice your spell casting there as well.”

           You creased your brow in confusion. “Kamar-taj? Where’s that?”

           “Tibet.”

           “Tibet?”

           He nodded, stepping out of the room and back down the hallway.  You stood there for a moment in shock, before finally gaining your senses and following after him.  

           “Doctor Strange, I hope you’re not suggesting what I think you’re suggesting.”

           “I am.”

           “But…” You choked on all the words you wanted to say.  How could he just say “Tibet” so casually like it was taking a day trip to the country?

           “Doctor, I can’t just go to Tibet.”

           “Why not? You said, you wanted to learn.”

           He stepped through another set of doors.  You followed after him, barely noticing the small pillar in the center of the room until you almost ran into it.

           “And you said I couldn’t if it interfered with my studies here.  Do you know how much a plane ride cost?”

           “Eight-hundred and seventy-two dollars one way,” he answered.

           “Exactly!”

           “Trust me, money won’t be a problem.”  He stepped through another door, this time leading into another library. It was just as big as the last one, but the shelves were much older, and not as highly staked.  For a moment, you wondered where he could be leading you, but the immediate concern of Tibet, quickly shoved the thought to the back of your mind.

           “Maybe not for you, but it is for me,” you said.

           “What happened to not being able to afford to be broke?” he teased.

           “That’s living New York, not gathering frequent flyer miles to Tibet!”

He didn’t say anything, continuing to lead on until you were upon another set of doors.

“I just don’t see why I can’t just study at home,” you insisted.  

           “Why would you want to go home?” he asked. “You’re already here.”

           “What?”

           He shot you a sideways smile before placing a hand on the doorknob and opening the door.

           If the library had impressed you, this left you in awe.  

          A stone courtyard lay before you opening up into a sparling compound designed with intricately carved wooden pillars, stone statues, and tiered rooftops. In the distance, you could see the tops of mountains surrounding you on all sides. An assortment of people ranging in age and nationality wandered through, dressed in red robes, similar to Strange. Some were simply walking buy, talking with scrolls under their arms.  A group on the far end were sparing while others were practicing, what you could only presume as spells.  

          You stepped down feeling a chill run up your spine.  The air was cool and clean, a far cry from the clustered mugginess of New York. This wasn’t an illusion.  You were just in New York, and now, you were somewhere else.

          Slowly, you turned to Strange.

           “This is Kamar-taj, isn’t it?”

           He nodded, with that same bemused expression on his face.  You weren’t sure if it was from seeing you off balance, or if this was his way of showing off. Either way, you couldn’t really be that mad about it.

           You looked back at the courtyard as a smile spread across your face. “Y/N, you’re really not in Kansas anymore,” you said, softly.

           “Understatement,” Strange said. He took a place beside you, looking out in the courtyard.  

           “Is everyone here a wizard too,” you asked.

           “Master of the Mystic Arts,” he corrected, with only surface level annoyance. “And yes, most of them are, but some are training to be.”

           “I didn’t realize there were so many.”

           “Protecting the Earth is a full-time job, considering what else is out there.”

           The image of fire, and the contorted limbs flashed into your mind. Dorgrath, the Unnamed One; they were just the tip of the iceberg. And something told you, they weren’t even the worst of it. A chill ran up your spine.

          Evidently, Strange took notice, as his voice became uncharacteristically soft.  

          “You still can go back to Kansas,” he said. “It’s not too late.”

          You turned to him, slightly taken aback by how close he actually was.  His blue eyes gazed intently into yours, effectively conveying the sincerity of his words.  Oddly enough, the concern so evident in his features only cemented your resolve.

          “Not on your life Scarecrow.”

          His lip twisted up to a slight smile at your words.

          “Scarecrow?” he questioned.

          “Either that or Glinda.” You shrugged. “And I’m not sure if you can pull off pink.”

          “That’s…fair?”

          You laughed lightly, before looking out into the courtyard once more.  This morning you almost had a panic attack over possibly having to start your thesis over, and now you were signing on to fighting demons.  Maybe you were going just a little mad after all.

          “Where should we start Doctor or, should I call you Master Strange now?”

          “Doctor is fine,” he assured. “Or if you’re really feeling crazy, you can even call me Stephen.”

          “Whatever you say, Doctor.”

          He rolled his eyes at your response, before nodding his head towards the sparing group.

          “Let’s start with some basics.  Have you ever taken a self-defense class?”

          “Does fencing count?”

          “No,” he said, tilting his head curiously.  Fencing?”

          You shrugged. “It was in grad school.  Some of the Medieval history students thought it would be fun to form a club.  I got pretty good with a broad sword.”

          He nodded, looking just a little impressed by your answer.

          “That, and I wanted to be a Jedi,” you said, with a half-smile.

          “That checks out,” he said, dryly.

          You chuckled lightly, as Strange grinned at your reaction.

          “Shall we get started then, Ms. Y/L/N?” he asked.

          “Lead the way Doctor Strange.”

 Permanent Tag List: @sassy-satanunicorns, @roseslovedreams, @stargeek727, @kaliforniacoastalteens, @yourwonderbelle, @stevethotgers, @stellasakura31

Doctor Strange Tag List: @siriuslovesmarlene, @letsdeerintheheadlightsuniverse, @spectre-leader, @independentideals, @cinnabearice, @queen-maximoff, @quicksilverslover, @yana-versio, @megaburrito2, @hostofthefirenation, @lady-sigyn, @sekhmet5, @somethingwickedthiswaylives, @kheartmoblie

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[admiralty-xfd]

Culmination

Scully deals with the aftermath of Mulder’s death.

This is Chapter 11. To go back to the beginning click here.

DEVASTATION

(post This Is Not Happening)

SCULLY

The last time she felt this way was when Ahab died. He was the center of her world, he was everything to her, and right when Mulder began to take over that role in her life her father up and died on her, leaving a hole in her heart she knew she’d never quite be able to fill.

She didn’t blame Mulder for that, obviously. But at the time she blamed herself for feeling that way. She feared she failed her father, that she never lived up to what she believed he’d expected of her. She is at peace with this now, she knows he was her father and loved her no matter what.

But then… then. It had been awful. The pain in her mother’s eyes, her siblings, her own whenever she happened to pass by a mirror.

Mulder had been there for her. He hadn’t yet dealt with the loss of a parent, but his own loss of his sister had been just as devastating. Over the years as they lost family members one by one, loss was something that they shared, leaning upon each other, giving and receiving each other’s pain.

Now, she has no one to share her pain with anymore.

She remembers a similar feeling, multiple times in the past, when she thought she might have lost him. That buried train car in New Mexico. When he’d gotten shot in that bank robbery. The tobacco beetles. The field in North Carolina, which was only a hallucination but the pain she’d felt was very real.

Now she’s lost him forever. She failed him utterly, completely. She wasn’t able to save him. She can barely bring herself to think it, let alone say it. She can’t breathe, can’t function, doesn’t even want to get out of bed anymore.

But she does. She has to, because she still has part of him inside her. The tiny life growing there that against any possible logic or sense somehow has taken hold and thrived.

A miracle. Their miracle.

It’s been weeks now since she buried him. She’d debated performing an autopsy to ascertain his precise cause of death, but the coroner was satisfied that the external damage was sufficient explanation. The FBI certainly wanted to clean their hands of the entire thing, Scully frankly wouldn’t trust another soul to do it, and could never have done it herself. It was indeed a quandary. In hindsight perhaps she’d have made a different decision, but she was in no state at the time. And if she was being honest, she felt nothing she could possibly have turned up would have mattered.

It couldn’t bring him back. Nothing would.

She convinces herself of this in times when she wishes she had more answers; answers she knows would only make her feel worse, not better.

She enters his apartment for what feels like the hundredth time since he went missing. She’s been sleeping here more and more. She knows it’s silly to keep paying his rent but he’s left everything he owns to her in his will and she simply hasn’t been able to face it.

So she delays. Delays removing this place from her life completely. Delays sifting through his memories, most of which will only further break her broken heart. Delays moving on, surviving him.

She doesn’t know how to do that.

The only source of comfort she’s had has been her mother, and there’s only so much she can really share with her. Maggie cared for Mulder unquestioningly over the years, and while Scully hadn’t really confided the complex nature of their relationship to her, she suspected her mother had known the truth of it all along.

She wishes she had someone, anyone to confide in. All her friends from over the years had fallen away as she moved deeper and deeper into Mulder. He had become her rock, her everything, at the expense of all else, and now he’s gone.

She places her hands on her belly, finally beginning to swell, while waiting in the office of her therapist.

Dr. Karen Kosseff had always been a comfort to her in times of stress or need. She hasn’t been to see her in years, and wonders if the doctor will remember anything about her. She does know it’s the only thing she can think of to do; the only person she can think to talk to.

“Dana,” the doctor opens her office door and greets her with a friendly handshake, holding Scully’s hand and gently covering it with her own. She looks just the same, eyes stern but filled with warmth, her short hair cropped a bit closer now.

“Hello, Doctor.” Scully maneuvers herself into the soft couch, and sinks down a bit. Down, down, down, as if she can get any lower.

“I was very sorry to hear about Agent Mulder, Dana. Losing a partner can be just as difficult as losing a family member.”

Scully knows she’s here to talk, but suddenly she can’t. The tears are already welling in her eyes. She just wants to cry and cry and know Dr. Kosseff will not judge or pity or do any of the things most of the people in her life are doing. Maybe that’s the reason she’s here: to cry.

So she does. Her forehead crinkles and she doubles over, heaving and sobbing in a way she hasn’t allowed herself to in front of another soul. Dr. Kosseff moves to the chair beside her and rubs her back.

After a minute or so her cries subside. Her breath hitching, she reaches for the tissues on the table.

“Thank you.” Her voice is small but grateful. She finally looks into the therapist’s eyes and sees something she’s needed to see for weeks: complete and utter understanding.

“How is your new partner dealing with this, with you?” Dr. Kosseff asks.

“Agent Doggett has been supportive, as much as I’ll allow him to be.”

“Will you … allow him to talk to you about Agent Mulder?”

Shaking her head, Scully sighs. “No. We are friendly, but… no.”

“I know you’ve had problems in the past, letting your partner in. Letting him worry, letting him care. Are you having these problems with Agent Doggett?”

Scully looks at her lap. “It’s... different. It’s a completely different situation.”

Dr. Kosseff eyes her, and slowly sits back into her chair. “Dana, I hope you don’t think you need to keep the nature of your relationship with Agent Mulder hidden from me. Anything you say to me is in the strictest confidence.”

Scully looks up, surprised.

“I’ve been listening to you for years, Dana. I’m taking a leap here but I can tell you need someone to talk to about him, and I can’t help you if you aren’t honest with me.”

Scully sighs and looks down again. She supposes there’s little point in hiding the nature of their relationship from the Bureau anymore anyway. “We never told anyone. Although I’m sure AD Skinner knew.”

Dr. Kosseff looks at her sadly. “So... he was your family.”

Scully nods. “It happened so gradually, I hardly noticed it. I’m not used to being so reliant on another person. But he was part of me, and now that he’s gone… I feel like part of me is gone, too.” She laughs softly to herself. “That sounds so cliché, I know.” Dr. Kosseff waits, knowing she has more to say.

“After he disappeared I found out he was very sick. He was actually dying. He’d known for awhile and never told me. I can’t even tell you how upset that made me. I mean… it was me. He’d gone to so many other doctors but never confided in me. Why? Why would he do that?”

Dr. Kosseff looks thoughtful. “Do you think it’s possible he was just afraid to tell you? That he didn’t want to hurt you? That it hurt him to have to tell you something like that?”

Scully considers this. “You may be right, but I can’t help but feel like… like he stole that time from me, from both of us. I thought about back when I was suffering from my cancer. At the time I didn’t realize how lucky I’d been for my family to have that time with me. It was such a strange feeling, knowing I was dying and taking stock. Appreciating the moments we had together. It was a blessing.” She shakes her head. “That slow death knell was actually a blessing.”

She leans forward to take the box of tissues on the table in front of her, still looking at her lap.

“But this? This is absolute torture. This… sudden loss, like a candle has been extinguished and you’re left completely alone in the dark. I know the reason he died had nothing to do with his disease, but the outcome would have been the same if he’d never told me.” She looks down at her hands. “He kept me in the dark, and I hated that feeling. I hated when he did that. I’ve been in the dark as long as I’ve known Mulder. But he was always the one who brought me light. He was always there with me. Whenever things were hard, at least we were always together.”

Dr. Kosseff is silent, listening.

“We didn’t get the slow death knell. We didn’t get to take stock. I would have done things differently if he had told me he was dying. If I knew I’d only have a short time with him, I’d have done so many things differently.”

“What things?”

She finally looks up at the doctor. “I would have told him that I loved him. I would have stopped being afraid. Maybe it would have changed a lot of things. I should have been braver.”

Dr. Kosseff smiles a bit. “It’s funny, isn’t it? How we only think we can be brave when we have a reason to be.”

Scully ponders that. Her mind drifts to the night she went to him in his bedroom and tore down their walls for no reason at all, only because she wanted to. How good it had felt, how it had changed everything.

“Are you still upset, Dana? About Agent Mulder’s decision to not tell you about his illness?” Dr. Kosseff asks.

She shakes her head. “Of course not. How can I be, now? It just makes me question so much.”

“Like what?”

Scully pauses for a moment, thinking. She knows fear hadn’t been the only thing holding her back from telling him she loved him. Truth was, she’d wanted him to say it first.

“Like how he really felt about me.”

Dr. Kosseff raises an eyebrow. “Dana, how could you possibly question that? You know how much he cared about you.”

“I know that, I know he did. I guess it’s just painful now, realizing I don’t know how much. I’ll never know, not really.” Her hands go to her belly. “I wish he’d known. I wish we’d both known before he left. Maybe things would have been different.”

The doctor leans forward a bit. “You mean... about the baby?”

Scully nods. She needed to tell someone. She feels a sense of relief. The doctor sits back again and regards Scully.

“I can only imagine how hard this must be, but Dana, this baby is an incredible gift. Especially considering all you’ve been through. It’s something he left behind that will always be a part of you.”

“I know, I know that.” She looks away, feeling the tears well up again. “And I'm so grateful. But I hate feeling this way, feeling like I missed my chance to tell him how I felt about him. Maybe if I had, he wouldn’t have left. Maybe he'd still be alive, and we would still be together.”

“You can’t blame yourself for what happened to Agent Mulder.”

“But I do. I do blame myself. I… I failed him.”

“Dana, no one could have predicted this. Especially you. Nothing you did caused this to happen.”

Scully feels a pain in her heart, something like regret. She stares blankly into space, not really talking to the doctor anymore, but talking to herself. A realization that completely guts her. “He’s dead and he never even knew I loved him. He never knew.”

Dr. Kosseff leans forward to take Scully’s hands in hers, and offers her a final piece of wisdom.

“I believe he knew.”

***

Closing the door behind her, Scully looks around. She sees Mulder’s fish tank, bubbling softly, the spaceship inside quietly ascending, descending. She sees his couch, the leather worn in one spot where he slept alone all those years.

She goes to his closet and starts pulling out clothes, slowly. It’s time to do this. One at a time, his shirts come out as she lays them on the bed. Some she can remember him wearing certain places, some she can’t. Then the ties. Then the pants.

As she starts to remove a black pair, something makes her pause. She runs her fingers along the fabric, and as they drift downward across the pocket she hears a crackling noise.

Confused, she reaches her hand inside and pulls out a small piece of paper folded in half.

Dear Dana

Dearest Dana

Scully,

I don’t know where to start. I

She stares at the writing, his writing. He’d certainly tried to tell her something. He had been trying. There were things that remained unsaid.

She closes her eyes. Why had it been so hard for them to talk to each other, really talk to each other? They were so good at talking about everything else but their feelings. For so long they had been afraid, fear holding them back from the truth. All they sought was truth and it had been right there for them both, right in front of them. They’d wasted so much time and now it was all over for them.

When her father had died, she'd known without a doubt that he'd loved her, and she knew he'd known she had loved him. Now, with Mulder, all she can feel is regret.

She takes the note, folds it, puts it in her pocket. She cannot face this today after all. She will try again tomorrow.

***

Scully stands at the gravesite. She doesn’t know what to say, how to say it, and what to do afterwards. Getting here was a struggle.

She’s believed in God for most of her life but today is one of those days she’s less than certain. She knows she should pray but she wants to curse God for taking him away from her.

She wants to talk to Mulder more.

I never imagined having to do this, Mulder. I should have, considering our line of work. I just… didn’t want to face it, I guess.

I should never have let you go without me. I should have told you I needed to come with you. Together we could have prevented this, I know it. We could have done anything together. We could have taken on the world together. Now we don’t even get to try.

I’m not sure how to move on from this. I need you to help me, and you aren’t here.

Do you remember that night at the Liberty Bell when we talked about the afterlife? I’ve been thinking about that night a lot. I’m not sure what I think about ghosts, or an afterlife, not anymore. But I hope to God it’s true. I hope you can hear me because I need to tell you how much I loved you. I need you to know that you were my whole world.

I’m so sorry I wasn’t strong enough to let you know that. I should have told you every day how I couldn’t live without you. Then maybe I wouldn’t be trying and failing to do just that right now.

SKINNER

(DeadAlive)

Assistant Director Walter Skinner peers through the window of Mulder’s hospital room and sees a familiar sight: Agent Scully sitting at his bedside, holding his hand. He doesn’t like the idea that he’s imposing upon a private moment, but the image of the two of them together is arresting. He marvels at her dedication.

It’s always been this way with them. One missing, or injured, or in trouble, and the other stopping at nothing to help. He’s never seen two people more fiercely devoted to one another in his life. Every person Skinner has ever encountered has had some failing, some drawback when it comes to protecting the people they love. A point where they falter, or give up.

Not Scully or Mulder. Never on each other.

Back when he was in the Marines, Skinner knew from loyalty. He witnessed it every day. Men and women relying on each other with their very lives, in constant danger. He’s never seen a pair forced to rely on each other in that way outside the battlefield.

At times he feels guilty, like he should have been more of a rock for the two of them. He’s tried, he really has.

Skinner has watched Scully and Mulder grow over the years from a vantage point no one else has been able to. He’s seen it all, the good, bad and the ugliest of ugly. Every single time they’ve been there for one another. He’d be envious if he wasn’t in such damn awe.

When that… spacecraft? Whatever it was, he can hardly believe himself at this point… took Mulder away, his thoughts immediately went to Scully. It was as if his mind couldn’t separate them. He was her, she was him, they were like a single entity. All he could think of was how he would tell her. How he somehow got into this position where he would have to watch her break.

Now, to see Scully like this… it’s awful. It’s unfathomable. She’s lost her partner, her best friend, and although she may be unaware he knows, more than even that.

It’s strange seeing this new Scully, this broken Scully. He never expected her to need anyone to take care of her. Losing Mulder had an effect on her he’d never wished to see, and he hadn’t anticipated this shift into being one of her only real sources of support. He wants to be there for her, he just has no idea how.

He’s about to enter the room when he notices her take Mulder’s hand and place it over her pregnant belly.

He knew already, he really did. How could he not? But seeing this simple act of love has taken his breath away. The tragedy before him is staggering. How could anyone possibly understand what these two have had to go through? And now to see it all end like this? It’s beyond words.

He knocks quietly and enters. “Can I come in?”

”Yes,” she replies, quickly moving their hands from her stomach to the bed.

“Any news?” he asks. After he’d taken Mulder off life support, the virus in his body had stopped thriving. It looked very possible he could survive, but for now it was a waiting game. He wasn’t about to get his hopes up, not yet.

She shakes her head. “We wait.”

He crosses the room and sits in a chair at the other side. Mulder looks much better, he has to admit. The tubes are out and he seems to be breathing on his own.

“I don’t know if I ever thanked you for doing what you did,” Scully says. “For pushing for the exhumation. This wouldn’t even be possible if it weren’t for you.”

“It wouldn’t have happened in the first place if it weren’t for me,” he says sadly.

“There’s nothing you could have done,” Scully quickly says. She wasn’t there, but he appreciates that she knows this much must be true.

“I need to tell you something, Dana.”

“What is it?”

He hedges a bit. “I told you there was a vaccine for Mulder, but I didn’t tell you the entire story.”

“So, tell me now.”

“Alex Krycek had the vaccine.”

Her brow knits in confusion. “Krycek? How is he involved in all this?”

“I’m not sure. I just know that he-“ he stops. “He wanted to kill your baby.”

Her hand lets go of Mulder’s and goes to her belly.

“My baby? Why? What does he have to do with my baby?”

“I don’t know. But I needed you to know that somehow he knew... about it.”

He watches her thinking for a moment, processing all this. He hasn’t the slightest idea what all this is about. Until Krycek showed up, he’d assumed there was nothing unusual about this situation. Scully turning up pregnant with Mulder's baby seemed like an inevitability somehow.

“Is there… something you need to talk about, Dana? Because I can be here for you, you know, if you need somebody to talk about this with.”

She sighs deeply. “I would, if I had any clue where to start.”

A horrible thought takes hold in his gut. He can’t explain it, he can’t understand it, but he feels compelled to speak it.

“Could the smoking man know about it too?”

She looks confused for a moment, then looks thoughtful, then closes her eyes. “That fucking fucker.”

He’s clearly hit a nerve but cannot disagree.

She opens her eyes and says “I can’t rule it out. I hate even thinking about that but I can’t.”

“I see,” he says. Even though he doesn’t see, not at all. She doesn’t seem to want to elaborate and he doesn’t push. He’s well aware of her history and abduction experiences and knows all the horrible things that have been done to her over the years. He can only imagine how easy it would have been for that fucking fucker to know everything about her, even to do something to her. He doesn’t want to think about it, either.

“I’m going to leave you two alone, okay? Please call me if there’s any news.” He walks over to her and squeezes her shoulder.

She briefly puts her hand over his. “Thank you, sir.”

He leaves the room and closes the door. He can’t help but glance through the window to watch them again, and his mind drifts to one of his last conversations with Mulder.

They’re sitting next to each other on the flight to Oregon. He knows they both know what he’s just seen. He has to ask, he has to.

“So… you and Agent Scully, huh?”

Mulder turns his head and looks at his boss. “I guess I can’t say no, after what you saw.”

Skinner grins, and faces forward. “I’m happy for you. She’s been through a lot, you both have.” He stares at the back of the seat in front of him. “I’m happy for you both.”

They are quiet a minute, only the loud hum of the plane in both their ears. Skinner has only one more question.

“How long…?”

“Not long enough,” Mulder answers without missing a beat.

Thanks for reading! See you back here tomorrow. Things will get better ( for a while, at least)

[hysterialevi]

When the Devil Cries pt. 19

Fanfic summary: (NO SPOILERS IN THIS STORY) After arriving in Saint Denis, Arthur ends up falling in love with a seemingly innocent pianist, only to find himself in a battle with one of the most notorious outlaws to ever emerge from America. Now, between working for Dutch and robbing money for the gang, Arthur has to also protect the man he loves as the two of them try to find their freedom.

Pairing: Arthur Morgan/Male OC

Previous chapter

This story is also on AO3

From Arthur’s POV

THE NEXT MORNING

SHADY BELLE, INSIDE THE MANSION

Slidin’ the rag up and down my rifle, I made sure all my weapons were ready to go while Eddie gathered his own gear, both of us preparing for the robbery.

Dutch still seemed confident in the plan that he and Micah created, and no one else had protested the scheme yet, but Hosea and I...well...we wasn’t so sure.

I mean, robbin’ a national bank was risky enough, considering how heavy the security was -- but starting another robbery on the other side of town just to distract the law for a few minutes...it felt like suicide. I knew Dutch thought he was buyin’ us some time -- and that we’d be in and out within minutes -- but to me, this plan just seemed like it was gonna end up painting an even bigger target on our backs. And that was the last thing we needed right now.

Ah, well...it was clear to me that there weren’t no use in tryin’ to convince Dutch. For whatever foolish reason, he appeared to be taking Micah’s advice to heart recently, and I knew better than to go in circles with the old man.

I was just worried about what we’d do if things didn’t go accordin’ to plan today. Not only would our gang be split up, we would’ve also attracted the law to both sides of the city, makin’ it much easier for them to corner us.

I just hoped I’d be able to keep Eddie safe. That boy was about to throw himself into one of the most dangerous heists we’d pulled off since Blackwater, and I was gonna do everything I possibly could to ensure he’d get back out.

The money may’ve been Dutch’s main concern today, but the pianist was mine.

“You sure you’re ready for this?” I asked Eddie, earning a hesitant sigh from the boy.

“...Well, I’m not too fond of the idea of robbing people,” he admitted, “but if Dutch is willing to let me stay in his camp, then the least I can do is help the gang earn some money.”

I slipped my revolvers into my holsters, shrugging in response. “If you’re sure. It’s just...there’s a whole lot that could go wrong with this plan, and I wanna make sure you ain’t caught in the worst of it if it does.”

Eddie walked up to me and began straightening my suit, adjustin’ my tie while he spoke.

“I’ll be okay,” he reassured. “I have you by my side, don’t I?”

I smiled at him. “Always.”

The boy let out a soft chuckle, his eyes twinkling in a reminiscent manner as he tidied me up.

“You know, Arthur...when we first met, I never imagined I’d be robbing a bank with you one day. Hell, I didn’t imagine any of this. But...despite the struggles we may face, and the many things we’ve fought through to get here, I just want to let you know -- I’m glad to have you with me.”

I beamed at the compliment and retrieved my bandana, tyin’ the accessory around my neck.

“The feeling’s mutual. You happy you joined the gang though? I know these people ain’t exactly your typical civilians, but they’re alright. ...Most of ‘em.”

The pianist nodded. “I am. Miss Grimshaw introduced me to Tilly and Karen yesterday. I had quite a lengthy talk with them, actually. And Mary-Beth as well. She told me she wants to be an author someday. I never expected there to be so many artists in the gang...but I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised. Considering who the leader is.”

I quirked a brow. “You see Dutch as an artist?”

“Perhaps not an artist himself, but he certainly appreciates it. He’s always reading that Evelyn Miller, and the way he speaks to the gang is quite poetic most of the time. Makes me think Dutch is a romantic. Much like yourself.”

“...Heh, I guess he is,” I replied, decidin’ to change the subject. “So...you’ve met the women in camp. You met any of the men yet?”

Eddie thought for a moment. “Well, Micah’s approached me a few times.”

I chortled at that. “I said men, not snakes.”

The musician returned the laugh. “I’ve spoken with Micah, Hosea, John, Dutch...and Bill is surprisingly interested in my work as a pianist.”

I paused. “Really? Huh. Never pegged him for the...musical type. But I guess we all got our secrets. It’s good to hear the gang’s welcoming you though. I honestly weren’t expectin’ Dutch to let you in in the first place. He’s been...skeptical of newcomers recently.”

“I don’t blame him,” Eddie said. “Sounds like you guys have had it rough for a while now. Hopefully, today’s robbery turns that around.”

I gave him an assuring nod. “That’s the plan.”

Interrupting our conversation before we could talk further, Dutch suddenly strolled into the mansion with an assertive kick of the door as the rest of the gang followed him inside, all of them geared up and ready to go.

Everyone was dressed in opulent clothing and had either a bandana or a mask hangin’ around their neck to hide their identity, and the more the image of Micah wearin’ a tight suit ingrained itself into my brain, the more I felt the urge to back outta this heist.

An ecstatic grin radiated on Dutch’s face.

“Gentlemen!” he proudly announced, glancing around the room. “It’s time. The Lemoyne National Bank has waited for long enough, but we are finally ready to hit it. Is everyone clear on the plan?”

There was a confirming silence.

“Good. Then let me explain who’s doin’ what.”

Dutch pointed out a few of the gang members.

“Hosea, Javier, John, and Charles -- the four of you will be in charge of distractin’ the law. Go to the trolley station, and make some noise. Start a robbery. Do whatever it takes to attract the law there, and try to keep them there for as long as possible. We shouldn’t need too long, but you never know what could happen.”

He turned to everyone else, givin’ each of us specific tasks.

“The rest o’ you,” Dutch addressed, “are with me. We’ll wait until they have the law’s attention, and then we are hittin’ that bank hard. Sadie and Lenny, I want you two to keep watch. Let us know the minute you see any lawmen, and we’ll focus on gettin’ the money.”

“Bill and Micah” he continued, “you just make sure everyone in that bank behaves themselves and stays in place. I don’t want no trouble from the security or the civilians -- we got enough to worry about as is.”

Dutch brought his attention to me.

“Arthur, your job is to get that vault open. But avoid using dynamite. We don’t wanna raise the alarm before we’ve even got the money. And as for you, Eddie, you can help Mister Morgan crack the safes. Make the process a little faster. In case things go wrong today though, we need an escape route outta the city. Now, you know Saint Denis better than any of us...so what d’you think is the best way out?”

Before Eddie could reply, Micah jumped in and offered his own idea, cuttin’ the boy off.

“We could take the back alleys.” He proposed.

The pianist rejected the recommendation.

“No,” he responded. “The alleyways are too narrow for all of us. If we go in there, the law will cage us in within seconds.”

Dutch considered the advice. “Then what do you suggest?”

Eddie thought about it for a moment. “...Ironically, the best way out of the city would probably be through the more populated streets. If we can put enough civilians between us and the law, we’ll slow them down drastically. Not to mention there are also trams and stagecoaches going around all the time, adding even more obstacles for them to maneuver around.”

The other man slowly nodded in approval. “Makes sense.”

“We have to move fast though,” Eddie warned. “If we aren’t careful, we could be trapped in the crowd, too.”

“Sounds good,” Dutch agreed. “Well, alright then. I’d say we’re good to go.” He addressed the rest of the gang. “Everyone! ...Are we ready?”

I picked up my shotgun, slingin’ it over my shoulder.

“Ready as we’ll ever be, Dutch.”

The man smiled excitedly, his expression glowing with a passion for larceny as that ever so familiar spark returned to his dark eyes.

“...Then let’s empty this goddamn bank.”

A WHILE LATER

LEMOYNE NATIONAL BANK

Blowing their whistles while they bolted across the packed city, a group of lawmen came rushing past us as we hid in a nearby alleyway, waitin’ for our opportunity to strike.

At the moment, it didn’t seem like anyone had caught onto our plan, and with most of the law hurrying over to deal with our distraction, we had roughly about ten minutes to get in, get everythin’ we could, and get the hell out. Jesus, I really hoped this plan worked.

Just by standin’ next to the bank, I could already hear a large amount of muffled voices comin’ from the inside, and the fact that we was doing this in broad daylight didn’t exactly help to ease my nerves.

We were out in the open, and the law would be back on our asses at any minute.

We had to move. Now.

“Alright, cowboys,” Dutch whispered lowly through his bandana, “this is it. You all know what to do. Be quick, and be thorough. Let’s get this done!”

Marching out of our hidin’ spot, Dutch stormed his way to the bank’s entrance as the rest of us followed him, constantly checking over our shoulders to make sure no one was tailing us.

There were civilians strollin’ around all over the place, and a few of their gazes had fallen onto us already, but so far, no one seemed to have figured out just exactly what we were doing.

Now was our chance to hit.

Swinging the bank’s doors open with a forceful push, Dutch whipped out his revolvers and sauntered inside, immediately catching everyone’s attention as their heads jolted in our direction.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” he called out, raising his guns, “this is a robbery!”

Bill instantly bashed the stock of his rifle into a civilian’s head while Micah held the rest at gunpoint, causing all of them to let out a series of panicked shrieks and screams as they stumbled to the floor.

“Stay down!” Micah demanded, bringing everyone to their knees. “Unless you wanna get shot!”

Dutch turned to me, gesturing to the vault’s door. “Mister M, Mister R! Get that vault open!”

I aimed my own gun at the bank manager and grabbed him by the collar, aggressively hurling the man towards the vault as he yelped out of fear.

“You think we’re foolin’ around?” I shouted at him. “Open the goddamn vault!”

“O-Okay! Okay!” He whimpered, throwing his hands in the air. “Just, please! Don’t hurt--!”

I slammed the grip of my revolver into his head. “I ain’t interested! Just get it open! Now!”

Turning the vault’s lock with a trembling hand, the manager hurriedly followed my instructions and put the combo in, both me and Eddie waitin’ by as we frantically glanced around the bank.

Even with a bandana covering half his face, I could still tell Eddie wasn’t happy with me, and he clearly disapproved of this entire heist. I knew he understood why we had to do this, and he showed no signs of backin’ out so far, but unlike the rest of the gang, the pianist still had his morals.

I was just worried about how this would affect his image of me. He always told me I was a better man than I implied, but...after today’s events, I wasn’t so sure he’d think the same way. Lord. What a goddamned mess this was.

Finally opening the vault’s door with a metallic creak, the manager quickly backed away while I got to work and rushed inside, wastin’ no time in cracking the safes.

“I’m openin’ the safes!” I told Eddie. “Would you kindly get the combos outta our friend here?”

The boy whipped the side of his gun into the manager’s head, leavin’ a rather nasty gash. “What’s the combination?!”

A pained shout escaped the manager and he cowered away from Eddie’s firearm, shakily spittin’ out the numbers one by one.

“S-Seventy-two!” he blubbered out, “Fifty-four! T-Twenty-eight!”

The safe practically fell open once I hit the last number, revealing a beautiful stack of cash on the inside. I instantly snatched the money and shoved it into my pouch, movin’ onto the next.

“Got it! Next one!”

While I worked on the rest of the safes, Dutch brought his attention to Lenny and peered outside the bank’s windows, his body gettin’ a little restless due to our limited time.

“Mister S!” He called out. “How’s it looking?”

“So far, so good!” Lenny replied. “But we gotta get this moving!”

Dutch turned to me. “You hear that, Mister M?”

“I’m on it!” I exclaimed back. “Just got a couple safes left! Mister R?”

Eddie cocked his gun at the manager. “Next combo!” He demanded.

The manager let out a quivering breath, horrified for his life. “Thirty! N-Ninety-five! Seventeen!”

Nearly ripping the safe’s door off its hinges, I fumbled through the valuables sittin’ inside and grabbed as much as I could carry, bringing my attention to the third one.

“Next!”

The manager didn’t even give Eddie a chance to hit him again. “Forty-one! E-Eighty-five! Sixty-seven!”

There was even more money in this one than the last -- and like the petty thief I was -- I shoveled the cash into my bag without a second thought, hopping to the adjacent safe...but there was an interruption.

“Gentlemen!” Sadie alerted. “We have a problem! There are lawmen comin’ our way!”

Dutch cursed. “Already? Shit! Mister M, how much you got?”

I glanced inside my pouch. “There must be thousands of dollars in here!”

Despite his reluctance to leave, Dutch took Sadie’s advice and cut the robbery short, urging all of us to evacuate.

“Then that’ll have to do. Everyone! We got what we need! Grab what you can, and let’s get the hell outta here! Mister R, we’ll follow your lead!”

Jogging to the bank’s front doors, Eddie peeked outside and checked our surroundings, lowering his voice slightly.

“Okay, looks like we’ve got a few lawmen surrounding the bank,” he informed. “But we should be able to take them down and stick to the original plan. What do you think?”

Dutch got a good look for himself, patting Eddie on the shoulder.

“I think we’ll be just fine.” He beckoned the rest of us. “Gentlemen! Let’s ride!”

Hurrying out of the vault, I followed Eddie and Dutch through the bank’s exit as the gang hastily took its leave, all of us immediately gunning down the lawmen as soon as we stepped through the front door.

A choir of screams instantly erupted from the civilians surrounding us, all of them scrambling around the streets in panic as we made our way to our horses.

“There they are!” One of the lawmen shouted. “Don’t let ‘em escape!”

Practically leaping onto my horse’s saddle, I mounted up and fired a number of shots at the lawmen chasin’ us before breaking into a sprint, galloping side-by-side with Eddie as we led the gang outta Saint Denis.

“This way!” He instructed, takin’ a sharp turn.

By now, there was folks boltin’ left and right all over the place as we slithered through the thick crowds, causing people to throw themselves out of the way before we could trample over them.

The sounds of gunfire, whistles blaring, civilians hollering, and horses neighing all filled the air along with my own heartbeat as it hammered in my ears, fueling me with an adrenaline like no other.

It didn’t look like the law was gonna let us go quite as easily as we had hoped, but fortunately, they seemed to be fallin’ behind the mayhem just like Eddie said they would, giving us just a few more minutes to escape.

I whipped my reins, urging my horse to pick up the pace.

“Come on!” Eddie encouraged. “We’re almost out!”

Ridin’ through the packed streets, the gang wildly charged its way across the city like the goddamned cavalry as it shot down any lawmen that got too close, leavin’ a trail of smoke and corpses in its wake.

There were stagecoaches and trams rolling all throughout Saint Denis, and we was forced to swerve our way around them as some of the lawmen got stuck behind the convenient obstacles, leading them to lose sight of the gang. Our plan was working.

“Just a little further!” Eddie called out, gesturing to the city’s exit that was comin’ up in the distance. I fired a series of bullets behind me, puttin’ down the lawmen that were tailing us.

“Nearly there, gentlemen!” Dutch announced. “Don’t get tired on me just yet!”

Puttin’ all my energy into the last bit of this escape, I kicked my spurs into the side of my mount, causing her to haul ass towards the bridge that led outta Saint Denis as the lawmen started closing in on us.

At this point, it looked like they had figured out the “robbery” at the trolley station was nothin’ more than a distraction, and the longer we remained in this dreadful city, the more of ‘em there seemed to be.

But we could still make it. We could still take the money.

And I’d be damned if we didn’t.

Racing across the bridge, the gang rode like there was no tomorrow as we approached the other side, only to hear a familiar voice calling out to us from the woods just before we could leave.

It was John.

“Get clear of the bridge y’all!” He shouted. “I’m about to blow it to hell!”

Making ourselves scarce, we all made sure to put a decent amount of distance between us and the bridge just as the law started gaining on us, queuing John to get ready.

With a simple pull of a trigger, Marston suddenly split the bridge in half as he shot the generous amount of dynamite he had placed on the side, sending lawmen flyin’ all over the place due to the thunderous impact.

Dutch let out a hearty laugh at the sight. “Oh, John! You are a genius!”

John mounted his own horse and joined our group, shaking his head. “Actually, it was Hosea’s idea. He figured you’d be comin’ this way. Thought we could help smoothen the ride.”

“And where is he?”

“Back at camp,” Marston replied. “Hosea and the others made it back early.”

Dutch grinned. “Then let’s not keep them waitin’ any longer.” He glanced over his shoulder, lookin’ back at the rest of us.

“Gentlemen! We made it!” A victorious guffaw escaped him.

“We goddamn made it!”

THIRTY MINUTES LATER

SHADY BELLE

Returning to camp like a group of esteemed heroes, Dutch, Eddie, and I hopped off our horses while the rest of the gang settled in, all of us tired but also filled with exhilaration thanks to the pile of cash now sittin’ in our pockets.

The plan admittedly went much better than I first expected, and despite the many fears I had goin’ into this heist, I couldn’t lie: my faith was well-placed this time.

It turned out Dutch actually knew what he was talkin’ about after all, and regardless of any disagreements the gang might’ve had with each other in the past, every single one of us owed Dutch our thanks. We was a whole lot richer now because of that man, and with the newfound wealth we just stole, we had a lotta opportunities waitin’ for us to seize them.

Heh. I guessed there was hope for us yet.

Yanking my bandana off my face, I fed my horse a quick treat and sauntered towards the mansion, only to find an elated Hosea walkin’ up to me.

The old man smiled proudly in my direction and patted me on the shoulder, glancing at the sacks of money now resting in our camp.

“Well done, Arthur,” Hosea praised with a friendly chuckle. “Well done. Dutch said you guys weren’t able to take everything in the bank, but this should still be more than enough.”

I returned the smile, beaming happily at him. “You think we’ll finally be able to leave?”

“Not to another country perhaps,” he answered, “but we should be able to look further beyond the horizon now. Lord knows I’ve had enough of this godforsaken swamp. It’ll be nice to settle down someplace else.”

“Absolutely.” I agreed.

Hosea brought his gaze to Eddie who was currently helping Pearson carry in some of the sacks. “And what about the boy? He make it out alright?”

I let out a sigh. “Yeah, I think so, but...he ain’t happy, Hosea. During the whole robbery, he just had this look of disgust in his eyes. Especially after the way he saw me beat the bank manager. I think he’s feelin’ a bit guilty.”

The old man nodded in understanding. “Eddie’s not used to this life like the rest of us, Arthur. You need to give him time to adjust. Let him adapt to our world. He’ll come around eventually. But I wouldn’t worry too much if I were you. Eddie seems happy to be with you. As long as you’re around, he’ll stay strong.”

A question suddenly popped up in my mind.

“Hey, that reminds me, I’ve been meanin’ to ask -- back when we was talking to Dutch about letting Eddie in the gang, you compared him to Annabelle. And Bessie.”

Hosea paused. “Oh, I’m sorry. Is that not the relationship between you two?”

“No, it is,” I corrected. “I was just wondering how you knew. Did Eddie tell you?”

The old man smirked. “Didn’t need to. I, ah...I saw the way you interacted with each other back at that gala. It was a dead giveaway.”

I chuckled, admittedly slightly embarrassed. “...Ah. I see.”

“It’s nothing to be ashamed of, Arthur,” Hosea reassured. “I know some of the fellas here have been pokin’ fun at you because of it, but truth be told, people like me, and Dutch, and Susan...we’re just happy to see you’ve finally moved on from Miss Gillis.”

A soft flutter filled my chest, and I bashfully rubbed the back of my neck. “Yeah, I guess I have.”

“Mary was a sweet girl,” he reminisced, “and the two of you made some wonderful memories during your time as a couple...but that’s all in the past. You and Eddie, on the other hand, have a future together. You have a chance to make something out of it. Though, that won’t happen if you allow him to continue down the path he’s currently on.”

I quirked a brow. “What d’you mean?”

Hosea gave me a sorrowful gaze, taking a moment to gather his thoughts.

“...I know you were stuck in bed this past week, Arthur, but I’ve actually spoken to Eddie quite a bit since he first arrived, and I know about his past. I know Atticus Rose killed his entire family.”

“...Yeah,” I confirmed. “He’s the last one left.”

“And that ain’t easy,” Hosea empathized. “You know that. I know that. Hell, most of the people in this gang know that. But the thing that concerns me the most about Eddie is...he seems adamant to take revenge. He wants to make Atticus pay for what he’s done, and rightfully so. But you and I both know vengeance is a fool’s errand.”

“That it is.”

The old man switched to a more cautionary tone. “Eddie can be of use to us, Arthur. Not only is he a good shot, he’s also smart. We need that. But he needs you to help guide his strength in the right direction. Don’t let his desire for revenge consume him. Show him how to find peace in acceptance, and keep him safe. Can you do that?”

I gave Hosea a sincere look, peering at him from under the shadow cast by my hat.

“I intend to.”

He seemed to approve of that response. “Good. I’ve seen too many folks be killed as a result of their own actions, and I don’t know if I could watch the same thing happen to Eddie. ...But enough of that. I won’t keep you any longer. I’m sure Dutch could use your help, and I’ve got matters of my own to attend to. Take care of yourself, Arthur. Things are getting rough out th--”

Zipping right past me and interrupting our conversation, a bullet suddenly implanted itself into Hosea’s forehead with a sharp bang, causing the man’s blood to splatter onto me as he collapsed to the ground.

“What the--?!” I breathed out, frantically darting my eyes around as Hosea fell into my arms.

I dropped the man out of shock and immediately dove behind one of the camp’s barricades as another bullet came flyin’ my way, causing me to suddenly notice the horde of strangers shootin’ at us from the woods.

“...Sh-Shit!” I cursed, whipping out my guns. “Everyone! Take cover!”

Changing into fight mode, the entire gang instantly dropped what they were doing and began shooting back as they scurried behind whatever cover they could find, all of us forgettin’ about the money we just robbed.

“What the hell is this shit?!” Williamson exclaimed, cocking his rifle. “Who are these people?!”

Javier poked his head out, firing aimlessly into the forest. “Is that the law?”

“No!” I yelled back. “They don’t look like lawmen!”

“Who then? O’Driscolls?”

Dutch jumped in, puttin’ an end to our speculation. “We will figure out who these bastards are later! For now, just shoot them!”

I finally regained a portion of the senses I lost from the initial shock and stared at Hosea’s body, suddenly feelin’ like my blood was boiling once his death sunk in.

“Aw, Hosea...!” I growled through gritted teeth. “They got Hosea, Dutch!”

A dark fire ignited in his eyes.

“Goddammit...!” He whispered, his voice abruptly exploding into a hoarse shout as he began gunning down as many people as he could.

“KILL those sons-of-bitches!”

Aiming directly at my head, one of the men shot the barricade I was hidin’ behind as I ducked outta the way, causing wood and dust to splinter everywhere before I fired straight back at them.

“Eddie!” I shouted over the commotion. “Are you alive?!”

A distant voice answered me.

“I’m right here!” The boy replied.

“Good! Keep it that way!”

Continuing to shoot at our unknown enemy, I desperately fought back with nothin’ but a flimsy wall shielding me and no more than twelve bullets to defend myself as they rained hell upon us, filling my cover with more and more holes.

I was currently in one of the worst positions to be in at the moment, and since I weren’t too far from the camp’s entrance, I had the biggest target painted on my back right now.

I was running low on ammo, and I had no idea how much longer this barricade would hold up. I’d have to move soon if I wanted to stay alive.

“Has anyone seen Jack?!” John exclaimed. “If any of those assholes laid a finger on him, I swear I’ll kill them all!”

Charles fired his shotgun. “Christ...where did they even come from? How many of them are there?!”

“None once we’re done with them!” Dutch replied.

Pulling the trigger on my gun, I shot a few more bullets in their direction and put down a number of men, only to hear an empty click once I reached the end.

Shit! I couldn’t run out of ammo. Not now.

Holstering that revolver, I relied on the few remaining shots in my other one as I hurriedly maneuvered my way around the camp, dodging the oncoming fire and rolling into safety.

By now, there was bullets of all types soaring through the air in about eight different directions as they whistled past my ears, causing me to hear a sharp, ringing noise while I continued to fight.

All around me, I could see nothin’ but corpses that had been shot to hell, dirt and blood flyin’ all over the place due to the impact, gun-smoke clouding the air, and a seemingly endless army of enemies pouring out the woods. It was hell on Earth.

“Arthur!” Eddie called out. “Watch out!”

Glancing to my side, I spotted a sniper not too far away from me and managed to dodge their attack just in time as Eddie put his own bullet in the man’s head, leading his body to jolt backwards.

The pianist ran over to my location once the sniper was down, his hands clinging onto his Schofield for dear life as he slid next to me.

“You okay?” I asked him. Eddie nodded, albeit without confidence.

“For now. Jesus -- how did we not see them coming? There’s so many of them!”

“Just focus on killing ‘em! We’ll sort all this out afterwards!”

Lending me his other revolver, Eddie peeked over the top of the barricade and shot a few men who had gotten too close to the camp, getting back down just as another bullet came bolting in his direction.

The crowd of enemies seemed to be thinning out by now, and as far as I was aware, no one else had gotten killed...but even then, we were in deep shit.

We had just lost one of our best men -- a man who was like a father to me -- and now that Hosea was gone, I had no idea how Dutch was gonna cope with this.

It felt like I had just watched a flame be extinguished, and I doubted it was gonna get any easier from here on out. The gang’s lieutenant was dead, our camp was in ruins, and worst of all, we had no idea who was responsible.

Jesus. What a goddamned mess this was.

Gunning down what appeared to be the last man, Dutch took a moment to observe our surroundings as a deathly silence loomed over us following the end of the fight, our heavy breaths being the only audible sound right now.

We didn’t hear anything else. There were no movements, no footsteps, no gunfire...nothing. Did we make it? Had we truly won...? It certainly didn’t feel like a victory.

Slowly rising from cover, Eddie and I gradually stood up from the ground along with the rest of the gang as we came outta hiding, only to see what had become of our home.

There were countless bodies littering the entire property, the front of the mansion was covered in bullet holes, Hosea lay motionless in a cluster of red grass, and some of our horses had even been killed too. It looked like somethin’ straight out of a nightmare, and I mentally yelled at myself to snap out of it...but I knew this weren’t no dream.

This was reality.

And it was time for us to wake up.

Eddie let out a shaky breath, his eyes widened with shock and despair. “Is...is it over...?”

I stared blankly into the trees, suddenly feelin’ so lost and alone.

“I think so,” I murmured. “I...I dunno.”

Countering our morose mood, Dutch stormed over and took a look at Hosea’s corpse for himself, his jaw clenching in rage and heartbreak once he saw that his brother was indeed gone.

The man appeared more broken than I had ever seen in my life, and the longer he gazed hopelessly around the camp, unsure of what to do with himself...the more I feared some part of Dutch may’ve died with Hosea too. It was clear that somethin’ in him had snapped, and for the first time ever, I weren’t sure if I could mend it.

My God...what the hell was happening?

Before we could mourn any further however, a soft rustle emitted from the woods in front of us, causing everyone to perk their heads up in curiosity.

All our hands were instantly resting on our guns’ grips, and it looked like a group of people was headin’ our way...but we still couldn’t tell who they were. They didn’t wear the uniform of the law, and they didn’t resemble O’Driscolls either. In fact, I had never seen anyone like these fools. ...So just who the hell were they, exactly?

Answering my question, a familiar face suddenly emerged from the shadows, giving me a sense of dread and fear I hadn’t felt in ages.

The stranger was approaching our gang with a child in tow as his friends followed behind -- and the closer they got to our camp’s entrance, the more I started to recognize them.

Oh, shit. This was the last thing we needed.

Rodrick Kingsley gave me a malicious grin as he let out a low chuckle, the barrel of his gun pressed directly against the back of Jack’s head.

“...Remember me, sunshine?”

John instantly flew into a rage at the sight of his son, and he wasted no time in running towards him.

“Jack!”

Rodrick strengthened his hold on the gun, warning Marston to stay back.

“I wouldn’t do that if I was you, cowboy.”

John came to an abrupt halt, his eyes nailed onto Jack as the boy called for help.

“Pa...!” The child exclaimed. “I’m...I’m scared!”

“I know, Jack,” Marston comforted. “I know. But it’s gonna be alright. We’re gonna get you back! I won’t let these people hurt you! It’s going to be alright.”

A third, unknown voice stepped in the conversation.

“Enough, Rodrick.”

Calmly approaching the front of the group, an older man came sauntering out of the gun-smoke as he took a position in the middle, his stern, blue eyes never leaving Dutch.

The man appeared to be in his late forties and had a groomed, graying beard covering half of the wishbone-shaped scar on his right cheek, and his hair was hidden beneath a Gaucho hat.

He wore a chocolate, leather duster over a gray vest and red shirt, and had a pair of sleek riding boots covering his neat pants.

This man definitely looked like he could be their leader. He carried a slightly regal nature to him, and had the temperament of someone who’d rather kill than forgive. Despite the cold-blooded impression he made though, there was also something...almost fatherly about him. Like a strange sense of reason and wisdom that he somehow managed to preserve over the years. Similar to the way Hosea was...only minus the compassion.

Dutch steadily walked up to the man with his hands near his holsters as both our gangs stared each other down, silently demanding answers with a simple glare.

He tried to keep his tone as tame as possible.

“...Who...are you?”

The other man examined Dutch for a minute and looked him back in the eye, not even blinking once as he promptly uttered a response.

“Atticus,” the man replied. “Atticus Rose.”

[limitededitionsanderssidesblog]

The Stacks - Chapter 2

Ships: Eventual logicality and prinxiety, slow burn

Summary:  In this society there is a place where the poor and unwanted are placed and kept hidden away from everyone else, where poverty and crime are a frequent and life shines for no one. Stacked up high in the sky, this is the furthest anyone living there will ever reach. When a Depression consumes the land, and the government fails to bring an end to it, society turns even further on the residents of the Stacks, accusing them for bringing the rest of them down. What no one knows, however, is that it'll take the work of four unlikely people to not only bring an end to the poverty, but also to this inequality.

Chapter One Next AO3 - Here

Patton still remembers the very first day he met Virgil. He had been seventeen years of age and working in a bakery in the higher, low end of the city in district thirteen, just before the Stacks. He was living alone in an abandoned school bus, where he was still living today. After one of his workshifts had ended he had come home to find an eleven year old boy hiding under one of the seats. He wore a dirty pair of overalls covered in holes and no shirt or shoes.

When Patton tried to get close to him he hissed and crawled further away under the seats. There was something almost feral about the boy, as if he had been raised by animals rather than humans. It had taken several days, but Patton was eventually able to get him out from under the seats and fed him some old stale bread, with the moldy bits ripped off.

It turned out that the local gang had been after him for not paying his safety fees and he had ran away and hid to avoid them. Wanting to help, Patton gave the money to Virgil to help him clear his debt, which had been his entire paycheck.

From there on Patton had decided to take the young boy under his wing and sort of adopt him in a way. Right away he knew that Virgil had been without his parents for some time, how long Patton wouldn’t know for years to come, so he decided to take their place as his parental figure. Patton stitched and patched up Virgil's overalls, washing them as well. When he had gotten the money, he took him out to buy the first shirt he had owned in years. Seeing the joy of a child for something so simple as a piece of clothing warmed his heart beyond comparison. From then on Patton had made it his mission from then on to give Virgil a good life, one without wanting and hardship.

He got a second job and worked tiring hours, exhausting himself from the labor, but he didn’t give in. Patton was constantly looking for an apartment or studio home, nothing to fancy, but a home that a good future could be built upon. For months he had his eyes on a small one bedroom and bathroom apartment for sale in the tenth district. There was a school close by where Virgil could attend, a small park was three blocks away where he could play, it was perfect. After saving his money for years locked under a floorboard in the bus, hidden by a newspaper carpet, as robberies were practically a daily frequent in the Stacks, Patton had raised up enough money to buy the place.

Then the Depression hit.

Prices everywhere skyrocketed. A loaf of bread became four times the price it once had been. Because of this the gangs raised their prices as well. Patton had drained practically all of his savings in a matter of months, and the apartment was long out of his reach. The bakery where he used to work went out of business, and Patton was left with only one job that was only able to feed him one meal a day after taxes and gang payments were taken care of.

The life that was once just within arms reach, was now a whole world apart. Yet, Virgil didn’t seem to mind that they couldn’t get the apartment and was happy to live with him in that rusty, old bus. Patton was never able to tell if he was just being strong for him, or if he actually was okay with it.

However, hearing the words that he had spoken last night, Patton knew that he wasn’t okay with it.

Coming back to his bus, the rows of seats long since removed and sold for a little extra cash, Patton noticed that the twins were already asleep, so he simply put their food down on a small three-legged table, and went to sleep himself. Virgil had gone straight to his own crate once they had arrived, taking his food from Patton with a smile and a thank you. He had moved out from the bus two years ago, claiming he wanted to give Patton his space, but he doubted that was the real reason.

After Virgil had left him alone in the school bus, Patton had decided to adopt these twins when their father had been wrongly put in prison for an accused crime he never committed. He hadn’t know their father all that well, but he knew for a fact that he would never kill someone. So until he got out, he would take care of the boys. If he ever got out.

…

Once again he had taken another hounding at the latest press conference by the reporters who held little faith in him and his abilities, and demanded he create change practically overnight. But from what Logan had learned from his years in politics is that no resolutions is so easily made. The election that had won him the seat as senator had been a close one, and a near fifty percent of the province still didn’t believe someone so young could do anything for them. In spite of that, the depression had been raging for almost four years with no sign of ending, in fact it had been growing under the policies of a government composed almost completely by older people who have never face an economic downturn in their lives. All they had ever known was strict rules and prosperity, and now, because of their fixed mindset, they were driving the nation into the ground.

The fact that he had replaced much of his staff with young minds had upset many of the other senators and position holders. Many of his colleagues saw him as too radical, but he was determined to make a difference, starting in his province. As long as he didn’t give them a firm reason to remove him from office, he’ll take any necessary steps to fix this situation.

Logan worked behind his desk for hours, trying to find ways to bring down the jobless rate, looking through proposed bills and deciding whether or not to bring them before the senate. Many of the bills were a fool’s dream, unrealistic and improbable, yet some had promise.

“Sir?” A voice called through his desk speaker. Logan pushed the red button on the device down to respond.

“Yes, Johnathan?”

“You’re new head of security has arrived in the lobby. Would you like me to show him to his office?” His secretary asked.

“No, no, I shall do it myself.” He said to the machine, standing from his chair. “Notify him that I’m on my way down.”

“Yes, sir.”

It had been a long two weeks, what with transfering Roman from the police over to his office building, dismissing the old head of security, and dealing with backfire from the media for doing so. He could use a minute to step out for a bit.

Escaping his suffocating office, Logan strode down to the bottom floor secretary’s desk, where Roman had been waiting with a large cardboard box of personal items. Unless Logan was hallucinating, the box looked awfully a lot like the one clockmaker had thrown at him.

As he walked over, the regal, former, cop raised his head at the sound of footsteps and stood to greet him.

“Welcome Roman, I trust you have everything you need?” Logan said to him.

“Yep, and more!” Roman responded with a large goofy grin, taking a small, rubber stress toy out of the box and giving it a light squeeze, causing it to squeak. Logan rolled his eyes and turned to the elevators to take them up to where the awaiting office was located a floor below his.

Ever since college, Roman has had the eccentricity and energy of an adolescent. With Roman being a first year studying for a Criminology major and Logan being a third year with an almost complete Social Science and Economics major when they first met, he had found his behavior to be unusual and had expected it to just be a phase of excitement for his entry into University. Nevertheless, throughout the rest of their college experience together, and their friendship away from work, Roman had always been like this.

However, that is not all there was to the man. Logan has witnessed first hand the professional side of Roman. He is determined and relentless when presented with a case. Roman’s skills and resources far out match even his own, and if rubbed the wrong way, Roman could be a troublesome foe. These are the qualities that were needed in the city right now. The crime rate of the capital city was at an all time high, and the second highest in the nation. Their province have been the laughing stock in the Senate for years and the police force has been labeled as incompetent. It was Logan’s job, now Roman’s, to turn that around.

Arriving on the fourth floor Logan walked out into a large, opened hallway, five half-glass offices on each side, with ten half moon desks in the center outside each door. The senator led his friend and new colleague to the third office down on the right.

“This,” He waved his arm around the room, bringing him in, “Is your new office.” The room was already furnish with a large, executive desk and armchair, a smaller chair to the side, a wide filing cabinet, and bookshelf. The only thing left for Roman to do was unpack, settle in, and get to work.

“To your left is the Secretary of the Province, Brian Lee, to the right is Treasurer Selene Carter, and your personal assistant,” Logan gestured to the woman at the desk outside the office, “Is Diana Meyers.” Roman nodded along and peered around the room, admiring the open space and glass walls with it’s blinds drawn for privacy. “I gave your assistant all the important files you’ll be needing left over from the last head of security, they’ll deliver them to you when you’ve settled in.” Roman tread over to his new desk to set down his box of personals, seemingly getting comfortable, “If that’s all, then I shall take my leave-”

“Logan.” Roman spoke up, turning back to face his new superior, and old friend. “Thank you, for this I mean.”

Logan loosed for a moment, letting go of his serious composure and allowing himself to relax. He flashed Roman a nod and a smile, saying “You’re very welcome.”, before turning to head back to his own office, leaving Roman to unpack his belongings and start work whenever he’s ready and able.

As he walked back to the elevators and further, several other officers and lower workers greeted him and paid their respects. Offering compliments or offers of assistance.

Shortly after becoming the senator for the province of Flor, Logan had learned that this would be a nearly everyday occurance. Many, but not all, co-workers, colleagues, and subordinates would kiss up to him in hope of a raise, promotion, or good faith. Often times Logan wouldn’t know who he could truly put his trust in, who was being earnest with him or who was being fake. It seems that the more influence one has, the more they tend to become used. Logan needed someone he could trust, Roman was a start, but it wasn’t enough yet.

“Sir, your butler just called,” Johnathan announced as he walked past the secretary’s desk, “He wanted to let you know that your advertisement for a new personal chef was successfully placed in the newspaper.”

“Thank you, Johnathan, keep up the work.” He replied stoically and entered his office, closing the door behind him.

The piles of paper worked stood menacingly on his desk, appearing to have grown during his short breather. With a tired sigh and a grimace, Logan sat down in his leather seat and got back into the toil, working late again as usual.

…

The city streets of the eleventh district were buzzing as usual with heavy machinery and labor, as it was the main industrial district of the city. Rock was being cut, wood was being chopped, metal was being melted down; all the heavy types of industry were hard at work making noise. Of all the fourteen districts of Flor’s capital, Fauna, the eleventh was the best place to find, or steal, scrap metal and material for his clocks.

Currently, Virgil was dumpster diving outside a silver and steel manufacturing lot, finding nuts and bolts that he could make use of. This had been a common thing for him to do ever since he was little. Granted, it was searching for food that he used to climb into trash cans, but the thousands of repeated dives in the garbage nulled his disgust for it a long time ago. Besides, everything was free here.

Whilst digging through the thrown away trash he found a handle sticking out from a torn bag. Pulling the handle out, Virgil was delighted to find a professionally made power saw with a broken cord. If he could get the right supplies he could probably fix the broken cord.

“Hey! Get outta here!” A booming voice roared over the sound of machines. Whipping his head up, Virgil saw a security guard running his way.

Ripping his backpack open and shoving the saw inside, Virgil climbed out the dumpster and bolted away, the security guard hot on his heels. Trying to make his escape he lead them into an alley where he knew a sewer opening was hidden under a pile of empty beer bottles. Once there, he pushed the bottles to the side, and jumped down into the colverless manhole, pulling a nearby trash bag over to hide the sewer opening. Virgil made sure not to make a noise until he heard the security guard leave.

Footsteps came into the alley before halting to a stop, there was some pacing before the footsteps started to retreat.

“Filthy dumpster rat.” The man cursed as he left.

Virgil waited a few moments more before climbing up the ladder, peeking his head out to scan the area before he crawled out completely. With one last look around Virgil left the alley and headed down the street.

That wasn’t the first time he had gotten in trouble with the security, and it most certainly won’t be the last. People around here didn’t like scavengers roaming around in their trash and would often chase them away with a metaphorical broom.

But at least it was safer to do so in this district than the other ones. The twelfth and eleventh districts were the closest to the Stacks, the fourteenth district, and therefore weren’t as funded as the others, making their security and police force easier to get around. But the closer you get to the city center, and the further from the Stacks, the police force is doubled, then tripled, and you can get arrested just for looking at a rich man wrong. Virgil once spent the night in jail for ‘causing’ a man in a hurry to drop his briefcase and spill his papers.

That’s just what life was like for those who came from the Stacks, and you could always tell when someone did. Stackers all had a distinct look: dirt poor. If you had holes in your clothes, dirt caked on your skin, old worn out shoes, or no shoes at all, it was a safe bet to say where you came from. However, out of all that, there was another trait that was more noticeable than all the rest: a loss of hope. In the eyes of all its residents there was familiar look that was held in each one, no matter if it was covered, denied, or accepted, that look came from a knowledge that there was no way out. The depression may have struck the nation three years ago, but it had been thriving in the Stacks since their creation.

The original economical idea for the Stacks was to move poverty into a singular, concentrated area with a small percentage of the population to keep it there. But as the years passed, that percentage began to grow beyond its initial barriers by building upwards, and the depression began to spread as an infecting virus. Now, because this abomination made to fix the economy was now breaking it, the rest of society turned on the stackers as the cause for their damnation.

Virgil had been born fifty years after its creation and was now living through the rear ass of the worst economic crisis in recorded history, yet is treated as less than a person by those whose only suffering was a smaller paycheck.

The police force were especially harder on his kind, but only when they’re caught in the center of the city. Another main function of the Stacks was to hold the majority of crime so that the upper ends could sleep better at night, while he has to use five bolted locks on the doors of his crate just to avoid being robbed or killed in plain daylight. A crime such as stealing a loaf of bread could earn you a year in prison if it’s done in the city, but murder is completely overlooked in his backyard. Who knows how long Virgil would have been behind bars if that shit eating cop caught him for operating a stand without a license.

This is the sort of injustice he had to live through on a daily basis simply because he was born on the wrong side of the tracks. The new senator elected last year promised change for all as his slogan, but Virgil knew what he truly meant. He, just as all the others, would help and listen to only the rich fucks of the city, leaving Stack rats such as himself to beg for their scraps. The government didn’t care for them, and there was no way the officials would allow any of them leave their hell. That’s just the way the system worked and that’s how it’d stay. No one was brave enough to try and change it.

.

.

Tag List:

@shaeshaetheravenclaw

[shapeshifting-arch-mage]

12/04/2018

Raver Temmie and I fly on our broom to the Island. When was the last time we were here? We've come here again because we need to buy some glowsticks to pass out to the partygoers who've agreed to come to our private rave party. The one that we never got around to having because we went to Baku's rave over at Port Town's dance club. Now that was an experience.

"hey tem?"

"ya, hooman?"

"wen we get back, were gonna rite Baku a nice thank yu lettr, okay?"

"ooo, yaya!! thank u letr!! dats a grate idea!!1!" We fly our broom to the seaside store, which, unbeknownst to us, now has a new owner...

Raver Temmie and I fly our broom to the seaside store, where we'd last browsed for glowsticks. We dismount our broom, put it back inside our hat, and open the door. "i hope dis time i can find some-"

...The store looks different. We do not remember the store looking like this when we were last here. We step inside and close the door behind us. "h-hooman...?"

"yea?"

"wat happend to da store??"

"i dunno, its been a wile since we wer here. maybe sum1 redecorated it?"

We haven't seen who that someone is just yet, but if he were to look at the one who'd just entered his store, he'd see a bipedal Temmie in a pointy hat who appeared to be having a conversation with herself, as if she were two people.

"ok, but who did it?"

"i dunno." Our eyes look left and right as we take turns talking out of the same mouth.

[Salandit] The lizard frowned a little, holding the sandwich in its mouth. So... he could take random trash he didn't want, give it to this person, and they'd give him sandwiches...? ...He'd have to remember that, then. His tail flicked once more, and... before Jevil even finished his sentence, he was out the door- running at full speed towards... somewhere.

[Jevil] Jevil exhaled happily, tail wagging a bit. From his perspective, it had worked. It now knew the basics of capitalism. He laughed a little, having been greatly amused with the creature. Now though, he had a new priority. His small pointed ears shot up at the sound of the entrance bell and his attention was drawn to the newcomer: some sort of anthropomorphic white cat/dog. Them holding a conversation with themself was slightly off-putting to Jevil, but he wouldn't judge! Well at least he wouldn't let himself be too nervous, he had to serve this creature after all!

"Hello, hello to you, you! You come seeking wares is that true, true? Well, well tell me what you're looking for and I'll see what I can do, do!" Jevil wore his iconic joyous grin, mitten covered hands tucked beneath his chin as he awaited an answer.

[Rave Witch Temmie] Whoa! What was that that just darted by?! We flinch a little as the Salandit runs out the door. Once the door closes again, we turn back towards the counter and...

...Oh dear lord, what the heck is HE doing here?! He's not supposed to be out of his cell! We flinch again when he greets us, and begin to shiver, a look of dread forming on our face as he talks. After he finishes, our shivering culminates in a shudder as we cry out, "w-w-waaaaah!" We then hide our face behind our front paws.

[Jevil] He blinked once at the flinching reaction, deciding that it was only due to how loud he can become and often is to counteract the quieting nature of the shop's fabric walls. His voice would trail off somewhat as he noticed the shaking and expression. Maybe if he was quieter when he next spoke, this customer would be more comfortable here. The shudder and tears truly did distress the imp-like being, causing him to recoil a bit and spend a bit trying to figure out what he had said to cause such a reaction. Or maybe this person had very recently heard the rumors he had spread in his own world. He tensed a bit, taking in a breath, holding his hands out in front of him in the universal sign of harmlessness.

"H-hey calm down, calm down I say! There is no need for tears and no need for fears, I promise you won't be hurt, dears!" He had mainly pluralized it for the sake of rhyming rather than any knowledge of the newcomer's state.

[Rave Witch Temmie] Eugh, that voice... our shivering subsides somewhat, but not entirely. And did he just call us dears? Nnnngh...

We gingerly lower our paws from our face. They feel a bit moist... did we stain them with a tear or two? Oh geez, I didn't even notice- now that I think about it, our eyes do feel a little wet. How embarrassing...

"w-w-w-w-wat'd yu do to da store???"

[Jevil] "Just a little bit of renovation. I added a little things here and there to create what i saw in my imagination! Uee hee hee, and what a creation i've worked to see, see! No harm either considering the shop belongs to me, me!" He couldn't help but smile at the sensation of pride that whirled around in his stomach and warmed his chest. Jevil knew that there could have been countless others who sought this job and store, so he couldn't help but pride himself in the fact that the higher-ups, whoever they might be, had chosen him as the shopkeeper. No matter the poor experiences he has had so far, the bird-based robbery and the assault via spaghetti, he couldn't help but be happy and excited for all the new faces he'll be able to bring smiles to. His T ended tail swayed gently as he stared off into the distance at the thoughts.

Jevil was somewhat embarrassed when he emerged from his little day-dream. "Well, well now that you know my little slice of the resort, may I ask what wares you seek with some importe?"

[Rave Witch Temmie] "i... uh... um..." Oh geez, the little snot's gone and taken over the place, has he? Well, isn't that just faaaaan-tastic!

"human, whys a scary clown guy in da store??" Temmie thinks to me.

"Er, um, well, I don't know, but I'm pretty sure he's actually a jester." I think back. 

"watsa jester??"

"It's just what it sounds like- someone who jests."

"wats that mean??"

"You know... they tell jokes, and act silly..."

"u mean liek a clown??"

"Er..."

...Well, she's got a point there. I suppose if you think of it that way, they are kind of the same thing. Anyway, back to answering said clown/jester/whatever's question. We glance to the side, unable to bring ourselves to make eye contact with him.

"i was, uh... i was g-gonna hav a hapy fun rave party... a-and i-i needa get some stuff..."

"Glowsticks." I remind her mentally.

"o-oh ya!1! glowsticks!!" We say, looking at Jevil briefly before averting our gaze once more, "i needa glowsticks for my friends at da party... i came hear to buy sum befor but dere werent none..."

[Jevil] "Glowsticks, glowsticks..." He echoes in thought, mentally running through his stock, trying to determine if he would have them. For a while he didn't think so until he recalled their wide colour variety and knew where he would have stored them. Her perks up with excitement and giggles.

"Yes, yes I think I have a set in the back, I wouldn't think glowsticks would be something we would lack, lack! Wait here a second and I'll return with the items, I reckon!" With that, the leapt down from his chair, landing with a small thud and symphony of bell jingles. He remained in a crouching position for a second, showing just how small the once-court jester was, before he bounded into the back, passing through the fabric flaps that had matched seamlessly into the wall. A series of bells and other noises emitted from the back room as Jevil scurried about to find the glowsticks he was increasingly certain he had. He remembered having some in his old shop and had brought along many of his unsold wares from there when he moved his base of operations to the island. Where, oh where, though?

Jevil leaned backwards, holding himself up with his tail as he looked through the massive selection of colorful items, a few dozen pinwheels, plastic flowers, ball-pit balls, glow- There they were! He grabbed the glass jar filled with the unused tubes of chemicals and bounced out from the back.

"I return, return with the items you yearn! I have about twenty four glowsticks as you can see here, here now, lean in close, lend an ear: 2 of whatever you have for money each, it's a rather fine deal I preach!"

[Rave Witch Temmie] Once he goes to the back room and out of our sight, Temmie whispers to me, "whys he so scaryyyy...??"

"uh, cuz of his creepy face an' his creepy voice an' his, uh, "chaos chaos" thing, or sumthin?" I whisper back.

"wats dat???" She asks.

"i dunno, youd have to ask him!" I reply.

...Wait, I shouldn't have said that. I don't want us to ask him- oh no, he's back. Wait, are those... Hey, look at that, he does have glowsticks! Who would have thought?

"...Lean in close and lend an ear? ...Really?" I think, "Hardee har har. Just because we have four ears doesn't mean we're lending that creep any of 'em!"

"uh... o-okay, y-ya, ill buy em all..." We nervously approach the counter and pay 24 credits.

[Jevil] He giggled slightly, eyeing the 24 credits.

"I believe you miscounted, miscounted! 24 credits is only enough for half of the glowsticks, not all of them, them!" He seemed rather amused by the situation though, holding onto the product a little while longer as he waited to see if they will accept only half or seek out the remaining 24 credits to pay. He thankfully seemed to be rather patient, his tail wagging slightly as he hoped up onto his chair, putting the jar of glowsticks on the counter.

"Now now, would you like to pay the full price for all of them, them, or pay what you've already paid and take only half of them, them?"

"awawawa!!1 oh nooo!1 im sorry!11! heres da rest!1!"

We quickly put 24 more credits on the counter and then take a few steps back. Geez Louise, what is with us tonight? We already embarrassed ourselves in front of this guy once; we just had to go and do it again, didn't we! Sheesh...

[Rave Witch Temmie] ...Oh, wait- the glowsticks. We can't pick them up from over here. We'll need to walk back toward him to get them- actually, no, we won't! That's right! We're a Temmie! We stick our arms out in front of us and stretch them towards the jar of glowsticks.

[Jevil] He gave an amused laugh, happily accepting the payment and pushing the jar forwards towards them, blinking as they backed away. Frankly Jevil really wasn't sure what to make of this person, he was completely unfamiliar with Temmies after all.

"It's alright, alright! You can take the glowsticks whenever you'd li-" He was taken aback by the way the customer's arms seemed to just burst forward towards him. He looked absolutely horrified for a moment, recoiling as far back as he could, taking in these rapid, quick breaths. He had his eyes squeezed shut, not opening them up again until he thought it was safe. He pressed a gloved hand into his chest. Nothing happened. He was ok. He was ok. Seam didn't come back for revenge. It's ok. He's fine. Jevil took in a deep, shaky breath.

"Sorry I... I wasn't expecting that, that..."

[Rave Witch Temmie] Whoa, hold on... we scared HIM? Are we seeing this right? Did he just dart back behind the curtains again when we reached for the jar? You've got to be kidding... He's the creepy one, not us! What's so scary about us stretching our arms out, we wonder? Maybe being in this body for so long has made me forget that Temmies can be off-putting to those who aren't used to being around them...

We grasp the jar between our paws and then retract them towards us.

"uh... y-yu ok??" We call out.

[Jevil] "Y-yes, yes! I'm ok! Just- just shaken is all, all..." He emerged still looking very much unnerved. He fidgeted with his thumbs almost as if trying to distract himself from something, yellow eye-dots tiny in residual fear. He glanced off, making sure not to look at the creature's arms, part of him terrified they'll come after him again if he looks.

"Just shaken..." He repeats, taking in a deep breath. He tries to shake himself out of the fear, forcing a small smile until it became genuine. "But don't worry about that now, now, if there anything else you want or shall we say ciao?"

[Rave Witch Temmie] "is dere, uh..." Temmie remembers something she wanted to ask him. The thing I didn't want her to ask him.

"Temmie, no! Don't-"

"w-wats ur "chaos, chaos" thing?? human dint want me to- mmf!"

Since both our paws are full, I press the jar against our mouth to silence her.

[Jevil] "My chaos, chaos thing?" He seems confused for a moment, wondering what they could be referring to. Perhaps a combination of his repetition and his shop's title perhaps?

"Well if you're asking about the shop's name, that's easy, easy! It's important, so important not to fall into routine or it could suck up all your glee, glee! So I made a little shop back home just like this one, one where people can come and buy the things they need while also having a little fun, fun!" He giggles happily, tail wagging, mind seemingly off whatever had him so terrified before.

"As for saying things twice, twice, well I'm just following my own advice! Keep things fun, keep things nice, and life is sure to entice, entice!"

[Rave Witch Temmie] Sigh... why'd she have to ask him that...? Thanks to her, we had to listen to him yap at us in that spooky voice again! Though, on the other hand, I'm now very confused by his answer. We were not talking about this store, or his quirky speech patterns, at all. I had wanted to leave as soon as we'd bought our glowsticks, but now, I'm curious as to why he didn't seem to know what we were really referring to.

I decide to take control of our mouth from Temmie for a moment, and ask, "yu had anothr store? wat yu mean?? what happend to da cat guy??"

[Jevil] His mood shifted to discomfort at the mention of "da cat guy". Well, there was another question in there so he could ignore that part for longer.

"Yes, yes, I had another store, store. I opened it myself after the King decided he didn't want a court jester anymore, anymore. I could have done anything, anything indeed, but I thought that a shop of fun is what the kingdom would need. Then, then just recently, I got a letter in the mail, mail asking if I would be interested in coming here to do sale! I took it, took it I did, and that's why the island I now work amid!"

[Rave Witch Temmie] We shiver a little again as we listen to his creepy, singsong rhyming.

"yea, but, wat about dat cat guy, da one wit da button eye?"

Oh geez, now he's got us rhyming, too! Curses!

"i thot he was suppost to hav a store!1"

[Jevil] Oh god they really were talking about him. Jevil's pupils started to shrink again, seeming to grow panicked again. He seemed to grab onto his tail for comfort.

"I know who you're talking about but not what. Seam went mad years, years ago, it was very unfortunate... I just hope that now that his life in done, he isn't insane in heaven." He seems to be shaking a bit, really not wanting to recall those memories. That battle. That grin. By god, that grin. He tried squeezing it out of his mind, pressing his eyes shut and holding his head. That grin. That grin. It persisted even as Jevil had watched Seam rip his arm half-off to use as a weapon. He let loose a whine, shivering.

[Rave Witch Temmie] Our face goes blank. "...hes ded??"

[Jevil] Jevil nodded, trying to return to reality the best he could. Trying to pry himself away from the memories. Away from that battle. Jevil had technically won, but that did nothing to help his conscious. He held onto his tail tightly.

"Yes... Yes the once magician is gone, gone like the rain, only I, the once jester, remain."

[Rave Witch Temmie] Our jar of glowsticks in hand, we take several more steps back, uneasy at the thought of Seam being dead. Or at least I am. Temmie doesn't know who he is. While Jevil laments his loss, we back out the door with our purchase.

[zebraslovescupcakestoo]

Golden Eyes chapter 27

It was late that night. The party was nice and fun. After lunch, we all had a 'police' meeting and the ones who aren't those members have left. I was appointed as a regular police officer once I'm better and the new gang I'm going to be in will be tutoring me on the basic lay outs of the district. I mean, what if I'm in another gang chase and I don't know WHAT to expect? Chief detective Pikachu told me that I wouldn't worry about getting in my 'detective' ranking anytime soon. I'll get it back once I'm well accustomed to this district post. The others have told me that they were more than happy to have me on their side. Not because we helped each other out in the necklace and drug cases...

So right now I have my nephews with Woody tonight before he's gone back to Ireland tomorrow for a couple of months. I didn't expect him to be transferred to the Chinatown's Police Department while I was on the case. But he's not the only one.

Sheba and Kitty too were transferring here! They didn't want me there by myself for a lot of reasons... But I think it's because they wanted to keep a close eye on me... I feel like they didn't want to be separated from me... IN A TIGHT BOND, FRIENDSHIP KIND OF WAY! Not because I'm... I'm... Never mind. Let's just say I'm loyal to ONE girl, Kitty.

I arrived at the address that was marked on the card. I feel like I've seen this place before... Yet, I feel like I'm getting a bit uneasy... I noticed Mickey at a stock pile of wooden crates. He waves at me to come over.

I got up to him and he started the conversation. “I'm sorry that I couldn't explain earlier. I didn't want to spoil your birthday party.” I shook my head. “No, it's alright. How did you guys figure out my birthday?”

“It was your friends idea and we wanted to start apologizing for a lot of things... not just when you were in that hospital.” He had that guilty eye looking down with a sad smile.

“Mickey... if you're talking about that gun shot wound, it's not your fault. It was obviously Bendy.” I covered my side as I was saying that. But he shook his head. “That's not what I'm felling REALLY awful about.”

He made a 'follow me' head gesture and I did as we got inside the warehouse. It was quite spacious, apart from a few large crates and supplies that's been gathering dusts. He then settles down on a conveniently small crates that looks like it can be used as chairs and a table. “I've already scouted the area before you came. If there was somebody here, I would have 'heard' it.”

“You mean... You can hear things like your brother too?” I settled down and he nodded. “I don't like bragging my traits like that, but I just want to let you know... Er... Now about where to start, I think I need to start with our status here.” He then started to explain.

“I think you might figure it out by now, but our mafia name is just our front. We're NOT a mafia.  The truth is, we're a resistance group that's going against the Alfonso Mafia and other organized crimes like them. Only a few knew who we really are, and Bendy doesn't know this yet.”

“Then why would you guys want to be labelled as a mafia in public? Was it to draw a certain somebody's attention?”

He mockingly smiled. “Right on, Felix. I knew you're much sharper than you look. It is luring a certain somebody or in this case, a certain organization. But it's not Bendy and his new Alfonso mafia.” He took a deep breath and his face relaxed.

“Do you remember that there was an eastern organization called themselves the yakuza?” I nodded. “I heard they were the ones who massacred some of the top members of the Alfonso's mafia... and then you two came along to tell me your stories...” I looked down a bit to remembered the details... “Was it them you're both trying to lure out?”

He nodded. “Yes, but there's more than one organization back in the eastern worlds. Fortunately, Bendy is after them too.” He crossed his arms. “Our REAL goal is to take down our sworn 'enemy', but then again, they're a bigger threat than them. So our main objectives are to track down and take out that certain yakuza organization, and THEN we'll take down the Alfonso mafia.”

“The yakuza... It's the same ones that took out your second 'family' too, right?” He nodded. “They also... took my mother's life too, right?” He nodded with a sad look and sighed. I sighed too.

“To me and my brother, she was like our second mother. One time, I remembered she said that we were just about the same age as you are and that she would loved to have you with us if there was another way.”

Hey wait! His argument didn't hold up from the last time she mentioned me. “But didn't you said that you only 'knew' me when she was... on her death bed?” I tried not to get my emotions get in my way too soon.

“Oh right. That was a bit of a misunderstanding from that private bar. We just rarely heard her personal stories when we started to become the Head Dragons of the Red Dragons. It was during those peaceful days that she decided to talk about it, but she never mentioned 'specific' details. We just assumed at the time that she wanted to keep those parts 'private.' We only learned your name on her final hour. I guess she just wanted to-”

“Protect me. She was promised to be a bride to a certain man who was in a yakuza gang and that they were on her tail. She had to gave me up once I was born... and why my father didn't want to tell me about it...” I noticed him being surprised at my answer. “Ah! I'm sorry! I just... well...” How can I explain THAT?

“Did that Bastet Deity told you that?” He asked. I raised an eyebrow. “Your mother did mentioned to us once that she can communicate with her from time to time. But only when she needed some advice or some family time from what I heard of. She did said that she was able to do so when she was in some sort of training for those abilities when I asked her. I guess you might have the chance to do that. You know?”

My eyes widen when he said that. “You think if I can complete my 'sight' abilities training, I might be able to communicate with my mother's ancestors and... I might see her?” I was anxious.

“I'm not saying you CAN, I'm just saying you might. I only got some details and what she said. The rest is up to you alone.”

I was then brought back to earth. He's right. It's not one hundred percent guaranteed it's possible... I did met my first ancestor with that 'gift,' but I can't say for sure if I can meet 'her' in future 'dreams.'

“Now back to the other matters at hand. I wanted to tell you about what happened when you were at the hospital. I'm sure you've got it from your friends that we did had a group meeting between them and us. I did told them about pretty much everything except your 'sight' abilities. That girl Kitty did asked about it, but I told her that it's best if you explained.”

“I did pretty much explained in a simple way and what I was going through. I do admit I've kept some a secret for now cause I wanted to know it before hand.” I placed my right hand on my left and grip it tightly.

Mickey noticed that and said. “I wouldn't worry on fearing that thing lose. It can only be removed by the wearer.” I was a bit relieved on that part. I did questioned on why it wasn't removed when I was at the hospital.

“But the thing is and you know part of it, you were given the boot at the Chicago Police Department.”

I nodded to that set back. “I was told from my dear friend Sam that it was one of the higher ups that pulled the strings by Bendy's command. In the other district that isn't the Chinatown territory, there are some that are untouchables to us and it's a bit of a challenge to ALL of us. Including some that used to be over there. But... in this 'unfortunate' event you had, it was a really good deal for us.” He smiled again. “I did mentioned a couple of times already, but we did a background check on you. Including your past police work and I have to admit, you're one of the very few honest ones that is a good cop and a true believer of honest justice. The people you've helped and rescued said really good things about you and if they found out that you're fired, they'd be really sad, ya know?”

I blushed a bit at the compliments. Sure it's really nice to be noticed for all of the good work you've done, but it's not like I'm a super hero or something like it.

“So after that, I did a bit of work myself and got you a NEW place right here in Chinatown.” I gasped. “Hold on! You got me the same job in a different district?” He chuckled and nodded. “I did pulled a few strings on my own, but it's a clean move. I wanted to find good people who can help us, not just against Bendy. Plus, with you there, the Chinatown's police department will have a much better advantage with co-op.”

“Huh? But isn't the whole police force working together already? Sure there some that... oooooh.” I covered my mouth. I forgot that there are some people that... doesn't like to have any 'business' with any Chinese or other Eastern people...

“We DID tried our best and done everything to get them along with us in the police force, but there are some others that 'need work.' Aside from some that DOES wanted to work with us like Chief  Philihert 'Pikachu' Princeton, it's a working progress. Until today... We're going to get even more.” He made a playful smile on that.

“I know who you're mentioning. I guess I owe you a really big one for this.” I was feeling a bit embarrassed that they did help me. Again.

I then see him frowning again. “It's alright... But I wanted to tell you another story. It's about... Bendy.”  He took a deep breath before he started.

“I think I've already mentioned this before, but me and my brother used to be friends with him back in our prime teenage years. We did shared our special abilities and that we used to be the M.O.B. in our robberies.”

“Just the ones that were corrupted, right?” Just to clarified that subject. He nodded.

“But aside that, we were inseparable. When we're not on a job, we're just like any other kids at our age. We used to hang out at that pizzeria palace before it was shut down and Bendy bought it. Sure, we used to pull fast ones on each other once in a while. Like one time, he made a funny looking ponytail on my brother's and mine and then the next one we made him wear a girl scout skirt on one bank robbery.” He chuckled and then his eyes got sadder. “I... really believed at the time he was like a second brother to me... Until that day they've broke the no killing rule... and what he did to my brother...” He closed his eyes for a few seconds and then he told me what happened.

“It was about more than a year ago, when we all still have a struggling balance on the territories, and before Bendy had risen up both in the public and underworld. My brother and myself along with others at the time were still managing pretty well in our district. It may not be perfect at the time, but at least we regain a peaceful neighborhood once again. Bendy on the other hand, he's still struggling a bit with his new leader title of the Alfonso mafia after HIS 'family' massacre from the same enemy. He did HAVE some influence along with Boris when he takes over, but there are some and other mafia families that weren't convinced. At least not yet.”

“Meaning he's still hasn't got a good hold of support at the time?” I think I understood why he doesn't have the 'approval' from the others that's older or in their seniors. He was about twenty at the time and I can relate to that when I wanted to join the police academy. It wasn't just our sizes...

“That and it made him really angry. Sure he has the guts to 'offed' their heads off, but it's not the same rules in the underworld 'laws.' You need to be both influential and successful on BOTH 'society' sides if you want to be on the top. We may be one of them, but we weren't exactly... fit in like them.”

“Meaning it makes you guys an easier target to them? Like a dog eat dog world cliche thing, you either take or get taken. I'm still surprised you guys still manage to be at number two and didn't shed a single drop of blood after all of this. At least from what I've heard so far.”

“It's not like it was easy for us. I hate to admit but... we also did some choices that wasn't easy. Not in a killing way, but an... 'alternate' solution.” He looks dead in the eyes at me. I think this is where that 'negotiation' skill might be useful... if you're a nice guy and hopefully he's merciful.

“We almost unified the whole district under our banner. Until one brawl out had caught my brother off guard while I was in a disguise meeting with the mayor at the time. I only got the news when I came back and I was scared to death. It was one of the worst moments of my life. The only contacts I got between us and Bendy's were letters. He made a deal with me if I wanted to have my brother returned alive, I have to give him a huge ransom.”

Is this the part where I had that last flash back in my dreams? But wait, there's a couple of things I wanted to know about that. “Pardon me, but why would Bendy wanted to kidnap Oswald? If he's after the territory, wouldn't he want that instead of the money? And if it IS the money, why didn't he... go after you instead?”

“Because he knows that Oswald is a much better tactician than I am. He would have think a cleaver solution and then beaten the hell out of them along with the others. But as for the money... he knew I'm the only person who can give him the ransom for Ozzy. He knew how much he means to me and he took that to his advantage.” He looked slightly at the side with his teeth gritting and he had his arms crossed and gripped tightly.

“Oswald... was the first person who sees me as a 'real' person. Among all of the praises, the gifts, the 'social' Hollywood groups, the fans, even among my family and others, he treats me like a normal person... It's not that I don't liked who I am, but it's just... suffocating at most times. I was stuck among those 'fakes' smiles and some who just wanted to use me before he came in my life. I did mentioned that I was being groomed and trained by my mother to become the next star, but I barely have the chance to be myself or be a normal kid at that age...To me, he's my real family, half -brother or not, I don't care what they say about him...” He sobbed a bit. “Do you know that feeling? When the one you're very closed to, is being tortured by someone like Bendy? When every seconds feels like it could be his last? Or maybe worse?”

I was upset at that reaction. “I... I would have probably have done the same thing if he ever held my loved ones and my closest friends too.”

“It wasn't exactly easy to gather all of the money. I manage to get fifty, but the rest... I had to begged at my father... I told him about how he's being held by some thugs and well... I did my best not to mentioned anything about the whole Red and Blue Dragons things that's been with us for most of our lives. In exchange of that, I was going to work under him until the debt was paid.”

I was surprised by that. “But they still wanted you to become the next in line of the Animation company?”

“They did. But I already told you that I wanted to earn it instead of 'handed' it over to me. Besides, I did sort of wanted to get rid of that debt before I can make any head decisions in my father's business.”

“I'm... really sorry for what happened that day and what you're struggling right now. I wish I could have helped if I can turn back time.”

He whipped his tears with his arms. “But... it's not just that... After that night, Bendy was making a name for himself, not just in the underworld... Felix, if you want to put the blame on anyone for the 'new' Alfonso mafia, it should be me. I'm the one who 'funded' his new 'family' and with his past knowledge, he even invested on big business. He even have re-established and renewed the Joey Drew Studio. The third. I think I don't have to explain the rest in his 'success' in public when he's barely in his twenties...”

I was shocked... Mickey have given Bendy the ransom money and that demon have pretty much used it in his front and back businesses! But yet... Mickey still thinks it's all his fault... “Mickey... It isn't your fault. NONE of Bendy's mafia or his animation work is your fault! You only gave him the money to save your brother. If I had a half sibling being held by him, I would have done the same as I mentioned not long ago. I may have given him the money, but what he does with it is his responsibility! You have no blame in this! Not now nor ever will!” I got up and stomped my feet at that statement. His face got a surprisingly expression.

“Mickey, I know that we may only worked on one yet a huge puzzled case these past couple of weeks, but I know you well enough that you're a good person at heart. Not just in a public image appeal. You cared for your friends and your brother. You even kept that promise for your closest friends. You have that positive personality and kindness that most people would love to have, even in hard times like today and in this crime city. To me, that is one of those kind of people that I wished to have as a friend. Both good and the 'bad' side and that's alright. I do have some traits and mistakes that I'm not too proud of too. So stop putting yourself down like that. Just... be your cheerful self again. Being a downer, it's just not you.” I really suck on cheering up someone like him... Especially when I'm a down to earth person myself and I'm barely a positive kind of guy...

However, it some what makes him much better. “Felix... Thanks. I think I understand what you were trying to say. It's true that whatever Bendy does with that money isn't all my fault.” He got up and stood next to me. “However, it IS still my responsibility to take him down. Just like yourself. Your father was killed from the former Alfonso mafia from what I heard, correct?” I nodded. “That makes two of us. We both got effected by them in different circumstances, but we have a common goal. Don't worry, we don't want any blood shed either. Just... not guaranteed when the time comes in a final showdown. You understand what I'm saying?”

“Yeah... the members are one thing but top gangsters like Bendy, anything can happened... Ah! Hey, I remembered something! Back in that factory, Boston had made two kill shots at your hearts! How did you both survived it and made those awesome- I mean, surprisingly comeback melees?!” I blushed a bit when I almost lost my composure and my usual conversation. Why did I slip up so recently?

He chuckled a bit. “I'm sorry. As for that answer, I'm afraid I can't tell you that just yet. Not at least until my brother said so.” I sweated a bit when he mentioned his brother... Why do I have to get through HIM of all people? He may be not be 'like' Bendy, but still...

I then heard a door opened and we had to hide. We were hugging the walled crates as we readied our guns. I was lucky today when I have my gun back from Chief detective Pikachu. I really need to call him in a different title than that.

I may be still recovering, but at least I can still shoot if thing get messy. We waited a bit as the footsteps came closer. It seems like there may be two. “Do you want me to 'seek' if there's more than two?” I whispered to him. He then return his gun back in its holster. What is he doing this time?

“It's my brother.” He responded. I wasn't convinced. “How come?! You barely saw-”

“Wǒ zài zhè.” That voice! But I was sure-

“You're a bit late. Did you ran into trouble on the way?” Mickey got out of our hiding spot. Seriously?!

“I'm dragging trouble himself. You know how much dad hates it when you keep holding out here. You're just piling up the work back home.” Oswald crossed his arms.

“I'm totally going after this, I promised. I just wanted to tie up some loose ends before I go back.” He clapped his hands together and made an apologetic pose.

“Don't you guys take any precaution when coming out of your hiding place like that?” Especially from what happened between... you know.

“This spot is isolated and we're not exactly that careless as we seem, hēi māo. I've brought an old friend of yours. We'll be outside on the look out and don't make a scene.”

“Why the heck would you guys be-” I turned my head for JUST a few seconds to gestured at the table me and Mickey were sitting on. “-on the look out if you said it was isolated? And who's the... new... friend?” Once I turned back at them, they were nowhere in plain sight. This is one of those moments I lose my temper when I'm alone.

“I'M STILL RECOVERING IF I'M IN A JAM, YA PAIR OF CIRCUS CLOWNS!!!” I shouted in anger when they left me like that.

Then I felt there's someone in the room. My gut feeling is telling me it isn't one the brothers... but it's not an enemy...

I looked around to see where that person is, thankfully I don't need to use my 'sight' abilities to see in the dark. That's a natural talent for me that doesn't need my 'visions' or messing with my mentality.

Odd. I still can't see that person. Suddenly I turned around and the silhouette is there, in the unlighted area of the warehouse. How did he manage to get behind me without being detected? I tried to get a better look at him, but I got a sharp migraine when I looked at him. “Ah!” I covered my forehead with my right hand and then my eyes started to sting. I tried to opened them, but it makes them burn even more and I felt getting dizzy. “Wh-what's happening to me?”  Wasn't the Bastet ring supposed to help me with these unusual symptoms?

I then felt I was being held back and that person covered my eyes. I then suddenly felt much relief. Wha?

“Sorry. I didn't expect things would turn out like this.” The individual said. That voice...

“Y-you're- NGH!” I then had a minor, sharp pain in my head and I had a flash back... on that night.

It was close to midnight when I was seventeen. The twins were fast asleep and dad was working. I snucked out of the house in a black biker jacket and a simple black mask because I was feeling something wild inside of me lately. Not out of the usual teenage thrills, but I was feeling like I wanted to follow my 'instincts.' I'm talking about the time I was at the borderline of losing myself to 'her.' I wasn't tired of being the good kid all the time, but I wanted my 'freedom' from all the things I've been put up with these past few years...

I wanted to be the 'new' me. My 'true' self. No rules, no responsibilities and I want to make my own decisions that I know what's right. I wanted to be free from everything. Even if it's just one night.

I was a bit weary of using my 'sight' because I can barely control it, but I was being tempted to use it... It was a huge, reckless mistake. I remembered the mass of pain in my body when I used it. Once I was awaken, I can only see. 'Something' was now controlling my body. I didn't know who it was back then, but I think it might have been Bastet. I was scared and I was alone.

'I' got into one of those rough alleys with tough bikers that is frequently used for their hang out. I did remembered those groups in the daytime a lot and those guys are a real piece of work. Those kids steel, causes property damage, being disrespectful to everybody and worst of all, they sell cigarettes to under minors!

My father had told me never to go after them and to steer clear of them. However, I wasn't in control. I remembered that awful feeling when they've spotted me, made their intimidating 'welcoming,' and when 'I' didn't say a single word, one of them got triggered and tried to make the first blow with a metal pipe. 'I' caught it and then 'I' quick clawed his right shoulder. I was shocked. What was it doing? I was in an 'all against one' battle between me and them. My heart was pounding at every swings, punches, kicks, you name it! Worst still, I never knew I can DO all of these. Sure, I was agile and pretty quick on my feet, but nothing like THAT!

Then one by one, 'I've'  taken them all down. They were in a pretty bad shape from what I'm seeing. I was scared to death. I know they may not be good guys, but I don't want to hurt them like this! Then 'I' was walking towards what I think who he was the leader of the biker group laying on his back. 'I' got on top of him, grabbed a fist full of his jacket, made him looked straight in the eyes and he was spouting in fear. I did everything to regain control of my body, but I still haven't succeeded as 'my' left arm lifted to make another claw attack. I remembered that I wanted to shout for help. Anyone to stop me for what I will regret for the rest of my life!

Just when I thought 'I' was gonna lay the final blow on him, there was a strong, large hand that grabbed on my left wrist that prevent me from doing so. 'I' looked to see who it was and he had that signature light grey, overcoat with white wool at his collar and a matching light grey, fedora hat. He immediately grabbed hold of me and we bolted out of the brawling scene while 'I' was struggling to get out of his grasp by biting and scratching on his arms.

Once we were alone in another alley, he immediately covered my eyes like he was doing now. I was then regaining my control... then I blacked out. I didn't remembered that night until now, if it wasn't for him...

“Bernard... It's you, isn't it?” I trembled with my words. I was emotional...

“Aw come on, squirt. Whatever happened to uncle Bugs? You used to called me that.” He lets go of me so that I can get a good look at him.

He still has that signature light grey coat with a cotton collar and a matching fedora hat. He still has those grey hair which sometimes confuses his real age and even with a few years older, he's still the same guy I remembered.

“But... Bernard... I'm not... * sniff* I missed you!” I hugged him. “After my father's death, you've disappeared without a trace or even a word... Aside from a note, I've looked everywhere for you when you did!” I sobbed.

He hugged back. “I'm terribly sorry for that. But it wasn't because I wanted to quit, it's... a bit more complicated.”

“Then... why did you went into hiding all this time? And how... did you met them? The Disney brothers? And-”

“Easy, one at a time. You're a bit shaken. Let's just sit down over there.” He looked down with a small smile.

I guess I did needed to calm down a bit. But I mean, I haven't seen him for like what? FIVE years, maybe? We settle down on the table where I was with Mickey earlier.

“Well, before I start, I just wanted to let you know that I'm very sorry for what you've been through after your father's death. It really hit me hard along with Detective Pikachu when it happened. We actually did wanted to help you and the two tikes, but there was... foul play before and still are at the Chicago Police Department. Specifically the higher ups.”

So there WAS something with them! “I... did suspected that might be the case, but I'm still lacking some evidence to support that theory.”

“That wasn't surprising.” He smirked with a raised eyebrow. “Since 'that' person is also responsible for the set up.” I was confused at that phrase. “I meant that 'HE' is actually the REAL person who was responsible for your father's death.” I gasped. “Wh-what?! But wasn't it the ones in the Alfonso's mafia who did the job?” The evidence at the time proves it! How?!

“There's no denying that it WAS Alfonso himself who did the deed, but it was actually 'HIM' who pulled the strings and asked a 'favor' to take him out.” He then got serious. “Listen Felix, before I continue on that, I needed to give you something that belong to someone special. But I've heard it from a couple of friends that you already been filled on what this is.” He reached in his over coat to reveal the golden ring of Sekmeth on a string necklace. That flashback was true... then that means the last one... I'll just pretend I never knew 'that' part for now.

“My mother's other ring... Thanks for keeping it safe all this time.” He handed to me and I put it on my right middle finger after I took off my glove. It fits perfectly.

“Your father always had trouble with that part about her. He did say you looked like her, but he never had that courage to say who she really was. Your mother was an unusual yet a unique person. She was one of the very few who can understand your old man and got along much better than myself and Detective Pikachu.” He smiled and closed his eyes as to reminisced those times... Somehow I can 'detect' some sadness. Maybe he did have those feelings for her?

“Um... I'm sorry to ask but... I...” Oh boy! How can I put this? That I had those flashbacks about him with dad and the Disney brothers?

“Did you had those dreams about the past?” He asked and I startled. “H-huh?” I blushed a bit. What did he just say?

“Your mother sometimes had those dreams when something is about or related to something important. It doesn't happened often, but it does so on occasions. Did you had something like that related to this?”

I was completely dumbfounded. Then again, I never knew her until recently... “Y-yeah... One when you were with my dad and... when you met the Disney brothers...”

“I see...” He then started thinking. “So you're still training to use that 'talent' to good use. Well, better late than never.”

“N-no! I can't always rely on them! I have to solve any crime related cases just like everyone else that does it! It's nothing different from cheating!” I immediately defended the methods of being a great detective. “Sure, I sometimes had 'help' from it, but then there might be times that it only 'shows' me how it's done. How am I supposed to prove anything if I don't have the evidence to support it?”

“For the first part, You don't HAVE to use it all the time. Just for that 'hard to see' thing.” He did a quote marks with his fingers. “You have one of those gifts that only YOU can use. The rest like me and others well, just need to work a little harder than you. Besides, you've been through enough AND still struggling. A little help from time to time doesn't hurt anyone, Felix.”

I looked at my hands again... thinking about it.

“If you use it more often, you'll be able to learn new 'hidden' abilities from it and you won't have to wear those rings twenty-four seven.”

“I know. I... sort of had that talk with the 'original' person. It happened a couple of days ago with another 'dream summoning' thing.” I scratched the back of my head blushing. I'm not used to say something THIS unusual.

“Ah, I remembered your mother once explained that when I asked one time when I thought she was meditating on one occasion. I think it was called the 'Inner Communication' or something like that. She told me it was like 'visiting' one of her ancestors within the Bastet bloodline by a dream or in deep meditation. It's kinda like you'll be able to have family time with an old family member while you sleep.”

My eyes widen with high hopes. Not the sleeping part, that for sure. “You mean... I can see my parents? That includes my father?” I got up from my seat and I beamed.

But he had a small smile on his face. “I hate to say it, but... you can ONLY meet the ones from the MAIN Bastet bloodline. Furthermore, your mother only met her's once she had almost finished her 'training.' From what she told me.”

I was then brought back to reality... “Oh... But... I still have the chance to see mom, right? At least it's better than none. Right?”

“Maybe, but I'm not the one with expertise on those kinds of things. I just know from what your mother once told me.”

So there IS a chance to meet her... Speaking of meeting...

“Bernard. I have to ask you somethings. There's one that you don't have to tell me if you don't want to.”

“Why would you think I would try to hide anything from you now, squirt? And I told you, you can call me uncle Bugs like you used to. No need to be so formal when we're alone.” He puts a hand on my head and ruffles a bit.

“Ber-Ah! Bugs! I don't want to brush my hair every time you do that!” I fixed it back. “For my first question, You knew that I'm not... his only child.”

“Hm?” He raised an eyebrow. “How did you found out?”

“I opened up an old locked metal case that used to belong to dad. I know for the longest time that I promised to him that I would never looked in it. But after that 'flashback' with you and my dad, when he mentioned a part about being divorced, I just need to know the truth. I should have guessed it for more when the twins came to live with us on that day and he said that they were my nephews. But I was just being too... nice of not pushing hard on the subject.” I always knew that dad didn't like to talk much on family matters... Now I understand why.

“I see. He was always had to put his work first for the safety of you and the others. But that can sometimes causes conflict within the family when it goes too much.”

“I can relate to that. But I'm doing my best to be there for them. Like, I don't want to miss out on their childhood moments like he did. I may not be perfect-ah! I'm going off the subject! Back at the farm, I was digging through the papers and I found out that I have an older half-sister, Jade Emerald Glade. She's the mother and she's been in an accident. How come he never told me the truth about her?”

He was in deep thought when I asked him. He then looked at me with that glint in his eyes and a serious expression. “You tell me. Do you still love your nephews?”

“H-Huh?” I was confused.

“I mean, even after founding out that you're only half related, do you still love them like they were 'actually' yours?”

What kind of interrogation is this? Does he forgot who I am? I slammed my hands on the table. “Of course I love them! Why wouldn't I? They're may be a bit handful at times, but I still love them like my own. Mickey and Oswald still love each other like real brothers, so why should I be any different with my nephews?” I gave him a serious stare down like I meant every word I said.

We were silent for about ten seconds until he broke it. “You're just like her. She was always willing to help those that means a lot to her. Even if it doesn't relates to her. Very well. Your sister used to be an energetic person that worked in a police line of duty and she was a single mother. At least until that accident. Your father DID considered to retire at one point to fix his past mistakes, but unfortunately, he never had that chance...”

I looked down. “I actually DID caught him one time before the incident that he wanted to spend time with us... But I guess that's going to be my job too. I doubt that I can fix the past, but at least I can do whatever I can to raise them well.”

“About that... There's something I must tell you about your sister...” I looked back to him.

“It's true that she died in the line of duty, but there's more to the story. You might want to sit down.”

TO BE CONTINUED... LAST CHAPTER!!!!

Read Chapter 26 here or read the beginning here.

BBTIM characters belong to Marini4. Some OCs and characters belong to their respective owners.