#oh golly gee what happened in that drawing on the far right

[itschr1spy]

Finally drew Peter Parker, lets go

I took inspiration from Peter's Designs from TSSM and SM: TNAS in order to make this boi come to be

[rixxy8173571m3w1p3]

The Truths Found On Petram Viridios IV (5/5)

A/N: The last chapter to this fic. It's a long one and I gotta say that I've had a lot of fun with this one. After I post this chapter, I'll be sure to post the masterpost for this fic. And of course it'll be available on ao3 soon enough.

Read Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4

__________

Chapter 5: Adore You

If you had to draw a map to find the way home once you were captivated by the gaze of those trustworthy, soft eyes of his, you would surely run out of ink; pools of blue, unwavering in their affection, drew you in, and you were willing to drown in them. There were facets about them that fascinated you as much as the scales of a butterfly did; they did not shimmer, but they gleamed and sparkled; it's what made you pause and search for a wisp of an acquaintance that very first time you saw him; finding a familiarity that threatened to sweep you away. Why you even found fire in those eyes; it was there in his moments of determination and passion. Oh, how their color shifted with his moods was a type of magic you wanted to spend the rest of your life being mesmerized by. To be sure he wasn't mistaken, he dare not blink; exhibiting the full spectrum of what Billie Eilish described as ocean eyes; he had to be sure. "Y-you do?"

"Yes," you giggled. "I do."

It wouldn't occur to you till later, that he had given you a choice. For instead of the typical proposal question, where it was more asserted, Rick asked in a manner in which there was equal footing; it spoke volumes of the respect he had for you. With shaky hands, he slipped a ring whose stone was as clear and blue as his eyes and cut perfectly like a rose, the band covered in gold vines and silver leaves which weaved together; he made it himself, and if you thought back far enough, you could remember when he was ambiguous about his plans to create a new type of stone. Honestly, you didn't realize it would be for this.

"Gosh," he sniffled. "I-I promised myself that I w-wouldn't cry."

But cry he would; fat, sloppy tears that blinded one's vision. He wiped at his eyes with the sleeve of his sweater, and fought to regain composure, but lost to the new wave which followed. You gently pried his hands away from his face, softening at his tear-stained cheeks. "It's okay, you can cry if you want to. I already know how tender you are."

Goodness, how long had he wanted to do this? For while it had almost been two years in which he had last attempted to, it might've been on his mind for much longer than that; eating away at his clarity; at the self-confidence that was torn down and repaired daily. You were grateful and proud that this man wanted you; that he finally gathered the courage to ask and do as he intended and wanted. You….you had wanted this to happen, but did he know that? Your ocean of inquisitions thought otherwise.

However, it was time to quiet and quell his despondent thoughts. Your fingers dug into the collar of his sweater; the tang of nervous sweat and something so him which wafted off him made you yearn to bring him closer. The puffiness about his eyes didn't discourage you from pressing a kiss at the corner of them and from his throat came a choked sob and you were surrounded by the sounds of his disbelief; this cacophony was breaking your heart. There had to be something you could do to ease him. "Ricardo," you started, "considering the suddenness of the occasion, should we, in like fashion…my dear honey man, would you like to get married today?"

This new tidbit caught him off guard; so much so that he stopped crying; good. Now, he was the one who was unsure of whether this was real life or a simulation. He ran his fingers through his hair, double-checked his equipment, sprayed himself with water, and completed equations that had taken this earth dimension's leading mathematicians decades to understand. What you thought was odd was when he caught a pigeon, scanned its anatomy, and found it was sound; you were going to have to ask him about it later. "Rick, did you hear me?"

"Y-yes," he focused, "but what d-do you mean today? How?"

You figured he would have easily come to a conclusion, but then again, what do spacemen have to do with the price of bread?

"I mean that we don't have to wait if you don't want to." You slid your palm over his tattoo, memorizing with your fingertips where his skin was slightly raised. "We can just go down to the justice of the peace if you'd like."

"And y-you would be my wife today?"

"Yes," you giggled. "I think that's how it works."

"But what about a-a…"

"A wedding ceremony?" you interrupted. "Well, we can have one later. We can plan it however you want, and invite all our friends. There can be so much celebration that we'll be knocked out for a week. Until then, I just want to make you happy, and I believe the sooner the better. Okay? So, if we're going to do this, just tell me now and I'll go get the proper paperwork."

It never ceased to amaze you how easily he flitted through emotions as though it were the weather, and with vigor, he lifted you up and vibrated with joy. "Boy, golly gee…this really - this really razzes my b-berries! This is…wow, I-I can't believe it."

You couldn't believe his word choice either. "Oh, you better believe it, because now you're stuck with me and I have you all to myself. However, you're going to have to put me down now because the office closes at five. There are a few things I need to do before then."

Letting you down, he happily waved goodbye despite the fact that it wouldn't take long to get what you needed for this impromptu occasion. Though, when you entered your house, you took a moment to think about your father. There were things you still didn't understand, like why he never told you about his friendship with Rick, or why you two never really discussed what he'd do if you got married; if he had been here, maybe you two would have talked about which flowers would look best as centerpieces; like whether roses or mums were cheerful enough or if this really was a good idea; if such an age gap was surmountable. Yet, in a way you felt as though you were honoring him; for your father and your mother had been unconventional and had gotten married without all the showy displays then road tripped a bit before settling here; you were simply following tradition.

Maybe, you didn't have to know about the why's and what-ifs, but focusing on what you could do seemed a whole lot easier to do. You kicked off your sneakers and dashed upstairs. You knew where your important documents were, but you thought that choosing a cute outfit would take a little longer. You wanted a certain vibe, one that would make things easier on him and then it came to you; why not revisit an old favorite; one that reminded you of his eyes; always, forever blue.

When you returned, you found him pacing around. He was deep in thought, and it took a moment for him to notice that you had returned. Almost comically, his eyes widened as he took in your appearance, and he started to cry again. "That's th-the dress. From that one time."

"It sure is."

With a twirl, you flaunted the blue chiffon dress, and felt like a dream; his visible adoration was not lost on you. It was a relief that this time you hadn't taken an hour to fuss or worry that you weren't dressed for the part, and you weren't wearing shoes which would kill your feet, but instead rocked some converse. "These shoes are made for walking and that's just what I'll do."

Unlike you, Zeta-7 wanted to fuss and choose something dressier, but you somehow managed to convince him that his blue button-up would be fine, and no tie was necessary; hidden ray guns were allowed just in case this happened to be the day that the Gromflomites attacked; not even Earth-based military scanners would be able to detect them. Though, you did allow him to fix up his hair, because one, you thought he was quite handsome with it combed back, and two, it's what he felt he needed to do to look the part. "How do I-I look?"

"Like the man I'm going to marry. Are you ready handsome?"

With a nod, he grabbed the folder with all the documents he needed. "Y-you bet."

______________

At the courthouse, the entire security staff grouped together and teased you about your keys; you should've known that you'd face trouble once you went through the metal detector; you had a lot of keychains; they were from the days when you and your father would go shopping together. Like Rick, he liked yard sales and thrift stores; sometimes he'd get grab bags and there would be vintage keychains, and he'd give them to you knowing you'd like them. You were told by one of the older guards that it wasn't natural for a grown woman to have a set of keys that weighed five pounds. Zeta-7 began to worry, but you told him you could handle it, and you figured the guards were bored and had nothing else to do. What you didn't tell them was that the main reason your keys were heavy was that you were carrying two sets; yours and your father's old keys; Rick knew, but he respected your wishes to leave it be.

Despite this, you two made your way to the right office; it only took fifteen minutes of going to lobby after lobby, free coffee, and endless rugs in all this indoor nothingness. And nobody knew better than Rick when it came to how much you hated paperwork, but nonetheless, you went through the painstaking process of signing this and that, wondering why they didn't make it easier for people by asking yes or no questions; this better not become someone's confetti. Rick breezed through it all, and you were slightly jealous that he knew what he was doing, but it was due to the fact that citadel paperwork was a lot more frustrating and difficult; he had to go through stacks of it weekly; poor man. While he sat quietly, you were in-between forms that had to be signed in triplicate and heard the gossip coming from the people who were working in the back of the office. What they didn't know was that their ignorance made you more determined; you'd fought your own expectations, that of others, as well as what seemed right to do long enough and no one, not even death itself was going to stop you from doing this; it was the best thing you could ever do for yourself and for him as well. You breathed a sigh of relief when you and Rick finally signed the marriage certificate; finally, it was done, and he watched rapturously as you set down the pen so that he could kiss you without refrain.

If you hadn't known better, you'd say the world shied away; dissolving into a plane of nothingness as he enveloped you with a strength that was deceptive for a man of his years; he had become a little more confident; it might've taken a few years, but all you knew was that it suited him. Being nurtured and cared for, as well as loved in the right sort of environment did wonders on Zeta-7; so much so, that he could hold the world in the palm of his hand and still manage not to damage it. It wasn't shocking that some found this outward display sweet, and you almost had hope for humankind, but then there was a laugh or two from the back; you made a mental note to consider moving off Earth. No one was going to ruin this moment for him, and relishing the moment, you chased his mouth for a second kiss; you know, to prove your point.

And if you hadn't already been proud of him, what made you even prouder was what he said on the way out. "Please stop laughing at m-my wife. Th-that's very rude."

His wife? Yes, you were his wife now. It's strange how you could wake up and wonder what you should have for breakfast and be here where you were now; in a whole new chapter of your life; wondering what will come next. Confusing yes, but not something to be afraid of; you welcomed this happy transition.

Back at the car, you were still recovering from his earlier outburst; the like which was almost out of character. "Did you see the look on her face? I thought it was going to fall off with how far her jaw dropped. Wasn't it a sight?"

Though, he was busy staring at the ring on his own hand which you had picked out when you two made a stop at a consignment shop earlier. It wasn't that complex like yours, but he loved it. "All I could see was - was you."

"You flirt."

You gave his shoulder a playful shove, and in turn, he laughed a full-on belly laugh; this happy noise was music to your ears. "Gosh, I-I mean it. Y-you, look so pretty today." A bit shyly, he commented. "Blue looks very good on you."

"Thank you. So, how should we celebrate? A trip to the moon perhaps? Going across the universe? Maybe a kaiju fight with Matango? Or watching Spiderman 2? Honestly, I'm game for anything."

You had decent shoes on and didn't care what he wanted to do because you were happy if he was happy. And as though it were just another afternoon, he glowed with happiness when he asked. "Mrs. Sanchez, do you - do you want to go get some ice cream?"

Some things will never change and you didn't mind that. "I'd love to. As the author, L.M. Montgomery once said, 'I guess ice cream is one of those things that are beyond imagination.' And, you know, it's so true. I intend to go all out with the toppings today. It's certainly that kind of occasion."

______

He couldn't seem to want to let go of your hand; as though the world would fall away if he didn't and that this would turn out to be a cruel dream. Still, you humored and spoiled him. As intended, you got all the toppings; Rick thought it was a kids dream come true with the amount of candy you had in your waffle bowl. And since you had enough to share, you took the liberty to feed him. He chatted on; offering charming stories from his band days; unlike other Ricks who were in a rock band called Flesh Curtains, his band had been a jazz and bossa nova trio; the band name had been comprised of a numerical equation; if you had named them you would've called them the Zeta Bytes.

Now, Rick wasn't a messy eater, but during one of his more excitable stories, he spilled a bit on the corner of his mouth. Ready with a napkin, you wiped it away, and couldn't help but laugh at how boyish it was. Giving your hand a squeeze, he absentmindedly brushed his thumb on the back of your hand; adoration coloring his voice. “You're t-t-too good to me.”

"There's no such thing. If anything, I gotta spoil you rotten."

You found no hindrance in his mood and this time he didn't think twice about kissing you then and there as he liked while you were still holding the napkin; fear and shame of public displays of affection being one less thing to worry about now. Who cared if your ice cream was melting, because your heart was melting; his mouth tasted of chocolate and promises. A soft chuckle escaped him as he pulled away; his promise whispered against your lips. "I-I promise I'll be good t-t-to you."

Being loved suited him; it really, really did wonders on his countenance and it made you wonder what else he could now do.

_________

By now you were a little tired, but Ricks contagious energy invigorated your spirits; you bet he could've come up with an invention and completed it today if he stayed this hyped up. Instead, he used that energy to make fresh rolls to go with the leftover acorn squash soup; you hadn't been that hungry, but you enjoyed it nonetheless. And when dinner had been eaten, you helped him with the dishes; nothing you hadn't done before, but his spirit was lighter and more at ease; he even bumped your hip with his as a gesture of playfulness. After cleaning up the kitchen, he decided that he'd like to take a shower and refresh himself and in the meantime, you stepped out into the backyard to enjoy the beauty of the night. In this part of town, despite the light pollution, you could see a fair amount of stars.

You had never studied astronomy, but Rick had shown you in diagrams and in textbooks of their names and explained how they were formed; to him, their complexity was like poetry, and it made them beautiful. You couldn't recite it by memory, but you had a feeling that beyond your current comprehension perhaps there was life amongst those heavenly bodies, despite the heat or deadly gases; if you had learned anything about space, it was that worlds were more along the lines of art and beauty than fields of science which were easily explained. Yet, in the air, where there was a sweet perfume, thick, but intoxicating, only where you were currently mattered; you saw that in the leftmost part of the yard there was jasmine which was currently in bloom; its blanket of flowers reminding you of snow. Hadn't you read of this somewhere before? Maybe.

In the grass near your feet, grasshoppers leaped away, and crickets chirped their songs. And you relished the strong breezes and the song of the night which may consume a melancholic heart if it were searching for tragedies instead of sweet dreams. And it had only been a few hours ago when you had thought that all of which transpired might've been a dream. Though, whatever truths that had come to light in the hours after the simulation, you were glad of them.

In the dark, sights and sounds were heightened and mesmerizing, albeit curious in its own right; if it hadn't been for the sound barrier Rick had on his property, you would've heard the obnoxious sound of the next-door neighbor's TV as they watched infomercials. Still, it was a beautiful night. Sitting on the bench which overlooked the whole yard, you thought of what wonderful things you'd like to share with Rick, and then he found you. For his part, he had changed into something more relaxed; into a light blue button-down that was similar to the one he was wearing earlier, but this one was softer, and it was paired with navy pants; it reminded you of blue pants Rick with his attire, but it was cute and suited him. With him, he had brought over a tray of goodies and you two ate cookies and cakes and drank earl grey under the moonlit night.

The pause in conversation gave allowances for observations. For example, you took a good long look at him as he sipped his tea; admiring how casual he appeared tonight. Without his labcoat or sweater, his identity seemed separate from that of his dimension jumping, scientist self; making way for the person deep inside; the friendly neighbor who won your heart without even trying. He noticed eventually that you had been staring at him, and he broke the silence with his inquiry. "What are y-you thinking about?"

"I'm thinking about you cutie. You um….you look really good in those blue pants of yours. Thinking of taking up modeling anytime soon?"

"N-no," he answered with an air of obliviousness that you found endearing. "not unless my next work assignment requires it. Gee, why do you ask?"

"Hmm, it's because you wear your clothes well. I always thought you did, but I don't believe I ever mentioned it."

He ruminated on what you said for a few minutes, before setting down his cup. "Did you - did you always find me attractive?"

"No," you confessed. "but you're the only person I've ever really been attracted to. I…..I always liked the fact that our relationship was built on something more substantial. You see, the more I got to know you, the more irresistible I found you. Though," you winked. "those teeth of yours were always too cute to resist."

This truth of yours made him comfortable enough to relinquish one of his own. "C-can I tell you a secret?"

"It's not much of a secret if you tell me dear, but you can tell me anyway."

Wringing his hands together, he confessed solemnly. "That day y-you tripped on the sidewalk nearby my house, I-I almost decided not to cross the road."

Not cross the road? Hmm, it had been an option. In your mind's eye, you could imagine it; the tall, lanky figure of a man debating against his better judgment on what he ought to do; so close but so far; knowing that he was altering the course of his future and putting yours at risk. Poor man, having to wallow over a moral dilemma like that. "Why is that?"

"Gosh, y-you….I didn't want to take advantage of the situation."

It could've been taken that way, but you never thought so. "So what changed your mind?"

"I thought you were going to cry, and I-I didn't… I didn't want you to suffer anymore. I thought t-to myself, that if I got t-t-to know you, then you wouldn't have to be lonely anymore."

When he said this, you nearly couldn't look at him; not because he knew more than he let on, but because who knows what paths you two would've taken if he hadn't shown up that day. Tears bit at the back of your eyes, and your nails bit into your palms. "Dear, love isn't always a cure for heartache," He tensed up at this, but you knew you had to tell him. You weren't upset because you had guessed as much, but being assured of it cemented the fact. "but I'm sure that without you, without your friendship, I might not be here right now. I think I was depressed, and from time to time I still feel that way. I…I have thought of ways to make my troubles end, ways you might not have been proud of, but you've shown me a better way to live. I think…no, I know that by expanding my horizons, I understand now that there's so much to look forward to, and not to take life for granted. Why," you paused, fighting the tears which threatened to fall. "you reminded me that I gotta make the most of this crazy, unpredictable life, and I'm happy that I'll get to do that with you."

He understood and accepted this answer and gave you a look of adoration and pride; the like that you hoped you'd always remember. And when you two were done with tea, you both took a walk about the garden. The sweet perfume of jasmine intermingled with that of the scent of his soap, and combined with the candor of his speech made this place feel like a well of comfort. He followed behind you as you two spoke, and you were conscious of the fact that with his freshly washed hair brushed back, it made him more appealing. His hands were in want of yours as he matched your pace, and you felt slightly mischievous as you'd skip or teased him to catch you; it wasn't long until he gathered you in his arms and laughed, and you asked without much seriousness for him to let you go, but while he loosened his grip, he didn't let go entirely. "Gosh, y-you make me feel so young. It - it feels so good to have you in my arms."

"Oh, really?" you giggled. "That's great to hear."

Pressing a kiss to your temple, he sighed. "It's unfortunate that I'm so old."

"That's okay. I like you as you are. It goes well with your personality."

"Thank you mi corazón. It feels good to hear that. However, can I-I ask you something?"

"Mhm."

"¿Si hubiera s-sido más joven, habría marcado la diferencia?"

"If you had been younger? I don't know. Possibly," you admitted. "I might've been less reluctant about my feelings at the beginning, but I truly don't know. I'd like to think that I'd still would've fallen for you anyway. You're a wonderful man Ricardo, you don't have to doubt that, anyone can see that. It doesn't matter how old you are, but it's who you are."

"Y-you're right." With reluctance, he allowed his arms to drop to his sides, and he wondered. "It um - it's getting late. Should I-I walk you home?"

Was he forgetting that he didn't have to? Maybe not. Perhaps he needed a sign; one that said that any suggestion of further intimacy was alright. "I thought I was home." you answered, "Don't you want me to stay?"

Scratching the back of his neck, he nodded. "Yes, I-I-I-I do."

"Then it's settled. We'll have a big sleepover," you brightened. "and it'll never have to end. I'll borrow a pair of your pj's and hog all the blankets because I'll get cold."

"And in - in the morning," he added warmly, "w-we can have pancakes."

"Yeah, and watch enough interdimensional cable to make us go blind."

"But I-I might have to work tomorrow."

"Oh. Well, then I guess I'll just have to eat all your snacks until you come back. We might have to take a trip to Costco at some point because they sell these mushroom crisps that are to die for."

Standing under the persimmon tree, he stepped forward and gave your shoulder a squeeze. "Y-you can have whatever you want," With a strong arm slipping around your waist, you felt almost shy at the way he smiled protectingly down at you. His warm breath ghosted about your ear, and his voice was above a whisper as he confessed. “because I-I-I finally got you princess and I'm not - I'm not going t-to let you go.”

At the sound of this pet name, you felt a slight warmth rush to your cheeks, but you didn't laugh it off as you had once but agreed with warmth. “You may do as you please, Mr. Sanchez.”

And so he did. Without hesitation, he lifted your chin and brushed your lips with his thumb. His eyes sparkling with humor, promise, and a confidence that was somehow so very appropriate on his face. "I love you. I-I-I always have. From the time I first held your hand, I knew it had to be you. I would've been a fool if I - if I hadn't tried. Even now, it's hard to believe, but it's starting to sink in."

"Me too. It's unbelievable, but it's true and we have the paperwork to prove it."

Leaning down, he pressed a sweet kiss onto your lips. It was so gentle, it was as though you might break if he tried otherwise. Kissing you again, he sighed against your lips. "It's beautiful out t-tonight."

"It is."

Pressing a hand to his cheek, you softened. "But I think I'm ready to call it a night. Why don't we go in?"

Weaving his fingers with yours, he softened. "Okay."

You used to think to yourself and wonder if his house would ever be ready to receive you, but what you now realized was that it had always been ready, and only you had been waiting for it all to catch up; for him to know what he wanted and to be courageous and say; for you to know what you needed, and to accept that being yourself didn't make you any less attractive or unique and that you weren't alone; you had never been alone, for he had always been waiting. His home, why it was always home, but it was always home because he was what grounded you and you were what grounded him. And you felt so married to him then, and everything felt as it should. Nothing had really changed, except for a title, and a promise; for you two were friends as you had always been; him the happy go lucky old man, and you the silly neighbor who met him by accident, but you couldn't deny that you loved him with your entire being and so did he. As promised, he intended to do everything in his power to protect you, even as you two were getting ready for bed. His body seemed to curl around you as to shield you from whatever monsters could be hiding in the dark.

So, when it happened that you rested your head upon his chest and felt the temptation of sleep washing over you, you pressed a light kiss to his cheek and confessed softly. "I can't wait to wake up next to you."

Fin

[totallycorrectpmdquotes]

Backfire? OwO

Backfire uwu

(Chapter 1)

Uxie’s powers aren’t just limited to his lake, and affect all memories which could be traced back to the Time Gears. It’s easy to imagine the mental catastrophe this could cause in the mind of someone who’s spent nearly their entire life looking into them. In his defense, Uxie was really mad at Grovyle.

-

2.

The chairs in Officer Magnezone’sstation were stumps that had been cut for Pokémon much smaller than Dusknoirwas. Still, he grabbed one, set it down outside the cell Grovyle had beentossed in, and settled down to wait.

The hallway with cells wasnothing like the stockade Grovyle and Breanna should be in right now. It lackedthe proper atmosphere of crushing dread and was far too bright. When Grovyleawoke, he might still have hope of escape – although, if Uxie was to bebelieved, it would still be several hours before they had to worry about that.Dusknoir had been unwilling to admit he wasn’t entirely sure how long an hourwas, and he refused to take any chances. While the legendary trio went toreport their victory to the townsfolk, he did his best to make himselfcomfortable in his self-imposed guard duty.

He’d never liked guard duty.

When he had first joined MasterDialga’s ranks, there had been an abundance of pointless little rebellions.Irritating as they were, humans were persistent. When time had frozen, they hadcreated ways to grow their crops despite it and continued as if nothing hadchanged. But survival was never enough for them, and when one man stumbledacross ancient information on the Time Gears, the humans had stood with him anddecided they had a right to destroy everyone’s lives. They brainwashedthe Pokémon who weren’t smart enough to flee their insanity into acting asfirepower and set out to end the world.

Dusknoir had leant his strengthto Master Dialga as soon as he could. With his team, they had captured so manyof the morons who thought history owed them something. Afterwards, theywould have to guard them while the execution chambers were being prepared.Dusknoir could still hear so many voices in his ears that echoed faintly and promisedthat there was a way to save them, to save everyone, if they’d just letme go, please, I can help you.

There was a face in the knots ofthe wood that made up the prison floor that looked like a concerned human man.

Dusknoir jumped and drove hisfist into the image. Shards of ice curled through the gaps in the wood as itsplintered. Dusknoir waited several long moments before he pulled his fistback. His breath came in heavy, shallow gasps that shook his whole body.

The x-eye seed should be out ofhis system by now. He shouldn’t still be seeing false faces everywhere helooked. Dusknoir pulled a sliver from one of his knuckles and turned back toGrovyle’s cell.

He’d shifted in his sleep and hadhis newly-bound hands pressed against the side of his head. His face wascontorted in pain, and his breathing was much more ragged than Dusknoir’s. Helooked pitiful.

Dusknoir scowled and turned away.He pulled the remaining slivers from his hand and kept one eye on the crumbledpatch of wood. There was no hint of the face he had seen.

He looked up at the sound offamiliar footsteps. “Have they finished?”

The sableye gave a short nod anda nervous laugh. “The bird and pink one want to talk to you.”

“The what? ”

Dusknoir nearly wrapped his handaround the sableye’s throat. Instead, he stuffed his anger away and tried tolook pleasant as he focused on the small form poking her head around thecorner. “Ah, Miss Vulpix. You’re looking well.”

The human-turned-vulpix lookedgenuinely horrible. Breanna had dark circles around her eyes which stood outdespite her short fur. There was still a notch in her right ear from the fightwith Grovyle, as well as several bandages across her chest and front legs. Oneof her tails was still scarred with an electrical burn from the misadventure inAmp Plains.

Breanna frowned. “…Thanks.” Shepointed a paw at the sableye. “Was your friend talking about the Guildmaster?”

“I believe so,” Dusknoir saidevenly. He held a particularly large wooden shard between two fingers andsnapped it in front of the sableye’s face. “You’ll have to excuse him, he wasraised in a mystery dungeon. He doesn’t mean to be rude.”

Breanna tipped her head to theside, and the curled tufts of fur atop her head bounced against her ears. “Ithought mystery dungeons were caused because time was out of balance – whywouldn’t putting the Time Gears back fix that?”

Dusknoir clenched his fisttighter, and the sableye gave another nervous laugh. “There are some questionseven I can not answer. I have theories, but no facts to back them.” He forced asmile, “Perhaps you and your guildmates will find those yourselves, one day.”

Breanna shuffled and focused onher paws. “Maybe,” she said. Her fur fluffed out, and she looked back up. “Uxietook away Grovyle’s memory.”

Oh, Dusknoir recognized thattone. He hated where this was going. “He did, yes.”

She glanced at the sableye andtook a long breath in. “So, he’s like me now?”

“That is not a comparison I wouldmake,” Dusknoir said. “You are a good person. He is still a criminal who nearlykilled you and your friend.” He put on a look of concern, “How is your partner?Have his injuries healed at all?”

Breanna huffed. “That’s not thepoint.” She shuffled again, still clearly nervous. “D- Riolu’s fine. He’s fine.We’re both fine.” She looked up and focused on Dusknoir with a hard stare. “Iwant to talk to Grovyle.”

“No,” Dusknoir saidautomatically, “absolutely not.”

She growled. It was adorable.“Why not?!”

“Among other reasons, he is stillunconscious. It’ll be a few hours still before he wakes.” Dusknoir said, “Beyondthat, and please believe me when I say this comes from a place of genuineconcern, he nearly killed you. I cannot leave you alone with him in goodconscience.” Especially while there was still a chance he remembered her.

She huffed once again, and Breannapadded over to his side. She sat down between him and the sableye, her furstill fluffed out as she looked up at him with familiar eyes. “Then I’m notleaving you alone with him, either.”

Dusknoir broke eye contact andhoped his flinch was subtle enough. The x-eye seed should be out of his systemby now. This didn’t make any sense. “If you insist,” he said. Thesableye laughed nervously once again.

For several minutes Dusknoir satstock-still, and a human-turned-Pokémon with a dead man haunting her expressionleaned against him. He refused to look her way. He refused to focus on anypatch of wood for more than a few seconds. This shouldn’t still behappening.

He didn’t even really know what washappening.

The abrupt end to the sableye’slaugh alongside the approach of hopping footsteps brought an end to the briefpeace, and Dusknoir forced away his moment of weakness. He glanced down at thesableye, who was focused on Breanna. She’d pulled away from Dusknoir and turnedto watch Grovyle. His breathing was rough again, and he trembled in his sleep.Breanna took a small step closer to the bars.

Dusknoir placed a hand on hershoulders and gently turned her back around.

Chatot, Wigglytuff, a Magnetonofficer, and finally the lake trio turned the corner to join the group.Dusknoir barely withheld his scowl. Chatot took one look at Breanna andsquawked.

“Vulpix!” He said, “Get away fromthat cell!” He flew over, landed between her and the sableye, and startedtrying to shoo her away from the bars. “My apologies, Dusknoir, sir. Thisimpudent child was told to stay in her room and rest.”

“It’s quite alright,” Dusknoirsaid, forcefully casual. Breanna fluffed up her fur and sidestepped away fromChatot. She gave Dusknoir the same hauntingly familiar look she had before asshe moved to join the larger group.

“Is it?” Mesprit asked and made asmall gesture to draw her brothers’ attention to the damaged part of the floor.

Dusknoir, very slowly, droppedthe slivers of wood he was still holding and floated off of his seat. “Ofcourse. She was merely worried, don’t fault the girl for that.” He turned toWigglytuff, who’d been watching them with an… unreadable expression. “Have youbeen fully informed of the situation?”

Wigglytuff hummed and skippedover to Dusknoir’s side, slipping in between him and the sableye. Grovyle hadcalmed down somewhat, and once again looked pitiful. “A bit, but just thatmuch! He hurt my friends, and I want to make sure he won’t do it again.” He turnedaround and looked down at Breanna. “Did your partner follow you, my dearfriendly-friend?”

Breanna’s fluffed up fur fellflat, her ears drooped, and she tucked her tails between her legs. “…Maybe.”

Chatot squawked, offended. “Hiscondition is worse than yours! What were the two of you thinking? Where ishe?!”

The floorboards creaked, and twounfortunately familiar faces poked their heads around the corner. Dusknoircouldn’t help but smile; these unobservant fools had walked right pastBreanna’s partner and their bidoof guildmate. That could have been an ambush.They could have been killed.

“Riolu!” Chatot squawked andfluttered over to the other heavily bandaged Pokémon. “You were confined toyour room for a reason, young man! And Bidoof, they are your juniors! Youshould have known better! What were you thinking? Go back to the guild, theGuildmaster and I will be having strong words with the three of you when wereturn!”

Bidoof pulled back. Riolu, whowas using him as a crutch, nearly fell on his face. “W-well gee, golly sir,”Bidoof rambled, “I didn’t realize this was so severe. And, ya see, they weremighty worried about the great Dusknoir.”

“Please don’t put yourself indanger on my account,” Dusknoir said.

“A ladder and some stairs are not‘danger,’” Breanna said.

Azelf raised a hand. “I’d likethem to stay if it’s not too much trouble.” He smiled at Riolu, who still had aheavy patch of gauze on the wound on his throat. “We don’t want to do this ifit’s too much for you.”

“Do what, dear friends?” Wigglytuffasked, humming again as he rocked on his heels. He was still watching Grovyle.“In the meeting, all you said was that all his memories were gone and he’d bestaying in this time for now.”

“Not all his memories are gone,”Uxie said as Breanna opened her mouth. “I could only take away those involvingthe Time Gears. However, those were most of them.” He glanced at Mesprit andAzelf, who nodded in sync. “From the amount I took from him, and how freshthose memories were, it’s likely he was forced into this life of crime as achild. It’s unfortunate, but curious – I’m sure you understand how strange thismystery is. Why would a child spend years on a quest to paralyse the planet? Ifsomeone else set him on this path, then we may have a bigger problem on ourhands.”

“Wait,” Breanna said. She turnedto Dusknoir with a frown. “Was Grovyle working with anyone?”

A weaker man would have laughedat the irony. Instead, Dusknoir simply shook his head and lied. “Aside from thePokémon he enlisted to bring him to your time, no. I have associates dealingwith her in my own time. She isn’t a threat to any of you.”

The sableye gave yet anothernervous chuckle. When he caught sight of Dusknoir’s disapproving frown, hecoughed.

“And besides that,” Mesprit spokeup, “we’re now dealing with a young man who has no idea what he nearly did. Youcan see why we’d have a bit of an issue with just sending him back to thefuture for trial.”

Now that was somethingDusknoir nearly laughed at. The idea of Master Dialga leaving his tower tojudge a trial was simply too amusing of an image. The lake trio finishedrunning over the previous night’s argument and let Azelf have the last word.

“Given the circumstances,Dusknoir suggested that your guild lead the investigation into how thishappened.” Dusknoir pointedly ignored the shocked expression on Chatot’s face.“And my siblings and I agree. If anyone can uncover this mystery, it would bethe Wigglytuff Guild.”

“No,” Chatot said, “absolutelynot! We will not put our apprentices at risk like this! He’s already nearlykilled two of them, I will not allow the others to be put in this level ofdanger.”

Wigglytuff hummed louder. “Idon’t know… Chatot is right. He hurt a lot of people. But this is reallysad.” He frowned and looked at his associate with wide eyes. “I don’t want himto be alone.”

“Guildmaster,” Chatot said, “thisis far too dangerous. You can’t agree to this.”

“Don’t we get a say?”

Riolu’s voice was still quiet,hoarse, and raw. He sounded horrible and winced with every few words. Breannahurried over to his side and pressed up against him.

“Dusk - Riolu,” she winced andcontinued, louder, as if that would get everyone to ignore her social taboo.“Is right. We’re the ones he hurt. We should get an opinion.”

Wigglytuff clapped. “Yes! Youshould! What do you think, Team Relic?”

Riolu swallowed and glanced downat Breanna. She replied with a determined nod, and they both turned back toWigglytuff. He took a long breath in, “If he doesn’t remember being a bad Pokémon,we should help him.”

Dusknoir’s heart hammered andplunged from his chest. “Pardon me?” Something was wrong. Breanna shouldn’t besupporting this.

“We should give him a chance,”Breanna added. “Right now, he’s not a good person or a bad person – but he willbe a scared person. He’ll know something’s missing, and he’ll want tofind out what it is. We don’t have to tell him he’s a criminal. We can just lethim be Grovyle.”

“I – I think you may havemisunderstood,” Dusknoir said, and held up a hand. Breanna had total amnesia -she shouldn’t have any attachment to Grovyle. “Just his memories of theTime Gears are gone. He is not entirely amnesiac. He may still be a threat toyou all. Honestly, the safest option would be to simply let me take him back tothe future.”

Wigglytuff whistled a brief tune.“But we could just let him be Grovyle.” He clapped again, “This soundsexciting! Let’s make him a room!”

“Guildmaster!” Chatot said, “Youcan’t be serious! Shouldn’t you at least take some time to think about it?”

“Oh, I did!” Wigglytuff replied,“I thought about it lots while everyone was talking, and I decided that Guildshelp Pokémon in need. Besides, Team Relic also wants to help. They’ll havesomething to do when they’re resting at the guild all day besides sentry duty –doesn’t that sound great?”

Chatot opened his beak, gaveWigglytuff a curious look, and then nodded. “Right, then.” He turned to thesilent Magneton officer, “Tell the rest of your unit what we’ve decided,please. The Guildmaster and I will go set up a room for him. Vulpix, Riolu, Ipresume you’ll need some assistance making your way up the stairs?”

“Bidoof can help us,” Breannasaid, a bit harsher than necessary as the magneton quietly left the room.

“I’m sure,” Chatot said dully.Wigglytuff raced past him as he began to direct the others out of the hall.

“We should be getting back to ourlakes,” Azelf said, “And return the other Time Gears as well.”

Uxie sighed. “I suppose we’ll seeeach other during the next apocalyptic disaster, then?”

Mesprit threw her arms around theother two’s shoulders. “Well, I’m not ready to give up on family time just yet.There’s a cute little café just outside of town, let’s go get some brunch.” Sheturned to Dusknoir, “You should join us! They had a sign out front advertisingpurple gummi juice.”

Dusknoir sat back down and gavethe trio a neutral look. “I appreciate the offer. However, I must stay here.Amnesia or not, I can’t simply leave him unguarded.”

The three of them frowned at him.“We’ll bring you one back before we leave, then.” Azelf said, and with one moreuncomfortably long look Dusknoir’s way, they left as well.

Dusknoir took a long breath inand counted to twenty-five. He let the breath out. The sableye chuckleduncomfortably and inched away from him.

Dusknoir lunged for his lackeyand pulled him close. “Let me be perfectly clear,” he hissed, “not one word ofthis exchange reaches the ears of your brothers or anyone in our future. As faras any of you are concerned, we are staying due to complications with thedimensional hole. Is this understood?”

The sableye nodded. “Y-yes! Yes,I -”

A low, disappointed voice cutthrough the sableye’s and drowned out his words. Dusknoir could feel the breathon the back of his neck. “Murderer.”

Dusknoir dropped the sableye andwhipped around. He stared down the empty hallway.

“Master Dusknoir?” The sableyeasked, “is something wrong?”

Dusknoir waved him off. “Returnto your post,” he said.

The sableye backed up andhesitated for several seconds too long before he scurried away.

Dusknoir scowled and put his headin his hands. “This is getting ridiculous,” he groaned and glanced back atGrovyle. He was twitching once again. “What in Dialga’s name did you attack mewith?”

“Murderer,” the empty hallwhispered again, and Dusknoir shuddered.

“It’s the wind,” he said with ascowl. “It makes horribly irritating noises in this time. I don’t know how I’msupposed to enjoy history with it always whispering like that.” He turned backaround. For a breath, there was the image of a human man in front of him, fullydressed in the regalia of Primal Dialga’s army. A dark cloud of shadows wrappedaround his lower ribcage, obscuring any injuries. He raised a hand.

Dusknoir dared to blink, and theimage was gone.

In the cell behind him, Grovylegave a high-pitched wheeze that almost sounded like a scream.

.-.

Chatot didn’t need theGuildmaster’s subtle but pointed ear twitch to tell him to stay; he’d plannedto do so anyway. Wigglytuff hurried the younger three back up towards theGuild, he stayed by the station. The timing was quite convenient: when theywere far enough down the road that they were out of earshot, Uxie and hissiblings exited the building. They nodded to Chatot.

“Grovyle had a bag of items onhim,” he said, “what happened to it?”

Azelf pulled a smaller, nearlyworn-through treasure bag from his own. He held it up to Uxie, who carefullyremoved the four Time Gears from a side pocket before his brother handed it toChatot. “Be careful, we haven’t had a chance to check it for traps.”

“I’ll keep that in mind, thankyou.” He took the bag and gave it a brief examination. There was a pocket onthe inside which was clearly supposed to be a secret, a surplus of reviverseeds and other healing items, and several orbs meant to assist monster houses.The truly odd part was how familiar the contents were to those carried by TeamRelic. While there were more food-based items, which was common enough whentraveling alone, the ratios and sorting were otherwise nearly identical to TeamRelic’s treasure bag.

Chatot dismissed the strangenessand returned his attention to the lake guardians. “The Guildmaster and I wantedto ask you about the great Dusknoir. He seems…” he took a moment and struggledto find the right word. “…unwell.”

“We’ve noticed,” Mesprit saidsoftly. “He was hit with an X-eye seed during the fight, and he’s been having abad reaction to it. We’re not sure why the effects haven’t worn off by now.”

“He’s still troubled by whateverhe hallucinated,” Uxie added. He gave a deep frown as Azelf glanced over hisshoulder. “Frightened, even. We’re worried about him. He’s been acting like adifferent person.”

“I’m sure he’ll be fine in time,”Chatot said. He adjusted the strap on Grovyle’s bag so it would fit his smallerform. “However, I’ll pass that along to the Guildmaster. He’ll be able toarrange something so our medical officer can check on him.”

The three relaxed. “Thank you,”Uxie said, “you should talk to that sableye as well. There’s six of them total,and he said they’re associates from his time. They might be able to helpidentify what’s upsetting him.”

“That’s useful, I appreciate it.”He flapped his wings and slung the bag over a shoulder. “Will you be departingsoon? It’s a long way back to your lakes.”

“Unfortunately,” Azelf sighed.“We’ll have to contact the guardians from where the other two were taken, andthe sixth one as well. It’s worrying that we haven’t heard anything from any ofthem.”

“Well, I wish you the best ofluck.” Chatot said cordially, “I trust you will keep myself and the Guildmasterupdated in case there are any other noteworthy events?”

“Of course!” Mesprit said, “Aslong as you’re willing to do the same for us. I know it’s a bit of a journey,but I’d be willing to teleport any messenger back to town.”

Her brothers nodded. “I’d do thesame since mine’s the farthest out,” Uxie said. “Azelf?”

“Of course!” Azelf said, “and ifDusknoir’s, well, condition worsens we’d appreciate if you sent one soonerrather than later.”

“I give you my word,” Chatotsaid, and gave his goodbyes. The trio continued towards the crossroads, and hetook to the sky and back to the Guild. He passed by the Guildmaster, stillhelping the injured teammates up the hill, and landed beside the sentry grate.One of the bag’s straps pinched his feathers, and he craned his neck to adjustit. As he did, he caught sight of something.

There was a small patch onGrovyle’s bag, on the same side as the supposedly secret pocket, which wascompletely worn through. In it, Chatot could see a few bound pieces ofparchment. With a significant amount of difficulty, he maneuvered them out andinto his wings. They were held together with a few braided strands of a ratherplain string, which he barely noticed slip out of his feathers.

The first was a simple, grayscalemap. It had the location of every Time Gear and several other dungeons marked –including the Beach Cave. Curious.

The second was what appeared tobe a reference sheet between footprint ruins and some sort elaborately curvylanguage. The third was another reference sheet, this one between what appearedto be the Pokémon Unown and that curvy language once again. Finally, there wasthe fourth – this was a letter, written in the curvature.

Chatot tapped his foot on thegrate and shuffled between the four pieces of paper once again. “Fascinating.Absolutely fascinating.” The Guildmaster would love to see this. He wentto rewrap the string, which was no longer in his hand, and frowned. He glanceddown as a gust ruffled his feathers, picked up the string, and dropped it rightdown the sentry grate.

Chatot huffed. “Very well then,”he rerolled the parchments and returned them to their pocket. It was a simplepiece of string; it wasn’t like one of the worst thieves the continent had everseen would miss it.

[forestwater87]

The last part of my turned-into-a-monster-far-beyond-my-intention art trade with @doritofalls! Hope you enjoy! :)

Chapter 5

The next time Daniel appeared, Kevin half-expected to see a knife in his hand. Maybe Sister Hannah hovering over his shoulder, telling him that Xemüg would be proud or something.

But he was alone -- paler than usual, with circles under his eyes that looked smudged on by makeup, but alone.  “You can’t come to the ascension,” he said.

Kevin smirked, leaning against the doorframe. “Nice to see you too, Dan.”

“This isn’t a joke! You aren’t going to the ascension party.” Normally this was the point where he would’ve shoved past Kevin inside, and there was something sad and unnerving about the way he was just hovering outside, glowing brilliant-white in the trailer-dotted wasteland of his front yard, like a diamond ring dropped in the gutter.

“Let me guess, Sister Hannah said no. I’d be too impure and ruin the vibe.” He’d been expecting something like this, and something cold and leaden rolled off his chest. Kevin had had a couple days to think through his spur-of-the-moment dare -- and to realize that he was perhaps just as insane as this merry band of cultists -- and when the alternative was probably being force-fed poison, he was very relieved to be disinvited to the party.

Daniel didn’t react, his eyes dark and bloodshot and unwavering from his own. “You would,” he said, a few seconds too late, like a poorly dubbed movie. “All your questions and your unclean habits -- your unclean mind -- you ruin everything. I don’t want you there.”

Okay, this was starting to sound like the kind of speech that was usually accompanied by a chainsaw and “the voices in my head made me do it.” Kevin slid his foot back, shifting his weight as subtly as possible to not look like he was running the fuck away. “That’s kinda harsh, don’tcha think?” he asked, only vaguely aware of what he was saying -- infinitely more aware of every twitch and tremor of the (very, very insane) man in front of him.

His fingers fluttered, a movement that would barely have been noticeable if Kevin’s brain wasn’t working so hard it was probably overheating, fans whirring as he tried to take in everything and plan a potential escape -- and oh, devote maybe 2.5% of his attention to the things Daniel was actually saying. “Don’t. Just . . . don’t, Kevin.”

Is that the first time he’s actually used your name? the stupid, useless 2.5% of his brain asked unhelpfully.

“Sure, man. Whatever you want me to do. Or not do. Whatever.” He shoved his hands into the pockets of his hoodie, fingering the switchblade hidden there. He was painfully aware of the fact that the Flower Scouts were inside the trailer, trying futilely to get an ancient monster of an air conditioner to work. (He had no idea where it had come from; the girls had just showed up that afternoon, staggering under its weight. For kids loudly opposed to anything resembling work, it was a hell of a lot of effort to go to.) Chances were good they could take care of themselves; he’d seen them scare off giants with machine guns, and Daniel was only 120 pounds of crazy and seemed unarmed. But goddamn it, they were his responsibility.

And like he’d fucking summoned them . . . “Heyyyyyy, so Erin has an idea,” Sasha called, sticking her head out of the front door. “It involves science or some shit. Are you using the ice in the freezer for anything?”

“What?” He turned around, forgetting about Daniel for a second. “I’m using it for ice, what are you talking about?”

“So like, we can have it?”

“I -- yeah, sure. Go nuts.” She started to disappear back inside and he raised his voice. “Fill the trays back up when you’re done!”

(Christ, he’d become his mother.)

He turned back to Daniel, who was watching him with an expression he couldn’t read, but scared him slightly less than the bubbling anger from a few minutes ago. “So . . .” He rocked back on his heels, sucking at his teeth. He wasn’t really good at ending conversations at the best of times. “Sorry I’m not sparkly enough to deserve your crazy-cult.”

Daniel’s eyes narrowed, but he still didn’t quite look mad. His gaze flicked from Kevin to the trailer, where the girls had somehow coaxed enough bars out of the area’s horrible cell coverage to blast Sleepy Peak’s single Top 40 station and were singing along (badly) to it. “No,” he said finally, shaking his head. “You don’t deserve any of it.”

“They’ve ascended.”

Kevin glanced up; he wasn’t surprised, exactly, by the intrusion — “storming in and declaring something stupid” was a remarkably common way for Daniel to introduce himself — but he did wish it hadn’t happened while he was “gardening” with the Flower Scouts. “Go check on the cookies,” he muttered to them, and while Sasha just stared at him with dark-rimmed eyes, the other two were much easier to persuade, and dragged her away. “What’re you talking about?”

Part of him hoped Daniel’s announcement would end “They’ve ascended, and everything’s fine. Nothing was poisoned, and we all had a good laugh about what a paranoid freak that old Dirty Kevin is.” But the look on his face . . .

“Inside,” Daniel hissed, grabbing Kevin’s wrist and hauling him toward his trailer. “We can’t talk out here.”

“I literally just sent the girls ins — and we’re here.” Rolling his eyes, he tugged Daniel out of the way of Erin, who was balancing a too-large tray of steaming pink cookies. “Looks great. Why don’t you let these cool outside, huh? Take a break and relax in the shade or . . .” It occurred to him that there wasn’t a tree within half a mile of the trailer park. “. . . something.”

“Seriously?” Sasha rolled her eyes. “If you wanna get rid of us, just say.” She glanced up at him and then back to the floor, biting her lip. “Like we wanted to hang in this dump, anyway.”

“No, guys. It’s not like that.” He knelt down, trying to meet the five downcast eyes. “My buddy here’s just really stupid and might’ve done somethin’ that’ll get him arrested, and I don’t want you caught up in that. Be like Mexico all over again, right?”

Sasha looked marginally convinced, which he tended to use as his meter for all three of them, since she had the least amount of stupid going on. “Guess we’ll, like, call Miss Priss, then,” she said dismissively, turning sharply enough that her hair whipped Kevin in the face. “Come on, ladies.”

She paused at the door, turning to eye them over her shoulder. And hell, before he’d met those girls he’d never thought the glare of a prissy little girl could be intimidating, but . . . “Try not to get arrested.” Her eyes flicked up, then down, taking Daniel in before dismissing him with a toss of her head. “Your weird new boyfriend is totally not worth it.”

Kevin heard a quiet, outraged noise behind him, but then the trailer door slammed shut with a clank. Distracted from his irritation, Daniel burst forward, drawing the curtains and fiddling with the door’s cheap padlocks before whirling on him, a look in his eyes that Kevin couldn’t quite place. It wasn’t the fake “golly gee!” salesman spiel, and it wasn’t religious mania . . . but the few times he’d seen Daniel genuinely angry, it was a controlled, icy sort of rage, not this fire blazing behind his eyes.

For a second they just stared at each other. Then Kevin licked his lips — dry, chapped and dry; what else was new? — cleared his throat, and shoved his hands in the pocket of his sweatshirt. “So, uh . . . ascension, huh?”

God, it all felt painfully awkward: Killed any kids lately?

Not like he had a ton of room to talk, but at least the children under his ill-advised care were still alive.

“You were right,” Daniel said, the words coming out all in a rush like he was afraid he’d be interrupted. Or like he was afraid he’d lose his nerve if he slowed down. He was pacing rapidly the length of the trailer, his steps hard enough to slightly rattle the entire camper. “Y-you — all of it — you were right about all of it. It doesn’t make any . . .” He sighed, almost a groan really, and raked his hands through his hair. His fingers drew neat furrows, the fluffy poof of his bangs sproinging back up immediately. “It was all fake,” he murmured finally. “There is no ascension. They made it all up.”

Kevin was aware that his trailer-guest was in the middle of a major existential crisis, but he had customers, and those cookies sold best when fresh out of the oven . . . “Right. Great. Uh, congratulations on all the . . . not being crazy, I guess.”

“It’s gone,” he whispered. His pacing slowed, and for a moment he just stared down at his hands. (Kevin leaned in closer, but they looked like the same pale, well-manicured skeleton hands to him.) “It’s all gone.” Daniel’s head snapped up, his eyes focusing on Kevin with his typical laserlike intensity. But it didn’t feel predatory for once. No, this look was decidedly desperate.

Desperate and hollow, lost hopelessness nestled in the deep, dark lines of his face. And he looked even more like a corpse than usual, skin the color of moon-drenched sand and the cheap fluorescent lights catching in the finger-combed waves of his hair.

Dirty Kevin was no poet, but something flashed across his mind anyway —

( that man is an island and there’s madness lapping at the shore )

— that might’ve been a half-remembered snippet of something he’d read in high school, or something from a dream, or something his brain had conjured up when he was blitzed out of his mind. Whatever it was, it made his skin prickle and go cold.

“What’s all gone, Daniel?”

“The Circle —” He shook his head abruptly, furiously. “The — the cult,” he spat. “There was — a ceremony. An ascension party. I . . . mixed up the drinks. Just to be sure.”

(“Don’t you dare.”)

He didn’t know what to say, but Daniel didn’t seem to need a response. Resuming his pacing, he rubbed his chin with a rough motion, like wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “They . . . ascended. I ascended them.”

His mouth twisted into a cruel smirk, and Kevin had seen that mocking contempt before but never this bitter, and never directed inward.

“No — I killed them.”

(“I don’t want you there.”)

Kevin took an unsteady breath — the first, it felt like, in hours. His fingers were only shaking slightly as he reached for Daniel’s shoulder, and it was almost possible to convince himself it was a holdover from that one bad batch of cookies. “Hey, man, it’s okay —”

(of course it wasn’t okay. Even Kevin wasn’t morally degraded enough to think any of this was okay)

“I murdered them. All of them.” His hands clenched into fists, and while he didn’t jerk away from Kevin’s touch, the vicious look on his face was almost enough to make him pull back himself. “The leaders . . . if they’d all dropped dead except me — if the — initiates hadn’t ‘ascended’ too, they would’ve panicked. Would’ve — called the police.”

Daniel shook his head, his eyes boring into Kevin’s forehead but his gaze a million miles away. Or maybe just a few, just up the road and across an old railyard to a small white house.

A small white house full of bodies.

Calling the police wasn’t sounding like such a bad idea . . .

“There wasn’t enough.”

Kevin jumped; Daniel had been quiet for so long, them both zoning out for who knew how many minutes, that the sound of his voice was startling, a gunshot in the still close air.

He kept talking, not noticing or ignoring the twitch of the hand on his shoulder — still, for some very stupid reason, on his shoulder. “Whatever was in the drinks was enough to kill . . . half the people. Maybe a little more. Mixing all the drinks together with the Elders’ — it wasn’t enough. The poison. It . . . took longer. It took forever.”

Daniel blinked, something like clarity returning to his eyes for a second. He smiled, and it wasn’t the creepy neck-cracking smile that was familiar and, oddly, almost comforting by this point, but a smile that trembled along its edges, a smile shrouded in darkness and shaking from the effort not to collapse into a scream.

Once, Kevin had an ex-girlfriend who said she couldn’t stand to look at him. “Your smile is haunted,” she’d said, standing in the hallway of their apartment — back when he could still afford an apartment. Back when it was still smart to sell out of an apartment. “You have the ghosts of the people you’ve ruined in your eyes.”

He was pretty sure that was complete bullshit, but if any smile had ever been haunted it was this one.

“I had to keep them from screaming,” he said, his voice still soft and breathy and his smile still more than a little unhinged. He let his neck fall to the other side with a sickening crack. “What else could I do?”

Dirty Kevin wasn’t aware of opening his mouth, of taking a deep breath. Of yelling and yelling like his lungs were about to burst.

He wasn’t aware of much of anything except a pair of bright, bright eyes and a poisonous smile.

Then, of nothing at all.

The first thing that came back to Kevin was the smell of cookies.

Then, a furious beeping.

“For fuck’s sake, don’t just stand there! You’re the, like, adult!”

“I’ve never seen one of these in my life!”

That was when he smelled smoke and bolted upright. “Whasgoinon?”

Sasha glanced over, crossing her arms over her chest. “Finally. You’re awake.”

“The trailer’s on fire,” Tabii added helpfully, standing on her tiptoes to see Kevin’s bed from the kitchen; it was really all one big ugly room with a toilet the size of a shoebox, but there were two Flower Scouts and and lot of smoke blocking her view, not to mention . . .

“Dan?”

Daniel coughed, covering his mouth with his arm and stepping away from the oven. “First deal with the beeping.”

Erin tossed her hair, revealing for a split second her one orange eye. “Or, like, the fire.”

Kevin stumbled out of bed, steadying himself against the wall, and hurried over to the kitchen. The damage was minimal, just some very on-fire cookies, and he tried not to think about how much money was smoking up his trailer. “Open the windows,” he said, taking the flaming tray from Tabii, nearly dropping it because he wasn’t wearing oven mitts, and finally letting it crash into the overfilled sink and running the faucet. “None of you know how to turn the alarm off, do you?”

Erin and Tabii shook their heads, while Daniel scoffed and looked away and Sasha snapped, “What do you think?”

Neither did he. “Google it,” he ordered, searching his pants pockets for his phone before realizing someone had put him in pajamas. Another terrible thing to deal with later. Finding it on his bedside table, he considered Daniel for a moment before tossing it to Erin. After an embarrassingly long time of her valley-girl-style coaching, he managed to shut the fucking thing off and collapsed into his armchair, nearly landing on Barbra. As she rubbed her face on his legs and then jumped back up into his lap, he ran a hand over his face, exhausted but far from sleepy, and turned toward his very odd guests. “What are any of you doing here?”

“You’ve been asleep for two days,” Erin said, handing him his phone.

“We told Miss Priss we’re doing extended community service! We even went shopping and everything!” Tabii added.

“Oh, yeah.” Sasha tugged a very familiar piece of plastic from a bag around her wrist and flicked it toward him. “This thing is, like, way out of money.”

Kevin rolled his eyes. If he’d been awake he could’ve told them he hadn’t used a credit card in months. “I’ll pay you back.”

“Nuh-uh, Tabii found some cash in your mattress.” She wrinkled her nose and gave him the most witheringly judgemental stare he’d ever received from a twelve-year-old. “You know, with everything else you’ve got under there.”

“Hey, that shit’s private! And nobody asked you to go snooping in my stuff!” He heard a soft dismissive noise from the other side of the room and pointedly ignored it, keeping his attention on the girls. “You’re too young to know what those are, anyway.”

Tabii brightened. “I’m not! My sister told me --”

“Your sister’s wrong about everything, Tabii,” Erin interrupted.

“Yeah, and what’s with magazines, anyway? I mean, you know the internet exists, right? You’re not, like, that old.”

He opened his mouth to answer that, but his brain caught back up with him. “We’re not having this conversation. Give me back my money!” (So he was a little old-fashioned. There were worse things to be.)

Sasha returned his battered money clip -- which was considerably thinner than he remembered seeing it last -- and the girls sat down around his kitchen table; even if they hadn’t eyed Kevin’s ratty fur-covered couch like it was made of rancid cheese, Daniel had flopped onto it before they could’ve taken a seat anyway. (At least some things didn’t change.) “Anywayyyyy, he keeps trying to make us go --” she jerked her head in Daniel’s direction, hair whipping like a flag, “-- but he won’t leave the house so like, what was he gonna do when you ran out of food?”

“Besides, we thought he might try to kill you like he did all those weird church people!” Tabii said, seemingly completely oblivious to the warning looks the other girls were giving her, or how the air chilled a few degrees as she spoke.

There was a long, tense moment of silence. “Right,” Sasha finally said. “Anyway, we’re gonna, like, go. Since you’re awake now and stuff.” She crossed the room and plucked the money clip from his hand, taking a $20 bill. “For the Uber.”

“We also totally messed around with your phone just totally because we’re bored,” Erin added, leaning over the arm of the chair to prod at his screen. “So like, for totally no reason the police are on speed-dial now? Just like, y’know, because.”

“Have a good night!” Tabii continued to not quite grasp the trailer’s atmosphere, and something appallingly close to affection squeezed his chest. She leaned in close, cupping her hand around her mouth and his ear. “Be careful, Mr. Kevin. My sister says even if you’re gay you can like still get pregnant --”

“Thank you, sweetheart,” he cut her off too-loudly from trying not to laugh, putting his hand over her face and shoving her away. “Get back home before you get in trouble.” He watched them leave with exaggerated interest and immediately dropped his head in one hand, telling himself it wasn’t stupid for his face to feel warm because his trailer had very recently been on fire.

It was quiet for a few moments, and Kevin hoped for a second that Daniel would shut up long enough to let him think for a minute or two. He just . . . needed to wrap his mind around everything. The last thing he remembered was Daniel confessing to mass fucking homicide, then apparently he’d been alone with the Flower Scouts for a few days and why had he been hanging around here for a few days? He should be miles away, or in jail, or hell maybe dead in a ditch if this cult was as insane as it’d always seemed, so what in the flying fuck --

There was a quiet snort. “Sweetheart?”

Kevin sighed.

Goddamnit.

He rolled his eyes, lifting his head. “It’s been a weird week,” he began. “Could you just --”

For the first time, he really got a good look at Daniel.

The kid was a fucking mess.

Not by Kevin’s standards, to be sure. His hair was still impeccably styled -- using what kind of product, Kevin had no idea -- and his jeans were as gleamingly white and unwrinkled as ever. But he must’ve borrowed clothes, because the black 2003 Warped Tour T-shirt had definitely come from the back of Kevin’s closet, and so had the cream cardigan he’d shrugged on over it (a gift from his grandmother. Of course Daniel had been drawn to it), and everything was dusted with a thin layer of white cat fur.

Not that his wardrobe was the most startling thing about his appearance.

Daniel’s eyes narrowed. “What are you looking at?”

Kevin’s lips twitched, and he quickly covered his mouth with one hand, glancing over at Barbra before his eyes were inevitably drawn back to Daniel. “Nothing.”

He dragged the wrist of the cardigan across his cheek, like he could wipe away the too-dark stubble. “Stop staring. I hate it, okay? Stop looking at it.”

Kevin nodded slowly, still trying not to laugh. “No, man, it’s . . . really something.” Daniel huffed angrily and glared at the wall while Kevin tried to get ahold of himself, the silence settling into something surprisingly comfortable, like this was just another inexplicable visit. When he thought he could speak again, he took a deep breath and said, “So. The, uh. Hair.”

Daniel didn’t say anything, just eyed him suspiciously.

“Couldn’t talk the girls into buying you some bleach, huh?”

He ran a hand self-consciously through his hair, tugging at where the light brown roots suddenly blazed into platinum blonde. “They don’t like the color,” he muttered.

Kevin did laugh then, shaking his head and enjoying the way a blush flared across Daniel’s cheeks and ears. “Run a tight ship, don’t they?” he said, glancing around the trailer and noticing for the first time how nice it was. Not neater, exactly -- he was actually quite good at keeping things tidy; it was one of the only ways to make a shithole look less like a shithole -- but there were little homey touches here and there: a beer bottle rescued from the garbage and repurposed as a vase, little sprigs of wildflowers scattered throughout the place like tiny religious offerings. “Surprised they didn’t make you shave.”

If possible, Daniel wound even tighter. “You’re out of razors,” he said sullenly. “And in this ridiculous town, children can’t buy them.”

“Makes me wonder why you’re still in this ridiculous town.”

And like that, the familiar atmosphere snapped. Daniel sat up straighter, his entire body tensing like he might bolt. Kevin closed his fingers around the phone in his pocket, taking comfort in the reminder that he had the police on speed-dial.

Well, they were here. Might as well get this over with before he was murdered in his sleep. “Why are you here, anyway? You could be in fucking Cabo right now or something.”

Daniel fidgeted, his gaze on his knees. “There’s nowhere for me to go,” he admitted after a moment. “I can hardly return h -- to the Circle, even if I wanted to.” His face twisted in a bitter mixture of distaste and grief, and Kevin remembered with a start that this was kind of . . . really traumatizing. He’d never done the whole religion thing, but he knew what it was like to have a home suddenly stop being home.

Of course, he didn’t know what it was like to be wanted for mass murder. “But they know where you are, right? You’ve gotta be, like, Xemüg’s Most Wanted now.” Daniel stared at him blankly, and the exhausting task of getting him caught up on something like twenty-five years of pop culture settled over Kevin like a blanket. “Aren’t they gonna come find you? Maybe give you a nice cold glass of poison?”

“What was I supposed to do?” he demanded, putting his hands on his knees and leaning forward, like he was considering getting up.

Kevin shrugged, trying to remain as casual as possible. “Off the top of my head . . . drive the twenty or so miles to the nearest airport, get a one-way ticket to the border, escape into Mexico, dye your hair, and start a low-profile-but-reasonably-lucrative business doing literally anything besides killing kids.”

The look on Daniel’s face was like he’d accidentally swallowed a frog.

“None of that occurred to you, huh?”

He dropped his head in one hand with a groan. “Nothing makes sense anymore.”

“Yeah, not like space toxins and alien wars and all that other totally reasonable cult shit.”

“It had rules!” he snapped, and Kevin flinched. Surprise flickered across Daniel’s face, and for the briefest second something like guilt. Then he settled back against the couch, his expression once again hovering between annoyed and disdainful. “Not like you would get it. You’ve never cared about rules.”

Kevin considered correcting him -- he did have rules, thankyouverymuch, and he stuck by them. The Flower Scouts had never had so much as a crumb of their own supply, had they? -- but decided it wasn’t worth the argument. Not when he was still wrapping his head around the fact that he’d apparently been harboring a felon for the past two days, quite literally unconsciously. “So what’re you gonna do now?” he finally asked, breaking the silence. “That whole Cabo thing is probably out, since I assume your face is all over the news by now. Cops been by yet?” Someone had to have noticed him hanging around; this park was half filled with gossipy old ladies, and Daniel didn’t exactly blend in as much as blindingly draw attention.

Daniel shook his head, looking cowed. Like maybe he’d finally realized what a fucking bad situation he was in.

Good.

Kevin should just call the cops. If Daniel had run for it, if he tried to make a run for it now, he would’ve been happy to protest innocence and give the kid a fighting chance. But if he was too goddamn stupid to even run . . . Christ, he was like a bunny staring down headlights. No survival skills at all.

A bunny with a knife in its teeth.

Kevin ran a hand through his hair, puffing out his cheeks and exhaling loudly. Leaving his phone on the arm of the couch, he wandered over to the kitchen, shuffling through his cabinets to see what he had left in the way of cookie supplies.

(The shelves were filled with food he was pretty sure had never entered his house before: fancy fruits and spices and quinoa, whatever that was. He wasn’t sure whether to smile or wince, looking around at his now very-expensively-stocked kitchen. He was never letting those girls near his cash again, comatose or not.)

“You know anything about cooking?” He cut himself off with a dismissive snort. “Nah, no way I’m letting you anywhere near food. Last thing I need is the whole town dropping dead.” Ignoring the wide-eyed stare he could feel boring into his back, he crouched down in front of the sink, opening a drawer and tugging out a box. “You can’t leave here until we do something about your . . . whole . . . situation,” he continued, waving one hand in Daniel’s general direction. “But I’ve been meaning to start an indoor garden. Friend set me up with a mushroom kit, and --” he shook the box at Daniel for emphasis, “now it’s your project.”

“And what makes you think I want to help you with this . . . business?” Kevin jumped; he hadn’t noticed Daniel’s approach until he was practically hovering over him. Which just brought to mind all sorts of murdery mental images.

Still, he wasn’t going to let himself be bothered. Bunny with a knife, he reminded himself, putting his hands on his knees and pushing himself to his feet. “Nice sneer. Very Snape,” he said, then sighed at Daniel’s confused frown. “Fine, I’ll go to the library, catch you up on the last couple centuries. Anyway, you’ll do it because one,” he held up one finger in Daniel’s face, “you don’t want me to rat you out to the police and I am seriously sticking my neck out for you, so don’t be an ungrateful prick. And two, because you’re not gonna be able to leave this tin can for at least a couple months while shit settles down, and you will be bored as shit.” He shoved the kit into Daniel’s hands, stepping away to . . . well, to do nothing, but it was a good line to walk away on.

And if he also needed a little bit of space between himself and the reformed cultist killing machine, that was only common sense.

“Why are you doing this?” Kevin could count on one hand the number of times Daniel’s voice had approached anything near vulnerable, and something about the way he spoke, through gritted teeth like he was trying to bite back the question but the words clawed out of him anyway, was more pathetic than any frustration or uncertainty or even panic.

Because I’m a sucker for bunnies. “Don’t look a gift horse in the mouth, Dan,” he said instead. “I could use some help running my bountiful drug empire, and you could use a place to lie low.” He half turned back, unable to resist a slight smirk. “Simple as that.”

“Nothing about this is simple,” Daniel muttered. He was clutching the mushroom kit to his chest, and spoke down at it.

“Yeah,” Kevin agreed, returning to his chair and plopping down into it. He’d received a text from Sasha, the only one who had a phone and who’d taken the initiative to add herself to his contacts within five minutes of meeting him: ‘still alive?’ “Welcome to Earth, spaceman.”

Daniel’s head snapped up, his mouth opening to make an angry retort, but after a second he closed it, his expression softening almost imperceptibly. He turned and set the mushroom kit next to the sink and turned on the faucet, focusing his attention on the burned cookie tray.

Kevin watched him for a minute, trying to figure out if the slight upturn of his lips was a trick of the light. Finally giving up, he opened up Sasha’s message and tapped out a quick reply:

‘So far.’

[chipotle]

A brief chat about Chuck Wendig, the Internet Archive, and bad information spread in good faith

Because I’ve got a bug up my butt about this again, let’s briefly dig into a social media myth that Will Not Die:

“Chuck Wendig is suing the Internet Archive!”

No. No, he is not.

There are two important bits of background here.

First, the Internet Archive. If you know them, you probably know them because of the “Wayback Machine” that archives millions of web sites. They do a lot of other archive-ish stuff, though, including collecting and scanning books. A while ago, they decided to create a digital “library” of those books: anyone could “check out” as many copies of those books at one time as the IA had physical copies of. This is more or less the way digital lending works from your local library: they pay for, say, three copies of a given ebook title, and now three library users can “check out” that book at once.

Well, that’s the “more” part of “more or less”; the “less” part is that the IA was doing that with physical books and technically lending digital copies is not the same thing under copyright law. Even so, publishers mostly looked the other way.

Until.

At the start of the Great Pandemic, the IA decided they were now running the “National Emergency Library” and lifted the per-copy limit. If they had ten copies or a book or two or one, it didn’t matter, however many people wanted to check out a copy at once could. And the IA sent out press releases about this. They wanted everybody to know!

I’m not going to argue about the ethics of modern copyright law, but as a legal matter, this is not a gray area, kids. It just isn’t. The Internet Archive was all but sending out notarized letters to publishers saying “we dare you jerky jerks to come after us with everything you’ve got,” and golly gee, they got sued by the Authors’ Guild and several publishers. Who could possibly have predicted that outcome other than, you know, fucking everyone.

You will notice, perhaps, that the IA was not sued by individual authors over this. They were sued by publishers and a writing guild.

Second, Chuck Wendig. Wendig is a science fiction, horror-ish author who runs a popular blog and has a freewheeling, gonzo, over-the-top style—I’d argue more in his non-fiction than his fiction—that, well, you could call polarizing. (I enjoy it, most of the time, but I could see how many might be driven far away at high speed.) He also wrote a couple Star Wars novels, famously introducing the saga’s first major gay character in Star Wars: Aftermath.

And this was not popular with a predictable loud subset of reactionary fans, who carried a hate-on for Wendig that culminated in the trolls getting him fired from Marvel’s “Shadow of Vader” comic book, ostensibly because of his “vulgarity” in expressing what Quartz calls, with delightful understatement, “his unabashedly left-wing political views.”

So if Wendig didn’t sue the IA over the Emergency Library, how did he get involved in all this?

Well, he called it a “pirate site,” which he pretty quickly apologized for, but also wrote a much longer statement on the subject.

The problem with bypassing copyright and disrupting the chain of royalties that lead from books to authors is that it endangers our ability to continue to produce art—and though we are all in the midst of a crisis, most artists are on the razor’s edge in terms of being able to support themselves. Artists get no safety net. We don’t get unemployment and aren’t likely to be able to participate in any worker bailouts. Health insurance alone is a gutpunch cost, not to mention the healthcare costs that insurance wouldn’t even cover. I’m lucky enough (currently, at least), that I can weather a bit of that storm more easily, but most can’t, particularly young authors, debut authors, and marginalized authors who are already fighting for a seat at the table. I’m also not alone in calling this site out—others like Alexander Chee, NK Jemisin, Neil Gaiman, and Seanan McGuire have noted their concerns over this.

I am all for access to information and entertainment, and remind folks that libraries here already allow you to take out e-books, even while their brick-and-mortar locations are closed. I used to work for a library system here in Pennsylvania, and libraries all around the country deserve their time to shine in this crisis, as we realize what vital institutions they are, both intellectually and as a service to the community.

Come on, how could anyone read that and, in anything even approaching good faith, take major offense at it? This is empathetic to authors and libraries. Yes, it’s (gasp) making a claim that copyright does have value, and maybe you don’t see that. But I hope you at least see why a lot of authors feel they should be the ones to make the choice about how their books get distributed. I’m not against giving my own work away for free, but I am against you telling me that you’re going to give my work away for free and I have no choice in the matter.

In fact, I don’t think the people who started this “Wendig sues the IA, film at 11” bullshit did so in good faith. I think many people spreading it are doing it in good faith, but bluntly, I think they’re being used by trolls relying on it being way easier to click “like” or “retweet” than to do fact-checking. (Frankly, I despair at how often I see left-leaning friends gleefully retweeting the most dubious shit that confirms their biases, but that’s a bridge I won’t burn today.)

While this whole nonsense is months old, I’m seeing another new thread floating around today fisking an older book of writing advice from Wendig, inviting us all to mock how weird and bad his writing is and how awful his advice must be and oh yes remember he sued the Internet Archive!, and I’m out of patience nuggets for this one. If that’s your image of Chuck Wendig and what he’s like and what he writes, let me offer a different one, from “Follow the River, No Matter Its Rapids, No Matter Its Turns“:

It’s a lot right now.

I think if we can agree on anything, anything at all between us, it’s that everything is a whole lot. It’s too much. If you’re not screaming into a couch cushion soaked with gin right now, who even are you?

But here’s what I’m thinking.

I’m thinking all of this is a river. It’s a dark, fast river. It crawls serpentine through the earth, through the forests. Sometimes it moves slow, other times it’s all rapids. Sometimes it is eerily serene, and sometimes it’s rough enough to knock your teeth into your knees and draw blood. It’s waterfalls and eddies, it’s deep and it’s cold. Like all rivers, it can soothe you, and it can betray you.

This river, the river we’re in and on now—it’s harder, meaner, a river after a flood, a river whose waters are not sated, who will not abate. It’s mudded up and frothing like the muzzle of a rabid wolf.

You can fight against that river.

We often do, in writing. We often go against our own moods, against the news of the world, against bad reviews and against poisoned thinking. Our work is often an act of anchoring our boots against the soft slick weeds and the water-smoothed stones and move against the current.

Upstream, stories can be born.

Sometimes, though, I think you gotta do the other thing.

Sometimes, you go the other way.

You go with the flow.

You run with the river, not against it.

And what that means, practically speaking, is you let it happen. What you’re feeling, what you’re seeing, sometimes those elements demand to be seen in the work. Sometimes the river is the channel that feeds the narrative sea, and that means you need to put it in there, out there, all over it. You don’t escape. You confront. You ride the turns, you rough out the rapids, you take all your fear and your anger and your confusion and you put it on the page. And not even in a way of trying to write something that’s marketable or sellable—but just trying to speak honestly about who you are, about the world in which we’re living, and about your grappling with all of it. It’s not even about writing a cogent book or a collective piece. It can be about taking the time to punch that keyboard and scream onto the page—if only to clear the water and find time to climb back onto shore to write something else. It can be the thing you’re writing, or it can be a way to get to the thing you’re writing.

I don’t mean to suggest this as good “advice”—it’s certainly no requirement. You have to do what feels best and right—and, further, what feels most productive in the direction you need to be going. I’m only saying that, if it’s that much of a slog, if the slow churning march upriver and against the current feels like you’re fighting too hard and losing to the pressure, turn around and go the other way. Sometimes we want to, even need to, write about what’s going on inside our heads and our hearts. Sometimes we can’t ignore the room on fire. Sometimes we can’t get out of the river or go against it. And in those cases, let the waters take you. Write what needs to be written. Write what the river tells you to write. Follow the water, and see where you go.

You may still hate that writing, but if you do, who even are you?