#one of the fingers or might be several of 'em) commissioned

[outism-had-a-purpose]

Ryoshu and Rodya friendship where they sometimes sleep in each other's room when it gets too much in theirs.

When the candlelight in Ryoshu's gets too bright and suffocating with the heat and reminds her too much of the fire her daughter died in sometimes she knocks (more of. just letting herself in lmao) on Rodya's door to literally cool off.

Sometimes when Rodya's room freezes her down to the bone to the point where that she can't sleep, and the stench and sight of her dead neighbors haunts her every senses, Ryoshu gets a quiet knock on her door, and an even more surprising, a solemnly quiet Rodya outside, asking her if she can take a quick snooze here because she doesn't wanna go out and do the night watch.

Something something the only bed worth sleeping is the one right next to you (sad). Fire and ice duo. you get me riht

[copias-thrall]

Cause I'm Young and I'm Here and So Beautiful

A look into the rise and fall of Mary Goore's flash-in-the-pan modeling career.

~12.5K Mary Goore/Reader *drug/alcohol use; mentions of past child abuse; brief homelessness; plot no porn; POV shift*

This fic was inspired by and is very loosely based on Aurelio Voltaire's early days in NYC in the 90s, though I have set it in Boston in the early aughts. 😊

Many thanks to the artists who did commissions for this! 🥰

One Way Streets

Mary stepped off the regional rail and gripped his backpack. He had $72.57 in cash rolled into his socks and a give-em-hell attitude.

When he’d packed his bag the night before, he wasn’t even sure if he’d go through with it, but he couldn’t stand being home anymore. Some of his friends had told him he was crazy.

"Three more months, dude. You got this. Just finish high school, then bounce."

But they didn’t have to live with his dad and the step-monster. Every day was a new indignity. Having them bitch about his music and his style was one thing—that he could have dealt with—but everything else had just kind of…escalated.

Now that the kiddies were older, they’d turned into gremlins. They’d somehow sensed that Mary wasn’t their beloved older brother—he was some sort of half other. They’d stopped questioning why "mom was so mean" to him and had accepted that she was because there was something wrong with Mary. They realized they could be little shits and blame everything on him.

And dad just didn’t care. He’d throw up his hands and say, "I have to live with her"—as if Mary wasn’t in the same boat.

Dad hadn’t stopped her when—in a rage—she’d smashed every single vinyl album Mary had owned because the twins ruined her nice tablecloth. He’d shrugged when she cut all Mary's guitar strings so he couldn’t play "the devil’s music." He’d held Mary back when she took a match and burned all his secret stuff that Mary kept under his bed—action figures, books, guitar mags, journals—in the backyard because he got detention for smoking. He hadn’t said a word when the police showed up after she came at Mary with scissors because he’d dyed his hair black and he’d pushed her away before she could scalp him.

Mary thought for sure he was going to get carted off to jail as she screamed about him terrorizing the family and being afraid he was going to kill her sons in their sleep, but the officers had just looked at her bored and told her being a teenager wasn’t a crime.

So, no: Mary couldn’t wait 3 more months.

He’d scraped together what money he had left from his secret shifts working as a busboy under the table at a local dive downtown, packed his backpack with the essentials, and walked the 5 miles to the train station instead of going to school.

Eighteen was 10 weeks away. He could fudge it for a few months, especially since he could already get away without using his fake ID to get into shows most of the time.

So, to the big city it was.

He shifted his weight and tried to pretend that he belonged here in Boston, but actually facing the busy streets was a lot different from looking at a bird’s-eye view map. He had a printout in his pocket, but he didn’t want to look like a doe-eyed tourist. So he set off down the seemingly labyrinthine streets in the direction he could have sworn was the correct one.

It wasn't.

When he came out a side alley into Faneuil Hall, he almost wondered if he'd gone through a fairy portal, since he was clear on the other side of town. Begrudgingly, he checked his creased map, and set out once more.

And ended up spit out by the State building.

Finding the hostel turned into a fraught adventure, and he got turned around several times more. When he tried to ask for directions, most people pushed past him while one lady shoved $5 at him. He used the cash to buy a hotdog, and it was the vendor who ultimately gave him directions in his thick, Southie accent.

Of course, making it to the hostel ended up being just part one. The rates were almost double what it stated online ("Sorry, honey—that site hasn’t been upgraded since the 90s."), and two nights were practically all his savings. Mary had thought he’d at least have a couple of days to find a job, not 36hrs.

He left the hostel, wondering for the first time if maybe he shouldn’t go back home…but he decided it was a nice day out. Surely there was some place he could hunker down. Just for the night.

What he hadn’t anticipated was the cops at every fucking turn telling him to move along. And any place out of line-of-sight seemed to already be inhabited.

He finally found a place behind some rocks in the Seaport where he didn’t think he’d be murdered in his sleep, curled around his backpack, and drifted off into a fitful sleep.

Mary woke up damp from the dew and the morning sun streaming into his eyes. The birds were creating an awful racket, but Mary guessed it was as good an alarm clock as any.

He ran his fingers through his bird's nest of hair, and he made his way back to the South Station. The men’s room may have smelled like a sewage treatment plant, but at least it was free. He had expected it to be mostly empty at the crack of dawn, but it was full of commuters making that last run to the head before they had to take the train 2hrs out of the city for work.

And it was a sight: a bunch of suits with their fancy lattes washing their hands, and Mary in the corner trying to surreptitiously wipe down with paper towels under his Misfits t-shirt and his shredded jeans. At school, he’d have probably gotten into several altercations by now—no one would have let him just turn into Mary Goore without a fight—but this was Boston, and no one gave him more than a cursory glance.

Just another college kid.

It emboldened Mary to go full-out in the kind of way he had only done when going out to the punk shows downtown at night: kohl all the way around his eyes, and some on his cheekbones; mascara because his lashes are long and thick, and he knows it (his dad had said it made him look hard, and Mary had sneered that maybe that was what he’d been going for. But maybe it had been because he’d liked the way it had made his green eyes pop.); a smear of the step-monster’s fanciest matte lipstick on his full lips; and airplane glue in his hair to give it that lift.

He made a kissy face at himself in the mirror, and headed back out.

It was a nice Spring day—almost boiling in the direct sun—and it tempted Mary to wear only his battle vest, but even he kind of figured applying to jobs half dressed was a mistake.

He walked all over the city, trying not to get lost, looking for any kind of work—dishwasher, busboy, barback—but all he had to show for it was blistered feet and a raging appetite. The only good part of the day was that he noted any restaurant or bakery that looked like it might toss perfectly good food at the end of the day.

He and his friends had become experts at dumpster diving in his podunk town, and he felt confident that he had a good feel for a jackpot. Mary staked out a bakery and was rewarded with a find of "old" bagels. He shoved as many as he could into the nooks and crannies of his backpack before slinking off to the Commons to inhale at least two of them.

Cold, stale dough never tasted so good.

He watched the tourists and the professionals walk by in ones and in groups while he ran his bare feet through the grass. Some laughed with each other as they sauntered down the path while others seemed singularly intent on their ultimate destination. A pack of dogs ran and played with each other as their owners looked on fondly, and nearby the baseball diamond hosted a casual game.

Mary counted his lucky stars that his first week in Boston was April at its kindest—always mild during the day, even when it turned cloudy, and a few times even downright warm. The nights turned chilly, though, and it had Mary in more layers than an onion. If the birds or damp didn't wake him, his butt cramps from being curled in a tight ball all night did.

He spent those days walking around the city proper looking for work. He wasn't adventurous enough to make the leap across the bridges to Cambridge just yet, but his travels gave him a good sense on how the different sections of Boston connected—and showed him potential places to crash at night. He didn't even mind living off day-old garbage food and drinking from bubblers (he'd bought a water for the express purpose of reusing the bottle), but the barren wasteland that seemed to be the job market was beginning to weigh on him.

At home, he could always find a shit job if he was willing to put up with shit hours and ridiculous requests. Here, though, Mary was just one of many desperate people willing to do desperate work.

And he didn’t look particularly trustworthy or reliable.

@dipendancesld

Hashtag WTF

I’m scrolling through Insta on the T, and I’m way down the rabbit hole of hashtags. New content was at a minimum this morning (how can I follow accounts in triple digits and only see the same 4 posts?!), so I’d started with some art tags and ended up where I usually end up—trolling social media for blurry pictures of my boy.

His band has been a local staple for years—or at least that’s what he told me on our first date. I had just moved from New York after a nasty breakup, ready to start fresh, and I’d seen him at a coffee shop hanging posters for his next show in his leather jacket, asymmetrical Metallica crop top, and stomping boots.

Fresh had never looked so good.

Then, a few months back, an online publication had featured his band in the year’s 50 best bands "you’ve never heard of," and now the band's starting to gain traction.

He’s starting to gain traction.

Finding the new online content of him first has become a game the two of us play. We had to stop counting images posted from the popular fan accounts because Mary's now acquaintances with most of them, and I said it was hardly fair to snipe me that way. Mary had pouted—but it was to cover up his grin. So now we troll for the pictures of his latest gig or at his favorite haunts from either his  casual fans or one of his new ones. I even have a whole range of hashtag typos saved if I really want to triumph, since Mary just doesn't have the attention span.

I usually win, though, by virtue of not keeping Rockstar Hours—and because Mary doesn’t have a smartphone. Mary delights in spending the wee hours while I'm sleeping finding new content, and I'll often wake to one he's pulled up on my laptop and a "suck it" sticky note stuck to my monitor.

(But I’m reigning supreme.)

There’s a thirst tag I sometimes comb through (for reasons), and today I’m desperate for that morning serotonin to keep me from dozing off, which is why I stumble across a particularly convincing cosplayer in some…risqué poses and outfits.

The dude is really good, and I have to admit he really does have Mary’s mannerisms down pat. He’s younger and a little skinnier than Mary is now, but his facial expressions are on point. I zoom in to see the contouring technique because he's using one of those filters to make it look old…and that’s when I sense something off. I can’t quite place my finger on it, but usually there’s an uncanny valley to his serious cosplayers, and this dude looks so real. He’s even 100% accurate with the mole placement, which is something I never see.

My heart does a flip-flop.

Is that…actually Mary?

Foundling

Mary's sixth night in the city, it rained. It was more of a brief Spring shower, but it was still enough to soak him and his backpack through. He shivered through the early morning hours until the sun came up, then he made his way to the Commons to lay his belongings—and himself—out into the sun to dry.

By midday, he had a slight sunburn across his nose, but most of his things were dryish—though the food was a soggy lost cause. He cut his losses and decided to buy a sausage from the hotdog vendor, even if that meant he was down to $52.37 in his sock bank.

It was the most amazing thing he'd ever eaten in his entire life (sometimes he still dreams of it), and he gobbled it down as he sat in the grass and watched the show of people pass by.

He could take today off from his job search.

Just another Groundhog Day of rejections.

A gaggle of kids about his age walked past, and he lit up when he saw them: studs and bright hair and cuffs and combat boots. They ran and shrieked and shoved at each other, and Mary had never felt such longing to be a part of something.

Not that nebulous feeling of "my world is out there somewhere," but "my world is right there if I can just get to it."

And he realized maybe he could.

These were his people.

Mary hopped off the bench and approached the boisterous group.

"Uh, hey…guys."

The pack stopped and looked him over, confused but not hostile.

"Oh hey, man" said a girl with green fins and a studded, leather jacket.

"Hey."

I have nowhere to go. Can I go with you?

"Sorry, I forgot your name."

"Oh, you don’t—"

A guy in a tight striped shirt, snake bites, and blue hair interrupted him.

"Shit, were you in my intro into film class last year?"

Mary was a high school dropout.

"Nah, dude. I’m new and shit."

…But he wasn’t stupid.

A curvy white goth with bleached blonde hair and a cream princess dress smiled at him.

"Aww, that’s rough, honey. If you think about it, they really ought to give transfers on-campus housing. It sucks to be so new and away from the action."

Mary nodded. "Yeah. Sucks."

"Well, we’re going to The Pit, wanna come?"

"If you guys don’t mind…"

"Fuck, the more the merrier!"

Mary smiled as they assimilated him into the group. He found out the goth’s name was Vanessa ("But call me Vanity."), green fins was Alexa ("Or Alex. I’m trying it out."), striped shirt was Billy, and the two other punks were Mandi (Manic Panic red) and Aaron (band tee, spiked collar).

No one laughed at him when he introduced himself as Mary or asked him why he had a girl’s name.

They took him onto the T at Charles MGH, and Mary marveled at the setting sun over the Charles River before the train ducked underground to barrel in Cambridge. At Harvard, they ushered him off the train and directly into The Pit, and Mary almost cried when he saw the pit rats there playing hacky sack, strumming guitars, and smoking cloves. Mary watched as his group high-fived, bumped chests, and hugged nearly everyone there before introducing him as if they’d known him for years.

He was shit at hacky sack, but he accepted a round on the guitar and shared a clove with a white girl who had a rat's nest of hair.

"Fuck their beauty stands," she said when she caught Mary staring.

Mary smiled and pointed to his own mess of hair. "Fuck ‘em," he repeated.

She cackled and handed him a brown bag with what he expected to be whiskey, but tasted like turpentine.

She laughed harder at his face as he coughed, and she pounded him on the back.

"Moonshine, dude. Lenny makes it in his bathtub."

"Which one is Lenny," Mary asked as he wiped off his mouth with the back of his hand.

"Oh, he’s not here. He goes to MIT. We have a strict trade agreement—booze for pot. I’m Katie."

Head fuzzy, Mary had made out with her until Aaron tugged on his arm.

"Shit dude, we gotta go before the T closes. You live close to here?"

"Uh…"

"Aww, I think he got into Lenny’s moonshine," said Vanity. "If he’s a transfer, I bet he’s at some shithole in Allston. You in Allston, honey?"

Mary just nodded.

"All right then," said Alex, taking charge. "We’ll put him up tonight. There’s no way he’s gonna make it back to Allston by himself, and I’ll be fucked if I’m trekking out there without a BU party to crash."

Mary wobbled slightly as Alex took his arm in his and led him to the T.

"Ok, we gotta go now or we’ll all be hoofing it."

They took Mary back to their dorm by the Hatch Shell and signed him in as a guest.

"Is this ok?" Mary asked warily—he didn't want to get kicked out in the middle of the night.

Mandi patted him on the back.

"We do it all time. No one really gives a shit. Vegan Mick dropped out 2 semesters ago and they don’t even check for his ID."

That night, Mary slept in the common room on a lumpy couch that was half as long as he was.

It was heaven.

The next morning seemed like the end, and Mary slumped as Vanity to sign him out. For one brief day he'd been a part of something, and now it was back to Mary, party of one. But Vanity took one look at his face and asked if he wanted to get breakfast at the dining hall.

Of course, he wanted to…but he thought of the dwindling cash in sock bank and hesitated. Vanity, bless her, misread his trepidation.

"It's on me, sweetie. I know most transfers don’t opt in. Too expensive when it’s not bundled. No worries, I got a ton of points I don’t use."

Alex and Aaron were already half done with their food when Vanity and he joined them, and they looked on in amusement as Mary ate half the breakfast buffet.

When the subject of classes came up, he shrugged off questions.

"None this morning."

Alex narrowed her eyes at him.

"What year did you say you were?"

"Sophomore."

"Not a freshman?"

Mary shook his head. "I’m not a freshman."

She seemed about to ask another question, so Mary quickly changed the subject.

"I thought I’d spend the day applying for jobs. You guys know of any place that’s hiring?"

"No work study?"

"No."

"What kind of work you looking for?"

"Shit, anything. I’ll sweep the fucking floors."

They bandied about ideas, places for Mary to try, but no one had any leads. Too soon, some unknown gong had them scurrying to get to class.

Mary suddenly panicked.

"Hey, do you guys mind if I spend the night again? I mean…"

"Yeah, sure," said Vanity. "Aaron?"

"Yeah, man. Meet me after class and I'll swipe you in."

It apparently was a time-honored tradition, passed down from upperclassmen to underclassmen, on gaming the guest system. Most kids used it to essentially move their significant others into their dorm rooms, but a handful every year used it to give haven to others who had questionable housing situations.

So, just like that, Mary had a place to rest his bones.

@dilfpassing

A Deeper Look

I’m so intent on scrolling through the comments on the grainy pics—which I'm sure now are actual scans—that I completely miss my stop, and I have to put my phone away so I can wheeze lightly jog my way to where I work as a receptionist at an alternative hair salon.

It’s really important that I start a good hour before we open so I can return any calls left on our voicemail first thing in case I can fit anyone in today. Which means I have to shelve my find for now, much to my irritation.

Mornings are super-busy because apparently there are some people in the world that like getting up with the sun and want everything done by noon. (June Cleaver’s salon lets me get away with a lot—like coming to work in denim short-shorts and ripped tights, free hair colors, and a snarky attitude—but late start times aren’t one of them.) I honestly don’t have room in my brain to obsess about the pictures because I’m too busy answering calls, making coffee, settling accounts, and giving the new customer spiel for the 57th time to a walk-in.

It’s just after midday, when Penny, the shampoo girl, collects my cash for the salon-wide sandwich run, and I finally have a moment to breathe. And obsess.

I take out my phone again, and I have to retrace my steps because of course the app has refreshed, which is why Sonia has the time to look over my shoulder.

"Missing dream boy’s dick so much you gotta spend your lunch hour ogling pics of him on the internet?"

I zoom in on the one of maybe!Mary in his underwear.

"Who does that look like to you?"

Sonia makes a guh sound in her throat and backs away.

"I don’t need to see your intimates!"

"That’s the thing! It’s not mine!"

"Your boy’s nudes get leaked??"

I wave my arms around.

"I don’t freakin’ know! They may not even be him. Fucking. C’mere and help me out!"

Sonia warily creeps back over, and so does Ryan, since all the yelling has attracted him.

The three of us peer over the phone as I scroll through the images again.

By the time Penny comes back with lunch, we’ve gone back and forth on who’s in the images—Mary or a fake—and I haven’t been able to do any actual research. The afternoon rush starts, and I have to table the whole thing again, having made no progress at all.

It isn’t until near-closing, when most of the other stylists have gone home—and it’s only June who does the post-work crowd—that I can really dig into the matter.

A deep dive and a couple of defunct, decade-old forums later, I find that what I took as an aspirational hashtag was actually the name of a zine called "Heroes."

There’s like, zero online trail about it—except for a few other grainy scans of other pages of articles, poetry, concert pictures, and art—but it seemed to be an early aughts missive for local underground culture and color.

It still doesn’t explain why Mary’s in there in various states of undress and poses.

Or why Mary has never said a word about it to me.

Stripped Bare

Mary settled into a sort of routine. He spent most days looking for a job—any job—with his backpack full of food from their dining hall. Most nights he rotated couches on different floors so the RAs didn’t notice that he basically lived there.

He made friends with Vegan Mick for about 5 seconds until Mary had eaten an entire Rotisserie chicken from 7-11 in front of him. Mick had launched into a whole spiel, and Mary had pointed out that Mick's jacket and Docs were made of leather. He’d only meant it as a joke—a callout in answer to a callout, like he'd do with his friends back home—but Vegan Mick had turned purple, then iced Mary out every time he saw him after that.

Oops.

The brief friendship had lasted long enough, however, for Mick to give Mary some tips and tricks of being homeless.

Homeless.

That had been a tough pill to swallow. Until Vegan Mick had put Mary’s situation like that, Mary had just thought of himself between places.

But it was true: he didn’t live anywhere. He skated by on the kindness of his new friends, and he didn’t know how much longer he could keep up the ruse of "transfer student who didn’t like his shithole apartment and was too busy job searching to concentrate on classes."

He still spent a few nights a week finding an out-of-the-way place outside to hunker down in or huddling in with Katie and a few of the other gutter punks under their boxes in the corners of the T stations. He knew they would have been more than happy to make room, anyway, but Mary always emptied his backpack of all the pilfered dining hall food for distribution amongst them.

It honestly wasn't so terrible now that he had friends and a warm place to go on cold or rainy nights, but.

He needed an actual place to live. To afford an actual place to live, he needed a job. To get a job, he needed a place to live.

It seemed like a catch-22, and he began to despair that he’d never get ahead…until Mandi offered him a leg up.

Mary was sitting on the grass in the Commons in the shade, thinking that with summer coming up, maybe he could fudge it until the gang came back in September. There was always Katie and The Pit, and Mary was sure he could chip in somehow.

Mandi sat down next to him.

"I thought that mess of hair was you, Mare."

"Hey, Mandi. What’s kicks?"

"You still looking for a job?"

Mary put his head in his hands and sighed.

"Don’t remind me."

"You over 18?"

Just last week. But Mary hadn’t said, since they thought he was a Sophomore.

"Yeah."

"Wanna be at least 21?"

Mary grinned at her.

"That’s what my fake ID says."

She laughed, a tinkling thing.

"You got anything against strip clubs?"

Mary furrowed his brows at her.

"Uh…what’s the right answer here?"

She shoved him playfully.

"Do you want a job?"

"Yeah?"

"Then say no."

"No. No problems with strip clubs." He squinted at her. "Are they looking for male strippers?"

She laughed again.

"Definitely not." She canted her head at Mary. "I mean, you're very pretty, Mare. I could probably put you on as one of the girls…even with these triple As," she flicked playfully at his nipple, which had him grunting and batting at her, "but I was thinking more behind the scenes."

Mary held up his arm and made a weak muscle.

"I don’t think I’d be much of a bouncer, Mands."

"You said you’d wash dishes, sweep floors and shit, right?"

"Yeah?"

"Well, the club I work at—"

"The club at you what now?"

Mandi gave him a strange look.

"Yeah. The strip club I work at."

Mary’s eyes bugged out.

"As a…waitress?"

"As a stripper, Mary. Duh." At his dumbfounded look she shook her head. "It’s kind of extra credit, as a dance major. I’m going to turn it into my thesis. Plus, I make hella bank."

She swept her arm across the park that made up her college "campus."

"How else do you think I can afford this rock-and-roll lifestyle? Not all of us are here on scholarship or mom and dad’s dime."

She tilted her head at him.

"I thought you’d get it."

When Mary didn't respond, she touched his shoulder.

"Mare. I know you don't go here."

"W-what…? I…"

He looked at her, wide-eyed as the blood drained from his face.

"Hey, it's ok. I'm not gonna tell anybody. Not if you don't want me to."

Mary looked down. "Thanks." He rubbed the back of his neck. "You know that means I've got no address."

Mandi bumped his shoulder and waved his words away.

"A lot of the girls dance. Paddy is used to dorm rooms as addresses. You can use mine."

Mary looked at her, hoping he could convey every ounce of gratitude he was feeling.

She grinned and punched him in the shoulder.

"So, you up for it? Sweeping floors and bussing tables?" She leveled a look at him. "Cleaning up puke?"

Anything.

"Fuck, I’m desperate, Mands. I’ll hold their hair back if it means a paycheck."

"That’s the spirit!"

***

Mary was sure Patrick was part of the mob—or at least in cahoots. The guy had taken one look at Mary’s ID and had said, "But how old are you really?" and Mary had said, "Nineteen."

Patrick had thrown up his hands. "Well, you ain’t gonna be serving alcohol anyway, kid. Your job is to do whatever I tell you. Some asshole breaks a bottle, you clean up the glass so the girls don’t hurt themselves. Some idiot ralphs all over the toilet seat, you scrub the shit out of that fucker. A bachelor party leaves a table a hot mess, you better be out there clearing off the table for the next one, got it?"

Mary had nodded.

"You show up at 5 to help the girls set up the bar. You stay til whenever it takes to close down—but you only get paid 'til 2am—and you get an hour to eat, unpaid. You don’t bother the girls, and," Patrick had leaned in, "you don’t steal from me."

Mary had gulped and nodded emphatically.

Patrick had jabbed a finger at him. "That includes the booze. If I get fucked because some snot-nosed, underage kid is drinking with my good friends Jim and Johnnie, I’m gonna be very put out."

"Got it, sir."

"Don’t call me sir. I’m Paddy to my friends, so you can call me Patrick."

"Yes, Patrick."

Patrick had looked him over.

"You get paid as an independent contractor just like the girls, so you gotta deal with your own taxes, you got that? I’ll start you at $10 an hour."

Mary’s eyes had gone wide. Back home he was lucky to get 5.

"Ten…?"

Patrick had tilted his head again.

"No, you’re right, 12. Do a good job, and I’ll think about raising it to 15."

Mary had to physically stop his jaw from dropping.

"You do weeknights for now so if you fuck up it’s not that much of a problem. If you don’t fuck up and the girls don’t hate you, you can get weekends. Deal?"

Mary had sat up straighter. "Deal." He’d held his hand out, but Patrick had just looked at it until Mary pulled it back into his side.

"Ariel vouched for you, so I’m giving you a shot. Don’t make her regret it."

Mary had shaken his head as Patrick had handed him some forms to fill out.

"Come back at 4 tomorrow with these and we’ll get you started. Now, get out, I got shit to do."

Mary had taken the forms and skedaddled.

Mandi was outside waiting for him, all smiles.

"Did you get it?"

"Yeah, but fuck—your boss is scary."

"Nah, he’s a teddy bear."

***

The job was awful.

The puke was an almost nightly occurrence, and by the end of the first week, little cuts covered Mary’s hands from the broken glass. The customers were loud, rowdy, and acted as if their mother was going to clean up after them.

Mary swore he would never get the beer smell out. It now lived in his soul.

One dude punched Mary and broke his nose for no reason Mary could tell before the bouncers dragged the guy away. The girls gave him some tampons to stop the bleeding, and Mary finished his shift.

Patrick paid Mary in cash at the end of every week with a "It’s your job to report that, not mine," and at the end of the month, Patrick bumped Mary up to $15/hr. He worked 5 days a week because, according to Patrick, "The Lord gave us a day of rest, and you get one day off per week."

Mary never reported a single cent to the IRS.

The girls loved him, and joked that Patrick had gotten them a pet. They showed him winged eyeliner and smokey eyes and how to contour. They guffawed when they watched him try out their shoes like a newborn deer. On slow nights, they tried to show him pole techniques.

He saw the gang less and less because by the time they were getting out of class, he was going into work, and when he was done work, they were crawling into bed. Fortunately, the desk sitters seemed to forget that he wasn’t an on-campus "student" and didn’t even bother signing him in anymore. There were a few sticklers, but Mary found that—while back home he was less than scum—here, he attracted all the right kinds of attention…and a smirk with the right compliment went a long way.

By the time their school year ended, Mary had saved up $1,000 (and he needed to transfer his money out of sock bank and into the ripped lining of his jacket).

Even though they didn't know just how much they'd saved him, Mary showed up on the last day as thanks to help them all move their stuff into family cars or rented trucks. They hugged him goodbye and said to ring them next semester.

Mandi bopped him on the nose and told him to keep his nose clean.

Mary took a sublet in Allston with 2 BU kids and a Berkley grad student. The "room" was a closed-in porch with a sleeping bag left by the last resident—but it was $400 a month until September, utilities included.

At first, Mary didn't know why the gang was so snobby about Allston, but the summer seemed to be one continual party. It didn't matter what day Mary got up, there were always broken beer bottles and stale beer on their front stoop, and the apartment had a designated watering can for washing away the vomit that dripped down from the top porches to their own.

But he took it in stride, and when he wasn’t at the strip club or sleeping, he was partying with the BU kids, or letting the Berkley grad show him better string fingering techniques.

Mary still tried to get out to The Pit with what groceries he could spare, but Katie had moved on with some of the others to do a protest tour with an activist street band that had come through town, and without her or the gang, it made Mary feel lonely.

By the end of the summer, Mary had saved up enough money for first, last, and security. He even had some left over to buy more than ramen and some new clothes. To Mary, it felt like a million dollars. He rented a garden-level apartment in the cheap part of Jamaica Plain for September 1st and spent that entire day with the BU dudes driving around in their rented truck for Allston Christmas’s best furniture finds.

Mary ended up with a mattress that he hoped on a wish and a prayer didn’t have bedbugs, a mismatched set of dishes, plastic drawers that were slightly warped, and a broken futon frame he swore he would fix. Throw in a few sets of slightly used string lights, and Mary’s cave felt downright homey.

When the gang got back, he simply told them he’d dropped out.

"Yeah, I just don’t think college is for me. Music’s my real passion, you know?"

Alex had groaned.

"I knew that Berkley kid was gonna be a bad influence on you."

Mary shrugged.

"My grades were shit anyway. But I’m still around, you know. The strip club’s only a block from campus."

"Because we saw you so much then," deadpanned Billy.

"Hey! Stop piling on Mary," said Vanity. "He’s following his path."

Mary shot her a wide smile.

"Thanks, Vanity."

Patrick finally gave him a little more leeway with his days off, and Mary started taking Saturday night to join the gang in Harvard Square for the shadow cast of Rocky Horror. One of Aaron’s classmates, Amber, was in it, and they all wanted to support her.

Mary felt that something again. That thing that told that this was his place and his people. This eclectic group who got up in front of strangers every week in their underwear for free enthralled Mary.

He and Amber bonded immediately, and Mary began going even without the gang. The cast welcomed him in as an honorary groupie, and Mary's friendship with the gang waned. There was still Mandi to cavort with at the strip club, but now when Mary wasn't there, he was at any one of the Rocky crew's apartments getting high and playing dress up.

"You’ve got such a Look, Mare," sighed Amber. "I’d kill for your cheekbones."

"I’d kill for your tits."

She slapped him playfully. "Don’t be gross."

"No, I’m serious. Someone once put it in my head that I'd be a hot chick."

The girls had giggled and proceeded to dress him up in bras and corsets with cutlets. They added a wig, and the glo-up surprised even Mary.

Still buzzed, they went out for girl’s night and hit up all the bars in Fenway and flirted their way to free shots from the dude bros before batting their falsies at bouncers to let them into the clubs ahead of the line and without the cover.

The cutlets eventually became a nuisance—and soon they were all flapping them about above their heads as they danced—but Mary had loved the feel of the lace and satin corsets against his skin.

When they’d all collapsed in a pile at the end of the night, Mary wondered if they’d tell him where to get some lingerie for himself.

***

By August, Mary was ready to quit the strip club.

He was tired of cut fingers (they were making it hard to play the guitar he’d bought), the drunks, and the sick everywhere. Now that he had a little cushion, he thought maybe he could at least find something with better hours.

Mandi had graduated and was well into a summer internship at Disney in hopes they’d bring her on as a dancer.

Alex had also graduated and moved out to LA to make it as a film editor.

Vanity and Aaron had started dating after finals, and they had moved in together in Cambridgeport for their last year.

Billy had stopped going to classes before dropping out altogether. No one seemed to know what happened, and when they called his home, his mother just said he was unavailable.

There didn’t seem to be much reason to stick around the Grid anymore, and it was a bitch of a commute back to his place if he wasn’t going to hang out with the Rocky crew. He landed a job at a record store that was walking distance to his apartment.

Patrick seemed surprisingly sad to see him go, saying, "Ah, the good ones smart up," and gave him a $500 bonus for not "fucking up."

Tim, one of the older Rocky people, turned out to not live too far from him, and when Mary started hanging out there, so did the party.

Now that Mary was no longer shackled by the strip club’s hours, his world opened a few more degrees. He spent his nights dressing up while he watched the cast rehearse. (When he showed them a move or two he learned from the women at the club, they tried to get him to do a guest star as Frank. But Mary had shaken his head and said that wasn’t the kind of performing he wanted to do.)

When they weren't rehearsing, they dragged Mary to TT The Bear’s, The Middle East, and The Milky Way Lounge for underground shows. They took him to fetish night at ManRay after a trip to Hubba Hubba for pleather and lingerie, and Mary made a lot of new friends.

Sometimes, Mary would show up to work straight off a night out in his club clothes, eyeliner smudged and lipstick smeared. It should have got him fired, but his boss just shrugged.

"I used to keep rockstar hours too."

Mary still wore all his old vestiges—his battle vest and his ripped jeans—it was just that now he sometimes added a corset and heels.

Wherever Katie was now, he hoped she knew he was still fucking their beauty standards.

ry.omen Insta

Answer Me This

I practically vibrate the entire way back to our place. I'm still trying to wring information out of the internet like it's too-wet clothes, but the only thing I accomplish is making myself motion sick on the bus, so I put my phone back in my pocket and breath through my nose.

When I get home, Mary is sprawled across the couch in his pjs with various limbs hanging over sides and edges as he watches some extreme sport show on my laptop.

I wonder if he just got up, but I see the start of dinner on the stove, so I decide not to snark at him.

"Hey," he says without looking up.

I am, however, gonna need some answers on "Heroes."

I gently close the laptop, and he meets my eyes.

"What?"

I climb onto the couch, and Mary’s limbs recede like vines to make room for me as I scroll through my phone to my photo app where I’ve saved screenshots.

"Lucy," I say in a terrible accent, "you have some ‘splaining to do!"

Mary squints at me and takes my phone, his expression morphing into one of surprise.

"Shit, babe. Where’d ya find these??"

"So they are you!"

He chuckles.

"Christ…I haven't thought about these in fucking years."

"Mind telling me what the fuck?" I ask, my hands on my hips.

I'm only half joking.

Mary grimaces at me.

"Ah."

"I'm gonna need more than that, mister."

He rubs the back of his neck.

"Fuck, you know those were hard times for me."

I know about his family, the homelessness. I know he tried out a lot until he found a life that fit. He'd given me the overviews with occasional anecdotes filled with names I never remembered.

But none of them included naughty pictures.

I worm my way under his arm.

"Yeah, I know, Mare."

His hand strokes down my arm.

"I mean, shit. I was kinda an asshole, you know?"

I wrap an arm around his chest.

"You're still kind of an asshole, Goore."

"Thanks."

"No problem."

When he doesn't say more, I poke him hard in the side.

"I’m literally dying here."

He laughs a little.

"Fine. But you gotta remember you asked."

Model Behavior

One day, Mary was walking down the street on his way to drinks with the new friends he'd made the weekend before. It was a good day. He wasn’t hungover as fuck, his makeup was only smudged artfully, and he was pretty sure he was going to get laid.

A guy in a leather jacket and tight jeans maybe a few years older than Mary stopped him on the street.

"Hey, man! I love your style."

Mary batted his eyelashes at him. "Thanks, dude."

"You ever think of dark modeling?"

Mary squinted his eyes at him.

"Dark what now?"

"You know—modeling but like," he gestured up and down Mary’s form, "for dark beauties. Show the world beauty isn’t cookie cutter."

"For like what? A website or some shit?"

The guy dug into his pocket, pulled out a card case, and handed one to Mary.

Heroes Greg Karson, Photographer/Web Design Butera School of Art

Actually, Mary had heard of this. It was a zine about the local happenings around town—concerts, art shows, parties, etc. There was a stack of them next to "Rrriot!" in the record shop. He’d flipped through one occasionally, mostly interested in the band reviews.

"We’re really on the lookout for anyone with the right look. You know, wear stuff you already own."

"So like a street fashion spread?"

"Well, we might do a little more with it, but—you know how it is. Most of the budget goes toward printing costs."

Mary perked up.

"Would I be paid?"

Greg laughed.

"Peanuts, my dude. But yeah. Even if it’s a T token. You interested, then?"

"Hell yeah!"

"Mind if I take a few test shots."

Mary smirked at Greg.

"How do you want me?"

"Just natural."

Putting his hands in his pockets, Mary arched his back and gave Greg his best snotty hipster face.

Greg dug out a digital camera from his carrying case and took a dozen or so pictures of Mary from different angles while telling him to turn this way or that.

Afterwards, the two of them huddled over the camera and scrolled through the shots.

"Aw yeah, this one. I love the attitude. The guys are gonna love it. You have a number where we can reach you?"

Mary gave him the number of the record shop. (His apartment had a phone, but he’d never gotten around to wanting to pay for service.)

Later, he and Amber looked up the Angelfire website on the back of the card. It was one page that contained the mission statement, bios of the creators, and locations to pick up the zine.

"Omigod—you’re gonna become a famous model, Mare!"

"Yeah, right. You know most of it ends up in the trash, right?"

But when Ben called, Mary said he was game. He directed Mary to a co-op in a converted warehouse in Dorchester, and Mary brought his favorite clothes in a borrowed duffle.

A girl in cat pajamas opened the door and pointed at a set of metal stairs with her cereal spoon.

On the second floor, Mary found Greg setting up a makeshift studio. A girl with multiple piercings and yarn dreads leaned against the wall in her black babydoll dress.

Mary sidled up to her.

"You here to model, too?"

She gave him an unimpressed once-over.

"I’m the art director, asshole."

Mary flushed hard as she turned to Greg.

"Couldn’t find one with brains?"

She turned back to Mary.

"I don’t know if you thought this would be a good way to meet chicks or what, dude. But I’m letting you know right now that I’m here on my day off to make sure this adheres to our aesthetic, so if you're not serious, fuck off."

Mary rubbed the back of his neck.

"Shit, sorry. I was expecting a dude named Ben."

She waved her hand in the air as if dispelling Ben.

"The Bens are morons. Good idea, terrible execution. I’m here to make sure we remain true to the idea of 'Heroes,' so don’t fuck up my shoot." She gave him a once over. "Christ. You have any experience?"

Greg turned from where he was testing the white balance.

"Angelique, stop harassing the talent. We get it, you have a degree from RISD."

Angelique snorted.

"As if I don't hear you going on and on about being a professional photographer. 'Hey, lemme shoot your portfolio, baby.' Whatever. As if we're not your only professional credit."

"Hey—you wanted a photographer for peanuts? You got me. You wanted models for peanuts? You got him."

Mary gave her his full snaggle-toothed grin.

"I take T tokens."

Angelique sighed, then pasted on a smile.

"Hi! So happy you’re here!" Her smile drooped. "You got your wardrobe in there?"

"Yeah."

Mary handed her the duffle, and she handed him release forms.

"Here: sign these"

She pawed through his offerings.

"Not bad, not bad." She pulled out a corset and his heeled boots. "We'll keep you in your jeans and have you wear your jacket over your corset. Cool?"

Cool.

The shoot was as professional as a shoot in a warehouse in what Mary was taking to usually be a living room could be. Angelique directed Greg with what she wanted. Greg called out positions and expressions for Mary to pose in.

It was surprisingly hard work, and by the end of a solid hour, his smirking lip was getting tired. Angelique and Greg scrolled through the shots, murmuring to themselves and nodding.

Mary waited—greeting at the other inhabitants as they squeezed by on their way either up or down—until Angelique approached him.

"That’ll do. You mind if we post on our website?"

Mary preened.

"Yeah, that’s kosher."

She handed him a pen and pocket notebook.

"Write down a quick bio."

He scribbled down a quick elevator pitch

Into general skulking and metal \m/

and handed the notebook back to her.

"Great, thanks."

She handed him a $20 bill, her eyes skimming him up and down.

"Next time we should show off those hip bones. Just jeans, I think."

Mary perked up. "Next time?"

"We’ll call you."

***

"Omigod, omigod!"

Amber perched on the record store counter, flipping through "Heroes," as Jon peered over her shoulder.

"Mary…look at you!"

Mary tried to swallow his smug smile.

Failed.

"Yeah. I’m hot shit, ain’t I?"

She bopped him on the nose with the newsprint.

"Don’t be vain."

He showed her his toothy smile.

"I like to think of it as confidence."

"So did Icarus."

Mary snorted and went back to putting prices on the new CDs.

"The camera loves you," said Jon, who was always quiet and reserved as you please…until he put on Frank’s corset and heels.

Mary had tried flirting with him, but Jon always ducked his head and played it off.

"Thanks, man," said Mary, giving him a softer smile.

"So??"

"So what, Amber?"

"Are you gonna do it again?"

Mary shrugged.

"I mean, if they call me, sure."

But he was kind of hoping they would.

When the next issue came out weeks later, Mary stared at the cybergoth on the pages and felt himself deflate. Listlessly, he thumbed through the delicate print, barely skimming the section devoted to the World/Inferno Friendship Society’s set he’d been at the week before.

He set it down with a sigh before he picked up his guitar and plucked out a tune he was trying to coax into a riff.

By the time a Ben called again, Mary had given up the modeling thing as a one-off.

"Hey, dude—thought maybe you guys forgot about me," Mary said in a teasing tone.

The Ben on the other end chuckled.

"It’s like herding cats to get shit out. Nah, dude—we definitely want you to be one of our regulars. You in for next Saturday?"

He was.

***

Over the course of a year, "Heroes" had Mary come out multiple times for shoots. Mainly, Mary wore his own clothes and did his own makeup, but occasionally, Angelique wanted something specific.

"How comfortable are you with boudoir shots?"

"With what?"

"Like a pinup, but more…saucy than sexy."

I'd pose nude if you paid me enough.

(Sure, he was a noodle boy, but he knew he had the goods.)

"Yeah, I’m cool with that."

Angelique brightened at him.

"Great!"

She picked up a set of complicated leather garters and thrust them at him.

"Put these on."

Mary had only ever worn lace garters—mostly out to clubs, but occasionally under his ripped jeans for an extra pop—but he found he liked these even more, liked the way they emphasized his thighs.

"Hey—where’d you get these…?"

(He was already thinking of what he could pair them with for goth night.)

"Local leatherworker. He mostly does pieces for Renn Fairs, but he'll also do custom. I can give you his info."

She led Mary into what was clearly someone's bedroom.

"Don't fuck anything up, or Joye will never let us use this again."

Mary shot her his best shark smile.

"Hey, I only mess up the sheets if someone asks."

Angelique gave him a flat look and called for Greg.

(But when he draped himself over the bed and told Greg to "Paint me like one of your French girls," Mary could have sworn she almost smiled.)

On one memorable occasion, she brought in a guy whose rope bondage demo she watched at a sex convention.

"Put on some of that lingerie and we'll truss you up. You ok with that, Goore?"

Mary ran his fingers over the coils and gave her a wolfish smile.

"You know I'm game for anything."

She gave him a vulpine smile of her own then, and she looked down at him from the height of her platformed boots.

"Good. I thought you should be submissive for once."

Mary had no witty rejoinder for that.

He listened with interest as the guy carefully explained what he was going to do, complete with pictures, and he relaxed easily into the process. (They put bunny ears on him, and it would be much, much later that he got that particular joke. Well played, Angelique.)

The ropes hadn’t let him do much posing, but Mary had kind of liked the constriction, and his thoughts were already on asking Amber to help him create a more versatile version for fetish night.

He’d left that day with a new kink…and the guy’s number.

"Why not just do one big shoot?" he asked another time. "Get it all done in one big bang!"

Angelique held up his garments to eyeball over him.

"Honey, we never even know if there's gonna be a next issue. The Bens spend most of the time arguing. My god you should hear them—Ben bankrolls the whole thing, so he says he should get final say on shit, and Benji wants total artistic control because it was his idea, because 'he's the graphic designer', and because it's his Kinko's employee discount they use."

She gave Mary a curled-lip smile as she tossed a few items at him.

"In the end it's this bitch you're looking at who gets shit done."

Mary began to change (they were long past modesty).

"How'd you get involved?"

"Went to school with Benji."

"Ben too?"

"Neg. The Bens are childhood friends. Ben works some cushy start-up job, so Benji lets him bankroll them both. Rent, utilities—everything. I love Benji to death, but he's a giant mooch."

"Shit, that must be nice."

Angelique shrugged. She stood back to appraise Mary's look.

"It's fucking lame. But it least it gets us fucking paid."

Mary didn't say I'd do this for free. Instead, he struck a pose and said, "I'm just happy for the exposure."

Angelique rolled her eyes and went to fetch Greg.

***

That year and a half would become a nonstop party with Mary as one of the VIPs; he wouldn't say no to anything—be it casual sex, club appearances, or whatever drug the current pretty thing was offering him in the bathroom.

But recognition started slow.

At first, it was customers who would leaf through the zine and recognize Mary.

Then, it was the occasional scenester who’d stop him on the street in JP as he walked about, and Mary would pose for grainy cell phone pics.

Soon, he was being approached at shows and clubs. The first time it happened, Mary was high off his new infamy and ready to please. A woman in a black bandage bra and pleated skirt with bondage straps approached him, and Mary was already thinking of what he could do with those.

"You look like that guy in ‘Heroes’!" she'd shouted to him over the music.

Mary had flashed her a crooked smile and leaned in.

"Maybe I am the guy in ‘Heroes’."

She'd given him an exaggerated once over before sidling closer with hooded eyes.

"I dunno…you're wearing way more clothes."

Mary had pulled his mesh top down by the collar in a tease as he'd curled over her.

"Take me somewhere more private and I’ll let you do a comparison."

She'd compared him all night.

And that was before he and the other "Heroes" models formed their own posse.

The Bens had thrown a BBQ and had invited everyone they'd ever met. There were people packed into their little 2 bedroom in Brighton, spilling down the back stairs, and equally packed into the little square of shared backyard. Ben had taken the 12-pack of 'Gansett beers Mary had brought, then introduced him to the other dark models.

"Now you're all here!" said Ben. He slung his arm around Mary. "Guys, this is Mary. Mary this is Mayhem, Lesley, Lola, and Bryan."

Mayhem was a rivethead, and Mary took to him instantly, but he was wary of the others. Lesley was the cybergoth who'd been in the first issue after him, and Mary still felt a bit salty at them, even though Mary knew by now the Bens rotated the models. Lola, the romantic goth, reminded him enough of Vanity that he felt guilty for losing touch with her and had him projecting a little. Bryan was a metalhead, so: competition.

Mary had thought they'd get along like cats and water, but weed, booze, and "Never Have I Ever" went a long way to creating a shared bond.

And there it was again. That pull. The magnetic force telling him that he'd found the place he was supposed to be. They quickly coalesced into their own pack, calling themselves the "Deathbutantes" (because they always killed it when they debuted for the night).

It had been rare for Mary to miss Friday and Saturday night shenanigans with the Rocky crew, but now, every night was Friday night. There was always a show or a concert or club that one of them knew about—and if they couldn't get lucky with the local color, they'd just go home with each other.

Mayhem taught Mary what Lola jokingly called the "grab a bat" dance, and the two of them cut quite the picture on the dance floors.

Lesley took to Lola, and the two of them could always be counted on for scintillating conversation in dark corners when Mary's limbst needed a break from flailing about.

The clubs weren't really Bryan's scene—take him to a sticky hole in the wall with concrete floors and a stage close enough to feel the sweat from the bands, and he was in heaven—but he liked to come along to hang. He'd drink PBRs, rub Lola's feet when she invariably abandoned her heels for the evening, and argue with Mary about the purity of death metal.

Mayhem and Lola weren't really into live music of the screaming kind, so—while Lesley, Bryan, and Mary bounced off each other in the mosh pits—they'd save a "home" base at one the bartops.

Amber noticed Mary's diminishing presence and stopped by the record shop to call him out.

"So you're not dead! Could've fooled me."

Mary was organizing the albums into order, and he grunted at her.

"Yeah, yeah, yeah. I'm a cad. I'll make it up to you."

"You missed game night."

"Sorry. Jethro Tull played some tiny venue in nowhere Mass, and Bryan was salivating. I mean, Jethro Tull. Can you blame me?"

He looked at her, arms out wide in supplication. But she just blinked at him.

"You have no idea who Jethro Tull is, do you?"

"Sorry, dude. But christ, Mare. You should have invited me. I'd've gone. Maybe I would have even liked them. Now you'll never know."

"I could just lend you an album."

"Nope! The moment passed. Too late!"

Mary riffled through the stock and shoved a Jethro Tull CD into her hands.

She tapped it against her thigh.

"So, when do I get to hang?"

"I can get us into 80s night free."

"No, I mean, with your cooler friends. Your 'murder models', or whatever."

"You wanna hang out with the Deathbutantes?"

Amber scrunched her nose.

"That's so fucking pretentious."

Mary kind of liked it.

"Dunno if they're really your scene."

"Oh? And what's my scene?"

"Musical theater on crack."

She mock gasped at him, "Called out!" before smacking him with the CD. "Whatever. You love musical theater on crack."

Mary draped his arm around her shoulders.

"Yeah, I do. But I don't live it, you know? You guys have your niche—and fuck…I love to visit—but it's not mine."

Amber looked up at him, her expression serious.

"So the Dumbutantes are your niche?"

Mary shrugged and went back to shelving.

The Rocky crew had been good to him. They'd taken him under their wing, no questions asked, and helped him realize things about himself. Tim had taken him to the ER when Mary had come down with a serious case of the flu. Matty had taught him the basics of sewing. Gretchen had held him after a bad trip. Omar and he had had many drunken heart-to-hearts about their shitty home lives.

And Amber was his best friend. She'd been his #1 cheerleader for years and had never been afraid to call him out on his shit.

So yeah, he loved the Rocky crew…but they laughed at anyone who took anything too seriously. Mary would show up to game nights in his latest creation—with everyone else in pjs or jeans & hoodies—and they'd tease him about trying to impress the wrong people. He'd try to talk about the newest guitar god he'd been mainlining, and they'd make snoring noises at him.

How could he explain the kinship he felt with the Deathbutantes? That they were as serious about music as he was, that they just…got why he felt the need to dress the way he did to express the way he felt inside on his outside.

Instead, he said, "I'm just trying shit out, Ambs." He quirked his eyebrow at her. "I gotta do something while you guys do your real-person jobs."

(Amber had recently started as a junior marketing assistant at the American Repertory Theater. "Purely mercenary," she'd said. "Maybe it'll give me a leg up during auditions.")

She made a disgruntled scoffing noise in the back of her throat.

"Fuck, don't remind me. I actually gotta go to bed a reasonable hour now."

"Don't worry." Mary winked at her. "I'll keep ya honest."

"That sounds a lot like my head in a toilet, Mare."

"I'll hold your hair back."

She gave him a good-natured shove, and he pretended to cower.

If she wanted to cross pollinate, who was Mary to stand in her way? So, he invited her out the next time the Deathbutantes went to a show, and it went exactly like he thought it would.

They disliked her, and she was equally unimpressed. They thought she was too loud and frenetic, and she thought they had no sense of humor.

"I fucking told you," Mary had snorted as they sat on the curb sharing a clove.

"Shut the fuck up, Mare."

But she'd put her head on his shoulder.

"They make you happy, though. So I guess I approve. Just as long as I don't have to play nice."

Mary still hung out with the Rocky crew—there were still game nights and drug-fueled sex parties and theater games—but the Deathbutantes introduced him to the underground scene. They always seemed to have insider knowledge about the best up-in-coming bands and the secret shows. Theme nights at the goth clubs were always a must, and they rarely missed one. Sometimes, Angelique would crash, and they'd take the commuter rail to Providence to party at Club Hell before collapsing in a sweaty, smeary pile at a friend of a friend's hole in the wall.

As a bit player in the Rocky crew, Mary had been another made-up face in the crowd. As a certified member of the Deathbutantes, Mary became the face.

They all did.

The owners loved them because they bought round after round at the bar, and if word got out that the Deathbutantes were there, their admirers came to spend money as well. The employees loved them because they were fun and talked to them as equals. The clientele loved them because they were pretty young things.

Sometimes, though, Mary wasn't in the mood to party or get laid, so he talked to the DJs instead. He'd buy them rounds and stay past closing to help them pack up while they talked about the history of punk and 80s new wave and nu metal. There was one in particular, Dave, that Mary even considered a friend.

The two of them would sit in the club past closing, sharing a whiskey and talking about life while the bartenders closed down and cashed out. Occasionally, Dave's other friends would be around, and they'd all walk back to his place; he'd fool around spinning in his home studio, and they'd drink box wine as they danced and laughed before Mary would have to sit on the ground in an intoxicated exhaustion, good for only thumbing through Dave's vinyl collection.

Mary was just happy to talk shop with another music aficionado, but Angelique had pointed out that he should leverage his minor clout.

They'd been waiting for Greg to finish setting up, and Mary had been struggle city after a particularly hard night out. It was all he could manage to sit there quietly and hope some god would put him out of his misery.

"You need to get your shit together," Angelique had said out of nowhere.

Mary had cracked a puffy eye and had slowly (as to not bring the nothing in his stomach back up) turned his head to her.

"As if I haven't seen your melted ass on the floor wanting to die."

"Fuck, Mary. You've turned it into an art form."

He'd closed his eyes and given her the finger, but that hadn't stopped her.

"You wanna be a rockstar, boy? You can't just sit on your ass and hope the right person on the right night hears you. You're effervescent and charismatic—heads turn when you walk into a room and not just because of your skinny jeans—but you need more than air, Mary, which is all you are right now."

"Fuck you, Angela."

She'd clapped in front of his face, and she was lucky he didn't Exorcist bile all over her.

"You're a fucking pain in my ass, Goore. I'm doling out the good stuff, try not to bite my hand off, k?"

"All right, all right!"

"You wanna start that band? You wanna get play and amass fans? Well, make that demo you're always droning on about and give it to those DJs you're alway fanboying over. Fucking network, Goore."

At the time, Mary had been too hungover to care, but her advice would sink in…

Eventually.

For the time being, Mary was content. He loved the attention, and it made him feel invincible, made him feel like it was finally His Time. And he was going to make up for every slight, every unfair situation, and every beat down with sex, drugs, and rock-and-roll.

With his newfound nightlife, Mary's day job had become an afterthought. He started sleeping through opening shifts, but with the extra foot traffic Mary brought to the store, his boss seemed resigned to let Mary slide (after a stern talking to and a pay docking).

The shadow cast had started using him as a mascot of sorts, and he was happy to show up on Saturday nights and hype up the waiting line with a pseudo striptease. (Even if it was sometimes to kick off his evening with the Deathbutantes and not hang with the cast after.)

Mary started a band ("auditioning" any and all of the many admirers who said they’d be more than happy to join it), and after a few false starts and a couple of lineup changes, they began working on an EP. (At least, when Mary showed up to rehearsal, they did.)

A Boston Phoenix reporter got wind of the Deathbutantes and called around about doing a story on them. The Bens were excited about the exposure that meant for their zine, and Angelique and Greg were excited about what it could mean for their careers. Mary did a brief interview over the phone where he answered questions about his style and talked about his dream of making his band a household name.

Mary saw his name up in lights, and he was reaching for it, full speed ahead.

But then things turned.

The story fell through at the last minute with no further explanation or contact by the reporter.

His boss finally fired him after Mary showed up too high to function too many times—or not at all.

The shadow cast had a turnover, and suddenly he was old news—a cringey hanger-on.

A trip to the clinic and a round of antibiotics for an STI had him way more wary of who he hooked up with.

"Heroes" lost momentum when imitators popped up and Ben cut off the gravy train.

Angelique moved to NYC for "better opportunities," and the Bens took their brand of counterculture to Portland, OR.

Greg took down the website when he got offered a legit job as an apprentice at a food magazine, and that was that.

The physical zines were cheap things, most ending up papering the sidewalk after trash day or lining the bottom of cages. Without the online presence, did Mary's "modeling career" even exist?

Mary was a little sad to see the era go, but when he woke up in Maine on the hood of some girl's car and only a hazy recollection of how they'd gotten there, he was beginning to see Angelique's point. He needed to get his shit together if he was ever going to become a rockstar. And frankly, he kind of felt like he needed to spend an entire month eating carrots and hydrating.

The 24/7 party had always been an ephemeral thing; it had been sand passing through his hands in a finite amount as he'd tried to hold onto it

He put himself on detox, and waking up sober for the first time in months felt like a revelation. And as it turned out, playing the guitar without badly shaking hands was way, way easier.

He found another job in another music store, and his starter!band was bringing butts into the smaller venues, like Toad.

He still had his old Rocky friends and the Deathbutantes. The club and venue owners still let him in for free, and Dave was always happy to give his demos a spin. By anyone's else's measure, he was steal one of the scene's darlings.

But Mary was beginning to realize that he needed to stop seeing himself as that scared kid who’d arrived in Boston 4 years ago with only a backpack, $72.57 to his name, and void where his family should be.

He needed to stop finding people to please into loving him.

Instead, he needed to live for himself and let them love him for who he was—fuck ups and all.

@slimylayne

Epilogue

"Honestly, that’s probably the reason I even got a band together," he says. "I was still kind of shit at guitar, but people came to see ‘Model Mary’ perform in his underwear."

He shoots me a smirk.

"I’m sure there’re pictures out there of me looking more glam than metal. I kind of played up the whole pinup thing for a while."

"Fuck, I would kill, literally kill to see that."

He pulls me into his lap until I’m straddling him.

"I could open up my underwear drawer and show you right now."

"Goore, you temptress."

I lean down to kiss him, and his hands sneak under my shirt, but I pull away again.

"I kinda thought I knew all your torrid secrets by now. Shit, how come Dave's never needled you about it?"

After 2 years with him, I’m surprised I hadn't even heard a peep from his oldest friend.

Mary snorts.

"Dave would miss shit hanging off his nose. Great dude, amiable as fuck, but he's always had fucking tunnel vision for his music."

I smirk at him.

"Sounds like someone else I know."

Mary pulls a face at me, and I apply kisses to every line until he laughs and bats me away.

"But really, Mare—how come you never told me about your brief career in blue steel?"

He blows out a breath, his hands smoothing up my thighs.

"Fuck. Cuz maybe I was a little embarrassed at how off the rails I was then, ok? Didn't want you to know what I fuck up I was." He takes my hand and kisses my palm. "And even I know it's a shit move to pitch woo at someone by telling them about banging half of Boston."

I make a face at him, and he laughs.

"Yeah, that’s what I thought."

His hands rest on my waist.

"Christ, everything about that year's a bit fuzzy, and it was like 10 years ago. Sometimes it feels like it happened to someone else, honestly. And shit—most of those people aren’t even around anymore. College kids who moved on and 20-somethings that grew up and moved who knows where. I used to watch Amber have—what is it when it’s four people?—and now she lives in bumblefuck Pennsylvania with 3 kids. After she left, I just kinda drifted away from all that."

He shrugs, his eyes downcast.

"I’m sorry, Mare," I say as I smooth his eyebrows.

He shrugs again.

"I mean, we all kinda keep in touch. It's like the only reason I have Facebook."

"When was the last time you even signed into that?"

Mary grins at me.

"Lola's birthday."

"One of the models? What happened with them?"

Mary bites his lip and thinks.

"Mayhem found religion after an OD and kinda ghosted everyone. Lesley followed a girl to New Hampshire. Uh…Lola pursued a PhD for something sciencey involving renewable energy with sugar beets in Idaho, and Bryan moved back to Florida to care for his grandma, who raised him."

Mary leans his head back on the couch and rubs his eyes with the heels of his hands.

"I mean, shit. We were fucking babies back then. Head empty except for a good time and unlimited potential."

I run my fingers through his hair.

"You miss it?"

His eyes pop open to look at me.

"Fuck no. Not for a million dollars. Too many question marks." His eyes glint as he runs his hands down me. "I like what I got going on right here."

I wrap my arms around his shoulders and kiss his forehead. The fucking sap.

Mary picks up my phone and scrolls through the pictures again.

"Fuck. I used to be goddamn adorable, though. Half this shit wouldn’t even fit me anymore."

I squish his little potbelly, and he grunts at me indignantly.

"Do you still have any originals?" I ask.

He shakes his head, his eyes wistful and his smile sad.

"Nah. Got destroyed when my roof collapsed and leaked everywhere. Fuck, landlords are useless. Glad we fucking own now, babe."

He scrolls up, scrolls back down.

"Just these four?"

I nod.

"Yeah. They were the only ones I found—and I did a lot of searching."

"Christ, I think there were at least 10."

I smile ruefully at him. "It’s not gonna be long anyway before they make their way into the popular tags and shit starts coming out of the woodwork."

He tosses my phone onto the table.

"Whatever. Just shows that I’ve always been cool."

And then he’s kissing me again, his hand tangling in my hair.

"You know, I’m your family now, Mare. Just for you."

He brings my hand up and kisses it.

"Fuck, I know that. Why’dja think I put a ring on it?"

[digitalcomfortspot]

(All artwork accompanying this fic was doodled by the amazing @mxgumshoe! Go commission them!!!)

"Come on, Stone...! Hang in there!"

Zenigata sat over his partner as they writhed and whimpered under the heat of the fever. Their entire body was burning to the the touch, and they had lost consciousness an hour ago. The poison that fiend had given him was working far faster than anticipated, and Zenigata was getting worried that Lupin and the gang might be too late.

The antidote to the poison they'd been shot with was used as a ransom for Interpol, the monsters who concocted the poison holding it for a whopping 2.7 billion euros. If they wanted Stone- and several other downed civilians- to live, they'd have to fork over the cash or steal it themselves.

Koichi had practically begged Lupin and the gang on his knees, even if it was just a telephone call. He was close to tears when he asked them to steal it for him, and once they heard his partner in crime catching was involved, they agreed readily.

Now, it was just a waiting game.

Koichi paces, hands holding his hat against his chest. Worried thoughts raced through his head, as he waits. And waits. And waits.

Eventually, he practically wears a track in the carpet, and decides to sit.

When he hears Stone stir, he practically jumps to their side. "Stone-!!!"

"Hh... hey, Zeni...ga..." They try to say, but it turns into a flurry of wheezing, harsh gasps as they try to sit up.

"Don't strain yourself, partner! Lay back down, Lupin and the gang should be here any minute now...! Come on, now, lay back down!" He says, gently leading them back against the mattress with a hand on their head.

"Ze... zenigata... please..." They try to speak.

"What? What is it?" Worry paints his face, as he runs a hand gently theough their fading hair. With all the work, they hadn't been able to re-dye it, and it was fading to brown again.

It was funny how he noticed those tiny details more than ever in times of danger... like Laura's eyes in the sunlight. He blinks away the burning sensation of tears.

It won't be like Laura. It can't be like Laura. He won't let it be.

Not again.

"... i-in case I don't... make it-" They try to say, looking up at his with cloudy, tired eyes, but he interrupts them.

"Yer gonna make it! Don't say that like you're dying on me...!!" His eyes fill with tears, and he holds their hand tightly, his other hand still brushing back their sweat slicked hair out of their face.

They give him a pained, soft smile. "I... heh... a-always stubborn... hh...." They grimace, feeling pain flare into them again, before they try again. "Just... l-let me say this... please..."

He nods, leaning forward. "What is it, Magnus...?" He sounds like he's breaking, voice crackling with emotion and sorrow. Not like this... not like this, please, whatever powers that be, he thinks. Not like this.

"I-I..." They look up at him, with a soft expression pushing througu the agony.

".... K-Koichi, I... I lo-"

Just then, the door bursts open, and in clambers the gang all at once. Lupin holds out the bottle of pulls he'd swiped, he and Jigen covered in bruises. Goemon was mostly unscathed, and Fujiko seemed to be checking behind them to make sure no one followed. No smiles were to be found this time, just panicked expressions.

"Pops-!! I got it!"

Magnus' words are forgotten momentarily, as the inspector springs forward, teary eyed as he shakes out two pills and rushes back.

"Take these...! Please!" He begs, and helps them tilt their head back. "Easy, now, that's the way..." He's strong for them as he helps administer the medicine.

They smile weakly, as they lean into the hand under their head. "Th.. thank you..." Glassy eyes look around the room, and they sigh in relief as they pass out finally, less anxious and in much less pain as sleep takes them.

Zenigata nearly has a conniption. "-!!! Stone?! Stone, no!!!"

"Easy, Pops! You'll wake 'em up!" Jigen gently rests a hand on his shoulder to try and calm him down. The inspector blinks, looking confused.

"Bwuh?"

"One of the ingredients in here is melatonin, Pops! They need rest before the meds get into their system. They'll be okay." Lupin gives him a reassuring smile.

He takes a moment to process, and then nods resolutely, pulling up a chair beside his bed and just... waiting.

"... you gonna wait there all night, huh?" Fujiko asks, smiling a bit as she saunters up.

"Of course I am! He's my partner! I'm not gonna let them sit through this alone!" He exclaims, steadfast in his decision.

The femme fatale laughs a little, grinning. "Wow... you've got it worse than I thought! I've only seen you act like this when you think one of us is dead!"

Despite his tears, Zenigata's face turns bright crimson."Wh- hey!!! What's that supposed to mean?!"

Lupin puts a finger to his lips, shushing him with a grin. "Shhh, don't wanna wake up the sleeping angel! We left the rest of the antidote with your boss man downstairs, and they've given us a 24 hour amnesty in return! So long, Pops!" And with that, the gang takes their leave.

He sighs, almost going after them, but...

Stopping when he sees them sleeping so soundly. He has to wait.

He would always wait for him, he thinks, much to his own surprise.

- - -

It's dawn by the time Stone stirs again, Zenigata having been asleep for only a little while now. He'd stayed up all night watching over them, and when the sound of rustling blankets shifts against their body, he gasps and jolts awake again.

"BWUH!!! Huh-?" The inspector blinks, and then breaks into a massive grin when Stone sits up, looking nowhere near as pained anymore.

"Ugh.. God, my head... it worked, I think, but my head hurts something fi-" Stone pauses when they see the inspector's eyes brimming with tears. "Zenigata-?"

"MAGNUS-!!!" He yelps, not caring who might hear, as he leaps forward and practically bowls them over in a big hug.

He bawls, head buried in his chest as he shakes and mutters over and over again, "You're alive, you're alive-!!! Lupin did it, you're alive!!!"

Stone looks surprised for a moment, still weak, but much less in pain. Then... his expression melts into softness, and they wrap his arms around Zenigata's back. "Y-Yeah, I'm okay...!" They smile right back, as he looks up with big, watery eyes and a wobbly smile.

"I don't know what I woulda done if you...!!!" He mutters, holding their gaze before hugging them again.

Stone smiles right back, gently helping to wipe away his partner in crime catching's tears. "Hey... hey, easy, I'm okay...! I'm okay..."

"I promise it won't happen again! I'll always protect you, okay?" Zenigata swears, giving them a squeeze. They wheeze a little, and he eases up.

"Yeah... I'm j-just glad I'm alive." Stone curls into him, and together... They stay like that for a long, long while. They don't wanna let go.

So, neither of them do.

Stone's unsaid words in the haze of near death are forgotten, at least for now. But as Lupin smiles and watches the two curled up together in relief through the window, he knows it's not long now.

Once those two got together, it was just a matter of asking them into the gang...

And then they could all finally have a happy ending. One where this was all just a bad dream. One where Zenigata was treated fairly, and Stone could be with him without worrying too much about being the only one who truly believed in ol' Pops.

Once they got together, the plan would be set into action. Lupin grins at that.

Now, if only those two would stop dancing around the damn subject.

[tamakiamajikistentacles]

broken. {Dabi}

A/N: Please be sure to reblog, comment, review, and like if you enjoy! Feedback is what keeps me motivated! So sorry it’s been a while since I’ve posted- between holidays, work, and this being a generally not great time of year for me there hasn’t been much room for writing. As you can see though, recent manga events totally inspired me for one last story in 2020 for ya!

He liked going out once the sun had set. Daylight hadn’t been his friend for a long time, and whatever lurked in the shadows grew disinterested as the glow of his cigarette illuminated his staples when he passed, aware of who they were seeing but uninclined to make a report.

How could they really? By day they walked the streets freely, unassuming, but beneath the moon they found sick pleasures in ways that would make any hero grimace. As dangerous as they were it couldn’t compare to the likes of him—the deranged and recognizable with only a quick glance that sent chills down the spines of millions.

He slept during the day and rose at dusk to begin sowing chaos. After all, the freaks come out at night.

The long since burned out butt of his cigarette dropped from between his lips as he approached one of the seedier bars in the slums of town. Whatever its name is or was had been lost to time and inattention to the sign hanging askew over the door but damn, they had the strongest liquor in the city and a reputation for looking the other way when criminals passed through the door. Hazy smoke stung at his eyes and throat as he entered but he’d been used to that for nearly three decades and really, what was another lungful when they were burned to hell as it was?

The blonde bartender gave him a curt nod from across the room, already reaching for the amber bottle he knew Dabi favored. Around the room were other patrons that gave an assessing glance in his direction before turning back to their drinks. All but one turned his way.

In the darkest corner of the bar sat a woman with her back to the room. He couldn’t see her face, just the contrast of her revealing shirt against the skin of her chest, but he was interested. The mysterious chick vibe always did do him in.

“What’s a cute little thing like you doing here alone?” he asked as he approached her table.

“Cute?” she scoffed, dark-lined eye rolling in clear annoyance. “You really think that?”

In what seemed like a well-practiced move she tossed her hair over her left shoulder and pulled the already low collar of her shirt down further to expose more of her chest and shoulder. Smooth skin bled into a gradient of marled blotches of red and purple burn scars, the severity of which he’d only ever seen in the mirror.

“You wanna rethink that ‘cute’ comment?” she challenged without so much as a glance at his slightly parted lips.

“Yeah,” he breathed out with a nod. “Think I wanna change it to gorgeous.”

“Look, if you wanna know how I got ‘em just ask so I can tell you to… fuck off… already…” her voice trailed off after she looked up, haughty attitude dropping as she took in the darkened skin on his face and chest. She marveled at the handsome features still so clearly defined beneath the burns and the glint of his staples in the fluorescent lights.

Seeing interest cloud over her eyes as she trailed them over his face and down his body, he seated himself in the chair across from her and folded his hands around his glass on the table.

The rough rhythm of his hips against hers scraped her back against the gnarled wood of her bedroom door and drove the staples in his lower stomach into hers but she couldn’t find it in herself to care when it felt so good. As thin as he was he was able to lift her thighs around his waist and hold her with one hand while the other pressed against her throat.

“Fuck, please,” she panted, head spinning but wanting more.

“Ah, ah, ah,” he teased, “you already got two and I haven’t even had one yet. Not exactly fair, is it?”

“Dabi!” she groaned.

He huffed out a laugh as he buried his face in her shoulder, licking at the bead of sweat that trailed from her hairline. He was close so she really wouldn’t need to wait long considering the pleasure pooling in his lower stomach was building with each smack of skin on skin.

His hand left her throat to wrap around her other thigh so he could quickly readjust his grip. Pulling her back from the door, he bounced her against him as he carried her the short distance to her bed. He sat back against the wall and guided her hips against him, smirking at her eagerness as she started riding him desperately.

She gasped when one of his hands drifted between her legs and another type of warmth spread through her. “Fuck!”

“That’s what we’re here for,” he scoffed, his other hand coming up to grip her throat once again.

A few more rotations of her hips had him surging forward to sink his teeth into her scarred shoulder as his hand between her legs drew tight circles on her clit, both of them breathing hard as they met their ends.

She slumped forward, breathing heavily as he held her steady against him while they caught their breath and heartbeats slowed. When he finally felt the calm sweep over him he guided her down to lay beside him before reaching to her night table for the pack of cigarettes he’d spotted. Placing one between his lips, he ignited a small blue flame at his fingertip to light it.

“Is that how you got your burns?” she asked in a whisper, eyes half-lidded.

He stared straight ahead, cheeks hollowing even further as he took a drag. Without looking he took it in two fingers and passed it towards her through a cloud of smoke. She grabbed it and placed it between her own lips.

“Mine are from a hero,” she said after blowing out her own puff.

His eyebrows raised and he looked down at where she laid, interest alight in his turquoise eyes.

“I used to work in this high-rise building in the western district, did normal office type shit you know? Sent faxes and filed documents everyone thought I was too fuckin’ stupid to understand because I grew up poor and quirkless,” she started. “Some low-level villains attacked a few blocks away and when the heroes came the fight was small enough that we didn’t get evacuated. We couldn’t even see anything, all we heard were sirens and for that district its background noise anyway. But then Endeavor showed up.”

Dabi stiffened as she handed the cigarette back though she didn’t seem to notice as she continued.

“He blew the fight out of proportion to make a bigger show of capturing the villains I’m sure, but when he did it lead them towards our building. Three quarters of the floors were engulfed within ten minutes.”

“Lemme guess, your floor was lucky enough to be one of ‘em?”

She hummed. “Yeah, lucky enough to land me some wicked burns and a high as fuck medical bill.”

“What? The Hero Commission didn’t cover it?”

“Nope. None of it. Despite being told not to evacuate because we were farther from the initial attack and then being caught in the crossfire that we literally had no choice in, we were told that only loss of life would be covered by their insurance payout.”

“Zero casualties?”

“How’d you know?” she drawled, reaching for the cigarette once again. “Never fucking mind that I have limited mobility with my left arm that literally impacts my day to day life or how I can’t go anywhere without being stared at like a sideshow act or that the company I worked for dissolved their branch in the district. All because of some asshole looking for glory from a fight he didn’t need to be in.”

He chuckled as he watched her finish off the cigarette and stub out the last few embers in the ashtray on her opposite night table. This chick was something else.

“How’d you feel if I told you I got my burns from Endeavor too?” he asked.

Now it was her turn for her eyebrows to rise with intrigue. “I’d ask how, when, and why the fuck you didn’t melt his face off.”

“I was just a kid,” he shrugged.

“Endeavor—”

“—wanted to make sure his son could surpass All Might. Didn’t go according to plan, at least not with me.”

Her eyes widened.

“Pushed a bit too hard on a kid who could produce flames so much hotter than his. Surprised it took so long if I’m honest, but it doesn’t matter. I’m going to kill him.”

She sat up, slowly bringing her knees to her chest and wrapping her arms around them, eyes twinkling with wonder. “You’re really going to kill him?”

“It’s all I’ve ever wanted to do, baby,” he said with a smirk. “What—you wanna watch?”

“Fuck yes,” she breathed out. “He needs to burn. Just like we did.”

A blue flame ignited and danced in his palm. She could feel the heat on her face but it didn’t scare her like most would assume. The fire wasn’t at fault for her pain, the false hero who wielded it had been.

She looked between the flames and his handsomely stapled face.

“How can I help? I want to be a part of taking down Endeavor.”

He closed his hand and the fire disappeared in a wisp of smoke. Reaching over, he fisted the hair at the nape of her neck and brought her closer.

“I’ll let you help sweetheart,” he laughed, “but the best thing you can do right now to help me is to put that pretty mouth to work. You’re still at three while I’ve only got one.”

“THE PAST NEVER DIES!”

The corners of her lips curled upwards in a smirk as the broadcast overtook the large billboard in downtown Tokyo, projecting the voice of a now white-haired Dabi. He steamed from his quirk being overused but also from the outpouring of emotion he was finally able to confront his family with.

“Oh Dabi,” she sighed fondly.

Vengeance years in the making was unfolding in front of the entire country in real time and she was privileged enough to know it had been coming. She knew the plan and she knew the backup plans and she was essential to the very last resort plan too. Her own revenge was being carried out though not by her own hand. At least not directly.

She looked down to the slightly rounded bump beneath her sweater, caressing it gently.

“If he doesn’t kill him, I’ll make sure you do for him,” she murmured with a smile.

A/N: Please be sure to reblog, comment, review, and like if you enjoy! Feedback is what keeps me motivated! Good heavens, its been a while since I’ve done smut so that was an experience lmao. Anyway, Dabi is such a fun character for me to write and I love exploring different emotions for him!

[alkhale]

Crazy (Hausen/Reader) Ko-fi Request

Hi! Im back with a lot of commission for you. I looked at your old post to see the animes that you could know and surprised you have already seen Gangsta. So I would like to know if I can get an Doug x reader or Hausen x reader (or any character of your choice :)).

I love and miss Gangsta so much, hoping for more chapters and episode to eventual come ;-; Here you go!

(Crazy)

Fandom: Gangsta

Pairing: Hausen/Reader

His boots hit the floor in an even clack clack clack. The military issued steel resounding his foremost intent with thunderous arrival.

Several of the guild members glanced up, some half roused from an evening snooze, others just filing back in from a scouting mission or watch, all of them congregated in one of the main room areas. A few veterans watched the hard set of Hausen’s jaw, skittering off to stay out of the Twilight’s way. They quickly tugged wooden chairs back, sneaking off behind tables and ducking down to the counters. Others glanced to the rugged, muscled outline of his shoulders and back and glanced to each other, whispering guesses on who’d be on the receiving end of his obvious malintent.

“Someone really messed up today, didn’t they?”

“Aw, who fucked up?”

“‘s not me man! I ain’t even on schedule.”

One man shouldered his partner, motioning roughly with his chin. The others all looked, stopping at the sight of the crumpled, brightly colored object in Hausen’s left hand.

The dirty blonde ignored the chatter, camo jacket tied snug around the set of his waist. Hausen swept icy blue eyes once across the room, squinting as though in search of something before he scowled, continuing onwards.

The guild members winced when he kicked the door clean open, stepping into the hallway. It slammed shut behind him.

“Aw, shit.”

“Yeesh.”

“Everyone stand clear, this one’s gonna get messy.”

A few bills were tossed into the center of the table. Heads turned, glancing over.

“Sir’s gonna beat their asses.”

“Naw, Ginger’s gonna stop ‘em before anythin’ happens.”

“They break up!”

“Bet!”

Hausen dragged a hand down his face, lips pulled down into a half-irritated scowl at the words flinging from the door. I can hear you, you dumbasses. He’d have them running laps or cleaning out the temporary Twilight housing facilities later.

Hausen had more important business to see to.

He gripped the object in his hand with renewed vigor, storming his way down the hall with purpose. His military Twilight tags clanked around his neck, clinking together alongside with one that didn’t match his own set. A few rungs of doors were open on the way down to the medical wing, Arthur and Lancelot peeking their heads out from where they’d been fooling around in a slumbering Gawain’s room.

“Hey, Hausen!” Arthur greeted cheerfully. Hausen offered him a quick wave. Lancelot peeked out from right beneath his friend, fixing his goggles. 

“Who’re the flowers for?”

Hausen’s scowl deepened. In his hand was a crumpled bouquet, the pretty pink paper wrapping crinkling under the force of his grip. The stems inside threatened to snap, wheezing at the onslaught while the bright, full sunflowers bobbed unsteadily.

A vein throbbed against the side of Hausen’s head. Arthur pressed a hand down over Lancelot’s head, ponytail bobbing. “Did you hear? (Y/n)’s back—”

Both Arthur and Lancelot stopped, blinking at Hausen’s almost constipated expression.

Gawain snorted from his bunk bed, arms tucked under the soft tufts of his pinkish hair. He kept his eyes closed, legs kicked over the restboard.

“I,” Hausen grunted. “Heard.”

He nodded gruffly to them, marching down the hall, dog tags swaying. Arthur and Lancelot blinked once at his back, blinking again when they looked at each other.

“What’s got him in such a bad move?”

“I wouldn’t worry about it,” Gawain yawned. “Go take a nap or something.”

“Gawain, you’re always sleeping.”

Hausen finally drew his boots to a rough halt just before the medical wing’s doors. There was a bit of chatter on the other side, a few of the Twilights on shift working to organize or help out anyone still injured. Hausen waited a minute longer, fingers rolling over the top of the rusted brass knob. The flowers sagged at his side, no longer brimming with the usual energy sunflowers were supposed to.

Hausen rubbed the back of his head, ruffling the short cropped tufts of blonde hair with an aggravated sigh. Did you have to make things so difficult? 

He heard your soft voice, muffled through the door. Hausen heaved a rough sigh, masking it as a grunt as he pushed the door open, hefting the flowers over his shoulder.

The door opened with a little more noise than necessary to announce his arrival. A few of the guild members glanced up, blinking at first in surprise before their expressions dawned in understanding. They became pale, sweat rolling down the sides of their cheeks as they looked first to Hausen’s hulking frame in the door and then quickly to you.

Hausen only had eyes for you.

You were sitting up in the dingy medical bed, another Twilight sitting in the chair beside you with a medical chart. Your hair was pulled back, revealing the scarred, toned column of your neck to Hausen. Patches of open skin between the mottled scars he’d leave trails of kisses and lingering bites when you were a little more willing than usual.

You had a knee propped up onto the bed, the other dangling, wrapped up thickly in a cast. Fractured. He’d already heard the news. Mounds of bandages were wrapped up your arms, a hefty patch of gauze peeking from under the loose white t-shirt you’d shrugged on to hide the brunt of the beating you took from the last mission call. Another set of bandages were patched over your cheek, making you look a little ridiculous.

Dog tags dangled from the thin chain around your neck. Your own Twilight markings coupled with a tag that didn’t match the other one.

Hausen gripped the flowers. The stems snapped inside the paper wrapping.

He waited for you to make the first move, watching in growingly irritated silence as you dully glanced up, expression neutral. You took in his entire appearance, black tank top and camo attire and crumpled flowers, expression never once wavering.

You snorted, looking back down.

Hausen felt a vein pop.

“We’re just gonna,” one guild member started, gesturing vaguely to the door. Hausen stepped aside, nodding. “Go now. Yeah, we’re gonna go now.”

They scrambled out of the room, leaving the two of you to your own privacy.

Hausen flexed his fingers, curling them tightly into a fist before he cocked his head back. He set a hand down on his hip, fixing you with all the you-better-start-talking-right-now he could muster.

You said nothing, browsing through a crumpled magazine in your lap.

“What the hell is your problem?” Hausen exclaimed, throwing his hands and the flowers into the air. You rolled your eyes. “Why are you like this? You’re always like this! Ya like bein’ difficult? You drive me nuts!”

You flipped a page.

“I told you not to take that hire,” Hausen started, pacing around the room as he shook his finger. His heavy steps made the table shake and you kicked your good foot out to stop the empty vase from toppling over. “I told you. But do you listen? No. You never listen. I said don’t do it!”

You said nothing, flipping another page.

“I rank fucking higher than you but you don’t even care!” Hausen snapped. “What’s the point of bein’ your superior if I don’t even get any respect?”

“You,” you said finally. Your hoarse voice was music to his ears, tearing Hausen up over whether he should just take you up in your arms and spend the time doing something else instead of giving you the tongue lashing he’d been rehearsing this whole time. “Told me not to go as Hausen. Not as my superior.”

Hausen went rigid, setting his jaw. You flashed him a defiant look. “‘s that wrong?”

“That’s not the point.”

“‘s totally the point,” you muttered. “Paulkee said it was mine if I wanted it. I wanted it.”

“Then you should’ve asked me to come with you.”

“Ya got other stuff to do,” you said. “And I managed.”

“You look like they threw you through a fucking roof.”

“‘s a balcony, but close enough.”

Hausen growled. You rolled your eyes, turning to face him, expression neutral despite his rippling frustration. You were used to this after all. For all his bravado and cool when it came down to it, Hausen was always the kind of guy to get worked up over the things that needed it less.

Cause he’s a good guy. 

“Going anyway without telling me was one thing,” Hausen said, marching right over to you. The sunflowers bobbed and you shot them a pitiful look. “Ya spit on my boots with that one. But comin’ back and not saying a thing? Ya might as well punch me in the face! What’re you trying to say?”

Hausen stopped, flashing you a dangerous look. He narrowed his eyes, pointing a rigid finger at you. “If this is your own dumbass idea of trying to leave me hanging—”

“Ya sayin’ I can’t break up with ya if I wanted to?”

“You bet your fucking ass I am.”

“Well, I’m not. I’m tired,” you said flatly. “I didn’t want to hear you yell at me like ya are now.”

Hausen made choking motions for your throat. You leaned back, gingerly adjusting your casted foot. “Why do I even put up with you? Sir’s got a better chance of kicking your fucking ass than I do!”

“‘s somethin’ only you can answer,” you said nimbly. Hausen threw his hands back into his hair. You watched him, eyes traveling all over, checking for new wounds, for new scars. When you found none you let your shoulders rest, feeling the fatigue come crawling back.

“Took that stupid mission, never listen to me when I got something to say, dumbass always doing whatever the hell ya want and—”

“I missed ya.”

Hausen stopped. His jaw worked, entire body shifting as he swung his head back to you. Your face was soft, eyes sleepy as you looked up at him. Your taped fingers lightly thumbed your tags, pinching the one that wasn’t yours.

The one that matched with his other missing one, coupled next to your own swinging round his neck.

Hausen narrowed his eyes, watching you suspiciously. His eyes darted once to your fingers, watching you play with the tags.

You could see the moment you’d won him again. The moment he went a little soft, a little proud of his name swinging against the metal next to yours. A shitty, simple little thing that couldn’t compare to what people better off could have for each other—but for you at least, you’d want nothing else.

Hausen really was too good for you. 

“Missed you,” you said again, looking up at him. You opened your arms, the single invitation. Hausen went stiff. “Lots. ‘m sorry.”

A low, tight, aggravated sigh was exhaled through his nose. Hausen rubbed his temples once, shaking his head as though to berate himself before he tossed the poor, crumpled flowers off the side. They smashed into the empty vase, nearly knocking it over as he marched right over to you. 

Your lips already started to turn up into a grin, knowing one of the strongest Twilight’s of the Paulkee Guild was still too good of a man to stay mad when all he wanted was—

Hausen’s body fell over yours in an instant. He gingerly lifted your injured leg, long, calloused fingers moving against your thigh with ease and setting it up behind him onto one of the chairs. He came forward, one arm moving around your waist, holding you there and holding you tight as he surged forward to claim your lips, his other hand coming around and cradling the back of your neck to hold you steady so you wouldn’t try anything funny.

“I don’t even know why I put up with you,” he breathed against your lips, warm and firm and here, here, here right against you. You closed your eyes, fingers dancing over his arms before he grunted and you slid them around his neck. “You drive me nuts.”

“You’re the one who came for me,” you said. Hausen grunted again. Your lips quirked. “You’re too good for me, Hau. You outta run before I ruin you.”

“Yeah,” Hausen said, low, voice thick. He pressed you back into the creaky, cheap medical med, the familiar smells of this place you called home and this man you let hold you, over anyone or anything else in this shitty world. Hausen smoothed his fingers down your cheek, drinking in every last piece of you. “I really should.”

His dog tags clinked against yours, resting over your collarbone as they slid together. 

You simply smiled, shaking your head in pity for the poor Twilight as he slotted his lips over yours, working with all his energy and muscles to snatch your breath away and remind you why you should do nothing else but stay beside him too, remind you why there should be no one else but him for you, the way you were the only one for him.

The way it should be, for as long as you two had in this shitty world.

(Hope you enjoyed! Thank you for your support!)

[haloshornsinkstains]

Other Side [Songfic, slight Dabi x F!Reader]

While I’m working on Kinktober stuff and my head is a mess, here have a songfic that wouldn’t leave my damn brain for the past few weeks after I saw an animatic based on this song (The Other Side from The Greatest Showman). It just works? Also, apologies on the quirk, I was rewatching Bungou Stray Dogs and <3

CW: Female reader, alcohol, swearing, mention of unwanted groping, Endeavour is a dick... otherwise, pretty SFW

You groaned, pressing your head against the bar and gesturing to the bartender for your usual. Hearing the glass set down beside you, you looked up and smiled, taking a long drink. “Thanks Ryu.” The bartender smiled sympathetically. “Boss still a dick?” “The biggest flaming dick in Japan.” You grumbled. “They’re still keeping me on office duty. I break one creeps jaw and they trap me inside. Mirko punched a reporter and she’s still a top hero.” “Hey, it could be worse. You could be not working under the number one hero.” “No, that makes it worse.” Ryu frowned. “How?” “I hate him. I always hated him.” “Then why don’t you just leave and work for someone else.” You scowled at your glass, left hand leaving dents in the wood of the bar where it rested. “Not allowed.” “Bullshit. And stop denting my bar.” “Truth. Believe me, I’d leave if I could. But I can’t.” You sighed, lifting your hand from the wood apologetically. “Sorry Ryu. If I left I wouldn’t get to be a hero any more, even if all I do is paperwork I worked my ass off for this.” Ryu shrugged, spotting another customer signalling him out of the corner of his eye and smiling apologetically. “Sucks I guess. I’ve got people to serve, shout if you want a top up.” “Believe me, I will.”

You heard a glass set down next to you, the unmistakable heat of a body taking up the seat to your right. "Hey there princess." The voice was gravelly but so familiar. "Nope. I've had more than enough Todoroki bullshit for one day." You growled, staring daggers at your drink.  "Sorry, you must be mistaking me for someone else." You turned, narrowing your eyes at the man sat next to you. "Dabi. You remember I've known you way too long to fall for your bullshit right? And I am so not in the mood." Dabi went to lift his glass, only to find it stuck to the bar, your skin giving off a faint red glow. "Come on princess, I only want to talk. We can bitch about that asshole like old times." You sagged a little, the glow fading and his glass suddenly much easier to lift. You knew he wanted more than to just talk, Dabi's talks always came with attempts to recruit you into the league or, if he was drunk or high enough on adrenaline, his bed. But he was an old friend, and one of the few people more than happy to join your Fuck Endeavour and Fuck The Hero Commission rants. Shaking your head you gestured to one of the darker tables in the back, this might have been a very shady bar but Dabi was well known enough now that even here someone might be dumb enough to try to call the pros. And you liked this place too much to see it turned to ash. 

  You both settled into your seats in the back, you nursing your whiskey with a frown. "So what did dear old dad do today?" "Existed?" You huffed. "Bitched me out for not downplaying the damage caused in one of his 'rescues' while I was writing his reports for him. Which turned into more general belittlement of my attitude, abilities as a hero, quirk… basically he covered all the bases." "You know they'll never let you leave there right? You'll be doing paperwork until you die." Dabi drawled, you glared at him. "They're keeping you there because you're too dangerous to them, you know too much and you were caught sympathising with a villain. He hates you, he won't hesitate to put you down at the first sign of defection. You're trapped." "I didn't sympathise with a villain. I just didn't disagree with all of his ideas regarding the behaviour of heroes. I didn't exactly agree with his methods, I liked Ingenium plenty thank you very much." You grumbled, swirling the amber liquid in your glass. “He was friendly, and fun.” "Still… you hit like a truck when we were kids, I'd love to see what damage you can do now." He hummed, eyes flashing bright for a second. "You could be very dangerous. So they lock you up in an office doing filing for a man that hates you like a good little minion." "You're alarmingly eloquent today." You took another sip, setting the glass down and closing your eyes with a deep sigh. "I worked my ass off to be a hero, why would I want to throw that away?" "Oh, so you enjoy being his little secretary?" Your eyes flashed, skin glowing red as his chair creaked under the sudden strain of the gravity increase. Dabi just smirked, that stupid smug look that told you he knew he'd won. "Just listen to my proposal?" You sighed, the oppressive pressure dissipating in an instant as you waved at him to continue. Maybe he'd put a new twist in the spiel this time.

"Right here, right now I put the offer out I don't want to chase you down I know you see it"  “We do this on a near weekly basis, you have quite literally stalked me to this bar, if that’s not chasing me down what is?” You scoffed and shook your head, eyes flicking to the bar while you debated how many more drinks you were going to need after this. "You run with me And I can cut you free Out of the drudgery and walls you keep in So trade that typical for something colorful And if it's crazy, live a little crazy" "Well at least you acknowledge your league is entirely batshit." "You can play it sensible, a king of conventional" "Conventional? Really? I'm wounded." "Or you can risk it all and see Don't you wanna get away from the same old part you gotta play 'Cause I got what you need, so come with me and take the ride It'll take you to the other side 'Cause you can do like you do Or you can do like me Stay in the cage, or you'll finally take the key Oh, damn! Suddenly you're free to fly" You drummed your fingers on the table, honestly the bird metaphors were a bit weird but he was starting to sound like he had a point, which was…. Alarming. You needed to shut this down fast or you’d break.

  "Okay, my friend, you want to cut me in Well I hate to tell you, but it just won't happen So thanks, but no I think I'm good to go 'Cause I quite enjoy the life you say I'm trapped in" Dabi scoffed. "Really? Didn't sound like it five minutes ago." You shot him a glare. "Now I admire you, and that whole show you do You're onto something, really it's something Don't you know that I'm okay with this uptown part I get to play 'Cause I got what I need and I don't want to take the ride I don't need to see the other side So go and do like you do I'm good to do like me Ain't in a cage, so I don't need to take the key Oh, damn! Can't you see I'm doing fine I don't need to see the other side"

Dabi laughed, gesturing at the dingy bar and the glass in your hands with possibly the most judgemental look on his face you’d seen in years.  "Now is this really how you like to spend your days? Whiskey and misery, and parties and plays"

You sighed again, but your shoulders were sagging now and he knew he was winning. You couldn't pretend you enjoyed this any more, restrictions and abuse breaking you down into someone much easier to tempt and mould.  "If I were mixed up with you, I'd be the talk of the town Disgraced and disowned, another one of the clowns"  You huffed, waving a hand vaguely in his direction.  

"But you would finally live a little, finally laugh a little Just let me give you the freedom to dream And it'll wake you up and cure your aching Take your walls and start 'em breaking Now that's a deal that seems worth taking But I guess I'll leave that up to you" He stood to leave only to find the gravity of your quirk forcing him back down. He knew then that he had won, they'd turned a hero. Shigiraki might take some convincing but that didn't matter right now. Your resolve was crumbling.

"Well it's intriguing, but to go would cost me greatly So what's in it for me?" "Freedom. You want to punch the next guy who touches you inappropriately through a building? The League won't question you for a second, and there's no paperwork." You shook your head. "You'll have to raise the price a bit more than that." "Its a big fuck you to Endeavour?" "That was weak even for you. Dick has hated me since I was, what, five? All I’m doing is giving him an excuse to come after me. He'll be after my head as soon as I leave, and as much as I’m loathe to admit it we both know he's powerful." "You get to spend all the time you want with your favourite childhood friend…" his smirk turned wicked and knowing. "No one to stop you, no questions, no hiding in the corner of a dingy bar. And I guess Shigaraki is okay.” "You play dirty, you know that right?" "Well, I am a villain." Rolling your eyes you knocked back the last of your whiskey and stood, holding out a hand to him. "Well, guess I'm pissed off enough not to care any more. Congratulations Touya, you win." Grinning Dabi took your hand, ignoring the use of his old name in favour of pulling you in for a hug. “Oh, you’re going to be amazing Princess.” “I’ve always been amazing.” You chuckled. “Take me to your leader before I change my mind.” Dabi grinned. “As you wish.” “And no burning down my favourite bar!”

The pair of you stepped outside, Dabi sending a quick message on his phone that was shortly followed by the appearance of a swirling black void. "No wonder I've never seen you on the subway." You joked, though your fingers tightened anxiously around his. "Time to move up in the world princess." He chuckled, tugging you forwards into the void. "You know I don't like...holy shit." You stepped out into a different dingy bar, several faces snapping up to look at you as you appeared. Dabi was a comforting presence at your back. “No more corners of dingy bars huh?” You murmured, shooting him a sideways glance. "Hey Dabi, what's with the midget?" You bristled. "I am not a…" "Shit, that's a pro!" The villain speaking launched at you, intent to kill flashing hot in his eyes. Already irritated and more than a little on edge you activated your quirk, watching him fall flat on his face as overwhelming gravity pulled him down. Dabi had crumpled to his knees behind you, the others struggling to move.  "Princess."  You just growled. "She's with me, with us." Dabi continued. "Princess?" With a huff you released your quirk, watching warily as the villain who'd gone to attack you pushed himself to his feet. Dabi's hand on your shoulder made you flinch but his grip was strong, somewhere between restraint and support in case wide scale use of your quirk had taken it out of you. It was hard not to appreciate the gesture, even if you felt fine. "Meet Graviton. She's… an old friend." "I didn't know you could make friends." Your head snapped around at the sound of the voice, focusing in on Shigaraki sat at the bar, watching you from between the fingers of the hand on his face. "I've got more than you creep." Dabi snapped back, fingers digging into your shoulder. You tipped your head back a little, raising an eyebrow at him.  Shigaraki scratched at his neck, eyes never leaving you. "Why is she even here? She could be a double agent."  You couldn't hold back the laugh that bubbled out at that. "Hah, no." "Why are you here?" You were glad for the dim lighting, the constant attention making a blush rise on your cheeks. "I had a really bad week, and Dabi asked nicely. Even said please." As much as you tried to be nonchalant you couldn't hide the slight tremble in your voice. Shigaraki scoffed and you finally looked away from him. "I'm sick of being stuck doing paperwork because the Heroes say so. I worked hard to get my license only to be told I'm not allowed to do anything except sit in a cage with someone I hate. Guess I finally had enough. I was told you'll let me use my power." "And she really wants to punch Endeavour in the face." Dabi added cheerfully. "Oh yeah, that too." "I trust her, and you should know by now I don't drag in just anyone." "Shigaraki, she could be useful. She has inside information and that power was impressive." The black void behind the bar spoke, startling you a little and pulling a quiet chuckle from Dabi.  "Fine. Make yourself useful, if you try to betray us I'll kill you." Shigaraki huffed, standing from his seat. "Kurogiri, I'm going back to my room." "Welcome to the League [name]."

[sp00kworm]

Thorny Beginnings

Pairing: Kurora (Human Female) x Gethrow (Orc Male)

A/N: This was a commission piece for the lovely @calamityismyspecialty who kindly asked for their two OCs and the beginnings of their relationship together. It was a pleasure to write and so I thought I would share! Adult content under the cut.

---

Kurora slammed the door to the Sherriff’s office with a resounding bang. The wood shook in its hole and drew the attention of Gethrow from where he was leaned against the wall outside, watching the townspeople go back and forth about their day. The women lead children, their hands wrapped around their mother’s baskets as they headed home from the morning markets. Gethrow’s dark eyes turned on the door curiously as Kurora stormed out, her dark boots grinding at the cobbles before she huffed and kicked a pebble, feeling a small sense of satisfaction when it bounced against the wall and skittered away down the alley.

“What’s wrong, sweetheart?” Gethrow asked as uncrossed his arms from his chest. The orc was covered in the leather jerkin armour of his clan, the emblems cut out and replaced long ago, but the heavy straps and metal sheets over his legs remained. The panels clicked as he turned, baring his teeth gruffly before he smiled brightly as her, tossing his dreadlocks over his shoulder.

Kurora looked at him through the sides of her eyes, “The Sherriff wants to talk to a man.” She hissed before flicking a knife from her belt and leaning in the spot he was curled against previously, “He won’t give me the bounty. A knife in his desk didn’t seem like a good option.”

 Kurora span her blade once more before sliding it back into its sheath at the base of her back before she reached up to adjust the heavy mask covering the bottom half of her face.

Gethrow laughed as though she had just told a joke, “No, a knife won’t get us that bounty.” He stroked his chin before moving towards the door, ducking his six-foot seven frame into the doorway before entering like a giant shadow. Kurora tried to prevent herself from smiling as she listened to the hushed whispers inside and occupied herself by checking her travel bag. She’d enough food for rations before they both went to collect the contract, but it now seemed like not enough. She hoped their hunting skills could fill in the rest of the food requirements, especially considering Gethrow’s appetite. A few moments later, the door slammed open once again, and Gethrow ducked out of the building with a scroll in his hand. With a smile that exposed his shorn tusks, he unfurled the thing and tapped the bottom where the Sherriff had penned their names.

“Good. Let’s go.” Kurora huffed as she tied her bag back shut by her side.

“Come on. You’ll be glad to know I gave him a nice little talking to.” Gethrow assured her as he followed in her footsteps.

 She tried not to be angry, especially with Gethrow. After getting back into the main market area, she managed to take a breath and calm herself down.

“What did you tell him?” Kurora mumbled through the cotton covering her face.

Gethrow looked down at her, smiling at the fading anger in her brown eyes. If she were another woman, he might have taken her hand, but he knew all too well her reaction to such touches. She was scarred and scared, emotionally, and physically. It would take time for Kurora to come around to his touches. He huffed a laugh before leaning down to her ear and grinning.

“I told him to fuck himself with his own cock if he thought so little of women.” The orc leaned back and reached to tie his dreadlocks back more tightly, ensuring the thick, leather tie was tight around the hair before he flicked away the heavy beads and bones from his shoulders. Kurora’s eyebrows softened and the edges of her eyes crinkled.

“Is that a smile?” Gethrow teased her gently, “My stoic little crow is smiling?”

 “Not on your life.” Kurora joked before reaching for her knife and tapping the hilt, “Do they want them dead?” She was far too quick to swap into business talk.

Gethrow tried not to look too annoyed by the brash change in conversation tone, “The Sherriff wants one to face trial. The rest…well, he’s left that up to us.” He offered with a shrug, “I don’t have a preference, but we don’t have the wagon to take ‘em all back. Best to just bring a few for the townspeople to try at the stand.”

Kurora nodded her head, “Kill the bandits it is then. Well…” She took a knife from her belt and flipped it around before humming, “We kill all but two.”

 “All but two.” Gethrow confirmed aloud before looking down at Kurora, “Are you sure we can do this?” He asked, concern lacing his voice as he gently pushed the knife down from Kurora’s front.

“What do you mean?” She asked, venom lacing her tone, “I’m fine. The scars barely hurt and I’m…” She caught herself before she could start. One too many times recently she’d unleashed hell upon her partner. They were supposed to be courting she reminded herself often. They didn’t need to quarrel and argue about things when Gethrow was simply looking out for her.

“You know I’m worried, little crow.” Gethrow rumbled, “You’re…stiff and I would rather you not get hurt.”

Kurora snapped her knife back into its sheath, “I’m fine, Gethrow.” She laid a hand on his heavily muscled arm, “I have you there, and that means nothing bad will happen. We’ve dealt with worse than a little band of half-wit bandits before.” She rubbed softly at his olive skin with her thumb before taking her hand away again, unsure of what she was really doing.

“Let me know if you…” Gethrow rolled his eyes as she held up her hand and snapped it like a beak at him, “Put that sass away.” He teased her as he checked his curved cleavers and snapped them back to his belt, “I don’t want any of it while we’re away, alright?” He took hold of her hips gently as they came to the treeline, but his hands were pushed away as Kurora made a dash for the shadows of the woods.

 The journey to find the bandits took several days. Their camp was high in the mountains to the east of the settlement. Gethrow weighted his axe in his hands as the two of them huddled by the entrance to the main cave. Kurora slid her blades free from her waist, testing the sharpness of them against each other as they watched the group drink themselves into stupors around a campfire.

“How many are there?” Gethrow asked as he pinned his hair back behind his head.

Kurora pointed the tip of her knife over the edge, “Ten in total.” She said nothing else as she flashed the flat of the blade and watched the bandit stationed by the door scowl at the light flash. He turned from his position, his pipe held between his lips as he scrubbed at his hair and headed towards the flashing blade. Kurora watched, breathing evenly before she looked over at the other side of the entrance, watching Gethrow breathe evenly and quietly for a moment. His chest moved, the hair covering his body standing on end as the guard drew closer and closer to the entrance. Suddenly, for a moment, she realised just how handsome Gethrow was. The moment was over as she grappled the guard around the neck, hauling him to the side before she slid her blade into his neck and forwards, silencing him with a gurgle.

 “Two for the stocks, big guy.” Kurora whispered as she let the man fall over the side of the mountain, blood pouring from his neck.

Gethrow frowned before rolling his shoulders, “Two for the stocks.” He confirmed before he swung his axe, slicing open the other rogue that had come to investigate. The people inside quickly bolted into action and Kurora watched Gethrow’s broad back as he stormed in himself, hefting a blood laced axe at the first two men that headed towards him. Kurora dashed in underneath his arm as the axe’s double blade clashed with two swords. A woman reached for her bow and met the hilt of Kurora’s blade. Kurora smashed her fist against the woman’s nose before slamming her other blade into the woman’s stomach, twisting before she made a dash for the next two. Gethrow gave a great bellow as he dealt with two more. Kurora was alone in the fight as she faced the two men before her, perhaps twice her weight and seemingly much heavier hitters. She looked at the heavy club and sword before she made a dash around the two of them.

 Her dodge failed. A club clattered against her ankle mid roll and Kurora struggled back to her feet after a strangled cry. Gethrow’s eyes rushed to her as she struggled back to her feet and lashed at her attacker’s knees. She impaled her knife through the sword wielder’s knee before kicking at the socket again, grinning beneath her mask as he collapsed, his leg spurting blood. The second man struck at her again before grabbing for her hair. He caught the ends of her black hair, snatching it tight before he laughed and pulled the cloth from her face. Kurora struggled as her scarred chin and cheeks were revealed, the skin raw, pink and aggravated. The man grinned. His mistake was letting go of her hair. Kurora snatched his fingers between her teeth. The taste of blood hit her tongue as she ground her teeth deeper into the wound and spat the spit and blood into the bandit’s eyes. He howled in fury, but she was quicker on her feet and grabbed her knife from its place on the floor. She slashed at his eyes, grinning as blood splashed up her face. Gethrow was quick to look at her again, anger turning his face into a picture of perfect fury. Kurora grinned again as she smashed her knife into the bandit’s throat and slashed the other over his soft skin, splitting his neck open.

 “Kurora!” Gethrow called for her as he slammed a woman into a tent and bedroll, effectively tangling her in the sheets, “Two alive!” He reminded her before gently pointing to his chin. Kurora reached for her chin and swiped at the blood covering her scarred and torn skin. With a scowl, she grabbed her covering from the floor and tied it tightly before she grabbed the woman from her entanglement in the bedroll, slamming her against the floor again, her knee pressed viciously into the muscles at the base of her back.

“How’re you holding up?” Kurora glanced up, her face and hair matted with blood.

Gethrow grappled a male and tied his unconscious form tightly with rope before he dragged him over to tie his female companion as well. She spat and hissed until Kurora smacked her with the handle of her blade, knocking her unconscious.

“Could be better. Tired and covered in…well guts.” He scoffed before reaching and swiping his finger over her cheek, looking at the blood and spit on her face, “Come here.” Gethrow pulled his water-skin free, “You need to wash before you get ill again.”

Kurora snatched the skin a little more harshly than she intended, “I…Thank you.” She whispered before she made her way out of the cave to wash her face over the side of the mountain, cursing herself for being so foul.

 They returned the bandits and evidence of the deed being done to the Sherriff and received the full payment for their services. They had one more night in the small town in their room above the baker’s shop. It was simple and clean enough. Kurora peered at herself in the small mirror mounted to the cold stone wall. Gethrow was behind her, tending to the fire in the fireplace to keep them both warm. The orc was quiet ever since they had finished the job and Kurora knew her silence and brattish behaviour was responsible for it in part. She touched the scars on the bottom of her face once again. Ugly. The accident had left her ugly. With a grumble to herself, she reached for her cotton mask, only for a large green hand to cover her own, pushing the cotton back onto the table. Gethrow’s hairy chest pressed to her back and she pushed back against his warmth instinctually. There was a noise of appreciation from the orc’s chest as he carefully turned her and tilted her chin upwards.

 Kurora scowled, “I know they’re ugly, Gethrow. You don’t have to look at me like I’m some…” She stopped herself, “I…” Lamely, she let her hands fall to her side before he took hold of the small jar of ointment from the small bag of toiletries she had. He opened the top and the heavy smell of mint and lavender invaded their nostrils. Gethrow tilted her chin up again before silently rubbing the ointment over the thick, puckered scars with one large finger, tracing their lengths gently. Carefully he made sure to get under her nose before he took a cloth and wiped at the end of her nose with a smile.

“You don’t need to worry about them.” He promised, his voice just loud enough for only her to hear, “I think you’re beautiful. I did since I first saw you, and some scarring doesn’t change that.” Gethrow leaned down and placed a heavy kiss to her forehead, “I know you need some time to figure this out.” The orc cupped her jaw but didn’t place a kiss to her lips. He turned and moved to go back to the fire.

 “Wait!” Kurora took hold of his wrist as he turned and pushed her fingers underneath the leather and bead bracelet around Gethrow’s wrist, holding him in place.

“What is it?” He asked, turning his dark eyes on her once again.

Kurora had once compared his eyes to coal, but now she saw them more as onyx gems, “I wanted to…say I’m sorry.” She confessed as she wrapped her arms around his middle again, “I’m no good at this and you could have chosen so many better women than me. And…”

“And?” He asked, gentle as he tilted her head up again, “You have something weighing on your mind. I can tell. My crow doesn’t bow her head for anyone.”

“I’ve never done this before, Gethrow. I’ve never even been with a man, let alone done anything couples would do.” Kurora confessed, her cheeks burning in embarrassment, “I thought for so long that you were just playing with me…trying to get the ugly girl to make a move so you could leave me and laugh.” She spat.

“Never.” Gethrow gently took hold of her hips, “I love you, Kurora. I wouldn’t be courting you otherwise.” He placed his hand at the back of her neck and swiped his fingers into her black hair, gently playing with the ends.

 Kurora didn’t remember crying, but she rubbed the tears away quickly before taking a deep breath and leaning up to place a soft kiss to his lips. The orc responded gently, his short tusks rubbing against her bottom lip. She pulled away but before she could say anything Gethrow sealed their lips together again, taking the lead as he gently coaxed her to follow his rhythm, his tongue tapping forwards before Kurora hummed and parted her lips. They remained lip locked until Gethrow pulled away. Kurora giggled at the wet ointment smeared on his lips. Gethrow grinned and wiped it away before he carefully took hold of Kurora under her thighs and lifted her up. He slotted the slight woman against him before he turned to the bed and laid her back against the furs, leaning to catch her lips again as he softly stroked at her sides, his rough fingers tracing obscure patterns over her ribcage.

“Can we go slow?” Kurora asked softly as Gethrow settled himself between her legs.

“Of course.” Gethrow kissed at her cheek before he slid his hands down. On reflex Kurora bucked her hips upwards as his fingers dipped under the large shirt she was in, teasing the soft skin of the bottom of her belly, “Ah. After your sulking, I think you better behave.” He rumbled.

 Kurora felt her spine go hot as she moved her hips again, driving her hips towards Gethrows. The orc grinned at her before he snapped his hand against her stomach and pinned her down to the bed.

“Are you going to be good, little crow?” Gethrow hummed as he traced the outline of her breasts, “Keep yourself still and I’ll rewards you, okay?” He pressed a kiss to the exposed skin of her tummy before he dragged her shirt up and off, admiring the scars that littered her skin, kissing each one on his way to her chest. Kurora raised her hands to let him drag the oversized shirt free and she shuddered as she was bared to him in nothing but her underwear. Her breasts rose and fell as Gethrow eased his way back to her underwear, kissing the scars and rubbing his tusks into the sensitive skin before he dragged them down her legs.

“Beautiful.” Gethrow praised before he dragged his hands over her thighs and watched her spread her legs. He was caught in a trance as her fingers dipped between the puffy lips of her sex and spread it wide for him to see the flushed pink flesh inside.

 Her snickering broke him from his trance, and Gethrow was quick to reassert his dominance, grabbing her wrists in one of his hands before he placed them firmly over her head again. The orc gave her a glower before he kissed her again and teased his fingers over her opening, back and forth. When she bucked her hips, he pushed his palm to her pelvis and watched her writhe, her legs pinned wide with his thighs. Kurora whined behind her teeth as she was held in place. Gethrow’s tusks dragged over her stomach again before he pushed a single finger against her.

“Have you ever…”

Kurora looked at him with a frown, her cheeks red, “Of course I’ve touched myself before!” She yelped before letting out another whine as he pushed his finger inside of her for the snide remark. It pressed against her walls for a moment before Gethrow slowly plunged it in and out and then settled into a gentle rhythm, working her open as he settled her nerves with soft, warm kisses against her scarred skin. Slowly, the feeling grew closer and closer to an end, and Kurora writhed against her lover’s strong grip, her fingers twisting in his grip, stroking at the skin of his fingers, trying to weasel her way into touching him as well.

 “Please, can I touch you?” She asked meekly. Gethrow’s dark eyes met hers before he kissed her lips again and released her hands. Kurora moaned softly as he pressed another finger into her, scissoring them before he touched his thumb to her clit. Her hands flew to his chest, kneading at the strong muscles, dragging her finger through the hair on his body as he pressed one more finger inside her. She huffed at the fullness, wiggling backwards until Gethrow pinned her and watched her eyes go wide as pleasure pulsed down her spine. He let her breathe and pressed a kiss to each of her breasts before he sucked a nipple into his mouth. She started at the sensation, tugging at his dreadlocks, whining in overstimulation.

“Did that feel good?” Gethrow kissed her lips again before he reached and tugged his cotton trousers down, the laces dragging over his thighs as he revealed what was between his legs.

 “Mmm. It did.” Kurora’s eyes widened at the sight of Gethrow’s erect member, “By the gods…Will that even fit?” She gasped softly as Gethrow spread her legs again, holding her knees open as he settled himself back over her. His cock nudged at Kurora’s entrance and she melted back against the bed, “I trust you.” She promised.

Gethrow leaned down to kiss her, “Tell me if it hurts.” He whispered by her ear as he held her softly, lining himself up with her entrance before they took a breath together and he slid forwards slowly inside of her. Kurora felt her eyes go bleary as Gethrow held her and kissed at her skin, easing himself inside of her wet heat with ease.

“That’s… enough.” She huffed into his ear, “I can’t…” She sniffled as he thrust but kissed him again, clutching at his shoulders as he set a steady rocking rhythm, thrusting in and out of her with whispered praises.

“I love you.” Gethrow uttered after a kiss before he groaned and stuttered.

Kurora lifted her hips and stroked her fingers against his pointed ears, “I love you too, Gethrow. I do.” She felt herself plunge over the edge and moaned hotly against his shoulder before she felt Gethrow twitch inside of her.

“You’re amazing, beautiful…I love you.” He rumbled as he captured her chin and kissed her again, his hips coming to a stop as he moaned into her mouth.

 The two parted after panting against each other, but Kurora made sure to push herself into Gethrow’s side, her fingers tracing the muscles around his ribcage as she laid back and soaked in the heat he kicked out.

“Did you mean it?” She whispered to him, “You love me?”

Gethrow kissed her hair tenderly, “More than anything.” He promised against her skin.

“I love you too.” She murmured into his chest, “Thank you…For everything Gethrow. For putting up with me too.”

Sleepily, he tucked her under his arm, “Shh then. Let’s rest. We have to leave tomorrow.”

Kurora nodded against him tiredly, tears drying on her cheeks as she smiled and held her lover closer.

[chipsfics]

Part 3 - Discovery/Creativity

Part 3 is here! 

Rated: PG-13 (heavy themes, swearing)

WARNING! this chapter contains light mentions of self harm! please do not read if this will upset you! 

~~~~ The next morning, It was surprisingly quiet- Everyone was doing their own thing, most were sleeping in due to the lazy feeling that comes with most sundays. Yinyang, of course, slept in. They were technically not allowed to leave the hotel until the game was over- But Yinyang didn't really have anywhere to go anyway. Even if he decided to go "home", he didn't have anything for him there- Everything he'd left behind didn't mean anything to him. The other contestants, though, were obviously itching for the show to finally close it's curtains. Cherries, Yinyang's roommate, spent most of their time bouncing ideas off each other and having dull conversations in almost frightening synchrony.

From what Yinyang overheard, they were getting impatient when it came to Inanimate Insanity's finale. In a way, Yinyang and Cherries were similar, but in a lot of ways they absolutely weren't. For one thing, the Cherries got along. Of course, things were okay. Yinyang was used to being cooped up, be it in his own mind, his own body- And Tissues obviously felt the same. He didn't get out much, for obvious reasons. Yinyang got up, yawning, stretching, and blinking slowly to life- It was around 1pm, and once they got up and fought for a little while over which toothbrush to use, they finally finished up their morning routine and exited their room. To their surprise, they found Tissues slumped against the wall next to their door, clutching a half full water bottle and snoring gently. Yinyang debated whether to wake him up. Eventually Yinyang nudged his shoulder gently.

"H...Wuhuh.." Tissues blinked awake and looked around.

"Tissues! What're you doing out here?" Yinyang said. "Are you alright?"

"Oh uhhh..." Tissues slowly seemed to be coming alive. "Wha.... Oh yeah, I- Sniff. Walked over here this mornin' and tried to knock on your door, but you guyse didn't answer. So i just waited," Tissues wiped his nose. "I guess i fell asleep. Was that... okay? Did i do something wrong?"

"Oh, no no, it's alright!" Yin reassured him. "Why did you come here in the first place?" Yang said plainly.

"I wanted to thank you," Tissues said, heaving himself up into a standing position. "For being so nice to me yesterday. I don't think I would be feeling so much better now if it weren't for you guyse," Tissues wobbled a bit, holding his head. "I mean... i still feel bad, but..." There was a small silence.

"O-oh. It's no problem," Yinyang answered bashfully. "Anything for a friend!" Yin added.

"A friend?" Tissues smiled, his eyes having a strange twinkle in them. Yinyang couldn't help but smile at his goofiness. 

"Are you... Alright?? Do you need help getting back to your room?" Yin said, concerned. 

"Hhuuhhh.. No. I wasn't gonna- I was gonna- uhh. ask if you wanted to uhhh. Hang out? Cause I was out of commission yesterday." Tissues stuttered.

"Well sure," Yinyang said, shrugging. "But what would we do?" 

"Thats the thing. I didn't think of anything before i fell asleep," Tissues laughed awkwardly.

"Oh." Yinyang giggled. "We could just see if there's anything on downstairs,"

"Sure thing." Tissues smiled, and grabbed Yinyang's hand.

Down the elevator, through twisting orange-yellow hallways, two friends holding hands less out of affection and more just so they don't separate. Tissues' head suddenly jolted to the side and he stopped suddenly, inertia causing Yinyang to bump into him. This time the sheer force from the collision sent Tissues face first into the hotel carpet. 

"God damnit." Yang cursed. "Be nice," Yin said, which earned him a small slap in the face. "Are you okay, Tissues?"

"HAAHH-" Tissues heaved himself up. "What is that?" Tissues pointed to a spot of orange wallpaper, near the floor in a small, slightly secluded corner of the hotel hallway.

"What is what?" Yang said, looking at where he was pointing. Upon closer inspection, the place where Tissues was pointing at looked... strange. Under the wallpaper, there seemed to be a small square imprint of something that looked a lot like a miniature door. 

"Wait, you're right. There's definitely something there," Yinyang said.

Tissues scooted up closer to it on his knees and inspected the strange imprint. "It looks like something was wallpapered over here."

"Let's rip it open," Yang said devilishly. "No!! We don't know what it is," Yin said. 

"Don't you wanna know, though?" Yang responded. "But- It might be private! Or dangerous," Yin said back. While the two were busy arguing, Tissues was already picking away at the wallpaper until he found somewhere where he could start ripping.

RRRIIIPPP... The wallpaper was surprisingly weak and yielded easily. The two halves instantly dropped their argument when they saw what was behind the wallpaper- A small wooden door made of darkly stained wood. It looked old, and the doorknob was missing. Just as they had expected- a mystery door. It was much too small for anyone to fit into, but it seemed like it could be pried open... What could possibly be inside?

"Should we open it?" Tissues said.

"No! We've seen enough. What if we get in trouble with OJ?" Yin whined. "So? Admit it, you also want to see what's behind there." Yang responded, obviously annoyed.

"We're not opening it." Yin said seriously. 

"I'm gonna open it," Tissues said.

"Not you too, Tissues!" Yin gasped. Yang laughed. "Yes, yes open it!" He said, baring his sharp teeth. 

Tissues tried to dig his fingers into the doorframe to open it up, and it came open easy as if it were magic. The inside was completely dark, an almost inky blackness- and the way the light was positioned wasn't illuminating what was inside. Tissues' jaw hung open. A small spider crawled out of the hole in a hurry, and he stumbled back in surprise.

"Woah... What do you think .... Do you have your phone..? We could use the flashlight." Yinyang said, and Tissues fumbled a bit before he reached up and plunged his hand into the top of his head, the slit where the actual tissue part of Tissues is dispensed- and he rummaged around inside himself for a couple seconds, much to Yinyang's surprise. Tissues pulled out his phone after a couple seconds, powering it on and struggling for a couple seconds before turning on the flashlight function. The beam of light cut through the darkness like a hot knife through butter. Both of them peered into the doorway.

The inside was almost empty, save for a large stack of what appeared to be magazines. The walls were made of bare planks of wood with insulation peeking through the cracks- as well as a huge pipe going along the back. After a couple seconds of hushed, awed silence, Tissues reached in and pulled out the large stack. It was covered in a thick layer of dust, as if nobody had touched it in a long time. Tissues blew on it, and dust flew into the air. 

"HACK- COUGH, COUGH... HUHH.." Tissues examined the cover of the top magazine. It seemed to be very old- The paper was yellowed and it appeared to be a wildlife magazine. The cover was plastered all over with still- vibrant green flora with several small purple bugs resting on the leaves of the cover- Tissues held it up and Yinyang leaned in close to inspect the cover further. In big, black, blocky font was the name of the magazine in some kind of unfamiliar foreign language. 

"Woah.... What's this doing here?" Tissues said. "Who do you think is hiding these?" He said, moving on to the next magazine, which seemed similar, but this time it appeared to be a magazine about cars- Super old ones. The next one was almost the same, except it looked to be a modeling and makeup magazine. All of them were in the same foreign language- which looked similar to Chinese or Korean.

"What in the world..?" Yinyang said. "Who knew... Stuff like this was hiding in the hotel. It was only built a couple years ago, and..." Yinyang trailed off mid-sentence when they flipped to a magazine that appeared to be advertising the very first Melife products. Big bulky computers, old monitors, and even the very first Flip MePhone were sprawled across the cover. "Woah.. This one's super old,"

"Do you think anyone would mind if we took these?" Tissues said aloud. "I think it'd be cool if we could look at em in detail," He continued. "But I don't know how to read this. Do you know what language this is?" 

"Hmm. I don't know, actually." Yinyang said. "We don't speak anything but English and Italian." 

"Hmmm.... I'll ask OJ about them. You two wait here and guard the magazines, I'm pretty sure I know where he's at." Tissues said, getting up. Before he could leave, Yinyang grabbed his wrist with a certain forcefulness. 

"No. It's okay," Yinyang said, deadpan, without looking Tissues in the eyes.. "I really wanna read these. We'll return them later, I promise." 

Tissues seemed a bit offput. "Wha.... Well... um... uhh. Sure," Tissues laughed. He wasn't about to start to argue. He sat back down and noticed that Yinyang was staring at a particular magazine. It was at the very bottom of the pile,

and looked to be a lot newer- It was in English too. It seemed like a crafting magazine, with buttons and sewing supplies on the cover. Yinyang was seemingly fixated on another fact, though, which was that a large white piece of paper was tucked in between two of the pages. He pulled it out slowly and saw that there was handwriting scrawled hastily on it in marker- Also in English. 

"TRY MAKING A COLLAGE"

The two objects just stared at it in awe. "This thing just keeps getting weirder," Tissues said aloud. "Who do you think these are for?" 

"I have no idea," Yinyang said, "Do you think...? Maybe whoever left it here was just waiting for someone to find it," 

"Maybe." Tissues said. "I still say we ask OJ,"

"Are you kidding? He'll kill us," Yang said. "We shouldn't have opened the door in the first place. But i agree, the last thing we need is him to be mad at us." Yin continued.

"You've got a point." Tissues said. "Do you want to.... Y'know, take them? The magazines?"

"Yeah, let's hurry. It's only a little while before someone notices and asks what we're doing," Yinyang said harshly. 

"Hehe, our first mystery adventure together!" Tissues said, giggling in a hushed voice. He stacked the magazines hurriedly, giving half the stack to his partner in crime before they made a break for it. Tissues closed the small door behind him using his foot. The entire time running, Tissues was trying his best to keep up with his rushed gait that was less like a run and more like a waddle.

Up the elevator, through twisting orange-yellow hallways, and back to where they started from. The only person who caught them on the way up was Pickle- But he was absorbed in his headphones and didn't seem to really care what the two weirdos were up to. Once they got to their door- Tissues dropped the stack he was carrying and wiped the sweat off his forehead, trying to catch his breath. 

"Ok, we're here, you got it from here?" Tissues said, out of breath. “Huff, huff..” Yinyang opened the door, and the Cherries were sitting in bed and reading 2 copies of the same book. He hastily sneaked past the twins, and placed the stack next to his bed, Tissues trailing after him. Yinyang flopped onto his bed and sighed.

"That was stressful!" Yin cried. "Well we made it," Yang continued. 

"That was surely something," Tissues said, giggling. "I feel like i could take on the world... That was the most adventure i've had like, ever." Tissues climbed into Yinyang's bed and tucked himself in. "Goodnight, i'm going to bed and never getting up ever. My life is complete." Yinyang laughed and shoved him. He slipped and fell off the bed with a yelp.

"Hey! That was mean." Tissues said, laughing.

"Sorry!" Yin said, giggling and kicking the covers off so he could reach down and help Tissues crawl back up onto their bed. Tissues stumbled and ended up uncomfortably close to Yinyang's face, both of them starting to blush. Yinyang laughed, the same crystal clear, genuine laugh- Tissues couldn't help but smile as a warm feeling flooded his chest. Was this what having friends was like? 

The rest of the night was spent together with the TV on. Cherries didn't seem to mind.

~~~~

WARNING: The next part has slight mentions of self harm. Beware and don’t read if this will upset you!

~~~~

By the time Yinyang woke up, Tissues was gone. He just assumed that he'd gone back to his room- Tissues' sleep schedule was entirely unpredictable. One of the many symptoms of his condition- Wait, his condi-shawn, but Yinyang always tended to sleep in. Even when he wanted to get up early, One half always argued to sleep longer until the other half gave in. He tossed and turned in his sleep a lot. 

Yinyang woke up, cracked his knuckles, and looked over to the side of the bed. The magazines were still there, untouched, in the same haphazard skewed stack- The note kept echoing in their minds. Something so special, something so personal was living right under his nose in the hotel and he didn't even notice? The spiritual side of Yinyang couldn't help but think that the note was for him. A sign of some kind. It didn't help that it was so plainly ordering him to do something. 

"TRY MAKING A COLLAGE"

The phrase bounced around inside his head like a ping pong ball. He sighed and got up, reaching his hand in between his mattress and his box spring- Rummaging around and pulling out an old pair of metal scissors with a black plastic handle. Yinyang looked at it and frowned, looked back at his wrist, which was scarred with criss-crosses, and put the scissors on his bedside table. It'd been a long time since he had last hurt himself, and he was determined to give that old pair of scissors new life. This was the most in sync his two halves had felt in a long time. Yin and Yang tend to get along well when they decide that something is serious. He got up out of bed, went downstairs clinging to the metal handle the entire way down, and knocked on the door of OJ's office.

"What is it?" OJ's voice answered from behind the door.

"It's just us. Can we borrow something?" 

"Yinyang? What do you want?" OJ said, walking over to the door and opening it. 

"Can we borrow some paper and some glue?" Yinyang said bashfully.

"What for?" OJ said, looking Yinyang up and down inquisitively. 

"A.... collage." Yinyang said quietly.

"A what?" OJ said.

"It'sforacollage," Yinyang said again.

"Huh?"

"It's for. a. collage." Yinyang said, avoiding eye contact.

"Oh. Sure! I didn't take you as the arts and crafts type," OJ teased.

"Shut up or i'll drink you," Yang growled.

"Jeez, don't get snippy. I'll bring that out for ya, just give me a second. I've only got glue sticks, if that's okay?" OJ said. "And I don't have any magazines or pictures or anything like that. Do you have your own?"

"Yup. Sounds good," Yin said cheerily. "I'll bring everything back that I don't use,"  

OJ turned around and looked inside one of his file cabinets- His office was usually cluttered and he only spent about an hour a day in there managing the hotel. He got what he needed, and handed Yinyang a medium sized piece of posterboard and a gluestick with the seal still unbroken. Yinyang nodded and grabbed them.

"Thanks!" He said.

"No problem!" OJ said, sighing and closing the office door behind him. Yinyang made their way back to their bedroom, thinking about what they were going to make. Yin and Yang had different ideas- But in their mindscape, they seemed to coexist and mash together into something wonderful and surreal, blending together into a mash of words and sounds and pictures. Before they knew it, they were sitting down sprawled on their bedroom floor organizing magazine clippings.

Yinyang just cut out anything that caught his eye. It felt good to be holding these scissors to make something beautiful and passionate instead of using them for harm- Most of the clippings he ended up cutting out were from the first 3 that he grabbed from the pile. 

After that, it was just blur of scissors, paper and glue- He cut out every single Melife product almost surgically and filled their screens with butterflies. Cluttered imagery of thick vines twisting around scientific diagrams of the brain, monochrome intertwined with overgrown flora. His halves were working independently but smoothly communicating with one another- They had different visions, but the purpose of the collage as an art form is to combine things together into a slurry of emotions and vivid images. Once he was done, the finished collage was giant, beautiful and terrifying, a lot of the clippings hanging off of the edges of the posterboard.

Yinyang sat back and just stared at it for a while. He should make collages more often.

~~~~

About an hour later, Yinyang's MePhone started to vibrate and ring violently, and he jumped. Looking at the screen, it was an unsaved number- But he didn't usually get calls, so he answered it. "Hello?" "Uhhhhh Hai guyse, what's your favorite pizza topping?" It was unmistakably Tissues. "Ummm... Olives?" They said. "Ok BAI GUYSE!" Tissues said and immediately hung up the phone. Huh. Weird.

~~~~

[rosalyn51]

“The second series will have two more episodes than the first, bringing the total to 10, five of which were directed by Farren Blackburn” 

Episode 1, 4, 7, 8 and 10! 

A Discovery of Witches Series 2 Confirmed to Air in January 2021

Sky has announced a January 2021 release date for A Discovery of Witches’ second series

Despite the delays caused by the industry-wide COVID-19 shutdown, A Discovery of Witches fans had been crossing their fingers for a late 2020 release date for series two. That’s not quite going to happen, but the wait isn’t going to be much longer. On August the 6th, Sky confirmed on Twitter that the new series will arrive in January 2021.

Here’s the official Tweet confirming the news:

The second series will have two more episodes than the first, bringing the total to 10, five of which were directed by Farren Blackburn, whose back catalogue features a healthy number of supernatural titles including atmospheric Netflix fantasy The Innocents, as well as Marvel’s Daredevil, Iron Fist, The Defenders, Doctor Who and Den of Geek favourite The Fades.

Series three was commissioned at the same time as series two, before the first series had aired. With several UK productions beginning to come out of lockdown and finding ways to film within the strict COVID-19 safety guidelines, we might expect to hear more officially about a series three production timetable in the near future.

For the uninitiated, A Discovery of Witches stars Teresa Palmer and Matthew Goode as a witch and a vampire thrown together against the fates. It’s adapted from Deborah Harkness’ hit All Souls trilogy and made its UK debut on Sky One in autumn 2018. It airs on Sundance and horror streaming service Shudder in the US.

Here’s the official synopsis for series two from production company Bad Wolf:

Season 2 opens with Matthew (Matthew Goode) and Diana (Teresa Palmer) on the streets of Elizabethan London, where they are hiding in time from the Congregation. Here in Elizabethan London they must find a powerful witch teacher to help Diana control her magic and search for the elusive Book of Life.

Alongside the Elizabethan action, back in the present day, Diana’s beloved aunts, Sarah and Em, must take shelter with notorious witch hunter Ysabeau De Clermont at her ancestral home, Sept-Tours. Meanwhile, in Oxford, Marcus and Miriam take on Matthew’s mantle to protect daemons Nathaniel and Sophie, whose pregnancy is advancing. And Gerbert, Knox, Satu and Domenico are determined to hunt down every clue they can to Diana’s and Matthew’s disappearance, and the secrets their allies are keeping from them.

Series two welcomes Steven Cree as Gallowglass and will see Diana and Matthew cross paths with some famous figures from history including Sir Walter Raleigh, played by Michael Lindall.

#ADoWS2 #cantwait

[saoirse-lyons]

An Unwelcome Reward (Part 2)

A collaboration between me and @anotherbrokenharte​. In which Lir and Saoirse do a good job and get rewarded for it… or not? Part one found here.

"Fuckin' shite," the massive Roegadyn woman said in a deep mutter once the Lalafell was out of earshot, sauntering over to the chair she had formerly occupied, the wood creaking in protest as she settled onto it. Sprawling back in the seat, she kicked one booted foot onto the table and regarded the two of them with a wide grin. Saoirse drew herself up to attention in her chair as she waited for the woman to speak.

"All right, I'll keep this short and simple, because you both look like you're already several fathoms deep. I head up the Acquisitions division in Limsa, which is where you're headed, if that spurious speech didn't make it clear. To you, my name is Boss Lou, or Redmane -- and you're my new greenhorns. So," she rapped her knuckles on the table and grinned, "we'll get into the details of your assignments once you're in town, but I'll give you the wide view so you're not caught unawares."

"First," she paused to swing her foot off the table and leaned forward, "your main hustle is a long con. Our esteemed leader alluded to it. You're a rich couple, new money, relocating to Limsa to enjoy your ill-begotten gains. Oh, and you're married. Sign the papers before you go." She tossed a folder on the table and leaned back, grimacing. "Seems like a lot of unnecessary trouble if you ask me, but T'sviah was insistent on making it official.” Behind her the Miqo’te grinned in her usual smug way, but said nothing. Lou waved a hand. "I got no patience for these charades. I'm sure you can work out the details of your story on your own, Silver,” she said, glancing at Saoirse. “They tell me that's something you're good at. What's important is that your cover is believable, and that your new rich friends don't suspect what you're actually doing -- casing locations, gathering information, leveraging your connections, operating as an inside man when we need it for a job. Simple stuff. Rich people are gullible."

Folding her arms across her broad chest, Lou began inspecting her fingernails as she continued. "Of course we'll have other jobs for you on occasion. Don't want you going soft on us while you're living the high life. Can't get into much more detail than that, but be prepared for some action. And speaking of that," she snapped her fingers and pointed at Lir, "we've got a suit of your old armor that we'll be returning to you. I'm told it'll be delivered to your flat today. Bring it to Limsa. You'll need it."

Drawing in a deep breath, Lou stretched her massive arms above her head and looked toward the ceiling. "Guh, what else... oh. We're moving you into another apartment. It's a nicer part of the city -- gotta keep up appearances -- but still close to Maelvaan's Gate. You'll continue your studies, Silver. In fact, you're being given a disbursement to commission a new tome. Replace that ratty textbook with something that wouldn't look out of place at a gala. And speaking of money," she leaned forward, pointing her gaze at Lir, "that bank account of yours is locked down. You'll get a monthly paycheck from it. But if you need something from it for a job -- bribery money or hosting a tea party or whatever the fuck -- you come to me and we'll work something out."

Blowing out a breath, Lou rapped her knuckles on the table again, clearly already impatient with how long the meeting was running. "I think that covers it, so before I blow this place, I'm just gonna leave you with some parting wisdom. Silver," she said, swiveling in Saoirse's direction, "you're in Acquisitions now. That's a different game than Shipping. Things can get spicy. You got a taste of that with Onyx Court, I hear. Hope that didn't spoil your appetite. Be ready for more." She paused, eyeing the smaller woman intently. Saoirse didn't reply, merely nodded stiffly as she met the woman's gaze, her expression sober.

"And you," Lou said abruptly. She rounded on Lir, her eyes hard as she leaned toward her. "I'm not gonna sugarcoat this. If T'sviah hadn't pushed for you, I would've been happier to leave you here. I've worked with street toughs from Ul'dah before. Lotta loose cannons looking for any excuse to get into a scrap, or put someone down for lookin' at 'em funny. Those instincts might keep you alive here, but in Limsa, they'll get you locked up, killed, or worse -- they'll cause trouble for the Seal. And then you'll wish you were dead." She paused for emphasis, keeping her intense stare locked on Lir. "When you're in Limsa, I'll be seeing to your training personally. I don't want to hear that you got scuttled before you even got to the docks. There are people in Limsa who would love to make trouble for us, and when they find out you're from Ul'dah, they'll see you as an easy mark. If it seems like someone's trying to get a rise out of you, you don't take that bait. You turn the other cheek. Savvy?"

It took Lir a moment to muster a response, her voice a little stunned still, “I hear ya loud and clear, Boss.” Her eyes flicked to T’sviah as the miqo'te rolled her eyes behind Lou’s back and waggled a hand in a bobbing, obscene gesture of dismissal. Lir’s jaw tightened as she went on,  “I ain’t got any desire to fuck around, so consider it turned.”

Looking satisfied with Lir's answer, Lou pushed herself up from the table. "Ha, well. Had about enough of this heat for another decade." She stretched again, then bounced up and down on the balls of her feet, the floorboards creaking a protest underneath the massive woman. "You two have a week to set your affairs in order here in Ul’dah -- then I'll be expecting you in Limsa. Silver knows where to find us. Looking forward to doing business," she said, favoring the pair with another toothy grin as she gave them a casual salute. "Got a feeling we're gonna make some real good trouble together."

[tragicallytron]

So, this Cutler guy... (CHP 2)

WOOOOO CHP 2

“The one thing that sucks about your place is that I can’t walk around with my hood up.” Ant said to Harm as they walked through one of the many thin alleyways.

“Just that?” Harm asked, staring ahead.

“Yeah. This is the only place where programs like to pull on my hair.” Ant pointed to her two long hair… prong… things. They looked so bizarre compared to the rest of her hair, which was thick, gray, and stopped just at her shoulders. The prongs were long, thin, jagged, and stuck up. When she’d put her hood down, they’d stick out a good foot away from her face. They always reminded Harm of antennas. He always suggested she could cut them off, but Ant declared they’re ‘too iconic’ to be removed.

“Buuut you’re here, so that cancels out the negatives.” She flashed her friend a smile.

Harm stared at her before facing the streets again.

“Another left.” He said as they were approaching a fork in the path. Since most of the pathways were surrounded by towering walls, it was easy to get lost, so Harm had his own way of remembering where to turn to reach the center of the city, a place where he and Ant would spend most of their time together.

The heart of the city was a hassle to get to, but it was probably the best part of the inner city. While most people had to enter buildings through windows, vents, or by crossing over sloppily bade bridges because most places were cramped together, and the alleyways were so thin that many doors could hardly open all the way, the heart was a wide open area. The structures surrounding the area created a large square border that could make any program feel boxed in, but you could actually see the sky thanks to how spaced out the buildings were. There wasn’t any scrap metal hanging overhead, no wires, nothing.

Harm looked ahead and spotted a wall covered in neon-colored graffiti, most of the writing and crudely painted characters were unrecognizable. It was one of the landmarks Harm used to guide his way through the area. “Right.”

The two took a sharp turn then continued walking straight. They could hear distant chatter getting louder. A bunch of programs loved to hang out at the heart, who could blame them? Plenty of room, good stores, good food to eat as you watch a great fight happen, and the chances of getting jumped were real slim. Harm personally loved to windowshop. There were always plenty of weapons and gears on programs that’d catch his attention.

The two finally exited the thin alleys and began roaming around the heart. Just as Harm expected, it was crowded. The groups of people scattered throughout the area, all loudly talking to one another as the faint buzzing of broken billboards could be heard, the graffiti on the walls, the flickering lights from both buildings and street lamps, and the odd aroma of burnt rubber fused with a cooked meal were far from charming, but they gave the city life.

Ant suddenly nudged him, “Yo, look over there.”

She pointed to a lady. Her face was narrow, her hair was white and in a sleek, high ponytail. Her circuitry colors were nothing special, white being her main one, and secondary being teal. She was with a group of friends, hands on hips, laughing at whatever was being said. She looked pretentious.

“What about her?” Harm stared at her, unamused.

“No, no, you’re not looking.” Ant guided his head to the lady’s heels.

Harm’s eyes lit up. Attached to the side of the heels was a light gray baton, one that’s able to generate a light cycle, no doubt. She must’ve been from another part of the grid, who else would be stupid enough to have their baton out in the open like this?

Harm clenched his fists. Man, just thinking of all the great parts he’d get from dismantling one of those… It electrifies him. Programs in this part of the city would do anything to get their hands on a light cycle. Nobody cared about the fact that driving through the thin, jagged roads was a death sentence, they just wanted to be fast.

The two watched the lady glance to the side, motion ‘One moment’ to her group, then walked into an alleyway.

“Now’s our chance, whaddaya say? You follow from behind and I go above?” Ang asked, a big, confident grin on her face. That was their usual tactic whenever they saw something they liked.

Harm was about to agree, he was almost ready to start tailing behind the program, but he stopped himself. His shoulders slumped and he let out a groan. “We can’t.”

“What? Why not?”

“There might be guards around.” Harm explained.

“So? That’s never stopped you before.” Ant said.

“Yeah, but before we were only dealing with one or two guards who were stupid enough to wander in. Last cycle, there were about five. The big ones too.” Harm started walking through the crowd, squeezing through clusters of people or shoving aside any program who didn’t pay attention to where they were walking. If he couldn’t snatch goods off of programs, he’ll have to look through the abandoned buildings. It’s not as fast--and it’s certainly not as fun--but he didn’t want to put up with programs making a scene and getting unwanted attention.

Ant’s eyes widened, “Woah, what happened yesterday? Did’ja get ratted out? Did they find you hackin’ off limbs?” She followed behind.

“No. Some random program busted into my place and the guards were tailing behind him. He made me break a window.”

“Someone broke in!? Man, I KNEW I should’ve visited yesterday!” Ant snapped her fingers.

“Yeah, made a dent in my schedule.” Harm grumbled. Harm thought of a small building not even a block away, it has--well, had--a large glass dome as a ceiling, and was one of the best looking places in this city. It wasn’t cramped between other structures, it wasn’t completely trashed with wires and broken metal, the programs who used to live there--scientists, apparently--took good care of their workplace despite living in this trashhole. That changed several cycles ago. Harm remembered waking up to a loud explosion one night, and when he roamed the streets the next cycle, programs were talking about how an ‘accident’ occured, how an experiment had ‘gone wrong’ and derezzed everyone inside.

Harm’s been wanting to rummage through that place ever since. No one’s tried to fix it or demolish it; other programs have probably already searched through it, looking for whatever goods those brainiacs had on them. Hopefully there’s still some decent things left.

“Hey, no rush with my suit, a’ight?” Ant pat him on the shoulder, “I know you got commissions you’re dealing with, and if I gotta use those disgusting chute suits for a few cycles, I don’t mind.”  

“Aren’t those the same thing as your wingsuit?” Harm raised a brow. He paid no mind to the other programs giving him glares and spiteful comments as he shoved them aside.

“No, you do not understand how ugly those chutes are. They don’t even FLY, they just glide me down like some stupid paper airplane.” Ant groaned, “And they’re SO fragile. The Renegade could sneeze on them and the wires would snap in two.”  

Ant’s mentioned the Renegade before, mostly ranting about how he’s made her work harder, how he keeps destroying their property, and how he’s giving Tesler constant headaches. He doesn’t blame her for going off, he sounds like a pain to deal with.

“Some programs are saying he’s Tron, which I hope isn’t true, cause I never imagined Tron sounding so whiny!” Ant got several strange looks from surrounding programs. There’ve been rumors here about the Renegade--about Tron--recently, and hardly any of them have been good. There were mentions of a potential reward if one were to capture and turn in this Renegade, or anyone working with him.

Harm could see the shattered dome just up ahead. He grabbed Ant’s hand and pulled her along, “Let’s go before these creeps get the wrong idea.”

“Whatever, my boss can kill ‘em!” She waved her hand dismissively.

“Yeah, well your boss isn’t here right now.”

They made it out of the sea of programs and arrived in front of the ruined building. A battered sign was placed on the wall, right beside the hole where the door once was. “Minu… Sinimo… Lab” That’s all Harm could make out.

He welcomed himself inside, Ant coming in as well. They both looked around. This was probably one of the better places they scavenged through. This lab managed to withstand an explosion from the inside and remain in one piece, the only missing chunks of this small, octogonal-shaped structure were the windows, the front door, and the giant glass dome above them. Only a quarter of the glass roof was still standing, it was a dustier, lighter orange compared to the neighboring buildings, which had a much more vibrant version of the same color. The remains of the roof were scattered all over the floor and furniture, glistening from the city lights.

Harm noticed a crooked staircase that led to the second floor--well, it was more like an indoor balcony. It was trapezoid shaped, placed comfortably between the walls, and there was a thin black railing that stretched across the edge. It made the lab feel much less hollow, and Harm was impressed to see the black columns supporting it still standing. He was also surprised the programs here had the blessing of stairs instead of needing to use vents.

Underneath the platform were multiple tables pressed against the wall with an array of items laying on top of them, mostly beakers and test tubes. Come to think of it, there were a lot of tables in this place. Right when they walked through the front door, Harm could see nine tables broken into rows of threes. Maybe if the programs spent more money on better security than tables, they’d still be here.

There were other bits of furniture besides the tables, there were chairs--of course, whiteboards with wheels that had smeared writing, and random chunks of machinery that got crushed by debris.

“Check it!” Ant grabbed onto a short metal pipe sticking out of the rubbage and yanked it out. The pile of trash collapsed and scattered over the floor, the loud tumbling causing Harm to cringe.

She tossed the pipe into the air then caught it again before holding it over her shoulder, “A replacement for my bat!”

“You have a disc.” Harm pointed out as he approached one of the tables, shoving aside the chunks of cement and metal on top. A nice variety of tools were hidden under the garbage.

“Yeah, but…” Ant lowered her head, “Not a fan of it. Bats are cooler.”

“You don’t know how to use it.” Harm said as he picked up a power drill, observing it to make sure it was still usable. He’s never seen Ant use her disc before. Granted, what she was programmed to do didn’t involve any fighting, just keeping her ears open for information and sharing it with her boss.

“I kinda do. Oh, hey!” Ant’s eyes lit up and she scurried over to Harm’s side, “I could totally teach you the few moves I do know!”

“Thanks, I’ll remember that next time I want to derezz myself.” Harm grabbed the rest of the tools on the table and held them firmly. He made his way to the stairs.

“Come on, you won’t even give my idea a go?”

“I don’t know if walking in here made you forget what the rest of this dump looks like, but Argon has much more open space compared to here.” Harm stated, sounding rather aggravated. He stepped over a couple of broken steps and observed the platform. It had far less rubbish on it compared to the first floor, only broken parts of a large pipe and shards of glass laid on the ground. Lab equipment, more machinery, many of the inventions here had already been dismantled, making it nearly impossible to figure out what they once were.

A wide open folder splayed on top of a counter, which laid parallel to the rails, caught Harm’s eye. He wandered over there, looking through the giant hole in the ceiling. The specs of orange light coming from the towering buildings above looked quite nice, honestly. Reminded him of stars.

He set the tools down and grabbed the folder, tons of crumpled papers sat beside it. He started flipping through the contents, a grin began to form on his face.

“Nice…” He said to himself.

“Ooooh, whadja find?” Ant’s footsteps could be heard rushing up the metal steps.

“Blueprints.” He flipped through the pages to show Ant. The tears and incredibly messy handwriting would’ve made it difficult to decipher what the blueprints were going on about, but luckily the refined drawings provided clarity. Ant could spot sketches of disc enhancements, upgrades for tanks, and batons that could summon all sorts of tools.

“The programs here were making weapons. No wonder they were attacked.” Harm said.

Ant stopped and pointed at one of the pages, “Hey, I’ve seen those! Tesler commissioned a whole bunch of ‘em at one point for the guards.”

She held her pipe vertically with both hands, “They, like--I think there’s a button facing them, or they twist the top a certain way, so when they lift it up and hit the ground, it causes these weird quakes? Well, not really ‘quakes’, but it moves the ground a whole bunch. Cool stuff!”

“Mhm.” He didn’t express it, but that did sound cool. He wondered if there was a way he could use that feature in the future. As he closed the folder, he started fantasizing of all the weapons he could make and modify for himself, the upgrades he could give to other programs, the money he’d make. It’ll be great.

“You wanna keep lookin’ around?” Ant asked. “I got all I need.” She spun her pipe around.

“Same here.” Harm walked towards the railings and lept over them, landing on his feet with a loud thud that echoed throughout the lab. Ant landed beside him.

“I got the tools,” Harm continued, “and plenty of work to keep me busy.” He said as he eyed the thick folder, the electrifying feeling running through him again.

[psychosistr]

FOWL Scientist/Former Agent “Dr.Rose Gold”

Art by @thefriendlyfour , full bio under the cut:

Physical Description: Greater flamingo with extremely light pink (almost white) feathers for most of the body, dark pink tipped feathers on head feathers/hair that give the illusion of reverse-frosted tips, black feathers on fingers with darker pink feathers on hands. Beak has the same standard black tip and line going along the seam of the beak as regular greater flamingos, almost looking like black lipstick. Torso is fairly slim and small, but long legs and REALLY long neck make Rose look taller when fully extended- full extended height puts them about an inch and a half or so taller than Steelbeak. Has beautifully crafted mechanical legs plated in rose gold colored metal, hence the name.

Outfit: Rose’s general outfit consists of what could be described as a “crop-top lab coat” with a light pink upper half that just barely covers their chest and leaves their midsection exposed, and a split twin-tail style back in vibrant red with a rose emblem on the back. Part of the sleeve and tail on one side have suffered extreme tears and burn damage due to previous experiments gone wrong, but they refuse to throw it out because it “gives the coat more character”, in their opinion.

Gender: Gender fluid/tri-gender, will switch pronouns often (always best to assume gender-neutral pronouns unless told for sure if one of the others is okay).

Sexual Orientation: Polysexual with a preference for men and nonbinary individuals. Is okay with a partner who sometimes presents as female like they do, but not typically interested in regular women.

Age: 31

Nicknames: Rose, Rosey, Ro, Goldy, Dr.Trap, Pinky, Kee, Keekee (the last three are exclusively used by Steelbeak).

Real Name: Keya Datta. (Family is from India, but they never went until they were an adult)

Background:

Coming from a family of FOWL scientists, Keya always had a love of two things: Technology and Villainy. However, instead of taking the route the rest of their family did and jumping straight into the scientist role, Keya wanted to try the exciting life of an agent first.

They were partnered with Steelbeak ten years ago before Steelbeak became chief officer and the two worked surprisingly well together (despite Steelbeak not understanding or remembering their pronouns most of the time), with Keya being one of his longer lasting partners with a record of three months.

Unfortunately, their partnership came to an abrupt end when Keya suffered a rather nasty accident on a mission that resulted in their legs being blown off. The damage was so severe that not even FOWL’s medicine rays could repair their legs. Keya was out of commission for two years for recovery and used that time to design and build their replacement legs.

The joy of fabricating something so sleek and advanced rekindled their love for science and a year later Keya officially became Dr.Rose Gold- FOWL’s top security system designer and elite limb augmentation specialist.

Current Position: Still FOWL’s top scientist when it comes to security systems and traps, Rose has an entire laboratory to themself out in the middle of nowhere in the Nevada desert. This is both so they have the room to build and test elaborate traps and security systems, and because most people (High Command included) prefer to keep Rose as far away as possible. They don’t really have a lot of people working at the facility, either, it’s mostly just them and the occasional assistant or body guard that High Command sends to look after Rose, though most of them don’t stay for long because they get tired of dealing with Rose’s erratic nature while working, the traps they have to navigate on a daily basis, or both.

Personality:

Rose has a generally cheerful disposition, despite what they do for a living. Don’t let the constant cheerfulness fool you, though, they can also be very creepy and intimidating when they smile while talking about things such as “live experiments”.

They have a lot of energy and will talk for hours about anything they’re interested in (mainly technological advancements, traps, and security systems). Unfortunately, this energy isn’t always directed properly into their work as they’ll often get distracted and bounce randomly from one thing to the next depending on what strikes their mood.

Once they’ve formed an attachment to someone, things like personal space go out the window and they’ll be all over that person constantly. They’ll do everything from sitting on the person’s lap while tinkering with something, to draping themselves over their shoulders for a hug, and even preening- regardless if the person’s a bird or not.

Steelbeak’s so desensitized to it by now that he doesn’t even bat an eye or register anything off about the contact. He’ll hold very serious discussions with people while Rose is hugging him from behind and nuzzling him and not even acknowledge it until someone points out their behavior, at which point he’ll just be like “Trust me, gettin’ rid of ‘em’s more trouble than it’s worth- this is the safer option.”

While the physical affection can be a bit much for some people to handle, it’s nothing compared to Rose’s protective streak. Once they’ve gotten attached to someone, they’ll be SUPER protective of them, doing things like abducting people who wronged the person they care about to use for security-system testing later, keeping security cameras in key locations around their home to monitor for possible threats, and even planting trackers on/in them to know where they are in case of an emergency. “Invasion of privacy” is a phrase that definitely comes up around Rose more often than it probably should, but it’s just their way of showing they care.

Interesting Bonus Facts:

Rose’s favorite instrument is the hurdy gurdy, which surprises most people since it’s a 1,000 year old instrument, but they consider it a remarkable breakthrough in musical engineering. They’ll happily bust one out and play it to prove their point, which many people may originally laugh at...but the laughter stops when they start playing it like THIS and they just smirk when everyone’s jaws hit the floor.

Despite what many people’s first gut-reaction of seeing someone as hyper as Rose drinking coffee might be (typically fear), it actually has the reverse effect that most would expect and helps them focus easier. If they have a deadline for something coming up, they’ll practically LIVE off of coffee for several days straight and go into a work-frenzy where they’ll hyper-focus on their assignment until it’s completed.

Their robotic legs are their pride and joy, and they’ll happily talk about them whenever someone shows even the slightest interest. The limbs are sleek, strong, beautiful, durable, and practical- the feet have built in magnets they can activate to walk along metal walls and ceilings with ease.

Good luck getting them to cover up those pretty legs, though, they’ll plot your death if you even SUGGEST wearing pants to them.

For formal events they’ll either wear a really nice top or a dress, but a full suit is completely out of the question.

“Would you cover up Mona Lisa’s smile? No? Then don’t you even DARE suggest I hide these works of art from the world!”

People are often confused by/misinterpret the nature of Rose and Steelbeak’s relationship due to both Rose’s lack of personal boundaries and the two’s general familiarity and behavior with one another.

Many assume the two have dated in the past, but that never actually happened, mostly because Steelbeak was still figuring himself out back when they were partners and thought he was straight/didn’t understand Rose’s gender identity. Steelbeak eventually figured out he was bi later in life and gained a better understanding of different genders, but he’s also demiromantic and doesn’t really experience romantic attraction that often.

Rose definitely had a physical attraction to Steelbeak back when they worked together, but it never really went anywhere, and by now they’re both too comfortable with their current relationship to want to change anything. So, in the end, they have more of a “could have been something at one point, but never really happened and now it’s too late to try” sort of relationship.

Nowadays the two of them are still close despite how little they get to see each other in person. At most, they might be considered queerplatonic, but they don’t really have any sort of label on their relationship and just enjoy it for whatever it is.

[mostfacinorous]

GO Whumptober Day 28: Such Wow. Many Normal. Very Oops.  [1][2][3][4][5][6][7][8][9][10][11][12][13][14][15][16][17][18][19][20][21][22][23][24][25][26][27]

The cause of the freezing, humans determined, was either merely ‘nature’ or ‘the growing climate crisis’, depending on whether the person speaking believed in that sort of thing. Either way, everyone could agree that it was unusual to unheard of, and no one much appreciated it. 

It had eased off a bit, though-- still frozen, so the snow and ice was sticking around, but the wind had died off and the snow was no longer coming down in buckets, for which they were all very grateful. 

The Bentley remained where she’d been parked since that first attempted afternoon out, and the plowed mountain behind her only grew ever higher and ever thicker. 

Much like their American cousins from years prior, local heads of council had to remind their followers not to jump out of upper floor windows and into the snow, for fear of cars lurking underneath, and injuries that could and would result from such foolishness. 

It didn’t fully stop it from happening, but it might have deterred an idiot or two.

 Fortunately, neither Crowley nor Aziraphale was particularly interested in jumping out of windows. 

There were, however, interested in having a bit of a walk, as it had warmed up enough to allow for it again, and they were feeling a little cooped up. 

And so they packed their cocoa and coffee into a couple of thermoses-- carefully color coordinated in black and lightest blue tartan, so as to never be confused with The Thermos, of which they did not speak-- and headed to the park for a bit of time in the watery grey sun of London in winter. 

The streets were clear enough to walk on safely and carefully, but the path round the lake was only worn down by others’ feet, and the snow had been trampled enough to have turned to mud, then frozen back to ice in places, making their usual habit of walking and talking more dangerous. 

They had decided, after God’s admonition about getting closer, to try and keep their time apart to a minimum. This suited them both quite well, considering the trials and tribulations they’d faced of late, and it was delightful to finally have an excuse to be around one another that neither side could really argue with. After all, not being near Aziraphale when God arrived had put Crowley out of commission for days, and if he had been close, She may not have come at all. Thwarting at its finest, on both sides of the line. 

And so, if they held hands to help steady one another, there wasn’t anything Heaven nor Hell could do about it, short of shaking their heads with disgust. 

“I miss the ducks.” Crowley said suddenly, interrupting the silence that had descended as their last conversational topic had waned. 

“Do you?” Aziraphale asked, surprised. “You always treat them quite poorly; I thought you disliked them.”

“I do not!” Crowley protested. “I play with them. Same as how they play with one another, innit?” 

Aziraphale held his thoughts on the matter. He did glance out across the lake, though. 

“I wonder how firmly frozen it is. Do you suppose they will be able to ice skate on it, after a storm like that?” 

Crowley tilted his head and looked out over the ice. 

“At least a couple of ‘em are gonna give it a go. Look.” He nodded off near the high reeds, where the ducks liked to put their eggs come spring, and where a few children appeared to be slipping off their shoes, with plans of skating over the ice in their stockings.

“Heavens.” Aziraphale said. “Perhaps we ought to do something to stop them.” He began heading in that direction, a little too far off to be heard if he yelled. 

“Bit too late for that, Angel!” He heard as Crowley raced past him, realizing as he did that he’d pressed his mobile into Aziraphale’s hands. He looked up to see a child take off from the edge straight towards the middle of the pond-- and promptly fall through the ice and into the waters below. 

“Bugger.” Aziraphale muttered under his breath.

Crowley was fast, faster than the other children, even, and he shouted for them to stay as he slid on his stomach towards the hole in the ice. 

Aziraphael fumbled with the phone for a spare moment, then got a call in to emergency services. “Hello, yes, I am in St. james’ park, just north of the playground on the birdcage side of the lake-- a child has fallen through the ice and my partner has gone in after them. No, no, I can’t see-- they’ve surfaced. Please send help, I’m going to give you to a child now.” 

Aziraphale handed the phone off to the young girl who was standing by, mouth agape. 

“Help them find us, please.” He told her, a touch of miracle in his voice to give her the courage she needed to do the job, and then he turned to the lake. 

“Crowley?” He called to the man who was clutching at the ice with inhumanly sharp talons that had sprouted from his fingers while he held a boy between his chest and the rim of the hole. “What can I do to help?” Aziraphale asked. 

Crowley had lost his glasses, and his eyes were wide. 

“Don’t come out on the ice- it’s not gonna hold.” Even as he spoke, his fingers on one hand went crashing through the surface, sending them both bobbing as the boy cried out. 

“Tail!” Aziraphale shouted, hoping Crowley had enough presence of mind to handle the change. He had always been a better swimmer while serpentine, and perhaps, that done--

He saw the moment that Crowley gained the advantage and they became a little steadier in the water. 

“Now then-- if you have to, put him on your back, and break the ice away between you and the shore until you can climb out safely!” 

Aziraphale felt next to useless, but he supposed at least one of them had a mind that was not freezing or panicking, and thus was able to assist that way. 

“You hear that?” He heard Crowley mumbling comfortingly to the boy. “I’m going to give you a piggy ride now. You hold on tightly, understand? And I’ll soon have us out of here.” 

Aziraphale watched, fretting terribly as Crowley helped the boy to climb around on the other side of him, and then began the process of smashing through the ice with his claws. 

Aziraphale turned around and saw the fire brigade approaching, an ambulance in tow, and turned back to warn Crowley to hide his transformations. 

“The Rescuers are here-- it won’t be long now!” He tried to make it sound hopeful and not as though he was playing supernatural lookout. It seemed to work, though, as the first of them reached him and clapped a hand on his back. 

“You’re the caller?” She asked, and Aziraphale nodded, pointing as he accepted Crowley’s phone back from her. 

“They’re nearly to the edge,” He added helpfully, though there was a dark and obvious trail of broken ice that marked how far they’d come. 

“We’ve got them.” She promised, and waved for backup. 

A small army of men and women ran down to the river’s edge to lift the boy off of Crowley’s back as he final grabbed hold of solid land, and Aziraphale managed to shoulder his way through them to reach down and grasp Crowley’s hands. 

“There you are, you brave, stupid fool.” He said, pulling him up and onto land and into his arms. 

Crowley was shaking with cold, and he had already partially soaked through Aziraphale’s clothing when the team brought them emergency blankets. 

“Come on now, let’s get you out of your clothes and warming up.” One of the men instructed. 

Aziraphale turned to be sure the boy was receiving the same sort of care; he was already in someone’s thermals. 

“Alright.” Crowley agreed, surprising Aziraphale. He was looking straight at the angel, though, not at the humans who were trying to shuffle him off to the trucks for treatment. “Stay with me?” He asked, almost a plea, and Aziraphale knew it was only partially to help him fend off discovery. The other part was God and the unspoken threat of having saved a human life-- and what Hell might do to him for it. 

“Of course. Let me help him-- he’s ah, special needs.” 

“Alright.” The officials were quick to agree, with the tiniest nudge from Aziraphale. “The parents are on their way, I’m sure they’ll want to talk to you and we’ll need to take down statements for our reports after.” 

“Of course.” Aziraphale said again. “If you can just fetch us some dry clothing for him--” 

He sent them scurrying, and turned back to Crowley. 

“Shall we get out of here before they come back, my dear? Make a run for it?” 

Crowley, still shivering as if his bones intended to shake out of his skin, grinned back at Aziraphale. 

“Best idea you’ve had all day, Angel.”

They booked it, making it out of sight before Aziraphale dried Crowley with a miracle and warmed him with another. 

The walk home was almost anticlimactic, after all that. 

“Ohh… I dropped the thermoses!” Aziraphale lamented, and Crowley huffed. 

“Shall we stop by that little teashop up near Piccadilly?” He offered. 

“Oh, let’s. I suppose you could do with something warm to drink anyway.” 

“I wouldn’t object. And then home, to a fire and several blankets.” Crowley insisted. He paused, then added, “Thank you, by the way. I saw the boy and didn’t think-- I ought to keep you around, have you keep doing that for me, when needed.” 

Aziraphale bumped their shoulders together. 

“You’ll be hard pressed to get rid of me, you’ll find, if you keep pulling stunts like that.” 

Their usual routine resumed, they made their way towards the tea shop, and home, and left the humans to wonder why they had run, why the boy was swearing the man who’d saved him was a mermaid, and how the hell someone had happened to miraculously be in the right place at the right time to stop childish stupidity from turning tragic. 

It was, all in all, a rather successful outing.

[funkymeihem-fiction]

King Jamison

A 3k commission fic for https://pandaioh.tumblr.com/

Thanks for your support!

***

Beyond the thick metal doors that had once protected the heart of the ruined omnium, Mei could hear the din of the crowd. Junkers, many many junkers, had all crowded into what had once been the arena, chanting and shouting as they waited for the spectacle to come. Ordinarily, it would have been gladiator matches, mecha-battles, or the gruesome spectacles of omnic executions. The arena was where they always gathered, to bay for blood and oil and death— violent celebrations in a violent land.

Not today. Today was the day they crowned their new King. And that King was already late to his own coronation.

Hurrying down a nearby hallway, she lifted a fist to bang on another door. “Jamison! Jamie, you were supposed to be ready ten minutes ago! I don’t think it’s a good idea to keep them waiting!”

His reply was muffled within. “Ah, yeah! Just getting this…thing! On! Ow!” There was a faint crash and rattle. “Okay, almost ready!”

She pressed one ear to the door, squinting suspiciously. “What was that? What are you putting on in there? We already got you that suit to wear to your—”

“Heh! Did you actually thing I was gonna wear that thing? No proper junker wears suits, much less their King! I’d be pelted with shit before I got a word out. No, these are special occasions. And that calls for…special accoutrements! Voila!” 

The door abruptly hissed open while she was still leaning on it, and Mei stumbled and nearly crashed face-first into him. One long arm reflexively launched out and caught her, yanking her upright and putting her back on her feet. She only stood there, eyes wide and not even seeming to notice her near-accident. She stared for a long while, before sputtering and gesturing up and down him with both hands in clear disbelief, starting to laugh.

“Jamie! What on earth are you wearing?”

Junkrat was clad in a very gaudy array of stolen relics, gold, jewelry, pearls, and all manner of riches, strung out over an outfit that was literally printed with gold-threaded dollar signs. His peg leg had been replaced with a royal scepter, and an extremely enormous and extremely silly crown was set at a jaunty angle atop his head.

“It’s called royal attire, Mei,” he said proudly, opening both arms wide. “Look at this, I’m practically jingling with bling. Blingling! Feast your eyes!”

“I can’t feast my eyes. I can’t even look directly at you, I’d go blind.” She pushed her glasses up and covered her eyes with both hands, clamping them over her face as he grabbed onto her and started trying to pry them off. “Nooooo!”

“Yeah!” He continued pulling at her fingers, snickering wildly. “Mei! Lookit me! C’mon, you love it! You’re gonna—”

A harsh static noise emanated from Rat’s belt. His communicator crackled to life, and Roadhog’s thrumming baritone offered them a warning. “You’re late. We’re breaking up fights already out here.”

Junkrat cursed and fumbled, snatching it up to his mouth. “Got it! Tell ‘em the King is about to make his grand appearance! Mei, help me tie the thingy!” He swept a ridiculous fur-lined red velvet cape around his narrow shoulders, leaning down so she could tie it for him, slicking down what remained of his hair and adjusting his oversized crown. “Ready! Roadie, we’re on our way!”

Mei leaned up to place a very quick kiss to the tip of his nose before ushering him forward, headed down the hallway towards the arena. “Are you sure we’re ready for all this? I still don’t really know all that much about junker culture but… I’ve got some plans I’ve been working on. We could introduce specialized agriculture, repair the environment, get better medical supply lines… With that mean Queen gone, do you really think we can help Junkertown?”

“Well she’s gone for good. And since I’m the one what took her down, that means I’m in charge! King Jamison Fawkes, his true and royal highness of Junkertown! All will finally bow down! And ya know what, anyone who ever made fun of me in this town? Executions! Executions left and right!”

“Okay, Mr. Maniacal Dictator, that is not at all what I had in mind. We only stepped in so we could help the junkers. Until Junkertown’s government is figured out and the Queen’s underlings are dealt with and things get more organized… that does make you the active representative. I’m not sure if it’s really classified as proper ‘royalty’ but—”

“Ugh, you’re making it sound all suit-like. You gotta remember who you’re talking about here. I’m the one who got rid of the Queen, so I’m in charge. That’s junker law, so just say it with me. King! King Jamison Fawkes, don’t it sound lovely? And since I’m the King…I’ve already got a few decrees in mind.” He stopped short before the door, listening to the chanting on the other side. His face split into a grin, teeth glinting with gold veneers, eyes gleaming with that wild look that always made Mei nervous. “Yeah. Got a few idears already.”

“Jamie—” she began, but it was too late.

The doors rushed open, and he lifted both arms and swept forward, cape fluttering behind him. The crowd roared at his appearance, an echoing din of howling bloodthirst from the desert’s most dangerous people. Some chanted his name and welcomed him, others screamed in sheer enthusiasm for whatever the hell was going on, and still others booed and sneered while under the watchful eye of Junkertown’s enforcers…which included the massive pig-masked man who loomed menacingly near the throne as Junkrat took up his place in front of it.

Mei remained hidden within the little hallway, only occasionally peeking out as she listened. His screeching tone wailed over the tinny microphone, his speech broadcast throughout the arena and throughout all the rest of town where they had crowded to listen. And Mei didn’t…really understand all of it? It was extremely fast-paced and littered with Australian slang and junker vernacular, with no small amount of curse words and not-so-subtle threats about his new rule, all screamed into the mic as he paced back and forth with his cape trailing behind him.

The Queen was gone, overthrown and removed from power. A new power had taken over, and his strength had outdone hers. And it would outdo theirs if they tried anything. This desert was theirs by rights, and he’d be acting Overseer for the entirety of inland Australia. Junkrat was calling the shots now and— That guy! That one with the suspicious look! Seize him! — No bones about it, Junkrat was the new power in Junkertown and he wasn’t to be tested.

To anyone else it would have sounded demented, positively tyrannical… but Mei only listened as the junkers’ cheers grew louder than ever. She knew that they respected strength and strength alone, but she had hadn’t really known how they might react to their former leader being deposed. They seemed to take to this new line of royalty with few questions asked. So far Junkrat was openly confident about being in charge…and to them, that simply meant he must have been in charge? What a strange—

“And as your new King…” he was saying into the mic, suddenly turning back to face her hallway with that too-wide grin. “Well, a King’s gotta have a Queen.”

Mei’s expression went slack, staring back at him. Oh no.

He outstretched his metal hand towards her, the spotlight shining down upon him. “Sorry to break your hearts out there, ladies, but I have just the right Queen in mind already. A proper Queen! C’mere, show ‘em your beautiful face, darl!”

Oh no.

Roadhog was suddenly at her side, motioning her towards the spotlight. Shooting him an absolutely terrified look, Mei took his arm and crept very cautiously forward, until they had joined Junkrat out on the floor. Her hand was shaking as she lifted it upward, but Rat seized upon her fingers and lifted it with his, urging her up against his side and almost enveloping her entire body in that stupid King cape of his. Grinning violently at his onlookers, Junkrat squeezed her covetously and planted a kiss on her hair, shrieking into the mic again.

“And you’re all gonna give her the respect she deserves, or else! So! I’m gonna just…crown her here…” He produced a crown, much smaller than his and far less gaudy, and gingerly went to place it atop the shellshocked girl’s head. “There we are! All hail, Queen Mei the Merciless! Give us a few words, Queen Mei!”

She had apparently just been literally crowned, reaching up dumbly and feeling the alien touch of cold jewel-studded metal under her fingertips. She found the microphone thrust up towards her face, the spotlight blinding her, surrounded by junkers on every side. She swallowed hard and leaned forward under his arm, clearing her throat.

“Um, hi?” She said, just as the ancient microphone screamed with feedback and the junkers in the audience began snickering. She winced, glancing up to Junkrat as he nudged her gently, nodding to the mic. She cleared her throat and tried again. “I-I’m really looking forward to um, working with everybody? I’ve got some plans that I think will set us all off on the right path, for a brighter future. I think with teamwork, we can do anything. And we can do this together. J-just remember, our world is worth fighting for!”

The junkers stared at her blankly. Out in the audience, somebody coughed loudly.

“Roight! Thank you, Mei the Merciless!” Junkrat snatched the mic away and squeezed her up against his side. “Didja hear that, you worthless bastards! She said Junkertown’s worth fighting for! So we’re gonna have a fight alright! We’re gonna roll in this reign with two brand-new contenders in the mech fighting arena, just after this! The blood’s gonna be flowing…and so are the drinks! Free beers all night, courtesy of your King and Queen! That’s all, mates!”

The world exploded around them, the cheering and stomping almost as loud as an omnium explosion echoing from decades ago. Several brawls immediately broke out and junker enforcers began wading through the chaos, ripping junkers off of one another. The beers hadn’t even been tapped yet, but the blood was already flowing. The newly proclaimed royal couple turned about and headed back towards the relative safety of the fortress, trailed by their pig-masked standover man who took up his position to cover the door.

A broken bottle crashed somewhere overhead and Junkrat didn’t even flinch, as Mei broke away and fled towards the safety of the guarded hallway, practically scampering inside. The heavy barricaded doors soon fell shut behind them, and the chaos outside went muffled as Junkrat’s grin eased and he limped towards her, cape dragging along the floor.

“Well! I think that went pretty well, don’t you?” he said cheerily.

“Tiān a! Zhēn de ma?!” She grasped onto her chest, leaning up against the wall with her crown starting to fall to one side of her head. “You could have warned me!”

He held up both hands in a placating manner, pearls and bracelets rattling. “Wanted it to be a surprise, lovey! Surprise! You’re my Queen!”

Her cheeks puffed, breathing in deeply before exhaling long and low. Wiping a hand uneasily at her face, she leaned back against the wall and resisted his attempts to peel her up away from it. “That was…really one of those things I wish you’d let me know ahead of time. I could have prepared more.”

“Yeah, nah. It’s really not one of those speech-makin’ occasions. I just needed to get ‘em all wound up before the big show is all. Probably the only thing they’re gonna remember from today is the booze and the mech fights anyhow, gotta get on their good sides first thing. But now you’re officially my Queen, and everyone knows to step off from you, because you’re mine!” He tugged at her waist, still trying to pull her up off the wall as his voice went low and cajoling. “C’meeeeere. My first kingly decree is that you gotta come with me. For our own little coronation of sorts…Heh-hehehe.”

“This had better not involve you thrusting me in the spotlight again.”

“Well, no,” he said, voice suddenly going guttural as he wedged a hand under the small of her back and finally managed to pry her up off the wall and into his grasp. “I mean, there is a bit of thrusting you involved but— Agh!” He petered off into another fit of reedy giggles as she went pink and whapped at his chest, squirming to push him away only for him to start pulling her along once more. “Asides, I’ve been waiting for this for years, to take over the old Queen’s digs for meself. Let’s go!”

Mei grabbed onto her crown, holding it steady as she was dragged over-enthusiastically through the maze of omnium halls. Behind yet another series of blast doors was the former Queen’s personal holdings, opening onto a ballroom-sized area that was crowded with more gold, more cash, more treasures, and more riches— enough that it made even Junkrat’s gaudy outfit pale in comparison. The furniture was so lavishly appointed as to be ridiculous, including a bed that was so huge and overstuffed that it looked like four mattresses had been sewn into one, covered in piles of blankets and cushions and a pachimari collection that could rival Roadhog’s own.

Junkrat struck a jaunty pose, gesturing around his new den. “Whaddaya think! Suits me much better than her, don’t you think?”

“Well she certainly liked her displays of wealth. Though I guess you do too,” Mei mused, eyes roaming to the far wall. “What on earth? Is that a giant velvet painting of Wrecking Ball? Who would even commission such a—”

“No time to explain! Get your dacks off!”

Junkrat interrupted her with one brisk motion, spinning her in a circle before bodily tossing her onto the enormous bed. She landed with a bounce and a roll amongst all the finery, and was helpfully starting to undress herself already…Which was fine with him, since it was taking him longer than he thought to remove all his King gear. All the jewelry needed to be unclasped and untied, the gold bars strung around his neck weighing him down before he managed to squirm out from under them, clunking onto the floor. The heavy crown was tossed across the room, and beads and jewels flew every which way as he began shucking off all the things that had taken him nearly an hour to put on in the first place.

Mei turned onto her back on the bed, propped up on her elbows and waiting. “Um, do you need help?”

“No! ‘Cause I’m the King! Hold on, it’s stuck on the—Wait, I got it!” He flung his peg leg back and forth, the joint squeaking as his entangled pants were finally wrested free and slung onto the pile on the floor. He struck the same jaunty pose from before, naked except for the fur-lined cloak that billowed around his skinny body, unfurled dramatically. “And the cape stays on!”

“That sounds like a very official decree.”

“Yeah! Hehehehe, hey Mei. You wanna be christened with my royal sword?” He stuck his tongue out and grabbed lewdly between his legs, waggling his member at her. “Tap it on both your shoulders, make you a Knight Queen. Or I could uh, seize those bountiful tracts of land you got there?” His eyes roved to her chest, then further down. “Or maybe I’m gonna… I dunno, pillage your village? Real King sorta stuff.”

She half-lidded her eyes at him in that amused-but-not-going-to-admit-it sort of way that he loved, snorting aloud. “Ugh, is this how you’re going to be?”

He laughed a shrill laugh and then fell upon her, his long cloak falling over them and trapping them in a soft red curtain full of grasping hands and plush flesh. 

“Can give you the world now, if ya want it—” he mumbled, tongue lapping and teeth biting to leave little half-moon marks in her skin, his hips reflexively moving against her thighs. “Whatever you want, darl, I can get it for you now. Anything. Just gotta say. I’m the King now, just like you deserve.”

“Jamie…” Her gaze softened, and pulled him up out of her bosom to kiss him. “I never needed you to be a King. Just be…you?”

He could do that. He sunk his hips into hers and started to move, until the two of them were panting and sweating inside the sweltering confines of his royal cloak. She called his name and it sounded so much sweeter than how the crowds outside had chanted for him. This new bed was soft, unlike his couch back in his old home, and so were the overstuffed pillows with real goose down, and the satin cushions, and stuffie toys, everything was soft and expensive just like he’d always dreamed of. But she was still softer and better than anything all that money could buy, his hands finding her breasts and burying his face in them just as deeply as the rest of him was buried in her too.

When he came, he gave her everything he had, just like he had always done. And she took it all and seemed to be content, just like she’d said, just like how she’d always loved him. Her breath was sweet against his chest, cooling the perspiration beaded on his skin. Was this what it felt like, to be content? He had everything he'd ever wanted, everything he'd wanted in his entire life, and most of all he had her. For at least a few moments, everything was perfect and quiet…

And then he started talking again.

“Ha! Hahaha! Conquered! I conquered you! See, was all part of my cunning plan. You got conquered!”

Her eyes opened and her expression turned exasperated. “Really?”

He lifted both fists into the air in triumph. “You never suspected a thing! That’s called strategy, right there. Conquest. First act as the ruler of Junkertown, is making sure everyone knows who’s really Boss. That’s me, by the way, I’m the boss. I’m the King. Hooly dooly, though, can I conquer you again? Like…just another minute, and I’ll be ready to conquer? Please?”

His lovely new Queen rolled atop of him, her knees slung on either side of his waist as she straddled his lanky form, both of them awash in red velvet and fur. She leaned down and kissed him again, slender fingers on the side of his stubbled jaw, and tilted his chin up to trail more kisses against his throat. When she closed her lips and sucked a bruise there, he couldn’t help but moan.

“Or maybe…” Teeth closed on the side of his neck before lifting upright, small hands pressing him down into the mattress. Her lips twisted in a cruel little smile down at him. “What if you were overpowered? If I staged a coup right here? Maybe you’ll be overthrown by your own Queen?”

His grin widened, ears and cheeks splotching as they flushed almost as red as his cape, eyes alight as they watched her slide down his long body. He grasped onto her hips, urging her down, eager to take part in being overthrown just a few hours into his reign. If those bedroom eyes of hers were any indication, he was going to enjoy this new Queen’s revolution much, much more than the last one. So he lay back and let her do exactly as she pleased.

“Oh yeah. It’s good to be the King!”

[lunar-lair]

Bakusquad Headcanons

Uhhhh idk how but I ended up with a ton of headcanons for these dork kids, so uh. Here I guess??

After Bakugou really settles into the group and begins to let them actually physically touch him, Ashido's hand is basically constantly buried in his hair, especially when she's comforting him. Of course, she does this with all the others too, and has been doing it with Kirishima since their middle school days, but she's always saying Bakugou's is the fluffiest. ("It's just cause I use the best conditioner," He'd always huff.)

Kaminari has this habit with all of them. He'll put his pointer finger on some part of their body-usually their cheek, since that makes them laugh more for it's cuteness-and let a small, sm all static shock run through their skin. It never fails to make them laugh, and along with his jokes, he's one of the best at cheering people up in the team.

Whenever they're all cuddling, and one of them is cold, they snuggle up with Bakugou, and he'll heat up his hands like he does before he blows something up. But it's just really nice and warm. Not a bad warm either. Plus, he just runs warm anyways. (So does Kaminari-he's got electricity running around in his veins, they're gonna be warm-and Sero's not bad himself, but they don't have that advantage. (On the contrary, Kiri runs pretty cold, and Bakugou calls Mina 'barbie' just because she's basically freezing all the time.))

Any time Bakugou gets the chance, he'll just idly braid anyone's hair that's long enough to braid; aka, everyone except him and Mina. It's just really relaxing for him.

They all have these special hoodies, shirts, whatever, that they wear when they're real unhappy or just feeling really cozy comfy warm and shit and it's real easy to tell which one it is, so they just adjust the way they treat that person to accommodate

They all brought a bean bag a bit into the year that was their favorite color and they're all just piled in Sero's room cause he has the most room.

After realizing saying 'we need to talk' is a bit daunting, the squad made a little code phrase for when it's Serious Talk Time, whether that means later or now, and it's "I've got a story to tell". They decided on it pretty early on, but late enough that Bakugou was willing to participate in said talks in the first place, obviously.

They always have excellent nail polish, make up, whatever. Mina's pretty good at it, and Bakugou had fashion designers for parents. He wasn't getting out of his childhood without some Knowledge. Anyways, they're always perfectly presentable. It's great.

The whole squad is constantly secretly trying to destroy all of Kiri's crocs. Shh, don't tell.

Bakugou is entirely infuriated with Kaminari and Mina's hair, 24/7. Kaminari's won't settle down from it's staticyness for more then two seconds, and Mina's is just fucking untameable. He doesn't like Sero's much, since it's not long enough to do as much as he can with Kaminari's, and it's th ick, bitch. Kiri's is the most agreeable when it's down.

At some point, they bought a giant teddy bear. They only bring it out when someone is in severe emotional destress. It is The Happiness Bear. It has a few rips and burns and torn off fur, from Kiri, Kami Baku and Mina, and Sero respectively.

None of them agree on music choice. Mina likes bubblegum pop, Kiri's about more somber stuff, Sero listens to indie, Bakugou listens to rock, metal, and pop-punk-that scene-and Kaminari just listens to whatever he comes across. He had some really obscure music on his playlist, some emo, and even some shit like Beyonce and Taylor Swift, sittin right next to Ricky Montgomery and The Altogether. He's the most agreeable when it comes to listening with others, but theirs is always a bit...too much for him, since he's in the middle. Think of him as the circle and everyone else laying just outside the circle. The circle can't really expand, but the points aren't as broad. He's gets along best with Kiri and Sero, since he had plenty of chill music on his list, and some real obscure indie-ish shit somewhere. Bakugou likes some of the darker stuff he's run across, like Autoheart. He used to be REAL into All Time Low, but burnt himself out on their music. He knows every song, and every lyric; he doesn't hate it. It's just not his first pick. And then he's still got some shit like Owl City and Fun lurking around somewhere, and that's the shit Mina likes. Basically, he gets the most band recommendations, and gives the most.

Bakugou gets REALLY into Autoheart and Lincoln, shit like that as he gets older and mellows out-kinda like mid 2nd to 3rd year and on?-since it's still that kind of depressing feel but it's a lot more lowkey.

Kiri gets DE EP into The Altogether and Ricky Montgomery, and maybe Cavetown and The Oh Hellos, Sleeping At Last, Alec Benjamin...all those almost-sleepy singers, who sing about both sad and happy shit with the same calm tone.

Kaminari gets just,,,,SO into The Wrecks for like,,,,a month, with their party music vibe that's almost All Time Low but with more energy this time.

Mina's always been a Beyonce and Owl City stan, man.

Sero doesn't mind Owl City, either, though; got that kinda tone to it, yknow? Absolutely into Fun.

Skskdkdk sorry I got into a BIG tangent,,,,I just know so many obscure bands that they'd like man

Also I hella projected onto Kaminari bc I feel like he's that dork to be into a song called "Favorite Liar', another called 'Mediocre At Best', one called 'Agrophobia', and ANOTHER called fucking 'Light'.

Also he's definitely into Mother Mother. That's a must. Sero might be too.

Might make,,,,,a separate post abt that

Kami and Sero rlly like fall

Mina's a winter gal

Kiri's all for summer

And Baku's all bout spring

They have had multiple discussions about scars for no reason other than to discuss something.

Kami is ALWAYS letting off a static shock of SOME KIND and he shocks the first person he touches when he wakes up. Once he did this to Jirou and it partly fried her buds for a while, it blew Bakugou up because he had just walked in from his jog, it conducted with some of Mina's acid and fucked her over, etc etc. So Kirishima is always sent to wake Kaminari up, and all of them have rubber gloves on hand early morning just in case he wakes up before Kiri can be the first to touch him and he groggily tries to touch anyone

Bakugou's room smells like caramel due to nitroglycerin smelling like it 24/7, and it's calming as hell, so that's where they go when they need a good calming cuddle pile

They always do a group hug before and after dangerous missions

...just in case.

They go to the park at least once a month bc why tf not? And they always hog all the swing sets. Bakugou usually goes on a jog.

One of Kaminari's favorite ways to fuck with them is to let his hands hum with just a small bit of static and then POOF up their hair

It's always hilarious

Especially on Bakugou, since it just makes it kinda,,,,poof mo re??? It's hilarious trust me-

If Sero could make a conductive kind of tape, him and Kami could totally have a type of electroweb attack. Or maybe if Mina's acid could conduct well enough she could like spread all over the ground and it would work as a way to direct his electricity his pointers may not help with. Like zeroing in his electricity in little spots under villian's feet and giving Kami good control in the ground too and it could cause less damage! Plus maybe if he lost his pointer or smth she could put it on the villian and then they would get electricity right to the skin? Idk something like that

Hm...his combos with Baku are limited. It's possible he could like coat his hands with his sweat and then Kami could blow it up himself if his quirk is out of commission? Or his arms; we know they get recoil in canon. But maybe he could soak something in the nitroglycerin using the grenades-just open em i guess?-and then set it ablaze?? It'd have to be a PRETTY special case tbh

If civilians could possibly be harmed Kiri could act as a lighting rod,,,,using a lightning rod attacked to his head?? Or some super conductive clothing or something. Idk.

Everybody knows you could bathe Kiri in the sweat and then he'd ignite it no prob

Sero could swing one of them (or multiple) and then 'oh shit a flying bomb/rock/acidic substance/electricity plants comin ur way' i guess

Idk. I swore to God Baku was my fav but I'm bein real biased towards Kami. Sigh...oh well. I'll work on it later. It's late.

[ask-de-writer]

LEZON (part 3 of 3), a Science Fiction tale.

Return to the Master Story Index

Return to Science Fiction

Lezon

by

Glen Ten-Eyck (De Writer)

17837 words

copyright 2020 by Glen Ten-Eyck

written, 2003

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K’ress started working at her keyboard and touch screens. Lezon went to work on hers as well. The unsteady but somewhat rhythmic pounding of the guns became ragged and further spaced, giving a last few weak blasts and falling silent. Shortly, even the inertial drive went dead, leaving the D’ancer boosting on the ramjet alone.

The voice of T’cill came over the intercom. “Lezon, K’sere had an idea. Shut down life support and funnel its energy into the capsule too. It’s not much but it will help. We can live for several days with the system off line so it shouldn’t be a problem.”

“Give her a hug for us,” said K’ress as she reached for the engineering panels. Soon, only the dim emergency lights were on in a ship now ghostly quiet. The silent fusion flame of the ramjet burning the thin interstellar hydrogen in the vacuum behind the craft was the only sign of life onboard.

///////////////////////////

“What in the name of Treh the Huntress are you doing?” demanded M’ase as she strode over to the pilot’s station. The pilot had cut power so abruptly that M’ase had felt it through the grav compensators.

“Your order was to follow no closer than 15 C seconds,” replied the pilot. “We almost lost the Clanner by running past it entirely when it cut power.”

“It cut power?” said M’ase skeptically.

“I have a copy of the last five minutes of targeting data that we can replay,” said fire control. “You may want to see it. It appears that they have had an onboard system failure.”

“Put the information onto the command screen,” M’ase ordered.

“Coming on, now,” said fire control. “The left side of the screen is the current situation. The right is the last three minutes,” where the failure appears to begin.”

M’ase watched the ragged performance of the guns begin shortly after the last attempt to start the Restriction field. She saw the shields begin to flicker out, getting weaker in time to the gun fire. She saw the guns give one last blast and the shields fall to less than a tenth of the necessary strength. A few seconds later, even life support power went out.

She smiled tightly, remembering other traps set by this enemy. “Send out repair crews to do as much exterior work as possible.”

M’ase raised a hand in salute to the enemy on her screen. “You remind me too much of a mouse faking a broken leg in order to lure a tiger into reach. Does this mouse have hungry little kits at home with a taste for tiger meat? This tiger will take the time to sharpen her fangs and claws before she pounces.”

Damage control’s outside teams began to report in. The Hand of Claws would need professional radiation decontamination on several areas of the hull. The forward tachyon battery that had been put out of action when the Talon was hit could be back to service in less than an hour. The one that had just been hit was a total loss. The forward disruptor battery was severely damaged and considered dangerous to fire. Out of action for practical purposes. The primary sensor array was damaged but repairable. Overload damage mostly, though it would need realignment for real accuracy.

None of the Talon bays could be got into action without a full ship yard to repair them if it were done properly. However two of them could be put into action by sacrificing the doors and servicing the craft themselves in vacuum suits. It would be uncomfortable but possible.

Through her comm links, M’ase ordered damage control, “Repair the long range sensors and forward tachyon battery as first priority. Get a Talon bay going only if time and effort can be spared.”

/////////////////////////

Lezon was studying passive scan intelligence of her enemy. K’ress and K’sere were looking at the screens with her. The emergency lights lent a surreal appearance to the whole scene. K’sere’s tail tip was twitching in concentration. She pointed at one of the readouts.

“What is this little power that comes and goes?” she asked Lezon.

“They are welding on the outside of the hull,” Lezon replied. “Do you see that there are several of them? When there is a little spike in the reading, more than one are working at once.”

“I see,” said K’ress. Then it was her turn to point. “What’re these low-level tachyon pulses? They don’t seem to be doing anything.”

Lezon responded, “They are aligning the main sensor array. See, they are trying to restore the quarter wave spacing between the elements. There — now she has eyes again. Time to be mean once more.”

“What are you going to do?” both K’ress and K’sere asked at once.

Lezon was already working at the engineering panels. “They are exactly dead astern. We have enough power stored now to start the Restriction field and some to spare. I’m going to ignite a second fusion point in the ramjet.

“K’sere, it is school time again. What will happen if I space the two fusion points by any even multiple of the wavelength of a gamma ray?”

K’sere twitched her ears and tapped one of her fangs absently as she thought. She knew that there was something of a clue in the question itself. She brightened. “The space between them will become a laser cavity,” she announced triumphantly. “You will make a gamma ray laser out of the ramjet!”

“Right you are, kitten,” Lezon said. “Now, how much warning will they have to get under cover? Assume that their detection and fire control officers are good.”

K’ress looked with pride at the young second daughter of her Clan as the child began to calculate on her fingers, muttering the while. “Fifteen C seconds — tachyon propagation speed — I think I have it, Lezon. They will have just under seven minutes warning. If they have any lag in the command structure or don’t understand what they are seeing, they will have less.”

“Salvo on target, K’sere. Now, what could I do to hide what I’m doing while they watch me do it?”

“You could start the Restriction field. That would make it look like you were igniting the second point to get more power, especially if the extra fusion point was snuffed out right after you got the field started, like it were unstable or something.” Fiercely she added, “I hope that you burn a hole through them from stem to stern!”

//////////////////////////////

“Commander M’ase, they’re attempting to restart the restriction field again,” detection said, happy, now that her equipment was working properly. She and fire control were working on reestablishing information sharing protocols.

M’ase approved. Busy as detection was with getting the system up, she was keeping an eye on the enemy. It was engineering who pointed out, “They might make it, this time. They’re setting up a second fusion point in the ramjet for more power. It’s a trick that I’ve seen before, during the last war. It makes the ramjet unstable but if they are lucky, they’ll get the power that they need before it has to be snuffed.”

“Restriction field up,” announced detection. “There goes the second fusion point, looks like it may have blown before they snuffed it. They are bringing power up in the life support. The main drive is still offline.”

“We should have taken them,” muttered the pilot under her breath.

Just then, fire control called out, “Get damage control under cover! We have six minutes to maneuver out of the line of fire. We have an incoming attack.”

M’ase was torn. If she maneuvered to prevent damage to the ship, she could lose all of her damage control techs who were outside. “Drop tools and get inside,” she sent to damage control. “Five point five minutes to full power maneuver.” To the pilot she said, “Set up vector 20, 0, 0 and prepare to boost full power at my mark.”

Detection had set up a countdown clock on the main and pilot’s screens without needing an order.

“What’s incoming?” M’ase asked fire control.

“A ten second gamma ray laser burst. EM doesn’t show on the tachyon screens so I almost missed it. It was the spacing of the fusion points in their ramjet that tipped me off.”

M’ase was both admiring her adversary and angry at the same time. Damage control can’t possibly all get inside in time. Once again you’ve done the unexpected. Almost got away with it, too. The countdown inexorably continued. With only a minute to spare, M’ase began to get the first reports of damage control personnel reaching safety.

“Commence maneuver,” M’ase told the pilot, outwardly calm, as the clock hit zero. Those inside, felt little or nothing as the big ship began to boost. The damage control crews still outside the hull had no chance. Full power boost peaked out at nearly 350 gravities. Nearly a third of the damage control crew were killed outright or left behind as their ship dodged the oncoming laser attack.

“Get me the identification of the missing,” M’ase told engineering. “They will have Names to take with them to the Cave of Life.”

“May Lezon receive them as the heroes they are,” engineering responded ritually.

They barely dodged the laser beam. Where the beam hit the exhaust of their ramjet, a small glowing nebula down its length told of perfectly aimed death, narrowly escaped.

Detection sang out, “Target’s main drive is online. 240 g’s and climbing. Tachyon fire commencing again. Restriction field strength at .24 and increasing slowly. It will not be long before they have gone over lightspeed.”

“Continue to follow no closer than 15 C seconds and whatever you do, don’t get directly in the line of their exhaust again,” M’ase ordered the pilot.

Fire control and detection were working together again on the problem of the enemy’s guns.

////////////////////////

“We missed, Lezon,” said K’sere with disappointment.

“Learn from this, kitten,” Lezon replied quietly. “We did not hit them but we did the worst damage that we have done so far.”

K’ress looked up sharply at that. “How did we hurt them? They have more power and speed than we do still. They have more and deadlier weapons. What did we do by a miss?”

“We gave M’rel company on the journey to the Cave of Life,” said Lezon from the inner calm imposed by the training of the Warrior’s Way. “They had some of the most important people on the ship, their damage control engineers, outside working on the guns and sensors when they were forced to maneuver. They lost many of them at the least.”

“K’ress looked at Lezon as if she were seeing something even stranger than a Feront. In a way, she was. “Weren’t those people your friends? How could you?” Lezon’s answer showed her the depth of the gulf between them.

“All life is precious. It may be spent to the goal of the Warrior but never cast aside lightly. Once the goal is known, life is the only tool that can achieve it. My goal is your safety. Theirs, your destruction. I cannot regret the use of their lives in achieving my goal.

“I will light a candle for them to help them find the Cave of Life. I have done that for the fallen of both sides after every battle of my lifetime. When she has healed the wounds of their souls, Lezon will send them out to live again.”

K’sere’s curiosity piqued, she asked, “Do you really believe that?”

Lezon smiled indulgently and stretched, finally having little to do. “School time, K’sere. State for me the Principle of Conservation.”

Mystified by what it had to do with her question but knowing her teacher, she answered, “Mass and energy are interchangeable, each being a manifestation of the other. The combined total of all mass and energy never changes.”

“Well said,” approved Lezon. “Now, is life a phenomenon composed of energy and matter?”

“Of course it is…” K’sere trailed off as she realized the implications.

“Now that you have laid the foundations, I will elucidate. I believe that the myth of Lezon and the Cave of Life contains some truth. The rituals connected to that myth are almost certainly of no real value to the dead. They do help the living to go on.

“Very little in this universe is lost forever. Conservation says that life is changed but continues. That is what I believe. Some are more literal.”

K’ress realized that Lezon had not mentioned T’cass going to the Cave of Life and asked, “Lezon, why do you say only M’rel is going to the Cave of Life. Wasn’t T’cass’s ship destroyed too?”

“K’ress, Ma’am, it was. There is a large difference, though. My ship was destroyed but I lived. T’cass found me. I hope that she had time and sense enough to get clear before the Talons struck. Until we can go look, it is too soon to light a candle for her.”

“I see,” said K’ress.

She had long ago learned that it paid to be observant around Lezon, and was first to notice the information on the screens. The Restriction field had climbed to an intensity of 0.45 and the inertial drive was well past the limits given in the manual and supposedly locked into the software. She tapped a few keys and read before speaking.

She said, “Lezon, I know that we are fleeing for our lives. I just looked at the safety factors on the drive before bringing this up. According to the computer, we should be vapor. Do we have to help our enemies by overloading our systems?”

Lezon got that kitten caught in the snacks look again. “During the last refit, I found a used drive in better shape than our old one. It was cheap because they had just scrapped it out of an old shot-up Treaty Commission Messenger Packet.

“About half of the money I spent went to the drive and the other half went to modifying the engine bay to get it to fit. I still saved you money compared to an overhaul of the old drive. I should have deleted that old software.” Seeing the skeptical look in K’ress’s eye, Lezon hastened to add, “We are still inside class limits. I asked the T.C. to be sure.”

K’ress’s eyes slitted, her ears laid back and her tail tip began to twitch. “Lezon,” she purred, “before I married into this Clan, I was a Messenger pilot myself. Would I recognize what’s in our engine bay?”

Lezon managed to look utterly guileless as she said, “Probably. You did do time as a capital ship engineer, too, didn’t you?

“They were scrapping a T.C. System Defense heavy cruiser at the same time as the messenger. I think that we have one its four main drives down there.

“If anybody made a mistake, it was a T.C. clerk. Maybe she was the same one that sold us the drive and inspected the installation. It goes like the Feront on a hot rock doesn’t it?”

Lezon tapped at her screens and brought up an information display. K’ress sucked in a breath as she read the drive specifications and saw the Treaty Commission seal. It only took a few quick calculations to realize that the drive could boost them at just about 320 g’s and that their little ship’s total power resources couldn’t begin to overload it.

/////////////////////////////

“I am beginning to wonder just what we have run into,” M’ase said thoughtfully. “No ship in their class registry should boost like that.”

She was leaning over detection’s shoulder to see the screen better. The story that it told was as bad as it could get. The furthest that they could detect the Clanner was only 2 C hours. They could try a wide sweep around it, to block it from the triple sun. Fine, in theory…

More and more, M’ase wished that Lezon were still here to lend her unorthodox mind to the problem. Her loss at M’onafar had been the primary reason for the M’cratt defeat in the last war.

Her musing was interrupted by the pilot complaining, “I hate stern chases. There’s nothing to do.”

M’ase stalked over to the pilot’s station and leaned close. “Try a little math problem. Ahead is a closely grouped triple sun system that rotates about its center of mass very quickly. Calculate all possible courses through them or near them that will go toward any of these four Clan colonies.” She pointed out the target destinations on the pilot’s screen. “Figure the whole range from 0.5 to 38 C.”

Almost contemptuously, the pilot began to call up data. “I’ve been doing nav problems since I was a kit,” she muttered under her breath. A few minutes later, she frowned and approached the problem a different way. And yet again.

M’ase was watching sardonically as the pilot growled and went at the problem from the very start.

“This has to be wrong,” stated the pilot in a puzzled voice. “What am I missing? I can’t find any solution to this that allows us to pursue that Clanner.”

“What difficulty do you find with this simple little problem?” purred M’ase sarcastically.

“Every possible course through or near that system will force us out of detection range, making it nearly impossible to find them again.” The pilot laid her ears back in frustration. “I even tried to figure out how to just run around them and cut them off from the target system. If we begin the maneuver, inertia will prevent us from following in time if they cut away from us. They will be out of detection range before we can come about.”

“That is what detection realized before they even began their turn,” M’ase said, her own ears laid back a bit. “Unfortunately, star ships can’t change course rapidly once they are near or over the speed of light. Basic laws of motion still apply, especially that pesky one about inertia. Turn from the enemy’s course and the enemy turns away from you. By the time that you can turn back to their course, they are out of detection range, hidden by simple immensity.”

“And I would have just tried to follow them through that trap of suns,” said the pilot ruefully. She tapped her right fang as she thought. Brightening, she said, “Actually, I think that it may be our best course of action. Keep them crowded for now in the hopes of overloading their generators. They are short one radiator. When we get close to the system, we should fall back to about one C hour behind so that we can see the course that they commit to and try to work out an intercept instead of a direct follow. Then we can use the gravity of the stars to slingshot across their course at an angle, out of their effective range. The angle should bring our working batteries to bear.

“If detection had all of this figured out before they even committed to the course, she has my admiration and deserves that Name that you promised her.”

M’ase smiled. “You are bright. You did figure out what we are going to do. That is why you are on my bridge. Detection is inspired. She reminds me of a young Lezon.”

//////////////////////////

Lezon looked up thankfully as T’cill brought in food and drink. “Lezon, we’ve been thinking. How much power would it take to boost the tachyons from our guns up a quantum number? If we could do that, it would bleed the Restriction field energy a lot faster.

“K’sere came up with the idea. We have all been looking it over and we can’t find anything basically wrong with it.”

Lezon actually grinned, showing all of her fangs. “I am pleased to see you thinking on the nature of our problem. The idea of next quantum state tachyon weapons has actually been around for quite a while. The difficulty with your idea is that the generation of second quanta tachyons takes equipment that only a few high-tech labs have. Nobody has ever been able to contain the generated tachyons, either. The damage has usually been minor due to the small amount of particles involved. A few times, it has been spectacular.”

The crestfallen kit asked, “Why did the experiments fail?”

Lezon reached out and ruffled T’cill’s juvenile mane and said, “Two reasons that act in concert. One, it takes a Restriction field strength of at least .85 to hold them in the accelerator. The other is that those pesky tachyons have a really short half-life before they decay to first quantum state, yielding all of the energy that made them try to go so fast in the first place. Usually they don’t get out of the accelerator before they go bang. That makes the accelerator’s Restriction field go bang too.”

Lezon looked wistful, “If it wasn’t so big and expensive it could make a lovely bomb.” Changing moods briskly, she added the dreaded, “School time, T’cill. You and the others too. Figure the yield if only twelve percent of the tachyons in our field now got to second quantum. Since I know that it is not in your references, assume a half life of 9.74x10-130 seconds.”

T’cill’s eyes widened. “That short?” She scooted before the lesson could deteriorate with other nasty surprises.

///////////////////////////

Detection called M’ase to the bridge. “Sorry to interrupt your meal, Ma’am. The situation is changing. The Clanner’s restriction field is headed for overload. They have begun braking at just over 320 g’s. The drive is showing signs of flutter too.”

M’ase silently looked at the data. She turned, “Pilot, are you maintaining our separation?”

“Yes, Ma’am. As small as they are and as heavy as that field is, it’s not easy to match them. I’ve had to run our field up pretty high to assist braking. We are coming up on the target star system and perhaps the gravitational flux is messing them up. I’ve looked at what Detection and Fire Control worked out, and it has to be something of a jury rig.

“They are feeding the excess tachyon flux into the guns. That’s one reason for their continuous fire.”

“Are we close enough to project their course?” M’ase asked, more than idly curious.

“That bothers me,” said Detection. “So far, they have been holding their options as open as possible. Now, they are making for the equidistant point between the stars, as you can see. If they hold steady through there, the courses open for a small energy expenditure are like so.”

She keyed her screens and displayed probability cones in a nightmare of profusion. “If we assume that they want to make for one of the nearby colonies, this is the result.” The nightmare resolved into only a few probable courses.

“What if they go sub-light?” M’ase asked hopefully.

“That is figured into these, Ma’am. It includes the whole set from .5 to 12 C. Those are the upper and lower limits that they can reach with the changes presently in effect.”

“This I understand,” said the pilot almost smugly, “and we have them. We can break off and do a double gravity slingshot through the system’s center of mass. Our orbit and theirs will intersect here, less than .15 C year on the other side of the system. We will have time to finish repairs to the forward batteries and be able to bring in other guns besides.”

Detection and Fire Control both added, “I concur.”

“Do it,” M’ase said. Turning to Detection, she added, “I have not forgotten my promise. What is your Name?”

“I will be Treh, the huntress of the Stars.”

“A good name. It is so logged. After your shift, Treh, in the wardroom, we will have the ceremony for the crew.” M’ase put her hand once more on Treh’s shoulder. This time in the proper familiar greeting of the Named. The rest of the Bridge Crew raised their hands in salute.

Treh pointed out, “They are still braking hard. They are firing their bow battery as well as the stern to keep the restriction field from overload.”

“Yes,” said Engineering. “If it fails before they slow down below C they will be dead and save us further trouble.”

“Breaking off pursuit to go for the intercept,” announced the Pilot.

“They will be going through the equidistant point between the stars at just below C,” said Treh. Her screen promptly displayed a new and much more restricted set of courses for their prey. Pilot immediately refined her course through the gravitational center of mass of the system, increasing her probability of an intercept to a near certainty.

///////////////////////////

Aboard the D’ancer, Lezon called, “Gather round, everyone. You may as well be here on the bridge to witness the end of the chase. It has the best view and most information in the ship. Besides, I want the ones that I love close by.”

At Lezon’s use of the word love, K’ress looked up from her seat at the engineering board. The kits charged into the room.

“T’cill, you take copilot,” Lezon ordered. “K’sere, you have detection, and T’lass, you have the main computer.”

K’sere glanced at her screen and immediately said, “Lezon, they are breaking off and diving for the System Mass Center. They will be behind us for a while but …”

“I know, K’sere. They will complete a double gravitational slingshot and have an intercept in about 1/8th of a C year,” Lezon finished for her. Turning to K’ress, Lezon asked, “Are we ready for Restriction field shutdown?”

“We are, Warrior. I have to wonder why though. This close to C, we will never be able to restart it.”

“True. We will need to brake for a long time before we can restart it. Fortunately, we will have that time. I had hoped that M’ase would break off the chase sooner. Now she has led the Hand of Claws into the Cave of Life. I will have to light another candle.”

T’lass, her brow knitted, was punching information into the computer. She looked up, amazed at the answers. “Lezon,” she said quietly, “shall I start the cameras on superfast?”

“Set them to continuous aperture and to engage one thousandth of a second before Restriction field shutdown,” Lezon replied, grinning to herself. She had long ago realized that little T’lass was a mathematical prodigy and had set out encourage the talent. It appeared that T’lass might have figured out what was about to happen. She opened the communication channel for the first time in the whole chase.

////////////////////////

The pilot had finished setting up her maneuver and said with utter confidence, “Whether they try to boost or just fall free through there, this course will put them into our claws. See, they are down to .8 C and trying to drop their Restriction field. At that speed, the only explanation has to be a serious malfunction. They’ll never get it restarted in time to avoid us.”

Treh suddenly had a thought. “Falling free —“ she began to type rapidly. She stared in disbelief at her screen. Silently, she put the result onto the main screen.

M’ase was looking at the plots with horror when the comm channel called for her attention. The ID code being used was one that had been retired after the battle at M’onafar. Lezon was calling in after an absence of more than ten years.

M’ase opened the comm channel and saw Lezon surrounded by the kits of the Clan D’ancer. “M’ase, I feared that you might still be in command,” said Lezon without preamble. “I called to say farewell. You are too committed to your course to escape. You have just less than one hour to prepare for the Cave of Life. I am sorry that the weapon that I am using will not allow your survival. I will light a candle for you all.” The screen went dark.

Treh put the detection screen information onto the main screen where all could see how they had been trapped.

“Relativity Frames of Reference Theory,” said M’ase softly. “We are so used to working around it with the Restriction field, that we tend to forget that it still applies.”

“Their restriction field collapsed while they were doing .8 C. The energy transfer has boosted them to just over .97 C,” said Treh. Rhetorically she added, “So this is what it is like to fight a legend. Who but Lezon would use the Law of the Universe itself as a weapon?”

//////////////////////////

K’ress and the kits were watching the screens as the Restriction field was collapsed. The universe changed. The stars of the system vanished. Though they were braking, there were stars visible only in a wide belt around the D’ancer. Toward the bow they faded away into the infrared. Toward the stern they became visible from the ultraviolet. Only around the waist of the ship did the colors of the stars seem normal but even there, they appeared to be squashed by relativity.

Aboard the ship, they replayed the camera’s pictures and watched the destruction that Lezon had wrought with the little ship that they had always thought of as home and safety.

They saw the pursuing Hand of Claws seized by the gravity wave that propagated from their little ship as the collapsing Restriction field boosted its speed to over .97 C forcing their mass to increase to nearly the total of all of the rest of the system combined. Their speed had also forced time to slow down for them, causing the system that they were in to seem to disappear. Their gravity wave, traveling at the speed of light, reached the stars in a little less than a half of an hour, causing them to flare and be drawn in toward the little ship. Its enormous speed and the inertia of the in-falling matter kept the dying stars from catching it.

The Hand of Claws was not so lucky. Trying frantically to accelerate out of the trap, her shields were overloaded by the intersecting wave fronts of three stars flaring into novas at once. An expanding puff of vapor was all that was left by the time that the in-falling matter of the triple suns got there. The collapse of the stars continued until there was only one left, now struggling to find stability as a supergiant.

In the rest of the universe, nearly six months passed before the D’ancer was able to brake sufficiently to be able to restart her Restriction field.

//////////////////////////

Staring at the sky from the shade of the shelter that she had improvised from the wreckage of her blasted ship, T’cass heard the sonic boom of the D’ancer before she saw the ship itself. The craft swung about in a graceful arc and settled into a textbook perfect landing. Heaving herself erect in the 1.85 g pull of the large planet, she began to walk toward the airlock of the ship that she had long known as home, scarcely daring to believe that she was saved at last. She had been marooned for the last eight months, at first hoping for rescue then giving up and just surviving, sure that her Clan was gone. Lezon came out and met her.

“To quote somebody from years ago, ‘I thought that you were too tough to die.’ I’m glad to see you, T’cass.”

“I’m relieved that you came back for me. What took so long?”

“I’ll let T’cill, K’sere, and T’lass tell you the whole story. You didn’t leave me at M’onafar and I couldn’t leave you here. It looked like there was a good chance that you’d survived the attack, so we came back to see. We did come back as quick as we could. We had a few problems along the way.”

—THE END—

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