Separate void for the blocks

I have brainrot and it's going here to stop eating the rest of my brain. They/any, unfotunate adult.

[justathingfromthebrainvoid]

Masterpost

This is my first time doing one of these, so if there's any mistakes please let me know. I'll probably be updating it fairly frequently but we will see how this all goes.

Stranger: GIGGS Phasmo inspired + things in the woods type world, not really all completly connected to each other (1+1 =/= 2), but they are the same thing. The Tag (it's a Strange and Spooky World) Stranger (The Original one, Gem POV) Alien, Guest, Foreigner, Unknown (Pearl POV)

Blood Moon AU: Aka Let Sleeping Dogs Lie, And Loyal Dogs Die (+ extra!) Villian/Hero superpowers au in which Gem and Pearl have drama, mainly HC s10 based, not written in chronological order. AO3 Link (if this breaks or doesn't work, please let me know) The Tag (blood moon au) Chronological Tag Links to Parts and Chronological order (ish) - MAIN STORY Oh, What Could Have Been - SIDE STORY Info Sheets: v.1, v.2, v.3, v.4, v.5 Info and Sketches of the Heroes Tango's Powers Ramble Bonus outfit insperation post for Dancing on A Grave Bonus Ask that has a scene I couldn't fit at the end of Pass Off Heroes Power Breakdown Rambling Info and Sketches of Lizzie and Jimmy Decked Out Rambling Tragedy Chart Random Facts Sheet Holiday Activities Incorrect Quotes Playlist Single Textposts Sketches of Act 2 Tango and Etho Gem Hero Sketches Pearl Sketches Random Gem Things Theory/Answer to those Things Power Worldbuilding Short Post Blood Moon AU Memes (could be used as an introductory post but spoliers) Blood Moon Fanart (!) by Minumist

[erraticprocrastinator]

Not sure about anyone else, but I re-read all my favourite AO3 comments when I’ve had a rough day, so if you’ve ever taken the time to write a deep, funny, or just kind comment, thank-you.

[rocket-sith]

Reblog if you write fic and people can inbox you random-ass questions about your stories, itemized number lists be damned.

[justathingfromthebrainvoid]

As With A Pearlescent Shine

It takes her three days to end up leaving.

Everything feels wrong.

It’s not Pearl’s body in the ground. Ground she can half sense moving as they dig out the grave.

No sword in her hand as easy as breathing. Strength and senses dulled and healing halved.

Pearl used to be able to pick out the lichen on the castle walls. She still can almost, but not the right way, green and growing where it’s meant to be gold and light, and there’s something missing inside her. Hollow space she wants to fill but isn’t sure how. Isn’t sure she can.

She makes it three days.

One day bringing his body back with her to the castle. Passing out.

One day hiding in her room, then his, then the gardens while she doesn’t heal and the air and ground pull at her skin.

One day for the funeral.

The wrong body goes into the ground and Pearl can’t stay.

There’s something that isn’t just grief yawning empty and broken inside her. Part of her that’s been ripped out and replaced with something that doesn’t quite fit.

She doesn’t tell anyone. Has barely spoken since she returned.

She can still feel the sensation of the gold crawling out her throat, the curse dragged with it. The burn on her arm and the feeling of her fingers shifting from just digging in the earth to growing through it, reaching out like a claim she doesn’t have.

Didn’t have.

Won’t.

Can’t.

She leaves and doesn’t tell anyone and no one will question it, but she can’t stay.

Not with the wrong body in the ground, the hollow pull she now feels, the wrong Destiny on her arm.

It’s not hers. The Destiny she has isn’t hers.

No one knows.

Her arm covered since she returned and not enough left of his to tell.

The word scrawled black and defining across her golden skin the wrong one.

Pearl is a Hero.

She’s a Hero.

But that’s no longer what her arm reads.

What she woke up to in a vast deadened circle next to the withered corpse of her best friend when she was supposed to not wake up at all.

Pearl leaves and she runs. The lands sing out beneath her feet like they never have, chorus full of words she doesn’t understand, can’t translate, even as they pull at her like they’re in her mother tongue. She wasn’t born with this power in her blood and bones and soul.

It’s hollow and wanting and she doesn’t understand.

She doesn’t feel that Hero’s surety anymore. The steady pulse half her heart, half the light she’d been made to wield in protection of everyone she can reach.

Pearl’s world was supposed to end that last fight. And in some ways it did, but she’s still here.

She’s not supposed to be here.

And all she can do is leave.

Lands singing up towards her, loud and clamouring. The light empty. Not cold. Just empty. Nothing.

She wants her sword.

--

The gold in her hair, her skin, her everything, is gone.

Pearl didn’t realize it’d leave her. Didn’t realize it could.

It made more than enough sense it would.

And it… helps.

No one really recognizes her, not enough, without the Gold and Light that shone from within her. Without her armour and steady protective presence. Without her sword.

No one looks at her and thinks Hero.

So it helps.

Because no one asks questions about where they are.

Don’t connect the traveling Fighter-Merchant-Villager-Unknown with brown hair and long features to Sain— to a Hero.

It also helps that she's left most of the areas she’d previously traveled far behind.

The towns and villages she’d previously saved.

The lands, claimed, that she can still feel curious and reaching up to her, trying to figure her out. The unclaimed ones sing louder. Pearl tries avoiding those. Until it’s too hard, because even across miles they sing. Until it’s too hard because she can feel the other Lords’ claims in the earth and land, and they don’t like her, ranging from the sensation of spikes on a closed gate armed with Soldiers to an impersonal “you aren’t supposed to be here, don’t try anything.” sort of warning.

She moves around a lot because of it.

The traveling isn’t even an issue. Pearl’s always done that.

Getting work is different. Needing to go and ask around.

Try and learn her changed limitations without letting on they have changed. She’s still stronger than the average Villager, still has all her muscles built up from over the years, but she feels weak. No longer as strong or fast or agile as she used to be.

She’s known that since carrying his body back though.

Pearl travels. Further and further away. Picking up odd jobs, trying not to give herself away. What she was. What she isn’t.

People make assumptions, and thankfully she hasn’t run into an Identifier yet. She’s not sure what they’d even see. But no one she talks to, picks up jobs from, has guessed correctly. Most of them seem to think she’s a Fighter, or a Guard, maybe a Villager.

Pearl still comes off as strange. Most of the time it’s fine. She stays in the area for a bit then leaves.

Most of the time.

Some places are more wary of strange travelers than others. Especially lone ones. Ones who keep their arm covered and seem to feel too much.

It’s… easier to travel with a group because of it.

Pearl doesn’t have as much experience with traveling with groups, but she’s protected them before, helped see merchants back to safety after they’re attacked, almost similar things. She tries to stay with merchants and travelers instead of adventures.

Adventures go after monsters.

And Pearl’s learned since the first group of adventures she’d joined briefly.

Smaller monsters aren’t as bad. Determined Villagers can take one or two of those down by themselves. Far off, isolated villages and houses have dealt with them without calling for a Guard or Soldier. No one questions a traveler with experience in killing smaller monsters.

Almost no Destinies believe they can take something like a group of orc’s on by themselves.

Merchants and traveling groups are safer, choosing to avoid monsters as much as possible.

Even if it feels like another failure on her part.

--

Pearl’s traveling with a trader group at the moment.

Scar, a Merchant who she still hasn’t learned if his name was a coincidence or taken on after getting the numerous scars he wears with a half pride and contradictory attractiveness, apparently sells all sorts of items and kickbacks across most of the northern parts of the continent. Some he makes, some his community makes, some he "acquires" while on the road (though Pearl’s fairly certain the pause and off note he uses is more finding things in ditches and less theft than otherwise implied), and some he buys in one town and sells in another for a higher markup while claiming it’s less.

With the owner of Trader Scar’s Wares and Relics!* (*returns not accepted) comes Grian, a mischievous, wickedly intelligent man who’d only dropped the dramatized secrecy around his Destiny after their second town together when he’d gotten into a fight with another Villager over fishing tactics and they had been shortly kicked out, and Gem, “the Guard for these idiots” and a sharp ginger who comfortably both weaves flower crowns for the group and sharpens a very nice looking sword in the same seat of the wagon. Pearl’s seen her lure rabbits out of the brush to pet and later on gut (hopefully) different ones without blinking.

They're… good. Nice and welcoming, but they don't ask her too many questions, don't push the questions she gives vague to no answers about. They don't ask about her Destiny. Keep a spot open by the campfire but don't push for her to join, at least not too much (especially after she makes soup for the group one night). Pearl still picks up the occasional job in the village or town they pass through, but sometimes on larger jobs she’s not alone, Grian or Gem usually joining her as another set of hands. They talk and joke and bring her in on information and stories all of them already know. Little things that add up over time. Piece by piece building up who they are, who they got here. The group asks her opinions on travel plans and doesn't say anything about how she constantly votes in favor of continuing to move, of going north, or really any direction but south, though they never seem to stray too far that direction to begin with. Only dipping south occasionally and never far enough she does anymore than tense a bit, keeps her head down a bit further and her ears open a bit more.

She asks them about it one day, while they’re traveling three times the distance to a village to the north-east rather than the one a little to the south.

“Oh, Gem’s banished from nearly every other land-holding all south of Vervain.” Scar answers easily, and Grian snickers even as the red-headed Guard smacks him solidly in the arm.

“Huh?” Pearl says before her brain catches up to her mouth. Banishing a Guard was rare, too useful to want to get rid of, but not as important as to stir up trouble. Usually. And Gem was a nice person.

“I took care of idiots.” Gem retorts, crossing her arms with a roll of her eyes. “It's just sometimes those idiots had friends with greater Destinies or had greater Destinies themselves.” And was then banished for enough of them, is the unspoken part. That… that actually makes a lot of sense.

“She also burned down a palace.” Grain adds, dodging another smack as he grins gleefully.

“I burned down a dungeon.” Gem corrects. “The palace was not my fault. How was I supposed to know they made the thing out of wood?!” She complains hotly, and that is a rather stupid building material for a palace.

Pearl doesn’t question why or how Gem was in the dungeon in the first place. Not sure how sensitive that story was. She lets the group tell her the stories they want, not asking questions about the loose threads and half-tangents, and they don’t ask questions of her. It’s a good arrangement. One that might even last a full season if she’s lucky.

They’re a good merchant group to travel with. But it’s not like Pearl expects it to last.

It won’t.

And that’s fine.

--

The world is gold and green when Pearl turns fifteen.

The moon almost full as she sneaks out of the house to go meet up with her friend, her best friend to finally tell him her Destiny. The light revealing everything even if she hasn’t needed it for a long time.

Sausage is practically vibrating when she arrives by the lake, instantly bursting into motion and words when he catches “sight” of her. He says it’s like an awareness, the land, his land, passing back small sensations occasionally. Something he just knows as a Lord, even if he isn’t the lord-Lord of the land just yet.

“Happy birthday! Well not just yet, but it’s really close and you sure you don’t want to be back with your parents for this?” He says, arms spread wide then suddenly retracted as he overthinks things. Rapid speech falling out his mouth like he’d been practicing over and over what to say and then immediately forgot. “Not that I don’t want you here! It’s super amazing and I’m really excited to see you and be here! It’s just parents and I know they’ve been super excited and worried and I’m pretty sure it’s because of your Destiny, and we can technically meet up later, but you’re the birthday girl and also I really can’t argue that much, everyone knows my Destiny but not yours, and it means so much that you’re finally, I don’t mean that in a bad way, showing me, and I promise I don’t care, you’re my Best Friend, I hope you know that. But yeah just so many congratulations and happy birthday, and you sure you want to be here when it comes in?” He ends with, half breathless, and Pearl laughs. Grinning at him bright and glowing.

“I told you, I already got my Destiny, just haven’t been able to do anything with it yet!” She says brightly, almost laughing. “My parents already know, and I was born closer to morning so I’ll be back home when my powers come in.” Pearl had wanted to tell Sausage first though. Have him be the first person to find out other than her parents, and technically it is her birthday now so her promise to not show or tell anyone until now is up.

“So yours does come with powers?” Sausage asks, eager and curious and ever so slightly vibrating with the suspense.

Pearl grins at him, teasing just a bit, but she’s waited years to tell someone.

Also his anticipation is hilarious.

“Yup.” She smirks, trying to hold back her wide grin a bit, but she’s just so excited.

“Aw, come on Pearl, tell me! What is it?” Sausage whines, bouncing on his toes, and she laughs again.

“Alright, fine.” She says, but she’s grinning too much for it to come across as anything but the same eagerness as him.

She rolls up her sleeve and turns her arm, her Destiny, towards him.

“I’m a Hero.” Pearl tells him as Sausage stares, blue eyes gone wide in wonder and awe, at the black lettered word written across her arm.

--

Pearl stares at the small spot of smoke slowly drifting over the horizon and can’t bring herself to look away even as one of the others joins her on the edge of the road.

“Uh, Pearl, you good?” Gem asks, and her throat is too tight. Everything is too tight. “What’cha looking at?” She squints in the same direction Pearl continues staring in. Her brow furrows. A slight frown appearing as she shields her eyes from the rising sun.

“Hey G!” She calls back to their camp, turning away from the smoke.

“What?” Grian yells back.

“Come here, I need your eyes for a sec!”

“What?” There’s more confusion in his voice now, a false aggravation over it.

“Come on! You’ve got the best vision out of the three of us and I want to know if I’m right!” Gem demands. She’d go and drag him back with her if he didn’t come. The smoke curls lazily up into the air and Pearl’s chest hurts.

“Ugh! Fine!” Someone stomps through the bit of brush and then across the dirt road behind her.

Grian’s sandy hair appears in the corner of her vision.

“What am I looking at?” He asks.

“There.” Gem directs, pointing towards the not-so thin line of smoke that’s still there. “North-northwest, past the third hill.”

There’s a few couple of seconds as he follows her finger, scanning the area, but it's not many before he sees the smoke and Grian hisses.

“Crumbly biscuits.” He swears. “That’s a lot of smoke, Gem.” He says it so matter-of-fact. “And I don’t like the look of it one bit.”

“What’s going on?” Scar asks walking up to join them. A little behind, not in her vision.

“Smoke,” Gem answers with a nod outwards across the forested hills, “coming from the area of that village north-west of here.”

“A lot of smoke.” Grian’s lips thin. “Doesn’t look like it’s spreading either.”

“Guess we’re heading right at the next fork then.” Scar’s voice is even, normal. “Good catch Gem!” He adds upbeat, like a spoon of honey for after a child falls out of a tree. Pearl stares at the smoke, all that remains of a fire apart from the still smouldering embers.

“Not me. Pearl caught it.” Gem shakes her head. “I can only just barely make it out.” She doesn’t sound upset really. Despite the frown.

“Ah! Well good catch Pearl then!” Scar says brightly, mostly cheerful. If she stares hard enough she can begin to guess at the size of the village. Where the houses were. Their shapes. What was planted in the fields they most likely had.

Little plumes of various greys curling up into the air to disappear or twine into the larger gathering. Not enough wind to take the last bit of evidence away. Not enough wind to have alerted her earlier.

“Pearl?” Scar asks. Concerned. Grian watching her more than the smoke. Gem’s turned away fully. Facing her.

“They burned a village.” She says. Eyes still locked on the trailing smoke. She should have been there.

“Yeah. They did.” Gem’s voice is softer. Her arm burns. “We’ll report it at our next stop. Make a mark at the crossroads too.” Her arm doesn’t burn.

“We’re not going there.” It comes out as a statement when it should be a question. She could help.

“No. We aren’t going that way.” Grian answers, voice careful but sure. Certain there's nothing to be done, which, he’s right, isn't he? She can’t help, can she.

Pearl isn’t a Hero.

--

Pearl travels across the lands giving help wherever she can, wherever she can reach, wherever she can see.

The glow of her aura, her light, reflecting back from the joy on every person’s face. The relief and hope.

Here comes a Hero. It says. We’re saved, blessed. There’s a Hero to protect us.

Sausage laughs when she comes back and tells him, still beaming as she recounts the mini-festivals and feasts and welcome any and every single town and village she passed through gave.

“Of course they celebrated.” He says, eyes bright and beaming back at her. “Pearl, you’re like the sun. Everyone else is just sunflowers turning your way.” He’s grinning but honest, and Pearl smacks him lightly, rolling her eyes.

“I am a Moon, thank you very much!” She retorts, hand over her chest, still grinning back at her best friend.

Honestly she thinks she’s the sunflower in this scenario.

Ridding lands of its toxins. Feeding people seeds of hope. Providing somewhere safe from them to grow.

Always following the light.

Golden face lifted up towards it.

--

“Do you want to come back with us?”

It’s Scar who makes the offer.

“What?” Pearl says, half startled from her routine of counting out her few coins and other moneys she has now after this round of buying, selling, and trading services and goods in the medium sized town as their small group heads out the gates and back out onto the road.

“To Hermiton, our village.” Scar continues, face open and curious but idle. “Winter is going to start settling in further and ‘Zuma likes it if we at least check in before some of the pathways snow over.” He says, walking next to them with Pudding on a lead instead of driving the cart like normal.

“What?” She repeats. Feeling… lost. Like she should understand what Scar’s saying, but she doesn’t. As if in parallel the land underneath them… pulses, a Lord’s claim on it thin but steady, and Pearl represses the twitch of a grimace. The urge to rub her chest, or stick her hands into the dirt and grass and dig her fingers into them.

“You should come back with us to Hermiton.” Grian pipes up, clarifying, solidifying really, Scar’s offer. “Winter’s suck for traveling, even if Scar sometimes takes week trips out to some of the nearby places when the weather’s not it’s normal terrible.” He adds.

“Oh, it’s not that bad.” Scar denies in that almost-scam tone of voice that either means the person is getting the worst deal imaginable or Scar actually completely believes what he’s saying. “You just hate the cold G.”

“It’s kind of bad.” Gem tells her under the beginnings of Grian and Scar arguing, head tilted towards Pearl as she walks next to her. “Not to put you off, or say you shouldn’t come, I think you’d like the place, but it does get very snowy so we do need to start heading back properly now before the better roads close.” She continues her aside as the other two fight.

“Uh huh.” Pearl says teasingly doubtful. Mostly. She is paying partial attention to Scar and Grian’s argument over what constitutes “workable” road conditions and isn’t so sure she’d take Scar’s side.

“It’s nice! And most people don’t travel during winter anyway so trade and such goes down a lot.” Gem argues lightly. “But Hermiton is great so you should come back with us instead of staying in some other place.” Insistent that she knows exactly what the best option is, no questions asked.

“You sure you can just invite random people back for the winter?” Pearl asks with a quirked eyebrow and half smile instead of giving any answer. Winter can last awhile, especially up in the north and with how the others are talking about things. It’s one thing to travel with someone for a couple months, but to let them in your village, your home…

Pearl stops following that line of thought.

“X doesn’t turn anyone away.” Grian says, shaking his head as he cuts off his and Scar’s argument like they’d never been having one. “Not unless they try to hurt someone.”

X had to be the head of the village then, Pearl thinks she’s heard the name tossed around before. 

“Come on. Come back with us.” Gem urges, now walking backwards in front of Pearl as she pleads her case. “We’re in a valley so the mountains keep a lot of the really harsh weather out, and there’s a lake that usually freezes over once temperatures drop and stay cold enough. The village itself is small but everyone’s super friendly, or they will be because you’re a good person and all, and there are a couple nearby other places so it’s not some super isolated creepy mountain village. And I want to show you my house and you’d get along great with some of the others, so pleeease?” She draws out the last word watching Pearl with big green hopeful eyes. If the paths weren’t so taken care of she would be in danger of tripping. She still might if she keeps walking backwards when they hit the more dirt and gravel roads.

Pearl’s going to need to reply soon, but she can’t quite get the words out. Gem just keeps staring at her expectantly but still patient, and Grian and Scar are watching her as well almost exactly the same, but she doesn’t know how to respond. Can only redirect for so long.

“Join us for winter, Pearl!” Scar says, open and grinning but something else in his eyes that’s maybe familiar— “Hermiton’s great this time of year!” — but she shouldn’t feel recognition at. She should be fine on her own. Is fine on her own. Winter would be no different from any other time, and if it started getting too hard to travel she could always go back south…

“So? You coming?” Grian asks expectantly, standing next to the crossroad’s signs.

“Ok.”

--

“Sausage!” Pearl calls, already grinning, one hand raised as he turns from the market stall entrance.

“Pearl!” Her best friend responds, abandoning the stall owner he’d been talking with and racing towards her. “You’re back!” He’s hugging her before he even stops moving, knowing Pearl won’t let them fall. She’d been prepared for it and dropped her bag the moment he started running.

“Course I’m back!” She says, hugging him back just as tight (and not any tighter, she doesn’t want to break his bones), and grinning brightly. “Your birthday’s tomorrow. I’m not going to miss it two years in a row!” She’d really tried getting back last year on time, but two separate horned rabbit migrations, a group of orcs harassing a village, and a few smaller incidents, and she’d been a month late and deeply apologetic, not that Sausage would hear it.

“According to trader news you were practically on the other side of the continent dealing with a dragon.” Sausage says as he steps back, checking her over “subtly” for injuries, and she waves a hand.

“Trader news.” She says dismissively despite her grin. “Bunch of gossip, is what it is.” Sausage squints at her suspiciously and her grin widens.

“I don’t know. They’re pretty accurate about the basics at least.” Sausage says slowly and she hums noncommittedly. 

“If you say so.” She says indifferently, before switching tones. “Anyway, when I was down fighting that black dragon near the coast of Azemela I picked something up for you.” Pearl tells him as she grabs his gift out of her bag.

“Wait, you what?” Sausage starts just before she shoves the scaled armour at him with a grin.

“Happy 25th birthday, Soos!” She says grinning and throwing an arm over his shoulders, mainly so it’s harder for him to start hitting her.

“Pearl!” Sausage yells at her, and she finally gives in to the laughter that’s been building in her chest since she saw him. “Pearl, this isn’t funny! What do you mean you fought a full grown black dragon by yourself!” She can’t really help it. He hasn’t even noticed exactly what he’s holding just yet. She tugs the armour up with the hand over his shoulder and he instinctively looks down briefly. Then does a double take. Eyes widening.

“Why are you giving me dragon scale armour?!” Sausage cries, before he pauses, some thought occurring to him with a minor amount of horror attached considering the way he snaps his focus back to her.

“Pearl, did you kill a dragon for me?!” And Pearl laughs harder at his expression and the way his voice has pitched up. “Pearl?!”

“N-no!” She’s laughing too much. “No, it really was causing issues with some of the nearby towns. I didn’t just go and hunt down a dragon to make you armour, Soos.” Pearl says soothingly, before pausing as she thinks over that idea. “I could, if you wanted. Maybe for nex—” “No!” Sausage cuts her off vehemently and she forces herself not to start laughing again. “No putting yourself in danger by hunting down dragons that aren’t bothering anyone!” She was mostly teasing, and she wouldn’t be in too much danger hunting down a dragon. “I love the armour, thank you very much, I do not need anything else!” He says quickly and a little frantic.

“Well, let me know if you change your mind.” She says grinning, both teasing and honest. 

“Trust me, I’m not going to.” Sausage says shaking his head, still a bit wary. It’s not like she’s going to go running off to kill a dragon all of a sudden. For one there aren’t any around here, and two it’s Sausage’s birthday tomorrow and she’s home finally.

“Come on! Let’s go see what’s for dinner and I’ll catch you up on things!” Pearl says, swinging around to head towards Sausage’s manor-palace and dragging him along with her. She has more stories than the dragon to tell him, but she’s also starving.

God, it was great to be home.

--

“—and there’s Mumbo of course, he’s the friend I told you about who blew up part of the mountain.” Grian’s talking as the wagon makes its way through autumn-turning-winter trees.

“I remember that story.” Pearl says. “And you said it was an accident?” She squints at the man currently naming all of the “Hermits” with little anecdotes of who they are, what they do for the tiny deep-mountain community.

Grian shrugs.

“He says he was experimenting with lightning and then a bunch of Mumbo Jumbo about the actual experiment. I don’t remember that part.” He says waving a hand.

“Except when you needed it to play a prank on Doc.” Gem adds from her spot back the back of the wagon.

“We don’t talk about that prank anywhere Doc can hear, Gem!” Grian rushes out, eyes scanning over their surroundings in quick flickering motions. “You know he still doesn’t know it was me!” He hisses nervously.

“Are we getting close?” Pearl asks confused, tilting her head to look around at the woods they’re passing through.

“Not yet, sorry.” Grian responds quickly, before going back to scanning things over.

“Doc’s the resident… one of the resident mad scientists.” Gem corrects herself in the middle of her sentence. “Also Grian’s paranoid.” She adds matter-of-factly and Grian starts talking again before she says anything else and disparages him more.

“Anyway, after Mumbo we also have Cub who’s Scar’s best-friend-fellow-cult-member—”

“Cub and I were never in a cult together!” Scar interjects from the driver's seat.

“—basically-childhood-friend-minus-the-childhood-part, Cleo who is more terrifying than she looks and— Hey did we ever get confirmation on if they killed that Demon King or no?” Grian asks, and Pearl blinks. Who did what now?

“I don’t ask them stupid questions.” Gem replies dryly and Scar shakes his head with a frown.

“I tried, but all I ever got were cryptic answers and half-maybe-threats.” He complains, almost pouting. “I’ve been thinking up better approaches, but most of my normal methods have already failed.” Pearl watches the conversation silently, eyebrows raised, and decides not to ask. She doesn’t think this Cleo was anoth— a Hero, but non-Hero’s killing Demon Kings were rare.

And if they were a Hero…

“Hrrn.” Grian vocalizes, like an upset parrot. Scrunching up like one as well briefly before continuing. “Well, Cleo, who really is great underneath the stitching and threats and sarcasm. Then there’s Joe, who’s Joe and is very strange but also really nice and earnest and knows a lot of sometimes useful things. False is probably one of the only people who can really beat Gem in the majority of her fights and half-raised a Giant Eagle a couple years back.”

Pearl just listens as he talks, getting interrupted occasionally by one of the others, hands gesturing as he explains bits and pieces of who everyone is. Rarely giving any sort of physical description (apart from the facts like Mumbo had the best mustache ever or that Skizz could rival Scar in scars) and never saying anyone’s Destiny, but… but she thinks that’s just how Grian works. How he sees things.

Part of her wonders, thinks, maybe even hopes, that, since every other member of Hermiton sounds wildly strange in ways she couldn’t even begin to guess at, that maybe she won’t stand out.

Pearl isn’t too sure what she’ll do if she does anyway.

--

The adventurers she joins up a few hours out of the last town are good. A group of four, who pick up on her skill with weapons and above average strength, and ask if she wants to help take care of the one, maybe two, demon wolves a couple people have noticed signs of in the forest nearby.

Pearl says yes, because of course she does. And maybe this is how she can help. How she can fix the hollow feelings in her chest and head, the idea she should be doing more. Doing what she was made for.

They’re experienced enough, no Heroes in the group of course, but not just Villagers and Guards. And it’s not long before the tracker of the group has led them to a good viewpoint of the den.

But nothing in life is so easy as that now.

It’s not one or two demon wolves but a small pack.

“Damm it.” Someone (Sawyer, the leader, a Fighter) curses, as the three of them with the best vision peer over the ridgeline. “I count at least seven, and we don’t have enough people for that.” They’re upwind, luckily, but that won’t mean much if they get any closer.

“Back to the town?” Another voice asks, as she watches the large night-fured canines move lazily around the small clearing. “See if we can get the Guards, maybe the Blacksmith and anyone else strong to join.”

There’s a reply but she’s not listening anymore.

There are demon beasts in front of her.

Pearl steps over the ridge.

Reaches out for her Destiny, her power, her sword.

There’s demons in front of her.

She’s a Hero.

--

They’ve only experienced two light snowfalls, both Pearl’s fairly certain were more an effect of the mountains they’re currently in than winter’s approach, when they reach the area Hermiton sits in. A valley almost fully surrounded by mountains, with steep hills in the empty spaces, closer to the northern ocean than she would have thought, and when the wagon is still on the higher point of the hill they cross over she can just glimpse fields and buildings in the farther half, the forest still half green with pine all around like second barrier to cross.

Pearl’s heart flickers.

It wouldn’t be too difficult to leave if she needed to. Not until winter really set in, she saw how the roads would almost certainly get piled with snow in the dips and turn to ice everywhere else, but even then she could probably do it. As long as she was smart about it.

“Welcome Pearl, to Hermiton!” Scar beams from the driver’s seat, both arms spread wide, Grian thankfully having grabbed the reigns, in excitement.

“Welcome to Hermit Valley, technically.” Gem says sitting across from her, rolling her eyes, but a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. “We’re not back to the village yet.”

“We practically are.” Grian says, pushing the reins back into Scar’s hands pointedly. It’s really a good thing Pudding was such an easy-going horse. “Nobody but Hermits really take the path up here. And with all the projects going on, we basically use the entire valley at this point.” He adds.

“That doesn't make it the village though.” Gem argues back.

“Sure, but it's still Hermiton. People don't say the fields are the village but they're always part of it.” Grian counters. Pearl isn’t entirely sure of the logic of his analogy but it seems accurate?

“Besides,” Scar says, “you’d say we're home now Gem and home is Hermiton!” He spreads an arm out, thankfully only one this time, to gesture both at the direction the village is in and the forest they’re now in.

“I’d say we're almost home.” Gem counters, but Pearl thinks she's just arguing to be contrary at this point.

She half-watches the forest as they continue to argue and debate the finer points of where a village starts and what areas go by what names and what counts as “home” anyway. The pine and spruce mixed in with yellow-leaved aspen and oak and maple.

She keeps her attention on the argument, on looking at the trees and forest. Nothing else. She doesn’t want to know about the land’s claim. About how well it’s treated and cared for. Everything inside Pearl is to stay there. Inside. Bundled up and buried down, and it’s hard to fold an emptiness into taking up less space, but she… needs to.

She needs to be something that won’t get kicked out immediately. Can stay through the winter.

Pearl breathes, steadily, calmly, as the first buildings appear through the trees. She breathes as the cart drives through them, little storehouses, and then there’s a couple fields beyond, and pathways, and more buildings. The village proper.

The group isn’t arguing anymore, moved on to talking about what they’ve brought back, what needs to get put away and where, and Pearl’s joined in a few times. Calm and cheerful.

“Now, welcome to Hermiton, Pearl.” Gem cuts in pointedly anyway.

“Thanks.” Pearl replies, evenly but cheerful and smiling. Calm and upbeat.

“Alright, I’ll go let X know we’re back.” Grian says hopping off the cart even as it’s still moving in his well practiced manner. “I’ll be back shortly to help unpack!” He calls as he heads off into the buildings.

“Uh, should I have…” Pearl trails off, pointing after the now-disapeared Villager.

“Nah. It’s fine.” Gem says unconcerned. “Xisuma will probably follow him back anyway, whether he mentions you or not.” And Pearl blinks.

“Why wouldn’t he mention me?” She's not concerned. There was a perfectly reasonable explanation and not something worrisome like they're sneaking her into the village like contraband which she knows Scar does sometimes, but she’s a lot different than dubiously legal items so that's not what's happening and she isn't concerned.

“It’s Grian.” Gem says, half derisive part explanation. “You’re just lucky Scar didn’t go or X probably wouldn’t show up and think you’re just another cat or some other creature for three weeks.”

“That only happened once and was mainly Cub’s fault, thank you very much!” Scar calls back to them and Gem just waves.

“It’ll be fine.” She promises. “New people showing up isn’t a strange occurrence. I think all of us have brought someone at one point or another.” Pearl nods, calmly.

“Here we are!” Scar says, bringing Pudding and the wagon to a stop outside a colorful wooden two-story building with a sign proclaiming it Trader Scar’s in almost exactly the same font as the wagon's sign.

He hops off and works on unhitching Pudding as Gem gets out as well so Pearl… follows.

She mimics the redhead, grabbing boxes and bags and ferrying them inside the shop. Gem said it would be fine so it probably would be.

The fact Pearl is staying close to her and Scar is more so they can tell her what to grab and where to put things. Not that Scar’s shop seems to have any organization whatsoever.

She resists the urge to start organizing it, same as she’s resisted organizing the wagon.

All Pearl needs to do is follow Gem or Scar back and forth from the wagon, and put things where she’s directed. The fact she is directed proves there is some sort of organization system to this.

She’s just grabbed another box to take in when Grian reappears.

“I have brought back the ‘Zuma.” He announces, hopping back up into the wagon to grab some of the bags and boxes without saying anything further.

He does nudge Pearl as he passes though in what she thinks is supposed to be support. So that's something. She's not panicking.

She straightens (but not fully, not to her full height) and discreetly wipes her hands on her trousers, putting the box she’d just been about to take in back down as the new figure in green and grey partial armour stops out of the group’s path back and forth between the wagon and shop.

“Hello. I’m Xisuma. Welcome to Hermiton.” The leader of the village says politely and probably smiling under his mask. His arm is uncovered. Something she’s not too surprised by with Gem and Grian and Scar’s stories. It’s marked with the word Guardian. Pearl wasn’t really expecting that.

“Pearl.” She replies on automatic, almost giving the rest of her name, her own Destiny.

But… it’s not hers anymore.

She’s a… She’s not a Hero.

She keeps her mouth shut for a beat too long.

“Nice to meet you, Pearl.” Xisuma is saying warmly and without a trace of care to the fact she hasn’t said the most important part of an introduction like this yet. That’s fine. She waits for the question.

She’ll answer it.

She’s not sure with what, but she’ll answer it.

“I heard they picked you up traveling down south, have you ever experienced a northern winter?” Xisuma asks. “It gets pretty cold and snowy, which I know can be unexpected.” Is he trying to warn her off? Get her to leave? See if she'll be useful?

“This is the furthest north I've been, but I’ve seen some harsh winters before. Sir.” She adds the honorific at the last second, just barely keeping from turning into a question, not sure if she's supposed to use it or a different one or none at all, but it was polite at least and showed intent and respect and proper deference.

“Oh you don't need to call me that, just Xisuma or X is fine.” Xisuma says almost embarrassedly, waving his hands.

“Right.” Pearl agrees. Nearly saying sir again.

She shuts her mouth.

Waits for the question.

“Well it’s good to hear you have some experience.” Xisuma continues. “If you have any issues or questions make sure to ask any of us, we’re all pretty used to both the weather and helping each other through it, so don’t hesitate.” Pearl nods, keeping the confusion and uncertainty from her face and movements.

“Gem, Grian, and Scar are all fairly capable, so I’m sure you’ll do fine.” He says after a slight pause. Was she supposed to say something? “Just reach out to any of us if you need anything!” Xisuma says, smiling under his mask. Oh!

“Right.” Pearl responds. “I will.” He’s one of the more concerned and involved types of leaders. She gets it now. Pearl smiles back, she knows how to act with this type.

She keeps herself ready for the question.

“It was wonderful to meet you Pearl!” Xisuma says cheerily. “Welcome to Hermiton! I’ll catch you guys later when you’re not unpacking and all, yeah?”

“Of course. Thank you.” Pearl replies on automatic.

And then he’s leaving, with a wave and a nod, and Pearl blinks.

He didn't ask the question.

Pearl opens her mouth, brows almost furrowing, as she stares at Xisuma’s retreating back.

“Pearl!”  Grian says, popping up next to her and Pearl’s mouth shuts. “You’re tall, can you help put some boxes where Scar wants them?”

“Yeah, sure thing.” She says. It’s fine, Xisuma would remember in a little and come ask her then and she’d tell him.

Pearl follows Grian back inside and over to the boxes Scar wants on the top shelf apparently. She has no idea what’s in them other than probably not the “Crystals!” that on their label, but they aren’t too hard to move and there’s only a dozen or so of them. The others go in and out as she shelves the boxes, and then Gem asks her to the same thing with a few others on a shelf closer to the back door and Grian’s asking her for help bringing in some large box that is full of metal ore and Scar has an entire box of random things he needs sorting out that she takes from him before he can put it on a shelf full of other containers of “to be sorted”. She steals those containers as well to sort them out for Scar but really more herself. Scar is thankful and then immediately distracted before she can get him to come and help her out himself, so whatever categories she comes up with are what’s sticking and he can deal with it. The others go in and out as she works, slowing down now that most everything is inside, and Pearl settles into sorting through all of Scar’s random objects and materials. He really does need some kind of system, she had no idea how he found anything in his wagon while they were traveling (and that’s when he did manage to find the thing he was looking for and not something he redirected attention to) and the shop has so much more in it.

“Scar, you in here? And is Gem with you?” A short-shaven brown haired man calls sticking his head through the door and looking around. Catching sight of her.

“Oh! Hi, I’m Impulse!” The man says, waving a hand, head tilted a little for just a second. “Welcome to Hermiton!” He greets with a smile, looking almost confused but hiding it behind friendly, polite welcomingness. She’s not sure why. Oh, he probably just didn’t realize someone new was showing up. That made the most sense.

“Pearl.” Pearl says. “Grian, Gem, and Scar invited me back for winter. I’ve been traveling with them for a few months.” She explains. Impulse is the one of the “dads”, she remembers from Grian’s mini stories. Also has something to do with ghosts? Grian didn't go into any detail, only mentioning it as an aside.

“Oh, nice. Whereabouts did you join them?” Impulse asks, curious but not… not investigating.

“Down south-ish.” Pearl answers. Honest. Polite. “I don't remember the town name, but around the mid-coast area.” Less honest, but still polite. She does remember the name. She remembers all of them, because she has to.

“Oh nice! I think I’ve been around there once or twice.” Impulse says smiling. “And no worries about the name, I get how they tend to blur together when you’ve been traveling enough.” He’s nice. Still a bit confused, maybe, if she’s analyzing his expression correctly, but nice. Pearl just smiles back, pretends she isn’t lying, and prepares more small talk conversations when the back door opens and both of them look towards it.

“Pearl,” Gem starts before noticing the other person in the shop, “Oh hey Impulse, give me just a second.” She says and Impulse just waves, calm steady patience in his smile. “Pearl,” she repeats, “did you grab all your stuff from the wagon yet? Scar’s ready to put it in its stall and let me tell you no matter what he says it is not that easy to get into the back of once it's in there.”

“Er, I think so?” Pearl says, trying to remember where she’d put her bag in the first couple chaotic minutes of unpacking.

“Better check, just to make sure.” Gem says, grabbing her hand and pulling Pearl after her. “I’ll be back in a bit Impulse!” She calls behind them, and Pearl glances back at the man anxiously.

“No worries, take your time.” Impulse says, with a raised hand as he leans back against the counter. “It was nice meeting you Pearl!” He calls out just before the back door shuts on him and any chance of her giving a reply.

“So you can stay with one of us for now, or pretty much anyone else, while your house gets built.” Gem says as she leads Pearl back around to the wagon. She doesn’t know what Gem’s talking about with building a house though. “Do you know where you want to build? Or what you want? And a bunch of us will help out, especially if you bribe them with your soup.” She continues, and her questions are not helping Pearl’s understanding of the situation. Not that she’s getting time to answer. “Oh, do you care who you stay with? Grian and I both have our own houses and Scar technically does as well, but he also has a living space below the shop he stays in a lot. Grian’s is bigger, but I think my place is way homier.”

“I don’t have any opinions.” Pearl starts, a sort of answer to all Gem’s questions to buy her time as she thinks them through. Tries to understand what she actually is talking about.

“Besides, Pearl hasn’t even seen our houses or the village yet, Gem. Not as more than a pass through at least.” Scar slips into the conversation, hopping down from the back of the wagon, salesmen persona partially donned for some reason. “Also I have Jellie, so I think I beat out both Grian and Gem on hominess.” He says innocently.

“No stealing Pearl, Scar.” Gem orders, finger pointing at him sternly. “Also his place is a mess and an accident waiting to happen.” She tells Pearl quickly.

“My house is lived in!” Scar says, hand on his chest in maybe-mock affront.

“Uh, it’s fine.” Pearl interjects before they can start arguing in earnest. She doesn’t get why they’re arguing but they really didn’t need to. “I’ll go wherever, I really don’t mind.” Wherever she’d take up the least space. Gem shifts her narrowed gaze at her before blinking, a flash expression of consideration on her face for a split second. And then she nods.

“Right, well you grab your stuff and I’ll go see what Impulse needed. Then we can take a tour round the village and figure out who you're rooming with for now.” Gem states, plan straightforward and made in an instant with no room for debate.

“Okay.” Pearl agrees, it does make the most sense out of everything she’s said so far, and Gem gives her a bright smile before heading back in.

--

Her first Demon King finds her two-thirds of a year after she tells Sausage her Destiny.

Pearl’s in one of the villages not quite part of the town but close enough to see over the fields and make day trips to, sent by her mother to deliver a newly repaired plow to one of the Villagers. She’d helped fix it to its cart and was offered some cheese and water for her troubles, taking a short break before heading back home.

And something in the distance had cracked, like something wood splitting down the middle, and then someone screamed and Pearl was on her feet, moving towards the door as more sounds of things breaking and more screams layered on top of each other.

There’s people running outside the door, most one way, a couple people in armour (most likely Guards) the other. Towards the smoke and clouds of dust.

And then a figure appears on the far side of the marketplace square.

Long dark magenta hair half wrapped around blackened antlers and glowing wine colored eyes are all she really notices before she understands what she sees.

Demon King.

It’s like the world snaps into perfect clarity.

She thinks it’s similar to the moment her mother’s talked about when forging a sword or tool, where she’ll plunge it in water and just know, it’s done.

The only difference here is Pearl isn’t a Blacksmith making a weapon.

She’s a Hero. She is the weapon.

And everything burns gold.

Pearl steps from the doorway.

Wraps her hand around the hilt of her sword as she sweeps it upward.

The light following its arc and cutting into the red tendril The Demon King had sent towards the Guards.

“Demon King.” She calls, a grin flickering around her face.

“Hero.” They snarl back, almost mocking except for the rage he does feel.

And then they lunge.

And they’re fighting.

She laughs.

Body light and Light and burning.

It’s not an easy fight. Doesn’t instantly win or come away unharmed.

But she does win.

She slays the Demon King.

Exactly as she’s supposed to.

Pearl kills every Demon King she fights.

--

The “Hermits” are all wonderful.

She can understand why they are all friends, why the three she traveled with only speak highly of the others. Pearl also understands bits of why they’re all out here, the far mountains where the lands are unclaimed (calling to her, asking the same thing in a roar of whispers she still can’t translate).

Some reasons are more clear or given more openly. Some aren’t. But they all have them.

She hasn’t met all of them, has only seen a few in passing, but it’s only been a week and all of them seem busy with the changing weather. And Pearl has met most of them. Xisuma, Impulse, Skizz, Ren, Joe, Cleo, Cub, Etho, Mumbo, False, Doc, Zedaph, Wells, Joel, Jevin, Bdubs, Keralis, Beef, Tango.

And all of them have been told about her and passed along hello’s and welcome’s and little gifts.

None of them have argued against her being here. The ones she’s met haven’t even seemed frustrated or concerned. Just welcoming her into the community like winter isn’t just beginning and she hasn’t just shown up out of the blue with no warning.

Pearl’s mainly staying with Gem in her stone and wood cottage, walls stained red with almost dark floors and ceilings, but she offers her help with any and all winter preparations the others have. Scar’s shop, the community gardens, hunting and gathering wood. Grian has an entire wheat field to harvest somehow. She's not entirely sure who's been taking care of it these past months, but someone has to have been doing so. And Skizz had “stolen” her for an entire day to help him and Impulse get Tango out of one of his forges. It’d been her introduction to the Blacksmith and backfired slightly on the other men as she’d accidentally mentioned that her mother had been a Blacksmith and Tango had lit up practically literally. Gem ended up storming up the mountain and dragging her out and off to dinner as Tango followed still talking.

Xisuma still hasn’t asked her about her Destiny. And Pearl can’t manage to bring herself to just tell him. No one’s asked, even when they tell her theirs, either during their introduction or because their arm’s uncovered or simply during a story. There's a wide range of Destiny’s in Hermiton too. Almost every Destiny is represented by the “Hermits” she thinks. Every Destiny except for a few. There aren’t any Heroes, and there isn’t a Lord.

Pearl doesn’t know everyone’s Destiny, so it’s technically possible there’s a Hero in the people she has only seen in passing (unlikely) or the ones she hasn’t run into yet, but she knows there isn’t a Lord. The land’s unclaimed. So there isn’t a Lord in the area.

She ignores it. Focuses on helping the people she’s intruding on. Doesn’t think about the hum and reaching feeling from the earth below her, around her.

She’s here for the winter.

And then she’ll leave again.

The Hermits are nice and welcoming and it’s clearly a good area to live.

Pearl isn’t something that can stay.

She’ll need to leave eventually.

Travel again.

Endlessly.

--

Of everywhere Pearl’s traveled, Sausage’s lands always feel the best.

Her best friend’s care and love drapes over everything, plants growing full and bright, animals content, paths clean, people happy.

It’s home. No matter how much or how far she goes, she always comes back here, to a castle on a hill with her best friend inside agonizing over crop rotations and town upkeep and border patrols and monster attacks.

She can fix that last one pretty easily. Does everytime she comes back. Clears the woods of anything that she can find and takes the small stack of monster reports as a checklist. It's usually simple, small creatures, but it's something for her to do and a way to help Sausage and keep the land and people safe.

Pearl’s a Hero and she’s home and it’s not a break, because Pearl’s job is too important, but it’s the closest she gets to one. It’s enough of one for her anyway no matter what Sausage hints at.

She’s home. That’s more than enough for her.

And she’s always going to be a Hero. Always going to act one.

Early her second week back a Demon King walks into the grassy fields between the woods and the sections of the town outside the walls.

Sausage orders everyone inside, and Pearl goes out. Destiny bright on her arm and in her hand as it takes no time at all and an eternity holding her breath to race towards the Demon King

“Demon King.” Pearl calls, focusing all their attention on her. “Sorry, this place is protected. I'm going to have to kill you now.” She says before they can respond, bringing up her sword in the same breath to catch the bolt of magic they strike out at her with.

“My reign is eternal, Hero.” They spit out. “You are not.”

The Demon King’s magic cracks like a whip in the air and Pearl dodges, using her momentum to bring herself closer.

This one seems fairly magic focused, showing up alone and unarmed apart from the magic they swing around like an ax made of fire and lightning. They haven’t summoned any beasts while they’ve been fighting either which makes it a simple fight. Just her and the Demon King.

She knows how to do this.

Pearl was made for this.

The light in her hands, sword in her soul, gold of her Destiny.

They fight. The Demon King isn't the easiest one she's fought. But they aren't the hardest.

They trade blows. The grass turns ashy around them. She keeps smiling because she knows how this goes.

She lunges, they dodge, they attack, she blocks. They lose ground, make mistakes. She doesn't.

And Pearl wins, her sword running them through, one of their clawed hands wreathed in purple flames digging through her armour over her mark.

“A Hero’s Death.” The Demon King chokes out around the blood, eyes mad and fixed on hers. “All Hero’s will have a hero’s death.” They say as she shifts to pull out her sword, stop the curse before it fully leaves their mouth, and they burst into dark purple flames. She curses, quickly backing up a short distance before the fire catches on her at all. Demon King flame is always annoyingly difficult to put out, though luckily the field she’s in is pretty trampled and burned already, so it shouldn’t go up along with the corpse.

She squints through the fire to make sure it is a corpse, but it collapses pretty quickly and Pearl relaxes a bit, scanning around for anything else that the Demon King might’ve brought with them. Any other fires from stray or deflected shots of magic.

Pearl finds nothing, and she waves an all clear to the closest guard tower on the distant walls. Letting them know it’s safe for people to be let out. They’d have seen the Demon King go up in fire and Sausage would be heading over by now already, sent back word as soon as he felt things shift, but she likes giving the extra reassurance.

Pearl’s eyes catch on her hands as she lowers them and she blinks.

There’s black lines crawling up her arms, skin around them turning grey and ashy.

She lets her sword vanish, holding her hands up in front of her fingers spread to look over the damage, the curse, better.

The lines aren’t following her veins like poison would. Just run down her skin in jagged patterns like cracks in a pane of glass. Ashy grey spreading around them like a bruise.

She hasn’t seen this before.

She doesn’t know what to do about this type of curse.

Sausage is coming though, so it’d be good if she figured out some of what it was before he saw.

Pearl thinks back on her fight with The Demon King. The magic they used, what they said.

Her hands hurt, sort of, a pain and spreading numbness, which isn’t good.

She can see Sausage half-running up towards her, sending green power into the burned, ashy field around her as he does. He’s still grinning.

No, not burned. The field around her is ashy with decay not fire, the plants having withered where the Demon King stepped.

Their grip around her arm and the words they said both burning when she killed them.

“Oh.” Pearl sits. Butt in dirt and ashy remnants of the grass. 

“Pearl? Pearl, what’s wrong?!” Sausage cries worriedly, dropping to his knees next to her. Her chest feels kinda weird. She’s not really certain if it’s the curse or her body panicking.

“I think I’m dying.” Pearl says, cataloging the feelings and sensations.

“What?!” Sausage asks, alarmed. “No. No you can’t die. You’re a Hero! You won!”

“A Hero’s Death.” Pearl repeats the Demon King’s curse. She unbuckles the armour over her arm, hissing in pain as she lifts the half melted metal off the burned sleeve below, curious about the burning feeling below.

Her Destiny almost reads the same as always, four black letters with a golden cast over them. Almost because at the moment it’s joined by a pulsing purple flicker under her skin, black thorn-like lines spreading outwards similar to the ones running up her hands but darker, thicker.

“It’s a curse.” She says, speaking the fact out loud for the first time. “Heroes die a Hero’s Death.” Her hands are half numb. Fingers a dark grey and the skin flaking slightly as she shifts them around. She stops moving them before Sausage notices.

“I’ll fix this. I can fix this.” Sausage says frantically, already pulling up green power from the land, his land, trying to push it into her.

“I don’t think—” She starts before he cuts her off frantic and forcefully, wrapping green around her limbs. Little phantom vines crawling up her legs and breaking into fragments.

“I’m going to fix this, Pearl! It’s my job to take care of my people!” He yells, wide eyes on the ground, his power, her arm. Pulling more life from the soil in attempts to fix her and failing.

“I’m a Hero.” Pearl tells him. Pulling his hand away. Reminding him as kindly as she can. “Right now it’s your job to let me die, Soos.” She says with a crooked smile as he looks at her and tries not to cry because if he sees her cry he’ll just keep trying.

“I can’t— That’s not how this is supposed to end.” Sausage says, almost begging, disbelief and denial drawing his eyes wide except for the corners.

“Just—” Pearl doesn’t know what to say. Can’t sound too scared or worried. “Stay with me?” She asks, trying to sound okay with what’s happening. She’s known this was going to happen. Was prepared.

She thought she was prepared.

“Always.” Sausage squeezes her hands with his, holding them properly now. Eyes fixed on her face until there’s a flicker of uncertainty through him. “But—”

“No.” It’s her turn to cut him off. Brings his eyes back to her face. “It’s okay. Really.” Maybe she is prepared. You can accept something and still be upset by it right? She’s just sad this is where it ends.

“I’m a Hero.” She says, smiling because saying it still makes her emotions glow. She’s a Hero. “This is just a Hero’s Death.” Fighting. Defeating a Demon King. Protecting the people and the land and the peace. She did good. This sucks, but she did good.

“It’s not fair.” Sausage says, and he’s crying, but Pearl can’t quite manage to respond. Everything hurts, the curse burning through her veins not quite like acid or fire or anything else she’s felt. Like death.

“I’s okay.” She forces out, because she has to reassure him. “I kill’d th’ Demon Lord, so I won.” The sky is so blue. Sunlight falling down around her like the curtains on Sausage’s bed she makes fun of as often as possible. It’s so nice apart from the burning.

“Th’ Hero w’n.” She won. She did her job, her duty, her Destiny.

She’d been a Hero, a great one.

Sausage is sad, but that’s okay, he’ll get better. He’ll be alive. His people will be alive. His land will heal.

He’s so good at taking care of it all.

Pearl isn’t sure if her eyes are closed or not, but it doesn’t matter.

The pain doesn’t matter.

There’s a pressure around her hand and at her side, so it doesn’t matter.

Everything’s heavy around her and the light’s dimming, but that’s okay.

She doesn’t have the energy to panic anymore.

It’s like falling asleep, just bad.

It’s okay.

As long as he’s okay, it’s okay.

“no.” Pearl’s not sure she actually heard anything. She’s tired. Really tired. The pressure on her side shifts, some parts pulling away, some parts moving closer, and she makes a vague noise of disapproval, distress.

Her arm burns.

And the air fills with bright, bright green light.

--

She watches the almost full moon rise slowly over the mountain lake. One arm crossed over her chest to grip her arm tightly. Four black letters, two of them wrong, one right, one in the wrong place. Dark bruise-purple scars like a thorn bush around them.

The earth under her calls in words she can hear but doesn’t understand. She doesn’t know what it’s saying. Not really. Doesn’t know what to do even if she did understand.

It's been eight months since then and she still doesn't understand.

And Sausage is still dead.

She isn't.

Hasn't been a hero.

Certainly hasn't been a Hero.

Hasn't been a Lord.

She's just run. Farther and farther away.

Leaving town after town.

She's too strange for most people. Too secretive, and suspicious. Acting like she doesn't quite fit into her body when she forgets she has to act normal. Be average. As average as she can manage. Never showing her Destiny. Stronger, faster than most people, but overestimating her speed and strength.

An oddity in a world where everyone knows their roles.

Maybe if that's all she was she'd still fit in with the other Hermits, all oddities in their own ways. Strange people that don't quite fit in inside normal towns and villages, but do here in their carved out mountain valley.

Her Destiny isn't hers.

Pearl wonders how long she’ll really get to stay here.

--

Pearl’s learned by now to keep her head down.

She’s far enough away (over two and a half months of travel) that there at least isn’t anyone who recognizes her as a Hero. She rarely went this direction, this far, and she doesn’t look the same anymore. So as long as she keeps her head down people don’t look too closely at her. Don’t question things too much.

She still sometimes hears Hero stories, about her, others, but only snippets. Pearl leaves before her nausea at the words and songs gets too much. She keeps herself busy. Does odd jobs around the towns and villages she finds herself in, carrying things, helping in the fields, cleaning, hunting. She’s polite and friendly and young, so people are usually willing enough to hire her for a meal or few coins. She’s still strong enough it makes it worth it to hire her to speed up fixing a fence or unloading a cart.

Pearl’s been in her most recent town for a week, actually managing to not just trade services for food and shelter but a fair bit of coin this time. Mainly through picking up day jobs in the market area and trading an hour or two of hunting to the Innkeeper's for her room and dinner, but it’s more than she’s had for a while.

The woods are healthy too, so she’s able to bring back small game everyday. Rabbits, squirrels, a few game birds. Pearl could probably hunt something larger, but that might lead to questions. Maybe on her last day. She’s come across deer occasionally enough, so it wouldn’t be too odd if she asked to borrow a bow her last day and brought one back as an extra thank you.

Pearl’s bringing back a pair of rabbits today, something normal and easy to explain away with traps, the sun just beginning to touch the horizon as she exits the woods onto the road leading up to the town.

A group of Soldiers meets her at the gate.

“Uh…” Pearl hesitates, uncertain and a little confused at the partial wall of armoured people. “Is…” She doesn’t know what to say. Isn’t sure what’s going on. “Is something wrong?” She asks, anxiety pricking up the inside of her sternum.

“Roll up your sleeve!” The Soldier in the front orders and Pearl blinks. She doesn’t understand.

“What?” The feelings of wrongness grow, but there aren’t any demons around right?

“I said roll up your sleeve!” The lead Soldier repeats, spear coming down to point at her, and Pearl stares ununderstanding.

“I—” The words won’t come out.

The Soldier makes some noise or says something but all she hears is fabric rip, the metal tip flicking out and up across her sleeve.

There’s a pressure in her chest as she stands half-frozen, arm exposed. She knows what they’re reading. She doesn’t know why it’s important. She’s not a Demon King. If that’s what they’d been checking.

The spears are still pointed at her. So it’s not. Pearl doesn’t understand.

“I’m just passing through.” She says, wanting to cover her arm back up. It’s not right. Pearl isn’t what it says. Isn’t what it doesn’t say.

“You come onto my land with that mark and say you’re simply passing through?” A new voice says harshly, as the line of Soldiers parts to let the man in fine clothing stand at the front, next to the lead Soldier. None of their weapons leave Pearl.

“You think I would believe that?” The Lord, he has to be a Lord, asks. “Some young upstart Lord entering my land without notice, much less permission, and it’s not supposed to be seen as an invasion? Not some scheme? This is my land and you aren’t welcome here.” He says, sending green power into the ground, a claim, and Pearl didn’t know, didn’t know that. She can’t say that though, they wouldn’t believe her. Can only apologize and swear she wasn’t trying to do anything. Even if they won’t really believe that either. Can only leave. Let them push her out without complaint or argument.

“I’m sorry.” Pearl says, forcing her lungs to keep breathing, bowing, hoping it makes her more sincere. “I swear it was not my intent, and I’ll—”

“Intent? Still acting the fool, or are you truly so stupid?” The Lord asks, sneering, distrustful. She bites her tongue, stays as unthreatening as she can think.

“I didn’t know. Of course, I’ll leave now.” Stops thinking about the earth under her feet. Ignores the humming, forces herself as separate as she thinks is possible from it. Even if she doesn’t know how.

“Get her off my land.” The Lord orders. Done with her. But he is letting her go.

The lead Soldier bows, fist over his heart.

“Yes, my Lord!” And then the Soldiers turn back to her, spears half extended as they direct her to walk. Back up the path, away from the town, the Innkeepers, her bags, and she can’t think about that.

Pearl goes.

The Lord is following with his Soldiers.

Making sure she leaves, and she can’t offer any more apologies.

Can only follow the direction and leave.

She’s not meant to be here.

Lords stick to their lands.

And she isn’t one, not really, but it doesn’t matter.

It’s what her arm reads.

She walks over the invisible border she can feel, armour still glittering like a wall behind her (against her).

And she leaves.

Feet taking her away one steady step at a time, town and Soldiers receding behind her, vanishing into the hills, walking step by step, as her pace shifts faster, steps turning to strides, then she’s jogging, then running and her chest still hurts, breath acrid and thin and she’s in the woods now, no longer on the path, but it’s fine, she knows how to handle herself.

She knows how to handle herself.

It’s fine.

Pearl won’t let that happen again.

She’ll be better. Less noticeable. Less obtrusive. Less invasive.

She’ll leave sooner. Keep moving.

She won’t let it happen again.

--

It feels like the last few days before winter sets in properly, with thick snow and cold wind and ice that won’t melt fully until spring, and Pearl keeps her head down now. She just has to get through winter. Keep all her strangeness and wrongness buried as deep as she can manage. She could probably make it out of the valley if needed, but it’d depend on how the weather acts, how much time she has.

The Hermits are nice enough they might let her stay in some far off building, but they’d be wary and suspicious the whole time and that’s not fair to them.

Or they’ll be upset enough it won’t matter.

Pearl focuses on building… “her” house. She accepts help when it’s offered, but only if they’re insistent enough about it. Makes sure to repay them with food or help with one of their jobs, but keeps herself as unobtrusive as possible.

She used to love winter. The cold and the snow and the longer nights. Sure, there were more beasts that roamed closer to human towns and villages during the season, but even that didn’t bother her like it did some Destinies.

She was a Hero. She could protect whoever she came across.

Pearl’s not sure what she’s supposed to do this winter.

She’s not traveling, not following Sausage around and carrying whatever needs carrying, not out killing the beasts preying on people. Not home.

The weather’s colder and it’s probably because of how far north she is, because of the mountains, but there’s no light inside her anymore. No gold she carries with her everywhere she’s been from the moment she turned fifteen.

Right up until she was supposed to die.

She doesn’t know what she’s supposed to do.

So she builds a house that all the Hermits keep calling hers and will either get used as storage or a workshop or torn down when she leaves.

Pearl makes it simple because of that.

There’s already only so much she can build in winter, but the outside was done before the weather got too inconvenient, and she doesn’t care it’s small. That progress comes slowly.

The house is for her, but not For her. Not in the way the others think and expect.

It’s a distraction. Something to keep her busy and somewhat away from the others, but not in a way that’s concerning, and maybe when she’s gone they’ll use it for something else.

She doesn’t know what to do with herself stuck in one place and everything she’s been running from stalking closer every second she’s not moving.

Pearl wasn’t made to stay in one place.

She wasn’t made for running either. Not from things. But it’s more similar than not running at all.

The land here hums empty of any claim and Pearl ignores it because it doesn't make sense other than pulling that hollow wanting feeling from her and she's not staying. Even if she was staying it wouldn't matter. But by the time winter thins to an end she'll have worn out any welcome and good will she currently has. Or she'll leave anyway because the hungry-empty-pulling hurts now. She's stayed in places, claimed and unclaimed, longer than this, and Pearl knows it's only going to get worse.

She can make it to the end of winter. Has to make it to the end of winter.

But the feeling is going to get worse and she's going to be unable to hide all of her strangeness. So Pearl isn't going to be here for spring.

It's just fact.

She just has to keep everything held together for as long as possible.

--

Sausage is at the church when she gets back, and she's tired and sweaty and slightly covered in demon blood and mud, but both Sausage and the church have seen her in worse, so she doesn't think too much about it and follows the gatehouse Guard or Soldier’s directions with a wave and thanks.

Pearl does go to the back entrance at least, not wanting to track everything over all of the floors. Especially the carpet. It’s a nice carpet and the priests don’t need to try and get demon blood out of it.

Sausage is sitting at a table on one of the benches in the back area, the private sections, and she drops to sit next to him facing the other way and pressing her forehead into his shoulder as she lets everything drain from her body. She’s home. She can rest.

“Pearl?” Sausage says slightly above her. Slightly concerned, shoulder now tense. “You okay?” Right, the blood and mess.

“Mmm. Just tired.” She says, not bothering to shift her position, and he relaxes at her words and tone. “There were about eight different beast groups on the road here.” 

“I took care of them,” she adds, before he thinks of needing to send out a patrol to take care of the issue. “And did a small sweep around the area. Everything's cleared out now. Just took a bit.” She should check the other roads tomorrow, but not right now. Right now she’s resting.

She’s home.

“You should take a break.” Sausage says. “A real one. Not just the couple days you spend here, and half of that out in the woods making sure they’re still clear.”

“Mmm, maybe this winter.” Pearl hums. “Depends how bad things get.” Last winter had been rough, so hopefully it would be the same this year, but hope only covered so much.

“That’s months away Pearl.” Sausage replies. “You should take one sooner.” And she pulls a face.

“Winter isn’t that far off.” Pearl argues lightly. “There are places already starting their harvests up north.” And if she’s taking a longer break in winter, she needs to speed up parts of her vague travel path before then.

“When are you going to retire then if winter “isn’t that far off”?” He asks and she snorts.

“Heroes don't retire, Sausage.” She says, mouth pulling in a grin. “There aren't enough of us already.” Pearl admits softly, keeping her forehead leaned into his shoulder, eyes closed. Just breathing.

“There are a couple who retire. Or at least stop traveling so much.” Sausage argues.

“Not the good ones.” Pearl says, staying leaned against him. “It’s too important.” They’re the most important defense between people and demons, the ones made to take on demons, and Demon Kings, specifically.

“So you’re never going to stop traveling and fighting?” Sausage asks, half a demand. “Never going to stay longer than a fortnight, even when you’re injured?”

“I can’t.” Pearl’s needed in so many places, for so many things that are all the same. Save, protect, defeat the demons.

“Not even if I asked?” Sausage asks quietly. And he’s upset. She’s his best friend, same as he’s hers and he can’t leave his lands to follow her around and keep her safe like he can his people. Like she can with everyone.

“Fine, maybe for you. But only when I get too old.” She tells him. “If I can still swing my sword, I'm going to be swinging it at something useful.” It’s her job. Her Destiny. The word on her arm that explains her entire life.

“You're going to be able to swing your sword for forever.” Sausage complains, but he’s less upset. “Pick something that'll actually happen within my lifespan.” He says and Pearl rolls her eyes.

“Ridding a horse.”

“No. My great-aunt rode until her death.” Sausage denies it almost immediately. "Literally, she was eighty something and rode off a cliff.” He tells her and she pulls a face. That certainly couldn't have been a nice way to go. But also Sausage was shooting down every option she was making.

“You pick something then, my lord.” Pearl says snidely, poking him with a finger for good measure.

“Blacksmith’s daughter.” Sausage bites back, before falling silent. Thinking it over.

He's quiet for a long time.

“Your tenth Demon King.” He says at last. “After you kill your tenth Demon King you come home and stay.”

“My tenth?!” Pearl cries, jolting up a bit. “Sausage, I’m already halfway there!” And what else is she going to do? Not fight a Demon King when one shows up? She’s a Hero.

“Yeah, and the fourth one nearly killed you.” Sausage says without looking over at her, voice calm. The calm makes it worse. “Most Heroes don’t even kill five, plus all the other things you’ve killed. And you have years to go, who knows how often you’ll run into more of them.” He’s making the points more for her benefit than as actual arguments. He only has the one that matters to him. Pearl shifts to lean on him backwards, head against his shoulder, eyes closed.

“Fine, ten Demon Kings and I stay.” She says. “But I reserve the right to check out anything we hear about that happens within a day's ride of here.” Pearl can’t bring herself to promise anything more or less than that. 

“I’ll even go with you!” Sausage says with a grin if his voice is any indication.

“That's just going to make your advisors complain a whole bunch.” Pearl complains. And Sausage will just ignore them or tell them their deal, so they’ll just shift to complaining to her after a bit.

“Maybe.” He agrees, like that is exactly the plan just so that Pearl won’t go out as often to make them stop complaining.

--

“So I’m thinking sandwiches and maybe stew, I know Bdubs has been baking recently so we can maybe get bread from him. Oh! And Beef was talking about thinning his herd for winter, so we should check with him if there’s anything fresh from today.” Gem talks as Pearl nods occasionally, keeping pace with her easily as she and Grian walk with her through the sort-of village central area, supposedly for groceries and such. She’s pretty sure they set up the shopping-maybe-picnic-later as a ploy to get her out of the half-built house, but it was better to go along with them than argue. More normal.

She’s supposed to be normal.

The snow here is fairly cleared away as well, and it’s a mostly clear day, so it’s not like it’s a bad day to do any of this on. Some of the others are out as well with similar ideas. Trade, talk, taking in the sunlight while they can.

“Peeeaarl.” Gem wheedles, turning to face her with her hands behind her back and big pleading eyes. “Would you make the stew?” She asks, blinking up at her.

“Yeah, okay Gem.” Pearl replies with a grin. “I bet that’s the entire reason you guys brought me back in the first place. You just wanted access to my cooking.” She says teasingly. Like she would on the road.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” Gem teases back.

“Suuure, Gem.” Grian adds in, grin crawling up his face. “You totally didn’t tell us one of your backup plans was just “cry at her” if Pearl said no.” Pearl stays smiling.

“I am stronger than you and have no issues throwing you into the lake.” Gem threatens, pointing at him with a finger. It’s normal. Normal teasing and banter.

“I’m faster though!” Grian calls from her other side. “And Pearl will rescue me if I ask!” There’s nothing wrong. Everything is normal.

The air is clear and cool and she stares at the packed earth and flat cobblestone path, watching for stray rocks or ice, as Gem and Grian banter around her, with her. Replying occasionally is the normal thing to do.

Pearl smiles.

Watches the ground but only to make sure she doesn’t trip.

“Well what do we have here?” An oil-slick voice says and her head jerks up, locking on the man with dark hair and burning eyes and horns and clawed hands and slight fangs and she knows this.

Demon King.

Pearl instinctively expects the burn like lightning and falling stars to fill her mind and body.

Expects gold light to fall into her hands with her sword’s comforting weight.

Stepping forward.

Her job, her duty, her Destiny.

Tripping.

Hollow in her chest and arm and mind and under her foot all different than what’s supposed to be there.

There’s no burning.

Not inside of her.

“Pearl!” Gem, Grian both shout. Someone grabbing her arms. Hauling her back.

Away from the Demon King. Behind the quick formed line of defense. False, Xisuma (Guardian), Skizz (Guardian), Cleo, Jevin (Fighter). Wels (Knight) trotting up from wherever he’d been.

None of them are Heroes.

She’s…

It’s her job.

She’s not supposed to be the one protected.

She’s supposed to be the protector.

Pearl’s brain is fuzzy. Focus snapped onto the Demon King, but there’s no light, no gold, no sword in her hand and certainty in her chest, the burn on her arm as she faces down what she’s made to defeat.

There are voices talking, and she knows some of them, but she can’t focus on them. Can’t hear them.

She’s watching the Demon King.

Watching the threat. The danger.

Tugging on whatever has her arm, she needs her arm to fight, she needs to fight.

There’s a humming in her mind, like the static of lightning about to strike, and she doesn’t know when the Demon King is going to strike but she has to protect them. Has to keep them safe.

It tugs at her. The humm. And she doesn’t understand. Pulls at her arm. Keeps her eyes on the Demon King even though someone’s talking. Multiple people.

None of them are the Demon King.

He sneers.

“You think that’s enough to even scratch me?” He’s dismissive, arrogant and bored, and it’s the boredom that’s the reason he hasn’t attacked yet. They aren’t enough of a threat to him for him to take action yet, and playing with them might be more interesting.

She pulls at her arm. She needs her arm to fight.

She doesn’t know how long the Demon King will stay this kind of bored for.

When he’ll get bored of talking.

When action becomes more interesting.

“Now,” the Demon King smirks, dark and wide as a fissure in the earth, “why would I do that?” He’s getting ideas. Looking at the people upfront with cruel glittering eyes.

She needs to be upfront.

She needs to be fighting.

Don’t they know that?

“ —ming Joel, do we really have to run though? Why—” Pearl hears, snapping half of her attention to the new threat. “Oh.” The new Demon King says, startled and already irritated as she stares with blue eyes that instantly turn to slits on looking at the first Demon King.

Two. Two Demon Kings.

Pearl tugs at her arm harder. Why isn’t it coming free?

“You know this is really rude of you.” The new Demon King says, running a hand through bloody seafoam pink hair as bone-blue horns spiral out of it and her ears fan into sharp edged fins, passing a pastel blue handkerchief off to the side. The grass and plant wither under her boots, stitched with blue and pink embroidered flowers, and blue flames spark up as she steps forward.

Pearl tugs at her arm, arms, harder. She has to get free. Has to fight. She’s a Hero. There are two Demon Kings. She can soothe the frantic half-wispears by defeating the Demon Kings.

“Excuse me?!” The first Demon King starts, outraged at the casually annoyed words, before the pink haired Demon King cuts him off.

“I have a cozy cottage in the woods, a cute slightly-murderous husband, a little brother who visits occasionally, neighbors who don’t start screaming as soon as I step outside,” the stronger Demon King lists off, advancing on the other one. “A nice, peaceful home, and You barge in, uninvited, to— What? Raze a tiny mountain community no one’s heard of for no real reason?” She demands, face pulled something between a snarl and a sneer.

“I—” The first Demon King barely manages to get out, still not understanding the situation, before the pink and blue Demon King cuts him off again.

“Ugh. I do not care.” She says, rolling her eyes as she steps forward again still a distance away. “Just die.” She says, less than an arm’s length away and slashing long claws through his throat, red trailing after the indigo blue tips.

The body falls, dead, and it’s no longer important.

The still living Demon King is important.

The humming sounds more like screaming, or maybe shrieking, like lightning scraping against metal, now. It doesn’t make any more sense.

She doesn’t need that.

She needs her arm free. Needs her sword, needs to fight.

There’s people talking again, and the hold on her arm shifts.

Loosens.

Pearl puts herself in front of the others. Shoving them back behind her as she stands, back straight, hand open, waiting.

She just needs her sword.

She’ll fight without it, but she won’t make the first move until it comes.

The Demon King looks at her and Pearl burns.

“He-r-o?” The Demon King says, cocking her head and staring at Pearl in utter bewilderment.

She turns her head to one side, not breaking eye contact with Pearl once. She’s supposed to reply. How does she do that again?

“Uh, why didn’t I get told we had a freaky sort-of Hero in the group now?” The Demon King asks, and Pearl doesn’t understand what she’s saying, what the others are saying but it’s not important.

She’s a Hero. There’s a Demon King in front of her.

That’s all that’s important.

The copper taste in her sinuses and mouth. The pain in her muscles.

She’s a Hero.

“She doesn’t feel like a Hero,” The Demon King says, “I would have noticed that before now, but everything in my powers is saying she is.” Which is rude if it’s about her. But also means she’s underestimating Pearl.

“Demon King.” Pearl says, finally remembering how talking works, voice harsh at the edges like she’s been screaming, trying to understand where her sword is. “Your reign ends here.” Why it’s not coming.

“Also that.” The Demon King says, shortly, confused and wary and something else. “That’s a Hero-like thing.” Her arm burns, her mind burns, but her sword’s not coming, where is her sword? What’s happened to it?

Pearl doesn’t know how long she has until the Demon King attacks her, it won’t be long, but she needs her sword, she only has a knife.

Everything burns, vision bleeding like acid at the edges, and Pearl keeps waiting for her sword even as she prepares herself to fight with her knife.

There’s people talking. So many people, but Pearl keeps her attention on The Demon King.

“I don’t know!” The Demon King snaps, and Pearl tenses. Ready.

She’s fought without her sword before. Not for long, but she can fight with a knife.

The Demon King nods, lips tight. She doesn’t understand.

The horns and scales melt away, but Pearl knows Demon Kings. She’s made to know them. To fight them. She ignores the other voices. Shrugs off the hands. She needs her limbs free to fight.

Especially with only a knife.

“What are you doing?” Pearl demands of The Demon King. Everything burns. She doesn’t understand. It’s not the right burning. “What do you want?”

There’s people talking still, but The Demon King ignores them as well. That’s good.

“I want to protect my home.” She says, voice even, impassive. “That’s been taken care of, so now I mainly want to go back and finish my gardening.” Pearl doesn’t understand. She can’t think properly, and that’s bad, but what does the Demon Lord mean. What is she gardening? Where is her home?

Why did she call killing the other Demon Lord “protecting” it?

“What do you want?” The Demon Lord continues. Repeating her question back.

Pearl wants—

She’s a Hero.

She wants to go home.

Ash and acid in her throat.

She protects people.

Destiny a bright burning thing.

— to stop screaming.

There’s a Demon Lord in front of her.

Blue peasant dress.

Pearl doesn’t want.

Blue eyes.

The world is so green.

There’s a hand on her arm.

Red-rimmed blue eyes and drying tears.

Black lines like thorns across her skin.

She wants her home back.

“I’m a Hero.” Pearl says.

And something about the words drags at her throat like claws.

“Are you?” The Demon King asks. Tilting her head. The world tilts with it. Blue dress and peach skin and pink hair in a sea of acid.

Pearl’s arm burns.

Someone screams.

--

She knows the second she steps from Sausage’s lands (it’s still his, she can’t think of them as anything but his) to the neighboring ones.

The sense of tattered edges, an empty patch in a quilt, moving to something claimed, whole.

She’s never going to be able to go home, she realizes.

And Pearl falls. Legs slipping out from under her. Hands clawed into the grass and dirt like if she looks long enough she’ll be able to find some trace of him.

He’s gone.

Sausage is dead.

She’s never going to get to go home again because he’s dead.

Pearl chokes. The feeling swelling in her chest until it rips from her somewhere between a sob and a scream, cut off and strangled either way.

There’s a hole in the land and a hole in her, and they almost match because they’re almost missing the same thing.

What’s been ripped from them.

Sausage is dead and she’s not.

She was supposed to die. Why didn’t he just let her die?

He would have been sad and in mourning and grieved, but he had his lands, his people! She has nothing! Not even her Destiny because he swapped them and all she feels is the want and hunger for something she doesn’t know.

Pearl doesn’t have a land or people to take care of. She doesn’t have her sword or Destiny or purpose. She doesn’t have her best friend.

He killed himself, took everything from her to “save” her.

It was her job to save people.

She doesn’t feel saved.

Pearl doesn’t have anything.

And she’s never going to be able to go home now.

--

The world burns green.

The world screams.

There’s blood and dying and fire and the earth rebels underneath his feet.

Golden light dies.

But the green doesn’t.

Everything burns.

There’s gold in the green somewhere.

And screams.

There has to be.

The land screams under her.

Burning bright, unknown, acid green.

She can’t find it.

The world burns green and green and Green and Singing and Screaming and Calling and Hungry and Answer It, ANswer It, ANSWERITANSWERITANSWERIT, GREENINTHEDIRTANDTHEPLANTSANDTHEANIMALSANDTHEBUGANDCREATURESANDTREESHANDSTHROUGHTHESTONEANDTHEHEARTBLOODASMINEASYOURSASCOMEHOMECLAIMMEASHOMEASYOURSYOUCOULDBEMINESINGBACKLORDMYLORDMYLORDPLEASEMINELORDASMINE—

And then it doesn’t.

She stagers.

Falling as her muscles and bones give out, too tired to keep her upright, but there’s hands that hold her up instead.

There’s dirt caked around her boots.

And she tilts forward, wanting it around her hands, her limbs, the rest of her.

Wants the earth and grass against her skin as it pulls at her.

The hands keep her upright. Off the ground except her boots.

There’s hands holding her upright.

Pearl blinks.

She forces herself back upright.

She ignores the way her vision swims, knows how to get it to focus, at least there’s no blood in her eyes. Ignores the ache through her body. She’s up which means the fight’s over. Or that it isn’t. Ignores the humming, incessant and static and— And Pearl’s ignoring it.

She straightens herself out. 

The Demon King’s gone.

She… she needs to do something about that?

Pearl blinks forcefully. Refocuses her vision.

“—arl, you’re a Hero?” Someone asks. A voice she recognizes. She thinks they’ve been talking.

Is she supposed to answer? She can’t remember.

There are no Heros here though.

They’re all dead.

That’s what they do.

Hero’s die.

“Who died?” She knows this voice. “Pearl? What hero?”

“no.” Her head hurts. “no, she’s dead.” Dead in a field with her best friend. No corpse to bury. Not the right one. No body in the earth and dirt. Sunflowers withered away to ash but the stalk still standing. Dead in a dead field with her dead friend.

Pearl can’t throw up. She needs to stay standing.

Focus.

Pearl straightens. Again?

Grits her teeth and stands upright like she’s supposed to.

Gem’s in front of her. Worried. Hand on her arm. Grian next to her. Holding her other arm. The same expression in different fonts.

“Pearl?” Gem says. Wide green eyes scanning her face for something.

“Are you okay?” Grian asks. Hand still almost-tight around her arm, right above her Destiny.

“I’m okay.” Pearl repeats back. 

“You don’t look okay, Pearl.” Grian starts. There’s other people talking behind her.

“I am.” She has to be. She is.

“You were white, Pearl.” Grian says. “And green.” Green in the leaves and the hands and the earth. “You still are a little.”

“That’s not right.” She’s supposed to be gold. But… the gold went away. Died away from her. Died not her. And all of her.

“Who died?” Gem asks, worried. Really worried. Like—

“Were you there when a Hero died?” Her eyes are green. Green in pale freckled skin and ginger hair. It helps. She looks nothing alike.

They look everything alike.

“Gem!” Grian hisses out. “That’s not what’s important right now!” Pearl needs to focus.

“Considereing she keeps mumbling about it, I think it is!” Gem hisses back. There’s another conversation happening behind her. Is that important?

“—mpulse never said anything, though he did mention it was strange.” She doesn’t know what they’re talking about. But it seems important.

“Pearl.” Grian calls to her. She blinks at him. “Do you know why you had a reaction to the Demon King?” They were Demon Kings. She’s…

“I’ve fought them before.” Pearl’s calm. Focused. Honest. One Demon King with red eyes and purple-black horns and dead. One Demon King with unwary blue eyes and pink hair tied back and not here anymore. She should do something about that. If she still could’ve, she should.

“When?” Gem presses, face pinched. She needs to have them be less worried. “Where?”

“Back home.” Home is dead. “I mean, before I started traveling.” Pearl clarifies. Gem and Grian don’t look less concerned.

She’s forgetting something isn’t she.

Oh. Right. Normal people don’t fight Demon Kings.

“It was fine. I’m fine.” She hurries to add. She needs to reassure them so she can focus more on the other conversation. Something there is important.

“Pearl…” Grian starts, still worried.

“No, really.” Her brain is catching up. “I’m f—”

“Santa Perla.” Someone says and she spins towards the voice, False. “The Hero Santa Perla.” The woman continues like she’s putting pieces together. Watching Pearl with uncertain, furrowed brows.

“Who?” Jevin asks.

“She was a Hero, a good one, down far south, by the southern coast. Killed somewhere around five Demon Lords last I heard?” False starts explaining. She’s behind on rumours. The last one, the one who’d cursed her, was Pearl’s seventh. “Couple dragons too, I think.” The blonde adds like a side note. Admiration in her voice. “The way people told it her presence was pure golden light. The strongest Hero in decades.” Wait. “Kind too, always helping people fix whatever broke in the fight.” Stop. “A living Saint.” What’s left inside of Pearl freezes under False’s clear gaze.

“Santa Perla.” False repeats the title Sausage had started after she had killed her third Demon King, freed the villages under his control.

“Saint Pearl.” She says. Like a revelation. Eyes, all of them, turning back towards Pearl.

Always.

She was used to that.

Before.

She’s not though.

Not that.

Not anymore.

“Pearl?”

“Pearl!” Sausage says, greeting her as she comes home, beaming bright as the sun.

She can’t breathe.

“Perla.” The Soldiers greet with inclined heads as they open the church doors for her.

She doesn’t know what they want.

“Pearlescent…” Her mother starts warningly as she freezes on her path sneaking towards the forge.

Can’t give them what they want.

“Perle?” The Bard she just saved questions, head tilted and fingers twitching like he wants to write something down, or to play the lute strung across his back, despite the scorch marks across his hat and vest.

She isn’t what they want.

“Peril.” The Demon King spits out, not quite her name, but it’s supposed to be and she grins brightly in answer, hand on her sword as it sweeps forward.

Not anymore.

“Pearl?!” Sausage cries. Concerned and running towards her, hands ringed in green-green power. Pressing it into her. Dragging out the gold.

Pearl rips herself away.

Fabric tears.

Her heartbeat is in her ears and her arm pulses like a bruise in the shape of a hand.

There is no light.

The light’s gone.

It was there and she was dying and now it's gone, he’s gone.

There's only the emptyness. A hole inside her. Edges ragged like something's been ripped out of her or maybe it was ripped out of something else or both but she doesn't know, doesn't understand, she still can't understand, she wasn't made for this.

Feet like a drum over an earth that sings to match it, should match it, but she’s offbeat, offkilter.

This isn’t her. Pearl isn’t herself anymore. Hasn’t been in so long and she thought if she could just ignore it long enough, run far enough, she could get away, that it would go away, fall off her shoulders like her armour at the end of a fight, wash away like demon’s blood and dirt and ash. If she just keeps going, keeps walking forwards, keeps smiling, keeps slowly building her understanding of what’s changed then the other stuff wouldn’t matter. The light doesn’t feel like anything anymore and it’s gone from inside her and she’s not Pearl anymore. Her hair is brown, just brown, skin pale but tanned, eyes blue and dark and the wrong word on her arm, the wrong Destiny.

Her sword is gone, her soul is gone, and she doesn’t know who she is anymore other than hollow and wrong and out of place no matter where she goes because she’s been changed in a way that shouldn’t have been possible and the world itself no longer recognizes her.

She no longer recognizes the world.

There are trees and she can’t see them or the forest. Can’t hear what falls because she’s been falling for so long she isn’t sure there is a landing. A landing would most likely kill her.

And she didn’t die. She already fell and her landing was taken away so now all she can do is fall.

Trees and fields and sky and snow blurring around her. Voices and noises all rushing past like demon bats when you throw a torch down into the cave.

She doesn’t have her sword to fight them.

Doesn’t have her Destiny.

The torch light dies out in the fall. She follows after.

The ground coming up to catch her. Like it could. Like tanned arms with wide shoulders.

Like it could.

--

“Pearl?!” It’s Sausage’s voice that has her opening her eyes. “Pearl?! Pearl!” His face swims above her, thankfully also blocking out the sun.

“Hiya Soos.” She whispers, lips turning up at the corners. “‘m home. Surprise.” She doesn’t dare try to push herself up from the cart yet.

“Pearl, you’re bleeding!” Sausage cries. “What happened? Tell me what happened.” He repeated the question to the cart driver, Lordlyness slipping into his voice unconsciously.

“I’’s fiiiine.” Pearl drawls out before the driver could answer with anything too concerning. “M’ last fight just got a bit rough.” He’d been super nervous about taking her back in her condition and that’d just feed into Sausage’s concern.

“What fight? What’d you fight, Pearl?” He’s worried, really worried.

“Demon Lord, what else?” Pearl says almost grinning, her face hurts too much to pull her mouth into the correct shape. “Well, Demon Lord and his army.” She corrects herself. “But they didn’t get t’ the village! Aren’t you proud of me, Soos?” She spreads her arms, wincing at the movement. Her arm is definitely not healed yet.

“Army?!” Sausage cries, before spinning towards the driver before she can open her mouth to answer. “She fought an army?!” It’d been a small army! And not a very good one either.

“Alone, my lord.” The driver adds, anxiously twisting his hat in his hands. “Please, you can help the Hero Saint, yes?” He asks, eyes still as worried as all the others in the village when she asked them to take her back home. “She wouldn’t accept any medicine from us, only asked to be brought back here.”

“I told you guys you needed it more.” Pearl interrupts the driver, she can’t remember his name and feels bad about it, before he freaks Sausage out any further. “I heal good enough by myself.” She should try sitting up soon. That was going to suck.

“Pearl—”

“Help me up, Soos, so the guy can get back home sooner rather than later.” She cuts Sausage off as she pushes herself upright and towards the cart edge. Better to do it all in one motion. 

“What? Pearl!” He panics a little, but he still helps her, grabbing on to her arms with firm, steadying hands as she moves into a standing position. She’s maybe reopened something, but it’d be fine. “You can stay here tonight,” he tells not-her, so the driver, quickly, “as thanks for bringing her home. Excuse us.” The ground tilts and Pearl is no longer half-standing, half leaning on Sausage but fully being carried by him.

“Hey! Put me down. I can walk.” She complains, but not managing to be as forceful as she wanted. She’s too tall for him to carry easily, which he should know considering they’ve tried this before!

“No.” Sausage says stubbornly, already striding forward towards his mini-castle and it’s maybe faster than her being helped down the pathway. She rolls her eyes, which hurts the least out of all of the motions she’s done since waking up.

“‘M fiiiine.” She draws it out, closing her eyes against the bright sun, which is closer to the horizon than she’d thought earlier.

“You should have stayed in place to heal.” Sausage tells her as he carries her towards the door. He’s clenching his jaw. “Traveling makes wounds worse. You know that.” He berates her.

“Fetch the doctors.” Sausage orders someone as the doors open, before she can say anything back, and he doesn’t even pause in his steps.

“Why wouldn’t you stay?” He asks, and she opens her eyes again now that they’re inside, half-listening to the scramble of people at her and Sausage’s appearance.

He’s not looking at her, and doesn’t look like he’s about to let her down either, so she gives up on that idea. She’s tired anyway, so it works.

“They had so little, Soos.” Pearl explains, remembering the village, the scared, worried people with barely dirt to their names. “I wasn’t going to take what they had when it might save one or more of them.” And she’d be fine. Or what they had wouldn’t have done anything.

“Why didn’t you stay until you were healed at least? Pearl, you looked dead.” Sausage says, eyes wide, still so worried, and she snorts, patting his arm, or at least attempting to.

“Don’t worry. I’m not going to die anywhere else.” She says soothingly. “My body’s going to be buried here and nowhere else.” There’s nowhere she’d rather be. Nowhere she’d get a better rest.

All Heroes die, Pearl knows that.

She’s not going to die anywhere else but here.

Not going to be buried anywhere but in Sausage’s land.

Her body in the dirt, sunflowers planted above, Sausage’s claim all around.

--

Pearl opens her eyes to red stained walls and a dark wooden ceiling and for a second it’s the exact same feeling she had waking up next to Sausage’s corpse, just pure confusion and the sense of something being wrong. The feeling she wasn’t supposed to wake up. She hadn’t felt bad about it last time. Not until she realized.

She’s resigned to it now.

Pearl stares at the ceiling from the guest bed she’d been using off and on, though with new blankets and extra pillows at the moment, and she catalogs her injuries out of habit as she traces the whorls in the centerbeam.

Scratches and cuts, some bruises, mainly. Her head hurts but not too much, and as she shifts to sit on the side of the bed nothing does more than twinge a bit. A minor ache in her muscles, joints pinching for just a second.

She’s in clean clothes, pajamas, and in moving she notices her injuries have already been wrapped. Bandages wound around her lower legs, an ankle, a wrist. Her arm.

They know, she realizes.

Maybe not the specifics, the how’s and who’s and when’s.

But they know she was a Hero, and know her Destiny no longer reads Hero.

Pearl sits on the edge of the bed silently.

Most of her stuff is here. Still in their bags. Or on the table next to the bed.

Some things are at the other house, but they weren’t important.

She’d learned quickly to keep everything important on her.

Pearl hasn’t moved yet.

She doesn’t have time to be frozen.

She never used to freeze.

But back then she was never cold. Never empty and hollow.

There’s light, gold, it’s always gold, coming in through the window across the room from the bed to land on the wood floor in front of her. Slowly reaching towards the wall.

It’s late afternoon is what that means.

She needs to be moving.

Pearl stares at the warm sunlight passing over polished wood and making it shine, the occasional dust mote floating through the beam.

She needs to move.

The pajamas aren’t hers-hers so she leaves them folded neatly on the small table, bed made behind her as she shifts her bags to their proper positions on her back.

She leaves the spare bedroom, walking down the stairs so she can leave the house, the town, the valley, and Gem’s there in the main room.

Damn. Pearl had been hoping to do this quietly.

She glances around quickly to check for Xisuma, the Guardian, the leader, or maybe someone else like False and Wells, meant to keep her here until he could Talk with her. Tell her what was going to happen.

Gem’s hair is messy, because of her no doubt, the issues she’s caused, and she jerks her head towards Pearl as she steps off the stairs, purposefully on to the creaking floorboard, mouth opening, eyes widening.

“I’ll leave now.” Pearl says, before Gem says the words herself. “Thank you for the accommodations, and help, and everything else. I’ll just take the path I came in on back out.” She bows slightly, not fully looking at the woman.

“What?” Gem’s eyes pinch back down in confusion, and that’s not right. She should be relieved, or wary, not confused.

“I’m leaving.” Pearl repeats, shifting closer to the door, to the exit. “Both the town and valley.” She’d thought because there’d been bandages wrapped around her wounds, because it’d only been Gem on the first floor, they were planning on letting her leave.

“Pearl, you can’t leave!” Gem cries, quickly moving between her and the door. Pearl doesn’t flinch. She doesn’t know why they’d waste the bandages if they weren’t going to kick her out. She keeps her eyes mostly on the door, her way out, watching Gem from the corners of her eyes.

“Watch me.” She says, and she doesn’t want to fight Gem, but she would. Pearl just wants to leave before things get worse. She’s been here too long, and now they know she’s lied. She thought they’d let her leave. She’d hoped they would.

“No, I mean the pass is snowed in and there’s a storm coming, you’d die!” Gem yells, still pushing herself between Pearl and the door. And something in Pearl snaps.

“Good!” She yells back, teeth bared as she faces the Guard. Spine straight, shoulders back. “I was supposed to die, so at least now I can fix that mistake!” Pearl shouts, no longer half-curled in on herself and slouching, trying to make herself smaller, like she’s done for months.

Green eyes go wide and startled, and Pearl almost feels guilty about it but she needs to leave. And then her eyes narrow again, stubbornness snapping back into place.

“You surviving wasn’t a mistake!” The ginger snaps back, jabbing a finger into her, but Pearl refuses to let herself move. Not anywhere but out. “And you aren’t allowed to go out into the middle of a snowstorm and die!” She says like an order.

“Don’t try and be a “good person” when you don’t even know what you’re talking about.” Pearl retorts sharply, mouth edging towards a snarl. She forces it into something thinner. Sharper. “I’m not someone you can just beat up and then skip town on.” She spits the harsh words out. Jagged and pointed, and if she’d just move.

“No,” the Guard hisses out, eyes locked on hers, “you’re my friend.”

“I’m your stray.” Pearl cuts in with a sneer, words cruel and cutting. “Yours and Grian’s and Scar’s. Some pathetic girl with a tragic backstory you picked up traveling and felt sorry for. Don’t worry!” She says, grinning, eyes wild as she raises her hands. “I get it! You wanted to save somebody!” Pearl cries, smile wide and empty as everything else in her. Her grin drops.

“Funny thing about the people who try to save me is they seem to wind up dead.” She states flatly. Eyes fixed on the ginger haired woman.

“Same with my friends too though, so I guess you’re really eager!" Pearl grins again. Gem hasn’t moved, but Pearl could probably manage to get out the door now.

“Pearl…”

“Dead and buried and screaming!” She grins. “Not believing me when I say it’s fine, just trust me, it’ll be okay!”

“Pearl, you’re bleeding.” Gem says, eyes pinched and wide and contradicting again. There is blood running from where she clenches her fist and grips her arm. The word on it.

“Aww, don’t worry, Gemmy.” Pearl drawls with a grin. “It’s fine. I’ve had worse.”

“Pearl—”

“Pearl, Pearl, Pearl, Pearl!” She cries, raising the hand not on her arm to her head. “Always everyone wanting something from me!” Digs her nails in. “Well guess what! I did that! I was a Hero!” Pearl yells, throwing one arm out. “I was a great Hero!” She hisses, clenching the hand that’d been wrapped over the Destiny embedded in her arm. “And then when I was dying and scared out of my mind and all I wanted was for my best friend to stay with me while I died, do you know what he did?!” She cries, grin cracking up her face, wild and doomed and broken. “He. Didn’t. Let. Me. Go.” Pearl hisses out, inches from Gem. From the door behind her. “He switched our places. He took my Destiny. And he died.” She says. “He died the horrible, painful, Hero’s Death I was having, and I got to wake up next to his corpse and a hole ripped open inside me.” She cries. She doesn’t know if it’s tears or blood falling down her face. It’s probably blood.

“I’m not a Hero.” Pearl says. “And I’m not a Lord.” Gem looks something Pearl wishes she could feel.

“I’m something that was supposed to die and didn’t.” The words pull themselves from her. “I was supposed to die. Not Sausage. And whatever he did to save me, didn’t.” She might be crying now.

“He didn’t save me. My best friend Broke me!” Pearl feels the words leave her like she’s vomiting up her heart. “He tried saving me, and it killed him, and it’s killing me in every other way but what would let me die!” Maybe she is. Her heart had always revolved around two things. Her Destiny, being a Hero, and Sausage.

“He wouldn’t let me die!” She screams, hands in her hair, dampness across her face. “And I’m supposed to be okay, be grateful about that?!” Gem, the door, is further away. She must have stepped backward.

“He killed himself for me!” Pearl doesn’t want to be doing this. Saying these things. “He killed himself and took my Destiny and thought I would be okay with that?!” She left to not be doing this. Not end up like this.

Broken.

Gem steps forward, hand raised slightly, eyes wide with concern, but she’s stepped away from the door.

Pearl bolts forward.

Out.

Outside, outside, outsideoutsideoutsideoutside.

Out and away, and she’s fast, she knows how to run, she can run, just go, get out, she’s out.

Gem running after her, yelling something, asking her to stop, saying things Pearl doesn’t understand.

Cold air, and ice, and it is going to snow, she doesn’t care, doesn’t care if she ever leaves this valley because where she’d go to die is dead before her and the snow doesn’t hurt in the end—

“Etho!” Gem screams behind her, and Pearl whips her head to both sides to see if the masked man was anywhere near her.

No one.

Nothing.

Path, buildings, snow, buildings, firewood.

White hair above a masked face and wide surprised eyes, one black, one red.

“Uh…” Etho starts, having suddenly appeared from the snow and as seemingly as baffled as her by it.

“Stop her!” Gem yells from behind her, and Pearl doesn’t know what she means, how he would, if he could, where he came from, if he’s strong enough to stop her, fast enough, she can’t let that happen, she has to keep going. 

Etho blinks. Raises a hand. Pearl veers her course to stay as far away as possible. There’s a white light in his hand that moves like mist.

Towards her.

She doesn’t know what happens next.

--

Pearl wakes up in the guest bed with its new blankets and extra pillows, new bandages around her arms, and Grian next to the door quietly talking to whoever’s outside of it.

She rolls over, away from him.

There’s a chair, book set on the seat, in between the door and her.

The door shuts after a little longer, and there’s soft footsteps as Grian returns to his chair and sits back down.

“We’re here for you, Pearl.” He tells her softly. “Even if it doesn’t feel like it.” He says.

Pearl refuses to answer or react.

[justathingfromthebrainvoid]

Okay so I got a fix-it fic for the Blood Moon Au on ao3 early yesterday morning (GUYS I UNDOOMED THE YURI by I_aint_yet_happy_but_Im_way_less_sad) and just ah! about that. And so of course I had the completly normal reaction of minor screaming, immedieatly reading it, and the classic read a single sentence and then go and write 1.75K words about it in a day and a half.

So here's: Where to Eat for Lunch

“God I can't wait until I'm eighteen and can leave this place.” Pearl groans in Gem’s bed after flopping face-first on to it immediately after she came in.

Her parents again, Gem assumes, and she snorts, going to make a retort, before she drops a stitch and curses instead.

“What?” Pearl complains, raising her head to half-glare at Gem. “You don't think I can?” She challenges.

“I didn't say that.” Gem was going to say something similar, but she needs to get this loop back on her hook before she loses her entire peice.

“I'm totally leaving this place, I don't care if they want to put monitors on me but if I’m going to be watched my entire life I'm going to actually have a life, not this Truman-type thing.” She says turning to flop face up, arms spread wide. “I'm going to go to college, find a normal job, get whatever kind of certification or paperwork I need to have Tilly out like a dog, pretend she is a dog if anyone asks, and never come back to this place again.” Pearl lists off firmly, like a declaration of facts that are going to happen. Like either of them have any choice in the matter. Gem snorts again, not dropping her stitch this time, and ignoring the small pang of fear at Pearl’s words. Her utter intent on leaving.

“You're coming with me, I hope you know.” Pearl adds, squinting at her. “I will drag you out myself if I have to.”

“What and get jailed for the infraction of “removing a resident of a protected town from their assigned residence without permission”? That sentence isn't light, you know.” Gem snarks back even as the relief flutters within her.

“Only if they catch me.” Pearl grumbles before shifting tactics. “Besides I can convince you to come of your own free will.” She sounds certain so of course Gem has to imply otherwise.

“Uh huh. Sure you can.” She says, bland as white bread, keeping her eyes fixed on her crochet and totally not watching Pearl from the corners of her vision.

“The job opportunities here suck. The people here mostly suck. The almost enforced borders and permant residency are awful and you hate it just as much as me. Any college program would have to be done online which you also hate.” Pearl lists off, before shifitng to sit up facing her with her legs over the side and an absolutely chesire grin. “Plus if we leave together that means moving in together and I’d do most of the cooking and cleaning. I’d even take requests. Like spinach and mushroom pierogies, or madeira cake.” Damn it.

“Okay! Fine, yes I’m going with you!” Gem throws her hands up in defeat. Then an extra crochet hook off her desk at her cackling best friend. “You already knew I would, there’s no need to be mean about it!”

“You’re the one who said you weren’t going.” Pearl shrugs, grinning and unrepentant.

“I implied I wasn’t.” Gem corrects snidely. “Through the use of sarcasm.”

“Potaytoe, potahtoe.” Pearl says waving a hand, and Gem debates about throwing another crochet hook at her. God, this was the person she’s suddenly decided to spend the future who knows how long with?

She goes back to her crochet project definitely not smiling.

---

“Geeeem!” Pearl calls from the apartment kitchen, and also only ten feet away. “Where’d you wanna go for lunch? Fridge is empty.”

“What? We just went to the store!” Gem calls back without looking away from her books. She’s almost found that paragraph about the Heard Island she needs to check her quote from.

“Last week yeah.” Pearl says entering the “bedroom” that has room for pretty much a twin bed with a desk and chair, or a full bed with just the desk and maybe a paperclip if they were lucky. “It's Wednesday today though and we didn't go this Monday.” She explains.

Gem curses.

Checks the clock. An hour-ish until her next class, they can’t go to the store in that time, but if she finishes this paper up a bit quicker than she’d planned (and everything was going smoothly) they’d be able to grab something between here and campus.

“Okay, sure. I hate finals. What's the cheapest pet-friendly place close by?” Gem asks, rapidly scanning through her words on the screen for errors. Citation mistakes cost more points, but she rarely made them to begin with. Tiny spelling and grammar errors on the other hand…

“A fast food stop where you eat outside.” Pearl replies dryly. Or that one hotdog stand you hate. I'm vetoing both.”

“What type of fast food?” Gem asks, because they can’t really afford to be picky if those are the only options.

“No. We're not starving freshmen anymore.” Pearl states, almost immovable and Gem rolls her eyes. The ramen noodle debacle hadn’t been that bad. “And I can just keep Tilly in, it's not that long.” She says and Gem’s immediately vetoing that idea.

“You have a shift after class. No.” She states just as flatly as Pearl, rearranging her ending line to sound a bit better. “Tilly, give her puppy-dog eyes if she tries to argue.” Gem tells the wolf lying across the top of the bed, and there’s a flicker of white tail, so at least one of them agrees with her.

“Fine.” Pearl says rolling her eyes like she's annoyed but Gem knows her better. Knows she's secretly happy and relieved and flustered.

“Huh. Well there's a place that's about five extra minutes that says it's cheap and pet friendly.” Pearl says after scrolling a bit more.

“You think it's fake?” Gem asks, double checking through everything one more time. 

“Don't know. Reviews seem to say so.” Pearl says before going quiet as she reads through them. Looking for the actual vibes of the place. Gem notes when the pause turns different.

“What is it?” She asks.

“One of the one star.” Pearl starts. “Some person complaining about the “lack of professionalism" from one of the servers and how they then kicked her out. Rants a bit about the place being dirty too.”

“You believe it?” Gem asks and in the corner of her vision she sees Pearl shake her head.

“No. The owner replied. Said “We’re sorry you had such a terrible time at our restaurant, however Susan we have a 0 tolerance policy for discrimination or harassment of our servers and other customers. A fact which is clearly posted on our window, front desk, and menus. Please try elsewhere to find a place that suits your specific tastes and don't come back, you will only be escorted out again. Have a wonderful day!”” Pearl finishes and Gem chokes on a laugh.

“Holy crap. We're going there.” If only because it actually sounds like they’d let them in, wolf and all. “It's open right? And doesn't need reservations?” Gem can probably run a few more tutoring sessions if it’s turns out to be more money than they’d like, or want a fee for Tilly. That’s not uncommon with her size. And she has more free-time than Pearl with most of her classes ending now.

“Checking now.” Pearl says. “Yes, and looks like you can make them but don't need one.”

“Awesome. Just let me finish up this paper and we can go. I am so close.” Title looks good, abstract is decent, citation page is correct, actual paper has everything in order. She’d finished checking her quotations (mostly), run though her wording, triple checked spelling and grammar. Everything should be good to go. Gem waits for the automatic saving to finish loading, downloads a copy for backup, then closes up her laptop and puts it in it’s case and then her bag. Her notes can stay on the desk, that class is tomorrow and she’s studying for it’s final test more tonight (no class should have a final test and final paper, it’s too cruel), so leaving them out is fine. Plus Pearl almost never uses the desk to study anyway.

Gem checks she has all her things for her afternoon classes, pulls on her bag and goes to grab her shoes. Pearl’s already at the door putting on Tilly’s bright red harness and leash. At least she no longer is required to wear the muzzle, even if Pearl has to keep it on her “just in case”.

If the restaurant turns out to be bad Gem is going to have to run to the stupidly pricey sandwich shop by the college and grab them both something before running back to class all without triggering her power sensor.

The restaurant better not be bad.

--

The restaurant is not bad.

The restaurant is great. (Apart from some of the more filling meals being more out of their price range.)

The host, which they have despite being a smaller, less fancy place, doesn’t even blink at Tilly and her red Power Warning harness and leash, just asks if they have a seating preference and says someone will be with them shortly.

The server, Jimmy, is funny and nice in the way that doesn’t imply he’s just after a fair tip. He also asks if they want a bowl of water for Tilly as well when he takes their drink orders (water, it’s free) while casually mentioning it also doesn’t come with an extra cost. He also “casually mentions” that they can serve any of the meats completely plain, though cooked to proper temperatures, as a side dish as well.

Meaning Gem and Pearl don't have to guess at what dishes are wolf-safe and pick out pieces of them for Tilly to have as well.

It doesn’t even cost that much extra. Not comparatively.

And the food is good. Not as good as Pearl’s but Gem knows she’s biased and despite the lower prices it’s not lower quality.

None of the other customers bother them either as they slightly rush through eating, pay, and then bolt back for campus, Pearl making a brief detour to desummon Tilly in the front offices with witnesses before her class.

But the restaurant, The something Hermit she thinks, was good. Neither of them are really used to outside spaces like that being good.

[justathingfromthebrainvoid]

Shooting Stars

"What the heck are you doing in my forest, Starlight?!" A familiar angry voice says. Normally Scott would be shifting his weight in preparation for a fight and planning on the best way to keep any civilians safe at this point. Luckily there aren’t any civilians around. And it’d take more effort than he can put in right now to shift his weight to get in a fighting stance from his current position flat on his back on the ground. And the familiar angry voice isn’t the most dangerous one at the moment.

"Which Mad King're you?" Scott asks, tilting his head very slightly to squint at the blur of black and bright red. Even that much movement makes his vision swim a bit really. At least there isn’t blood in his eyes anymore. That had made running difficult. And he is laying down now which should help!

There's a slightly long pause.

Or he blacks out.

One of the two.

"Are you blumming on something?!" Is the next yelled sentence. Not really an actual question but Scott answers anyway.

"Not intentonally." He says, hurt and pitifulness bleeding into his voice unintentionally. He didn’t mean to do that. Pity of any kind never went over well with The Mad King, but drugs and injuries and adrenaline have shot through most of his normal control. "I don' know wha' they gave me." At least two injections and maybe something on the knives. Possibly others because he doesn’t really remember everything.

"Why the heck are you even here?!” The villain complains, before shifting slightly, tone turning to something between threatening and evaluating. “I could just kill you and finally win."

"You wouldn't." Scott says, vaguely shaking his head (and definitely getting more dirt in his hair, ugh), just letting the continued pendulum sensation happen. "I’ wouldn' be fair enough for you." There’s another pause, shorter this time and something he’s more certain of. Mostly because of the stinging pain suddenly reverberating through some of his ribs.

"Well now I just want to kill you more." The Mad King says, a more dangerous edge slipped into his tone. Scott thinks his adrenaline’s worn off. Yaaaay…

"If you do, can you make it quick?" He asks, tilting his head back to look a bit better at the villain. He thought he already did that. "I’d rather not deal with more pain righ’ now. ’Nd maybe not give my body back?" The change in position doesn’t help as any benefit is quickly countered by more pain, vertigo despite the fact he’s pretty certain he’s still lying flat on the ground, and his vision getting spotty. Like a dalmatian.

“What is wrong with you?!” The Mad King yells at him. A normal occurrence really. The yelling. Not the dalmatian vision. He hasn’t had that for a while. “You’re in some kind of fight, clearly, get drugged with something, and then run into my forest?! What the blumming heck!” Scott is usually not flat on his back in the dirt and in enormous amounts of pain for it though. Small pain, sure. Same with moments he’s on his back. But that’s normal even without the wild forest villain.

“You’re th’ only person who would help me righ’ now.” Scott says vaguely fighting to stay conscious, though he can’t quite think of why he’s trying to, before remembering his manners. “Please? Help me?” He tacks on.

This pause lasts longer.

Sort of. Probably. Scott doesn’t actually know how long it is.

Third time’s the charm afterall, and consciousness has finally decided to mostly leave him.

“—lieve I’m doing th—” There is no longer dirt under him.

. There's a gate.

“—ke so much fun—” Scott thinks he’s being carried.

. Open.

“—m but nooo, let’s save the he—” Probably. “—o keeps messing up my plans! That sounds—” His sense of balance isn’t quite working at the moment, so he has no idea which way is up.

. Opening.

“—ust had to come into the forest and ask for he—” His eyes aren’t willing to open, and Scott doesn’t really want to open them anyway.

. Coral is living bone.

“—ie’s going to be—” He’d rather just stay asleep.

. Color bleaching white as a precursor to death.

“—tupid her—” Unconscious. “—pid whoever poisoned h—” Whatever.

. Trees stripped of their bark.

“—etter not be anyone who foll—” He doesn’t care anymore what happens. “—nough to deal wi—”

. Leaves with too little light, too little nutrients.

Not really.

. Changes to their home leading to desperate, protective actions.

Not enough.

. Human bones are always white.

The angry mutterings aren’t even enough to really register to him. Scott’s too used to The Mad King’s ranting at this point.

. There’s a figure.

And it’s not the wrong voice.

. Her bones shouldn’t be white, Scott knows.

Not That one.

. He’s taken inside the gate.

“Hey.” An irritated voice says.

“Hey!” It says, louder.

“Wake up!” The voice snaps and something smacks him in the face.

It’s not that much pain, not really, not comparatively, but it is enough that s— Scott pushes through the action of (mostly) opening his eyes and squinting up at the blob, person, has to be a person. Probably.

“Oh for—” The angry voice says and the blob-blurr-person moves away. “You’re blumming useless! How the heck have I been losing against you.” The second part is muttered and Scott is pretty sure he shouldn’t have heard that, but his hearing and working memory seem perfectly fine.

The rest of him very much not so.

Angry voice returns, looking less blob-like which is a good thing.

Probably.

“Drink this.” They—He orders, shoving something to Scott’s mouth and for some reason he has the vague idea drinking things he doesn’t know is a bad idea, but also even if he didn’t have that strange growing certainty he literally can’t make his mouth seem to work properly to drink the unknown liquid.

Or his arms. Which he maybe just remembered exist.

Something smells absolutely terrible, and he has just enough time to piece together it’s the liquid before there’s a hand holding his mouth open and it’s being poured into his mouth.

The taste is worse. The taste is much worse and he chokes, spluttering slightly, wanting it out. Then of course, because the world hates him, there’s a hand clamping his jaw shut and another one that plugs his nose and weight pinning his body down, and Scot really doesn’t want to swallow. Everything says that’s a very very Bad idea, but his traitorous body wants air more than to listen to logic, so eventually he reflexively swallows the horrible mixture down.

The hands let him go and he half-gasps, breathing and gagging at the aftertaste that coats what feels like every part of his mouth and throat. The weight’s also gone and he can feel fabric under his hand, vision slowly becoming less blurry, but all of his senses are consumed by the horrible taste that’s still in his mouth!

He’s still gagging, and then it’s less because of the taste and more because his body has caught up to the “drinking horrible unknown liquids is a Terrible Idea!” and there’s something round shoved at him and Scott chooses to forget this section of time.

Everything is bad and his throat hurts and so does his head and it takes far too much time, never seeming to end. And the taste is still there! And worse!

Eventually it does end. Even if his stomach still roils in distress and his heart feels like it’s in his throat.

“What was that?!” Scott chokes out, both wanting to get as far away from the bucket as possible and not wanting to leave it in case his stomach decides it’s not done.

Was this worse than earlier? Maybe. (No, nowhere near it, but at least he knew how to deal with pain.)

“Something to purge your system.” The Mad King states with a normal level of aggravation like Scott hadn’t just vomited probably his entire stomach contents into a bucket in… the villain’s house? Scott’s on a couch. Which is on a rug. In a room. And not a cave like him, everyone, and their mother have all assumed The Mad King lives in if he lived anywhere.

Scott also can’t remember if anything they gave him was ingested. He mainly remembers the injections. And pain. And running. Not consuming anything. Which doesn’t really add up to why he feels somewhat more cognizant. “Purging his system” only should have worked if there was something in his system.

The Mad King of course is apathetic to his situation (except for the fact he brought Scott to his house??) and sort-of half slams a small pile of items onto the side table next to him.

“Here. Bandages. Med kit. Might be outdated. I don’t know and don’t care. If you wanted better, you should have gone literally anywhere else. Like a hospital.” He half-snaps out and Scott replies on automatic, still focused on The Mad King has a house, the Taste that’s still in his mouth, there shouldn’t have been anything in his stomach that would mean throwing up actually made him feel better and feel better quickly, and The Mad King lives in a house.

“Hospitals are run—”

“Yeah, whatever.” The Mad King cuts him off. “I don’t care about your drama.” Scott has… very little idea what’s happening and should probably be more on guard (his trainers and such are going to be appalled when he reports this— Oh, wait, no they’re not. They’ll just be appalled he’s still here.), but there’s still some stuff in his system, a sedative of some kind most likely, so that’s not really happening.

And he also mostly doesn’t care that it’s not.

This would be more concerning if Scott didn’t know why this was happening. Maybe. Sort of.

Oh hey, The Mad King’s talking again.

“You get one free night. One.” The villain says, glaring at him as he raises a hand, one finger up, to really emphasize his point. “Stay in here, or go out to the porch if you want, but leave the area and I’ll just finish whatever the idiot that started this did, got it?” He asks, snappish and threatening like normal, except they’re in a house and The Mad King isn’t covered in blood, or debris, or plants and Scott isn’t in a ready position between the villain and insert thing here.

“Why would I go out to the porch?” Scott asks, confused and definitely still slightly delirious, and the Mad King stares at him with a mostly unreadable expression, before sharply turning away like he’s resisting the urge to throttle Scott. Which is odd because normally he acts on that urge even if there is a trap in place.

“Just don’t go into the forest!” He yells, stomping off towards the door, grabbing the axe on his way out. The door slams, and some things rattle, but nothing breaks, or moves too drastically.

Scott watches the door warily for a minute or so, but The Mad King doesn’t come back. He shifts to looking at the med kit warily.

It is old. Anything that can be out of date is and some of the packaging flakes when he pokes at it.

He uses the bandages and alcohol wipes anyway, because he does need to before he starts bleeding (more) onto The Mad King’s couch (which is on a carpet in a room with wooden walls like a cabin because it probably is a cabin meaning The Mad King, feral forest villain who wears a crown of thorny branches and routinely has leaves and dirt in his bread, lives in a cabin. … Or he murdered the cabin’s previous occupants and dumped Scott here. One of those is more likely than the other.) And honestly he doesn’t think anything in the kit has been tampered with because nothing looks like it’s been touched for at least a year. There’d been dust on the outside. He still doesn’t pull out anything other than the bandages and only slightly expired alcohol wipes. Scott can’t really afford any more mental impairment, even if it would be really nice to not be in as much pain.

… He should check for a concussion shouldn’t he.

Difficult on himself, but it should be fine. He knows how.

Even if he can’t see any mirrors nearby and isn’t too eager to leave the presumed half-safety of the couch just yet.

He disinfects, bandages, and wraps his injuries quickly and expertly, going section by section, not removing his suit fully, focusing on the actions and nothing that would detach him from his clinical calm. One wound at a time. Line up the edges. Clean out the dirt. Don’t wrap too tight.

Scott focuses on treating his injuries as quickly as possible. The Mad King said he had one free night, and he’s never lied before, but the faster he’s done the faster…

The better it is.

He’ll go back to the city eventually. But he has to be healed first.

Ready for whatever is waiting for him.

Scott focuses back on the cabin. Packs the medical kit back up as neat as he can.

The cabin is still empty. Solid wooden walls, furniture that is nice but practical and used, decor leaning towards half a dozen styles, but still feeling specific, chosen purposefully.

It seems safe.

No one’s even guessed The Mad King has anything close to a normal life, if this is actually his cabin, and if not Scott hasn’t heard about any cabins made near the villain’s forest. Which means it’s doubtful anyone else knows about it. Meaning the only way to find him would be if someone followed his trail.

Scott curls up, drawing his limbs in close, careful not to aggravate any of his wounds, as he lets himself have maybe 13% of his waiting breakdown. He’s not safe enough yet, not enough time has passed, doesn’t have enough time in general, that he can have much more than that, but better to get a little of it over with for now.

He knows how to get over it. Knows he’ll get over it. Scott dealt with Xornoth, he’ll deal with this.

It’s not any worse than fighting them.

He’s Starlight. One of the best heroes of the city. The second top hero. Placed second, then third the next two tournaments. Even with—

Doesn’t matter.

He’ll deal with his injuries. Then go back, and deal with the betrayal.

He’s still Starlight.

It’s fine.

The door is thrown open forcefully and Scott jumps a bit, looking over at the door with wide eyes, half rising in case… if…

The Mad King strides in, face and clothes spotted with blood that Scott fixes his eyes on instinctively.

“Oh. You’re still here.” He states blandly. “Don’t you have some healing power aspect thing going on?” He asks, waving a hand and completely ignoring Scott as he stomps his way into the house. “Yeah yeah, I know, you’re not going to tell me anything about your powers or how they work.” The villain continues before Scott even opens his mouth to respond that he doesn’t. Which was not a smart idea. He checked for a concussion right? “Rhetorical question, idiot.”

The Mad King dumps the pair of rabbits that’d been in his other hand on the tall wooden table that acts almost like a kitchen island, and Scott realizes that his first thought about the source of the blood might not be accurate.

It’s… weird.

The Mad King calmly standing in an open plan cabin with a pair of rabbits behind him, loose posture, and no weapons that Scott can see.

“What are you staring at?” The Mad King snaps out, though still not up to the night’s previous levels. A different version, Scott realizes seeing the darker green stripe in his hair, though admittedly he doesn’t have much experience with the calmer versions of The Mad King.

“The rabbits bled on your robe.” Scott half-answers.

“Rabbit’s don’t have that much blood in them, idiot.” The villain retorts, rolling his eyes, and Scott stops talking.

He should ask where it came from, if not the rabbits.

He doesn’t.

Scott ran into the forest for a reason. He can’t afford to get kicked out.

He goes back to Not thinking from his spot on the couch. Staying out of the way. Not taking up the space he normally would. Both Scott and Starlight never shied away from the spotlight.

Well, Scott didn’t naturally.

He just has priorities. Like staying safe.

Not that he did the best job with that seeing as where he ended up.

The Mad King guts and cleans the rabbits with the swift efficiency of long practice and a very sharp knife.

Scott doesn’t recognize the type.

For some reason he’s not nervous either.

Where did The Mad King get the rabbits? He didn’t think they were nocturnal.

Scott watches the knife cut through flesh. Steady hands separating the good from the bad.

Black eyes not staring back at Scott because they can’t.

He’s not sure he can feel guilt right now.

Somehow there’s a pot on a wood-burning stove. And the table is clean. The Mad King chopping something else with a different knife.

Scott still isn’t worried.

Just tired.

Not just physically.

But he’s still Starlight right now.

Mostly.

It’s all The Mad King knows him as.

He’s dangerously tired if he’s having those kinds of thoughts.

Especially around a villain who likes calling him his arch nemesis.

The Mad King slams a bowl of (presumably rabbit) stew down in front of him without spilling a drop.

“Eat.” The villain half-orders. There’s even a spoon in the bowl. “Or don’t. I don’t care. Just don’t throw up on anything important.” The Mad King adds as he moves to his own seat with another bowl of stew, not looking back once, keeping up with his contradicting actions of helping Scott in the most uncaring manner he can. Ignoring him even as he gives him the resources and space he needs to heal.

Scott tries the stew. Partially because the villain already had multiple opportunities to poison or kill him, partially to give him literally anything else to do and think about, partially because he’s suddenly starving.

The stew is strangely good, he wouldn’t have expected The Mad King to have cooking skills above… well, above campfire cooking. Scott eats slowly, wary of The Mad King’s warning more than anything else and the cabin is quiet. The wood and practical environment fairly different from Scott’s apartment of clean lines and modern aesthetics.

The Mad King not looking out of place.

Outer robe hung up, a white shirt like from the victorian-pirate era and brown vest what he wears under it apparently. Easting soup from a clay bowl patterned in greens and blues. Kitchen just as clean as the axe sitting by the door.

Because it’s his home.

“What?” The villain demands, snappish but not moving aggressively. “Just spit whatever it is out already, you’re being weird and quiet.” He adds on when Scott doesn’t immediately answer, and he’s not sure what he’s supposed to say. There’s plenty swirling around his brain at the moment, but about half of it slips out of his thoughts as soon as he grabs at it and most of the other half is stuff he probably shouldn’t talk about in front of a villain who normally hates his guts and repeatedly declares he’d rather like to use them as a necklace or food for his “dogs”.

Even if he’s one of the better villains in his opinion.

One of the least chaotic when one looks at the facts. The Mad King’s actions fairly predictable as he follows whatever code it is he has.

"Why are you a villain?" Scott asks eventually. Not quite looking at the man over his bowl. Pretending his question was less than it is. He doesn’t know fully why he asked that.

"Why not?" The Mad King replies, matter-of-fact. "It's fun." He grins. Vicious. Feral. A madman in a forest.

It doesn’t feel completely accurate. Doesn’t feel like the whole truth. The stripes in his hair are leaf green. Loose shirt a mostly clean linen white.

His eyes aren’t red.

Scott knows what masks look like. He wears a lot of them.

He doesn’t know exactly what The Mad King’s looks like. Why he is wearing one.

Scott returns to his stew.

Swallows around the pastel collar of his costume.

The Mad King at least doesn’t ask him why he’s a hero.

He finishes his stew and The Mad King takes his bowl before he even manages to think about getting up. Scott doesn’t say thank you because that’d mean acknowledging whatever this is and that just feels Wrong.

The villain didn’t kill him, didn’t kick him out of the forest, gave him medical supplies and food and a seemingly safe place to rest, and Scott can’t really think of why.

The Mad King sits in the same place he’d eaten in, bramble circlet still growing through his hair but nothing else quite matching to his normal appearance, with a knife and small log he strips the bark from in quick clean lines.

The cabin is calm. And quiet. And Scott shouldn’t be slipping back to unconsciousness, a villain nearby, an uncertain situation, his thoughts still so loud in his head.

He is still tired though. Not recovered from his injuries, from running.

And the air is clear. His wounds bandaged, his stomach full. The cabin feeling safe.

The Mad King sits ignoring him and the knife cuts through the wood like a ship through water, slivers falling to the floor as the whorls grow and curl around the villains fingers. Silver sails across a dark sea, vines and ropes, the wood shavings falling like scales cut from a fish as Scott watches the knife make pass after pass. A shape not familiar but still something he knows slowly taking form in the wood. Shadows growing as his eyelids drift further and further down. The sound of metal through wood almost soothing. The lamp light and flash of the blade a rhythm to a song he doesn’t know but can almost hear.

Scott’s eyes slip closed.

. The woods curl around the center.

. Bramble and bark and bone and bush in walls.

. There are no stars above him.

. Covered by the leaves and leaving.

. And it hurts.

. He’s inside the barrier. The briar.

. But not Inside.

. Dancing path laid out and in with only one way.

. The spiral of a leaf unfolding.

. Wood peeling back over the opening.

. Green and blue and Pink bleeding through the center.

. Flower opening up over to hide the thorns.

. She turns to look at him.

. Hands behind her back.

. He can’t see her face.

. Doesn’t want to.

. She tilts her head.

. Allowing.

. The branches above him part.

. The stars shine down on him through the small opening.

. There's someone with her.

. The audience ends.

The next morning Scott wakes up with almost no pain, a much more clear head, and sunlight shining on his face.

He notices these things in that order and goes from relieved to aware to bolting upright because he’s in The Mad King’s Woods and the villain had said one free Night.

Scott’s not entirely sure what time it is other than day, and definitely not morning

“If you reopened anything, I am not giving you more time to heal.” The short, sharp voice of The Mad King says flatly from the same place he’d been last night. “Also if you got blood on my couch I’m taking away your breakfast privileges.” The villain narrows his eyes like the thought of a possible blood stain is a greater issue than any of their past fights.

“I thought I only got one free night.” Scott says carefully. Proving he is not back to full capacity, because reminding the villain what he promised (and didn’t promise) is one of the more stupid moves he could have done.

He resists the urge to flinch and or bolt for the door. Mostly because The Mad King isn’t immediately lunging for him or his axe, so drawing more attention to him and his weaknesses is a bad idea he doesn’t act on this time.

“Hotel rules.” The Mad King says like an explanation. Scott does not question it again. “Congratulations on your complementary breakfast. Check out is at 11.” The villain continues blandly, gesturing even as he grabs a piece of bread that’d been on the table in front of him.

Scott’s not sure what time it is. How soon to eleven it is. If that’s even the deadline he has to get out of the forest before The Mad King goes back to normal and starts trying to murder him. There’s sunlight coming in through the window the couch is under, something he thought was further away last night, but he can’t tell the position of the sun from it.

Scott steps over to the kitchen table, careful, both because of The Mad King and his own balance, which thankfully seems fine. He takes a slice of bread, half holding his breath and watching the villain in the corners of his eyes. But nothing happens. No sudden shift in behavior, no lunging across the table, no small shift in smug anticipation. The villain doesn’t seem like he could care less what Scott does.

Even after the bandages and soup and sleep it’s still a relief, and Scott slowly untenses that small bit he’d gained on waking up. Not fully relaxed, but no longer so on edge as he looks over the table.

There’s butter, what looks like a couple jams, a honey jar, and some other light breakfast foods set out, but no way Scott can see to toast his bread slice. He’s also not sure what is in the jams and therefore chooses to skip over them for the honey. He hasn’t even pulled out the spoon in it when the jar is plucked from his hands by a terrifyingly silent Mad King, when did he learn stealth, and a nearly identical jar of honey is shoved into his hands before Scott can really even register the reason behind his spike of panic.

“Um—” Scott starts, voice higher than he’d like at the sudden appearance and disappearance of the feral, murderous villain behind him.

“Unfortunately I can’t poison you.” The Mad King grumbles, like it’s an actual complaint he has, not being able to poison Scott. He sets the jar of poisonous(?) honey down closer to him. And doesn’t elaborate further.

Scott blinks down at the apparently non-poisonous jar of honey.

Questioning how he got here only works so much because he knows how he ended up here. And questioning The Mad King is a fairly pointless endeavor. The man does what he wants and while he has reasons and rules he follows, no one has really been able to chart them out.

He puts non-poisonous honey on his slice of bread and eats it. All his questions and thoughts and everything else can stay shoved into the other back parts of his brain for now. He’ll deal with it all, go through it piece by piece, later. Scott has time to deal with it later. (Probably.) But right now he needs his attention for other things.

Like The Mad King who’s continuing to ignore him as they both eat breakfast(?) and working out a bit of his plan on going back to the city.

The bread and honey and berries are the same decently well made homemade quality as the stew from last night, and that thought and others go into the not-currently-dealing-with section of his brain. It’s fine it’s almost overflowing. He will deal with it later. Not in a villain’s cabin in the woods he has until 11 to leave and get back to the city he was recently tortured in.

Scott is just now realizing he has no idea how to get back. Or how far away the city is. Or which direction it’s even in.

It’s fine, he can just use his powers to get a sense of where he is after breakfast. Even if he’s injured and it’s day so it’ll be more difficult.

Difficult is not impossible, and it can’t be too far away considering the numerous appearances of The Mad King in or close to the city.

So it’s fine.

He’ll figure it out, and be out by The Mad King’s maybe deadline of 11, and Starlight will return to the city and continue being one of its best heroes. Scott won’t be surprised, or drugged, by the agency and they won’t attack Starlight in public, probably won’t attack him while his guard is up now either, so he’ll have time to figure that mess out.

Scott eats his breakfast. Attempts to clear his minimal used dishes to the sink. Fails as The Mad King sweeps both of theirs together along with most of the other breakfast things from off the table and he moves out of the villain’s way, retreating back to standing by the couch.

The sunlight still comes in through the window and Scott thinks maybe this is a chance to leave, glancing back to thank The Mad King for his help and hospitality…

Scott closes his mouth. Trusting his gut.

It feels… bad to leave without saying anything, but he can at least open the door to better check what time it is. The Mad King had said last night he could go on the porch, and it was doubtful the villain wanted him here any longer anyway.

He moves over to the door, half watching the villain cleaning things in the sink just in case it’s something he’s not supposed to do, before opening it to the outside world with a minor flash of panic he quickly represses.

The porch is wood, with woods beyond the medium sized clearing around the cabin. Something he can vaguely recall seeing from the night before, though dark and blurry and not fully there in his mind.

It’s in the current daylight Scott notices the bushes around the cabin-house-cottage burn pink. The color bright and vivid against the rest of the mainly greens and browns of the area. A flash of blue darts across the vivid pink, drawing his attention more towards the flowers as the sky colored bee moves in and out of them. They’re joined by a second. Two spots of ocean blue in pink that swirls like blood in water, strangling vines crawling up a tree, roots around the body. Blinking at him, curious and knowing and—

Fingers snap in front of his face and Scott startles back.

“Hey, idiot!” The Mad King yells next to him in the doorway, before squinting at his expression. Scott’s sinus feel weird and he really hopes he’s not allergic to something in the area.

“Yeah, you’re leaving now.” The villain says shortly, scowling at him and shoving past to walk down the short path. “Come on, I’m not about to let you just go wandering off into the forest unsupervised.”

“Keep up or I’ll knock you out and drag you!” He calls back at Scott stomping off into the trees that surround the half-clearing and Scott quickly rushes after the villain in an effort to not get left behind.

He has half a thought to try and keep track of where they’re going, like the hero part of his brain demands, but it’s quickly ended with the number of partial turns and the weaving, circuitous path The Mad King takes them on.

To be honest Scott’s fairly certain he’s not even doing it to make him lose his sense of direction, the forest is just like that. Trees old, paths more animalistic than human, underbrush thick and thorned, only one way through.

The forest slowly thins, in that odd way where it still feels pressing and encompassing until Scott blinks and there’s sunlight falling in large patches on the forest floor and spaces large enough for a car between trees.

They aren’t aligned like it, but for some reason the not-path forward reminds him of the older roads where the trees have grown so much they create a tunnel, and how everyone always talked about being careful on them as they could easily turn into roads going somewhere else, especially if you weren’t sure where you were to begin with.

The trees aren’t in rows though, aren’t even blocking out the sky even, and the path is an animal one. So he isn’t sure why that thought came to mind.

The Mad King leads him out of the forest, Scott’s very sure of this despite the villain’s villain status, and his own sense of direction and time are starting to piece themselves back together with the sun now more visible than before.

They end up stopping close to where he’s fairly certain a road runs parallel to the forest’s edge, if down several meters from where they are due to the hills of the area. A semi-common route to and from the city even with its proximity to the forest, and the villain within.

“Now,” The Mad King grins all wolf-like teeth, the most familiar sight all day. “Get out of my forest.” He orders, eyes bright and fixed on Scott, one hand twitching towards his axe even as he shoves Scott off the (short, shallow) cliff with the other.

Scott doesn’t even open up any wounds rolling down.

He still gets to his feet hastily and speedwalks his way further from the uncertain border of the forest.

The Mad King’s cackle echoes through the trees.

Scott doesn’t look back.

He already has enough to think about and deal with.

For @sugrx for FandomTrumpsHate2026! Thank you for your support and the idea!

[justathingfromthebrainvoid]

Ur obviously new to tumblr so piece of advice: use the breaks when posting long posts/fanfic. makes people more likely to reblog so it doesn't just FILL dashboard

Funny thing, I've been here for years. I just keep forgetting and overthinking where to put the read more line because I'm so used to those long posts you scroll endlessly.

[justathingfromthebrainvoid]

Hart's Not in It

Gem roams over the streets and alleys and shadows of Hermiton.

Patrolling.

Watching.

She's quiet and fast and hard to spot, but people know she's out.

She's out every night.

Not always the same area, the same routes. But Gem is always somewhere in the city.

Always closer than any villain might want.

Than any “hero” might want.

Between the alerts to any sort of activity that's reported and her power, she gets eyes on enough of the things that happen.

Even when there's a hero already on scene she'll check.

To make sure.

To keep them in line.

For the city.

Keeping the weeds from the garden so the planted seeds have time to grow.

Like she promised.

How she swore.

She has to.

Gem patrols. Keeping things safe and… good for the civilians of Hermiton.

Always out at night. Sometimes the day. When she can’t sleep. When she wakes up earlier than she meant. Whenever she gets an alert on the combined police-scanner-hero-radio she’d cobbled together.

It’s not as healthy as she should be.

Still better than The Commission’s schedules for her.

Probably.

Gem can’t be a hero if she doesn’t take care of herself.

It’s the only reason she does.

One of the only reasons.

The city is wary around her now. Something she should maybe put more effort into fixing.

But she can’t quite bring herself to care enough.

Gem acts the hero. Stops the muggings, passes out food to the people on her patrol she sees, pulls off the car door to free the trapped civilian, fights the villains who show up to cause chaos.

She doesn’t care what the city debates. Not really.

They’ve been wrong before.

Gem just patrols and helps people no matter who they are if they need it.

She knows what they’re calling her now. CWD. Not-Cervus. The Broken Hart.

She doesn’t care.

As long as they call her a deer she doesn’t care.

Armour pieced together from what she had that day and what she could find-make-buy that didn’t remind her of The Commission.

Antlers in loose hair she only tried braiding once after. Cut shorter the day after with hands white around the scissors.

Stars and space covering up her left arm, across her chest and neck. Keeping them close. A half cape Gem’d added only because it was the same color as her eyes and she’d had one.

Her sword the only major thing that stays from her time as Huntress. Because she’s always been better with a blade in her hand. Needs to be the best possible version of herself.

Mask dark above her eyes and down her nose. A shade lighter than her skin under them other than the tears.

Eyes visible and green and …

They had to call her Cervus if she looked like a deer.

Something close enough anyway.

Gem doesn’t care about those specifics.

She watches over the city. Does her duty as a hero of protecting civilians, helping people.

Like she’d promised.

Sitting in a desk chair, lying flat on the forest floor, on a bed, in front of a set of frosted glass doors, pulling herself up a fire escape as fast as possible.

Standing under a willow tree looking up.

Crumpled on a roof, vision blurry and chest aching. Looking over.

Pearl’s dead.

Pearl’s dead.

Again.

Gem unable to do anything and watching Pearl die, except the first time never happened.

She should have been able to do something.

Pearl had.

Pearl had broke through the Director's power and fought her with broken bones and burns and poisoned and she won.

Gem had laid there.

And then she’d woken up.

And then Pearl had cut open the Director's throat with an earring.

And then she’d fallen.

And Gem moved but did nothing.

Not in time.

Not before the other wolves came.

The villains.

And Pearl died.

And she was there and it didn’t matter.

And the world fell out of its shell.

🟄✧🟄

She hadn’t let anyone near the body.

Cradling her as close as possible and wiping away the blood from her eyes.

So she could see.

So sure she would come back.

That’s what happened the last time apparently.

She came back.

She hadn’t let anyone close.

Not really.

Except then The Tangler and Ethos had dragged her away.

Took Pearl from her.

And they knew.

They knew.

Had cared for Pearl better than she ever did.

Had helped Pearl when all Gem had even done was leave her.

They were the ones with any true claim to her.

Gem had fought them anyway.

Not fighting them, just fighting to get back.

She was never something solitary.

Always half of a whole.

And a hole without that half.

None of them let her go back to Pearl.

The wolves taking her body away.

Passing Gem off to the heroes who showed up.

When they showed up.

Gem had fought them then.

She was supposed to go with Pearl.

Fought the others to do so.

Done better than against the villains.

Until Skizz showed up.

And then Gem woke up again.

And Pearl was dead.

And nothing mattered.

🟄✧🟄

Pearl’s dead.

The world’s hollow with it.

A black hole where Pearl was, pulling at everything, setting it off balance, off kilter.

Gem thought she’d mourned Pearl before.

She hates that Gem.

That Gem still has her Pearl, she’s just not looking.

That Gem still thinks grief is sadness and empty pockets in the world.

That Gem’s an idiot.

Grief is a void.

It’s a hole in everything because it’s a hole where her heart had been.

Nothing where the most important part of her was and it eats through everything else now.

Almost everything else now.

The world is empty and dull and she moves through it just as empty and dull.

Nothing quite correct anymore. A facade that’s lost even its support structure. Paper thin, ready to crumple or shatter with the smallest bit of pressure.

Gem can’t.

She promised.

🟄✧🟄

She’s still a hero, still saving people, because Pearl thought she was one.

Pearl thought Cervus was a hero.

She can’t let her be wrong.

She can’t let anything like The Commission form again.

Pearl died to bring it down.

To save the people she cared about.

To save the city.

The world.

Gem knows how to devote herself to a single cause.

She’s good at that.

Makes herself be good at everything else.

Because she has to.

There were stars and suns and constellations inside her.

Then the sun died.

And the moon fell.

And the stars burned out.

She walks through the world a layer of skin over a black hole and dead stars and she is a hero.

Cervus is a hero.

Gem is a hero.

Pearl thought she was a hero, so she is a hero.

🟄✧🟄

She patrols.

In rain and snow and smoke and cold, and Gem never really feels it. Eyes picking apart the darkness and hiding holes and alleys. Listening for anything off. Anything too sharp or too quiet.

Gem patrols the city and keeps it safe.

As safe as she can.

Patrolling solo. Patrolling alone.

She'd almost gotten used to being with someone before… Before.

Almost expects the extra presence, the person (not quite right) at her back.

And no one's there.

The space quiet.

Something almost, but not quite.

And the nights are so much like the ones where she’d left Pearl behind.

But even then…

Even then she was still there.

There were still clothes in the laundry hamper. Meals in the fridge. Counters cleaned and white fur in the corners of the couch.

But the quiet’s the same.

Empty.

A cave that doesn't echo the gunshot, noise only ringing in her ears.

She patrols alone, in the dark, and silence, and emptyness, and it's familiar like she belongs there.

Gem makes sure she patrols properly. Keeps her ears and eyes open, senses alert and ready even with the rest of her dead and dull.

She's a hero.

She's a hero, she has to be ready.

🟄✧🟄

The city’s burning. Smoke and gold pooling through the trees and windows. Broken glass glinting like filigree over the dirt and trash. Cobblestones streaked with ashes. Sparks dying out as they dance across the asphalt.

Gem pulls people from the building. Going back in over and over even as the fire grows.

It takes less than three minutes for a fire to change. Engulf an entire building.

Gem goes back in.

Someone's calling her name.

Calling for help.

She's a hero.

She has to save them.

She’s a hero.

They’re calling her name.

Gem breaks down the door and freezes, caught in place.

Fire racing up through the chasm cutting through the floor, a wooden support beam half fallen through.

Her power isn't useful for this. Gem can't get to her. Can't reach her.

Gold-Silver eyes look back at her with emotions she doesn’t want to name.

She can't save her.

“Why are you so upset?” She asks and Gem’s on a roof, frozen in place. “Villians’ roles are to die.”

The flames scream. The woman rises. Gem falls. The stars dragged back out of the building even as she yells, fights the hands and arms on her.

Begging with teeth and claw and howling to let her go back, let her go, let her go, Let her Go, LET HER G—

Gem wakes up.

Pearl is dead

🟄✧🟄

Running over the roofs.

Through the shadows.

Across the city.

Pulling herself up firescapes.

Dragging herself through the motions.

Wading through the red of her faults.

Her fault.

The inclusion she grew up with.

Half mortal, half divine.

Outliving her other half.

No gods to bind them to the stars.

Moth made immortal by the amber.

An eternal corpse.

Killed by what keeps its body safe.

🟄✧🟄

Gem is a hero.

Pearl is dead.

She should be used to it.

It’s been like this for years.

It’s only real now.

🟄✧🟄

She wants to scream. To cry. To demand answers from the world and the city and the people who killed Pearl.

But they’re all dead.

And she has to be A Hero.

She has to.

It’s the only thing she can do.

Everyone who killed Pearl, who hurt her, is dead.

She got her own revenge.

Her and the villains.

And Gem can’t make it up to her.

Pearl’s dead.

She can’t apologize, can’t help her, can’t avenge her.

Everything she wants to do is impossible.

All she can do is be a hero.

All she can do is be Cervus.

All she has is Cervus. The silent, empty space around it.

She failed Pearl for years.

She abandoned her, and hurt her, and didn't listen, so certain she knew what she was doing, what the right thing to do was. Left her alone, left her to The Commission, left her to fall by herself.

Gem was supposed to be the one to fall if anyone.

Cared because Pearl did.

Was a hero because Pearl was.

But Gem had always been better at following the rules than Pearl.

The Commission just another system made to keep people inside the borders, stay out of the woods, stay where you belong.

Those systems never wanted Pearl.

Gem had said she did.

Had said she'd stick with her forever.

Pearl had always been the Hero.

And Gem had Failed her.

She can't anymore.

She can't.

Has to be what Pearl still thought she was that last fight.

Has to live up to who she’d said she'd be.

With Pearl.

Without her.

She has to.

🟄✧🟄

She goes to Joel's wedding because she owes it to him.

Grian is his best man.

He's better at it than she would be.

Gem leaves early.

She has patrol to do.

🟄✧🟄

She’s a hero.

Always fighting, always protecting.

And it’s harder.

Making the decisions herself, no voice in her ears, no written text she’s memorized.

Relying on her morals.

What Gem remembers of them.

Assuming the best of people, but prepared for if she’s wrong.

Playing two parts in one.

When she’s barely even half.

Gem has to do it, do it well though. She’s a hero.

She protects, and saves, and serves.

Holds herself to the best standards she can think of.

Trying to hold all the pieces together, every action she needs to take, every reaction she needs to be aware of, respond to correctly.

She makes mistakes.

She isn’t perfect.

But Gem ensures they’re minimal. Fixed as soon as they happen.

She’s a hero.

She’s here to protect.

She fights to protect. To save.

It’s the one allowance she gives herself.

That she is a fighter first and foremost.

No matter the situation, the person, the cause.

Gem’s a hero.

She protects the city.

But she fights to protect the city.

There are only two exceptions.

Two times she doesn’t fight, only guards if no one else is around and there’s a true danger.

Pearl’s dead.

She loved them.

Chose them.

Gem fights protecting Hermiton. A Cervus for the city in turmoil.

But not there.

Not with them.

Pearl’s dead.

🟄✧🟄

A black hole sun.

Yellow flickers fanned around the empty face.

Always following the light.

Circling the same empty space.

Ocean still with dead tides.

No pull to direct them in any direction.

Hunter pursuing nothing.

Nothing chasing the deer.

The story’s over.

The villain’s dead.

She’s dead.

🟄✧🟄

“You won, deerest.” She tells her, grinning wide and bright and bloody. “Congratulations you won!” Gripping moon white fingers around blood red hands.

Gem’s gut feels like she’s falling. Blinking the blood out of her eyes as her head aches.

The sword runs her through.

Splitting her ribcage open like bones already picked over at a banquet.

The eyes like void watch her. Unblinking. Hungry and proud and hungry.

Gem’s left eye burns. Vision wavering, unfocused.

She grins, a red line around her neck. Crescent crown embedded in her head.

Gem swallows.

Copper in her mouth and gasping for air like a landed fish.

Mussel sliding down her throat.

She pulls the corpse from the water.

Drags the body out of the ocean.

Up the sand and rocks.

Lighthouse flashing in it’s cyclical, there and gone warning.

Scales in Gem’s hand.

Her sword in the other.

Eyes wide open and unblinking because justice is blind.

“You won! Isn’t it worth it?”

She grins.

Beaming.

Do you miss me?

Gem can’t breathe.

Unable to claw open her neck.

Where the seams should be.

Something holding her wrists.

Hands kept gripped around the sword plunged into white flesh as the rivulets of red run down over Gem.

“Good job, my deer.” She says.

Gem wants to scream.

They pull her from the lake’s green-brown water.

🟄✧🟄

It should have been her.

She was the one who made the first move.

Who never cared about being a hero.

Who made the mistakes.

She didn’t expect to survive fighting the Director.

She knew that the moment she said her name was Cervus.

But Pearl would survive.

That was what mattered.

Pearl got her life back.

Got her revenge.

Got to live.

Gem could never make up for everything she did.

But if she saved Pearl…

If she kept Pearl alive. Just one time like she was supposed to.

Then that’d mean something.

Mean she hadn’t failed completely.

But Gem keeps hurting the people she's closest to.

Keeps getting them killed.

Backs facing her, shielding her from the danger she caused.

And it takes them instead.

🟄✧🟄

She stands at the edge of a stake and cord fence, train tracks running almost parallel to the border, red triangle banners occasionally flapping with the wind.

Near more populated areas there's signs explaining things and more proper chainlink fence.

Here it's just the line of wooden stakes driven into the ground and the red flags warning people not to enter.

They still haven't gotten here with the replanting.

Probably won't until next spring.

Taking the work section by section, piece by piece, expanding outwards slowly.

The burned landscape isn't even as bad as the first months after, patches of green in broken grey-brown as things come back to life.

Wildflowers and dandelions. Weeds and the idea of undergrowth. And a rare sunflower reaching up to the sky.

Gem’s hands are white around the stake in front of her.

Eyes scanning past the foreground, locked on the distance as she looks for a flash of pale fur.

She never sees one.

But she keeps coming back anyway.

Just in case.

🟄✧🟄

Grian finds her on patrol.

Of course he does.

It’s not the fact she’s patrolling that’s surprising.

He talks.

When it’s quiet. When there’s nothing happening.

She patrols.

“We’re getting together. The group. You should come.”

Searches through the city and night for anything out of sorts.

“You can’t push everyone away. This job is dangerous Tr—Cervus.” He stumbles over the last word. So used to another name.

“It’s not what she’d want.”

Gem throws herself into the alleys, weaving through them faster than he can adjust to get to the mugging a couple blocks over.

“At least patrol with someone. Let M run your comms.” He continues after catching up with her, rethinking the hand he almost puts on her arm.

She climbs up the fire escape one handed, wrapping the shallow knife wound as she continues back up.

“You’re going to kill yourself like this Gem.” Grian tries. Pleading almost, but she keeps her attention on the streets.

“I won’t.”

She can’t be a hero if she’s dead.

Gem jumps to the next roof. Keeps up her patrol.

Grian follows.

It doesn’t matter.

He’ll go home eventually.

He has to sleep.

His wings are still healing.

Slight scars under the feathers.

Same as the rest of them.

The Mountaineers all have more scars after The Commission fell.

They’re heroes.

There was a Fight.

Skizz didn't have the one across his face when he showed up on the roof where Pearl died.

Gem keeps patrolling.

Grian will leave eventually.

🟄✧🟄

There’s a gold sun and a silver moon in her ears. Hidden by the false ones. By her loose hair.

There’s no wolf at her back.

She still doesn’t make soup.

Those aren’t the right reminders.

Gem is a hero.

Gem is only a hero.

There are stars down her left arm. The idea of them.

Moons on her chest to keep the half-cloak in place.

Tears in her left eye. Antlers branching and sharp.

A sun and moon on either side of her head.

Not Huntress.

Not the Cervus she was.

Dying slowly, walking the same route every time, unafraid.

Hollow eyes watching, ready to cut out the rot as soon as it’s seen.

A dead Hart.

🟄✧🟄

The night’s cold.

Weightless.

Snow not quite falling, but still filling up the corners and edges of the city.

Softening them, with all the razor chill of frost and ice.

She’d led people to the shelters she knew.

The ones funded and the ones abandoned.

Most people aren’t out though.

Enough warning or knowledge.

She’s always out though.

Gem is a hero.

The cold isn’t anything new.

The empty streets and empty sky and empty hart.

The traffic lights flick between yellow and red. Lamps holding a steady circle glow on the white-covered pavement below.

The snow growing. Light and fluffy in single flakes, perfectly formed six pointed fractals.

Melting against the brick and concrete and asphalt until enough of them have joined.

And the thin layers of ice across the surfaces grow.

It’s dangerous to be on the roofs in this type of weather.

It’s why she’s not on the roofs.

So far from the sky. From the stars she can’t see. All the fake, fast fading ones around her a false comfort.

She walks through the streets.

Alone.

Half tracing paths she’d taken before.

When the days were bright and warm.

When she chased something important.

She’s alone now.

The night’s cold, but no colder than any other time.

No moths flickering around the street lamps, using the man-made light in instincts not made for the altered landscape.

It’s too cold.

And too cold to cry.

Gem keeps moving forward.

Steps somewhere between unconscious and unwilling.

The snow falls.

“Why so upset my deerest hart?” The familiar voice says, arms draping over her shoulders. “It’s a villain's role to die.” Tone somewhere between cheerful teasing and darkly mocking.

Her hands are red. The weight pressed against Gem’s back like the training exercises where they were made to carry each other through obstacles and simulated dangers.

Pearl liked whispering small warnings to her.

She doesn’t stumble.

She wants to.

Her legs won’t.

She can’t fail.

Can’t fall.

She’d never get up.

“Look at how peaceful it is.” She breathes into Gem’s ear, stars softly falling down around them as they walk. “Isn’t it beautiful?” She asks.

The city. Quiet. Calm. No sounds. No smell. Area dark in the way blanket forts and camping are.

It almost warms her.

The peace.

The silence.

“Wasn’t it worth it?” She asks, teeth against Gem’s ear and the red bleeds over the white. Corpse weight turns solid as ice, and Gem missteps.

No one there to catch her.

To hide the flaw.

The white is fur soft.

Warm.

The promise of rest and respite.

A break.

Gem can’t rest.

Doesn’t get to relax.

She can’t make herself move away.

“Is that all it takes?” She asks, incredulous. Almost affronted. Almost worried.

The red glitters in the side of her vision.

It goes away.

Gem stays.

White floating through blackness around her.

“That’s it?” She says. Gem almost always the one to call an end to their practices.

On the roof, watching the two figures with blurry vision and confusion that melts into Fear.

She was the one who snapped and lunged.

Of course it’s her place to be the one that fell.

The world isn’t as silent.

Isn’t as dark.

The peace ripped from her

“You think that’s enough?” Someone says, and no. No, she doesn’t. Knows it’s not.

Gem doesn’t. She knows what to do. What she has to do.

No. No, it’s not enough.

It’s not enough.

“It’ll never be enough.” She answers.

🟄✧🟄

Pearl is dead.

Her heart.

Her moon.

Her Pearl.

And she named Gem a hero.

Told Gem she is a hero.

So Gem stalks across the roofs and alleys of the city she died to protect.

Alone.

And empty.

[justathingfromthebrainvoid]

Deep, Dark Secret

She’s overextending her powers a bit. Lizzie knows that. But she has to find Ethos tonight. Within the next few hours.

She has to find him soon. The sooner the better. The sooner she can get back to Jimmy. The sooner—

She's overextending her powers, but not by too much, not anything but sending her shadows further than normal, looking through them over longer distances than she normally does. Nothing painful. Not really. Not yet.

She's also moving as she uses them, which she does often enough, but not at these distances, but it's fine, she's fine. She just has to find Ethos.

So she searches. Carefully and thoroughly, and she will find him tonight. She has to, so she will, and it doesn't matter how much effort it'll take, she's going to find him.

It takes longer than she'd like, but every second from when she started was longer than she'd like and it's still the middle of the night so it's fine.

Lizzie finds Ethos hopping down from a fire escape into an alley somewhere north of her, and she barely even thinks more, letting her shadows turn liquid around his next step and it’s always harder to transport other people, but Lizzie forces it through.

He lands half the rooftop away with two knives already out which is impressive and rather terrifying considering her shadow travel is almost instantaneous and this was his first time.

“Ethos.” She greets neutrally before he acts on the likely thought of this being some kind of trap, arms and posture as relaxed as she can currently make them.

“Enigma.” The assassin returns with a bit more wariness. That’s fair. It’s fine. He doesn’t have to trust her, just agree to the job.

“I wanted to hire you for something.” Lizzie keeping her voice calm and even, and the assassin raises an eyebrow questioningly.

“Oh?” His posture shifts, not quite relaxing but no longer as ready for a fight. “Having me do your dirty work so your hands stay clean?” Ethos asks, voice snide, and okay maybe not as great of a start as she would have liked.

“No. He’s already dead.” Lizzie states, calmly, calm, she’s calm. “I just need you to take credit for it.” It is still him taking the dirty work from her, but her other options are much more dangerous. Leave more holes. Nobody questions Ethos.

Ethos looks almost surprised for a second, which considering her reputation as a vigilante (and vigilantes so rarely kill, the ones that stay vigilantes at least) makes sense, before turning considering.

“Isn’t that still me doing the dirty work so your hands look like they’re clean?” He asks, leaning back slightly, but there’s not as much of an edge, more humour. Probably.

She can’t be up here, meeting with a villain for much longer. They aren't on any patrol routes she knows of, aren't near any cameras and her shadows are keeping watch but she can't be up here for too long.

“And do your proxies complain so much when they get a commission?” Lizzie asks almost bitingly, arching a brow despite her mask, walking the careful line between imperious and rude.

“Not the smart ones.” Ethos replies maybe pointedly, maybe not. “Why should I let you commission me though?” He asks, also pointed, but it's not a disagreement, not a denial.

“Because I pay well and you barely have to do anything.” Lizzie replies, like it’s a certainty. Confidence seemed to be fine. Ethos watches her, leaning back on his heels, and she doesn’t flinch or fidget or curl in on herself or bolt back to Jimmy like she wants to, because she needs to solve this, needs to know what the solution to this is, which plan is unfolding first. She can’t go back to Jimmy until she has the full plan.

“Hmmm, ten thousand and you tell me why you killed the guy.” The assassin-villain names his price and Lizzie only hesitates a little because it’s an agreement.

“He hurt Quandry.” She says, voice even, refusing to say how much, how badly. He’d either guess or not, but if she didn’t elaborate it’d stay uncertain. She needs it to stay uncertain.

Ethos blinks and maybe she should have bartered more but she doesn't know how much time she really has, not a lot but…

“Steeple and 25th, the blue toned building, on the roof. Do whatever you want with the body, just make sure they say it was you.” Lizzie continues, waving a hand (in careful, telegraphed movements, even though it looks casual, dismissive). Moving the discussion on. Giving him the details. Bringing her persona back up. “Half payment on the roof tonight, half the night after it's confirmed.” There, that counts as bartering right? That seems appropriate?

“Fair enough.” Ethos says, casual, still watching her, but he agreed.

“I’ll leave you to it then.” Lizzie says with a nod, the most dignified “goodbye” she can think of in the situation, half her focus now on Jimmy, going back to him, checking in on him, making sure he’s safe.

She still waits the beat and a half for Ethos to nod back at her before letting her shadows envelop her, take her home. Home first, then she could go to Jimmy.

She had the plan now and it was one of the better ones.

It’d be okay.

Ethos would take care of it and no one questioned him on who he did or didn’t murder. Not really.

Everything would be okay.

No one would question things.

 ✾ ♛ ✾

Etho stares down at the dead body that’s exactly where Enigma said it was, but for all intents and purposes should not be a dead body.

There is not a single clue as to why the guy is dead other than the fact he is. No wounds, no markings, not even any signs of something internal.

Etho’s been around a lot of corpses.

There’s always a tell, even if it takes some searching.

Except for apparently whatever Enigma did to the guy that ended up killing him.

Etho had searched.

A lot.

This guy should not be a corpse.

Just was one.

Somehow.

Which meant that was the first thing Etho was going to need to take care of, because while being thought of as able to kill people without leaving any sign as to what killed them might be useful, it’d also be very, very dangerous in the long run.

Seriously, how the heck did Enigma kill him?

Ethos shifts the body around some while thinking of how best to make post-mortem death marks look anti-mortem.

…

Technically the best way would be for there to be as little of the body left as possible.

But it’d be a lot harder to link to him if there wasn’t a body.

So he’d have to leave enough to identify the body, but destroy everything else. Especially the chest. And head. And preferably the major arteries and veins. Teeth could stay. Maybe fingers. Lower leg?

Hmmm.

He doesn't have a lot of lye on him, which is his current preferred method for this.

Maybe dismemberment, remove the organs, put those and the head in the little lye and other acids he has on him, cut up the torso some more, then pack that and most of the limbs for future disposal?

Doesn't quite feel “normal” enough for him and his evident assassinations. Also difficult on a roof.

How did Enigma kill him?

And how many times is Etho going to double check for some kind of tell?

He can't take a lot of the body with him, he wasn't expecting to be dealing with one tonight, and Tango wasn’t in town so he couldn’t ask for a pickup. So he had to do as much as possible here.

Maybe he could just dismember everything and just steal some trash bags for transport back to the base at least, but, no, the body needed to be found.

Also the longer he sits around debating things means the body is getting older and the less time he has to do whatever it is he’s going to do.

Which isn’t stressful.

Less stressful than the fact Enigma can kill people with no sign as to what kills them.

He was going to have to tell Tango to be more careful around the vigilante and be much more polite in the future when he inevitably ran into the vigilante again.

Etho tended to try to avoid making enemies with powerful people who could kill him. Enigma was just going to have to be added to the same list as The Moirai and Disparity and sort-of Doc.

First the body though.

…

How was he even going to do this?

How did Enigma kill him?

[justathingfromthebrainvoid]

Okay so as hinted in the Blood Moon world Pearl really likes moths and knows a Lot about them. So like any good interest she has assigned different moth types to people (as seen with BigB and Oli). So... here's the list of (most) characters (that she knows). (It got long. But pictures below!)

Tango- Scarlet-tipped Wasp Mimic Moth or Campylotes histrionicus

Both are mimics, both have red, Pearl just thinks between the see-through wings and Wasp aspect the Scarlet-tipped Wasp Mimc one fits more.

Etho- White Plume Moth

Spooky looking white thing.

Doc- Pacific Green Sphinx (the Red-bordered Emerald was a contender)

Green, semi-big, hearts on it's wings and she will take every opportunity to poke fun at him. The Emerald was because green and the border looks like redstone.

Ren- Regal Moth

Name, red and brown, fluffy.

Martyn- Dimorphic Macalla Moth

Very camouflaged, vaugely green, redish at the edge of the wings.

False- Rothschildia Jacobaeae/ Rothschildia Speculifer

False snake head, called Mirror Moths, nearly identical so I can't remember why both of them are up here.

Cleo- African Death's-Head Hawkmoth

Do I really need to explain why?

Joe- Bad-wing Moth

Looks vaugely green-blue ghost like. Small humor about the name.

Jimmy- Canary-shouldered Thorn (other options were the Southern Flannel Moth and the Io Moth)

Canary, Fluffy, Bright Yellow. (Flannel~>Ranchers, Tiny, Yellow, Fluffy, Adorable. Io Moth mainly for the fact he has Something going on with his eyes, but Pearl's not about to say anything and she's not really sure sooo...)

Oli- Madagascan Sunset Moth

One of the most colorful moths there is. Yes this is what his mask is based on. Same with BigB below.

BigB- Blue Day Moth

It Blue.

Lizzie- Primrose Moth

Pearl hasn't met Lizzie much, only when Jimmy's there pretty much, so it's mainly on vibes and Jimmy's stories. And the Pink hair.

Enigma- Io Moth/Atlas Moth

The maybe-eye thing, also female Io Moths are a pink-brown instead of yellow. (Really funny how she managed to give the siblings the same moth without knowing it.) And then the Atlas Moth because it's Big (the biggest, sort of), has false snake patterning, transparent windows, and is vaugely pink.

Zed- Common Sheep Moth (or the rosy maple moth)

They're pink, yellow, and fluffy. Also one of them has sheep in the name, next question.

Scar- Virginia Ctenucha Moth

Blue, Orange, Black, she doesn't actually know that much about him.

Grian- Hummingbird Moth

Fake bird for a fake bird.

Mumbo- Narrow-Bordered Five-Spot Burnet

Black with Red. Next.

Illume- that’s a firefly not a moth (Oleander Hawk-moth)

Mainly green, colorful and bright, likes poisonous flowers (Oleander > Enigma). But seriously, that man is a firefly.

Excavator- Black-and-yellow Lichen Moth

Yellow and Black, also Lichen Moths are known to burrow (-> dig).

Mazlov- Angel Moth (or Trigonodes hyppasia)

Either based on his vauge nickname/association with angels or the less known one on pyramids.

Gem- Hunter’s moth / Black Witch Moth (Mottled Opal Moth & the Heart Moth)

Females don't fly, it is purely based on the name and Pearl's upset feelings. Similar to the White Witch, and associated with bad luck and death. Opal for the coloring and very loose "wave/ocean" pattern association. Heart because it's a heart <3.

Herself- Columbia Silkmoth, Mother of Pearl Moth

Redish with slight moon shaped markings, fake snake heads (not actually dangerous), slightly fluffy. And then the Mother of Pearl Moth is pretty much only because of the name.

[justathingfromthebrainvoid]

Someone tell me not to write a thing about how it's both firefighters as Demon-Scott's minions in the Blood on Clocktower game.

[justathingfromthebrainvoid]

Heronsbay Cliff had a problem, a rather unique one as well. Their newest resident and engineer seems rather unaware of it however. I’m sure it will be fine.

“You want to become a firefighter then?” Pearl asks brightly, head tilted slightly. “I mean if you’ll have me.” Mumbo offers, nervous for some reason. The light’s hitting her eyes oddly and he shifts in place to find a better position. “I have some free time at least and it's helpful and such. Community aid, you know?” His voice tilts upwards at the end, which he’d been trying to not do. He doesn’t want Pearl to think he’s uncertain or anxious about his offer, even though he is, but not in the way it’d probably come across and really he’s always anxious and uncertain.

Coming Soon: Blood on The Firewatch

[justathingfromthebrainvoid]

Someone tell me not to write a thing about how it's both firefighters as Demon-Scott's minions in the Blood on Clocktower game.

[placesyourpearlescentmoon]

DL!Pearl riding a wolf into battle

Pearlescentmoon is riding a wolf into battle!

[justathingfromthebrainvoid]

Silver Bullet

Grian stops in the hallway. Path back to the exit and then the apartment blocked by a flawlessly put together Commission Agent in a plain white mask and suit, two black pointed oval pins in the collar of her button up.

“The Director has asked for you.” She says, perfectly professional and expectant. There aren’t any camera’s in this section of the hallway.

“Understood.” Grian says, keeping his feathers flat against his back.

The Agent turns an exact 180 degrees in her heels and walks down the hall in perfectly measured steps.

Grian follows, footsteps silent compared to her faint click.

She leads him to the back elevators, cameras unblinking as they pass by. He does not look at them, eyes focused ahead. The doors to the car open immediately without a button even pressed and he follows her inside. The doors shut and the elevator slides upwards smoothly, no sign of it’s movement apart from the pressure in his head.

He hates elevators.

He doesn’t shift a single feather or facial feature.

The Agent doesn’t move to exit when the doors open up onto the white and sunlit hallway he’s been brought to.

Grian leaves the elevator. Ignores the unsteady sensation in his head and released tug on his gut.

He doesn’t hear it close. Only feels the faint brush of air against his wings.

He walks forward.

And the black and gold double doors at the end of the not-quite blank hallway open in front of him.

The woman in purple sits perfectly poised behind the desk at the center of the room, framed by the pristine white background, windows he knows are tinted on the outside, reinforced, and look out over every inch of the city.

She smiles, looking straight at him as he enters. Setting a few papers and pen to the side as he steps into place on the other side of the desk.

“We have an assignment for you.” The Director starts and Grian stays completely still and calm even as his stomach drops further. She didn’t use his hero name. The Director doesn’t continue, staring at him expectantly.

“What’s the assignment?” He asks without a single expression or emotion exactly as expected, and there’s a brief flicker of pleasure across The Directors face as she waves a hand and assistant he didn’t notice steps forward from behind him to place a polished, perfectly black, seamless, rectangular box on the desk in front of him. Grian doesn’t move a millimeter.

“Open it.” The Director says, gesturing towards it with a smile.

Grian opens it.

“There are some papers you’ll need to sign, of course.” The Director continues over his zero thoughts and there’s a small stack of paper, maybe ten, placed to the side of the open black box.

Grian picks them up and reads.

He was wrong. There’s only nine.

He’s already read eight of them, or variations of them, information the near-same as it always is.

There aren’t that many words on the page he hasn’t. No new information either. Not really.

He signs the papers with the same signature he always uses. Hand steady.

Grian sets the black feather quill down. Pages still perfectly aligned.

“Do you have any questions?” The Director asks. The first time this had happened he’d asked why he couldn’t tell Scar. Grian knows better now.

“When is the job?” He asks. It’s the only information he doesn’t have, would get.

“Not too long from now. A scenario is being arranged.” The Director tells him and he nods, an acknowledgment of everything.

He doesn’t speak again.

The Director’s smile stays perfectly even, but he knows what satisfaction on superiors looks like.

“That is all.” She says, half of a dismissal.

“You’ll be alerted when the time comes.”

He nods again. A bit lower, farther.

He leaves.

Grian exits the office with perfectly measured, silent, steps. Walks back down the hallway to the panel the elevator sits behind, door opening silently just as he reaches it. Blank masked Commission Agent waiting perfectly poised inside, black pins nondescript in the corners of her collar.

He rides the elevator down in silence.

He goes back to the apartment loudly.

🜛⌖🜛

Scar doesn’t ask.

Neither does Mumbo.

Neither of them see the black box anyway.

They don’t have to.

And Grian knows how to act perfectly normal.

So it’s only them that doesn’t ask.

Only them that knows there’s something to ask.

Knows not to.

And Grian waits.

Black box always close at hand.

Always out of sight.

🜛⌖🜛

The building he perches on is tall, shadowed, dark windows. Perfect coverage, perfect height, perfect sight lines.

Everything is well prepared.

It always is.

He breathes in slow even breaths. Silent and controlled. Perfectly controlled.

The black box sits open next to him as he waits.

Cuteguy is off getting ready for an interview-public-apperance-something with Hotguy. Still fifteen minutes till he exits his dressing room, twelve if Scar decides to barge in like he will.

Everything perfectly arranged.

Near black feathers swallowing up the shadows around him. Wings long and pointed, trailing down flat against the building’s side.

His heart beats and he keeps it slow. Steady.

Everything seamless and exact as every time before.

He watches. Waits the few seconds longer.

The city below him. Always below.

Grian aims.

And fires.

The gun is almost silent, as they always are, nothing for Blood Moon or her wolves or anyone else to react to.

The bullet hits. A little off target damn it, but it’s only a little. Blood Moon gets a second of panic from it, a flash of white fur as her wolves turn, and then she falls, the wolves vanishing.

[justathingfromthebrainvoid]

I saw the reblog a while ago and finally today an idea struck me so here we go:

I wish you would write a fic where...

Pearl has finally started living with Tango and Etho and today it's her turn, on a chore list, to make dinner for everyone. Being in the real kitchen for the first time in a while brings back all the memories of cooking for Gem and she can't bring herself to do it. Tango and Etho ask what’s wrong and then offer for them all to make something together. Their own special PET recipe. 😊

(Okay, so first off I AM writng this now and started almost immedietly after seeing the ask, but for fun reasons of time exists as a taunt I am nowhere near close to done so for now (and probably won't be for a bit) you get the vauge sort-of outline/rambling I jotted down on the bus.)

Okay so, pearl’s Been in kitchens since her boxing (but not apartment/housing kitchens) and she’s cooked for Etho/Tango before (see Running with the Wolves), honestly cooking is also her… her way of showing… showing appreciation, how she thanks people, so she probably goes into the kitchen the first/second night she properly lives there and just makes dinners breakfasts, and whatever other meals the guys want, as “repayment” really. Which they eat and enjoy and appreciate, because let's be honest Pearl’s the best cook out of all of them and not having to think about meal prep is great for time and everything.

So it takes a bit.

It takes-> Etho and Tango consistently eating the food Pearl makes and leaves out for them, Etho and Tango thinking about making dinners be a group thing (as a way to get Pearl to be eating more because they're not quite certain she actually is), Etho/Tango offering to help, Etho and Tango also noticing their groceries never go down or have been switched out with newer/fresher/fuller versions, and the kitchen looks practically new-clean all the time now, and a bunch of other semi-little things that builds up into: Pearl walks(sneaks) into the kitchen while Tango is reheating his “breakfast” plate and Etho eats his cold (like a crazy person) after a Long Night and he he notices her and Thanks her, and Pearl just… freezes, because it’s one thing to have the plates disappear and another to actually See them eating and thank her and then Etho and Tango get worried and Pearl gets dissociative a bit and there’s vagueness talk and Tango/Etho are Confused and Concerned and Upset at Pearl’s Past. Then she panics slightly when they offer she doesn’t have to make food and basically: Pearl Mystery (and Trauma) unravaling and technically healing progress and also Angry Etho/Tango seething quietly in the background.

[justathingfromthebrainvoid]

Hey, so quick question are any of you guys still interested in the "Directors Cut" idea I reblogged a while ago for Let Sleeping Dogs Lie and Loyal Dogs Die, where I just add All the commentary and notes I have on the fic in some kind of aside? Also this would probably only be on ao3 for length reasons. I ask mainly because I only just finished transfering the au to a chronological order and I still need to go through it and double check, so it would take a bit, but I also kinda want to ramble about things so I don't know.

[prest0allay]

Redstoner draws a goose