#the other can level a building but has a well worn step stool to reach the top shelf

[pleucas]

irresponsible illegal getaway drive

[kusunogatari]

[ ObiRyū October | Day Thirteen | Nuclear ] [ @abyssaldespair ] [ Uchiha Obito, Suigin Ryū, Hatake Kakashi ] [ Verse: In the Fallout ] [ Vulgarity, gun, gore ]

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“Hey!”

Glancing up from his cards, Obito scowls. “Kinda in the middle of something here.” And by ‘something’, he means a game of poker. He’s in a good position, and he really doesn’t want to be interrupted. If he can win the pot, he’ll get away with far more than he first put in.

“Fine, just...hurry up, will you? I’ve got news.”

“Yeah yeah” Obito replies blithely, adjusting his hand. “It can wait.”

Rolling his remaining eye, Kakashi turns to the barkeeper. “Whiskey.” Might as well do something in the interim. He sits backward on his stool, watching the game. Obito bets the rest of his cash, earning uncertain glances from the other three players. And then one by one, they all fold.

Grinning and deepening the scars on his face, Obito slaps down his cards. “Straight flush, bitches! Fork it over!”

Kakashi gives a slow shake of his head.

With a great deal of grumbling, they all shove the pot to Obito, who rakes it in greedily. “Pleasure, gentlemen. Until next time.” Pocketing his winnings, he sits beside Kakashi just as the bottle is delivered. “Guess this is on me!”

“Wonderful. Now can you give me five minutes to explain something to you?”

“Depends on if I get drunk in five minutes,” is Obito’s counter, knocking back a shot.

“Just...don’t get too hasty. All right?”

The Uchiha gives his friend a look. “The hell’s got you so worked up?”

“A new place to plunder, that’s what. Word is, it hasn’t been touched yet. And you know what that means.”

Pouring another shot, Obito slows. “...what is it?”

“Some old lab. Pre-war. Supposedly a lot of good tech certain folks would be more than happy to get their hands on. There’s a building on the surface that’s been hit, but some old wanderer I met tells me the real load is underneath, in the actual lab no one’s bothered to look for.”

“And if it’s some well-kept secret, how’d this old geezer know about it?” Obito counters, looking skeptical as he knocks back another shot.

“He’s a loner. Found it by accident, but there’s...complications. He couldn’t do much with it, so he sold me the info.”

Immediately, Obito deadpans. “...so you took the word of some crackpot old man about a secret lab and paid him for it? Kakashi, that is the stupidest fucking -!”

“Keep your voice down!” the Hatake hisses, shoving Obito’s head toward the counter and earning a grunt. “I already scoped it out before I came here. Seems pretty damn legit to me. If we can find even a few pieces of tech -?”

“I don’t want tech,” Obito spits. “I want cash, Kakashi!”

“Then you sell the tech for it, you dumbass! Not everything is a quick cash grab! Sometimes you have to work for it, huh? Think about it. This stuff is pre-war - undamaged by any nuclear fallout or blasts. Just sitting there. There are plenty of people who would die to have it.”

“Which means finding them, first! You wanna haul all that junk around before you have a buyer?”

“The hell do you think caches are for, huh? Why is every conversation I have with you an argument...why are we even partners?”

“I ask myself the same thing!”

The pair reach a deadlock, glowering at each other.

“...let’s just check it out. If you’re not happy with it, fine. But I want to at least see if we can turn a profit on anything. Because your gambling isn’t always so fruitful.”

“And neither is your spending money on supposed tips. But yeah, sure, let’s go.” Obito slaps the money for the whiskey on the table, taking the rest of the bottle with him.

He might need it.

Outside the dusty bar in the remnants of a town, they start walking, Kakashi pulling out a worn map. “It’s right out here, a few miles out.”

“Won’t it be dark by the time we get there?”

“We’ll just camp in what’s left of the building. Then we’ll have a full day to check things out.”

“More like a full day to waste…”

“I heard that.”

“Good!”

The rest of the walk is done in a stony silence, neither of them willing to concede any ground. And as the sun sets, the lab looms up atop a hill. All of the windows are smashed, part of the right side collapsed.

“Looks like a shitshow,” Obito remarks, earning a sigh from his companion. “Something this obvious has surely been picked clean.”

“On the surface, sure. But it seems no one ever realized there was more underground.”

“And how did some random old man figure this out?”

“Because he actually sat and read the documents in this place. Realized there was more to it. You think anyone else is going to care about that kind of thing?”

“I know I wouldn’t.”

Kakashi gives a brief lift of his arms in defeat. “...yeah well, exactly.”

“So he didn’t have the physical means to take advantage, or…?”

“According to him, it was ‘too stressful’. Which, to be fair, could mean...a number of things. There might be lingering security down there. Structure might be faulty. Flooded. No idea until we look.”

Obito grumbles. “When are you gonna learn that people being vague rarely means good things?”

“Well after last week, I figured it wouldn’t hurt to try.”

“Hey, I’m making up for last week!”

“And until you do, we’re giving this a shot.”

Heaving a sigh, the Uchiha decides to just play along, moving to gather some broken wood to get a fire going. The sooner he lets Kakashi play this out, the sooner they can get moving again. The wasteland is vast, and opportunities can easily pass one by. And he’d prefer something a bit more exciting than rummaging around some old science junk.

Once they cook some of their rations and find dry, level places to unfurl their bedrolls, the pair of them hunker down for the night.

And like every day since the bombs fell, the sun rises again, scorching the Earth’s devastated surface.

By the time Obito rises, Kakashi’s already been up, examining some documents with his one remaining eye. “You’re up early. Now I know you’re serious.”

“No day like the present,” Kakashi rebukes. “Seems they were working on some kind of DNA...stuff. I dunno, I’m not a scientist.”

“Obviously. Which is why this stuff is just money to you, not of actual interest.”

“And which is why you shouldn’t complain, because money is money. Now help me find the way down.”

“You haven’t found it yet?!”

“No! I found the documents. Which confirm there’s something under this building. The only question is where, specifically.”

“...I’m gonna punch you,” Obito mutters. “Can’t we just take a sledgehammer to the floor?”

“Do you have a sledgehammer?”

“...no.”

“Then the answer is no. Come on, it can’t be that hard.”

They spread out, looking for any manner of descent. Obito checks doors in search of an elevator shaft, Kakashi attempting to find stairs.

In the end, it’s Kakashi who’s successful.

“Over here!”

Obito closes the gap, revealing Kakashi pointing to a button. “...and? This place obviously doesn’t have any pow-”

With a bop of the end of his closed fist, Kakashi pushes the button.

A grating whine sounds, and the floor before them quivers. Then slowly, it slides back beneath the floor beyond it, revealing...stairs.

“...what the hell…?”

“Weird lab, weird stairs, weird power,” Kakashi replies with a shrug. “Look, there’s even lights. How convenient.”

“And you wanna go down there?!”

“Yes, yes I do. Stay up here if you want, you big baby. We’ve been in shadier places before and you’ve been fine.”

“Shady people I can handle,” Obito retorts, following as Kakashi begins to descend. “It’s shady stuff that weirds me out. You can’t just kill shady stuff.”

“You can break it. Same difference.”

“That’s not what I mean and you know it!”

Down and down they descend, the staircase having switchbacks every ten feet down or so. Obito watches their surroundings suspiciously. The air is cool and pleasant, which...is odd. No dust, no smoke, and perhaps even slightly humid. Nothing like the stale, dry air above.

After who knows how many flights...they reach a door.

Kakashi presses an ear to it, listening. “...don’t hear anything.”

“It better not be locked.”

Testing the knob, Kakashi feels it turn in his grip. “...seems not.” Just in case, he draws a pistol from his hip. Obito, in tandem, takes out his trusted machete.

Inside...it’s like another world. Clean, immaculate, and almost entirely made of metal. Desks are neatly arranged, with all manners of equipment seemingly left just as they were before the war.

“...wow,” Obito has to offer, tone breathy in amazement. “This is…”

“Yeah. Never seen anything like it.” Approaching one of the desks, Kakashi finds more documents. “...‘genetic enhancement and manipulation’. That sounds...ominous.”

Obito, in the meantime, works his way further in. Computers, diagnostic equipment, and who knows what else is everywhere, pristine and spotless. It almost freaks him out. Opening another door, his face pales.

“...uh...Kakashi…?”

“Hm?”

“...you need to see this.”

Gun still drawn, Kakashi approaches, trying to look over Obito’s shoulder. “What?”

Wordlessly, Obito steps inside, pushing the door open further and letting his partner past him.

It’s a long, narrow room. In the middle is more tech neither of them could begin to name, but...it looks serious. A few metal tables the length of a person stand nearby. And along the other three walls are a series of glass tubes filled with an off-green liquid. Within them...are rotting bodies.

“...Christ,” Kakashi can’t help but mutter. “Looks like these all got left behind.”

Obito, only half listening, works his way in. “...is it just me, or...does it get less bad the further you go…?”

“What?”

“Look.” He points. While the first few tubes are nothing but cloudy liquid with skeletons and deteriorated flesh, he’s right. The decomposition seems less and less the more they circle around. At the top of the tubes, screens are empty of power, clearly drained over time. Until -

“Oh shit!”

The very. Last. Tube. Above it, the panel flashes red in warning. Power is almost completely drained. But within the tank, seemingly in some kind of suspended animation...is a person.

Slightly curled into a fetal position the body - seemingly female - floats weightlessly in the fluid. A series of wires are strung into their flesh, and a mask with a tube provides oxygen. And bubbles occasionally release as she exhales.

“...holy fuck.”

“How can this be possible? The bombs dropped over a hundred years ago. And whoever this is, they look no older than us!”

“Maybe some kind of...delayed development?” Kakashi muses, still staring. “I have no idea. But you know what this means…? This is probably the only living person from before the war. Untouched by radiation. You know how valuable that would be to the right people? People trying to find ways to -?”

“What?! You wanna turn her over to a bunch of freaks in lab coats? Kakashi, she’s never even been outside this tube. You really think she should just be shuffled off to another one to be studied? That’s fucked up!”

“You’re the one who wanted this whole thing to be worthwhile and make us some cash!”

“Yeah, with tech. Not with people! We might as well be like the slavers at that point, and fuck that.”

Sighing, Kakashi runs a hand back through the mess of his hair. “So, what...you wanna just let her out and wish her luck on her way? You think taking someone like this and just...turning them loose in this world is fair, either?”

“I dunno! But I’m not gonna sell her as a lab rat, Kakashi. No fucking way.”

“Then what, leave her here? Seems she’s got a few days left of power. Less now that we’ve sucked some up with the lights and the stairs.”

“And let her turn into goop like the rest of these poor bastards?”

“There really doesn’t seem to be any fair option here, Obito. So make up your mind. You found her, you decide.”

Obito balks, heart leaping to his throat. He didn’t ask for this…!

“You better hurry because we’re running out of lights down here the longer we dawdle. I’m gonna go pack up what I can. You figure this out.”

“But -?!” Reaching out, he’s denied as Kakashi heads back into the other room. “...ugh, damn it!” Huffing a breath, he turns back to the tube.

Given she’s likely never had any light, the woman is pale as milk. And...maybe for the same reason, so is the rest of her: long, wavy hair almost seems to glow in the strange fluid. It’s a bit hard to tell given how much she’s floating, but it almost seems to be as long as she is tall.

...then again, he figures she’s never had a haircut.

...he can’t leave her here. And he won’t let her get snapped up by some freak wanting to study her like a bug in a jar. So, that leaves one option. Looking at the right side of the tank, Obito finds a kind of keypad: maybe a mechanism for opening the door? Cuz something tells him just...smashing the glass isn’t smart. “Uh…”

He needs a password.

Moving to the equipment, he shuffles through a bunch of papers, opening a filing cabinet and finding folders for the specimens. Glancing to her tube, he finds the number, a finger tracing down the paper until -

“Two four seven three,” he murmurs, repeating it under his breath until he’s back at the keypad, pressing the keys in sequence.

A loud beep sounds, and he startles as massive bubbles flood up from the floor of the tube. The liquid, it’s...it’s draining! She slowly sinks to a tangle of limbs at the bottom.

And then, with a pressurized hiss, the glass swings open, and she nearly tumbles out.

“Oh, shit -!” Kneeling, he manages to catch her, nose wrinkling at the smell of...whatever she was in. And she’s wet. Eugh.

Carefully, he starts taking out the wires, wincing as the sites bleed. And off comes the mask, letting her breathe air on her own for the first time.

“What the hell is -?”

“Kakashi! Find a rag or something, she’s bleeding wherever I take the wires out.”

Seeing that Obito apparently made up his mind, Kakashi sighs and finds a dispenser of paper towels. Handing those over, he then grabs one of the abandoned lab coats.

Since she is, after all, completely nude.

Obito mops her off, trying to wipe both blood and mystery liquid off her skin, going pink as he nears anything intimate. Once she’s a bit cleaner, he lifts her up and lets Kakashi help him get her as dressed as they can manage. A spare bit of cable ties it shut around her waist.

“...why isn’t she waking up?” the Uchiha then asks.

“No idea. Maybe she’s dead?”

“No, no - she’s breathing.”

“Try slapping her.”

Obito shoots him a look. “...hey, miss? Uh...hello?”

No response, her head lolling around on her neck.

“...well, let's - let’s get her back upstairs. Then we can come back down for any stuff you wanna haul out.”

“I’ve got a few bags full. And you’re gonna have to keep an eye on her. I’ll make a few trips in the meantime.”

“...all right.” Hefting her up on his back, Obito begins the ascent back to the surface, admittedly sad to leave the clean air behind.

Well...he has a person. Now what?

Back in their camp, he lays her on his bedroll. Her hair is still wet, and he mulls it over before turning her on her side. Deft fingers then start braiding. Once she has a long tail of plait, he ties it off with some wire. There...that’ll keep it from getting too out of hand.

“...mn…”

He stiffens. Is...is she waking up? “H-hello?”

Her eyelids twitch, leading him to notice her white lashes. Then they open to reveal a soft pair of grey eyes.

...Obito then realizes that she’s likely got no memories, no language...nothing.

Oh boy.

“...uh...hi?” he greets sheepishly, lips briefly flickering up into a smile. “...I’m Obito.”

Completely blank, she stares at him.

“...you, uh…” He sighs, rubbing his neck. “...can you...understand me?”

More unaware staring.

“Aw, crap. Well, uh…” Adjusting to sit cross-legged, he puts a hand to his chest. “...Obito.”

Her eyes drop to his hand, then back to his face.

“Obito.”

“...O...bito…”

He perks up. “Yeah!”

“...yeah.”

...okay, maybe she’s just copying him. Thinking it over for a moment, he recalls a book he got to read a while back, stolen from a camp they’d stayed at. It had a heroine, and her name was…

He then (very shyly) puts a hand to her chest. “...Ryū.”

Again, she looks to the hand, then back to him. “...R...Ryū…?”

A nod. “Ryū.” Hand back to his own chest. “Obito.”

“Okay, I’ve got the first -”

Obito points. “Kakashi.”

Following the gesture, Ryū sees Kakashi freeze. She also points. “...Kakashi!”

Amused, Obito bursts out laughing, clapping his hands and making her startle. “Hahaha! You got it!”

“Well this is going to be fun,” Kakashi mutters. “You’ve got an adult with the mental awareness of a baby.”

“She’ll learn!”

“With you as her teacher, that scares me.”

“Then you’ll just have to help, Kakashi.”

Sighing, he approaches and sits nearby. He points to Obito. “Idiot.”

“Hey -!”

“I...diot?”

“No!” Obito cuts in, waving his hands.

“Yes, idiot,” is Kakashi’s reply, laughing as Obito shoves him.

“...Obito.”

The pair pause, looking to her. By now, she’s more bright-eyed, clearly curious. She points. “Obito.” Her hand moves. “...Kakashi.”

Obito then points to her. “Ryū!”

“What kind of a name is -?”

“It’s her name! I got it from a book, okay?”

“All right, all right...guess you get the right. But we need to get her some supplies. And we better keep her out of the sun for too long for a while, let her get used to it.”

“Yeah…” There’s a lot to think about.

“...well, welcome to the nuclear waste dump that is Earth,” Kakashi offers. “You’ll learn to love it. Or hate it. Likely both. But at least you won’t turn into soup like your friends.”

Obito’s nose wrinkles. “...okay, but...let’s never tell her about that part once she understands, okay? It’ll only upset her.”

“Fine. Now, I’m gonna haul up some more stuff. Be on your best behavior.” Kakashi points warningly to the two of them.

“Kakashi!” Ryū replies, watching him go.

“Don’t worry, he’ll be back. Sadly,” Obito notes with a snort. Elbow on his knee and chin in his palm, he watches as Ryū takes in her surroundings, and then starts fiddling with anything within reach: debris, his bag...and then him.

He stiffens, but lets her curiously prod at him. She pulls at his clothes, seemingly understanding it’s separate from him. Then he takes his hand in her hands, turning it over and back before comparing it to her own.

...then she moves to his face.

Unlike the rest of her touches, these are more...hesitant. Careful. She seems to know it’s a bit more fragile. Eyes roam over it, drinking in his image.

“...ugly, huh?” he murmurs, knowing she can’t understand.

But she doesn’t flinch, a hand tracing along the ridges of his scars.

“Got those from a mutant. Plus a lot more you can’t see. It’s how Kakashi lost his eye, too. But he can tell you about that.”

She pauses to listen, but doesn’t comprehend. “...Obito.”

“...mhm. That’s me.”

More touches to his face, and then, tone softer, “...Obito…”

Blinking, he feels his face get warm. “...uh…?”

The phenomenon surprises her, jolting before pressing her palms to his cheeks, squishing them slightly to feel the heat.

And then she giggles.

It’s a sweet, chime-like sound. And Obito immediately adores it. “...you’re so cute,” he mumbles.

“...cute?”

“...uh -?”

“All right, I think that’s all we can reasonably carry. Especially since she can’t really...uh…” Kakashi perks a brow. “...am I interrupting something?”

Flustered, Obito leans back from her grip. “No!”

“...then let’s get ready to go.”

By the time they finish packing up, the afternoon is fading into evening. Obito draws a spare cloak over Ryū to keep her out of the sun. “There we go.”

“Ready?” his partner asks.

“I guess so.” The pair start walking, and...Obito realizes she’s not following. “Aw, jeez...uh…” Heading back, he holds out a hand.

After a pause, she does the same.

“Come on,” he mumbles, taking her grip and urging her to keep up.

“Obito!”

“...yup.”

     Okay not gonna lie, I...did not have high hopes for this prompt, but by the end I really enjoyed it xD I don’t, uh...participate much in the apocalypse genre (besides watching my brother play Fallout 4 lmao) so I don’t have much imagery to go off of. So I gave it my best shot .w.      While kinda gross in the middle there, it turned out cute by the end xD Obito’s got his work cut out for him, bahaha! But that’s all for today - thanks for reading!

[planetsam]

There is a boy in her ethics class with kind eyes.

She doesn’t know why that matters. Kindness doesn’t belong in her life. It never has. But when he catches her glancing at him, he smiles in a way that is so welcoming she has to roll her eyes extra hard to make it clear how stupid his nice smile is. The teacher must hear her noise of disgust because he sets down his chalk and announces a group project. No one is surprised they’re paired up. She is surprised when he ambles over and drops into one of the three seats she keeps open on either side of her.

“I’m Randall,” he says.

“I don’t care,” she snaps back, “lets just get through this.”

“Okay,” he says, “but i think i don’t care @ belgrave.edu is gonna get a bounceback.”

“Too bad,” she says and walks off.

Group projects are dumb anyway.

“Hey don’t care,” Randall says, because of course he uses the running path. That must be where she knows him from, “got a sec to talk about the project.”

“Sure,” she says, “come on.”

She turns and heads into the woods. She doesn’t like the path. It’s too easy, too open. She feels weird on it, even though the woods should be worse. She takes off. Randall follows. He follows easily actually. So easily she gets the distinct impression he could lap her but is showing deference. It’s unsettling in how not unsettling it is. Every time she glances back he’s smiling too. She pushes the pace, takes on everything and then finally turns around without any warning and shoves him to the nearest tree.

“What the hell’s wrong with you?” She demands, “don’t smile at me like that!”

“Sorry,” he says, “i just like being around you. This is nice.”

“You’re an idiot,” she snaps.

“I’m pre-med!” He protests.

Her hand drops as she gets a sharp pain in her head. Shit, she is not getting a migraine now. She refuses. Pressing her head to her hands she tried to will the pounding away. It’s not working. Dropping her hands she looks at Randall with his kind, stupid face and the genuine worry on it. He’s so nice. She so good at destroying nice. It’s hard to focus on him and she realizes with a sick feeling she’s going to faint. She is going to fall and he is going to catch her and this is her fault though he will never blame her for it. The realization of her state seems to hit him to and he is already moving forward. She barely even tips over before he’s lowering her down, head cushioned against his arm. 

“Hey, look at me, look at me,” he says, fingers on her cheeks. She focused on him. “I’m gonna get you back, okay?” He says and she frowns.

“You’re supposed to ask what I took,” she mumbles. It’s supposed to be dark. She frowns. “You’re supposed to be taller,” she sighs as the world tilts and her head lands on his shoulder. 

He scoops her up and she just lets herself focus on how warm and soft his sweatshirt is. He smells nice too. But he is nice and she can’t understand how she knows that’s trouble. But she does. Her eyes fly open because she cannot be seen being carried on campus but they’re still in the woods. When she looks up, he meets her eyes and smiles.

“You feeling better?” He asks like this is a normal walk. She wants to lie but she is. Emotionally at least. Randall pauses and looks at her with a frown, shaking his head. “Hey, do you hear that?”

“Ringing?” She says. He nods. She shoves him away and then everything goes dark. This time he doesn’t catch her. He doesn’t need to.

It’s equally familiar.

She wakes up in a trunk.

Naked. 

She wakes up because her ethics professor lifts the lid, glances at her and then throws a black silk robe in. She pulls it on and stands up. Randall’s also there, wrapping a towel around his waist. She doesn’t feel nervous though it seems like she should. Instead she climbs out of the trunk.

“I’m not bathing with either of you,” she tells them and steps into the hallway where there’s a third man in a faded denim jacket. “At least you’re clothed,” she says, “feel like sharing?”

“Sure, want a drink first?” He asks and she nods because if she’s already running naked through the woods being drugged isn’t going to make a huge difference. She knocks the drink back. It burns and keeps burning. It turns dry. The stranger bolts over and grabs around her waist, helping her cough out a ball the size of a marble. The plug pulled, everything comes rushing back and she turns her head. “Hey Kilith,” Jack says with a smile that makes even her heart hurt. Before she can stop herself she throw her arms around him. The way she wishes someone would have done when the Order rejected her.

“I’m going to kill you if you date another order member,” she tells him and he lets out a wet laugh. 

“Where are you going?” She whips around at Hamish’s panicked voice. 

“I gotta go,” Randall says, sounding smaller than she’s ever heard him sound. Her stomach drops. “I’ll see you in class.”

“No—no no—“ she starts forward but Hamish is closing the door, “no! Stop him!”

“We can’t,” Jack says, “it has to be taken willingly.” 

“But—“ she runs to the window, watching him go. It hurts. He doesn’t look back. When she turns around, both of them are looking at her. “What?”

“Lilith,” Hamish says in that stupid fucking tone.

“Don’t dad out on me,” she snaps. They keep looking at her. “I have to tell Randall first,” she says. All the arguments about Jack and his secrets fall quiet. “It involves him.” 

They look at each other and nod. 

Walking around with her memory in tact is harder than she expected.

Not just about before but about longer. She feels the reject sign flashing over her head. Instead she focuses hard on Timber. Timber says fuck them all. All except Greybeard. Lilith agrees. She can’t do anything though because Randall thinks she’s with Jack and is not seeking her out. He’s too nice to actually avoid her but he also doesn’t go out of his way to be around her. He misses Hamish’s next class which offends Hamish on a professorial level. So Lilith goes to the labs when she knows Randall has them. 

“How are we supposed to do the group project if you don’t come to class?” She snaps. He jerks up from the microscope. The other lab rats are confused and Lilith doesn’t give a shit. “Well?”

“Sorry,” Randall says sheepishly, “I have MCAT prep.”

“Don’t lie to me,” she snaps slapping his stool so he spins around, “i’m not doing your work for you.”

He stares at her but she can see his pupils dilate. They’re close and she may have worn the track pants and sweatshirt that just edges into crop top territory. His fingers twitch and she leans closer, thoroughly enjoying what she sees under that niceness. 

“You want to meet up after and work?” He says.

“No. I want to go now,” she tells him. She glances at what he’s working on. “Your slides will survive.”

“But his lab grade won’t,” one of the students says and Lilith snaps her head towards them.

“Of course it will. He’s smarter than all of you combined. He already finished he just doesn’t want to throw the curve.” 

Randall stares at her as she grabs his notebook and storms out. A moment later he runs into the hallway and catches up with her. He waits until they are out of the building before he gets in front of her.

“So i’m not an idiot?” He says.

“You are the biggest idiot,” she tells him. He frowns. “Come on!” She takes him to the house and ignores anything he has to say. He’s an idiot and a huge fucking nerd so as long as she has the notebook he’s coming with her. “Sit. Before we get started i want to tell you a story.”

“Ok—“

“Shut up! There was a girl once who got into trouble. And this guy, who should have killed her saved her instead. When she got punished, he got her home safe. And when the girl tried to find him to see how they could be even, he  gave her a place to belong. He didn’t understand that he saved an enemy. And she didn’t remember enough to explain it,” he is listening intently. She brings over the drink. He takes it and looks at her. “Storytime’s over.” He nods and sets the drink down, “aren’t you thirsty?”

“I don’t drink before I study? And i left you on this project already.”

“It’s ethics!” She says.

“I know but—“ if he doesn’t drink in the next few minutes she has to do this all over again. She will but she does not want to. Instead she drops onto the couch next to him, completely invading his personal space. “Don’t you have a boyfriend?” He says.

“You got a problem with girls hugging boys?” She challenges and he stares at her.

“No! No of course not.”

“Good,” she says straddling his lap, “you want to do this?” He nods frantically but there’s something much darker in his eyes. His face might say kindness but she can feel his hands on thighs. Reaching back she takes the shot in her mouth and fastens her lips over his. His throat works as she holds their mouths together and pulls back just as he starts to cough. It’s worse for him, even with her help. He winds up hunched over the couch as she keeps her hand on his spine, rubbing circles to help him breathe like she read in his text books once. He settles back down on the couch and she shifts. Even Timber feels concerned at how he isn’t looking at her, “Randall?” She doesn’t recognize her voice. She hates that so much, “i’m going to get Hamish—“ she gets up and his hand clamps on her wrist. 

Instantly it’s two years ago and he’s weak and shivering and about to be chained up. Another sacrifice. But he’s always been kind and never expects anything back and she can’t. Not to him. So she throws the spell. Purposefully. And she takes her punishment and ignores Alyssa asking how she can do this for some guy. She can’t explain it. He’s not some guy. She doesn’t even know him but she knows he doesn’t deserve it. They wipe him in front of her and she gets a face full of powder and left out where the wolves can get her. And they do. One of them just happens to be the one she saved. 

“Why?” Randall gets out, looking at her.

“You were the nicest person i ever met,” she says, “if they were going to do that to you—“ she shudders, “i couldn’t.”

“But you didn’t know I was a wolf.”

“It didn’t matter,” she says, her voice pitching, “and yes I know it’s stupid that i threw everything away for some boy i didn’t know. The irony isn’t lost on me. But even when you forgot me and turned you didn’t kill me so I was right to save you,” she says, shaking off his hand. He’s on his feet instantly. Towering over her. She thrills at the challenge. “You want to go?” She demands.

“Yeah,” he says. 

She lunges forward and he traps her against his chest, her arms wedged between them. She fists her hands in his sweatshirt and presses against him. His eyes darken again and then flicker. She bares her teeth and finds herself pressed against the wall. He crushes their mouths together and she hauls him closer before yanking back.

“This better not be because i saved your life,” she warns, “i don’t want some cheesy Romeo and Juliet bullshit from you.”

“I’ve loved you across three lifetimes,” he says, knocking the wind from her. She goes to push away, “freshman year, you were the funniest person in english. And the most determined person i ever met. And in the woods, when i found you, i thought you were the most beautiful person i’d ever seen—“ she tries to glare, “and i was jealous you hugged Jack.”

“I knew it!” She says triumphantly but doesn’t try to get away. 

“Why didn’t you tell me?” He asks.

“Because I break everything,” she admits, “I’ll break us. And lose this place.”

“You won’t,” he promises her.

“How do you know that? I haven’t seen you in any relationships either,” she points out.

“What part of ‘most beautiful person i’d ever seen’ was unclear?” He asks and that knocks the wind out of her.

“That’s creepy,” she snaps at him.

“I didn’t like thinking it either. You were unconscious,” he says. She swallows reflexively, “I still think you are.”

“I won’t always look like this,” she tells him.

“What if i specialize in plastic surgery?” 

The joke makes her laugh because she knows that to him, she will. And it’s strange to be terrified in the safest place. She works a hand free and touches his face. He kisses her palm and looks at her with a wolf’s eyes. Timber shivers under her skin and relaxes in a way Lilith has never felt before. She gets her other hand free and pulls him closer, kissing him again before pulling back.

“No fairytale shit,” she warns.

“I mean, you did restored my memories with a magic kiss,” he points out. 

“Shut up,” she mumbles, pulling him back.

They sleep together but not in a sexual way.

Not this time.

She can’t let him out of her sight and he seems to understand as they pad around her room. She curls on her side in a ball facing him. It’s not a full moon, without Timber’s eyes she can only make out the shape of him. She doesn’t want Timbers eyes right now though. She feels pathetically like a girl, not a wolf. She won’t even let him touch her, making him stay on his side of the bed. 

“I can’t believe you did that for me,” he murmurs. She looks away in embarrassment, “no one’s ever done something like that for me.” 

“Thats because you have your shit together,” she says, “you’re always saving people.”

“But you saved me.”

“Would you stop repeating that?” She demands, “it’s such a cliche.”

“Not to me it isn’t,” he objects.

“And then I drooled on you while you carried me out of the woods?” She groans in embarrassment, “none of that’s me.”

“Yeah it is.”

She glares as he scoots slightly closer. They both know her amor and they both know the truth but he always lets her have it. At least in front of everyone else. She can see the determination in his eyes and knows warning him off won’t do any good. 

“No one ever saved me,” he says, “not until you. You changed everything. And even if i didn’t remember the first time, i’ve remembered every time since,” she rolls her eyes, “you don’t have to be afraid of me.”

“I’m not,” she says, “and i should be, just for that.”

“Can you give me a chance to show you?” He says.

She rolls over and looks at the far wall. The bed creaks as he scoots closer and pulls her back against him. She closes her eyes and fights the stab of panic as he wraps an arm around her waist and puts the other under her neck. His lips press softly to her hair and she grabs his hand, pulling it closer as she wiggles into a more comfortable position. After a few adjustments she thinks maybe this isn’t so bad. Randall snores loudly and she whips her head back to see him wide awake.

“Asshole,” she mutters, laying back.

He chuckles and it feels okay against her back. A few hours later when she snaps awake, thinking of being too late to save him, he’s right there. She doesn’t even have to get out of bed to check. He sleeps like a rock and it’s no trouble to twist around and bury her face in his chest. It’s easier to fall back asleep if she can smell him and feel him. And when she wakes up his arms are so tight she can’t imagine him being anywhere else. She clings back with equal fervor. No fairytale bullshit just two champions grounding each other through war terrors. In the morning they’re in their previous positions but his face is buried in her hair and she’s got both his hands locked with hers. Her mumbles something but he’s actually asleep this time and it might be slightly adorable. She turns and when he stirs she kisses the corner of his mouth. He opens his eyes slowly and smiles.

“Best wakeup ever—ow!”

“Don’t get used to it,” she warns and finds herself on her back, hands caught above her head and the light kiss a lot deeper. She’s still Lilith though and bucks her hips up. Damn him he catches her lower back and keeps her hands pinned above her head. He pulls back to look at her and she double damns him for also pulling that off, “don’t get used to this either,” she says, “i’m not a morning person.”

“Don’t worry,” he says in a way that makes all the blood in her rush down, his fingers slipping into the edge of her shorts as his other hand leaves her wrists, “i am.”

Dimly Lilith thinks this might possibly work after all. 

[therake-1996-blog]

Taking Care of the Drunk

You were irritated. Understandably so. It was 1 am, you had to be up at 7 for work, and you got called out of a dead sleep to pick up a “friend” from a bar two towns over. Who was this friend? Good question. All the bartender could tell you was that he was tall and gorgeous. He also kept referring to you as “the goddess”.

So that narrowed it down to your godly friends.

You ruled out the more responsible ones such as Huedhaut and Zyglavis, but that left ten more to choose from. At the top of the list was Ichthys, Teorus, or even Dui. Partheno came after them. They were only ones who really referred to you as “the goddess”.

Rubbing your eyes tiredly, you wondered to yourself why a god would choose to get drunk at an Earthly bar as opposed to just staying in the mansion, but when the bright flashing sign of the small town tavern came into view, you pushed your questions to the side for now.

Pushing the squeaky door open, you took a quick scan around the dark and low brow bar. Two men were shooting pool, three women were sitting at the bar chatting, and one man was sitting at the far end of the bar slouched over, his head hidden in his arm. Likely passed out. The smell of cigarette smoke permeated the area from years of business, and classic rock bumped from the speakers.

But you couldn’t find any sign of a god.

Confused, you approached the bar.

“Excuse me,”

“Yeah? Oh!”

The female bartender glanced over her shoulder and perked up when she saw your disheveled state. You were still in your old holy sweats and band T-shirt that you wore to bed, and your hair was thrown into a messy bun. “Are you here to pick up The Man of Steel?”

“Um…yes,” you replied, though it sounded like a question.

“He drank almost all our entire stock. Check it out.”

She gestured behind her at the many empty bottles of hard liquor, and your eyebrows shot up. Two bottles of vodka, one bottle of whiskey, and one bottle of tequila were among the mess behind the bartender.

“You didn’t…cut him off?” You asked in disbelief. She rubbed the back of her head sheepishly.

“Well…he has a way of persuading you.”

You glanced around again.

“Where is he?”

“At the end of the bar there.”

You followed the bartender’s pointing finger–taking notice of her well done manicure–to the man you saw when you first walked in, and you felt your mouth turn down.

His build was definitely not Ichthys. Too tall, too broad. From what you could see of his hair, it wasn’t Teorus or Dui; too dark. He was dressed in a simple white shirt with the sleeves rolled halfway up his arms and blue jeans.

You hesitantly approached him.

“Zyglavis?!”

“Yeah?”

Responding to his name, Zyglavis lifted his head, swaying a little from the quick movement, and looked at you.

“Oh, heyyyyy.”

He smiled a bit, a small, lopsided smile, and leaned his head on his hand.

“What…are you doing?” You asked, practically frozen to your place.

“Hm? I’m…sitting. I am sitting, right?”

Suddenly unsure of where he was, he looked around, and shifted his hips in his stool to make sure he was actually seated.

“Yes, you’re sitting, Zyglavis. I meant…what are you doing…here?”

“Oohhhh. I did not want to be at the mansion.”

He closed his eyes and shook his head as he said this, wagging his index finger.

“Bad day at work?”

“You could say that.”

You shook your head, chuckling. Well this was not something you thought you’d ever see–the usually noble and dignified Minister of Punishments completely smashed. You knew this was something you’d absolutely have to take to the grave.

Or else Zyglavis would put you in one himself…once he sobered up, of course.

“Well, let’s get you out of here, Zig.”

You said, reaching out to help him up.

“I can get up!” He exclaimed, holding his hand out and nearly smacking you in the face.

However, he leaned a little too far to the right and went toppling off the bar stool, sprawling most ungracefully to the worn tile floor below.

“Zyglavis! Are you okay?”

You hurried over to him as he pulled himself to a sitting position, looking dazed.

“Whoa. I was up there and now I’m down here.”

“Let me help you–”

“I can do it!”

Stubbornly insisting, Zyglavis turned over to his hands and knees and stuck his butt in the air, pulling himself to his feet like a toddler. Once he was upright, he staggered a bit; you hurried to wrap an arm around his waist.

“Okay. Let’s walk.”

Taking that as cue, Zyglavis lifted his left foot high into the air and took an exaggerated step, then did the same with his right, snickering all the while. You sighed in exasperation.

“If you do that you’re gonna fall again.”

“Nuh-uh.”

As you passed the bartender, she smiled.

“Have a good night.” She said.

You highly doubted it at this point.

…

Zyglavis was heavy.

He leaned all his weight onto you as you walked to your car–you found yourself thankful you parked close to the entrance–and the whole time he was vigorously rubbing his tongue in between his lips.

“What are you doing?” You asked warily. You kind of didn’t want to know.

“This feels weird,” He said as best he could through his pressed lips and tongue. “My lips are numb.”

A couple guys standing around talking and smoking chuckled.

“Here,” You grunted as you pushed Zyglavis so he was leaning up against your car. “Why didn’t you call Scorpio?”

“I said I didn’t wanna be at the mansion, didn’t I?” He replied, his words slurred together.

“Did you get in a fight with him?”

“No.”

“Was it just a stressful day?” He narrowed his crystalline eyes at you, a normally terrifying expression, but with his flushed cheeks, he just looked…cute.

“Why do you gotta know everybody’s business? I don’t come into your life wanting to know every detail about you.”

As he spoke, he leaned forward a little too close, and lost balance. He staggered, and fell into you. He smelled like clean laundry with a hint of alcohol.

“Whoops!” Zyglavis laughed. Like, genuinely laughed, as he pulled himself back. You just stared.

All of this felt…surreal.

“Here, get in before you face plant.” You sighed, opening the passenger door of your car for him.

“O-kay.”

As he spoke, he reached one hand into your car and placed it on the console, the other going to the dashboard. He settled his knee on the seat and hunched inside, shifting and twisting his body around like he didn’t quite know how to enter a car.

“Zyg-”

“No, I got this. Hold on.”

“No, Zyglavis, you need to-”

“Shh! I can figure it out!”

“Oh for Pete’s sake, Zig, put your ass on the seat!”

Zyglavis, who had one leg in the driver’s seat and one in the passenger, his butt resting on the console, looked at you.

“Language.” He whispered severely.

“Zyglavis.” You said in the same tone.

“Pffffft.”

Sighing heavily, he shimmied his way into the correct sitting position in the seat.

You shut the door.

When you came around the other side and got in your seat, you saw he was struggling with the seat belt, and sighed.

“Here,”

“No, let me–”

“I said here!” You snapped. He raised his eyebrows.

“Tooouuuchyyyy.”

Yeah, I’ll show you touchy. You thought.

You reached over him and grabbed the polyester, pulling it across him and latching it into position. He clapped. You rolled your eyes and started the car, pulling onto the road.

As the lights of passing cars and streetlamps passed, You Oughtta Know by Alanis Moriessette came on the radio, and you turned it down a little.

“Why would you do that?” Zyglavis asked, sounding deeply offended. You glanced at him.

“Do you like this song?” You asked dubiously.

“It sounds fun.”

He reached for the volume knob and twisted, jacking the volume up to nearly fifty, causing the speakers in your car to nearly shatter.

“Ack! Zyglavis, come on!” You whined, setting it to a more appropriate level as he giggled.

And then he saw something.

That big yellow M.

He smacked your arm repeatedly, startling you and actually causing pain.

“Ow! What now, Zig?!”

“MCDONALD’S! MCDONALD’S! MCDONALD’S!” He chanted excitedly, bouncing up and down in his seat. “Let’s get some McDonald’s!”

“Are you kidding? Gods don’t eat!”

“I want a cheeeeeseburger.”

Suddenly he got dead serious and looked at you, his glare made sharper by the blue light of your radio’s light.

You turned into the drive-thru.

“Welcome to McDonald’s, how can I help you?”

You were about to open your mouth when Zyglavis leaned across you and yelled,

“CHEEEEEESEBURGER AND FRIES.”

“Zyglavis, sit back right now!” You snarled.

“Can I get you anything else?” The employee asked cheerfully. How, you didn’t know.

“MEDIUM COKE.”

“Zyglavis!!”

“Okay, that’ll be 7.98, come on around.”

Smiling triumphantly, Zyglavis finally settled back in his seat. You glared at him as you pulled to the window.

When the girl opened the window and smiled at you, you mouthed, ‘I’m sorry’, and she winked like she completely understood.

“Have a good night!” She said.

“Just pray for me.” You groaned.

“Cheeeeseburger, cheeeeeseburger…”

Zyglavis mumbled when you handed the bag to him. He shoved his face with fries as he unwrapped his oh-so coveted cheeseburger.

“Wanna fry?” He asked, offering the container to you.

“You know what? Yeah, I do.”

You grabbed a couple and shoved them in your mouth. They were warm and salty.

Now quiet and eating happily, Zyglavis danced in his seat to each song on the radio. You cast a few glances at him every now and then, unable to help yourself. Even though he was really working on your nerves tonight, this new, strangely childish side of him was actually cute. You wondered if this was how he acted when he was a child.

Deciding it wasn’t worth the effort to explain this situation to the other gods, and taking into account the fact that he said he didn’t want to be at the mansion (not to mention the fact that it was also now 1:48 in the morning) you just took him back to your apartment.

When you managed to haul him out of your car, he wobbled on up to the door and just tried opening it, practically body slamming it when it stayed shut.

He almost dropped his Coke.

You watched with exasperation as he ran a finger over the doorknob, then poked it, before looking back at you.

“Door’s locked.” He said simply.

“Oh?” You replied with raised eyebrows, flashing the key at him. “They keep the outside door locked so drunken idiots don’t just waltz on in.”

You continued as you unlocked it and let him in. He screwed his face up into a playful grimace.

“I get the feeling you’re talking about me,”

“Why would you ever get that feeling?”

You rubbed your forehead as you let him into your apartment; he marched in blowing raspberries the whole time.

“Just sit on the couch!” You called when you saw him begin poking around your kitchen.

“Why though?”

“You already ate and there’s literally no reason for you to be going through my house, that’s why!” You snapped.

“You are a touchy, touchy girl tonight.”

However, Zyglavis relented and bounced into your living room, showing no signs of passing out any time soon. You ripped open the cabinet containing the aspirin and popped a couple.

He was lightly kicking his heels against the worn carpet when you walked in, sipping on his drink.

“So. Why did you call me?” You asked again. “I mean, I feel like I’m the last person you’d want to see you like this.”

Zyglavis looked up and smiled, his eyes heavy lidded.

“Nah. It’s 'cause you’re the only one I trust enough to let see me this way,”

You raised your eyebrows.

“Really?” He bobbed his head up and down.

“I trust Scorps, but…not even he has seen me this hammered before. And of course the other gods are immature…” For a moment, the normal Zyglavis seemed to shine through, his expression growing sour and that wrinkle appearing between his eyebrows, but that quickly went away when he said, “…doo-doo heads.”

You snorted, a hand flying to cover your mouth.

“Did I say something funny?”

“No, no,” You lied, smiling at him. “But you should probably try to sleep. I don’t know if gods get hungover or not, but I wouldn’t risk it.”

You didn’t want Zyglavis to be even more ill-tempered than usual tomorrow. Well, in a few hours, anyway.

However, he pouted.

“I don’t want to go back to the mansion.” He whined.

“No, I meant, sleep here. On the couch.”

“The couch?” He repeated, looking down at it. You raised your eyebrows.

“Yes? Unless you’d like the floor?”

He looked up at you.

“I want to sleep in a bed.”

Your heart leapt. With the way he was looking at you, combined with those words and the soft tone of voice he used, it was hard not to feel affected. But you shook your head.

“Well, I only have one bed. I guess if you really want it, I can take the couch–”

“No.”

Zyglavis stood, and took your hand. You blinked, teeth coming down on your bottom lip.

“I want to sleep in a bed with you.”

“U-uh…”

He didn’t leave any room for argument.

Lightly pulling on your hand, he led you to the one bedroom–swaying a few times–and collapsed into your unmade bed, sighing contentedly. You opened your mouth to say something about his clothes, but quickly shut it for fear that he would start stripping.

Stretching out like a cat, Zyglavis’ long, dark hair cascaded around his head like a halo, his angelic features relaxed, and he looked up at you.

“Come on.”

As he spoke, he reached out, curling both hands around your waist and pulling you into the bed, crushing you to his chest as if you were a stuffed animal.

“Hmmm…your bed is comfy,” He muttered, his voice already heavy with sleep.

You, on the other hand, never felt so awake wrapped in his warmth, enveloped by his clean scent. His chest rumbled a bit as he chuckled.

“I might have to get wasted more often.”

“No!” You exclaimed.

“Hmph. Buzz-kill.”

After he uttered those words, he took in a deep breath, and you knew he had fallen asleep. Laying cuddled against his chest, you let out a breathless laugh.

This side of Zyglavis was unexpected to be sure, but…was it really that bad? Surreal, odd, disorienting, but, bad was not one of the words you would use to describe it. And, you felt like you two had grown closer as a result.

Well, you supposed you could allow this…every now and again

[artificialqueens]

Cause I give you all -Pt1- (Trixya) - Pichitinha

A/N: hi i am back with another fic bc i have no self control whatsoever! this is a three part story that was originally a one-shot but it made more sense to split. it’ll be finished soon bc the last part is almost done so! i will now go back to owl to see if ch4 accepts it has to be written. this is a very casual story, i hope you enjoy it! as always i am @pichitinha on this hell site and I have posted this on AO3.

It isn’t often that they get the night off when touring. Thinking about how tired and lacking months of proper sleep Trixie is, she strongly considers staying in the five star hotel they’re in and sleeping the best sleep she knows she’s had in months, but at the end of the day she knows she gets a good amount of free time on the tour bus, even if sparse and uncomfortable, and she hasn’t had fun in a long time. So she showers away her laziness, gets dressed in nice clothes and her own make-up, and goes in search of a bar.

It’s apparently the only bar in town and it’s really crowded with the most redneck crowd Trixie’s ever seen. There are large bearded men and strong women and as soon as she enters she can spot at least five people arm wrestling on tables filled with empty gigantic glasses. The smell of beer is strong and so is the smell of bacon and she turns her nose.

She finds an empty stool by the end of the counter in the middle of two couples heavily making out and she sits down with her eyes fixed on the bottles in front of her, tries to tune out the sexual noises coming from each of her sides. She truly found the most heterosexual bar in the state.

Maybe she should have chosen her sleep.

She orders herself a beer - when in Rome, right? - and sips at it slowly, lets her eyes unfocus as they stare at the bottles and her mind wonder.

She’s so tired. She hasn’t picked up her guitar in three months. She washes her hair once a week only and it’s starting to show. Her favorite clothes are now all worn out. Her make-up kit is getting way too close to being empty.

But she loves it. Touring with a country legend as a backup singer is something Trixie never thought would be so satisfying, but it is. She’s friends with her which is something she couldn’t even dream of when she was a kid, and she gets to experience the ups and down of the famous life up close. She’s doing what she loves, earning good money with it, and she’s at the best point of her life so far.

She just lets herself wonder, sometimes, when it will end. Not in a bad way but not in a good way either. Is this how it’s going to be, forever? Always on busses, from city to city, hotel to hotel, in the shadows of someone else’s spotlight? Will she ever stop somewhere long enough to find someone to build a life with? Does she even want to settle down?

She doesn’t, particularly, not in the white picket fence with 2.5 kids kind of way. But she does in the having a loving wife who cares for her and wants to share a life together kind of way. Trixie’s in love with the idea of being in love, and she knows she’ll always be.

She finishes her beer and asks for another one. There’s no point in going back to the hotel, even if she’s not mingling in any way. She might as well drink as much as she hasn’t been able to while touring, and sleep in until noon or later since they have a show in that same town the next evening so they have no plans for a few hours.

And then she takes one more look around, tries to figure out if there’s anyway at all she could fit in with anyone, and she spots a blonde woman at the other end of the long counter, sipping on a beer alone, her posture similar to Trixie’s. She might be projecting or reading what she wants to read, but everyone else is very ingrained in the place’s vibe and the two of them are the only ones completely isolated.

Trixie’s not saying the woman’s a lesbian. But Trixie isn’t saying she isn’t. There’s just that face when you know you’re the only gay person in the middle of a clearly non-accepting space and, well, that’s what Trixie’s seeing.

It’s worth trying, right?

She asks for an extra beer and moves over to where the woman is, spots an empty stool by her left side and slides swiftly into it. The woman doesn’t notice, so Trixie decides she has nothing to lose and slides the new bottle of beer in front of her. She blinks three times before coming back to her senses and looking over at Trixie.

She grins widely and Trixie melts a bit. Her teeth are displayed in the most symmetrical smile she’s ever seen and they are extremely shiny and white except for the small red mark on her front one where her lipstick probably brushed and she didn’t notice. It makes her look a bit dorky and it’s a look that definitely suits her.

“Hi,” the woman says, grabs the beer without breaking eye contact or letting her smile drop. “Is this for me?” She motions the bottle, sips at it before even getting an answer. Trixie’s half convinced her old bottle still has beer inside.

Trixie shrugs, drinks her beer as well before answering. “I was a bit lonely over there and I saw you a bit lonely over here, thought we could drink together?”

The woman smiles wider, her tooth still a bit red, and nods a little before adjusting in her seat so she’s half facing Trixie. Trixie can’t tell her intentions, isn’t fully sure if she’s just glad that she has a girl talking to her instead of a creepy guy, but whatever. At the very least she’ll share a few beers with a pretty woman before heading back to her hotel.

“I’m Katya,” she offers as she extends her hand, her short nails painted the same red shade as her lips. “Thanks for the beer.”

“Trixie,” she replies as she shakes her hand, small and pointy. “And you’re welcome.”

They cling their bottles together, cheers, they say, and take a sip together, eyes interlocked.

Maybe she’d been right in going out tonight.

*

There’s a table in the corner where a couple seemed intent on doing as much as they could without having to remove their clothes and Katya convinced Trixie to bet on when they’d leave and how far they’d go before doing so.Trixie is looking at them very attentively - probably creepy - waiting for her phone to beep indicating Katya’s time is up and she’s won. She has five minutes left and then she wins. They haven’t agreed on what the winner gets yet, but she just doesn’t like losing.

“One of them is gonna end up finishing right there in the next two minutes and then they’ll leave,” Katya says over her shoulder, pulling her attention back. Her tooth is still not clean and Trixie kind of doesn’t want to tell her at all. It’s nice to see a flaw in her, honestly.

“First of all, ew! We want that table so I truly hope they don’t.”

“When will you ever have the chance again to say that you’ve lived through an experience like this? Live life, Trixie!”

Trixie snorts, looks back at the couple and her timer - she’s two minutes away from winning.

“I am living life to the fullest, thank you very much.”

Katya’s eyes sparkle a bit. She seems interested in Trixie, in what she has to say and even what she doesn’t have to say. It’s odd to receive all that attention, but it’s thrilling too.

“Tell me about it. What are you living like?”

“I’m a singer. I mean, a backup singer at the moment. But I do sing and play guitar sometimes, on bars and stuff. Or I used to, before touring.”

Katya nods, her eyes wide as she gives Trixie her undivided attention. “That sounds fascinat- I won!”

She exclaims as she points to the couple getting up and sure enough Trixie’s timer is thirty fucking seconds away from beeping.

“Fuck me,” she whispers in frustration and Katya doesn’t miss a beat.

“Actually I get to choose what you have to do since I won the bet but I’m okay with that.”

Trixie laughs loudly, Katya’s smile is shiny and the little mark still there.

“Maybe if you learn to clean your teeth after you apply lipstick.”

Katya’s hand move to her mouth to brush against it. “Shit.”

*

She’s not sure how they ended up in a park at 2AM, both of them having had one too many bottles of beer before leaving the bar, but here they are. Trixie’s at the talkative phase of her drunkenness and she’s sure she’s shared way more than she should with a complete stranger, but this is something tomorrow her will worry about. Today her is blissfully out of her mind, giggly and in good company.

“Ok so how does one reach the ripe age of twenty-seven speaking five languages?” Trixie asks as they stumble through the empty and quiet park, their healed steps and loud voices echoing through the trees.

“I don’t speak five languages, spanish and italian are like child level knowledge at most,” Katya replies with raised eyebrows, as if that makes any difference, as if Trixie isn’t immensely impressed by that anyway.

“I get that, my english is at a child’s level as well,” Trixie retorts, thinks she’s being funny but honestly she’s far too drunk to be sure.

Katya laughs though, loud and clear in the night sky, enough to send the birds flying from the tree tops near them.

“Hey, it’s not your fault you’re from Wisconsin!” she finally says, and now Trixie’s the one screaming, her hand hitting Katya’s arm playfully.

“You bitch,” she says jokingly, and Katya gets it because her eyes are sparkling and they stumble closer to each other, one practically leaning on the other as their breaths mingle.

There’s a beat of silence in which Katya licks her lips, and then she murmurs, “By the way, I’m like, really really gay.”

Somewhere in the back of Trixie’s mind she knows the setting is intimate - they’re practically embracing, faces close, eyes interlocked - but the way Katya says it just makes a loud bubbly laughter leave her lips as she takes one step back to ground herself.

“Girl, me too!”

*

It’s 4AM and they’re at a 24 hour diner, most of the alcohol evaporated from their system although Trixie’s skin is still buzzing. They’re seated facing each other in a corner booth, there are quite a number of customers for the time, but everyone is talking quietly and it’s really peaceful. They each have a mug of steaming coffee in their hands and even though they’d looked at each other’s eyes all night, Trixie’s just now realizing Katya’s eyes are green.

“Your eyes are really pretty,” she says then, doesn’t really realize she’s doing so. She’s forgotten bits and pieces of everything she’s told Katya all night, but that’s more related to how dumb some of these things were and how many than to them being drunk. She likes it though, feels comfortable with her. With the pretty, beautiful lesbian with whom she spent the entire night and has yet to kiss.

Katya smiles at the compliment, and Trixie realizes she hasn’t complimented her smile all night. It’s really pretty. She’s really pretty. Trixie is still amazed that they’re hanging out.

“Thank you. All of you is really pretty,” she says back, and Trixie bites down on her lower lip. She’s not one for one night stands usually, but she is on a long tour where there aren’t really any other options and is it even a regular one night stand after they’ve spent the whole night together? Technically yes, she knows, and technically she’s not even certain Katya wants to sleep with her, but at the end of the day she knows that all she wants is to finish this day in a bed with Katya. It can be her hotel room, it can be Katya’s hotel room - she’s travelling too, she learned, she’s a photographer following some models for a project, and what astounds Trixie the most is that she’s not one of the models herself - it can be anywhere really. She’s really drawn to Katya, more so than she usually is to any strangers - are they still strangers by now? - and she knows she deserves it.

She squirms in her seat, thinks of the proper way to put this question out there, but then Katya cuts her off with a question in a completely different direction.

“So, where you heading next?”

“Somewhere close, I think. I never remember the schedule.”

Katya raises her eyebrows. “Really? And how does that work?”

Trixie shrugs. “I just get there and go to the stage and sing I guess? I recognize several of the cities and sometimes I’ll explore for a couple of hours if we can but mostly I just sleep, it’s a really tiring routine.”

Katya seems baffled and Trixie feels like she’s done something wrong for some reason.

“Seeing new places is my favorite part of touring. I’ll gladly give up sleep if I can see something I’ve never seen before.”

“I mean, after the fourth town with the same hay stacks and trees it gets old, you know,” Trixie jokes into her cup of coffee, trying to find her ground again. She’d been so comfortable seconds ago.

Katya laughs, but her heart isn’t fully in it. God, had Trixie somehow ruined this? She’s not even sure how.

“Yeah. I mean, I’m a photographer. I usually find beauty everywhere I go.”

“Oh,” Trixie says, doesn’t know what else she could say.

“Sorry, it wasn’t meant to sound pretentious like that. And I’m not judging you or anything. I’m just… I don’t know, it’s nice finding these little differences, isn’t it? We’ve been so similar all night.”

They have. Their similar sense of humor is something that made them hit it off instantly. But also realizing that they travel so much, live the same home is nowhere lifestyle had been a major point. It never occured to Trixie they might perceive it so differently.

“Yeah, of course,” she responds, although she isn’t sure it is. Meeting Katya had felt like fate, but now she isn’t so sure.

But then Katya’s hand slide across the table and holds tightly onto hers.

“My hotel is really close. Do you want to crash with me?”

Trixie knows what she means, and most of her worries disappear as she looks into her eyes. She nods and they get up together, Katya’s hand clasps onto hers and the only time she lets go is when they’re inside the room and she needs it to unzip Trixie’s dress.

*

Trixie goes back to her hotel room late in the afternoon with Katya’s number in her phone, a bite mark on her left hip, and the song I Put A Spell On You by Annie Lennox from Katya’s alarm stuck in her head.

[forever-more-never-again]

Daughter of a Singer (Part Two of Two)

Second, and final, part of Daughter of a Singer. Please give me feedback and let me know if you enjoyed it!

*I do not own Supernatural*GIF not mine*

Word Count: ~1400

Platonic! Dean and Sam X Father!Bobby X Daughter!Reader

Warnings: Parent Death. Emotional. 

Summary: On your hunt to track down the father you never knew you had, you run into two friendly fellow hunters who talk you into visiting someone. Will this stranger hold some answers?

Part one

It felt like you had been driving behind the Impala forever. You were about to pull over to the side of the road when you caught the brake lights in front of you as the two hunters turned onto a side road. Sighing, you continued following them.

A giant sign marked the entrance. Your breath caught in your throat as you read it out, “Singer’s auto garage and junkyard”. Singer, as in your father’s last name Singer? Could this Bobby guy know something about your father?

You pulled your firebird up alongside the Impala as the brothers parked it in the front of a run down building.

You climbed out of your car, dusting off your jeans, “So this is where my lookalike Bobby lives? Is he not a hunter?”

Dean looked over at you as they headed to the front door, “He was, is, but these days he stays here and acts as our resource and cover up guy. You know, pretends to be FBI HQ and such.”

You nodded, made sense. You had to improvise if anyone ever questioned your authority, it would be a help to have someone on the other end for you. The brothers were lucky.

Dean pushed his way past his brother as they opened the door, “Bobby! Where you at?”

“Calm down Boy! The whiskey ain't going anywhere.” The gruff voice put you on pause as you watched an older gentleman walk around the corner into the main living area.

Your breath caught in your throat as you looked at the older, male version of your face.

The two Winchester brothers parted on either side, the man they called Bobby coming to a halt when he saw someone new in his house.

You crept forward, hesitant. “Robert Singer?” You questioned.

The man frowned, his eyes looking you over, “Yes, who wants to know?”

“My mother gave me this. Right before she died of cancer. You’re my father.” You handed him the picture that your mother had given you, you had carried it in your jacket since that day two years ago. You spoke in a flat tone, this man deserves no sympathy from you.

Dean made a choking sound as Sam turned to face you, surprise written all over his face. Your father, was frozen, staring at the picture.

“[Y/n]?” He whispered, when he glanced up, you were shocked to see tears in his eyes.

Dean stepped up now, “Wait, You have a daughter?” he turned to you, pointing, “You’re his daughter?”

You couldn’t help but laugh at the confusion in his voice. Your father, on the other hand, was still frowning. The tears gone. “What are you doing here girl? With these two? Don’t tell me you’re out hunting.”

You stuck your hip out, irritated, “And so what if I am? You gave up any rights or control over me when you decided my mother and I were better off without you.”

Sam gave an uneasy frown to Dean, “maybe we should let you two talk it out. It seems like you got some catching up to do.” He tugged a protesting Dean past you and your father, back outside.

“Come on then girl, Let’s go sit down.” You followed as Robert, or Bobby, as the boys called him, into an office room. He sat down behind a desk, still holding the photo. You sat down on a couch next to the desk.

“Where is [y/m/n]? Is she okay?” You felt your heart wrench at the hopeful look on Bobby’s face.

“I’m sorry.” At those two words, his face fell. You reached out and placed a hand on top of his, “She died of Ovarian Cancer two years ago.”

Bobby heaved a heavy sigh. He reached up and wiped away a loose tear. You gathered your courage and asked the one thing that had been on your mind ever since you had discovered that you had a living father, “Why?”

“Now that’s a story. Long one too.” Bobby took another look at the photo before handing it back to you.

“I’ve got time. I finished up a Vamp Hunt before the dumb and dumber brothers found me.”

That managed to get a smile out of the old man in front of you. You marveled at how he looked. His hair had gray flecks. His beard grown out a little. What got you the most was how worn down he looked, when he couldn’t be older than fifty.

He huffed a laugh, “Well okay then. How much did your mother tell you about me?”

You leaned back, “Not much. I mean, she said my father had died in a fire my entire life, until she found out she was dying.” Your throat caught as you thought about that day again. The memory still brought pain. You swallowed hard, pushing through, “Before she died, she gave me this picture, told me my father was a hunter, named Robert Singer, and that he left to protect us.”

Your father leaned back, “That sounds like [y/m/n]. Stubborn woman, she was. You should know I never wanted to leave you guys. But...circumstances.”

You waved off his sentence, “Yeah, Hunter’s life and all. But you could’ve protected us by staying with us.”

He frowned at that, “Now listen here young lady. I did what I thought was right at the time. There was a demon hot on my tail and I didn’t want you or your mother to end up as leverage for it to use against me. You were only a wee babe at the time.” He got a misty look in his eyes, “So small. Innocent of the ways of the world. Your smile made my heart grown ten times. The years of hardened hunting life seemed to melt off me every time I saw your eyes look at me.”

You smiled at his description of you. But you still had questions. “But why didn’t you come back when I was grown up? Why didn’t you let me know I had a father out in the world?”

He met your steady gaze, “I never wanted this life for you. I knew I would bring it right to the doorstep if I ever came back. I wanted to picture you happy. With your mother and maybe a new father to take you out to play catch or something.”

You got up, and started pacing. “Yeah, but that never happened. Mother never remarried. Said that her first love was still too strong in her heart.” You leveled your stare with your father’s at that, Before breaking the gaze, “And she raised me to be ready for the real world. And the real world has monsters. I took years of karate, self defense, survival training. I can take care of myself. The only thing I had driving me after my mother died, was finding you. And now that I have…” You collapsed back onto the couch, holding your head in your hands.

You were shocked out of your thoughts by a hand on your shoulder. You looked up to see your father standing over you, a soft smile on his face, He held out his other hand and helped you to your feet, “And now that you have found me, I want a chance to be the father I never was. What do you say? Give your old man a chance to do right by ya?”

You felt a tear slide down your face, even as a grin found its way to the surface.

You jumped and hugged the old man. Earning you a burst of laughter. You faintly heard bickering and the sound of approaching footsteps. You broke apart from your father in time to see the two Winchester boys coming to the doorway.

The tall one, Sam, looked between you and your father, noticing the happy smiles and bright eyes. “So, Family reunion?”

You laughed, walking up to the brothers, you surprised them each with a hug. “Thanks for bringing me to my dad.”

“Come on, boys...let’s go fire up my stove, I got some steaks waiting in the fridge.”

You followed the three men into the kitchen. Sitting on the stool, nursing a beer, you laughed and shared stories. You felt something you thought you had lost two years ago. You felt peace. You felt love. You had a family again.

[wormonalog]

Spark - Chapter 1

This idea has kind of been developing in my head, so... yeah.

Word Count: 3,871

Readability level: 11-12th grade

Reading time: 14 minutes

Summary: alternative ending to Captain America: Civil War with new character introduced.

Disclaimer - O.C. (original character) and story inspired by some other sources but not based off of Marvel Comics, only what has happened in MCU. This might be completely off the laws/ physics of the Marvel Universe, but I’m not that well educated, so please tell me and I’ll fix it. I do not own the rights to any of the characters created by Marvel except my O.C. 

(Chapter 2 coming soon)

“Mr. Stark?” Peter Parker asked skeptically. He’d just been picked up by the Tony Stark for a secret mission. But when the private airplane landed, he was sure this was not the mission. What would a mission for Iron Man be in an airport in Boston, Massachusetts?

“Oh, I forgot to tell you. We have a sort of… pick-up.” Mr. Stark responded. He led Peter to a car and the chauffeur started driving. Mr. Stark rode in the front with the chauffeur, which left Peter to awkwardly sit in the back. With nothing else to do, Peter resumed the documentary he was doing and narrated about Massachusetts as they drove. He could’ve sworn he saw Mr. Stark smiling at him in a fatherly way through the reflection or the front window out of the corner of his eye. After 15 minutes, they stopped in front of a large brick building that resembled a castle. They walked inside and Peter saw that it was an apartment building. There was an MIT flag behind the reception desk. Mr. Stark walked up to the receptionist and asked her where room 112 was. Then he started strolling to the elevator and Peter followed hurriedly.

“Ummm, Mr. Stark…?” Peter began.

“There’s someone here I want to see,” came the response. So Peter, awestruck followed Mr. Stark out of the elevator and down the hall.

“Mr. Stark? What are we actually doing?” Peter asked as they walked.

“We’re here for another recruit to help stop Captain America.”

“A college kid?”

“Says the high schooler,” Peter sighed in defeat. “Still,” Mr. Stark continued, “This kid’s a genius.”

Mr. Stark stopped at a door a long way down the hall and knocked. There was a large thump then the sound like metal objects flying everywhere. The door flung open to reveal a girl with a deep scowl. Peter was expecting a nerdy student around their mid-20s, but that wasn’t the case at all. The girl in the doorway was around his age if not younger, with her blonde hair strung up in twin Dutch braids. Her pale skin was dusted with scattered freckles across her cheeks. She was wearing light gray sweatpants and a dark green hoodie labeled MIT She was adjusting worn out leather work gloves as she stood in front of him.

“Can I help you?” she snapped.

“Arieanna Lincoln?” Mr. Stark asked. The girl slightly cringed at the name.

“It’s Daesy,” she hissed.

“Can we talk?” Mr. Stark asked. Daesy glanced at Peter, then at Mr. Stark’s briefcase, then back at Peter.

“Sure… just leave your superhero apprentice behind,” Daesy said, glancing occasionally at Peter.

“Kid, please stay out here for a moment, okay?” Mr. Stark asked Peter. Peter gaped wordlessly at him in reply. A million questions flooded his mind. How had Daesy known that Peter was a superhero? Did it have anything to do with the fact that Mr. Stark had wanted to see her? And what would they be talking about behind the closed door?

So Peter was left with so many unanswered questions stuck in his head like water in front of a dam as the door shut in front of him, leaving him to awkwardly stand in the hallway.

After 20 minutes of awkwardly standing in the hallway, the door opened in front to Peter. Mr. Stark stepped out followed by Daesy who dragged a duffel bag with her.

“You’re coming with us?” Peter asked, glancing at her bag.

“Yeah,” Daesy replied walking with him as he started following Mr. Stark the way they came in. “Is that a hint of disappointment in that voice?”

“N-No, i-it’s just that…” Peter apologized looking at her chocolate brown eyes.

“You thought you’d be the only one,” Daesy interrupted, completing his thought. She sighed, smiling. “It’s fine, I get it.” They took a moment of silence as they left the school and climbed into the car that Peter arrived in. The same chauffeur was there, waiting.

“Hey,” she started as the car started moving. “What’s your name?”

“Peter. Peter Parker,” Peter said, scooting in the seat to face Daesy. “Let’s play questions. Okay, so, why the name Daesy? Like, how did you get there from Arieanna?” She sighed and tilted her head back in exasperation.

“If we’re doing this, fine,” she answered sighing and moved to face Peter. “Well, it comes from my middle name, which is Daedalus.”

“That is perfectly reasonable,” Peter replied sarcastically.

“Hey,” she snapped. “It was given to me by my father, who was the most brilliant man in the world, and he shall not be disrespected by you.”

“Whoa, I was being sarcastic,” Peter replied, defensively putting his hands up. He noticed that she used the word “was” to describe her father. Peter wondered why for a second before realizing that he was probably dead. That was at least one thing they had in common, “Besides, my middle name’s not much better. It’s Benjamin.” She stifled a laugh, but barely. That put a small grin on Peter’s  face before he continued sadly. “It was my uncle’s name.” He glanced down.

“I’m sorry…” she said, resting her gloved hand on top of his comfortingly.

 “It’s fine,” Peter glanced around, trying to think of something to change the subject. “How old are you?”

“15,” Daesy replied, a hint of sadness still in her tone.

“Cool, me too,” Peter answered. “How come you’re in college, let alone M. I. T.?”

“I’m actually 5 years ahead,” she answered, and looked down as if embarrassed. She seemed to notice that their hands were still together. She instantly pulled her’s away, pulling up her gloves. “I spent 3 years in elementary school, 1 in middle school and 2 in high school.” Peter stared at her in awe. 

“Tha-that’s incredible,” he replied, staring at her with his jaw hanging open.

“Well, it’s what happens when your mom decides that school is more important than your social life,” Daesy answered bitterly. She turned toward the window in silence to watch the city of Boston glide by. “Anyways,” she continued, turning back around in her seat belt to face Peter again, ”Where do you go to school?”

“Well, it’s not as… spectacular as you, but I go to Midtown School of Science and Technology in New York City.”

“That’s pretty far from here.”

“You are actually pretty far. The Avenger’s headquarters are in New York City.”

“I meant from here. Besides, they moved north. Didn’t you hear?”

“No…” Peter answered. He scooched in his seat toward Mr. Stark in the front. “Is it true that the Avengers moved?” Mr. Stark turned to face him.

“Yeah, but you probably didn’t hear it. We were kind of discreet about it,” Mr. Stark answered. “You guys should get ready, we’re close.” Daesy fidgeted with her duffel bag as the car pulled up to the airport. Mr. Stark handed the chauffeur some money and the walked through the airport to a private plane. Peter was silent the entire way. He felt like he lost a connection to the Avengers, even if he was going on an Avengers mission. He’d known he could never live permanently in the Avengers tower, he had school to go to and other responsibilities, but he could at least go there on weekends. Now, they were a whole flight away, and he couldn’t pay for constant flights. He would be going as much as he could, on every mission he could, but missions for Avengers probably were scarce.

Beside Daesy, Peter walked in silence with his head down. He’d taken it pretty hard that the Avengers headquarters were in northern New York. He was still shocked into silence, even after 10 minutes of walking through the airport. Stark had it completely covered, from her and Peter’s newly created passports to assuring the staff that he should use the airstrip. They boarded a private plane. Stark was busy in his own separate room in the plane, which left a lounge for Peter and Daesy to sit in. There were normal plane seats lining one side and a bar with a sofa and screens lining the other wall. There were overhead compartments above the seats with a small, black suitcase (Peter’s, as Daesy assumed) already in one. She shoved her bag next to it and took a seat in front of Peter. 

A monotone feminine voice told them that they were taking off and recited the safety procedures. Daesy watched as Peter’s leg bounced ceaselessly through it. She reached over and tapped his knee, and it froze almost instantly. Daesy bolted back into her seat, frightened that he’d felt what was beneath her gloves, but he just shook his head.

“Sorry, it’s my first time,” he answered, staring out the window.

“Yeah, I remember mine too…” Daesy trailed off, plunging them again into awkward silence. “Hey, are you okay?” Daesy asked as the plane’s monotone voice announced that they had finished taking off.

“Yeah, it’s just that… with the Avengers in New York City, I had a special bond, you know?” Peter answered, staring at his lap with his dark brown eyes, knitting his brow together almost helplessly. Acting on pure impulse alone, Daesy unbuckled her seat-belt and crouched in front of Peter. Surprising herself, she placed her hands on his shoulders. He must have been surprised too because he lifted his head and dropped his jaw slightly.

“It’s fine. Besides,” she told him soothingly, “You’ll probably be a part of the Avengers after this anyway.” He gave her the briefest of smiles. “Now c’mon, there’s got to be some snacks or something here.” Daesy motioned her head toward the bar and started walking over. She heard a sigh and listened as he unbuckled his seat-belt and walked over to sit on one of the bar-stools as she rummaged through the mini-fridge and got 2 cans of soda. As Daesy handed Peter a can, she took a seat next to him.

“So,” she started turning to face him, “Tell me about yourself.”

After hours upon the plane talking to Daesy and watching T. V. with her, the disembodied voice, F.R.I.D.A.Y. so it called itself, announced that they arrived at the Leipzig-Halle Airport. They exited the plane and followed Mr. Stark through the people-filled airport to a hotel near the airport. 

Peter was brought to his room to suit up, into a new Spiderman outfit especially made for him. Peter walked over Daesy’s room and knocked. Daesy opened the door, still in her M. I. T. outfit, with her sweatshirt’s sleeves rolled up to her elbows.

“Hey, Peter,” she said, looking at his costume.

“Why aren’t you in your superhero costume or whatever?” Peter asked.

“I-I don’t know if I’m gonna fight,” she answered. She looked down at her hands.

“Hey, what are your powers anyway?” Peter asked. She sighed and motioned for him to come inside her room. He did and sat down on the bed. Daesy walked in front and strung her still-gloved fingers through her blonde ponytail. 

“It’s probably better if I just show you,” she said and took off her work gloves. Underneath were not hands with a pale complexion to match the rest of her, but metal hands, shaped to resemble human hands that might have been. The skin met the metal smoothly, so well that had it not been made of metal, it could have resembled a completely human wrist.

“Wow,” Peter said, looking at her face. It was speculative, and Peter realized that she was looking at him to see if he was disgusted by her cybernetic parts. If anything, he was in awe. “Is that your superpower?”

“Actually, I can blast electricity out of them,” she said staring at the ground, “But the last time I attempted that, I… well, someone got hurt and I destroyed a cluster of nerves in my body and destroyed my other hand.”

“Oh,”

“So I don’t know if I should be heading for battle,” she looked down sadly. 

“Hey hey hey,” Peter answered, crouching down to get on her eye level, “I have only spent, what, 4 hours with you…”

“5 hours and 26 minutes,” she interrupted.

“Yea, that, I’ve only known you for that amount of time and I already know that you are the strongest person I’ve ever met. So don’t let something in the past scare you like that.” She nodded and looked up, letting Peter stand up as well. “Besides, you’re a cyborg, you can fight without a special superpower.” 

“Why are there no people here?” Peter asked Daesy as they walked through the airport to a lounge for a fight strategy session. Daesy’s superhero alias was Spark, which Peter thought was cool. She was wearing an awesome superhero costume. The costume even included a full face transformation, putting on a layer of artificial skin that was a dark cocoa color, adding a dark hair wig and heightening her cheekbones. The only thing it didn’t change was her soft brown eyes. Peter could barely tell that it was Daesy, but that was probably good for an identity-hiding disguise. Still, it scared Peter. 

“We are battling Captain America,” Daesy answered, “The last thing that we want is more civilian casualties.”

They entered a lounge to meet two dark-skinned men and a red-haired woman already sitting there. Peter recognized the woman as Natasha Romanoff, the Black Widow; T’Challa, the Black Panther and the new king of Wakanda; and took a second to recognize James Rhodes, War Machine. Daesy walked up to T’Challa and started speaking in a language that Peter didn’t understand. They gave each other a comforting hug and sat down as Mr. Stark began his speech. 

“So,” he began, “You probably know why we are all here. Steve Rodgers has escaped containment and we are here to stop him. I have gathered you all to help me do that. Currently, Rodgers has his old friends Bucky Barnes, and Sam Wilson, who escaped detainment with him, on his side. He also has Wanda Maximoff and Clint Barton on his side, too. Now, they are probably hiding somewhere in this airport. Their goal is to reach the Quinjet, which is in hangar 5, north runway.

“So, Rhodes, T’Challa, Natasha and I will go out and try to talk some sense into Rodgers, hopefully capturing him, Barnes and Wilson. If not, Peter here will flip in and steal Rodgers’s shield and cuff him. The code word will be ‘underoos’. Got that, kid?” Peter nodded, “His buddies will come out to save him and…”

“No,” Natasha interrupted. 

“What do you mean?” Mr. Stark asked, taken aback by her sudden interruption.

“They won’t be coming out to untie him, they have Clint, so he would just send an arrow to untie whatever this kid cuffs him with.”

“It’s Peter…” Peter answered, but was cut off by Mr. Stark.

“So, after that, I’ll find Wanda. Natasha, you get Clint. Peter, you and Daesy take care of Wilson and Barnes, and T’Challa and Rhodes, get on Rodgers.”

“You trust these kids to get Barnes and Wilson?” James Rhodes asked, glancing from Mr. Stark to Peter to Daesy.

“I do, they are more powerful than I could ever make our suits to be,” Mr. Stark replied. Peter beamed with pride and looked to Daesy. He was surprised to find her staring blankly at her lap, fidgeting with her work gloves.

“I don’t know if I’ll be able to control my powers…” she started. T’Challa told her something in the other language and she nodded.

“All you have to do is tie ‘em up and get to the Quinjet to protect it should you feel like it’s too much. By that time, everyone should meet on the runway and Vision should be here by then. We’ll have our final stand there.”

“Gotcha,” Daesy muttered under her breath when she finally located Barnes and Wilson using her internal computer via her retina display. With simple thoughts, she had hacked into all of the security cameras throughout the airport and found them. She told Stark where they were through the communication earpiece, including the location of Barton and Maximoff and started running toward where Barnes and Wilson were. 

As she ran, she continued the research she had started when she was “sleeping” on the plane: why were they fighting? The answer had come up immediately, Stark thought that Barnes had bombed the meeting in Vienna and was a psychotic murderer, and Steve Rodgers thought that he was innocent. But did what side did the evidence take? Barnes was seen at the scene of the crime moments before the bomb went off, so that clearly went to Stark’s side, and he went completely murder mode at the prison where he was captured. But, on the other hand, the power went out just before Barnes escaped his holding cell, where he was being questioned. Also, Barnes was located in Romania not 2 hours after the bombing, so how could he have gotten there so fast? 

So many things were racing through her head as she slowed down to sneak into the corridor that Barnes and Wilson were in. They stood there, scanning the airport below. Daesy sneaked behind a pillar, watching them. Wilson said something into his earpiece, then moments later, Stark said into the earpiece to get Barnes and Wilson. Daesy stepped out from behind the pillar just as Barnes and Wilson were about to run the other direction.

“If you would ever be so kind,” she started. They halted and turned towards her. “Please come quietly. It would make the job Stark gave me so much easier.” Barnes and Wilson exchanged glances, looking like they were trying not to smile. Daesy had to admit, it was kind of funny, at least from their perspective. A teenager, looking like a cosplayer telling a trained assailant and military pilot to "come quietly". They were clearly underestimating her. Their mistake. Wilson walked forward with pistols in both hands."I really don't want to hurt you," Daesy said as he advanced. 

"Should have thought about that before joining Stark,” he said, lifting the guns. Before he even fired, Daesy grabbed the guns by the barrel, bending the metal, and judo-threw Wilson on the ground. He groaned, rolling on the floor. It must have hurt more with his wings on his back. Daesy cracked her neck, turning to Barnes. They ran at each other and started battling hand to hand, metal to metal. At one point, Peter had swung in and was fighting Wilson over their heads. Eventually, she and Barnes got to a point where it was just one person trying to punch then the other person blocking and throwing another punch.

“What were you doing in Romania?” She asked him in Romanian (she had a translator in her internal computer), earning a surprised expression from him.

“Just minding my own business,” he responded in Romanian. It took a few seconds for Daesy to translate. “Then, as it turns out, I bombed the United Nations 1000 kilometers away.”

“So you weren’t in Vienna?” she asked.

“No.”

“Okay.. why did you try and murder Captain America and everybody in that prison?” Daesy jumped over him and put him in a choke-hold.

“It’s something that HYDRA did to me. The doctor, he activated the Winter Soldier that HYDRA created in me and sent me to... do something. Honestly, I can’t remember,” he answered, then tossed her over his head. She fell on her back, pretending to be really hurt. She had got what she needed.

“Spidey!” she yelled in English at Peter. She winked at Barnes, hoping he’d get the message that she was pretending. He did and started walking towards her like he was going to kill her. She hoped he was pretending as well.

“Is that what you’re calling me now?” Peter called back, jumping across the walls to dodge Wilson flying at him.

“Would you rather I yell your identity?” she screamed, scrambling away from Barnes.

“True,” Peter answered, swinging towards her. He shot a web at Barnes, hanging him up from the ceiling.

“I’m really sorry,” she said quietly to Barnes as he flew up to be held by his ankle. Peter had gone back to battling Wilson, so she sprinted out of the corridor and towards the Quin-jet. As she ran, she once again researched the reason they were battling. The doctor that interviewed Barnes was the villain. Soon after Barnes was captured, Theo Broussard was sent to question him. Daesy looked at the security footage and found someone that didn’t match Broussard’s face. Instead, it was recognized as Helmut Zemo, an ex-soldier for the Sokovian military. His wife, daughter, and father had all died in the Avengers’s fight against Ultron. Daesy guessed that that was motive, getting back at the Avengers for destroying his life. When she’d reached the Quin-jet, she looked out at the airfield. Captain America was running and gathering his allies. For battle.

“Shit,” she muttered and sprinted out. Vision appeared and blazed a line in front of the team. Stark’s team also assembled, Peter flipping in to join them, and Daesy realized that they were going to fight. And a fight between the Avengers would have catastrophic endings. Daesy ran faster.

“Captain Rodgers,” Vision said, “ I know what you think you are doing is right, but for the good, I cannot allow this to continue.” Then both teams started sprinting at on another. As soon as they were 10 feet apart, Daesy stopped between them, her hands outstretched to face both teams.

“Stop!” she yelled, willing her hands to send out an electric blast. She hadn’t done it in years, and she wondered if it had done more damage than she meant it to. I didn’t seem so, as everyone stopped and looked like they had been stunned. “Stop fighting!”

“Kid, get out of the way!” Stark yelled, lifting his hand to send an energy blast to Captain America, but the blast didn’t come. “What did you do?”

“I disabled all of your tech,” she explained, turning to face everyone, “So that we can talk this out like civilized adults.”

“I don’t know who you are,” Steve Rogers said, stepping forward, “But I know you have no idea what you are doing.” 

“Really?” she laughed, “Sorry, Mr. Rodgers, but I seem to be the only person who cares about figuring out why we’re fighting instead of fighting blindly. So, care to explain why you’re fighting, Mr. Stark?” She stared straight at him, daring him to talk back.

“Well,” he answered, “Cap here needs to let his old pal Bucky to go to jail, after the various crimes he has committed, mainly the murders of over—”

“He didn’t do it, Tony...” Rodgers interrupted.

“Captain, might you let the actual person who did it do the talking?” Daesy replied right after he finished. Rodgers clenched his jaw, and let Barnes step forward.

“I did commit those murders,” Barnes began, earning a sharp laugh from Stark. Daesy shocked him again. “But not on my own accord. HYDRA brainwashed me and programmed me to kill those people...” he looked at Stark, “including your parents.”

[flashynroll]

House Call, Part 2

The detective sauntered down the concrete alleyway, as his protégé tread with a light step behind him. Eyes felt something, a feeling he hadn’t known in years. Was that… Music? He could feel the abrasive beat against his chest, a bass level unrivaled by wasteland technology.

Fish rapped his knuckles against the steel door with a metallic echo, and almost instantly, the slat in the door opened and a deep voice emanated from behind the passage

“State your business” it said

“It’s Fish, V expects me.” Fish answered, Eyes  genuinely terrified of what could possibly lurk behind that door.

The voice spoke in a foreign tongue to its comrades, and turned back to the opening in the doorway

“He’s in the back.” It said, slamming the slat back shut. The unmistakable sound of latches and bolts unlocking could be heard from the other side of the door, and opened inwards for the two of them. The music was considerably louder inside, and shook Eyes to the core on every beat. It was some sort of gangster rap music, but in a language unknown to Eyes.

The voice was revealed to be a four-armed monstrous man with hands like wrecking balls. He wore a white tank top over his hulking muscle structure, and upon further examination, had rock-like shards spreading across his entire body. Marked on his shoulder was a tattoo of a triangle with a single eye in the center.

Fish and Eyes entered the building, which elicited the slight glance from a few menacing , but nothing serious. This alone was enough to startle Eyes, who sidestepped behind Fish who was busy lighting a cigarette. Fish stepped forward towards a large wooden bar, once a glorious altar to friends and drunks alike, the dark oaken bar was now a lively spot for anyone with the coin and a willingness to step above the law.

Fish, a regular drinker as Eyes had observed, mounted a worn leather and wood barstool, surely seeing its fair share of late nights.

“Fish!” A voice called from the left. Eyes, still contemplating whether to sit or not, looked up immediately to see a man, well dressed in white and black. His body was truly nothing more than a white circle with arms and legs and a single monstrous eye in the center of his torso.

Fish looked up to meet the circular stranger’s gaze, and his face perked up a bit

“Cuz, long time no see. It’s been a while lil’ guy, how’s the bar?” “Not too bad” Cuz responded, his eye slowly shifting to meet Fish’s thousand-eyed comrade. “What’s the deal with your tagalong? Witness Protection? Suspect of a crime? Someone kill his family?” “Business. None of yours actually.” Fish responded sternly. “Well jeez, pal. Didn’t mean to get you all rough in the gills. Let me make it up to you.”

Cuz pulled a roughly marked glass bottle with a dark liquid inside of it and poured some into two glasses.

“We square?” Cuz asked, sliding one of the glasses across the bar to Fish.

“Sure.” Fish replied  

“Listen Cuz, you’re my favorite barkeep, but I’m not here for the rotgut. Not today, at least. We’ve got business with your brother.”

Eyes stood beside Fish contently and nodded as if to back up his point.

“Alright, I get it. You come by for the first time in weeks and you don’t want to have a drink with ol’ cuz. No worries mi amigo, I love you too.”

“Let’s not get all offended here, I’ll be back for that drink, don’t worry.” Fish reached into his coat pocket and dumped a small pile of coins which Cuz quickly slid across the bar and funneled into a glass container. He got off the stool and looked at eyes, waving a finger to motion for him to follow. Fish and Eyes walked across the bar, ducking past patrons far larger than the two of them combined.

In the back of the bar, a tall ornate maroon door stood in a golden frame, guarded by two of the larger well dressed patrons. One looked down at the duo, and stepped aside allowing them entry. Fish promptly opened the door as Eyes examined what lie behind it. Realizing that some no one larger than him was in the room beyond, Eyes sped through the ten foot door frame eagerly.

The room beyond was the cleanest, most luxurious display Eyes had ever seen, the carpets were stainless, monogrammed with a “YV” patterned across the area of it, shining pillars rose from ceiling to floor, standing spotless and shined, and a gigantic golden chair stood behind a desk that appeared to have been polished every day for a thousand years.

The chair began to swivel slowly, and the occupant was revealed. On the cushion sat a triangle, he was simply that. Nothing more than a triangular body with a single eye and limbs. He wore a white pin-striped suit and a shining gold revolver at his side. He sat up in his chair and placed his hands on the desk.

“Fish. Thank you for coming. Your associate as well.” The figure said, his eye studying the two of them.

Fish took a cigarette from his breast pocket and lit it promptly. “What do you have for me, V” He said, busy taking his first drag.

“First things first, it seems you owe me an introduction to this one.” V said, gesturing towards Eyes

“Right, right. This is the kid I’ve been keeping around. I just call him Eyes, shouldn’t be too hard to see why” Fish said, chuckling at his own joke.

V forced a laugh, then met one of Eyes’ many stares. “You know who I am, boy?” Eyes shook his head nervously, wondering if he should

Fish turned to Eyes “This is Yung Venuz. Head of the Venuz gang, a legitimate businessman who has often been wrongly accused of revolutionary crimes.” Venuz laughed, this time legitimately.

Eyes’ stare widened, now realizing the caliber of criminal he was dealing with. Venuz, not nearly as physically threatening as any of the mutants in the bar was the mastermind.

“Look at the kid, you scared him I think” Venuz said, forcing words between laughs. “Come here, kid, I’ve got something to show you” Venuz dismounted his chair, and Eyes waited for the sound of his feet to hit the ground, but it never came. As Eyes walked across the room, he soon realized that not only was this the criminal mastermind of the city and beyond, he could levitate.

Venuz pulled open a drawer of his desk, inside it were more revolvers than Eyes had ever seen in his entire life. The boss picked one up, inspected it, and held it towards eye, handle out.

“Take it kid, you’re going to need it if you’re working with this guy” Venuz said, gesturing backwards to Fish.

Eyes slowly and reluctantly grabbed the handle of the revolver. He felt its weight, which was a surprising realization, as he had never held a weapon in his life.

“Well, seems like you owe me for that gun then, right?” Venuz asked

Eyes looked up from the firearm immediately, staring nervously at Venuz.

“Looks like you’re tagging along on the job then.” Fish said “So what is it, V? Someone get shot again?” “I wish, my friend. But this one is a bit uglier.” Venuz walked over to a maroon and gold wardrobe along the wall. He sorted through various sizes of an identical uniform consisting of a black dress shirt and pants, white vest and white armband with a logo of Venuz on it. He pulled two sets from the closet and closed it back up. “Someone’s been stealing from our supply posts in the desert. My boys don’t usually get put on the outposts without a clearance to shoot anyone who isn’t one of us, so you two are going to need these.” He tossed each of them a uniform.

“I don’t have the slightest damned clue what’s happening over there, but I need two out there who aren’t one of mine.” Fish inspected the uniform “White isn’t really my color, V. But hell, it’s a job.” He stretched his hand to Venuz who accepted his shake.

“I want you two out there as soon as you can, I’ll have a map drawn for you. You have my clearance to shoot the bastard when you find him.” Venuz said

Fish took a drag from his cigarette, and met Venuz’ eye. “We’ll find him, V.”

The two shook hands, and Fish turned, uniform in hand. Eyes, still distracted by his revolver, looked to see Fish leaving and ran after him.

“Let’s go, kid. And don’t shoot anybody til’ we get there.”

[jetbootcollection]

The Bar with no Name on the Astral Plane

This is a fic focusing on the Voltron Lions. Because the Lions deserve to be main characters too. I’m sure there is a typo in there somewhere. Happy hunting!

For the first time in ten thousand years, Voltron had been formed. The newly minted Paladins did not even know where the Lion’s hangars were yet, instead meeting Princess Allura at the front gate of the Castle. Once the adrenaline of the fight had worn off, Allura directed each Paladin to their hangar hidden in the Castle’s spires. Hunk is the last to be guided into place, nearly colliding with the hangar walls twice. He disembarks, and Yellow watches him disappear through the door on his way to meet the others.

Yellow feels a tug on the edge of his mind. Red is inviting him to the mindspace they share. It takes time to focus enough to project himself into the mindspace, seeing how they have been apart for so long. The Lion’s massive mechanical body seems to melt away as he reaches out for his brothers and sisters, eager to be reunited with them.

By the time all the Lions arrive, the residents of the Castle are asleep. They choice their physical forms, each defaulting to a glowing version of their new pilots. Even after ten thousand years, it takes only a moment to recognize one another.

Yellow is big and boisterous as ever, with no indoor voice unless the situation is serious. He finds Hunk’s form much more agreeable than his last Paladin. She had been thin as a rail.

Red has fire in her eyes and a good natured but wicked smile. She likes Keith’s form for what it is, but lacks a certain something. A tail would be great for balance if she decided to do some running.

Blue is relaxed and high strung at the same time. Always ready to leap into action, but prefers to just lay around lounging until the time comes. Lance’s form is too tall for her liking, but adores the voice.

Black is an imposing and protective presence. Not that he tries to be, it just happens. Shiro’s form is far too small, but even Zarkon’s younger form reminded him too much of was he had been forced to do.

Green is quiet and reserved, but can still take the lead of a conversation if she is interested. Pidge’s form was… odd. She did not know what it was, male or female. It was both, yet neither. It must have to do with her Paladin’s mental image of themselves.

The Lions greet each other and begin building an environment to interact within the void that is their mindspace, but are interrupted by an unfamiliar presence. One that was pink.

“Where…am I?” Allura asks. She sees the luminous humans before her but knows they are not the Paladins that had awoken her from cryo sleep that day.

“Well THIS is most unexpected! Come, Princess, and know us better!” Yellow blasted, startling Allura. He picks her up and rests her on his shoulder with gentle but infinite strength.

“Are you… the Lions? How can this be?” Allura wonders aloud, looking from one Lion to another from her new perch. Red knows she has nothing to contribute to the coming conversation and goes off to build a place to congregate while they catch up, with Green following right on her currently nonexistent tail.

“We are ‘magical space lions,’ as our Paladins like to say. This place a representation of our shared bond to one another. Even we do not understand how it came to be a traversable domain.” Black explained. “But even a Paladin would need a strong bond and an invitation to join us here. Your presence is most puzzling.”

“It could be that Alfor linked her lifeforce to our own. That was how Yellow and Green were found.” Blue offered as a solution. “Such a link would not require an invitation, and would certainly be a strong enough bond.”

“It matters not. She is welcome as my guest.” Yellow protested, seeming to sense an unwelcoming tone in Blue’s voice that simply was not there. He turns to his older brother, and seeing Black give no objection to Allura’s intrusion, he continued. “Now, let us see what Green and Red have been constructing in our absence.”

In the near distance of the void stood several tables, light fixtures that floated in midair, and a long countertop with stools. Behind this countertop was several shelves that were packed with a multitude of bottles. Not a single wall was to be found, but the arrangement of furnishings gave an impression of a closed room.  

“This looks interesting. What has the handiwork of the arms of Voltron wrought?” asked Blue as they approached.

“Keith calls it a ‘bar.’ It is a place of libations that requires a level of maturity to enter.” Came the response from Red, forming a series of sturdy looking chairs with a wave of the hand. Allura is slightly put off by what appears to be Keith referring to himself in the third person. Even more off putting was ‘his’ body language being clearly feminine. She had known Keith for mere vargas, yet she knew enough for the Red Lion’s actions to feel unnatural.

“Shiro knows of these ‘bars’ as well. He would not think highly of Keith’s knowledge of such things if he knew. This seems like a strange choice of venue.” Blacks said, concern edging into his voice. His knowledge of such a place came solely from Shiro, who saw them as places of debauchery.

“It was my idea. Red informed me of the effects of a place such as this and I decided it would be a benefit to us all. However, I was not expecting Alfor’s daughter to join us.” Said Green. Black had watched over the small lion since before she was built, and knew something had to be troubling her to choose such a place to meet.

“Allura is most welcome!” Yellow decreed, taking the Princess from his shoulder and lifting her as far away from the others as he could, as if expecting them to have any intention of sending her away. Allura squeaks in surprise as she suddenly feels several times higher off the ground than her eyes would have her believe.

“Put her down, Yellow. You are scaring the poor child.” Blue said gently, motioning for him to lower his precious cargo. Green and Red both nod their approval. Finally content that Allura was staying, Yellow’s expression softened and he set her down. Allura gives Blue a thankful smile.

“With that settled, show me what this ‘bar’ has to offer.”

Allura had recognized the smell of alcohol when the first bottled had been opened, and made the wise decision to abstain from whatever the bottles contained. Surely anything powerful enough to alter the mind of a Lion would be enough to hospitalize her. And alter them it had; they had loosened up so much that they spoke more like the Paladins they resembled, even using some of the same strange phrases.

Yellow, Allura, and Black are seated at a round table, sharing stories of the time before the war and their thoughts on the new Paladins. Blue is fascinated beyond words with the billiards table, more than content to simply roll the balls around and watch them bounce as she sips her cocktail.

Nearby, Red experiments with the ‘jukebox’ devise. Of the memories she had seen from Keith, how to operate this contraption was not one of them. Small black disks were carried by a mechanical arm that brought them to a central data retrieval station, allowing their contents to be heard. The music the disks contained was foreign and lacked the ebb and flow of Altean music, but not unpleasant to listen to.

Green is slouched over the bar, demanding another drink from the faceless bartender she had conjured into existence after it became clear that none of them knew what to do with the bottles. The combined knowledge of the Paladins came together to form a competent servant. Black notices the three glasses already crowding around her and kicks himself for being too wrapped up in his stories to have seen it. He goes to see if she is alright, bracing for whatever acidic comments she may have for him.

“Quiznakl’ku you old cat.” Green spits as he nears.

“Tha’s no way to talk to Black, missy!”  Yellow called from the table, tankard of ale in hand. “Now get your bobtail over here where we can see ya. You’ve had enough.”

Green looks like she is about to explode with anger. Black wisely takes a step back. “Don’t call my tail short ya fat bastard!” Allura could almost see Green’s head morph into a more lion-like shape as she turns to face Yellow, but the only true change to Pidge’s form was the sharp teeth that were brought to bear. She had almost forgotten that the people around her are far more powerful than they appear, capable of altering every facet of their environment.

Black moves to put a hand on her shoulder, half restraining and half comforting. She calms down enough to sit back on her stool, teeth returning to normal. After a moment, Black holds her arm to lead her to the table. “No.” she protests weakly before the tears start to well up.

Blue and Red watch from afar, distracting themselves from the commotion by playing an actual game of billiards. They share a look to wordlessly agree that the boys could handle the ramblings of a drunken Green.

“Pidge…I mean, Green, whatever is the matter?” Allura asked the small Lion. It had not been the first time she mistook one of them for their Paladins, and it would not be the last. Green looks as if she is being led to the gallows, sobbing by the time she sits at the table.

“I g-gave up.” She cried wetly as her face rested on her arms.

Black isn’t sure what to make of it. “Gave up on what?”

“ME!” Green yells as she snaps her heads to look at Black with angry red eyes before limply falling back into her arms to continue sobbing.

Everything stops. The bartender freezes mid step. The music hangs in the air. Even the billiard balls ricocheting around the table come to a standstill. Allura could feel the wall-less room become smaller as the Lions focused on Green and what she had said.

“Come again?” said Yellow, so softly that Allura nearly jumped at the new, smaller voice beside her.

Allura didn’t see Red close the distance between them but she was holding Green a tick later none the less. Green cries deeply into her sister’s shoulder. “I’m not like you guys. It was so l-lonely.”

“oh.” Said Yellow, quieter still.

The Lions let her work through the tears and the tension slowly falls. The billiard balls lazily resume their motion and the bartender slowly returns to his duties.

“We all get it, but you’ve scared Allura.” Red said softly as Green continued to cry into her shoulder. “She can’t feel you like we can.”

“Okay.” Green said with a shudder, sniffling as she tries to dry her face with her sleeve. Seeing how distressed the small humanoid was made Allura want nothing more than to comfort the Lion. But by the way Blue was circling Green as a mother circled a wounded cub, she knew to keep her distance.

“I never knew what it was like to not have a Paladin before.” Green started, face still moist. “My Paladin had been there the day I came into the world. I didn’t even have legs yet.” Green chuckled sadly as she remembered her first Paladin.

Black had a similar experience. Zarkon had been a part of his construction, after all. The difference being that he had been quite happy to turn away from his former Paladin when he betrayed them. Blue, Red, and Yellow had all lost a Paladin before the war broke out and remembered how hard that had been. First the loss, then the emptiness that could only be filled by a Paladin. They had learned to cope with it, but had done so with the support of the others. None of them come fathom going through such pain alone.

“Alfor sent us away, told us to wait. And I waited, and waited, and…” Red had to rock her gently to keep Green from crying again. “…and I gave up.”

Allura thought back to the time before the war. The first Green Paladin had been inseparable from his Lion. The Green Lion was the last of the Lions to be built and had been only a few decapheebs old by the time Zarkon betrayed them. She was by no means a child, but inexperienced nonetheless.

“How long did you make it?” asked Blue, sounding as if she was trying to encourage a failing student.

“After 7000 years was when I put my particle barrier down. 7400 before I let the vines overtake me.” Green said, sounding ashamed of herself. “I just laid down on that temple and let those dumb sloth things worship me like a statue.”

“But you got through it, sis. Remember how bad Yellow was the first time? He found a new Paladin within a quintent and still spent the next three nights crying.” Blue said teasingly.

“Hey now. There’s no need for that.” But it was too late. Green was already a giggling mess.

Allura was amazed by how fast things had turned around. Green joined them at the table for more stories with only puffy eyes to even hint that she had been a wreck mere moments ago. At some point, while Black was telling an embarrassing story about the time they had visited a slime planet, she drifted off to sleep.

Allura awoke to the squeaking of mice. She had a strong desire to return to her dream, but could not remember what it had been about. A quick glance at her bedside ticker informed her she had slept in.  It’s not like they know my sleep schedule anyway. She thought to herself.

Making her way to breakfast, she finds the Paladins already poking their way through their plates of food goo. She takes her place at the head of the table, next to Pidge. Shiro starts to brief the team on plans for a training regimen to get them all into fighting shape. As Garrison cadets they were by no means fat or lazy, but it was clear they all needed combat training if they were going to save the universe.

Pidge goes to raise their glass to their lips when Allura puts a hand on their wrist to stop them. “I think you have had quite enough, Pidge.” She says without knowing why. Everyone gives her a questioning look, including herself.

“Princess, it’s just water.” Pidge said while swirling the contents of the cup. “You make it sound like I’m some wino coming off a bender.” Shiro’s eyebrows shoot up. Surely Pidge was too young to know about such things. Lance and Hunk have similar reactions.

“I’m sorry.” Allura says, withdrawing her hand. “For some reason I…I’m sure it was just a dream.”

In the depths of the Castle the Lions share a knowing purr.

  Notes:

Quiznakl’ku translates to ‘go quiznak a thorn bush.’

I’m not good at writing drunk people. I’ve been to a bar a grand total of ‘once’ and only had a single hard lemonade. The friends I went with had work in the morning, so I didn’t exactly get a lot of data.

I like to think that the build order for the Lions went Black, Blue, Yellow, Red, Green. And that Black’s wings were a late addition, the same time Red was built. Hence the color.

My friend @zephynight is entirely to blame for this fic coming to fruition. At least someone understands how I feel about AU oversaturation. Seriously, how many coffee shop and university AUs do we need? Canon compliant works just fine for me. 

[virgowriting-blog]

Kagehina–College Bar AU

Chapter 1

Summary: Kageyama, college student, is struggling to battle the constant gnawing of loneliness. One night, though, in the bathroom stall of a college bar, he overhears something which could change that completely...

-----

Kageyama enjoyed being alone.

Ever since he was younger, he's been on the extreme introvert side of the spectrum, keeping to himself throughout school. Maybe it was his too harsh facial features that he couldn't seem to soften, or maybe it was his intense love of volleyball that distracted him from socializing. Whatever it was, though, he was always alone, and he didn't mind. He found comfort in it.

Recently, though, he's been feeling a bit lonely.

Alone and lonely are two completely separate concepts. Kageyama has become quite familiar with this over time, considering that he could be alone for months in a row without ever feeling that desperate ache in the pit of his stomach that comes with being lonely.

His fist clenches around his shirt, crumpling up the fabric against his skin as he struggles against the ache.

The ache has been revisiting him much too often lately. Usually a one-nighter with some random guy from a bar cures it, but recently it's been gnawing at him no matter how many hook-ups he endures.

Why now? he thinks to himself. He has finals the following week, and he desperately needs to be burying himself in a Calculus textbook. He can't spare the time for hook-up after hook-up, guy after guy, having sex all night when he should be studying all night. And yet, before he even realizes what he's doing, he finds himself grabbing his coat and keys, not even bothering to smooth down his hair before making his way out of his apartment and towards his car.

When he arrives, the scene is just as it usually is. The bar itself is quite loud: party music blasting, colored lights flashing, sweaty people dancing. Despite it being a Tuesday, the bar is as vibrant and lively as ever. That's the beauty of being the most popular bar at his college campus. Kageyama always gravitates directly to the stools by the bartenders, taking his seat and enjoying the act of targeting his next prey.

You wouldn't think that Kageyama would be the one hitting on guys, especially considering his naturally introverted nature. In fact, it was kind of surprising to Kageyama as well. But, the first time he came to the bar, he got hit on by guys that he was not at all interested in, and finally decided that he would be better off going directly after someone who he actually liked. It was only logical, and he would waste less time in the long run. To some guys, Kageyama was too intimidating, but he found that he could be intimidating in a hot way if he tried. Besides, usually a guy who's sitting alone at a bar on a random weeknight isn't too particular about whose bed he's sleeping in.

Apparently he spent too much time mulling over his thoughts, though, because pretty soon a drink is slid up to him by the bartender. He knows for a fact he didn't order it, so that can only mean that someone bought it for him.

"Who's this from?" Kageyama asks, though it ends up coming out sounding a lot more sharp and cold than he had meant for it to sound.

"They said to keep them anonymous," the bartender shouts over the music with a shrug, turning back around to mix another drink. Kageyama blinks mindlessly towards the beer sitting in front of him.

It's not just any beer, though. It's the same beer he's been getting every night this past week.

Someone's been paying attention to him.

Kageyama contemplates this for a moment, slowly taking a sip out of the bottle that feels all too familiar in his palm after this past week.

"Hey, bartender," Kageyama says, shouting slightly so he can hear him.

The bartender, who was now wiping down the counter, looks up. "What can I get you?"

"Can you, um, get that anonymous guy a drink when he finishes whatever he's got? On me," Kageyama finishes, scratching the back of his neck and handing over his credit card.

"Will do," the bartender smirks, taking the card.

Though Kageyama spends the next ten minutes trying to determine who the anonymous man is, the bartender hands out too many drinks for him to possibly figure it out. Frustrated, he spends the next five minutes finishing up a second beer. The liquid cascades smoothly over his tongue and down his throat, and a small, tingly shiver chills down his spine as he dumps the final drops out of the glass bottle.

He's definitely tipsy at this point. Despite being a fairly tall guy, Kageyama for some reason has an extremely low alcohol tolerance level. Apparently he has a low bladder tolerance level as well, so he quickly signs his bill before pacing his way to the restrooms in the back.

Kageyama feels sweet release as he empties his bladder. Once he's finished, he begins to zip up his jeans, when suddenly he hears the bathroom door slam open.

The distinct sound of vomiting echoes from the stall next to his throughout the small, ratty, two-stall bathroom.

"I told you not to drink another one," a voice says, deep and cold like Kageyama's, but slightly more monotone.

Kageyama doesn't exactly know what to do with himself, so he just stands, frozen and listening.

Coughs from the other stall, and the sound of spitting into the toilet. "I know. What was I supposed to do?" asks a higher-pitched voice, slightly hoarse from just throwing up.

"I don't know, not drink it?" the other man responds, sarcasm evident in his voice.

"I couldn't just not drink it. And I really didn't expect him to send me a drink back." There's a short pause. "I told the bartender not to tell him who I was. You don't think he knows do you?"

Kageyama's heart jumps. Are they talking about him? No. They couldn't be. It's probably just a coincidence.

"I don't even know why you're so hooked on that guy. He's not even that hot."

"Have you seen him? And his hair looks super nice today. More shaggy than usual."

Kageyama's hand subconsciously gravitates towards his hair, and he remembers how he hadn't bothered to comb it down like he usually does before coming to the bar.

"Why don't you just go talk to him then, idiot?"

Kageyama suddenly feels extremely uncomfortable eavesdropping on this conversation. It doesn't feel right, no matter if it is or isn't about him. He decides that he'll just exit the stall like a normal human being, wash his hands silently, and leave the bathroom as if they weren't even there. They won't notice him, and then he'll go home. His introverted feelings are kicking him in the stomach, hurting even more than the lonely ache tugging at him, and Kageyama desperately just wants to curl up on his couch with his laptop open to his favorite tv show. Kageyama begins to reach for the lock on the stall door, fingers pul–

"Kageyama would never want anything to do with me," the man responds with a worn sigh. At the sound of his name, Kageyama is now even more frozen than he originally was when the two mystery boys arrived, fingers glued in place on the lock.

The other man releases a tsk in response. "You won't talk to him in class, and you won't talk to him at a bar. Of course he doesn't want anything to do with you. He doesn't even know who you are yet, idiot."

"You don't have to call me that so much," the high-pitched voice grumbles, but the deeper voice continues as if he hadn't said anything.

"Look, he might actually like you if you talked to him. Just try."

There's a shuffle of footsteps and then a flush of the toilet. "You know what? You're right!"

"Of course I'm right," he replies. "Now go home and shower. You smell like vomit."

Kageyama listens as he hears the clicking of footsteps on the tile floor and the opening and closing of the bathroom door. He is left in the muffled silence of the bar bathroom, slightly tipsy, desperately wanting to go home, but also desperately wanting to figure out who that man was.

As Kageyama washes his hands, he racks his brain. One of the two had mentioned a class... Kageyama could feel the sting of regret over never paying attention to his classmates seeping into his bones. The deeper voice had sounded slightly familiar, but Kageyama could not determine where he knew it from. The high-pitched voice–the one he really wanted to figure out–he didn't recognize at all.

After drying his hands, Kageyama opened the bathroom door, walking into the full-volume of the bar.

Only a few steps out of the bathroom, a hand touches his shoulder. Kageyama reluctantly turns around. Expecting to see some crazy drunk guy, Kageyama's eyes widen when he realizes who it is.

His recognition of the deeper voice clicks into place. Tsukkishima, his old high school classmate, stares back at him. He looks the same; slightly broader in the shoulders, but still wearing the same black-framed glasses on his pale face. He has the same short, pale blonde hair and the same apathetic gaze plastered on his face.

"Tsukkishima," Kageyama says blankly.

"It's not very polite to eavesdrop," Tsukkishima responds with a sigh, his eyes trailing towards the bar, though his hand holds a firm grip on Kageyama's shoulder.

Kageyama remains silent, words not forming on his lips, which he now realizes are extremely dry. He tries to lick them, but his mouth has gone dry as well.

"Let's go outside, shall we? It's too loud in here," Tsukkishima says, as if this was an entirely normal situation to be in. As if they were just two good friends, reuniting after several years.

They walk out into the cold air. Tsukkishima shoves his hands in his coat pockets and leans against the brick wall of the building, looking up towards the night sky. Silence passes between them.

Kageyama decides to break the unbearable silence. "How–"

"I saw your shoes as we were leaving," Tsukkishima interrupts, monotone and calculating. "I saw you get up and leave your seat earlier, but I thought you just went home. I actually didn't expect it to be you that came out of the bathroom, but I thought it was possible. Anyone else wouldn't have just stood in a bathroom stall for five minutes." Pause. "Unless they were jacking off, maybe," he adds thoughtfully with a slight tilt of his head.

Both of them let out soft chuckles. They had always shared the same odd, crude humor. In high school, their personalities were extremely similar, and that hasn't seemed to have changed much, if at all.

"Apology accepted," Tsukkishima states sarcastically.

Kageyama, recalling the recent events, actually does feel a bit bad. "Sorry," Kageyama grunts half-heartedly, though not succumbing to making eye contact with Tsukkishima. Instead, he holds his gaze upon a random black car in the parking lot.

"You graduating this year?" Tsukkishima asks.

Kageyama nods. "You?"

He nods in return. The dry conversation feeds into Kageyama's desire to go home, but he also would never back down when competing with Tsukkishima. Not that this is a competition, but it's always easier for Kageyama to deal with undesirable situations if he thought of them that way. First person to run away from the conversation loses.

Deep in his mind, though, Kageyama knew that he wouldn't run away even if he had the chance. He was just waiting for the right moment, the right break in conversation, to ask Tsukkishima who the other man was. Kageyama could still faintly feel the gnawing of loneliness within the pit of his gut, and, though he had never considered himself to be very superstitious and didn't really buy into the whole soul-mate thing, he sure as hell couldn't help but feel like fate was screaming his name right about now.

"I'm not gonna tell you who it is, if that's what you're waiting for," Tsukkishima tells him, steam forming from the heat of his words clashing with the cold of the air.

Kageyama just looks at him for a moment, silent. "Why the hell not?" Kageyama demands, suddenly angry.

"One, because he wouldn't want me to tell you. As much as that idiot drives me crazy, I'm still his friend," Tsukkishima explains. "Two, payback for driving me insane back in high school," he finishes, gaze shifting over to lock with Kageyama's, a smug smirk spread across his face.

Kageyama is fuming on the inside at this point, and he now remembers why he never got along with Tsukkishima back when they were teenagers. He's boiling, but he tries to maintain his composure, not wanting to feed into Tsukkishima's satisfaction.

Kageyama turns around and begins to walk towards his car. Before he's too far away, though, he looks back over his shoulder. "Later, idiot."

Tsukkishima simply smiles, seemingly taking joy in reliving their old bickering ways. Standing up off the wall, he walks away in the opposite direction towards the other side of the parking lot, leaving Kageyama alone.

Alone.

Lonely.

As he arrives at his car, Kageyama's inner rage collapses into sadness. Here he is again, another day gone by, still being pierced by the persistent ache that does not seem to have any plans of leaving. He places his hands on the top of his car, gripping the cold metal tightly within his fingers until his fingertips sting. Leaning into his palms, Kageyama gazes frustratedly down at his shoes.

He hates feeling these feelings. He hates not having control over them. He hates being angry, being jealous, being helpless...

He hates being lonely the most.

Almost instantly, his mood shifts, determination pulsing through his veins. He stands up straight and fights away the tears that had been attempting to fall. Clinging onto his pride, he shuts his eyes and takes a deep breath. In four seconds, hold seven seconds, out eight seconds.

At that moment, in the middle of the parking lot of an overcrowded college bar, something within Kageyama clicks, and his eyes fly open.

He is going to find that mystery man–that vomiting mess of a man–no matter what it takes.

He is not going to be lonely anymore.

[annathescavver]

What Remains Of Us Ch. 3

Far Harbor left much to be desired when it came to food. The plate before her was piled with some kind of meat, slimy and dark. It smelled so strongly of the sea - fish and mud and rot - that Anna could barely choke it down. It was warm, though, and that was something at least.

Outside the Last Plank, rain pattered gently against the windows. A raging storm had rolled through not long before, bringing howling winds that rattled the building’s walls and sounded to Anna like a thousand grieving spirits. It had passed, thankfully, but she didn’t look forward to venturing outside.

Finishing the last of her breakfast, she handed the plate back to Mitch and nodded her thanks. Turning around on the barstool, she pulled her pack onto her lap and dug out her bottle of rad-x. She downed two of the pills.

Movement caught her eye and she looked up to see Longfellow striding towards her. “Morning,” she said. “We all set to go?”

“Yeah, yeah. Where’s your partner? We’re leaving before the rain comes back, so I’m not gonna wait around.”

“Oh, he probably outside.” Anna hopped off the stool and led the way out of the bar. As she had suspected, Nick Valentine was leaning against the outside wall, the shadow of an awning barely keeping the rain off him. He was tucked deep in his coat, shoulders hunched, with a lit cigarette between his lips.

“There he is,” she spoke again. “You ready, Nick?”

“Sure, sure. Let’s get up there and see if we can find Kasumi.”

At that, Longfellow took the lead out of town. He pulled his rifle from his back and held it steady, eyes flickering from side to side. Moving quick, he immediately disappeared into the Fog, leaving the other two to hurry after him.

Only moments passed before Anna was convinced they were in a different world. Silver wisps swirled around them, playful and menacing in equal measure. A peculiar smell tickled her nose and she inhaled deeply. Maybe it was the storm that had just passed. Or maybe it was something more sinister.

They traveled along a prewar road, the asphalt broken to reveal patches of muddy water and stubborn, mutated plants. The sea was to their right, waves steadily lapping the shore. And the wind grew louder the farther they traveled from town until it whistled past her ears and she ducked her chin deeper into her coat to avoid its icy touch.

They traveled for a while without comment. Understandably, Longfellow wasn’t very talkative and instead kept several paces ahead of them, wariness visible in every move he took.

That was, until he stopped, holding out a hand to keep the others behind him. “Get down,” he ordered and pointed towards the remains of an old brick wall. “Trappers up ahead.”

Anna shared a look with Nick as they crouched behind the wall. She had no idea what trappers were, but from Longfellow’s tone of voice, she could guess they were nothing good.

“It’s dark, so they shouldn’t see us,” Longfellow said. “Though they have some kind of primal sense of smell, so be ready.”

Shifting her grip in her plasma rifle, Anna waited. There was nothing but the wind for several heartbeats. And then, out of the Fog came a muffled, almost inhuman laugh. Her blood ran cold at the sound and her many fights with raiders came back to her. If trappers were anything like them, this would not be a good fight.

The silhouettes of four people emerged from the mist. She could see the glint of their weapons: some kind of modified rifle, a long machete, a hook like that used by a butcher, and spiked, rusty knuckles. Even in the cold, Anna could feel the sweat trickle down her spine. Yes. They were just like raiders.

One of the trappers stopped. They stretched out their neck and looked around. Their eyes, visible through the tattered scarf they wore, were wild.

“Fresh meat.” Their voice was gleeful. “Find them.”

The trappers found them in seconds. Anna scurried backward as one of them targeted her. He swiped at her with the machete, the blade gleaming through the mist. She ducked and the smell of unwashed body and blood filled her nose.

“Can you feel it?” Machete taunted her. “The Fog gets us all in the end.”

Anna could imagine. It sure didn’t seem like the Fog cared who you were.

Instead of responding to him, she raised her rifle and fired off a shot. It caught him in the shoulder and he hissed, eyes flashing. Machete dodged to the side, evading her next shot, before rushing her again.

Mud squelched under her boot as Anna spun to meet him. He was too close; too close to use her rifle. The blade barely missed her and her breath caught in her throat as she imagined the damage it could do. She shoved her elbow into his face, the crack of bone loud in her ears. Blood dribbled out of his nose and he stumbled, hands desperately trying to stem the flow. Another shot from her rifle and he was down.

 She looked up, watching as Longfellow barely missed the swipe of the meat hook. Wincing, she watched as he fired several times into the trapper and finished them off. The other, the one who had carried the rifle, was already dead.

The snap of a revolver caught her attention and she looked to see Nick facing the last trapper. The shot had missed, but a second did not. The force of the bullet sent him back a few steps. It wasn’t enough, though. It didn’t stop him. Nick’s face twisted and he fired again, but the trapper ducked before coming at him from below, the sharp spines of the brass knuckles aimed for maximum damage.

Anna started to run, rifle coming into her hands. She skidded to a halt as Nick grabbed the trapper and wrestled with him for several moments, before slamming the backside of his revolver into the man’s temple. The last bullet did not miss.

That was it. That was all four of them.

Anna eyed the trappers until she was certain they would not rise. “Christ,” she breathed, knees weak with relief. “Are you guys alright?”

Longfellow waved off her concern as he walked over to one of the bodies. “Take what you can find. Bullets are hard to come by on the island.”

“Right.” Anna did as he suggested and dug into the trapper’s pockets. There were no bullets - not that it was surprising, given that this man had charged at her with a fucking machete - but she did find a few caps. Not really useful, but she claimed them anyway.

She joined Nick and noted the tear in his coat. “Are you hurt?”

“No,” Nick replied with a shake of his head. “Surprisingly, no. Their brass knuckles caught my coat, is all. You think someone on his island has a needle and thread?”

“Well, we’ll ask around Acadia. Being up on that mountain top, I’m sure their self-sufficient enough to have some.” It was said lightly, but her smile was forced and shaky. “I’m just glad you’re alright.”

They continued up the mountain. The air took on a smell of damp soil and fallen leaves. It was a welcome relief and Anna would have felt a measure of peace come of her, if not for the sorrowful, ever-dangerous forest around them.

Once, they heard a shrill scream and Longfellow explained that it was what people on the island called a fog crawler. It was some kind of mutated sea creature, he said, and Anna was neither surprised nor excited to hear it.

The Fog began to thin as they reached the peak. Eventually it disappeared completely and Longfellow said they would be safe from the rads now. “We weren’t out too long,” he continued. “With the medicine you took, you’ll be fine. This time.”

Of course. There would be other times to travel up or down the mountain. Anna shivered, lifting her shoulders and hiding deeper into her coat.

“Now,” Longfellow said. “This is Acadia. They’ve been watching us for a while now, so you’ll be expected. You two should probably head on in.”

He nodded towards the settlement before them. A makeshift fence - like everywhere in the nuclear wasteland, it was made of scraps and the remains of prewar vehicles - surrounded the mountaintop. Beyond it were several sheds and a few guard posts. And in the center was a tall domed building. The steps leading up to it were crumbling, the concrete falling apart from lack of maintenance. The walls and roof, too, were showing signs of wear.

“Good luck, both of you.” Longfellow shook their hands. “Not like it’s been a pleasure or anythin’, coming up here, but you know what you’re doing. If you ever need a guide again, come find me.”

He turned and started on the trip back down the mountain. With him gone, Anna started up the concrete steps, Nick following close behind her.

The door to the building squealed loudly and Anna winced, wishing for something to oil the hinges with. Inside, it was dark and cold and she stopped for a moment to let her eyes adjust. To their right was a staircase that headed to the lower levels, and ahead of them stretched a long hallway that opened into what appeared to be a big room.

Blue lights flickered ahead and Anna followed them.

The main room was round and full of computer terminals. The blue lights came from the screens, each of which flickered with lines of code. The ceiling was collapsed in parts, the sunlight peeking through the metal. In the middle was a telescope, one that looked like it hadn’t been used in centuries. Before that was a chair. A figure sat there, regarding the sky above.

“When I first climbed this mountain, I thought to myself: now here is a metaphor worth taking in. It was safe; above the Fog. While you’re here in Acadia, synth-kind welcomes you, as long as you welcome us.”

The voice was eloquent. It was quiet and calm, but there was a layer of steel under the surface. There was no threat in the words, and yet the warning was clear.

They stood up and approached the newcomers, their bearing one of hard-earned confidence. It was the kind of confidence that came from facing adversity and standing up, again and again, after being shoved to the ground.

Anna stopped still, her eyes widening as she took in the sight. The figure was a synth - an older model synth. There was no mistaking the metal frame and the worn silicone skin. Their legs were completely wrapped in what appeared to be electrical tape while the rest of their body was exposed metal and wires. What was most striking were the glass tubes erupting from their back, each one of them catching the light from the terminals and glittering like frost.

“What brings you here?” the synth asked. They folded their hands before them, head tilted as they regarded Anna.

“Well,” Anna said and then shut her mouth again, taking a moment to regain her composure. Staring was rude to begin with, and she was sure they didn’t appreciate her acting like she’d never seen a synth before. “The name’s Anna. Nice to meet you. This is Nick, and we’re detectives. We’re here looking for Kasumi.”

The synth froze at her words. Their gaze flickered towards Nick, and then their eyes widened as shock flashed across their face. They took a step back, stumbling in their haste. “No. No, it can’t be you.”

Anna frowned and turned to Nick. “You know them?”

“No,” Nick replied immediately. He looked over at the other synth and his voice became irritated. Anna knew that tone; it meant he felt he was wasting his time, or someone else was wasting it for him. “What’re you trying to pull? Who the hell are you?”

“Nick, it’s me. DiMA. I’m your brother.”

“What?” Nick demanded. “I don’t have a brother. And the only time I see a mug like that is when I look in a mirror.”

Anna stayed silent, watching the two of them interact and unsure of how to respond. Should she, even? Perhaps it wasn’t her place.

“Please, if you’d give me a chance,” DiMA said pleadingly. “We were in the Institute. We left together.”

“Keep talkin’.”

DiMA’s fingers twisted together as he chose his words carefully. “We were prototypes. As far as the Institute was concerned, we were the first synths capable of independent thought and reasoning. I was allowed to develop my personality as I aged, based on my experiences. You...they tried to implant an entire personality into you.

“Each attempt failed, but they just kept trying. I watched you wake up not knowing who you were so many times. I couldn’t let them do it to you anymore. It hurt to see you suffer like that. So I planned carefully, and one night when I knew they wouldn’t catch us, we escaped.”

Anna took a deep breath and slowly slid her hands into her pockets. It was quite the story. Just believable enough, too. But was it true?

Nick scoffed and she heard the note of pain in his voice. “If that’s true, I’d remember.”

“I’m sorry, but that’s where you’d be wrong,” DiMA corrected. The words were brisk, but his voice was gentle and apologetic. “As prototypes, our raw data capacity is limited. I had to reprogram all of these terminals in order to save all of my old memories. It’s...rather unfair.”

“I’ve heard enough,” Nick snapped. He stalked away, shoulders tight with strain. Anna followed him and he drew her into the hallway. “I...I don’t know what to make of this. I really don’t remember him, doll. We should talk about this, but not right now. We need to find Kasumi first.”

“Alright,” Anna said. She placed a hand on his shoulder and gave him a reassuring smile. “We’ll figure this out. After we make sure she’s here and safe, we can come back to this. Sound good?”

“Yeah. Sounds good.”

Anna cradled his cheek for a moment, her thumb smoothing across his skin, before leading the way back into the main room.

“Moving on,” she said and met DiMA’s gaze. “Kasumi Nakano. Have you seen her?”

“Yes. She joined us not long ago. She’s safe.” As if sensing the tension still in the room, DiMA spoke honestly and did not bring up his and Nick’s apparent history again. “Like many others, she came to us with questions. I need you to understand that before you see her. This is a very delicate time for her.”

Anna didn’t doubt that, but perhaps Kasumi was stronger than DiMA gave her credit for. Instead of saying that, however, she only nodded.

“I’m sure you have only the best intentions,” DiMA continued. “But I want to make sure you aren’t here to try and decide for her. Do you think she’s a synth?”

The question was sudden and Anna gaped at him. “I - “ she said and then halted for a moment. “She could be, sure. It doesn’t matter to me either way.”

"It matters to her. She’s facing the possibility of her entire life being a lie. Her entire history programmed by someone else.” DiMA spread out his hands, indicating the entire observatory. “Here in Acadia, everyone is free to come to their own conclusions. It is their life.”

“I understand,” Anna said. “I’m not here to tell her what to think. I just want to make sure she’s alright.”

DiMA nodded, apparently satisfied with her words. “Thank you. She’s usually downstairs and you are free to see her. However, before you go, I have one more question, if you’ll indulge me. I suspect you may have come here for another reason, as well.”

“I did?” Anna asked in confusion. “What’s your question?”

“Tell me,” he said softly. “Are you a synth?”

Anna could only stare at him. Her breath caught in her throat and when she tried to speak, an undignified squeak came out. The question startled her, more so than the last one. This one was personal, and immediately thoughts, ones she had never wanted to give voice to, trickled into her mind. She dropped her gaze, afraid and ashamed. The mud on her boots gave her a measure of comfort as she studied it.

You will hold you tongue, the courser had said. Or I will silence you myself. It will take just a few words.

Heat radiated from her face and her stomach twisted, leaving her feeling sick. She wanted to hide. She didn’t want to face that question. She had tried to forget what the courser had said to her. Like usual. Like she always did when something upset her. Forgetting, or at least shoving the thought into the darkest corner of her mind, gave her momentary relief. It wasn’t healthy. She knew it wasn’t, but sometimes she didn’t care.

Beside her, Nick took an aggressive step forward. “Listen here, pal,” he said coldly. DiMA backed away, hands twisting together again. “Who are you to -”

“Nick.”

Nick stopped and looked back at her. “Anna…”

“No, Nick. Please don’t speak for me.”

The detective lowered his eyes and nodded once.

“Alright,” Anna said to herself. She looked up and faced DiMA again. “I’ll be honest, I’m not really sure I feel comfortable discussing that with you. I would think you’d understand how delicate of a question that is to ask. And presumptuous. Besides, how the hell would I know?”

“If you’re looking for some kind of biological test we could do, there isn’t any,” DiMA replied. He cleared his throat with a considerable measure of discomfort. “None that aren’t fatal.”

“Right. Yeah, cutting into my skull would probably kill me.”

Nick shifted his stance but kept his silence.

“Oh.” DiMA appeared to be puzzled by Anna’s sarcasm. “So instead, you have to look for signs. Odd dreams. Feelings of unexplained isolation. Holes in your memory.”

Anna flinched at the word memory. “Uh huh,” she said lamely. Well, that was certainly true. She did have a lot of holes in her memory. Ones that she honestly couldn’t explain. Ones that had always stood out to her, haunted her, made her wonder.

“Ultimately, you must decide for yourself. What do you believe?” DiMA asked, as if musing his thoughts aloud. He leaned forward, hands folded in front of him. “Have you ever questioned your humanity?”

Anna glared at him. Her jaw was clenched. “No,” she said with only a slight tremor in her voice. “I haven’t.”

“Of course. If you don’t mind, what’s the first thing you remember?”

That was going too far. This entire conversation was going too far. Nick was right; who was he to ask this of her? “I do mind, thank you. That’s personal territory. I’m not going to share that with a stranger.”

“I see,” DiMA said with a knowing nod. He tipped his head to the side. “Perhaps if I were to share my own first?”

“No. We’re not here to share life stories, and I’m not going to share that kind of information with you.” Anna held her ground, her voice low. “If I get to know you better, maybe we’ll talk. Until then, I would prefer if we keep it professional.”

“Of course,” DiMA said. He backed away and, if he was bothered by her words, he gave no sign. “Feel free to roam the grounds, and introduce yourselves to my co-founders, Faraday and Chase. I will be here, if either of you have questions.”

“Sure thing. Thank you,” Anna said and her and Nick left the main room. They headed downstairs, the stairwell echoing with their footsteps.

At the bottom of the steps, Anna stopped. Her skin felt itchy, like she was covered in ants. She scrubbed her hands up and down her arms, trying to banish the feeling. The feeling didn’t go away and she looked back up the stairwell, expression rueful. There was a charisma to DiMA, a kindness that made you feel at ease around him. But it was sweet, sickly sweet. Something about it - something about him - wasn’t right.

“Doll,” Nick said softly.

“I guess I could have been nicer about that.”

Nick shrugged. “We both could’ve been. Though, we have a job to do and it isn’t answering those kinds of questions.”

“What gives him the right to ask them, anyway? I understand him wanting to make sure we’re trustworthy, sure, but still. That’s personal stuff. I don’t - I don’t want to - “

“Doll,” Nick said again.

“Yeah, okay, we have a job to do. Let’s just find Kasumi.”

They found her in the basement, up on a high ladder and with a tool belt around her waist. She eyed them apprehensively before coming down the ladder and dusting her hands on her jeans.

“My parents sent you, didn’t they?” Kasumi looked decidedly uncomfortable. “Well, those people who I lived with.”

“Yeah, they did,” Anna said honestly. “They’re worried and sent us to make sure you’re alright.”

“I am. You found me, so you can go back and tell them that. I’m not going back, though.”

Anna spread out her hands. “Hey, hey, we’re not here to take you back.”

Kasumi was silent for a few moments before she nodded. “Besides, there’s something going on here. There’s something off about this place, but I just haven’t figured it out yet. You’re detectives, right? You could look into it.”

Oh. Well. Anna glanced over at Nick, catching his eye as if to say Who could’ve guessed?

“I suppose so,” Anna said. “What do you mean?”

“Those terminals upstairs, they hold DiMA’s memories, you know? One day I asked if I could help. I like tinkering with things...oh, well you probably already know that about me. Anyway, Faraday agreed and while I was up there I got kind of curious. I mean, there’s decades of experience in those terminals. Don’t tell me you wouldn’t be tempted.”

Tempted, sure, but Anna wasn’t certain she’d poke around in someone’s private memories. “And what did you find?”

“Death,” Kasumi said. “There were data models of death. An explosion of some kind, and estimated levels of radiation. The Fog took over Far Harbor. It was horrible. I...don’t know what it means, but it’s there, in his memories. Someone needs to look into it, just in case.”

That wasn’t quite an accusation, but it came close. “We’ll help if we can,” Anna said quietly. She wanted to say yikes. “We need more evidence before we do anything, though.”

Kasumi looked to the side. “Faraday’s terminal is upstairs in his office. Y’know, off to the side of the main room, with the big window? If you could hack it, you’d probably find something, because he and DiMA are really close. And I’ve seen the three of them go into that lab over there” - here she pointed - “and they come out looking like they’ve been arguing. There’s a storage room next to it. You could hide in there and eavesdrop.”

“We could,” Anna said slowly, with little conviction. “But let’s know overstep ourselves until we know more. We’ll look into it, though.”

“Whatever you do, let me know, okay? I won’t stay here if there’s something that...awful going on.”

“I wouldn’t jump to conclusions,” Anna said evenly. Though the memories sounded bad, there might very well be a reason for their existence. And again, private memories. “You hang tight and we’ll take it from here. And we’ll send Kenji and Rei a message, if you want. Just to let them know you’re alright.”

“Well, yeah, that’s probably a good idea. I guess they should know. Yeah, send them something.” Kasumi didn’t seem convinced and she turned back to the ladder, muttering absently, “Some better tools would be nice. How am I supposed to fix this ceiling with these?”

Anna backed away, sparing a thought about the state of the building’s condition. Maybe she could help with that, too.

“I think we need to look around,” she said to Nick when they were back in the stairwell and out of earshot. “Get to know the others who live here. Then we can decide if we need to dig deeper. My detective skills aren’t on par with yours, though. What do you think?”

With a faint smile, Nick said, “No, I think you’re right. No sense making enemies on day one. Let’s sniff around before we doing anything else.”

“Yeah, sniff.” Anna winked. “So far all I got is this wet coat I’m wearing. Not pleasant.”

“Wiseass,” Nick shot back, with humor.

“Yet you still love me.”

He slid an arm around her waist. “Yeah, I do. Even your bad jokes.”