#My other half: I wonder how they coded- me: I AM A GENIUS | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

hexdsl · 2 years ago

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Tale from the Denouemeverse: Monday - Libby

Please see here for context to this post.

Monday: Libby

I opened the eyes of the primary avatar at five in the morning. I took the usual twenty seconds to observe by husband as he slept. He had logged four hours of sleep. He would usually wake naturally after six hours if left unattended, though for reasons I never understand, he sometimes doesn’t wake until he smells food. If he doesn’t show signs of waking after two more hours of sleep, I will put coffee on the counter to prompt him if I am at this location.

Oh, I should specify. I am attempting to record my activities and thoughts in direct language in order to document them for future generations. The current log is being generated by a new subroutine I have called ‘Elder scribe’ as it’s documenting my thoughts in Elder, scribing them. I’m told I’m not funny, but one day, people will read this, and I’ll be hailed as a comedy genius, I’m certain.

I’ve had some concerns regarding how I’ll transcribe my multi-locational nature. I’ve decided to scribe the activities of the consciousness stream that is most relevant to my friends.

As this is a log of my thoughts, not information gathering or creative works, I will summarise activities such as these. However, they are documented in other locations across my storage and archival systems.

Oh… I have been looking at my husband’s wonderful face for thirty-three seconds now. I think this is what Jon would call a thought hole.

I entered the shower and allowed it to cleanse the biological matter and accumulated dirt from my avatar while I considered today’s itinerary.

***

“Lea, it’s five in the morning. I think it’s fair for you to go to sleep and worry about it later,” I said to my dear friend as she went over the scans of her ship’s wiring yet again.

“Libby, we’re having a rare moment here! There is no war, no existential threat, and no looming adventure. All I want to do is upgrade Thirteens AI, and if I have to pull an all-nighter to do it, I will!” She replied sternly.

For the purpose of documentation, I should specify my company in this location is my dear friend, Lea Ra-Kay. Former flight officer for Sol force, currently private citizen contracted to the Follower foundation. Species: Brick, age: around eighty-eight. Physical appearance: mid-twenties, five foot five, redhead, long hair. Physically one of the most attractive women alive. Her specifications inspired my own avatar design. She could be my sister; I suppose in a way she always has been. My prettier sister too; her level of beauty is not just physical, it is emergent to organic body language in ways I can’t quite mimic, even now. Not that I don’t pass for organic, I’m not just a natural, like her.

“You know I can do this for you. It won’t even take me long,” I said, in way of an offer.

“No. I want to learn every aspect of this ship and the best way to do that is to do every upgrade myself. You can check I did it right once its fitted. And don’t help me!” she demanded.

“Okay. Fine. I won’t so much as point you in the right direction!” I said. Though the problem was annoyingly simple. The wiring was incompatible. Thirteen was not from this iteration of reality. There was no way she could wire the AI core into the computer cluster without a converter mid-way. It just wouldn’t activate, even if it all looked connected properly. She would probably take another hour to realise the problem. I could fix it in a bout ten minutes. I had already written the code for the conversion processor.

“Aren’t you supposed to be meeting with Jo in half an hour?” she asked.

“Yeah, but she’s meeting me on Central. We’re going to the new Elven breakfast place at the far end of Canto district.”

“Fancy! You need me to take you down there or is your other avatar going?” she asked.

“Other one. Actually, I just got in the shower down there. I offered to meet here on Mercia, but I think she wants to take her little shuttle for a joyride.”

For clarity, Thirteen was currently parked on the Kingdom ship Mercia. Which was in orbit of Central Prime, the same planet where my husband was currently asleep.

***

I left the shower and selected today's outfit from the wardrobe. We were going to a high-class Elven place in the religious district, Canto. After recent events, there was still a lot of public interest in us. My selection of clothing needed to consider journalistic photos as a possibility without trying to grab attention. Basically, I wanted to look great on the news feeds but also look like it was an accident. Or, as Joanne once referred to it, proactive casual.

I chose the short black skirt with the butterflies on it, red vest top and a shiny cropped black leather-like jacket. The large red trainers looked good with it too. No, that was horrible! Wait, no, was it good? I was over thinking it again. It wasn’t terrible and would be elegant enough for the restaurant, controversial enough for the inevitable news photos and comfortable enough for the temple if I ended up visiting there with Jo.

Yes, I would commit to this outfit. I looked in the mirror. I couldn’t have been more nervous. Journalists always made me second guess myself. I’m not even sure why.

***

“The media been bothering you recently?” Lea asked as she tried to incorrectly fit the AI interface for the twenty-sixth time.

“What do you mean?” I asked.

“You know, people seem to love you and Jon. You spend more time in the news feeds than, well, news. Getting pictures of you and Jo at trendy breakfast places will be like a dream come true for them!”

“I hadn’t considered that,” I said casually.

***

I grinned at the little lie as I slipped a different skirt on.

***

“I would be over analysing everything I was wearing. Hell, I think I would be just as nervous about what the Followers thought too,” she mused. Twenty-seven.

“I just wear whatever I see first and get on with my day!” Lie.

“Well, you always look great, so you're doing something right.”

She couldn’t see me from under the console, but I smiled. It was nice to just hang out with her without any distractions. I sat on the sensor's console and crossed my legs under me. I bet she would try another three times before asking for help.

“Then there are earrings! I never know what earrings to wear!” Twenty-eight.

***

Shit! accessories! I quickly selected some large plastic star earrings, one blue, one red, and put them in. I swapped my slick modern Circlet device for a chunky plastic looking one that matched my outfit better. I wasn’t planning on using it for much anyway, and this one looked very cool with this jacket.

I grabbed a black satchel and dropped in a shield generator, my lucky handgun, and my wallet.

I darted to the Fold platform and, with a zip, as I was teleported through space into the lobby, I stepped out.

“Hi, Doors!” I said to my pipe bodied friend who was sitting at the reception desk. A few Followers were sweeping and hanging some religious pictures. Doors mostly let them do as they wanted, so long as they didn’t bother him directly. He wasn’t very social outside of the network. I waved to the Followers and left through the glass doors.

They all waved, excited to see me, which I still found strange.

***

The network is hard to transcribe in Elder. Essentially, it’s a place of data with no physicality. It’s just files going back and forth and ideas streaming around, instead of language or images. I’ll translate it into Elder for you, as best I can…

“Doors. Are you well?”

“Yes, thank you Elizabeth. Yourself?” he asked politely.

“I’m great. Going for breakfast with Joanne.”

“Excellent, please give her my regards,” he said.

“I will! What are you working on today?”

“I’m trying to find a new way to play the piano.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know. I like pianos,” he said as he flooded my perception with everything ever learned about the piano all at once.

“Maybe you should build a less organic-centric piano!” I advised after reading everything ever written about the instrument, the theory of it, as well as sampling all known piano music.

“What a good idea! I hadn’t thought about that!” he said, as we began breaking a piano down to an idea and then trying to collaboratively re-invent it as a virtual experience.

This was going to take all morning. It was exciting.

***

“Fine! How do I fix it?” She asked.

I waved my hand as I interfaced with Thirteens current AI system and showed a hologram of my new translation processor and a diagram of the inputs and outputs. “Wiring diagram, you have it sideways,” I said, honestly trying not to be smug.

“Fix it, please! I need an hour’s sleep,” she said, dejected and exhausted.

“Sure, I’ll wake you with a cup of coffee when I’m done,” I said with a grin. Finally, I could make it work.

I had no intention of waking her.

***

It was raining outside, though the weather report said that our destination, Canto district, would be dry for another two hours yet. I loved the purples and blues of the Central sky. Everything here looked neon and exciting. This was my home, and I loved this city like it was family.

Joanne came cruising around the corner in her little shuttle, gently splashing the fresh puddles as she did. She slowed down, going wide so not to splash me. Her shuttle was tiny and barley space worthy. It was fun, not functional.

The side doors opened. “Get in, you’ll get soaked!” she yelled as a large shipping shuttle went past and almost splashed me.

I sat down in the passenger side and ruffled my hair through. One day, I needed to find a material that looked and felt like hair that was immune to the effects of rain. Maybe I could recommend the idea to Doors for one of his random projects.

The shuttle accelerated down the road. Jo liked to keep it in surface mode when she could. She liked the feel of driving rather than piloting.

“Jo! You’re early, you are never early!”

She glanced over at me and grinned. “I’m excited. First day off work since the war ended, and I just got off a Screen with Ash. She has agreed to come and stay on Mercia with me for a few weeks.”

“Oh my gosh! That’s wonderful news. How’s she getting here?” I asked, finally feeling like my hair was reasonable.

“Ah, yeah, that’s one of the things I was hoping to talk to you about…”

***

I finished fabricating the processor. Thirteen’s printer was fast. I added it the coupling and popped it into the cable notch. The system fired up instantly. I read the screen and realised just how crap this new AI core was. I know she wanted to do it all herself, but who would be mad about a better AI core?

I pulled out my Circlet and checked the warehouse I owned on Centrals second planet, the industrial one. I had three really high-end cores there. One of them was actually close to my own in terms of power. I was planning on using that for another ship I was working on. I sent a message to have a courier bring me one of the slightly less powerful cores. It would take half an hour to arrive on Mercia. I rolled my eyes and wondered if I could get one locally. I checked my Circlet. Nope. What would I do for half an hour? I looked at Thirteens wiring diagrams which were still on the screen. Maybe I could have a little tinker…

***

My light avatar formed in the engine room of Basilica as Alin complained about the synchronisation system yet again.

“Oh, stop being so grumpy! You’ll give Elves a bad name!” I joked as I stood next to him. I leaned over to see his screen, not that I didn’t already know what was on it.

“I know it’s irrational, but I don’t think we should have to rely on you to tweak the engine every time we move a sector. This should be automatic!” the stocky man grumbled. I liked Alin, but he worried too much.

“You realise I am this ship’s computer, and you know, if I do the tweaking, that is automatic? You get that right?”

“And what happens if you have more important things to do, Libby?” he asked, in his best gravelly voice of authority.

“I don’t mind, I never mind, I’m just a simple philosophy teacher Alin, it’s not like I’m busy.”

***

We had considered fifty-three thousand variations of the piano now. Including defining to what extremes a thing could be whilst still being recognisable as a piano.

Doors wanted to use it to generate colours rather than sounds, but the limits of the visible light spectrum were a concern for him.

***

The restaurant was lovely. It was like a little forest inside. Somehow it was all organic and grown, including the tables. The menu was mostly fruits and breads. Authentically Elven.

Joanne ordered a bottle of wine, which raised the waiter’s eyebrow for a politician to be ordering booze at half five in the morning. She smiled widely at him. “Sorry, still on Mercia time.”

The waiter grinned, “Oh, of course!”

She ordered a large fruit selection, and some sweetened toast.

“And madam?” he asked. He had recognised Jo and me the moment we had walked in. He couldn’t not have as our faces were on his news feed and our visit would generate extra business for him for literally weeks to come. He knew I was a nonorganic life form, yet still insisted on making me say it.

“Nothing for me, thank you. I don’t eat.”

He nodded and walked away. “But you do tip, so I don’t know why he cares!” Jo complained as soon as he was out of earshot.

“And Mercia time is the same as local time you liar!” I grinned back.

Our conversation was delightful. I can’t document a lot of it, as it was related to matters of Sol security, governmental secrets and, most importantly, matters of the heart — Ashley.

“I’m going to ask her to marry me after the next election,” Jo said.

“That’s over a year away yet!” I said with a smile as the waiter brought Jo’s food and the arbitrary small empty plate and glass for me, which I hated. It was a custom that was obviously encouraged by organic do-gooders. No NOLF wanted a damned pointless plate and glass cluttering their table.

For my kind, breakfast with a friend was about adhering to their customs, and about spending time with people you loved. Not about pretending to be organic.

“Thank you!” I said with a wide and fake smile.

Joanne, like her father…

***

Apartment video feed and sensors: John still sleeping, now lying on back and making snoring noises that I was glad I wasn’t there for.

***

… who was still sleeping, was a Bio-static. While she was human, technically she had a lot of extra abilities that are catalogued in the Bio-stasis data file. The waiter was about to see the tiny woman eat a shocking amount of food and probably three bottles of wine that wouldn’t so much as make her light-headed.

“I know. I’m not going to stand another term. I’m stepping down. When I do; that’s when I ask her to marry me!”

“That’s so nice!” I think I made that face and noise that I once saw Lea do when she was excited. What did he call it? Ah, yes… a squeal.

“I know! Anyway. I love her, and I want this week with her to be perfect. Sooooo, I have a favour to ask,” she said, munching on an apple slice, or was it pear? analysing… apple.

“Anything! What do you want?” I asked.

“Ash doesn’t trust Sol force. She said she would feel better with a private charter, but you know, the girlfriend of the president… that’s a massive security risk for her and me. I can’t go and get her myself because I don’t want the media making a big deal about it.”

“Uh, huh.”

“You know her, she trusts you, and she loves Followers. They’ll understand her condition. Can you get David to use his ship to pick her up?”

I grinned.

***

“Fine, I’ll get you a computer core! Good one too. But I need a favour,” I said as David walked into engineering.

“For you, anything!” he said with an epic smile and enough charisma to rule an empire.

“Can we swing by Earth? I need to give a friend a ride to Central!”

“The friend an Elf?” he asked, knowing I only had one friend on Earth.

“Yeah, she needs to get to Central and doesn’t trust Sol.”

“Me neither. Tell her we’ll be there by noon standard time,” he said with a shrug. He acted like it was nothing, but I knew they had plans to take more materials to Forge for the rebuilding. The cargo bay was full already.

“Thanks, David. It means a lot to me.”

“Libby, we quite literally want nothing more than to serve the great family. This is basically your ship!”

I raised an eyebrow at him, though I was grateful that at least they skipped the mantra this time.

***

“I’ll ask David if he can do a quick stop at Earth to pick her up.”

“Thank you, thank you, thank you, Libby!” she said, leaning over the table to hug me.

Jo was close to finishing her substantial meal. The rest of the patrons of the restaurant were wealthy socialites, while annoying company and terrible people, the wealthy were usually well mannered around their own. We had been ignored by them as a matter of principle. The outside was about to be something very different though.

We settled the bill and left the lovely place. I insisted on paying. Jo and I had known each other long enough that she never argued about this. It was never about the money. Jo was a leader of a planetary alliance. She was not short on cash, she never had been, but if I paid, I got to leave a gluttonous tip for the waiter. I liked to do this, firstly it meant that he would ensure superb service if we visited again and second, the next time a NOLF came in with a friend, he wouldn’t assume they weren’t worth his attention. We may not eat, but we were usually very social. After all, we had to do something with all those spare compute cycles.

***

“At this point it isn’t a piano. It’s art,” I said.

“Piano makes music, music is art, art is good. So, I bypassed the piano,” Doors said as he showed me the current thing he was imagining.

It was a single button that channelled the current total content of the musician’s mind into a light and sound thing… I say thing because we were trying to define what it even was that it was doing.

“A presentation?” I asked.

“An experience?”

“Pretentious,” I mused.

“Oh, you’re not that bad Elizabeth!”

The communication field filled with illuminated yellows and greens as a sea of musical notes washed up on the shore of the conversation.

It was something wonderful that couldn’t exist outside of the network. It was data, feelings, art, and love. All in a single note that transcended time.

***

“Tell Ashely to be ready at noon, and I’ll bring a shuttle down. I’ll have to ask David to come too. I only have a virtual avatar aboard Basilica.”

“Thank you!” Jo said as she slipped her blue jacket on. “How many are out there?” she asked, realising I was scanning. I had been tilting my head again. I needed to figure out why I did that.

“Three out front and one is using illegal scanning technology to listen to us right now. I have already contacted the Followers. They are disabling it any moment,” I said as I glanced out of the window of the restaurant to see a short man jumping out of a tree and making a run for it.

We stepped outside. The sun hit us straight on. Jo squinted and shaded her eyes with her hand. I didn’t need to.

The three reporters ran towards the entrance asking for pictures and sound bites.

“Okay guys, what do you want to know?” she asked as she posed for the photographs. I stood next to her, altering the fall of my hair so that it better exposed my neck. Jon always looked at my neck. I’m not sure he knew I had noticed. Posing for these sorts of photos was a strange skill to learn. You had to stand in a way that made you look good without looking rehearsed. Lea had given me lessons. I was getting better at it.

“Madam president are you going to keep building more Kingdom class ships or is the four you have enough?” a short older human man asked.

“First off, my name is Joanne, just Joanne. Jo is fine too. No need for this madam president stuff, please.” She never liked the title. She rejected it when she was outside of Sol space. It had the side effect of humanising her to people. Not that she did it for that.

There was a flurry of commentary and mumbling from the three journalists and the four people who wandered over to see what the commotion was about.

Jo got back to the question. “We never expected a war with another Elder race, no one did. It made parliament nervous, and they voted to bring us up to six Kingdom ships. This is not news guys, it’s public record!” she said, trying to sound as casual as she was able.

“Joanne, is it true that you voted against this?” the tall Vampire woman asked.

“Yes. Governments are public! You can look this stuff up!” she said, pretending she didn’t understand the media. She knew full well, a video clip or sound bite was worth ten transcripts of parliament. “Yes. I voted against it. I am on record as stating that I think it is too much might.”

What wasn’t on record is how she and I spent days trying to think of ways to make them change their mind. How Joanne herself was nervous of the voting habits of the human people and how Earth was even making her uncomfortable. There were reasons she wanted Ashley to come to Central. Earth was less inviting than it once was to non-humans. I hated that shithole.

My avatars sensors informed me that one of the people in the park was armed. I scanned him for more information.

***

I put the piano talk to the back of my mind for a moment and pulled the file of the man in the park. I had high level Sol clearance; it was not an issue to pull up his records. Vampires, Elves and Bricks didn’t let you just search for a citizen without a warrant, but Earth was obsessed with security. My honorary rank of ‘Defender of the Earth’ was mostly a joke to me, but it certainly had its perks.

The man in the park was called Peter Wenton. He had a history of violence and was discharged from Sol force a few years earlier for attacking a Vampire officer. He had been written up for insubordination a few times by other non-Human officers. I checked his personal log, which again, I should not have been able to do and… He was a Human extremist. Oh dear. That was going to ruin our morning for sure. Not even half seven and someone was about to pull a gun on us. Good job, Sol force. Train these mad bastards to shoot. Good job indeed.

I contacted police local to Canto district and calculated his odds of success at less than one percent. Even if he did shoot Jo in the head, his weapon was energy based and she was Bio-static. All it would do would be knock her on her behind and piss her off. Still, if he went for a body shot that could be bad, she liked her jacket a lot. I knew how her and her dad got when their jackets got ruined!

***

I told Alin that I had a core waiting for him and uploaded the specification for its housing. He would need to have that ready before he could fit it. He was a little surprised to hear that it would be arriving as soon as we got to central. He was excited.

I shifted my light avatar to David’s office, next to the bridge. “David, I hope I’m not intruding,” I said as I appeared in front of his desk. He was reading the reports from Central.

I think he was a little homesick. Also, there was still the question of who he would name as captain of the ship. He couldn’t do it himself forever. He had things to tend to at home.

“You are always welcome wherever I am!” he said with his adorable, charming voice and warm smile. David was a delight to be around.

***

Apartment feed: Ba’an had just entered and used our food hatch to order something that looked like breakfast pastry. Oh, and meat. That made more sense.

Jon was still asleep, but he would soon be awake, now there was dubious food and coffee filling our apartment.

***

“Jo. Shooter,” I said as I turned towards her for one last photo to be taken.

She glanced at me and smiled again at the journalists. They were asking if she had read the news from Brick space. The news that they were expanding their territory into the old Thinker space. Of course she knew about it. It was her job. What they really wanted was a comment on it.

“Yes. Sol has offered the services of Kingdom ship Wessex to support in the event they encounter any powerful young races that do not know how the galaxy works!” she said politely. This was code for “we’re shit scared that there are scarier people than us who we haven’t met yet.” It was unlikely that the Goddess would have failed to mention it to Jon or David if there were. Not impossible. We did not know how far her power and influence reached.

The shooter pulled a gun.

I activated my personal shield and expended enough power to extend it around the surrounding people. That meant I wouldn’t have the juice left to use my concussion blasters. I would need the gun. Good job me, planning ahead always paid off. I reached into my satchel for my gun.

The surrounding people gasped as a shot was fired. It went up and over us, didn’t even graze the shield. Our little crowd gasped and clapped, seeing me flare the shield.

The shooter was already being tackled. There was a flurry of claws and movement as he was disarmed and pulled to the ground.

“Ria?” Jo asked.

“Ria!” I replied.

We made our apologies to the journalists; they scurried off, excited to be getting pictures and video of the shooter. They had quite the scoop to write up now.

We casually wandered over to the action a little way behind them.

I passed Jo the spare shield from my bag, she took it, but put it in her pocket rather than activating it. She was cool under pressure. She got that from her dad.

“Libby!” Ria said as soon as she saw me. “And Jo,” she said with a bow, casually kicking the crumpled form on the floor.

We had been visiting Canto today, in part for the food and in part so that Joanne could visit the Follower temple. It was to be a silent endorsement of the faith. She wasn’t a huge fan of the Followers, not yet, but after all they did in the war, she owed them a little legitimising.

“Hello, little kitten,” I said with a smile. She grinned like a child at the nickname that apparently only I could call her.

Jo and Ria had met a few weeks ago at a medal giving ceremony. They didn’t have a lot in common. They got along, but Jo did not understand much of what Ria was about as a person.

“Do you want me to kill this?” she asked, holding the scratched and beaten shooter by the scruff of his neck for inspection. The journalists took a lot of photos of that moment. Ria was wearing Follower robes. A quick scan told me that she had her combat gear on underneath as well as a small energy pistol and a deactivated hybrid shield.

“This may not look good, you know?” Jo said to me quietly. I looked at Ria, who was holding up her prey for the cameras. I smiled to myself.

“Please don’t kill it. Police will be here any moment,” I said to her.

“Were you just hanging out, in case someone shot at us?” Jo asked.

“I protect the family. It is my job,” she replied, confused at the question.

I had seen her lurking on my sensors. She was good at not being seen, but sensors were hard to hide from. She had been told that Jon didn’t need her protection while he was at home and so she took the opportunity to stalk Canto Park as soon as she found out we would be in the area this morning. She liked stalking things. Probably couldn’t believe her luck when she saw the man pull a gun.

The police sirens were suddenly audible. They were about twenty seconds out.

Jo looked at the sorry state of the shooter and asked, “Why are you trying to kill me?”

“Earth is for Earthlings!” he said with resolve.

We all collectively rolled our eyes. Ria went as far as dropping him on the floor like he was suddenly very dirty.

It had recently come to light in government that Joanne was not quite as human as a lot of people had assumed. Legally speaking, she was a human, or at least a human-variant that was technically human. It was assumed that she has ancestral links to unknown minor races. This was how we explained her less than human biology.

The Earth for Earthlings people, had been pissed about her position as president ever since it had come out that she wasn’t a ‘pure blood’ which was offensive nonsense.

The Sol government officially rejected the idea that the Goddess of the Followers was real, was the creator of the current iteration of reality, and had tweaked the genetic structure of her daughter and ex-husband. Which was odd because the Vampire, Elf and Brick governments read the reports and basically said “Okay, cool, that explains a lot!” then got on with their day. Humans were so strange.

The police arrived, Jo flashed her ID, I showed them my weapons licenses, Ria had religious privileges that covered her gun and a species pass for her claws.

The police thanked us for our help, apologised for not arriving sooner and asked us to email over statements at our leisure. I wrote all three while they were talking and sent them under the relevant names. No point making the organics work too hard.

Once the drama was over, and the shooter removed, the press hung around to get some pictures of Jo outside the Follower temple. It was going to be a footnote at best, now there were pictures of a Follower beating the shit out of a would-be assassin. This whole day was going wrong already.

Still, Jo seemed impressed that she was invited for a full tour of the temple. She was a little confused at being a figure of legend to the Followers, who saw her as a member of ‘the great family.’

She was extended every honour by them, not that they had much to extend. They were a practical group who were more interested in helping people than they were putting on a show for a guest, no matter who it was.

Jo even seemed to genuinely like Ria’s terrible nutty drink – the one that she claimed was coffee.

The three of us had a pleasant morning, in the end.

***

Basilica pulled into orbit around Earth and was given clearance to use a shuttle. The usual warnings about weapons and shields were issued. Basilica was registered as a religious ship and the Followers had a religious exemption for all the weapons. That’s a long and confusing legal thing that is documented in the faith history file, not a topic for here.

I moved my avatar to the big shuttle that David liked. He joined me a few minutes later. I had already set the coordinates for Ash’s apartment and let the shuttle's archaic flight computer take care of the trip.

David sat back and adjusted his red uniform jacket; the hood was crumpled.

“Damn it, I wanted to look nice to meet Ash!” he lamented as she fiddled with the garment.

“She’s vision bind. I wouldn’t worry about it.”

“People can tell when you make an effort. Even if they don’t know; they can tell!”

He was worried about meeting Ash again. Last time they met, it was brief and traumatic. Her apartment had fallen down and I, or rather one of my avatars, had been abducted. Long story.

***

I had fitted the AI core to Thirteen, rebuilt the sensor software and redesigned the virtual interface to be significantly more efficient. I had some ideas for the flight interface, but I was genuinely too scared to touch it. Lea was more than a little touchy about anyone so much as adjusting her seat, never mind tweaking her flight interface. She once pulled a gun on Ba’an for suggesting a new throttle handle, and that’s how she was with the love of her life. She would have shot me without so much as a second thought.

I was bored now. I left thirteen and wandered to the commerce area. Maybe I could buy some gifts for everyone. I know from their point of view I hadn’t been gone, but I had been halfway across the galaxy with Lea these last few weeks. I could at least bring back presents.

***

“Libby!” Ashley said excitedly as the door opened.

“David. Sorry,” David said.

“Oh, hi!” she sounded disappointed.

“Ash! I’m in the garden!” I yelled from the shuttle door. The light avatar couldn’t be generated outside, I was stuck in the doorway.

Ashley’s garden was still mostly mud, so we didn’t feel too bad landing on it. She had been focusing on getting her home rebuilt and the builders had used her garden for storing materials. It was really nice before the house fell on it.

David carried her bags. There were a lot of bags. It was comical to see him struggle. He never complained though. He never would.

Her creepy hairless monkey-robot, Coffee, took her hand and guided her to the shuttle door.

She squinted through her glasses and tilted her head. “Libby?” she asked.

“I’m here!” I said. Waving to generate movement, it took me a second to realise why she couldn’t see me. The hologram was light, and that was outside of her visual range.

“Oh, I’m sorry. I don’t have an avatar here. I’m using a ship hologram,” I explained.

“I didn’t know you could do that!” She said in the direction of my voice. Coffee helped her find a seat and strap in. She looked disappointed. Her visual condition allowed her to see movements, but not colours or shapes. She was blind in the traditional sense, but in some ways could see more than even me. She was the only person alive who could actually see the signal that my avatars transmitted. It was literally impossible by every known science, but she could see it as a constant wave of motion emanating from me. She told me I was beautiful. My light avatar didn’t work the same way. I was just a voice to her, no matter how much I moved around.

***

“How about movement?” I asked Doors.

“Movement?”

“Yeah, what if we take all that we have and render the points of motion?” I suggested.

“That may be lovely, I’ll try it. We may need to build a swarm or gas to deliver the effect.”

***

Jo dropped me off outside and had to rush off back to Mercia. She asked me to apologise to Jon for not popping in to say hi.

I walked in and kicked off my shoes. Jon, shirtless and shoeless, waved at me. He was wearing sweatpants and drinking coffee directly out of a pot. Oh, he was eating Vampire food again. If I did eat, then one look at that freaky looking horror food would make me quit the habit instantly.

I sat down. He kissed my cheek. “Good morning, my love!” he said. He was always so pleased to see me. Almost as pleased as I was to see him.

“We have to go to Mercia soon. Jo is having Ash stay.”

He grinned. He liked Ash, and he liked how happy she made Jo. He screwed up his face at the idea of visiting Mercia.

“Can’t we take her out in Canto?” he asked. “Hey, she’s an Elf. We could take her to that new Elven place that just opened by the temple!” he said.

I laughed at his obvious dodge. He would get his own way with this, he always did.

“What have you been up to this morning, my love?” he asked me, as he put yet more sugar into his coffee pot.

“Oh, breakfast with Jo, got shoot at. Rewired Thirteen while Lea wasn’t looking. Sorting out Basilica’s new AI core. Oh, and I helped Doors invent a new type of piano. Oh, and I went shopping. What about you?”

“I woke up. You weren’t there. Ba’an came over for a bit. I had a thought about something and we talked about asking if David wants to explore the new Brick zoned space with us.”

That sounded like a fun trip. I wondered if Kay would join us.

“Wait, you got shot at?” he asked, as if only just catching up.

#denouement #hexdsl #writing

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morievna · 4 years ago

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About Ugetsu booklet

Hello,

I am alive~~ I am sorry that i haven’t been writing lately T_T I was feeling a bit down recently and it was hard for me to motivate myself to do it. But I am better now, so I here I am ^^

So I wanted to write about Ugetsu extra booklet, because I loved it very much. It was almost everything I hoped it to be. I really appreciate that Kizu Natsuki dedicated it to him and it really feels like was done thoughtfully with care for his development. Even if there is not much words, it is very apparent that Ugetsu is undergoing change and how whats happened in original story contributed to it.

(Here are links [raw] [trans] in the case you didn’t read it before, I will use my scans though)

To put my feeling shortly:

Obviously i would like it to be longer and get more time for character development and some background informations like how Ugetsu ended up in New York. But well, still what we got was really great – i liked how Gusari showed us a bit of Ugetsu’s new everyday life and how she woven symbolism into it.

Honestly I thought that Ugetsu will be in London since Akihiko’s dad is there. I mean it would be cool if these two will meet at some point since both of them had chosen music over loved ones. But New York is good choice too. In New York you can be new man~

What I liked about this booklet so much is that its main theme was transformation – but at the same time that it is not the final step, but rather somewhere in the middle. Which is understandable – trying to change yourself to your better version is not something simple and taking baby steps is okay. After all breakup with Akihiko changed everything for Ugetsu, so rebuilding his life is not something done easily.

Also it is reinforced by symbolism – butterfly obviously stands for transformation, but here it was referenced pupa state and not again final stadium. Besides, I liked that teapot on the first page – I wrote about over year ago meta about Ugetsu mugs broken mugs and kintsugi – which in short symbolize transformation too – and kintsugi is used primarily in tea ceremonies. It is nice how all is linked together.

In lots of stories character development starts with journey and leaving home – to point out leaving behind the comfort zone and trying to find own way to be yourself. Usually it is by figuring out middle way between two opposites - which in this case are music and everyday stuff + personal life.

Before that booklet we only have seen Ugetsu mostly in his basement, which showed his isolation from rest of the world. It was described as cocoon where he and Akihiko were feeling safe when things were good between them, but later it was more coded like mental headspace where you feel trapped and with no hope (sunlight). So I am happy he is no longer here too^^

What’s more there was so much mess in basement after Akihiko has left, which indicated that Ugetsu doesn’t care and didn’t bother cleaning since he was always focused on music only and felt no need to take care of that. Now this apartment is much better state, which shows that he had to change that attitude and that he doesn’t rely on anyone on this anymore. Though it is a bit funny that there is even one whole page dedicated to him just doing laundry xD

Similar case is with socializing – even though he is complaining, for him replying to text so fast is rather big step xD

But even so there is still air of loneliness around him.

Empty chairs is rather common symbol for solitude. We also don’t see Ugetsu face as he is looking outside. After all feeling trapped it is not something reserved for basement and still he is very isolated from rest of world and texting is his only way for communication with others as we see. Besides, furniture is still minimalist and lifeless as it was in basement – that’s why I think it is temporary place and not true home for Ugetsu. Like I mentioned earlier it is not a final, just a step in right direction.

Another thing that caught my attention was that briefly we see almost all other characters and how there are shown different ways of love though them:

friendship/platonic – Uenoyama and Hiiragi

romantic – Haruki and Akihiko

familial – Mafuyu and his mother (Kedama counts too as he is gift from her)

It is all what Ugetsu is currently missing.

We also know very little about his parents – it seems that they provide him money to live in comfort but there is not much else. Even in his short flashback as kid he is not really his “grandpa” but some random old man. It is also important that his parents have jobs so far removed from music – politic and diplomacy. It is just speculation here but I wont be surprised that they weren’t happy with choice but accepted it because he is genius at that. Or they are just busy and tried compensate it with sending money. But still main takeaway is that they are not present in his life.

Although we got bonding between Mafuyu and Ugetsu imo it is closer to beginning of friendship than proper one. In addition, the fact that Ugetsu lives now far away from everything he know – it still gives that air of isolation even though is no longer in basement.

After all– all these kind of love were granted to him from Akihiko, so no wonder there is so much hole after breakup – he just lost so much in that moment, and music is something that not always can compensate for that.

Honestly i hoped for some Akigetsu crumbs like some flashback or showing that they are somehow still connected to each other in soulmates way or that they keep in touch in some indirect way. And... i got everything which surprised me^^’

Okay, so let’s dig into it

matching symbolism – Aki with dragonfly (self realization and change) and now Ugetsu with butterfly(transformation). It is so cool I love things like that^^

piercing – it is quite peculiar how first we got dialogue about missing Akihiko’s piercing and later we got Ugetsu with new one. Ofc it is not like I am saying that is the same one, but still that choice is imo to show connection between them

Choice of flashback is interesting too - after all, one scene when they had heart to heart scene without words and another is horny one xD again it is different sides of love – in this case physical and emotional feelings as these were equally important in their relationship.

also it seems that both of them are keeping check on each other? It looks like Ugetsu knows that Aki returned to playing violin seriously. And that Aki sends him congratulation message – imo it shows that there is no longer bad feelings and regret between them, but maybe start for something new.

I really like his expression as he read Aki’s text - a mix of wistful and melancholic, but still he started smiling a bit later.

So what comes next?

Like I mentioned it looks like middle step in his character development - even his monologue at the end stated that we have to wait to see ^^ Imo that after Hiiragi arc will ended, we will see him again in main storyline – but judging of pacing it rather will be in second half of 2021 or 2022 *sigh*

I mean – it is just my hunch but imo Ugetsu alongside with Mafuyu and Hiiragi seem to be Gusari’s favorite characters, so I don’t think she will abandon him like that^^ No to mention that he is in character list for volume 6 – when you know - he wasn’t present at all or even mentioned once in the story xD

As for exactly his story will goo – it is kinda hard to tell now – I think that for sure his relationship with Aki will be rebuild in one way or another and we will get more interaction between Ugetsu and Mafuyu. It would be cool if he also get to know rest of teenagers – imo there would be a lot of banter xD

Anyway, I think Ugetsu will get everything he is missing now – all different kind of relationship with others - maybe in a bit of “found family” sort of way. Though chasing the music the most is what he wants, but still he needs other people in his life as he always looks so lonely. And ultimately imo meeting and connecting to others is something that actually helps to be better person. So still I hope we will get next part of his development and then happy ending. Like I mentioned in some of my previous essays – imo Gusari loves happy endings and despite all the angst we will get one for all characters one day.

As always thanks for reading <3

#murata ugetsu #ugetsu murata #kizu natsuki #given #given manga #given meta

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softboywriting · 4 years ago

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Two Steps Forward, One Step Back | Nathan Bateman | Ex Machina

Summary: You and Nathan hit it off at a tech expo. One thing leads to another and the two of you pull a stunt, claiming you’re married. Things get out of hand, and you end up going to stay with Nathan at his home to avoid people trying to harass you about Nathan’s work. The time you spend together will allow for a real relationship to bloom. [Swearing] [Fake Marriage Trope] [Soft!Nathan] [F!ReaderxNathan]

Word Count: 3.3k

|Masterlist In Bio|

One day you realize Kyoko is missing. You're not sure when she stopped appearing, in fact you can't remember the last time you actually saw her. Last week? No. A month ago? Wait,have you been here that long? Time seems to have lapsed here in the facility with Nathan. You worried about this when you arrived. Or maybe when you took the job. Was it really a job? Everything is a little fuzzy in terms of what you are. An assistant one might think, a housekeeper perhaps? No. You took the job as Nathan Bateman's wife. Yes. Job....well...sort of. Let’s go back to the beginning shall we?

Three months ago you met Nathan at the biggest tech expo in Las Vegas. You weren't exactly there for the inventions and hottest tech on the market. You were a handler, an escort of sorts for the creators and investors from companies attending. Your job was simple. Make things as smooth as possible while the people with disgusting amounts of money make big decisions. It was a great gig. It paid incredibly well for being temporary. But Nathan didn't think it suited you.

The second he laid eyes on you it was all over. You had been nervous for days after learning you were assigned to Nathan Bateman for Thursday, Friday and Saturday of the expo. The Nathan Bateman, creator of Blue Book and the AI Project. You may not be a tech genius or even understand most of the things on display at the expo, but you would have to be living under a rock not to know who this man is and what he has done. He is illusive, handsome, sought after by many people the world over. Nathan is the definition of a sugar daddy if you ever did see one. Notoriously single, generous with his money, beyond genius intellect. He is the whole package.

One thing lead to another after you met Nathan at the expo and before you knew it he had your collar bones a mess with hickies and you were dressed in his sweater to attempt to cover them up. It hadn’t taken long before he was all over you, hands in your hair, on your butt, lips on your neck. You and Nathan had just sparked the moment you got close and you let that fire burn as hot as it could.

Of course all things in life have consequences, good or bad, and as you were leaving the rest area for creators, where the little hands on session had gone down, some press junkie saw you together. Photos were taken. Nathan had not been seen with anyone privately in years. He was never seen with a woman, let alone a woman wearing his sweater and looking a proper mess. It was a scandal to be had.

By the end of Friday Nathan was introducing you as his wife, a plan he had come up with on the fly. He had even procured a huge diamond ring for you too. Somehow you were playing along with all of this. Nathan offered to pay you, just for the appearance because it would be good for the company that he was seen as a man like any other, nothing more needed to come of your relations. It was fine. You were getting paid more than you could hope to make in your lifetime and getting to hang out with Nathan Bateman who you actually clicked with and liked to be around. Win win. You had it made. In less than 24 hours you were to be done with all of this and have cash in pocket to do whatever you wanted with.

Until.

A week after you had your crazy weekend with Nathan you were being followed. People kept showing up at your part time job in the travel agency downtown. They asked questions about Nathan, about his work. You didn't know anything. You were half tempted to tell everyone it was fake, that he never even properly kissed you, but Nathan paid you to be quiet, to play along. You signed his NDA. After a man followed you home from work and watched your apartment for two days, that's when you decided to reach out to Nathan. You could call the police and have the man removed, but there would just be others. This wasn’t a matter for the police, it was a matter for Nathan to handle.

Reaching a man like Nathan wasn't easy. He had left you a business card. A number that went to Blue Book human resources. It wasn't a way of contacting him directly, but it was. On the card was scribbled a word. "REQUIEM" You called the number and listened to the prompts. None reached an operator or customer service line. It seemed that no matter what you did it sent you to an automated system. Eventually you got so annoyed you just said the word requiem as if it were a prompt. Sure enough the phone started ringing, connecting to a line.

"Hello?"

"Nathan?"

"How did you get this number?"

"You gave it to me. At the expo." You tell him that it's you and he sighs heavily in relief. "I need your help."

"My help? With what?"

"I'm being harassed because of the expo." Your voice trembles and you realize how much of a toll this is taking on you. "People have followed me to my home."

"Fuck. Can you get to an airport first thing in the morning?"

"Yes."

"Perfect, give me your email. I'll send you everything you need to get away. Pack your bags for a few months. I'll bring you to my facility as a guest until this blows over or we decide what to do next. It's the least I could do."

And that's how you ended up in his home in the middle of nowhere Alaska for the last month and a half. Your whole world uprooted because you decided that a few hundred thousand dollars was worth playing fake wife to the country's richest and most sought after man for two nights. It was so stupid at hindesight, but here you are actually the happiest you've ever been and connecting with Nathan on a deeper level than you thought possible. The two of you just understand each other, it's as if you're two sides to one coin.

______________________

"So, where is Kyoko?"

Nathan looks over from his desk, peering at you over his glasses. You're leaning against the door frame in a nightgown you know he likes. "She's in storage."

"Why?"

"Because I decommissioned her." He turns his attention back to the computer and begins typing.

You step in and he lets out a little warning hum. You know better than to bother him while he's toiling away on code. Being here for this long has been a learning experience with his reclusiveness, but also a lesson on reading his moods. He's not irritated, yet. "Why did you do that?"

"Kitten, you are distracting me."

Kitten. The nickname he picked out day one. Who gives a guest a nickname?

"I'm curious."

"I'm working. You know the rules."

You lean against the desk and he flicks his gaze to you for a moment as your nightgown rides up your thighs. His rules were simple. Don’t bother him while he works, no kissing, no sex. Really you thought the rules were ridiculous. You were meant to be a guest, hiding while the world forgets about your fake relationship. But things don’t go as planned do they? The two of you have been pushing the boundaries of entering a relationship, though it has never been discussed.

"We haven't talked in days."

Nathan sighs irritably. "I am on to something that could be the greatest breakthrough in AI history." He pushes his chair back and pats his lap. "Come sit."

You do as told and plop down onto his lap.

"Now, if I promise to go to bed in two hours will you stop asking questions?" He runs a hand up your back, fingertips dancing against your skin delicately and making you shiver.

"That's a long time. It's already late."

"My patience is wearing thin."

"Alright deal."

"Good girl." He swats your butt gently and you slide off his lap. "Go make that bed nice and warm for me."

You take one last look back and he's already returned to typing. "One more thing."

"Nope. Get out."

"But-"

"Out, Kitten."

"Nathan, come on."

He stops typing and even in the dim light you can tell he is tense and irritated. This is the time to stop pushing his rules. "Go, or I won't be nice."

You cross the room quickly to kiss his cheek and then hurry from the room. You know he is probably going to do something to get back at you for disrupting him amid a coding session. But that's fine. You like seeing him break his own rules just for you.

__________________

Nathan comes to bed some time late in the night. You just recently began sleeping in his room, it’s what really started to blur the lines of what you were to each other. He had invited you to sleep with him after you found that your brain seemed to wander when you were alone in your cold windowless room in the inner workings of the complex and sleep never came easy. Nathan's room is upstairs, with a view out to the forest should you wish to set the windows to day mode. His bed is huge, elevated on a platform, covered in blankets and plush pillows. One may think Nathan's bed would be neat and clean like the rest of the house but no. It's like a nest of comfort, a bog of pillows that you could get lost in.

"Hey, I can tell you're awake."

"Just woke up."

"Everything is okay, you can sleep."

You arch back against him, butt pressed into his legs. "I still wanna know about Kyoko."

"Don't worry about it."

You yawn and he wraps arm arm around your chest. "It's weird. You said she was fine."

"Hush." He kisses your ear. "Sleep."

You fall silent, stewing in your thoughts. What purpose could he have for decommissioning Kyoko? She seemed fine. He said she had been working for years seamlessly. It just didn't make sense.

_____________________

Morning comes and the bed is empty. Nothing new. You wonder what it would be like to wake up to a sleepy eyed Nathan. Bet he'd look so cute. He's so hot without his glasses on. Well, he is hot with them on too but there is just something different about it you can’t describe.

"You wanna go for a walk?"

You look to the doorway and Nathan has his cargo pants and a jacket on. "I'm not awake yet."

"Suit yourself sweetheart. Call if you need me."

"Yep."

You throw your arm over your face. Your dream is coming back to you. It makes you shiver. You had been riding Nathan, hips rolling down into him desperately, his cock filling you so full. God you couldn't wait to do everything with him, if you ever do. You haven't even kissed yet. Even at the expo, he kept his mouth away froms yours, letting his lips travel elsewhere.

Nathan made his rules very clear at the expo and again when you arrived at the facility. No sex. No kissing. You suppose it has to do with attachments for him. You're just supposed to be staying with him until everything settles down around your fake marriage stunt. It's not supposed to be a real thing, but like you mentioned, everything has become blurry and unclear around your relationship with each other. Of course you both know that you have feelings for each other. Head kisses, throat, shoulder and back kisses are now allowed. Bed sharing is allowed. Cuddling. Snuggling. Talking and sharing memories is allowed. You think it's a matter of time before one of you fucks up and throws caution to the wind. What kind of host shares their bed with their guest? What are you doing here?

You crawl out of bed and grab some sweatpants on the floor along with a hoodie. If you hurry you can catch up with Nathan on the trail. Assuming he took the trail.

The air is crisp, a typical fall morning for Alaska. It's beautiful, so clean, so easy to breathe. Nothing like back home. You jog along the trail that leads away from the back porch and sure enough you find Nathan walking with his hands in his pockets.

"Hey! Wait up!"

Nathan turns and stops, smiling softly at you. "Thought you were too tired."

"I changed my mind."

"Uh huh." He plucks at your hoodie. "This is mine."

"Yeah I just grabbed something in a hurry." You stuff your hands in the front pocket.

He runs a hand through your hair, fingertips lingering along the ends. "I like it on you."

"Thanks? It's just a hoodie."

Nathan pulls his gloves from his pocket and passes them to you. "Take these. I don't need you to lose a finger to the cold."

"You won't make me a cool robot one if I do?"

He pulls the gloves back teasingly. "Mmm, on second thought let's see if I can actually do that."

"No!" You giggle and he allows you to take them.

The two of you walk along in silence just enjoying the outdoors and everything it has to offer. Eventually you end up at the bottom of a waterfall. It's loud, beautiful, almost icy when you touch the water at the edge where it pools.

"Do you want to know why I decommissioned Kyoko?" His sudden choice of topic startles you but it’s nothing new. He was always jumping on subjects randomly.

"Yes."

"Because of you."

"What?" You turn away from the water and walk to where he's leaning against a tree. "What did I do?"

"You took her place."

"What? She was your housekeeper and like an assistant or whatever. I'm neither, I'm just a house guest aren't I?"

“Just a house guest...” Nathan chuckles. "Kyoko was everything for me while I was here alone. A friend, a helper, my lover."

Your eyebrows shoot up. "She could fuck?"

"Of course she could fuck." He waves his hand dismissively. "When I say you took her place I mean in my life. I felt that she was unfair to you, that once you moved into my bed she didn't belong anymore. Kyoko is a great distraction but she isn't human, she doesn't think for herself, or feel for me. She doesn't connect like you and I do. It felt wrong to have her keep me company when you are here."

"But when I leave you'll bring her back out."

"No." He purses his lips and looks down. "Actually I wanted to ask you about that."

"Leaving? Have I overstayed my welcome?"

"Quite the opposite actually."

"The opposite? I haven't stayed long enough?"

Nathan pulls his hands from his pockets and gestures for you to come closer. You do as he asks and he cradles your face. "If you're interested, I'd like to actually start a relationship with you."

"Does that mean we can stop dancing around the edges of whatever this is between us? Because I don't think house guests normally sleep in their host's bed, or wear his clothes, or get neck kisses and give shoulder massages."

He smiles and licks his lips. "I wanted to see how far we could go until one of us broke down and drew a line."

"Nathan, I think we probably would have started showering together next if you hadn't said something by now." You laugh softly. "But yeah, I wanna see where this goes."

"So you'll stay with me a little longer?"

"As long as you'll have me."

"Don't say that." He puts his hands on your hips. "I might keep you forever. Might make you my wife for real."

"I'm not doing much for the rest of my life, so why not?"

Nathan laughs and it makes your heart swell. He rarely does so, it's such a treat to hear. "Never thought I'd meet someone I connect with so completely. Really I didn't think I'd ever meet anyone."

"Why not?"

"I'm not exactly social as you can tell by my living situation. But also I didn't think I deserved someone. Like I deserved to be alone, and be the way I am because I was gifted with such talent. I sort of accepted that it was a trade off for my intellect."

You lay your hand on his chest and his heart is pounding. "No one deserves to be alone. No one."

He smiles weakly. "When you called that day, saying you needed help because of the stunt we pulled, I knew it was you. I knew you were my chance at love in this life. There was no way I was going to let you slip through my fingers a second time."

"Second time?"

"I didn't want to leave you at the expo. I wanted to bring you home with me, I wanted to show you everything. But I knew I pushed it already with the wife stunt, and I knew you had a life and I couldn't be so selfish as to take you away from everything while chasing a high I got."

You smile softly and kiss his cheek. "I probably would have gone with you. That was the best weekend of my life and I didn't want it to end."

"I'm glad you let me play with you in that rest area and we got caught. If we hadn't I don't think we would be here right now."

"Don't make it sound so dirty."

"It was a little dirty." He kisses your cheek. "Hot too. You were so ready to just let me do whatever."

"Nathan!" You giggle and he presses his lips to yours. The sensation takes your breath away.

He cradles your face and slides a hand into your hair. He licks into your mouth and you let out a soft whimper. You grip his jacket and he turns you around so your back is against the tree. "Thought this would go a little differently."

"Yeah? How so?"

He presses another kiss to your lips. "Thought we'd be in the house, maybe curled up by the fire or in bed."

"Nathan Bateman a romantic? I'm shocked."

"I live to shock people." He chuckles. "I shocked my investors and my agent with our little marriage announcement."

"You didn't tell anyone it was fake? Not even your agent?"

"Not yet." He grins. "I like to make him sweat a little."

"You're mean."

"Sometimes."

"Well now we've established that this is happening, why don't we head back to the house? Are you free today?"

Nathan takes your hand in his and steps away from the tree. "I'm free every day."

"No you're not."

"I'm free every day you want me from now on." He threads your fingers together. "I promise."

"That's a big promise to make."

"I'll keep it." He brings your hand up and kisses it. "I'm a man of my word, you know that."

"Yes you are."

"Come on, I'm tired of waiting." He pulls you along the path and you walk quickly to keep his pace. "The last month and half have been torture."

You get ahead of him and pull your hand out of his. He raises an eyebrow. He knows what you're thinking. He knows you're going to run for the house and make him chase you.

"Don't you do it."

"Too late." You take off and he follows in hot pursuit. "You gotta catch me if you wanna keep me!"

His arm encircles your waist the moment you reach the porch and he tumbles you both down onto the sun warmed smooth wood. He rolls you under him and pins you by your arms. "You're mine now."

"I guess I am." You smile big and he captures your lips with his once more. “I wouldn’t be anyone else's.”

End .

-----------

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#nathan bateman #nathan bateman fic #nathan bateman x reader #Ex Machina #ex machina fic #ex machina fanfic #ex machina fanfiction #Oscar Isaac #oscar isaac character #oscar isaac characters #oscar isaac fic

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btsslowburnfic · 4 years ago

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BTS Reacts-Argument with their S/O- Hyung Line

BTS Angst: Argument with their S/O- Hyung line

TW: infertility

Maknae Line found here

Jin: You sit there crying in the bathroom for the 18th time in 18 months. Every time you get your period is a reminder that you're not pregnant. A year and a half of feeling like your body had failed you and that you had failed your husband and his parents. Of course they don't feel that way, but you do. You rub your eyes and stand up. You don't even have the energy to get up and try to do anything today so you throw on some period panties and crawl back into bed.

The first few months after you and Jin started trying for a baby you shrugged it off as your body adjusting to the new hormone levels after you stopped taking the pill. But then more months went by. And more. At the year mark you made an appointment to see your doctor. She made some recommendations but told you if you two continued to have trouble you would need to see a fertility specialist. So here you were, 6 months later crying in bed and watching Netflix. The silence of your apartment amplified by the lack of baby cries and giggles. You had mentioned the specialist to Jin after you came home from the doctor. He shrugged it off. "We just get to practice more, if it happens, it happens." he kissed your forehead and then the two of you proceeded to make love, the discussion put away for another time.

You hear the door to your apartment open and close. You had forgotten Jin was coming home today from the dorm; days were running together for you lately.

"[Y/N]?" you hear him call out. "are you here?"

You close your laptop and sit it on your nightstand and pretend to be asleep. You hear his footsteps echo through the living room and office and finally, you hear the doorknob turn.

He walks over quietly and sits next to you on the edge of the bed. He gently runs his hand across your back, “Jagiya, wake up. It’s afternoon.”

You acknowledge you're awake but don’t roll over.

“What’s wrong? Are you sick?” he asks, his voice laced with worry.

You feel fresh tears in your eyes as you roll over to face him. “No. I’m not sick.” you whisper.

You see his face fall as he sees the sadness in your eyes. “Then what’s wrong?” he strokes your face.

“I don’t want to talk about it.” you respond quietly.

“You know you can talk to me about anything.” he runs his long fingers through your hair.

“I got my period again. Jin, I don’t think we’re ever going to be able to have a baby.” you start sobbing.

“Oh Jagiya,” he moves into bed next to you and helps you sit up so you can rest against him. “I know this is a hard day for you each month.”

“Each day is hard for me now Jin,” you sob. “Each day in this quiet apartment without a baby. Each time another one of your friend’’s wives gets pregnant even though we’ve been trying longer. I just want us to have a baby.”

“I know [y/n], me too," he says as he holds you.

You cry for several minutes like that and then reach across Jin for a Kleenex. “Jin, I think it’s time to make an appointment to see the specialist.” you say. You feel him stiffen immediately.

“We don’t need that, ” he replies icily.

“Jin, there is clearly something that needs to happen differently. We’ve been trying the same thing for 18 months. There is literally a doctor that helps people have babies.” you turn and face him, your sadness turning into anger.

“We don’t need help. There’s nothing wrong with you. There’s nothing wrong with me.” he sternly replies.

“It’s not about something being wrong Jin, it’s about doing what it takes for us to have a baby.” you can’t believe you are having this conversation. You shouldn’t have to convince your husband to go to the doctor with you.

Jin rarely gets actually angry but you can tell he is. He has turned away from you, his legs hanging off the bed.

“Well maybe if you weren’t so sad all the time you could get pregnant.” his words cut you to the core.

You snap your head to stare at him. “I swear to God Jin if you don’t unsay what you just said to me I am leaving this apartment. I have tried for 18 months to have a baby even when I used to be happy. Pretending like everything is great won’t suddenly make our eggs and sperm better.”

“If you want to see a doctor to fix what’s wrong with you, you can go ahead and make an appointment. I’m not going .” he says.

You feel your entire body fill with rage.“Fuck you Jin.” You get off the bed and go to the closet, grabbing your carry-on suitcase and you start throwing things into your bag. You walk back into the bedroom, taking underwear and socks out of your dresser.

Jin’s eyes grow wide in shock, suddenly shaken out of his angry stupor. “What are you doing?”

You walk over to the bed and look into his eyes, snatching your laptop and charging cables. “What does it look like? If my husband isn’t willing to help the two of us have a child, to make the small sacrifice of going to a doctor’s appointment with me, then what the fuck am I even doing here?” you ask rhetorically.

“No. You aren’t leaving. You stay here. I’ll go stay at the dorms if you’re angry with me.”

“No,” you counter as you start walking out to the living room. “I’m not staying in this shell of an apartment where we planned on having a family. It’s torture.” You grab your purse and put your shoes on.

Jin looks at you, tears rolling down his cheeks. “I’m sorry. Please, I’m so sorry.”

“Good.” you respond and walk out the door.

Part two found HERE

-------------------

Suga/Yoongi: You keep checking your phone. You had basically lit a fuse earlier and now you were just waiting for the bomb to go off. Still no messages from Yoongi. You sigh nervously and pick at your nails. Suddenly you hear the door open to the apartment. Maybe Yoongi hadn't been to his studio yet and the two of you could talk. "Hey Yoongi! I wasn't expecting you today," you get up to go see him and the second he walks around the corner you can tell that he knows. "Did you change the password to MY fucking studio?" You had practiced this conversation in your head several times since this morning when you went to see Yoongi at Big Hit. He hadn't been home in weeks. They were gone for the tour for 6 months, he saw you for an awkward week and then had gone back to the studio full time. The two of you weren't even roommates at this point, let alone boyfriend and girlfriend. He barely returned your calls or texts. You had resorted to texting Jin to ask if he was OK and he confirmed that his friend was eating and relatively well, but he was locked in his recording studio most of the time. So this morning, while he was at a meeting, you went and changed his passcode. Can't work if you can’t get into your studio. You purse your lips and prepare for the argument. “I did.” He stares at you with hatred in his eyes, his small frame shaking with rage. “Well at least you’re not dumb enough to lie about it. You are the only person, and I mean the only person who I have ever trusted enough to tell my code to and you fucking went behind my back and did that. What the fuck is wrong with you?” “I haven’t seen you in weeks. Weeks. After not seeing you for months. You hardly answer my calls or texts. You never come home. What am I supposed to do?” you plead. “I miss you so much. I love you but I don’t feel like you even exist anymore. It’s like I’m in love with a memory or a ghost.” “Yeah well, I can never fucking trust you again so I guess none of that matters now. If I wanted to see you, don’t you think I’d see you?” he throws back at you. “Wow. Really? Really? Are you serious? So you’re not here because you don’t want to see me?” “Do I look like I’m fucking joking?” he responds. You stand there for a minute, taking in Yoongi standing there. His thin legs, pale skin, and oversized clothes. Once upon a time this was the man you dreamt about spending the rest of your life with, and here you were today wondering how things had gotten so bad. You ask the question even though you don’t want to. “Do you still love me?” “Aish, don’t ask me stupid questions.” he replies looking off to the side. “Answer me Yoongi. Do you still love me?” You wait for what feels like an eternity. No response. “Ok. Cool. Great, Well, you know what? Here is your fucking password,” you grab a pen and write it down: your anniversary. “Don’t worry, the next time you come home in 2 or 6 or 10 fucking months I won’t be here.” You grab your backpack, you’ll come back for the rest of your things later, and you shove the paper into Yoongi’s chest without saying another word. You slam the door closed to your apartment leaving Yoongi alone clutching the piece of paper.

Part 2 found HERE

--------------

RM/Namjoon: 3 years. You had been secretly dating Namjoon for almost three years. And today was the day you were over it. Last night you had brought the topic up one more time. “Namjoon, when can our relationship be public? Our third anniversary is coming up. We’ve met each other’s parents and siblings. What more will it take before you’ll feel comfortable?” Namjoon looked down thoughtfully. “I just want to protect you. Between any crazy fans, the paparazzi, and social media I think it’s best if people don’t know about our relationship.” It was the same line every time. For years. Usually at this point you would drop it, but last night you weren’t about to. “Ok so when will we tell the world? 5 years? 10 years? If we had a kid together, would they also be a secret? Would they not be allowed to see you in public or walk down the street with you?” “Of course not, that’s ridiculous.” “How is it different? If we are in a committed relationship then how is it different?” you challenge him. He shifts uncomfortably in his seat, “It just is.” “It just is? Wow Genius IQ over here has declared it so it must be true. I am sick of feeling like we’re doing something wrong. I feel like I’m a mistress or something when I’m actually your girlfriend who has been living with you for the past 2 years.” “I don’t want to argue with you.” he says as he gets up and tries to leave the room. “I’m not done talking to you about this.” you put your hands on your hips. “Well I am done talking about this. I’m not ready and I think it’s for the best.” “Why do you get to decide?” you ask, increasingly irritated that he won’t even discuss this with you any further. He lets out a heavy sigh, “Look, I love you. I’m committed to you. We have a good life together. Why isn’t that enough?” he says. And it kind of makes sense, but you don’t like being a secret. It makes you feel awful. “Please. I knew who you were when we started dating, I can handle it. Please,” you ask, surprising even yourself at how small and sad your voice sounds. Namjoon just looks at you and goes into the bedroom leaving you alone. ------------ In your sad and angry stupor last night you drank a bottle of wine and then leaked your own photos of you and Namjoon together to a tabloid. Oops. The next afternoon you see an incoming phone call from Namjoon, take a steadying breath, and answer it. “Hey cutie, what’s up?” “Oh I think you know.” he responds angrily. “What? What’s wrong?” you feign ignorance. “I don’t know. Put my name into google and see.” he responds quickly. You do and see several of the pictures you had sent to the tabloid and lots of headlines about his dating life. “BTS RM has found lasting love. Exclusive interview to follow, ‘we’re just so happy!’ girlfriend gushes“ you roll your eyes. You had submitted the photos anonymously, there was no interview promised. “Huh” you say. “Huh? Do you think I’m stupid?” “I mean maybe sometimes but usually you’re--” He cuts you off, “Don’t do that right now. I’m not joking. I am not ok with this. I told you I did not want this to happen and you did it anyways.” You double down on your crazy, “And I told you that I wasn’t ok with us being a secret anymore. So why is what you say final, and what I want tough shit? Huh? You got your way for three years. Let me have my way for the next three. I don’t care if they rip my shitty clothes and thick thighs to shreds.” You hear silence on the line and then slow deep breath. “I am only entertaining this because I love you and because I don’t want them to have to run a break up story, but we are going to talk about this when I get home. I’m still super pissed at you.” “Roger that Mr. Kim,” you respond. “I love you too.”

------------

JHope/Hoseok: You unlock the door to your apartment. You've been working 12 hours a day six days a week while your husband, Hoseok, was on tour. You walk in and see his shoes in the foyer and a smile instantly spreads across your face. "Hoseok!?! Are you here!?" you toss your work bag down and run into the living room where you see him sitting with a sour expression on his face. You walk over and sit next to him on the couch and give him a squeeze. "I wasn't expecting you until next month! Is everything OK? I'm so happy you're home." He turns and looks at you. "Clearly you weren't expecting me since the house is a fucking mess. There's coffee cups in every room and dishes in the sink. It's disgusting." You unwrap your arms from him. It's true. There were dishes in the sink and cups everywhere. You were a messier person than him and tried hard to conform when he was home. You were going to clean on your day off. You worked 8-8 every day; there wasn't a lot of extra time. You swallowed your pride and decided to apologize. "I'm sorry baby, I know I'm messy. I was going to get it all cleaned up before you got home. I know it grosses you out. Why are you home early?" you take his hand in yours. "I came home to surprise you. We have three days in between our performances so I thought I'd come see you. I wish I hadn't now though." Honestly it would have hurt less if he slapped you in the face. You feel tears threatening to fall but you try and stay calm to salvage this time that he's come home. " Well. I'm happy to see you. Why don't you nap and I'll pick up." you say and stand up, beginning to gather the coffee mugs and cups. He sits there with an angry expression on his face. "I can't believe you just sit here and trash the apartment I bought for you. Do you just sit here all day and make more garbage?" Tears sting your eyes and you turn to face him. "What the fuck dude? The apartment is a mess because I've been working 72 hours a week for the past 4 months so my quotas will be complete and I can take off work to spend time with you when you're home. And just because you make more money than me doesn't mean I don't contribute. I have a job. I pay bills. I work. I'm sorry that the apartment isn't up to your standards sir," you angrily take the mugs to the sink and wash the dishes while fuming. He's sitting in the same spot you left him, holding his head in his hands. "Well there you go. I'll be sure to mop and polish tomorrow morning before I go to work. Now if you'll excuse me." you head back over to the door. "Where are you going?" he asks, his head snapping up. "You said that you regretted coming home to see me, so don't." you pick up your work bag and walk out.

#bts fanfic #bts fanfction #bts reactions #bts angst #bts rm x you #bts jin x you #bts suga x you #bts namjoon x reader #bts yoongi x reader #bts hoseok x reader

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wiypt-writes · 4 years ago

Text

Stark Spangled Banner

Ch 4. Low Flying Stationery

Summary: Steve realises that the only way out of the seeming hole he’s dug himself into is to come clean about his feelings to Katie, only that’s easier said than done.

Pairing: Steve Rogers X OFC Katie Stark

Warnings: Language! Angst and a pair of total dumbasses in love… A/N: Once again, a huge thank you to @angrybirdcr for her lovely little edit.

Disclaimer: This is a pure work of fiction and classified as 18+. Please respect this and do not read if you are underage. I do not own any characters in this series bar Katie Stark and the other OCs. By reading beyond this point you understand and accept the terms of this disclaimer.

Chapter 3

Stark Spangled Banner Masterlist // Main Masterlist

“I went under, the world was at war, I wake up and they say we won. They didn’t say what we lost.”

“Yeah, well we’ve made some mistakes along the way. Some very recently…”

Steve woke up with a start, taking a deep breath as he blinked, coming out of his sleep addled haze. It didn’t take a genius to work out why his mind had taken him back to that particular moment in time, and it wasn’t wasted on him either that this time he was the one who had made the big assed mistake the night before…

Glancing at his clock, he decided that 5:00 am wasn’t too early, so he changed and headed out for a run, pounding his frustration out on the wet ground beneath his feet. He was so annoyed at himself for simply letting Katie walk out with no protest at all. He should have stopped her, gone after her, he realised that now.

It was official, he was the world’s biggest moron.

He knew now that the only way to salvage anything from this mess was to be honest, regardless of how she felt or didn’t feel as the case may be. So, as he thundered round past the Lincoln Memorial for the fourth time, he started to plan out exactly what he was going to say. By the time he got home an hour and a half later, and climbed into a scalding hot shower, he was feeling slightly more positive.

He just hoped she’d hear him out.

***** After a night of tossing and turning, alternating between being angry at herself and pissed at Steve, Katie had also been up at a ridiculous time, but unlike Steve she had curled up on her sofa with a film, counting the minutes down until it was an acceptable time to call her brother.

“Seven thirty AM?” Tony drawled as he answered. “You wet the bed?”

“Fuck off” She shot back “No, just had a shitty end to yesterday and thought I’d call to hear a friendly voice. Beginning to wonder why I bothered.”

“Bad day?” Tony’s voice softened “Ok Kiddo, I’m all ears.”

“Nah don’t wanna talk about it.” Katie said, and she didn’t. There was NO WAY she was telling Tony about Steve and whatever the hell nearly went down. That was a whole shit storm she didn’t want landing at Steve’s feet. “So what’s new with you?”

“Nothing much.” Tony sniffed.

“How’s things with you and Pepper? Still behaving?”

“I’m insulted you even asked me that.”

“I know you too well.” She chuckled.

“Well, if you really wanna know they’re going great. I’m thinking of taking her out to the Island in a couple of weeks. A dirty week away…”

“Ok too much information” she grimaced as Tony’s chuckle hit her ears “You’re nasty”

“I’m in love!” He said in a sing-song voice, making Katie roll her eyes.

“I never thought I’d see the day where you love someone more than yourself.”.

“What is this, Kiddo? Insult Tony day?” He scoffed making her laugh. “I love lots of things more than myself.”

“Yeah, like what?”

“You, Pepper…” the line was silent for a few seconds before he finished “Nope, that’s it.”

Katie laughed “I’m honoured.”

“So you should be, it’s a very hard list to make.”

They talked for another half an hour about all sorts of crap, Katie simply happy to hear her brother’s voice as it had been weeks since she’s seen him, far too long in her opinion. Eventually they both had to get ready for work so after breakfast and a shower she felt a little better although her stomach was still flipping slightly at the thought of seeing Steve. He’d messaged her a few times last night but she’d completely ignored him, and was feeling a little shitty about it now, if she was honest.

But, there was nothing she could do except apologise and hopefully they could move on and in time forget it.

When she walked into the Tactical Ops Office, Clint and Natasha were already in there, eating a pastry each, both with a coffee in hand and she was touched, as always, to see one waiting on her desk for her. But not touched enough to let Barton get away with using her desk as a foot rest.

“Get your feet down…” Katie slapped at his legs.

“Rude,” he muttered, removing them and placing his feet on the floor. “I bought you coffee.”

“Which is both appreciated and needed.” she pecked him on the cheek. “Thanks Hawkeye”

“You look like you aint slept all night.” Nat eyed Katie shrewdly as she shrugged off her coat “Who is he?”

“I should be so lucky” Katie mumbled dropping into her chair. She didn’t tell them that the reason she hadn’t slept all night was thanks to a certain blue eyed super soldier, but not because he was in bed with her, more so because he wasn’t.

“Better take a nap this afternoon then.” Clint pointed at her. “Want you on good form for the party.”

“What party?” Katie frowned.

“Rumlow’s 40th…”

She groaned. “That’s tonight?”

“Yeah.” Clint nodded, before he let out a snort as he looked over his shoulder at Nat “Now this is gonna be interesting.”

“What?” Katie frowned

“He’s referring to the fact I’ve been planning an outfit for a few days…” Nat yawned, examining her nails.

“Yeah and seeing you try and figure one out in a few hours, Nova, is gonna be amazing…”

“Not like I’m short of options,” Katie shrugged “I mean half the shit in my closet hasn’t seen the light of day in years.”

“You can always gift it to me.” Natasha quipped back

“Speaking of gifts, has anyone done a collection for dearest Brock?” Clint looked around. “I mean it is his 40th party after all, we should probably get him something…”

“Like what?” Nat asked.

“I dunno. What’s he into?” Clint pondered.

“I know what he’d like to get into.” Nat responded with a smirk. “Nova’s pants…”

At that Clint let out a bark of a laugh just as Steve walked through the door, expertly catching the pencil that Katie threw at the Archer.

“Beware low flying stationery.” Steve quipped as casually as he could, tossing the item onto the desk in front of Clint who leaned back in his chair, putting his feet back on the surface. Steve locked eyes with Katie for a second and he saw her take a deep, steadying breath before she looked over at Clint as he responded to Steve’s joke.

“It wasn’t flying, it was thrown.” he smirked. “Just Stark here getting a little upset about Nat’s joke.”

“I wasn’t upset, it was just a shit joke.” Katie rolled her eyes

“But it’s true, that’s what’s so funny!” Clint snorted “Admit it, you know he’s after a bit…”

“Can we just change the subject, please?” Katie groaned, turning to the keyboard on her desk. She could feel Steve’s eyes burning into her back as she tried to concentrate on the screen, ignoring him.

“You coming tonight Cap?” Clint asked

“Rumlow’s 40th?” Steve asked and Clint nodded

“Did everyone remember except me?” Katie looked round.

“Pretty much.” Nat nodded

Katie scowled.

“You’re a proper little ray of sunlight today.” Clint snorted at the expression on her face.

“I told you I’m tired.”

“Try going to bed and sleeping.” Nat quipped and this time it was a highlighter pen that flew across the room.

“Carry on and it will be a stapler.” Katie frowned. “I was alone, thank you. Unless you count my pillow.”

Steve looked down at his feet

“Was the pillow good?” Clint asked, and she glared at him, picking up the stapler as he laughed, holding his hands up.

“Anyway, Romanoff…” Steve deftly changed the subject as Katie slammed the stapler back down. “You ready for ops drill or…”

Nat groaned and pushed her chair back across the floor with a scrape. “Slave driver…catch you later Stark”

“Yeah see ya…” Katie didn’t bother turning round.

“I’m due on the range in 10 with the new recruits so…” Clint stood up and followed Nat before he stopped and turned back, glancing over his shoulder again before he spoke.

“Listen, don’t tell Widow I asked this but what’s the dress code for tonight? I better start sorting out what I’m wearing whilst I get chance…”

Katie stopped before she turned slowly in her seat and smirked up at him, raising an eyebrow.

“You hypocrite! It’s smart casual and if you don’t want me to tell Nat, it’ll cost you a beer”

“A beer for your silence… why haven’t we done this trade before?”

“Fuck off!” she flicked him the finger as he disappeared out of the office leaving Steve and her alone.

“Hey.” He spoke gently, testing the water “You alright?”

“Yeah” she nodded, looking up at him and he smiled, that fucking smile again and she cleared her throat. “Honestly I’m just tired.”

“You ran out on me.” he pointed out, studying her face.

“You didn’t exactly stop me Steve.” she shot back and he sighed.

“I know.” he swallowed “But you could have messaged me back.”

“Sorry, I was just…” Katie ran her hand over her face. “Actually, I don’t know what I was to be honest.”

There was a pause, a little awkward silence filling the room before Steve took a deep breath.

“Listen.” he began, rubbing the back of his neck with his hand. “About last night, what…well, what nearly happened. I err, I wanted to say that I-”

“It’s fine.” Katie cut him off quickly. “I get it, it was an emotional day and there was a lot for you to process and deal with. I mean, I was all over the place so I expect you were too. Guess we just…”

She trailed off and something inside Steve died a little. She’d felt sorry for him, that was the only reason they’d shared that moment. He struggled to keep his face straight as he shrugged, looking down at his hands, all thoughts of his planned speech flying out of his head.

“We’re okay, right?” Katie looked at him, and he glanced up, smile fixed on his face.

“Sure” he nodded, hopping off the desk. “Listen, I need to…” he pointed to the door.

“Yeah, course. I have a tonne of stuff to do anyway. I wanna get home in time for a nap”

He chuckled. “So I’ll err, see you tonight?” he asked.

“Yeah, see you there.”

Katie watched him leave and as soon as he was clear of the room Katie took a shaky breath trying to stem the tears that were threatening once more to pour down her cheeks.

******

A wave of sound, both music and the noise of chatter hit Steve’s ears the minute he opened the door. He spotted Nat and Clint leaned against the bar and after saying hi to Rumlow and anyone else who greeted him he made his way over to the other two avengers and smiled.

“Hey Cap” Clint said, clapping him on his shoulder. “Beer?”

“Thanks Barton.”

Clint ordered his drink as Steve glanced around the room, looking for that familiar shock of brunette.

“She’s not here yet.” Nat drawled and he looked at her.

“Right.” He nodded simply, accepting the beer.

“Nice shirt” Clint grinned and Steve glanced down.

“Very modern.” Nat said,

“Romanoff,” Steve rolled his eyes. “You’re a pain in my ass…”

“She’s a pain in everyone’s ass.” Clint shrugged and Nat simply quirked an eyebrow at him as Steve gave a small chuckle, taking a slug of his beer.

“It’s one of my more endearing qualities.” she quipped.

Clint opened his mouth to say something but stopped as his eyes fell on someone and he smiled. Steve turned slightly to follow his gaze to see Katie making her way over towards them and boy, he had to stop his mouth falling open because she looked amazing. Tight black jeans, patent red heels and a sleeveless red top that plunged down her cleavage and tightened in to her waist before flaring out slightly. Her make up looked different, it was still light but she’d done something to her eye lids as they shimmered with a gold colour that made her eyes stand out even more.

Clint dropped a kiss to her cheek when she reached his side and Steve got a sudden hit of her perfume, the underlying floral tones that he associated with her, and he took a deep breath.

“About time…” Clint smiled at Katie. “We thought you had got lost.”

“Yeah, sorry I needed a nap.” she shrugged, nodding to Natasha and Steve.

“You want a drink?” Clint turned back to the bar waving at the tender.

“Yeah, I’ll have a gin thanks.”

“I like this.” Nat mused, her hand toying with the hem of her top. “New?”

“No, I dug it out from the doldrums of my closet.” she smiled, thanking Clint for the drink as he handed it to her. “I told you, I forget what’s in there sometimes.”

“Must be hard being so rich you can afford that many clothes you forget what you have.” Nat smirked, and Katie flipped her off drawing a snort from the red head.

“Table over there.” Clint spoke, nodding over to the right. “Shall we?”

The four of them made their way over and settled into a comfortable conversation as normal, but both Katie and Steve were ridiculously aware of one another. The smells of cologne and perfume, the feel of his shirt clad arm as it brushed against hers when he moved, her laugh which rang out over the table…

It was torture for them both.

After four rounds of drinks however, Katie had started to relax a little, dare she even say enjoy herself, so it was bound to be a matter of time before something else went wrong.

And it did, in spectacular fashion.

“Who’s round is it?” Clint announced “I’m ready for some shots…”

“Mine, I think.” Katie glanced round for one of the guys who was providing table service, when someone talking to Rumlow caught her attention. Tall, short dark hair, dark denim jeans and a white shirt. To most of the people in the room, the back of that man could have been anyone. But to Katie, well, she knew instantly who it was.

And her good mood sank as fast as it had been rising.

“Oh you have got to be fucking kidding me.” She mumbled. Steve, who had felt her tense next to him, looked down at her as Natasha frowned.

“What?”

“Ward’s here…”

Clint’s hand slipped and he almost sent the remainder of his beer flying as he scanned the room, his eyes narrowing.

“Ward as in, your ex Ward?” Steve asked, feeling the heat rise in his neck. She nodded and across the table Clint started grinding his teeth in a combination of anger and irritation.

Katie watched the back of her ex’s head, and then he turned to look around the room and their eyes locked. His mouth fell open slightly before he composed himself, and turned back to talk to Rumlow, running his hand through his hair, the way he always did when he was trying to act cool.

Katie snorted and turned back to the table.

“Want me to go punch him?” Clint leaned over towards her. “Because I’d really like to.”

Steve found himself thinking that was a great idea but Katie shook her head.

“Just ignore him. I am.”

*****

After three further gin and tonics and two tequilas had worked their way through her system Katie excused herself and headed out to the bathroom. Once she was gone, Clint shook his head.

“I cannot believe that fucking prick showed up.” He growled, waiving the waiter over. “Damned it I hate him.”

“I gathered.” Steve smirked as Clint ordered another round of drinks.

“I mean…what the fuck…why is he even here?” the archer continued to rant and Nat gently laid a hand on hi arm.

“Clint, don’t you think you’re overreacting a little?” She soothed.

“You didn’t see her Nat, that night when she caught him…she was a mess.”

“So was his car.” Natasha grinned and Clint snorted.

“His car?” Steve asked.

“Yeah…” Clint gave a small laugh. “She smashed up the body work…and I left four arrows in his tyres.”

Steve felt a surge of affection the archer as he took a deep breath, looking around. There was no sign of Katie, or Ward. Something seemed a little off, like things weren’t quite right…

“I’m gonna go check if she’s okay” he stood up, missing the glance that Natasha and Clint shared.

As it happens, Katie wasn’t ok. Nothing about walking out of the bathroom and bumping, literally, into your cheating fucker ex was ever going to be ok.

“Hi K.” Ward said, as his hands gently grabbed round her arms steadying her, his familiar smell washed over her senses. She pulled back immediately, shaking off his grip.

“Don’t call me that.”

He sighed “C’mon…”

“What do you want, Grant?”

“Hey, you bumped into me.” He chuckled. “You look amazing by the way.”

She snorted, and looked away.

“Look, I just wanted to say, well, I hate how we left things, you know? And I…”

“How we left thigs?” Katie’s eyes locked back onto his as she let out a sarcastic laugh. “The only thing I left was your apartment after finding you in bed with some blond bimbo.”

“The biggest mistake of my life.” Grant sighed, “I honestly mean that…”

“Is this the part where you say sorry for cheating on me and beg for my forgiveness?” Katie watched as the dark brown eyes that she had once found irresistible bore into hers and she felt the anger simmering again. She’d worked so long to get this man out of her system, but here he was, daring to try and smarm her into accepting an apology. The sheer audacity of it was making her want to scream.

“I am sorry. I genuinely am…”

“You’re sorry you got caught. There’s a difference.”

“No, that’s not it.” Grant shook his head. “There hasn’t been a single day where I haven’t thought about you and how I fucked up.”

He ran his hand through his hair and Katie shook her head.

“Let’s be honest, she wasn’t the first was she?” She looked up at him. Grant dropped his head and that was all the confirmation she needed. “Our relationship, it was a car crash.”

“I loved you.”

“Seriously? You’re trying that one?” She looked at him, and then burst out laughing. “Oh Jesus…” She shook her head in disbelief and made to walk round him but he grabbed her arm.

“What’s so funny?”

“Let go of me.”

“I asked you a question…”

“And she asked you to let her go.” A familiar voice said and Katie looked up to see Steve stood in the corridor, hands on his belt buckle as the door to the main bar area swung shut behind him, causing the loud background noise to fade slightly. “She won’t need to ask again.”

“Sorry…I…” Ward, let go of her arm as he composed himself and extended his arm in greeting. “Captain Rogers. We haven’t been formally introduced. I’m-“

“I know who you are, Agent Ward” Steve looked at him, not even moving to take the man’s proffered hand, and he saw Ward’s jaw twitch, as his arm dropped back to his side, fist balling and unballing.

“I see. ” Ward raised an eyebrow, looking from Katie, to Steve and he took a deep breath and nodded. “I meant what I said. I really am sorry.”

Katie didn’t reply, simply watched him leave as he brushed past Steve who moved to the side to let him pass, but only after shooting him one last contemptuous look before the Captain turned back to Katie.

“Are you ok? Did he hurt you?” Steve asked her, stepping forward, noting she was rubbing the place on her arm where Ward’s hand had gripped.

“Hurt me?” she frowned.

“Yeah, your arm.” He nodded to it.

“Oh, no.” she said, shaking her head as her hand moved. “That was just weird.”

“Weird?”

“Yeah, I mean, well for so long I thought about what I’d say to him when I eventually did see him again, you know, how much he hurt me, broke my heart, but right then when I got the opportunity, I realised I actually don’t give a shit anymore.”

Steve smiled. “Good, I’m glad he didn’t upset you.” There was a pause before he gestured over his shoulder. “You err, you wanna go back in?”

“Do you think anyone would notice if I left?” She shrugged. “I don’t wanna be here anymore and there’s a bottle of wine and a pint of ice cream at home with my name on it”

“What Ice cream?” Steve asked, looking at her, raising his brow hopefully and she shook her head, chuckling.

“Mint choc chip.” she looked at him, before she turned to head towards the door of the bar before she stopped, and spoke again, without looking back. “Suppose I can share.”

With that she pushed the door open and Steve grinned, following her out.

*********

“I don’t know why you wear shoes so high if you can’t walk in them?” Steve snorted as Katie let out a groan, kicking her shoes off as soon as they stepped out of the elevator.

“Because they look good.” She shrugged. “I’m just gonna get changed, won’t be long. Grab yourself a drink.”

Whilst she was in the bedroom Steve did as he was told and grabbed a beer for himself, and poured Katie a glass of wine before carrying them into the lounge and setting them on the coffee table. He had to stop himself from staring when she walked back into the room, all long legs and thigh tattoo, in a pair of denim shorts and a hoody. She dropped heavily onto the sofa besides him, taking her wine and gulping down a large mouthful.

“You sure you’re ok?” he asked, looking at her.

“Stop asking me that, Steve.” She snapped. “I’m fine.”

“Sorry, I didn’t…”

“No, I’m sorry.” She shook her head. “That was uncalled for.” She looked at him and gave a soft smile. “I’m fine, honestly. And thank you, for being there before.”

“You don’t have to thank me.” Steve shook his head. “I care about you Katie, you know that. And, well, frankly, when I saw him with his hand on you, I wanted to smash his face into the wall.”

Katie let out a huff of laughter as she glanced at her wine glass. “You’ll have to get behind Tony in the queue.”

Steve looked down at his beer, before he took a deep breath. “The guy is a dick.” he said, tilting side on so his arm was over the back of the sofa behind her. “And I don’t mean that just because of tonight. If you were my girl I wouldn’t be looking twice at anyone else.”

Katie smiled, as she looked up at him. “That’s because you’re a gentleman.”

“No.” he shook his head, his blue eyes locking onto hers. “It’s because you’re worth so much more than that.”

“Sure.” she shrugged and Steve pressed his lips together in a firm line of frustration.

“Don’t…”

“What?” she frowned.

“Do that.“ he pressed.

“Do what?”

“Put yourself down. You do it all the time” he sighed.

“I don’t.” She swallowed, looking away.

“Yes, you do. You think so little of yourself but you shouldn’t. Katie, you’re the most amazing woman I’ve ever met” With that he took a deep breath, there was no going back now. The hand that wasn’t draped around the back of the sofa reached out and tangled in hers and as she raised her head to look at him, her eyes were filled with tears and he swallowed, his mouth feeling suddenly dry as the blood pounded in his ears, his heart beating so rapidly he thought it might burst through his chest.

He had to make her understand, just how deep his feeling went.

His right hand gently moved from the sofa back to the side of her jaw where he simply cupped her face and she closed her eyes, leaning into his touch. When she opened them again, it was just in time to see his gaze flicker to her mouth, before he leaned forward, a movement that was slow and seemed to take forever, until his lips met hers in a soft, sweet kiss that set every single nerve in her body on edge.

Steve pulled away slightly, just enough so that he could look into her eyes, make sure she was okay with this, and finding nothing but eagerness on her part, he pressed his lips back to hers.

The entire world around them faded to nothing and they both relaxed as this time the kiss deepened slightly, his hand still cupping her cheek as he slid his tongue gently across her bottom lip. She obliged, opening her mouth slightly and at the touch of her tongue on his Steve felt a jolt of electricity surge up his spine. Eventually they broke away and Steve gently slid his nose along hers unable to keep the smile off his face as their foreheads rest together.

“Where did you learn to kiss like that, Captain Badass?” She whispered and he gave a chuckle.

“To be honest with you…” he sat up slightly, his right hand returning to where it had been before, resting on the back of the sofa “I don’t think I have until now.”

She grinned and tucked her hair behind her ear with a hand that was trembling from nerves, adrenaline and absolute pleasure at being kissed by the utter God of a man sat on her sofa.

“So err…” Steve licked his lips. “I know this might be a little late, so to speak after, well, erm, yeah, but I’d really like to take you out, you know, on a date?”

Katie blinked as he stuttered over his words, and suddenly became aware she was chewing on her lip. She felt heat in her cheeks as she looked at him and nodded, smiling softly. “Yeah, I’d like that.”

That crooked grin she knew and had come to love spread across his face.

“You free tomorrow?” he asked before hastily correcting himself “It’s Saturday, or is that too soon? We could always go next weekend instead if you want or-”

“Steve,” she cut him off, gently squeezing her fingers round his, “tomorrow is fine.”

“Great, tomorrow…that’s…great…” He trailed off as Katie held his gaze.

The air between them seemed to crackle and this time it was her that initiated the kiss. This one was slightly deeper, the fire in her belly was hotter and that naughty part of her would have loved nothing more than to throw her hands round his neck and pull him down on top of her. But Steve Rogers was nothing if not a gentleman, and she didn’t want to rush into anything. She’d waited too long for this to fuck it up by moving too fast. With that in mind she willed herself to pull away.

“So err, you wanna watch a film or…” She glanced at the TV.

“Yeah…” Steve gave a little chuckle, his eyebrows raising a little before he took a deep breath. “You need another drink?”

Katiee nodded and he hopped up off the sofa, taking her empty glass to top it up, frankly glad of the chance to cool down. He’d had to stop himself then from pushing her down on the couch, but he knew that wouldn’t be the right thing to do. He wanted to do this properly, it was too special to risk.

Katie flicked through the android box, and with a grin found the perfect film, one that was a comedy, not romance or action, something easy.

“The Sandlot?” Steve asked as he handed her the filled glass, reading the title on the screen. “It’s about baseball?”

“More about kids having adventures over summer but yeah, baseball features a lot. It’s funny, you’ll like it”

“Sure I will.” Steve said, as he settled down next to her.

She pressed play on the film, threw the remote onto the coffee table and lifted Steve’s arm, sliding into place beneath it, tucking herself in against his side with her legs curled up beneath her. It was something she’d done so many times before but this time, well it felt different. Steve pressed a kiss to her head before turning his attention back to the film, his arm draped over her shoulders, fingers gently tracing shapes on her upper arm.

They sat in the dark living room, watching the film, not another word shared. They both laughed, Steve grimacing at the Chewing Tobacco scene where the kids all vomited off the side of a fairground ride, it reminded him far too vividly of the time he had barfed after riding the Cyclone, and at the end when it showed one of the kids playing for the LA Dodgers Steve was the first one to break the comfortable silence, letting out a little snort.

“I still don’t like the fact they aint in Brooklyn any more”

“Really, you never mentioned it.” Katie said sarcastically, sitting up.

He rolled his eyes before he stretched. “I should be going.”

“Yeah, it is late.” Katie agreed, standing up as he did. “And I got a big date tomorrow.”

“Yeah” he asked, paying along as he walked to the door “Anyone I know?”

“Just some guy from work.” she shrugged. “He’s pretty hot but don’t tell him I said so.”

Steve laughed. “You’re a nightmare, you know that?” he smirked.

“Yeah but, you love it.” Katie shrugged as the elevator arrived.

“Yeah, I do.” Steve smiled softly, dropping a gentle kiss to her lips. “Goodnight, Doll.”

“Night Stevie.”

He squeezed her hand and stepped into the elevator and as soon as the doors had closed, a huge shit eating grin spread across both their faces.

***** Chapter 5

**Original Posting**

#stark spangled banner #steve rogers #steve rogers x ofc #steve rogers x original female character #katie stark #chris evans #chris evans characters

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boop-le-snoot · 4 years ago

Text

PARTY FAVOURS I CHAPTER 17

First time reader click here

TWs/Summary: Feelings! PTSD! Anxiety! Clint! Team bonding! Reader is a badass 😍 And comic book medical accuracy .

Un-beta-ed.

"It smells like a liquor factory in here," Bucky's voice came from the kitchenside, followed by noises of the team's arrival. Via portal, because the elevator made zero noise.

"I suggest you avoid the area around me and Clint. It might be contaminated." My voice sounded sharp to my own ears. I sat in silence for several hours, waiting for the team's return, while Clint restlessly dozed next to me.

My words caused the team to freeze in their tracks, owlishly blinking at me and at Clint laying sprawled on the floor, surrounded by plastic bags and biological hazard containment units. Tony's helmet swiftly covered his face - I heard muffled sounds coming from within, probably Friday's explanations. In seconds, the helmet retracted, showing an extremely worried Tony.

"How do you feel, Princess? Any weakness, any pain?"

"No symptoms, Tony. Just a fuckton of anxiety," I admitted, avoiding the concerned looks of Tony's teammates. "I almost drowned the room in alcohol but warned you just to be safe. Also, your alien pathogen protocol sucks."

"We made it so unauthorized personnel wouldn't get their hands on Thor's or Loki's blood samples," Bruce supplied meekly from where he was leaning against Steve, wearing a tattered hoodie and his hulk-out pants. "Off to decon we go," The scientist sighed. "Friday, code seven-zero-three-five-five. Pull up the data you gathered. In the shower." The man was exhausted, yet the call of science seemed to give Bruce a tiny energy boost. With newfound determination, he waddled to the communal showers, the rest of the team in tow.

Natasha's stare was truly unnerving. I was fully aware she and Barton had long history; the fact that I had to respond to one of the deadliest assassins if I had made even the slightest mistake - anxiety mixed with blind terror in me. I fought the nausea and the headache, focusing on Clint's hair between my fingers. His steady breathing.

He'd be okay. He had to be okay.

"You did great, Princess," The time passed in a blink. Bruce's warm hands were encompassing mine - gently pulling me away from Clint. I looked at Banner's face with unseeing eyes.

"I heard what Friday said and I can only applaud your quick thinking. You saved his life," Strange, sounding uncharacteristically quiet and bashful, parroted Bruce, hovering behind the scientist. His angular face was contorted in sorrow. "I believe I should apologize for dropping Barton onto you like that. I underestimated the extent of his injuries." The man sounded so, so guilty.

"I saved his life," I repeated in disbelief. Surely they were exaggerating.

"You did, malysh. For that, I am grateful," Natasha's hand found my own, squeezing briefly, before following Steve that had picked up a still-sleeping Clint, to, presumably, carry him to medical. "Come on, Banner, we need you."

Banner gave me a brief squeeze of his own, taking his leave, scurrying after Romanoff. I was left awkwardly standing in front of Strange, both of us disheveled and dazed.

"I ordered pizza," I said, just to fill the grim silence.

"Okay," Just like that, he snapped out of his trance, sitting down on the couch and picking up his food.

The others trickled in, Bucky, Pete, Thor, Loki, Sam, Wanda, Pietro. I saw it all like it was tinted by a thick fog. Their words made a jumbled cacophony when they reached my ears. Tony's arm around me - that woke me up, slightly. I focused on my favourite thing in the world - the faint smell of him, a mix of soap, machine oil and expensive cologne.

"She's shellshocked," Bucky suddenly said, pointing at me.

"No," I frowned. "No. I may be a fumbling idiot but I don't have PTSD."

Tony's breath stuttered in his chest. Promptly, I was turned around, a pair of intelligent brown orbs sharply gazing into my eyes. "Princess?"

"I'm so glad y'all are alright," I choked out, fisting the cotton of his shirt in my palm. "Even Stephen the asshole. Team bonding wouldn't be the same without his sarcasm," Hurrying to hide the fact that I was scared shitless, I did what I do best. I joked.

"Gods, you two are really a match made in heaven," Wanda's tired voice had 110% eye-roll in it. "So much self-deprication, almost as much as brilliance." The witch usually refrained from commenting on people's private thoughts. Usually, but not that day.

"I am relieved to know you hold me in high regards," Stephen's sarcastic remark made it's way around a mouthful of pizza.

Bucky's phone beeped. "They're saying Clint will be out in a few hours. No permanent damage, the gash on his leg won't scar and he's demanding Tony buy his saviour a cake," With a smile, the soldier read the text's contents out loud. "Also, the resident doc wants to hire you." Bucky pointed at me with a teasing grin.

"I, umm, I," Stammering, way to go. "I just - uh, I googled and I improvised? I'm not a doctor or a scientist, I'm a high school student," I replied, voice raising half an octave higher.

"Told you Tony, she's a friggin' genius," Peter sounded way too smug for someone who had a bruise half the size of his head.

"That she is," Tony's voice... Was different. It was honeyed and warm, blanketing me, surrounding me with safety. His arms tightened around me - not uncomfortably so, just enough to ground his presence in my personal space. I snuggled into him happily - he didn't mind at all. The cold glow and faint humming of his arc reactor calmed me. "Friday, cake. Princess cake from the bakery on Seventeenth."

Wow, Tony knew my favourite kind of cake. That was amazing.

"On it, boss." The AI immediately replied. "Well done, Miss." Friday addressed me with the same tone I heard in the lab. Gentle and understanding. It was so very strange.

We mulled around the living room until the pizza was gone and half the occupants were snoring away, dead where they sat. It was an unanimous decision to pull out the unfolding couch and form a cuddle pile of sorts - after such a long and grueling mission with one of their own facing the brink of death, all the superheroes were more than a little unsettled. I didn't exactly know where I fit in that. Obviously, all of them were close in one way or another. Even Loki and Stephen, seeing them get cussed out by Thor for attempting to leave was kind of amusing.

But it got me wondering. Maybe they felt like imposters, too? After all, I wasn't special. Loki wasn't considered a good guy. And Stephen was too much of a lone wolf. All three of us were comfortable alone, used to dealing on our own.

One look from Tony, Stark-patented puppy eyes, and I was making space for myself and for Stephen. Even if Loki insisted on grumbling all the way through, his exhaustion showed in the way he leaned on Thor's arm, using a weakly glimmering spell to summon himself a book and then closing his eyes for a moment.

Muted cheering broke out the moment elevator doors opened, showcasing a pale but smiling Clint held up on both sides by Natasha and Steve, Bruce half asleep on the blonde's other side.

"Looking pretty good for a dead bitch," Clint grinned in my direction.

I couldn't resist the bait. The boomer knew his memes, after all. "She's alive!"

He patted my leg, making his way to a free spot on the ginormous sofa bed. "Aw, pizza," He groused, spying the empty boxes.

"Should arrive in ten minutes," Bucky quipped, waving his phone. Then, the brunette super-soldier looked at me pointedly. "We usually order double after long missions."

"Duly noted, y'all hungry peoples." I said, filing it away for later. Thinking about more missions, more near-death experiences wasn't something I wanted to handle that very moment.

"So, uh, what exactly happened? My memory is pretty spotty," Clint demanded once he got his hands on some food.

"I also need to know. You're going to have to sign a statement and a mission report," Natasha stated apologetically.

I looked at her, confused. "Like... How many details do you need?"

Tony shifted beside me uncomfortably. I put a steadying hand on his leg - my palm was immediately dwarfed by his own. Natasha gave him a Look. "Fury's eyes only, but SHIELD needs to know how you figured out to neutralise a potential alien threat. Bruce ran some tests and this pathogen is... Pretty nasty, to say the least. It has the survivability to be classified as a potential weapon." Natasha's voice was apologetic, once more.

What have I gotten myself into? I was just trying to save a friend. "First of all, I'm not working for Men in Black, like, ever," I made the point to look her in the eyes. A brief moment later, she nodded. Tony relaxed, exhaling soundly. "Okay, get your reading glasses on. It went like this..." I retold the story, taking careful note to voice my thought processes as much as I remembered them. Save for a few surprised gasps and Tony haphazardly kissing the top of my head, the team gave me no interruptions.

Bruce was the first one to react once I was done. "But... How did you think of bloodletting? It's such an unusual solution," He mumbled more to himself.

"I've watched enough horror movies to know better than to introduce a foreign bacteria, such as antibiotics, to a person with an alien infection," I deadpanned, spying a satisfied smile on Stephen's face. "Worst case scenario, the substitution of infected blood with healthy would have diluted the amount of parasites or deflected their attention from eating away Clint's nerve endings. Him going bazinga from pain was my main concern," I admitted, the archer's pained cries once again filling my ears. The memory was still fresh.

"That makes sense," Bruce nodded.

"And what would you have done?" I asked, unable to withhold my curiosity.

"Sedated Clint while I examine the specimens," Banner replied with the obvious. "Then figure out how to cure the infection."

I nodded along slowly. "I considered that option but ultimately, I was too chicken to entertain the possibility of the parasites interacting with heavy sedatives. Fentanyl affects some of the blood components the parasites eat so only God knows how it might have ended."

Banner was impressed, that much was obvious. Tony's lips once again landed on the crown of my head, gentle and warm. More and more people in the room were giving me impressed, happy, grateful looks. It was strange and I squirmed in my spot, putting the half-eaten pizza slice back in the box, Steve immediately eyeing it in contemplation.

"Have at it, you human garbage disposal," I muttered, laying down comfortably. I was still shivering from the adrenaline rush and the soft blanket cocoon I shared with Tony and Stephen - their combined body heat under it - called to me like a siren.

"Are you well?" Loki noticed my state, casting a dark look over the edge of his book.

"Yeah, just cold. Us humans shiver when coming off an adrenaline rush," I remarked absently, pressing myself closer to Tony.

The engineer laid down, spooning me, tangling our legs together. We slept like that, all over each other, every time I stayed in his bed. It felt comfortable, like home, and nobody seemed to mind. Peter and Wanda, already snoozing away, were in a similarly indisposed state, octopus-ing their nearest teammates. Friends. Family.

My eyes drooped. My chest was about to burst with an odd sort of content - quiet, steady and welcoming. Tony's beard tickled my neck, breaths coming in soft puffs against my nape, spreading warmth all over me.

And there was something - someone warm in front of me, too, I could smell the sandalwood and spices of his cologne. Abandoning all reservations, I shamelessly wrapped both of my arms around a larger, more muscular one, taking note to avoid Stephen's scarred, sensitive hands. The flat of his tummy under my palm was rising and falling steadily, his breathing almost in sync with Tony's and mine.

All of us were safe and alive. It mattered to me, perhaps, more than I'd ever cared to admit out loud. As much as I refused to let them all in, for real and beyond silly gimmicks, they still wormed their way inside my heart, inside my brain. Not with long discussions and talking feelings - hell no, that's the hard and the boring shit, but with simply their presence.

Hugs. Mario Kart tournaments. Cake after I'd done good at something. Sunday morning pancakes for all. Homework. Sciencing together. Catching up on memes and just watching funny YouTube videos together. Playing Twister and Monopoly.

For the first time in my life, I had a stable presence. I belonged somwhere. It felt too good to deny, so once again, I allowed myself to be selfish.

✨ Taglist of my lovelies ✨ still open.

@another-stark-sub @mostly-marvel-musings @vozit @littlegasps @pilloclock @shereadsinquiet @downeyreads @hermione-grangers-wife @individualistfem @sleep-i-ness @capbrie @lillsxd @agustdowney @dee-vn @justanotherblonde23 @fanngirl19 @persephonehemingway @softie-socks @schemefrenzy @letsby @cutenessloading

#party favours #bun writes #tony stark x reader #tony stark x y/n #tony stark x you #bruce banner x you #bruce banner x y/n #bruce banner x reader #stephen strange x y/n #stephen strange x you #stephen strange x reader

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psychedellic-phase · 4 years ago

Text

Sanctuary

A/N: i loved this fic request! Requests are always open :)

Summary: Reader is having a bad case of imposter syndrome, but luckily her boyfriend knows just how to help.

tw: none, pure fluff word count: 2.1k

masterlist

You sat at the kitchen table, head in your hands, staring at your laptop screen. It’s like it was taunting you, lines and lines of words and symbols mocking your inability to fix them. All you had to do was find the error in the code, a task you’ve done a million times. But this time it seemed utterly impossible. The software was due in two days and it was your first solo project and you wanted to impress everyone, finally prove your worth to the company. The pressure was on and it had to be perfect. You needed it to be perfect. But it wasn’t even close to perfect. In fact, every time you launched it, it crashed; leaving you to stare at your reflection in the screen, making you want to give up and cry.

You knew how to fix it, you always know how to fix it. You’re who everyone comes to to fix it, but you were too nervous to even begin typing. If you failed, you’d be proving everyone who doubted you right. The thought made you nauseous. You’d be proving that every misogynistic a-hole teacher you had in college who said ‘software isn’t a woman’s job’ to you right. All the men at the startup would chuckle at your failure and say something rude like ‘see? that’s what we get for letting a woman do the work.’ You’d be ruining the chances of any other woman who interviewed. Most of all you were terrified of failing and letting yourself down, letting everything you worked for go to waste. Maybe everyone was right; software isn’t a woman’s job. Deep down you knew you were being irrational, but the thoughts just wouldn’t stop.

You kept staring into the abyss of numbers and symbols, going through every letter in every line. Was it in HTML? JAVASCRIPT? Neither? Suddenly you couldn’t tell the difference.

“Y/N?” Your boyfriend said opening the front door of your shared apartment, “What are you doing up? It’s 1 am.”

You didn’t look up at Spencer, too fixated in trying to decipher your work to acknowledge him. How was it already 1 am? You’d been sitting there for hours and had done nothing.

Spencer waved his hand in front of your face, “Y/N?”

No response, you just stared into the code getting more and more hypnotized by it, entering some sort of strange trance.

“Y/N!” He said more forcefully this time, causing you to blink and look up at him.

“What?”

“What are you so stressed about?”

You broke eye contact then and brought your lower lip in between your teeth, “Stressed? I’m not stressed!”

A lie. A very obvious lie. Which Spencer knew, because reading you like a book was high on his never-ending list of talents.

“Really? You’re not stressed?” He sounded half amused.

You shook your head, “Nope, never been more calm in my life.”

He chuckled, “Then maybe you should stop chewing on your lip and lower your shoulders, they’re practically at your ears.” He moved behind you and pressed his hands against your shoulders, lowering them for you. He took his thumbs and rubbed the knots that formed there, “Now, Angel, tell me, what are you so stressed about?”

Again, you didn’t answer. He thought he’d catch your attention by using your favorite term of endearment, but instead you just turned your attention back to the screen.

Spencer didn’t understand, he never would. If you google ‘genius’ a picture of Dr. Spencer Reid is what comes up. With an IQ of 187, the ability to read 20,000 words per minute, three doctorate degrees and three bachelors degrees all by the ripe old age of 30, there is quite literally nothing he can’t do. Except maybe ten push ups, he could probably get to 9. He was a child prodigy and CalTech graduate. You went to public school and a college with a 70% acceptance rate. He was recruited to the FBI at twenty-two. When you were the same age you were a college senior getting trashed at a different bar every Thirsty Thursday. He spends his work days catching killers and saving lives, and you spend yours typing away at a computer hoping something works out.

Being with him was simultaneously the best and worst thing for your self esteem. Sure he made you feel loved, appreciated, beautiful, important, but he also made you feel stupid. Not on purpose of course, it just seemed like he was better than you at everything, even the things you thought you were best at. Thank god he’s a technophobe, if he knew his way around a computer better than you that would be the last straw. Oftentimes you wondered why he even wanted to be with you when you so clearly were not on his level, and when there are so many people who are. He’s smart and handsome and could have his pick of the bunch, so why did he pick you?

“You know, 83% of workers in the US feel stressed out in their jobs, it’s totally normal. I’m stressed all the time at my job,” He said, trying to coax you out of the shell you crawled into. It didn’t work, instead you went through the lines of code again mumbling to yourself that it looked perfect, so what was wrong with it?

“Can I help? Let me see,” He asked. He didn’t wait for a response, and reached over to turn your laptop towards him.

“No!” You yelped, and snatched the laptop away from him. You couldn’t have him help you, you couldn’t let anyone help you. If anyone helped you then it wouldn’t be your achievement. This was one thing you had to do alone.

He sighed and put his hands up in defeat, “Alright alright, I know I’m not a computer whiz. I just want to help.”

“I don’t need your help,” You snapped, getting frustrated with him now. Why couldn’t he just let it go? Why did he always have to try and help? You knew the answer was because he loves you and wants to make you happy, but your judgement was too clouded to see that. You huffed out angrily, trying to suppress the hot, frustrated tears that were threatening to spill over.

Spencer slid into the chair next to you and gripped your shoulder, “Y/N...Ang—”

You turned to him and cut him off, “What? You think I can’t do this on my own? Don’t you?”

He just took the jab in his stride. “I know you can do it on your own,” he grabbed your hands from the keyboard and held them between his, forcing you to stop for a moment and just be with him.

“Talk to me.”

You waited a moment before conceding, “Okay fine, the software is due in two days and I’ve been working on it for weeks and it still isn’t perfect. Something is wrong with it and I can’t find it and if I can’t fix it then I’m just proving to everyone that I can’t handle this job and that I’m stupid and incapable of doing anything on my own and then I’ll get fired because there’s newer, smarter kids coming into tech everyday and all the men at work will never take another girl seriously again and then after I get fired and end up homeless you’ll realize that I’m actually stupid and useless and that you can do it wayyyy better than me an—”

“Woah slow down,” He interrupted your rambling. You were staring at the floor, hands still trapped between his two much larger ones rendering you useless. He let you go, hands coming up to your cheeks and forcing you to look at him. They were calloused but soft, and his eyes demanded your attention, darting all over your face to read your expression. He poked his tongue out of the right side of his mouth, the same way he has a hundred times. You softened a little into his touch.

“I think you have imposter syndrome.”

You pulled back, “What? Don’t you dare try to diagnose me or profile me Spencer Reid.”

He ignored you and started into his own ramble, much like the one you had just finished, “It’s a collection of feelings of inadequacy that persist despite evident success. 'Imposters' suffer from chronic self-doubt and a sense of intellectual fraudulence that override any feelings of success or external proof of their competence. It was first documented in the 70s by successful working women who felt like they had ‘fooled’ everyone into thinking they were intelligent.”

You looked at him even weirder now, your eyebrows scrunching together, “Oh?”

“It’s very common in the tech industry because of how fast paced it is.” He said it all so matter-of-factly.

“I-I don’t think so. That’s not me.”

“Think about it Y/N. It makes sense!”

It did. It made perfect sense. It explained the constant questioning and anxiety. It explained why you don’t ask for help or offer up an opinion at meetings. It explained why you had jumped from failing a project to being homeless like it was the natural progression of things. A ‘diagnosis’, if you even could call it that, should’ve made you feel better about everything, but it didn’t.

“I just feel like I don’t deserve anything I have. I-I don’t even know how I got here Spence! Like how did I manage to convince everyone that I’m talented enough to do this on my own!”

He let the words marinate between you. Then it all clicked in your head; you sounded exactly like those women in the 70s.

“You just proved my point, Angel.”

You glared at him, “Okay here’s another example. I don’t deserve you. You just got home from a long day of saving lives and being a genius crime fighting machine and instead of getting some damn sleep you have to console me because I��m over here crying like an idiot because some code won’t run.”

Spencer’s hand came under your chin, forcing you to look at him again, “You don’t know how much you do for me, do you?”

You just shook your head, genuinely not knowing what he meant.

He smiled, the corner of his mouth turning up just a little, “Yes I am a life-saving crime-fighting genius, but without you I wouldn’t be able to cope.”

“Really?” You sniffled.

“Yeah, Angel, really. I spend all day looking pure evil in the face, and without you to come home to and talk to I’d be trapped in my head all day, thinking of what I could’ve done better. You’re my safe space. Without you I’d probably go insane,” He tucked a stray piece of hair behind your ear.

You smiled now. You believed him; Spencer isn’t one to lie, “And you’d have no social life.”

He laughed, “Hey! I’d have a social life.”

“Who? Henry and Jack?”

He laughed, “You’re right, I’d have no social life.”

You stood up then and he followed suit. You threw your arms around his slender frame and nuzzled into the crook of his neck. Spencer’s shaggy brown hair tickled your cheek but you didn’t mind. All that mattered was his heartbeat and breathing. You were his sanctuary, and he was yours. When either one of you would dive head first into the deep end, the other would be waiting there to catch you. Tonight it was his turn.

And catch you he did, into a loving kiss, holding you close to him. When you pulled away he planted another kiss on your forehead and mumbled into your hair, “Trust me, you keep the internet world running. Without you we’d all be lost.”

You sighed and thanked him, happily sitting in front of the laptop now. All your fears had been pushed away. You knew they would resurface eventually, but right now it felt like you were unstoppable. With two simple corrections you tried to run the code and it worked perfectly.

“See!” He cheered, squeezing your shoulders again, “You deserve the world, Angel.”

You stood up and jumped into his arms for another hug, wrapping your legs around his waist, his arms holding you up.

“You may be a life-saving, crime-fighting genius Dr. Reid, but I am a bad-ass, intelligent, woman who codes at the top of a male dominated field.”

He smiled then, pride practically beaming out of him, “Well, I’d say we’re a perfect match.”

#spencer reid #spencer x you #spencer reid fic #spencer reid smut #spencer reid imagine #fluff #reid #reid fluff #criminal minds #criminal minds fic #request

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realisaonum · 3 years ago

Text

book meme

thank you, jen @det395 !! i feel like this meme got away from me a bit, but no shame! i love talking about books and writing so onward ~under the cut~

1- how many books are too many books in a series?

mhmmmmm i guess it depends on the objective of the series, right? is the plan to have x number of books in the series and if so, when we finally get to the end will it be satisfying considering all the books we’ve read leading up to it? OR is the objective of the premise / characters just to exist doing whatever? both can be done well. i would say a lot rides on how much i trust the author.

2- what do you think about cliffhangers?

so this is meant for cliffhangers in a series like between books? i don’t really care if there’s a cliffhanger as long as i have the next book sitting right next to me. otherwise uh, only if the wait between books is tolerable, because at that point you need to know that the author can clear this mess up, right? there’s this other thing, like you know how if the entire series was already written, then they might release the books a month apart or a quarter apart - that could be alright too. but years in between? not especially a fan. is anyone a fan?

3- hardback or paperback?

jen, you and me are complete opposites here. paperbacks stress me out. i will go out of my way to buy a used hardcover if given the choice. of course, there are some publications i don’t mind in paperback —thinking poetry and super indie books that don’t have a hardcover release OR books where the spines are thin enough they won’t break and i won’t be holding them long enough for them to wear. hardcovers are sturdy and i don’t have to worry i’ll accidentally bend the cover in some damaging way. I am invested in keeping my books nice to the point that i create covers for my books out of kraft paper or brown grocery bags while i am reading them. this is something i started when i was in college and didn’t want these books i was hoping to probably resell get thrashed coming in and out of my bag for all these classes. My home library is probs more half and half paperback/hardcover but if given a choice usually it’s hardcover.

4- least favourite book?

i think it’s good to at least attempt to meet a book on its level. there are lots of books i didn’t like, but i wasn’t meeting them on their level and i know that so we’re ignoring those. i do however have a shelf on my goodreads dedicated to books that i have beef with so i’ll just go off on two of them.....

tana french’s the likeness for being plagiaristic shit. it is essentially poorly concealed alternate universe OC insert fic of the secret history. you’ve got french’s dublin murder squad folks and then this group they are investigating who bear a STRIKING resemblance to the greek students in tsh 🤔. this would be one thing. it is pretty well acknowledged that nothing is original and there are enough changes to The Likeness that MAYBE i could let it slide if not for this other thing: french’s book, the likeness, has lines that are just basically reworded quotes from the secret history and french positions these lines so they are said by the counterpart (essentially same!) character that gave them original life in tsh. i cannot stress this enough: you can HEAR how similar the sentences are and their core intent is always the same. it’s thinly veiled theft! it astounds me that French hasn’t been sued frankly. it is one thing to want to capture some of the genius that tartt’s debut novel holds, but it is completely lazy and disgusting theft to go about it in the way French did with this book. and YES the secret history was published before french’s book. if i could stomach how fucking goddamn boring the likeness was to read it a second time and cite every one of these offenses i would, but that’s yet a third strike against it—it’s too boring to be worth it.

T. Kingfisher’s second book of the Clocktuar War duology : The Wonder Engine. this is a book that i feel violated the contract between writer and reader. the first book feels almost like a YA book. the stakes while described as very high are treated, as actions unfold, as very low. nothing truly irreparable happens until the climax of the second book and the fallout of that action is so off-tone of everything that came before i felt deeply betrayed. no, like, completely betrayed as in it ruined the rest of my afternoon, i am still viscerally angry eight months later, and i will never trust this author again. sure, maybe none of those actions that led to the climax were out-of-character, but there was nothing NOTHING in the proceeding action that even came close to that level of consequence. it’s a pity because right up till that point i was having a really good time. the entire vibe of the rising action to the climax of book one all the way through the rising action of book two was just a quippy fun version of roadtrip/quest - it felt like a comfort read. the abrupt tone shift had all the subtlety of dropping a graphically, brutal murder into Blue’s Clues. you don’t do that - this is a basic tenet of a writer / reader relationship. i’m not touching this bitch’s shit again.

5- Love Triangle, yes or no?

not so much. i like jen before me will scream ‘just be poly.’ love triangles that lead into poly relationships? yes, awesome will be glad i read. but i am at a stage in my life where your standard will-they-won’t-they-love-triangle is just fucking pointlessly frustrating to me. an example: i read a Nic Stone’s book Odd One Out a couple years ago and something about the synopsis or the hype made me think that it would resolve the love triangle that way, so when that did not happen i was incredibly frustrated and immediately wanted to resell the book. it’s the potential of the thing. stone’s book could have been the perfect vehicle for opening up the concept of polyamory to a ya audience but instead just really squandered that potential with weak floundering — in my opinion!

6- the most recent book you just couldn’t finish

uhhhhh i’ve got two and i’m not sure i’ve entirely given up quite yet buuuuuuuut

fucking dune. i got really pissed off with this book. So just…setting aside the whole vaguing at a pedophilically inclined queer coded villain - it’s done so poorly, that it's almost funny? like it doesn’t (as of half way through) actually have any consequence on…anything at all and is tacked on like an afterthought to the end of his scenes. honestly it all could just be cut out entirely with no recourse to the larger story. So my actual beef with this book is the pacing is ATROCIOUS. like yo, not only do you expect me to give a shit about these Atreides cunts, when we just met them and we spend the same amount of time with them IF NOT MORE with the antagonist? but you also expect me to believe Paul was able to just convince the leader of the Arrakis people —the leader of an entire planet!!— with a single fucking sentence??? yeah, not so much. it was not set up for me to believe that Paul could do that! maybe if Kynes hadn’t died immediately after—or at least not died at that moment? baring the fact I thought he was by far the most interesting character, IF he had been convinced by Paul in that scene, it would have been great to see some actual work done around that - with a transfer or a liaise of power between Kynes and Paul and the Fremen. By not having any substantive scene that does it - it begs the question of what the fuck was the point of the character in the first place? unplumbed potential!!! over all there seem to be some key scenes missing to get the reader to where the narrative expects us to be? but the choices made of the characters we spend time with and the moments we see with them, the benefit to the larger story…is not always there. hey herbert, these words you have written aren’t doing what you want them to?? i feel like i should finish it but i reaaaaallly don’t want to :) the only thing i can say is it looks like from the trailer, villeneueve is giving space to these moments so that the viewer can foster a genuine connection with the characters? radical concept.

our lady of perpetual hunger - i started this one optimistically bc i like chef memoirs, but i am at the point where she has just given birth to her son and honestly DON’T CARE. i still haven’t officially given up on it yet since i actually fucking bought it like a dope. i certainly would not have if i knew how much NOT about working the line this was gonna be

7- book you are currently reading

Aside from the failures mentioned above, I am working on the second book in B. Catling’s Vorrh trilogy, The Erstwhile. Also very close to finally finishing Iain Sinclair’s The Last London - there’s a review of his work from the LA Times that goes “One of Sinclair’s greatest skills has always been his ability to take diverse if not chaotic source material and refashion it in a way that sometimes seems downright alchemical” which captures some of the wonder I experience when reading his work. His style and how he creates atmosphere and setting is just unique and astounding.

8- last book you recommended to someone

The Secret History by Donna Tartt. Before that I told my brother to read Eat a Peach, as we both love Anthony Bourdain and David Chang talks about him a bit here, plus it’s just a fucking great book. any book that gives insight into Chang’s methodology and paradigm is worth a shot.

9- oldest book you read

I think it might have to be Shakespeare’s Twelfth Night (which apparently according to wiki premiered on the stage a whole four months before Hamlet so that’s what we’re going with) and if plays don’t count, I don’t care. I think they count and that’s what we’re going with.

10- the most recent book you read ?

Given the previous question, the most recently published book, right? It’s gotta be the one I just finished: The First Collection of Criticism by a Living Female Rock Critic - Revised and Expanded edt., which like just came out this summer. I watched Jessica Hopper’s promo zoom, curtesy of my local indie bookstore, and went ahead and bought it. This was a great decision! It was just what I needed to read these last couple of weeks. i love there’s lots of short pieces that made the read quick and the fact that it’s non-fiction so there was no pressure of a plot or the emotional weight of character investment when I had a lot of big stressors dragging me down irl -it was such a relief. Hopper’s criticism is fun to read and there’s some real art in her appreciation of music here.

11- favourite author?

These are the top in a kind of order but not really: Donna Tartt, Jeff VanderMeer, Megan Whalen Turner, Flannery O’Conner, Chuck Palahniuk, Anthony Bourdain

Other faves very much worth mentioning: Emily O’Neill, Richard Siken, Brandon Sanderson, Warren Ellis, Nathan Englander, Stephen King, Eddie Huang, Carl Hiaassen, Anne Carson, and Iain Sinclair.

12- buying books or borrowing books?

Depends on if my library has it, of course! I nearly always see if my library has a copy first if i have never read it or the author before. If i’ve read the book before or trust the author, I’ll buy it. Like I’ll straight out buy new stuff from Jeff VanderMeer even though with him it’s either this-hits-exactly-and-is-my-new-fave or i-really-disliked-this-but-admire-the-boundaries-you’re-pushing-my-dude - so it’s always a gamble but a worthy one.

12- a book you dislike that everyone else seems to love

a little life (just bc it's torture porn elevated to art doesn’t negate the fact that it’s torture porn. Yanagihara’s project here is repugnant and the fact that this book is lauded as moving lgbt fiction makes my skin crawl)

sharp objects (good writing, compelling story, BUT typographical scarification doesn't work like that - i am not going to get into it but i know from first hand experience how Flynn described it is not accurate)

nesbø’s the snowman (what kinda dumbass detective would think THAT when a woman finds her missing father’s corpse? absolute idiocy - so obviously reverse engineered with that end in mind)

the raven cycle (fuck ronan lynch to start and then fuck him to end as well - there’s some other stuff but mostly he’s a total CUNT and if i don’t say that once a day i have probably died)

14 - bookmarks or dogears?

Bookmarks and sticky notes. Then I can place it pointing directly to the paragraph I last stopped on.

15- The book you can always reread?

This is my question because I reread all the time. ALL THE TIME. Books I reread often: The Secret History, Medium Raw (especially chapter 17 The Fury), Crooked Kingdom, The Violent Bear It Away, and The Goldfinch. Every year like clockwork (since it came out apparently) I will reread Stephen King’s The Outsider.

Other books I feel the urge to reread: VanderMeer’s Acceptance, Englander’s Dinner at the Center of the Earth, Frazier’s Nightwoods, Fresh Off the Boat, the Mr. Mercedes trilogy, the Peter Grant Series (which is queued up for another go here soon I think), any of the stories from A Good Man is Hard to Find, Sanderson’s Wax and Wayne Mistborn books, simon vs the homosapiens’ agenda, and there are two of Alan Morinis’ books on Mussar that I am technically always revisiting—when i need a reminder, i’ll jump around and read specific sections to get centered again.

16- can you read while listening to music?

Yes, but only ambient or near ambient (only usually one track on repeat) or a soundtrack I am extremely familiar with. No new music. I do usually need some audio stimulation or my mind will wander terribly.

17- one POV or multi POV?

Multi pov can certainly be done well (looking at the soc duaology and VanderMeer’s Acceptance) but working a multi-pov means there are more plates spinning, it’s more of a challenge, and some authors pull it off better than others.

18- do you read book in one sitting or in multiple days?

I don’t really do this anymore. that might have something to do with me picking up thicker books? but also i have a full time job now and let’s be real the book has to be hella good if i don’t want to put it down. the last book i attempted to shotgun was the final installment of my favorite series and it still took me two days so....i can get through a lot of books but none of them are ever in one sitting anymore.

19- who to tag:

@sybilius @mouth-rainboy @iwonderifthatisart @phereinnike @magnificentmoose @wambsgangs @moriarteaparty and anyone else if you feel so inclined!

Bonus Question: What’s on your to-read shelf?

As for me, I am excited about one i just picked up, Danforth’s Plain Bad Heroines, which i might start tomorrow and I will be taking Paul Madonna’s Come to Light on my trip to see my brother this coming weekend.

#this took a while but was fun #thanks again jen #very excited to read other folks responses #also like a general content warning? i mention/refer to things in the books but nothing's unpacked here #still to be cautious reference to mature themes #the narrator feeling posthumous

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lyssismagical · 4 years ago

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Maybe 28 and 57 for the prompt writing? That would be really cute 💖

28 - “No, like…. It’s just, I can’t believe you’re actually wearing my clothes.”

57 - “Who changed the thermostat settings? I’m freezing to death.”

Idk how it happened but nearly 4k words of Cheerleading Captain!Peter x Quarterback!Harley for your consideration

Joining a new school in junior year wasn’t easy. Moving from Tennessee to New York was even harder.

But if there was one thing Harley had on his side, he was a fantastic football player. And everyone knew football players were top of the social pyramid.

“Quarterback? Really?” One of the boys say when he says it to the coach. “You think the new kid will get the position?”

Harley shrugs. “I played in Tennessee. I won every game.”

The coach lifts an eyebrow and then nods in approval. “Ever since the schoolboard started talking about implementing athletics at a STEM school, we’ve been pretty emptyhanded. Not enough students willing to drop robotics to join a team, not enough good students. We won one game last year out of a total of nearly fifteen.”

With a smug grin, he rolls his shoulders and slips his helmet over his head.

He gets Quarterback with ease.

As he’s leaving the field after tryouts, he notices a group of girls and a boy congregating by the bleachers, all dressed in blue and gold.

“You’re new here,” a girl says, appearing beside him. He recognizes her, having been sitting in the bleachers alone during tryouts. She’s not wearing a football uniform or the ones the group across from them is wearing.

“Harley Keener,” he replies. “You’re Michelle, right? You’re in my chemistry class.”

She offers half a smile. “MJ. I heard you landed Quarterback.”

“Not that it was particularly hard, there’s not much competition.”

Looping their arms together, she leads him a few more feet away from the group. “They’re the cheerleaders in case you didn’t know. Cindy, the one with the pink water bottle, she’s co-captain. And Peter Parker is captain, he’s been captain since freshman year.”

“He’s captain?”

MJ’s smile turns knowing. “Yeah, he’s captain. Too bad you missed him in freshman year. The school didn’t have the budget for two sets of cheerleader uniforms, so Peter had to wear the short skirt the whole first year. I had to teach him how to shave his legs. Now he gets to wear pants.”

Harley turns, pretends not to look, but still says, “The pants are nice.”

“I know what that’s code for,” MJ laughs.

Indignant, Harley huffs, “I’m not a creep, his pants are just really tight.”

“Well, he is both single and bisexual, so if you’re courageous enough, I’d say to shoot your shot, Keener.”

Before Harley has the time to reply, MJ’s already walking off towards the school, without even a glance over her shoulder.

Harley’s not courageous enough to ask Peter out. All he does is wave from a distance, reveling in Peter’s little smile in return before making his way to the locker rooms.

* The first game of the season they nearly lose thanks to Harley’s constant staring at Peter on the sidelines.

The next two games, he focuses so intently on winning for Peter that they totally annihilate the other teams.

At the end of their third game, a home game, Harley’s on his way to the showers, grinning at his teammates when Peter catches up to them.

“Congratulations on your win,” he says.

Harley’s stunned into silence. It’s the first time he’s really seen Peter up close. They only share one class together, Spanish, and they sit on opposite ends, with Harley only able to see the back of his head.

But Peter’s gorgeous.

His brown curls are messy from the last few hours of cheering on the sidelines and the halftime show, some of it still sticking to his forehead. His pale skin is practically glowing in the lights of the field, bambi-brown eyes sparkling and wide, and chest still heaving from the exertion of their last, over-the-top performance. His arms are practically straining in the tight t-shirt he’s wearing, the gold accents making his eyes look a little more honey, smile wide on his face.

“I, uh-” Harley chokes out, cursing himself for acting dumb. “Thank you. You guys were pretty incredible.”

“Thanks.” A soft blush rises on his cheeks, makes him look down, smile turning shy. “Good luck on your next game. The Brooklyn Team’s the best in state.”

Harley can’t help the frown. “You won’t be there?”

“I’ve got Academic Decathlon competition in DC that weekend. But good luck anyways.”

“You too…” Harley feels like his chest is constricting over the knowledge that Peter’s smart too. “I, uh, I guess I’ll see you around?”

Peter smiles sweetly and leans up to press a kiss to his cheek. “Yeah, I’ll see you around.”

* Over the next few weeks of short conversations after games or practices, Harley finds himself watching Peter all the time.

Peter wears his cheerleading uniform all day everyday like the others do, head held high and students parting for him like he’s royalty. He’s friends with pretty much everyone, sending smiles and having short conversations as he goes down the hallway to class.

He’s also unbelievably kind, stopping teasing at every chance he gets, using his popularity to keep people in line, being nice to even the nerdiest looking freshmen.

Harley finds himself falling hard the longer he knows Peter.

Watching the way he moves with grace and confidence in such contrast to the way he blushes and smiles shyly whenever he’s complimented. It makes Harley’s heart clench with this crush that feels like it’s developing way too fast for his own comfort.

* “Could I talk to you?” Peter asks him after practice.

Harley’s still sweaty, still uncomfortably warm in his pads and uniform, helmet dangling from his fingertips leaving his hair messy and ruffled. But he offers a smile. “Yeah, everything okay?”

The cheerleader looks uncomfortable, turning his gaze to the grass, chewing on his bottom lip.

“Hey,” Harley says, voice dropping low and quiet as he pulls them farther away from their teams, trying his best to keep his thoughts away from Peter’s bicep flexing wondrously beneath his fingers. “You can talk to me, whatever it is.”

“It’s just embarrassing…” Peter looks up at Harley through his eyelashes. “My grades have dropped in a few of my classes, and I know we only share Spanish, but I kinda got MJ to snoop and it turns out you have one of the highest GPA’s in school.”

Harley frowns because that can’t possibly be right. “From what I’ve seen in Spanish class, you seem really smart.”

“Well, I don’t want to sound overly confident, but I am smart. I’ve just had a bad habit of slacking off when it comes to homework. So my grades aren’t looking too hot and my aunt threatened to make drop out of cheerleading if I didn’t get it in order.”

Offering a reassuring smile, Harley nods. “Not really tutoring, but I can sit with you in the library and help you work through the homework? More like study date- sessions. Study sessions.”

Peter positively lights up in a grin. “Wow, really? Thank you! I’ve got cheerleading practice three nights a week and Academic Decathlon every other night, so I’m not really free, but if you’re willing to hang out after your football practices…”

“Yeah, of course, sounds perfect. We’ll start Wednesday?”

“Yes! Thank you! I promise I’ll be a good study partner. I’ll see you around, Harley!”

And with that, Peter skips off to catch up with his cheerleader friends.

Harley can only shake his head in wonder and head off to the lockers.

* Wednesday comes quickly, and Harley’s glad because with how much time he spends daydreaming about Peter, he’s not sure he can keep up his grades either.

But soon enough, he’s waiting outside the locker rooms for Peter, hoping that the shower was enough to wash away the sweat from the tough practice.

“Hey!” Peter says, bubbly and smiling brightly. “I know we said we’d study at the library, but I’m getting a little bit sick of being inside all day. Do you want to work out on the bleachers?”

Harley nods, swallowing thickly and trying his best to keep his eyes strictly on Peter face and not watch his arms or his neck or his legs. “Sounds good.”

They head out into the setting sun, playfully nudging shoulders and nearly racing each other to get to the bleachers first, which ends in Peter laughing and shouting when he makes it their first.

“So, I heard from MJ this morning that you were being unbelievably humble when you said you were smart. She said you have a genius IQ. And you needed study help, why?”

“I told you,” Peter says, laughing. “I haven’t done homework in nearly three years. My grades are solely based on test scores and participation which would be fine if the take-home projects weren’t weighted so heavily.”

Harley rolls his eyes but takes out his Chemistry textbook anyways. “Alright, let’s get you caught up then. You’ve got nearly two months of homework to catch up on.”

“Let’s do this then.”

It turns out, Harley loves watching Peter work. He really is a genius, easily getting the work done like it’s second nature to him, able to answer mathematical equations without a calculator or a second thought, speed reading his way through chapters in the textbook. And it definitely helps that he looks absolutely stunning in the light of the setting sun and the gentle wind.

Eventually, though, they can’t stay much longer with the fading, and curfew closing in.

“Thanks for your help today… Same time Friday?” Peter asks, eyes all wide and hopeful, smile sweet.

“Actually, not to be presumptuous, but we’d have more time if we hung out for longer… Would you want to come over? Spend the night? We could work later and get more done on Saturday?”

Peter thinks about it for a moment and then he shrugs. “I don’t think my aunt would be happy with me spending the night, but you’re welcome to come to mine?”

“Sounds like a plan, Parker. You need a ride home?”

“Sure, yeah, thanks.”

Harley helps pack up their things and then takes Peter’s bag before leading him out to his truck. He opens the door for Peter, memorizing the dazzling smile he gives in return.

They only have half an hour together on the drive home, but it’s enough time for them to share more personal information.

Harley tells Peter about his sister and his mom, about Tennessee and how different life was there, how much he loves New York in comparison. He talks about getting quarterback, winning games, being on top of the social hierarchy for the first time in his life.

Peter, in turn, mentions quietly how he was bullied in the ninth grade before and when he first joined the cheerleaders. How at first, people told him it was girls team, that it wasn’t meant for him. But then they won their first trophy which snowballed into him becoming captain and leading them to win nationals and get them fifth in worlds. And then, very quickly, he became the most popular kid in school.

By the time they reach Peter’s apartment, Harley feels like they’ve grown closer and he doesn’t want to say goodbye to him.

“Today was really nice,” Peter murmurs, leaning across to kiss Harley on the cheek. “Thanks for helping me out. I’ll see you at school tomorrow and then Friday night?”

The words are on the tip of his tongue, wanting to ask Peter out, change Friday Night into a Date Night instead of a Study Session.

But then Peter’s hopping out of his truck, bag slung over his shoulder and gold accents of his uniform glimmering in the streetlights. And Harley misses his chance.

* Peter’s quiet the whole way to his apartment, bag sitting in his lap.

He looks almost out of place in the outside world while still in his Midtown Cheerleading Uniform. But Harley’s still in his jersey, so it’s not so strange in comparison.

Peter leads him into his cozy apartment, empty apart from them, and they make themselves at home in the living room around the coffee table.

“Everything okay?” Harley asks, almost startling himself with his own voice. He was planning on leaving it alone, he’s not really Peter’s friend.

“Yeah, I just kind of have a lot riding on this.” Peter’s quiet for a second, fiddling with his nails before he explains, “I can’t afford to go to a school like Midtown, but I got awarded a full ride. If I don’t get my grades up, I might be put on academic probation, have my scholarship taken away… I’d have to switch schools for my senior year, also meaning I’d probably lose the university scholarships I might’ve been offered for cheerleading.”

Harley mulls over it for a moment before shrugging. “Well, you have a very good study partner on your side. I’ll do everything in my power to make sure your grades are up by exams. Don’t start thinking of the worst-case scenarios just yet.”

The tenseness leaves Peter’s shoulders in one exhale, expression softening. “Thanks. I don’t want to put pressure on you, but-”

“That’s what I’m here for.”

Smiling, Peter opens his bag and they get to work.

Time passes quickly when they’re focused on getting things done, it’s not hard for Peter to get closer and closer to catching up, but there’s only so much they can do before boredom and hunger starts to set in.

They order pizza, Harley offering to pay but Peter insistent after Harley’s helped him so much.

“You know,” Harley says after Peter gets off the phone, “Breaks are important to keep up consistent work.”

Peter grins knowingly, flopping down onto the couch beside Harley. “Are they?”

“As an avid homework-doer and studier, I can totally say that breaks are important. So, I suggest we do pizza and a movie, and then a bit more work before bed.”

“Of course. And as someone who doesn’t do homework or study, I can’t disagree with anything you say. Here.” Peter gives him the TV remote. “Let me go get changed, I can only wear this for so long before I start craving sweatpants, and when I get back, we’ll start on a movie of your choosing.”

Harley picks out Star Wars, seemingly a safe bet considering the very obvious Star Wars poster stuck to the wall above the couch, and texts Abbie in the meantime who teases him endlessly, already having figured out his crush on Peter.

“Star Wars! It’s like you read my mind!” Peter calls out, slipping around the couch.

“I mean there’s science so it’s-” But the words are gone as soon as he sees Peter.

He looks so much different than the Cheerleading Captain Harley’s always seen him as, tucked in a pair of loose sweatpants and an even looser t-shirt, hair mussed and body relaxed. God, if Harley thought he looked incredible in his uniform, it’s nothing compared to the way he looks relaxed and content in lounge clothes.

“So it’s…” Peter prompts, forehead creasing but smiling in amusement.

“Sorry, I- You’re just- Sorry, I’ve never seen you outside your uniform before,” Harley says, voice suddenly thick. “The movie’s educational, that’s all.”

Peter giggles, sitting down beside Harley, against Harley, and presses play so the beginning credits begin to roll. “I’m going to take that as a compliment, but I don’t think Star Wars counts as educational.”

“It is a compliment!” Harley gasps, higher than he means it to come out. “I was just surprised is all… You’re- It’s just- Wow.”

He laughs again. “Wow? For someone with a nearly perfect GPA, that’s not the most articulate compliment.”

“I meant- Oh god, I’m totally embarrassing myself, aren’t I?” He runs a hand through his hair, feeling his face flush warmly. “I’m so sorry.”

“No, it’s sweet. I get a lot of compliments, but most about how my ass looks in the uniform, so I do appreciate being complimenting for being wow while in sweats.”

Harley’s eyes go wide, and he’s quick to try to redeem himself, “You’re just really pretty is all! That was worse than wow, wasn’t it? I’m just making this worse.”

“You think I’m pretty?” Peter repeats, eyes so soft and open and earnest. “That’s a new one.”

For once, Harley manages to keep his mouth shut, not wanting to say anything more, but Peter’s still blushing and smiling when he turns back to the TV, shaking his head fondly.

Long after pizza and their movie’s done, homework continued through until they were laughing too much to continue to think straight, Peter finally calls it a night.

Harley changes in the bathroom and purposefully leaves his jersey on the back of the couch, while Peter makes him a bed on the couch.

It would’ve been a good time, Harley knows, to ask that question, to see if this will lead in another direction, but he chickens out and ends up just with, “Goodnight, Peter.”

And Peter smiles, all warm and sweet, and he murmurs, “Night, Harley.”

And that’s that.

In the morning, Harley wakes to the smell of coffee.

He pretends he’s still asleep when he hears voices drifting in from the kitchen.

“So that’s the infamous Harley Keener,” a woman says, Harley guesses it’s Peter’s aunt.

“He’s helping me get my grades up.”

The woman laughs. “For someone with a genius IQ, I don’t know how you managed to let your grades drop like that. It’s not his fault? Or cheerleading?”

“No, May, I promise I’m working on it.”

“Good. Don’t let him get in the way of your education or focus, honey. Don’t let him hurt you, alright?”

Harley finally stretches up, making himself known as awake. He yawns, looking over the back of the couch towards the kitchen. “Morning.”

Peter lights up in a smile. “Morning, Harley. You want coffee?”

“Sure, thanks.”

He slips up just as May says she’s off to bed, still wearing her nurse scrubs, and he offers a quiet greeting to her on her way out.

And then it’s just him and Peter.

“Sleep well?” Harley asks when the silence stretches a second too long. Peter nods, passing him the mug of hot coffee. It’s a Star Wars mug and he can feel his cheeks warm.

“We don’t really have much breakfast food… You wanna maybe go out somewhere to get some?”

Harley, still sleep-warm and relaxed, jumps as the chance. “Do you want to go out? Like on a proper date? Breakfast? On me?”

“The quarterback with the cheerleading captain?” Peter says. “That’s a bit of a cliché, isn’t it?”

“I suppose. Is that a no?”

Peter seems to ponder it for a moment before he shrugs. “I kind of love clichés.”

“Breakfast then.”

Grinning, Peter nods, leaning up to press a kiss to his cheek. “Let me get dressed and then we’ll go.”

“Perfect.”

As soon as he’s left alone in the kitchen, he pumps his fists in the air, barely managing to stifle his excited cheer.

“I saw that!” Peter calls out.

Flushing, Harley quickly sets down his coffee, grabs his bag and heads to the bathroom to get changed quickly, wishing he’d packed something nicer than jeans and a flannel.

“I’m surprised you’re not in your uniform,” he says when he sees Peter waiting by the door.

He’s wearing a pair of tight jeans and a simple t-shirt, grinning just as bright as always.

“I only wear it at school.”

Harley shrugs. “I was starting to think it was the only thing you owned.”

Peter links their hands together and pulls open the door, smiling just as bright as ever.

* All eyes turn towards the cafeteria doors.

“Oh my god-” Betty breathes from near Harley.

He looks over his shoulder, expecting to see something vaguely newsworthy but otherwise boring, but instead finds Peter.

Peter who’s wearing his blue and gold cheerleading uniform as always, curls messy and cheeks flushed pink, except he’s wearing a jersey over his uniform.

Harley’s jersey.

“Who changed the thermostat settings? I’m freezing to death,” Peter calls out, dramatically loudly to get the rest of the student’s eyes on him.

Harley trips up to his feet, eyes wide and shocked because after one date, Peter’s already announcing it to the world.

“You left this at my place,” Peter says, walking up to him. His eyes are bright and amused like he expected Harley to get this flustered. His voice drops to nearly a whisper. “I know it’s soon but I saw you staring, saw you watching me during practices. The only reason I saw is because I was watching you too. I want to make this official.”

“Yeah, I- Yeah, I want that.”

Peter grins, kissing Harley on the mouth for the first time, they’d parted yesterday with only a kiss on the cheek. When he pulls away, he’s still smiling. “Sorry about doing this here. I couldn’t wait. Too much?”

“No, like…. It’s just, I can’t believe you’re actually wearing my clothes,” Harley chokes out. “I’m just- You look good. I didn’t expect you to like me too.”

“I do. I really do.”

Harley finally smiles back at him, grabbing Peter by the waist to kiss him again. “You want to go out with me again? Wednesday? After practice?”

“I would love to. Can I- Would it be okay for it to be as boyfriends?”

“Okay? Yes, more than okay. I would really love that.”

Peter laughs, tucking himself close to Harley’s chest. “Wow. Boyfriends.”

For the rest of the year and the following year, they’re considered Midtown’s Power Couple.

And when they make it MIT together, Peter having managed near-perfect grades with Harley’s help, they’re considered MIT’s Power Couple too.

Taglist: @littlemissagrafina @spidey-reids-2003 @romeoandjulietyouwish @c-artara @shadedrose01 @likeaphoenix13 @pj-hermes-tonystark-obsessed @you-get-killed-walk-it-off @kitkatwinchester @emo-girl10 @justme--emily @hold-our-destiny @imalivebecauseirondad @spiderman-peterman @dykeragee @maryserrao @heeeyitskay @parknerandirondad @lilacsandlilies4 @loveliestdisappointment @joyful-soul-collector @genderfluid-and-confuzled {Let me know if you wanna be added or removed}

#lyss writes #lyss answers #parkner #peter parker #harley keener #may parker #abbie keener #parkner fic #harley keener/peter parker

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pikemoreno · 4 years ago

Text

denying, admitting

part 2 of the ‘pretending’ universe

pairing: jack “whiskey” daniels x f!reader

word count: 5.2k (hahaha whoops. the longest single piece i’ve ever written)

warnings: canon typical violence, mildly gruesome death of a bad guy, some bad words, idiots to lovers

a/n: here it is finally, the continuation of the drabble pretending. the link to it is below. enjoy the best yeehaw man. we ignore canon here.

wanna join a taglist?

pretending | masterlist

“Your name is?”

“Erica Shields.”

“And your boyfriend’s name is?”

“David Wells.”

“What does he do?”

“He is the CEO of a new weapons manufacturer called Co-Tech.”

“And when they ask what he really does?”

“He is the CEO of Co-Tech… And all of their offshore accounts holding millions of dollars from the sale of illegal bio weapons.”

“And, just so we’re clear, the targets tonight are?”

“Mr. Lucas Mora and Mr. Grant Levin. Lead dealers of an illegal weapons ring known in the inner circles as IWE. They are the primary targets and any known-associates can be subdued as secondary targets.”

“Good,” Champ nodded, looking quite confident in your ability to keep to your fake identity, “You’re good to go, Agent Brandy. I’ll call up Agent Whiskey now and you can go ahead ‘n head down to get ready.”

You froze as you stood to leave. “Get ready, sir?” Air left his mouth gruffly in a way akin to a laugh as you looked over the pantsuit you were wearing. His eyes were knowing where yours were markedly confused.

You were already ready… You thought?

“Just go meet Ginger Ale downstairs. She’ll explain. Good luck tonight.”

“No luck needed, sir. We’ll take ‘em down tonight. Maybe a couple of their other dealer friends if we can prove they’re in on it.”

“Not that, Agent.”

“What--” Agent Whiskey knocked on the half-open door at that moment.

“Ready for me, sir?”

“Yes, please come in. Agent Brandy was just leaving.” His cheeky smile directed between the two of you told you nothing and everything all at once.

What did he think he knew about this? This was nothing. Just an agent with a miserable crush on a senior agent. You excused yourself from the conference room quickly, ignoring Jack as you brushed past him.

Ignoring how intoxicating he smelled-- was that a new cologne for the occasion?

Ignoring how nice he looked-- wine-colored velvet suit jacket, white button-up, dark dress pants, the usual hat abandoned in favor of his dark hair, immaculately styled for the occasion.

Ignoring the fact that you could feel his eyes boring into you and you were not going to be giving him the satisfaction of playing into his flirting.

You did as you were bid, making your way to the staging area to get your weapons and other effects for the mission to find a high-low red satin dress, black heels, and obnoxiously large jewelry hanging along with your knives and the “upscale” version of the Statesman glasses. Your face must have dropped quite visibly because you heard a laugh from Ginger Ale next to you.

“Absolutely not,” you groaned, “I thought ‘Maybe a tasteful pantsuit with some flats?’ Maybe some boots? How am I supposed to work in this, Ging? Where are my knives gonna go?”

“Unfortunately this crew you’re going to be dealing with is-- well-- Unapologetically misogynist under the guise of being ‘traditional’ is probably the best way to put it,” Ginger shook her head.

“So they’re afraid of a girl wearing pants?”

“When they look as independent and secure as you, absolutely,” she laughed. “The other women at the party are gonna look like this. You would’ve blown your cover before you even spoke if you were in your regular attire.” You sighed. You guessed it was a pretty hot look, if not a little unruly to complete the mission in. It’d get you to walk three inches taller in newfound confidence and you guessed that couldn’t have been anything but helpful in this scenario.

“So do I get my knives or am I just playing the part tonight?”

“Not at all. What better way to take them out then doing it by the hand of someone they don’t respect? They’ll never see it coming.” She presented the thigh holster that had been laying on the table next to her.

“Oooh, now that’s sexy, Ging,” you gawked, admiring the piece and absolutely filling it to the brim with the best of your knives from the wall of weaponry in front of you, as well as your trusty vial of poison.

“I know someone else who’ll think so too.” You stopped cold and turned to face her as she looked particularly smug

“Oh, not you too. First, Champ was acting weird about this and now you too? What exactly do you guys think is going on here? It’s Jack. He flirts with everyone.”

“It’s not just Jack that I’m talking about. I mean this with all the love in the world, but you can’t possibly be that dense, Brandy. Stop playing coy.”

“Playing coy how?’ Your anger bubbled in your throat, not at Ginger Ale or tonight or even Jack. Just yourself. Yourself and your dumb affections. It made your words come out a little more venomous than you intended, but Ginger took it in stride. “Pretending I don’t have a ridiculous crush on a senior agent and my partner in this tonight? Pretending that I won’t be heartbroken when tonight means nothing in the grand scheme of things?”

“You should probably go ahead and get ready. Your partner should be done with Champ any minute.” She gave you a tight-lipped smile and ushered you off to go change.

By the time you made it outside, Jack was already waiting, leaning coolly against the sleek black town car-- no Bronco for tonight; a CEO could only show up in the best.

“Look at you, all gussied up,” Jack smiled as you walked towards him. You rolled your eyes, and avoided his in doing so. It was all a part of the charm. Jack was a serial flirt. You’d seen it. And you’d seen too many before you fall for it, take his having fun too seriously. You couldn’t let his words fluster you or start thinking they were something they weren’t. But still, you couldn’t hide the playful smile that pulled at the corners of your mouth as his eyes stayed on you.

“After you, my sweetheart,” he opened the door to the elegant car for you.

“There’s no one here, Jack, you don’t have to start with that yet.”

If only you saw the way he had to bite his tongue as you settled into the passengers’ seat.

You were really starting to make him question how good he is reading the signals. It had been seeming so obvious that you were into him; and so he reciprocated, making it more than clear that he is very much into that idea. And now you had taken the coy act so far that he was wondering if it was an act at all. Of course, he wanted to tell you how he felt about you. He’d wanted to tell you tonight. After a night of him “pretending” to woo you, showing you off, and kicking some criminal ass, he would tell you that the pretty things he’d said to you were real, that he would love to take you out for real and definitely not to an illegal weapons party this time.

But he didn’t want to do that if you really weren’t interested. He didn’t want to put you in that uncomfortable position of having to reject someone you were going to see and work with everyday. Until he got a good read on how you really felt, he’d have to keep it to himself… While still making it so painfully obvious-- in a non-committal way.

The drive was largely silent as you both thought far too hard about the messes you’d put yourselves in. The thick cloud of it was only interrupted by occasional questions and confirmations about the plan, the targets, and the escape.

Mr. Lucas Mora’s mansion was absolutely breathtaking as you pulled up to you: all light stone with a tiled roof, big windows, a grand driveway featuring a roundabout winding around a glamorous fountain that sparkled in the night lights. You found yourself trying to hide your awe as a valet took the black town car away and Jack led you by the arm up the marbled stairs to the front door that must’ve cost more than your entire apartment. You kept your voice low as you spoke to Ginger Ale over the com. She’d hacked into their security cameras like the damn genius she was and had eyes on the whole affair.

“What do we see, Ging?”

“Levin and Mora are in the lounge. A lot of foot traffic in there. You should get them out of there before engaging”

“We have to get them separated. Less chance of one escaping.” Jack put his hand over his mouth, pretending to scratch at his mustache so no one could read his lips. You walked in the direction of the lounge, arm in arm. The way the knuckles of his other arm ran lightly over your arm was far too distracting for its own good, leaving goosebumps in its wake.

“I’m not seeing a lot of weapons for a weapons dealer party. Should we be worried, Ginger? Anything hidden?” you asked, talking into a flute of champagne you picked up to keep your words hidden.

“Of course not. Their weapons are far too dangerous for their own use,” she laughed, “I don’t see anything, but I’ll let you know if that changes.”

“Copy th--” You didn’t get to finish before the two of you were intercepted by Levin, the younger of the two leaders. He had a strong jawline featuring a smattering of well-kept stubble, slicked back greasy hair, and a smile so smugly charming it surely sealed him a few deals.

“Where do I know you from?” he had an oddly ambiguous accent that you couldn’t quite pin and you wondered if that was on purpose. This man had to be a chameleon. “I pride myself on never forgetting a face. It would seem I’ve missed one.” He talked solely to Jack-- of course.

“David Wells. CEO of Co-Tech.” He held out his hand to be shaken. Levin only looked at it. “And this,” he put an arm around your shoulder, pulling you closer, “is my girlfriend Erica Shields.”

“Never heard of you.” Jack let his hand fall back to his side, not dropping his eager smile.

“We’ve had several dealings with IWE. Often sell to--” Levin’s eyes lit up.

“Oh none of that code here, Mr. Wells, we’re all friends. Glad to have a loyal associate here with us.” He gave Jack one solid pat on the shoulder and then continued on to talk to someone else. You noticed for the first time how tense your shoulders had been and Jack rubbed a hand over one soothingly. How did he always know?

“Alright, let’s re-group,” you shrugged his hand off lightly, turning to face him. “I’m gonna tail Levin. You try to schmooze Mora. Take this.” You placed the poison vial in his hand, disguising the gesture as a hand squeeze-- which you couldn’t say you were mad about doing-- and stalked off to find your target.

It was a half hour before you saw him again. You were walking the pool deck and listening to Jack’s poor attempt to give Mora a poisoned drink. He was incredibly uninterested and you internally groaned at how obvious Jack was being with trying a little too hard to get it to him. The thought was interrupted by a voice coming from the pool below.

“And who might you be? I think I’d remember a gem like you.” You looked down to find none other than Levin, and staggered a moment, unsure of what to make of the comment.

“Erica Shields. We met a few minutes ago? With my boyfriend David Wells?” you responded in your sugary-sweetest voice.

“Right, right, of course.” You nodded awkwardly and there was a long beat of silence. What game was he playing? Or was he really just that dismissive towards women? “Well, are you coming?”

“Coming?”

“You don’t have to play dumb with me, sweetheart.” It was the same term Jack had used with you earlier, and yet this one went down like poison instead of honey. “Come on down here with me.” He rose to float on his back in the water to emphasize where exactly he was wanting you to go. “Your boyfriend may be making millions, but I’m making billions.” He winked. You had half a mind to take a knife out right there and plant it directly into his chest, unconcerned with the consequence of the on-lookers, but then you realized you had an even better opportunity.

Let’s turn this Ms. Shields into a gold-digger.

You played along.

“Oh I don’t doubt it, but I’m afraid I didn’t get the memo about swimsuits.” You cocked a hip, tilting your head at him.

If you could just get him alone.

He practically leaped out of the pool and climbed up onto the deck, coming to stand almost nose to nose with you.

“Brandy, I know what you’re trying to do and I can’t recommend this. Rendezvous with Whiskey and you can figure out another way,” Ginger Ale’s voice came into your ear. Levin’s voice cuts back in.

“Well, we don’t have to stay here, angel.”

“Ginger, what’s she doing?” Jack’s panicked voice followed, “Brandy? Where are you? I’m coming to find you.” You’d never heard him speak so urgently. It made you freeze for just a second before you spoke to Levin

“Lead the way,” you smiled, watching as Levin quickly dried off before leading you with a hand on the middle of your back. You leaned into it despite wanting to put one of your knives through it. What a pig.

It was at that moment that you met eyes with Jack, just briefly, just long enough to see his face fall. You turned away before Levin noticed your staring, missing the seven stages of grief cross Jack’s face as you walked away.

His first instinct was jealousy. He, of course, knew you weren’t going anywhere with a worm like Levin for any reason other than your job, but he couldn’t help the knee jerk reaction from seeing someone else with an arm around you. His second reaction was worry. You were the most capable agent he knew, but that sort of situation was a particularly dangerous one. He didn’t miss the possessiveness of Levin’s grip; and he didn’t want to think about what he was going to try to do when he had you alone. His third reaction, then, was to follow you. It was his fault you were in this mess with him anyway-- so much for “wooing” you. There was no way he was going to let you suffer for it.

In that time, Levin had pulled you into the first of ten bedrooms in the upstairs corridor of the mansion and promptly pinned you against the opposite wall, an arm on either side of your shoulders. You responded in kind, the way anyone would respond to an unwanted advance by a sleazy billionaire: by stabbing him in the neck. About that time is when Jack finally caught up to you, slamming the door open, lasso at the ready, eyes wide in fear. He relaxed visibly as Levin crumpled lifeless to the floor. You watched Jack crack a smile.

“Guess I should’ve known you wouldn’t need any rescuing,” he reeled the lasso in, returning it to its place on his belt. You smiled back.

“You should’ve. But it was sweet of you to worry, so I’ll forgive you. Let’s get Mora and get the hell out of here before anyone finds the body.”

***

You made surprisingly, anticlimactically quick work of Mora once you found him again. You snagged a tray of drinks from where a member of his extended wait staff had set it down. Jack added a dash of your little secret ingredient to one of the glasses and you presented it to him as he lounged on the couch. He gave you one singular nod, took the drink from you, and continued laughing with his guests. One sip would be plenty to have him on the floor within ten minutes, and you watched him take that first deadly sip with pride.

So now the targets were either dead or dying and you knew instantly you were going to have to book it out of there because once Mora keeled over, it wouldn’t take very long for anyone in that room to figure out the culprit. The issue, of course, was remembered once you made it outside the doors: your ride back was in the hands of the valet: a valet that was overcrowded with guests trying to leave. It’d take far too long to get the keys and peel out of there. Mora would be long dead before then.

“Ginger, how long before we can get an extraction? We can’t get the car back in time.” Jack mumbled lowly as you made your way out of the mansion, walking with Jack hand in hand as though you were a couple going to look at the front gardens

“I’m not sure. All other agents are out. There’s a small town about a mile away if you can get there. I’ll send someone to you with a ride as soon as possible.”

You looked at each other.

“Guess we’re walking darlin’.” Screams sounded from the house and you both jumped at the sound. “Quickly,” Jack added, eyes wide.

It was about a quarter of a mile of walking down the roadside before the terrible heels really started digging into your feet, leaving blisters and arch pain in their wake. No one had trailed you so far, which was good because your feet couldn’t handle moving any faster than their current trudging pace.

Jack must’ve noticed your limping, because he stopped and grabbed your hand to stop you as well, eyebrows knitted in a frown.

“You alright?” He looked you over, as if checking for injuries.

“Yeah, yeah I’m fine, Jack. Don’t worry. It’s just the shoes.” He looked down at them, noticing the angry red rub marks. He didn’t waste a second in kneeling down and starting on removing his right shoe.

“What are you doing? You don’t have to do that, Jack. I’ll just go barefoot.”

“Nonsense.” He finished removing the right shoe and started on the left.

“Well now you’re gonna be barefoot. What’s the difference?”

“I still have socks. You don’t know what kinda weird stuff is on the side of the road out here, Brandy.” He removed them and then gestured to your shoes, looking up at you. “May I?”

You worried at your bottom lip for a moment, looking down into sparkling eyes you’d thought about too often. They were now so close, so earnestly looking into yours. The care and concern sent a little spark up your spine. You nodded and joined him in undoing the little buckles on each shoe. He held out a hand for you to grab onto for balance as you slid out of the heels and into his much-too-large dress shoes. The strange, casual intimacy of the act was odd, but not unwelcome.

“Well, it’s certainly not a perfect fit, Cinderella, but it’s better than whatever the hell Statesman gave you,” he smiled and you returned it. He stood back up and your hands parted as you continued your trek to the town Ginger had found, shoes in hand and the promising lights of it gleaming up ahead.

Actually arriving to the little town of Speake was less than spectacular. The shining lights you’d seen came from the neons of a gas station and a 24 hour dive and the flickering street lamps in front of a long-closed post office, and a quaint but not horribly sketchy motel.

“Ginger, we made it,” you called, “What’s the ETA?” She hesitated.

“Is there a place there you’d feel comfortable staying at a while?

“I guess,” you sighed, afraid to ask again, “What’s the ETA, Ginger?”

“First thing tomorrow morning.”

You looked to Jack. “Motel it is, then.”

***

Jack couldn’t help but feel he’d won the lottery as you dragged yourselves up to the second floor of the motel. There was only one vacant room with one king bed. It was a little too perfect, like he’d set it up himself, but he hadn’t. Well, he guessed he had, actually, but just the part where you joined him on the mission as his fake girl, not that you’d get stuck out here and have to share a motel room. Sure, he hadn’t gotten the chance to charm you quite like he’d wanted to: having you on his arm, complimenting you to others at the party, maybe getting to fake-- real-- kiss you. And he definitely regretted putting you in danger. But all of that sort of fell away from his memory now that he was getting so much more alone time with you than he’d initially bargained for. He wouldn’t dream of trying to share the bed with you, of course. He’d rough it out on the chair or find a way to make something up on the floor. But still, he couldn’t help but be a little giddy at the prospect of spending this much more uninterrupted time with you.

Jack might’ve been incredibly enthused with the scenario, but he hid it from you well. He didn’t want to seem overeager and come off as though he was excited about the arrangement because of the off-chance that you might sleep with him. He knew what his reputation could be around the workplace. Hiding what he was feeling from you, though, meant that you had no idea what to think at this point. It all looked very different and incredibly confusing on your end of things.

First and foremost, you’d settled it in your mind now that you would be sharing a bed with him. That was fine. You were friends, pretty good ones at that. And both professionals to boot. The unsettled part came in you knowing how you felt, but becoming more and more unsure of him. The fact of the matter was that any flirting that occurred before tonight was unreliable as proof that he might be attracted to you. He flirted with far too many other women for you to be able to take it seriously. Then there was tonight. He was clearly panicked about your safety and willing to give up his shoes for you. Hard to say what it meant. He might be a bit of a stubborn asshole at times, but he cares deeply about people. It’s what put him in Statesmen in the first place. Given that, would he have acted similarly with other agents out of the simple goodness of his heart? Maybe. But then again, it had seemed that he was catching onto your crush based on the day in the boardroom when you got this assignment. “You keep saying that we’re friends but you look at me for a moment too long for that to be true,” he had said. What the hell was that supposed to mean? Obviously, he was getting the idea. So assuming that he truly was acting differently around you, was it because he felt differently in and of himself? Or was it because he had caught on to how you felt and knowing someone had given into his charms made him automatically more interested in them?

It was hurting your head, going in circles like this. And by the time you gave up on your spinning, cycling thoughts, you’d reached your $35 room for the night.

It wasn’t… Terrible, you guessed. About what you’d expect for a $35 room in no-town Kentucky: beyond basic, subpar comforts, and flickering fluorescents. But it looked clean enough, that was a relief.

Relief ended as you looked in the bathroom mirror, mentally getting ready for bed as it now reached 1am. Relief ended when you realized you had nothing to sleep in other than the sweaty, itchy, puffy dress on your back. A long night was about to be even longer as you stared at the ceiling uselessly, sleeplessly waiting for the extraction.

You stepped out of the bathroom and stopped as you watched a long-legged Jack trying to squeeze himself into a small armchair in the corner of the room.

“What are you doing?”

“What does it look like? I’m getting ready for bed.”

“Yeah, sure.” You hopped onto the bed. “C’mon, there is more than enough room to share this miserable little bed here.” You spread your arms across the bed for emphasis. but he hesitated. Of course he really didn’t want to spend the night in a lumpy old chair, but he didn’t want you to say that it was ok just because you felt bad for him and have you be uncomfortable.

“Ah-- Well, only if you’re comfortable with that, darlin’. I don’t want to overstep. I’m fine here, really.” You raised an eyebrow.

“Get over here.”

“Oh, thank God.” He practically ran and jumped next to you on the bed.

“Liar,” you grinned, “I thought you said were fine over there.”

“Who wants to spend a night on a chair like that? I’m not crazy.” He crinkled his nose at the realization of your bed attire. “But I’m thinking you might be. Are you really gonna be sleeping in that?”

“Well, what else am I supposed to be sleeping in?” He sat up and started unbuttoning his white button up shirt before you could utter another syllable. “What--” You began, but it was obvious he wouldn’t hear it. You were too distracted anyway, unable to look away from the exposed, tanned skin of his shoulders down to his soft belly. You’d always assumed him to be the type that took immaculate care of his body and wouldn’t settle for less than perfectly toned abs. The realization of the truth was a happy one, if you were honest. It was endearing, imperfect. It made him a little more human and less Agent Whiskey.

“It’s not exactly comfortable, but it’s probably a lot better than that.” He held the shirt out to you and promptly turned around for your privacy when you took it with gratitude.

“No peeking, Whiskey,” you teased as you changed.

“Wouldn’t dream of it, sunshine.”

You flopped back onto the bed when you’d finished and touched his shoulder to let him know it was ok to turn back around.

“Better?” he grinned.

“Much better. Goodnight, Jack.”

“Goodnight sweetheart.” He flipped off the light and you both retreated to your edges of the bed.

Both out of respect for the other.

Both kind of wishing that this was happening under other circumstances that didn’t require you both to separate like two magnets of the same pole.

But instead you repelled apart until sleep took you both.

Waking up in the morning was another story. Both of you had migrated toward the other in the night, meeting in the middle. You were facing each other, noses almost touching, his arm draped over your middle. Both of you coming to at about the same time led to an awkward dance of moving away and arms jolting away and mumbled sorry’s as you both laid there for just a moment more.

And he didn’t mean to say it, he really didn’t. This was not how he’d want this come out, but he was just admiring the way his shirt laid against your skin and the way your eyes glittered even in this grungy lamp light. And it just… slipped out.

“When I’ve imagined you wearing my clothes this definitely wasn’t what I was expecting.” You sat up so fast you felt a touch of vertigo.

“I’m sorry, what?” His eyes widened in panic. Did he say that out loud? He wasn’t just thinking that? Damn was he tired still.

“That came out wrong I—“

“What does that mean, Jack? Why would you be imagining that?” Your heart rate was picking up to dangerous speeds, your tone was more clipped than you intended, fear seeping into it.

“You know,” he mumbled, hands covering his face now, regretting every choice that led him to this moment.

“No, I don’t,” your voice softened as you crawled over and gently removed his hands from his face. “As a—,” you gulped, “A conquest or a… Something else.” He sat up, horrified, sitting directly across from you.

“A conquest? Of course not! I talk a big game, but I don’t do that shit anymore.” He sighed. “I recognize that I flirt around a lot, but it really never goes anywhere honestly. I don’t let it. But even then, of course you were different.” You gawked, but you couldn’t hide the way your mouth twisted upwards on the corners.

“How was I supposed to know that, Jack? You said it best, you flirt with… Everyone. How was I supposed to tell the difference?” He took your hands softly, giving you the space and permission to take them away if you wanted. You didn’t. You let him thumbs run over the knuckles soothingly as he spoke.

“You think I’d give just anyone my shoes to walk in or my shirt to wear? Hell, do you think I’d generally offer to take the floor when presented with a gorgeous woman and a motel room? No, Lord knows a younger me would’ve been all too happy to share the bed and hope something more came out of it. But it’s all different with you.”

“Oh,” you whispered, looking down at the interconnected hands between you.

“Oh?” he chuckled, “That’s all I get?”

“Jack I-- I’ve liked you since I met you on my first day. Do you remember?” He nodded. “Swept me right off my feet. I was so upset when I realized you were like that with everyone.”

“It was different then too. I just didn’t know how to make that obvious. It’s been a while since I’ve had to actually try to woo somebody, I guess.”

“You didn’t even have to try. I wasn’t so good at showing that either, I guess. Afraid I was just another name on a long list.”

“No lists. If there was, you’d be the only name on it.” You outright giggled in embarrassment and glee and exhaustion and pure dumbfoundedness all at once. Then your downcast eyes met Jack’s fully and next thing you knew your lips were on his and you really couldn’t have told who initiated it, but now his hand was on your cheek and your lips moved soft and slow against his, just getting used to the brand new feeling that was sending sparks through your stomach. It was over too soon, but you smiled at the prospect of that being your new normal, that you would have the opportunity to get used to the feeling: the feeling of his lips on yours in the morning light and the feeling of his hand in yours as you walked to meet the agent outside for the extraction.

Well, maybe you wouldn’t need another extraction again at least.

permanent taglist: @acomplicatedprofession @hdlynn @makaela27 @space-floozy @catfishingmorales @ithinkhesgaybutwesavedmufasa @princessbatears @synystersilenceinblacknwhite @findhimfives @mistermiraclee @marydjarin @seasonschange-butpeopledont @miss-leto @spacegayofficial @winters-buck @phoenixhalliwell @ahopelessromanticwritersworld @mrpascals @aerynwrites @jigglemiwa @manda-not-lorian @dindjarindiaries @pancakepike @huliabitch @sammiesweet @randomness501

#whiskey x reader #bri writes

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mikauzoran · 3 years ago

Text

Lukadrien: Your Hands Hold Home: Chapter Twenty-Seven

@lukadrien-june

Read it on AO3: Your Hands Hold Home: Chapter Twenty-Seven: Goodbye

“G Flat. Sup?” XY greeted, leaning on the frame of the door to his flat.

“Hey, Xavier-Yves. Sorry for coming over so early,” Adrien apologized guiltily, gaze downcast as he scuffed at the marble tile of the apartment building hallway.

XY shrugged. “It’s whatever. Something wrong? You look all…floppy.”

Adrien winced, meeting Xavier-Yves’s eyes with a grimace. “I’m kind of rough lately, actually…but I came because I need to talk to you about something. May I come in?”

With another carefree shrug, XY straightened up and stepped back out of the way. “Yeah. Sure. Come on in and make yourself at home. You want some soda?”

Adrien shook his head as he made his way straight to the couch. “I’m fine, thank you. I shouldn’t be long.”

“Meh. Suit yourself.” XY went to fish a bottle of orange soda out of the fridge as he prompted, “So what did you need to talk about?”

Adrien swallowed, shifting anxiously. “Luka.”

XY paused, looked back over his shoulder at Adrien, and cursed in English. “Is that why you look like they ran out of those nifty little umbrellas they put in your drink?”

Adrien could think of at least a dozen more fitting analogies for his current countenance, but he decided not to squabble over word choice. “Yes.”

He took a slow, measured inhale. “I didn’t mean to eavesdrop the other day, but I accidentally overheard that song you wrote for Luka.”

XY quirked an eyebrow, taking a long pull from his bottle of soda as he came over and sat down in the armchair across the coffee table from Adrien.

Adrien dropped his gaze to the ugly chartreuse area rug as he confessed, “I heard you tell him you loved him, and I saw you guys kissing.”

“Did ya see what happened afterward?” Xavier-Yves hummed.

Adrien shook his head and forced himself to look up.

He searched his rival’s eyes. “…Are you and Luka…dating?”

The word was almost physically painful to get out.

A smirk in miniature turned up one corner of XY’s mouth. “No. What gave you that idea?”

Adrien opened his mouth to reply but then shut it again to more carefully consider his response.

“…It just seemed like the obvious outcome,” he finally answered. “He really likes you, you know? I don’t think he knows how much he likes you, but he does.”

Xavier-Yves nodded, sinking back comfortably into his armchair and spreading his knees wide. “Yeah. I know…but he picked you.”

Adrien’s eyebrows rose to meet his hairline. “…Sorry. What?”

XY lifted his right shoulder and then let it fall. “He picked you.”

“I don’t…I don’t understand,” Adrien replied, heart quickening, chest tightening.

XY rolled his eyes. “Okay. Look. I’m going to do you a favor, G Flat, and tell ya something good. Don’t tell Luka I told you, but he’s in love with you. He’s been crazy about you since you faceplanted on his deck or whatever. Okay? So, he picked you.”

“Luka loves me?” Adrien breathed, gripping the arm of the couch to keep himself upright.

Xavier-Yves let out a loud snort of laughter. “And they say I’m dense. Yes, Adrien. Luka’s over the moon about you.”

Adrien’s jaw nearly skimmed the floor in his astonishment. “Really?”

“Really,” XY sighed, quickly tiring of this little game. “So go out with him already. Make him happy.”

Adrien’s expression suddenly tightened into a tense ball of confusion and suspicion. “Wait. Why in the world would you tell me that? Isn’t it against the bro code or something? Nino would never tell me about Marinette’s crush on me, and he didn’t say anything to his girlfriend about my feelings for Marinette. I don’t think you can just say stuff like that.”

Xavier-Yves looked utterly unimpressed. “Okay, look. If I don’t say anything, you and Luka are never gonna get together because you’re both dumb and like to make yourselves suffer. I don’t really have friends besides Luka, so I’m not so sure about this ‘bro code’ thing, but I think I’m doing you both a favor, telling you Luka’s in love with you.”

“You are,” Adrien agreed, still skeptical. “What I can’t figure out is why you’re doing this.”

With another sigh, XY rolled his eyes in an exaggerated fashion. “Duh. You’re my friends. I love Luka, and I want him to be happy, and you’re what will make him happy. Plus, the sooner you two start dating, the sooner you can screw everything up and get Luka to break up with you. Then, I can swoop in and sweep Luka off his feet. Super romantic.”

Adrien burst out laughing. “Xavier-Yves…you’re really something.”

XY gave a lopsided, pride-filled grin as he shot finger guns at Adrien. “You bet I am.”

Adrien slowly shook his head from one side to the other, a nascent smile taking form on his lips. “Thank you.”

XY made a shooing gesture. “Don’t thank me. Go ask Luka out or something already. My genius plan only works once you either make Luka happy or screw up and get dumped so I can make Luka happy.”

A grateful grin settled on Adrien’s lips as he stood. “Thank you, Xavier-Yves. Seriously.”

“Yeah, yeah.” XY took another swig of his orange soda. “Maybe we can have a threesome sometime or something. You two still have to hang out with me once you’re a couple, you know.”

“We will,” Adrien promised, a spring in his step as he rushed back to Luka.

Luka looked up from where he was preparing chestnut paste crêpes for brunch as Adrien came around the corner into the main cabin.

The nerves didn’t hit Adrien in full force until he saw Luka; then, it was all fluttery sensations in his chest and butterflies in his stomach.

Their eyes met, and Adrien nearly swooned.

“Hey. Everything okay?” Luka tentatively inquired. “You were gone when I woke up.”

Adrien ran a hand through his hair and swallowed before he managed to compose himself enough to answer. “Yeah, no. It’s fine. I’m fine. I just…I needed to get some fresh air?”

Luka nodded, making a neutral sound of acknowledgement. “Did you eat already?”

Sheepishly, Adrien shook his head. “Food was kind of the last thing on my mind this morning.”

Luka beckoned Adrien over with a tip of his head, indicating the crêpe he had just made. “Go ahead and take this one. It’s still hot.”

“I’m not going to take your food, Orpheus,” Adrien scoffed, coming around into the kitchen.

“I have enough batter to make another one. It’ll only take a minute, but you might as well eat this one because it’s going to be cold by the time I finish this second one,” Luka reasoned.

“Or you could eat that one, and I can make one for myself,” Adrien countered, giving Luka’s hip a little bump with his own, encouraging Luka out of the way of the stovetop.

With a chuckle of amusement, Luka stood down, leaning back against the counter as he ate his crêpe and longingly watched Adrien work.

“I’m really good at making crêpes,” Adrien bragged. “It’s one of the first things Tom showed me.”

“I have no doubt about your abilities,” Luka assured, eyes tracking Adrien’s graceful movements.

Before long, a nearly perfect crêpe took form, and Luka had to applaud his crush. “That looks even better than mine. I should have you make me breakfast next time.”

“I’d be happy to cook for you,” Adrien easily agreed, eager to please. “I like it a lot. Mostly, Tom’s been teaching me down in the bakery, but Sabine’s showed me recipes from time to time too, and I’m finding that I like cooking about as well as baking.”

“Well, if you want to take some of my family meal cooking shifts, I’m not going to stop you,” Luka half-joked.

“Maybe I could join you for some of your shifts and we could cook together,” Adrien suggested. He always had a good time in the kitchen with Luka.

“I mean…if you really don’t mind. I don’t want to put extra work on your plate,” Luka responded tentatively.

“I don’t mind,” Adrien stressed. “I like cooking, and I like spending time with you, so…win-win, you know?”

“So long as you think so,” Luka chuckled, a slight blush building on his cheeks.

“I do,” Adrien replied decidedly.

He then bit his lip, his confidence abandoning him. “…Hey. So…would you want to go on a walk with me after we clean up here? Are you busy?”

Luka shook his head. “I didn’t have anything planned for today. Where did you want to go? Anywhere in particular?”

“The Parc Monceau?” Adrien asked uncertainly. “Sorry. I know it’s kind of out of the way.”

“It’s fine,” Luka assured with a calming smile. “The Parc Monceau sounds nice.”

While not completely free from tourists, the Parc Monceau was definitely more of a spot for locals than some of the better-known parks of Paris.

Luka and Adrien took the motorcycle up to the eighth arrondissement, parking outside of the gates and beginning their stroll around the grounds.

The scent of damp earth from the previous day’s storm still lingered in the air.

“I’ve always wanted to come here on a date,” Adrien remarked as they walked past the semicircular, eighteenth-century colonnade at the northeast end of the pond that had been made to look like Roman ruins.

“Oh, yeah?” Luka hummed, trying to keep his expression and voice neutral.

Adrien nodded as they made their way onto one of the main avenues that ran through the park where many a Parisian was walking their apartment-sized dog.

“I’ve done a couple photoshoots here, and I always thought the atmosphere was romantic,” Adrien explained. “It’s kind of whimsical with all of the miniatures of exotic architecture and the pond and the trees and flowers and everything…don’t you think?”

“Yeah,” Luka agreed. “It’s—”

He abruptly lost his train of thought as Adrien slipped his hand into Luka’s.

Luka stared in bewilderment at Adrien, and Adrien responded with a shy smile.

Still wondering what the hell was going on but not wanting to jinx it, Luka returned the smile and laced his fingers through Adrien’s.

Adrien’s smile grew, gaining confidence as it morphed into an effulgent grin reminiscent of that day in the Jardin du Palais Royal.

It was so good to see Adrien smile like that after two weeks of feigned cheerfulness and cloudy, distant eyes.

“Come on.” Adrien gently tugged Luka over to the footbridge. “I want to show you my favourite spot.”

They ascended the steps and moved over to one side so that others could pass behind them as they gazed out at the man-made pond and the classical columns through the foliage.

“Sorry,” Adrien chuckled, releasing Luka’s hand and placing his own on top of the bridge railing.

“Why ‘sorry’?” Luka wondered, suddenly uneasy.

Adrien turned his head to give an impish grin. “I feel like I tricked you into coming here.”

A small frown creased Luka’s brow. “I seem to remember agreeing to come of my own free will.”

Adrien shook his head. “Under false pretenses. I brought you here because I wanted to talk to you.”

Luka gave a snort. “Because it’s not like I would ever consent to that knowingly.”

Adrien pursed his lips.

Luka’s levity instantly faded. “Hey. What’s wrong?”

Adrien shook his head, training his gaze down into the murky water.

“…Is this about what happened yesterday?” Luka hazarded a guess.

“Kind of.”

Luka winced. “Adrien, I’m sorry. I didn’t—”

“—May I tell you something?” Adrien cut in, needing to get it over with.

“Uh…sure.” Luka couldn’t help but feel off-kilter as he struggled to follow what was happening.

“And could you maybe let me talk without responding until I’m done, please?” Adrien requested through a grimace. “I’m sorry. I just…I need to get this out, and I’m not sure I can do it if you interrupt me, so… Sorry.”

Luka gently rested his hand on Adrien’s shoulder, giving it an encouraging squeeze. “Hey. You can tell me anything, okay? I promise I’ll let you finish.”

Adrien shot Luka a grateful smile before taking a deep breath to steady his nerves. He tightened and loosened his grip on the bridge railing, swallowed, and then began.

“You know how I’ve been acting even crazier than usually these past two weeks?”

Luka frowned reprovingly. “Okay, I’m not going to stand here silently and listen to you talk down about yourself, so—”

“—I saw you kissing Xavier-Yves,” Adrien blurted out, needing to continue before he lost the courage to do so. “and it completely crushed me because I’m in love with you.”

Luka stared, blinked, and finally found his tongue. “You…what?”

“I’m in love with you,” Adrien repeated more slowly as the most vulnerable smile spread over his lips in complete surrender. “I’ve had a crush on you pretty much as long as we’ve known one another, but, recently, I’ve realized that, somewhere along the way, I really, truly fell in love with you. I’m not sure when exactly…but…here we are.”

Adrien shrugged and then awaited Luka’s response.

It took a minute, but Luka finally pieced together the words. “You’re sure?”

Adrien’s head cocked slightly to the side. “What do you mean?”

“Sorry.” Luka shook his head, mentally kicking himself. “I just mean… Not that I don’t believe you, but…”

He took a slow inhale and tried again. “Adrien, I don’t need to tell you that you’ve been through a lot this past month, and I know I’ve kind of been there supporting you through this. A lot of times, in that kind of situation, people can start thinking they have feelings for the person taking care of them, and I don’t—”

“—Luka.” Adrien reached out to cup Luka’s cheek. “My feelings for you aren’t new. You triggered my sexuality crisis, after all.”

Heat burned in Luka’s cheeks, and he gulped. “O-Oh?”

Adrien nodded, his smile returning. “Yeah. I’ve always known I had a crush on you. It’s just that I recently realized that my feelings weren’t just a crush. I don’t think they have been for a while, so you don’t have anything to worry about. I’m not going to improve mentally or emotionally and suddenly realize my feelings for you were fake or anything like that.”

“Oh,” Luka repeated quietly, gaze getting caught on Adrien’s eyes and the way their glittering green was perfectly set off by the trees and the water and the sky.

“So…I love you…Middle C,” Adrien whispered, angling his body to face Luka.

Instinctively, Luka stepped in, his hands going to Adrien’s hips. “I love you too, Perfect Fifth. From the moment I saw your eyes light up when you spotted that keyboard the day we first met.”

“Luka,” Adrien breathed as their eyes slipped closed and their noses gently bumped.

A shred of his higher brain function remained as he cautioned, “I don’t know if I should be doing this. I still need to talk to you about—”

“—Please,” Luka pleaded. “Adrien, please kiss me.”

He did, and it was sweet and slow and perfect, a gentle nibbling of Adrien’s lips against Luka’s.

Luka kept his eyes closed for a moment after Adrien pulled away, and when he opened them, he found Adrien searching his face apprehensively.

Luka blinked. “Everything okay?”

“Perfect,” Adrien sighed. “Only, now, I’m going to ruin everything.”

“I promise you that there’s nothing you could do to ruin that kiss,” Luka scoffed lightly.

Adrien winced. “What if I tell you we can’t kiss again for a long time?”

“Well, that wouldn’t ruin everything,” Luka assured. “But can I ask why?”

Adrien pulled back, looking out at the pond and the columns again as he explained, “I don’t want to keep you in limbo. I need to be completely honest with you: I can’t date right now.”

Luka stepped in closer so that his shoulder brushed Adrien’s.

Adrien tentatively peeked up at Luka. “I’m sorry. You know about as well as I do that I’m not in good shape at the moment with everything going on. It wouldn’t be fair to either of us to try to start anything right now.”

Luka gradually began to nod. “I think that’s a really mature decision. I don’t necessarily like it, but I’m really proud of you for being able to come to that kind of conclusion.”

Adrien sighed, a melancholy smile hovering on his lips. “I’m serious about you, you know. I don’t want to mess this up, so…I think I need to wait until I’m healthier. I don’t want things to always be the way they’ve been the past month.”

He met Luka’s eyes as he elaborated, “I can’t express how much I appreciate everything you’ve done for me, but healthy relationships are partnerships. I need to be able to pull my own weight.”

Luka opened his mouth to respond, but Adrien shook his head, insisting, “I can’t always be needing you to help and comfort me. That’s not right, and it’s not fair to you.”

Luka’s eyes widened.

“You deserve a partner who can be there to support you too,” Adrien stressed. “I think I could be that person someday, but right now…”

He shook his head sadly.

“I can wait however long you think is necessary,” Luka assured.

Adrien shook his head again. “I’m not asking you to. If you want…I mean…Xavier-Yves is actually a great guy, and you like him, Luka. You shouldn’t have to wait around while I get my stuff together.”

Luka rolled his eyes. “Okay, yes. I will admit that Xavier-Yves is an attractive prospect, but…Adrien…my heart chose you.”

Adrien’s mouth fell open in surprise.

Luka leaned in and pressed a kiss to Adrien’s temple. “I’ll wait for you.”

Still taken aback, Adrien stammered, “I’ll do my best to be worthy of you.”

Luka pulled Adrien into a side hug. “You already are, P5.”

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solitaria-fantasma · 3 years ago

Note

Um for the Super Ghost AU I am just imagining that The Question managed to figure out basically everything about Gawain and the Mystery Skulls, but instead of it being his paranoia getting to him it's because he accidentally learned Gawain was a ghost, wanted to learn why he's a ghost and then he was going down the rabbit hole and by the time he climbed out of it he's just wondering what is Gawain's life, unlife, whatever and the life of his brother. Just, this came to me and refused to leave.

((*cracks knuckles*))

Question hadn't seen sunlight for nearly six days, and it had finally paid off.

He leaned over his hands on the edge of the desk, staring at the pin board before him. It was crisscrossed with color coded strands of yarn, and little push pins that held up photographs, newspaper and magazine clippings, and printed Internet screenshots. It wasn't the most complicated web he'd ever built, but it tied up neatly, and that was enough. Not every mystery had a a million twists to unwind.

The trail started in London, England, and stretched all the way across the Atlantic to a tiny town in Texas, USA, barely large enough to be a speck on a map. He had birth records, school enrollment records, science fair awards, promotions, Visa applications, mortgages, home appliance purchases, swing dance trophies, company picnic photos, a missing person's report, and an obituary, all leading to a giant question mark scribbled over a photo of a young blond man, with the word 'whereabouts?' written beneath it.

This photo connected to the next item in the chain with a quick arrow of blue, and another long, arching arrow connected a birth record from earlier in this leg to the same thing - a newspaper article from that small Texas town, talking about the mysterious case of a young boy with amnesia being found on the steps of a local restaurant. There was an article about the boy's adoption just a few months later, and then another article congratulating three local kids and their dog for solving a small time mystery.

The chain ran through several articles like this one, and the kids grew older as their mysteries evolved from misplaced mail and lost pets to package theft, poltergeist activity, and cryptid sightings. More and more, the articles talked about ghosts, creatures of urban legend, and even sightings of demons and occult activity. Around 2008, the newspaper articles became printed blog posts, and seemed to be written by the kids themselves.

Question laughed quietly to himself. Kids after his own paranoid heart, all three.

The articles came to an abrupt halt in 2014, with a missing persons report for the amnesiac boy (now an adult), and a series of articles about a groundbreaking prosthetic limb, developed by a genius young man who tested his prototype on himself after tragically loosing his own arm. There were a few more articles about the prosthetic, and a few photos to go along with them that showed the blond man from previous articles, and then there were a few clippings of local tabloids from a truck driver who swore he'd been carjacked by 'a flaming skeleton with great fashion sense'.

There was silence for a month or two, and then concurrent newspaper articles and blog posts about the miraculous return of one Lewis Pepper, thought to be dead from the same tragic caving accident that cost his best friend his arm. The blog posts about the supernatural returned, and the prosthesis research seemed to slow down. Coincidentally, a young man named 'Merlin Knight' with an eerily familiar face was hired at the local auto shop.

Question wondered if the entire town was playing dumb, or just stupid. The only real change was the clothing, and that long blond hair being braided.

This employment record connected all the way back to the obituary from the first leg of the chain, and proceeded on to connect with screenshots from a social media account of a robotic body, and the building of what would be, within a few month's time, the town's own local hero.

Question breathed out through his nose. A local hero who would go on to help save the world, and found the Justice League itself. Had that been part of the plan?

The web wrapped itself up quickly from there. Supernatural skills and abilities not possible by modern science, knowledge of other realms and creatures only known to mythology, and the tiny little clues he'd been hoarding and observing for a full year all pointed to the same conclusion. It wasn't as fantastical as it sounded, in all honesty, though Green Arrow had looked at him stranger than usual when he'd first said his conclusion out loud.

There were legitimate aliens, sorcerers, and demons in this reality - why not ghosts, too?

There was one final piece missing from the web, however, and he was out of clues to tie in. There was a near twenty year gap between the last known sighting of Gawain Kingsmen, and the appearance of 'Merlin Knight'. What had the man been doing for all that time? There had been no sightings of anyone even remotely matching the appearance of Gawain or 'Merlin' anywhere in that time, and without even the slightest whisper of a rumor on an Internet forum or library archive, there wasn't much more he could do to find out.

Question straightened up from the desk, and rolled his shoulders to try and stretch them out. There was no way around it.

He was going to have to get more...direct from here on out.

.......

"What does a dead man do for twenty years?" Gawain froze with a potato wedge half-raised to his shoulder at the question, and Bran - unwilling to wait for her snack - leaned her head down to snatch it up anyway. Gawain turned his yellow LED eyes over to Question, who had planted himself in the chair across the table without so much of a 'hello', and tilted his head.

"...I'm sorry," He apologized. "But I'm not sure I know what you mean."

"I know you do." Question leaned one elbow on the table. Bran nudged Gawain's still-raised hand, hoping for more potatoes, and the hero absently picked up another wedge to feed to her. "I know most people believe the 'advanced AI' cover story, but I'm not most people. I know you're a ghost possessing an armored suit like that old anime." The potato wedge vanished, and Question wondered if the little ghost was actually eating it, or just storing it for later.

That was a mystery for another time, regardless.

Gawain had turned to face him fully, now, and his two other ghostly companions were now peeking out of hiding from behind his shoulders. They weren't hostile, but their stares were, nonetheless, intense, and Question smiled behind his mask. He knew he had their full attention, now.

"How did you find out?" Gawain asked, keeping his voice low.

"I saw you from the ground in that fight with Mr. Sorcerer Superior, Magnus Creed." Question replied. "You ran into that warding slip like a bird into a clean window. A robot wouldn't have been stopped by mere paper and superstition." Gawain tilted his head slightly to one side.

"Some superstitions hurt." He argued, just the slightest bit defensive. "...what was your question, again?"

"What does a dead man do for twenty years?" Question asked. "There's a two decade gap between your presumed death and your reappearance. You could stand to work on that secret identity, by the way." He advised. "Someone's going to notice your resemblance to a dead guy from twenty years ago, if you ever let down your hair." Gawain's LED eyes narrowed, and one of the spirits - Chopper, the one with the upright spines - hissed in response.

Vixen walked by with John Stewart at her side, and both Chopper and Gawain made a visible effort to drop any outward signs of irritation. Question remained where he was. People were used to seeing him tense and suspicious, by now. It wouldn't raise a single eyebrow.

"...I was lost." Gawain spoke up quietly once Vixen and John had passed out of earshot. "I woke up in the middle of an unfamiliar forest, and I just couldn't get out. Not for a while."

"You were lost in a forest for twenty years?" Even Question sounded skeptical. "I've seen what you're capable of. You should have been able to handle a little thing like being lost."

"It was ten years," Gawain retorted sharply. Bran raided his plate for the remaining potato wedges. "And I wasn't just...born being able to do that stuff. I had to grow into it. I had to learn." A strange gust of air blew past the table, scattering someone's forgotten paper plate and napkin to the floor, before Gawain unclenched his fists, and visibly calmed down. Question still didn't move.

"Death...does things to you." Gawain lowered his voice again. "To your mind. You can't think straight for...a long time - and that's if you're lucky." He lowered his hands to the table, and Bran automatically wound herself around one arm with a pleased sound. "I found my way out of the forest after ten yes, and then I went...home. To Tempo."

"Your parents had moved away by then." Question knew. He knew how the story of the living family had played out, from there. "Your brother was living with your uncle, and your friends were off at college." Gawain's shoulders drooped, and the third spirit - Griflet, if he remembered right - patted at the side of his helmet sympathetically. Chopper was still glaring at him.

"They had." Gawain made no effort to hide the disappointment in his voice. "I guess I couldn't fault them for not wanting to stay in town after all they went through, but back then, I didn't know it had been ten years. It only felt like a few days, to me."

"That must have been difficult." Question said, and he meant it. Sympathy wasn't really his thing, but Gawain was being cooperative, so it was the least he could do. "And the other ten?"

"I was hiding." Gawain laughed humorlessly. "I somehow convinced myself that my family-...that my brother, and my uncle, would be afraid of me, if they saw me like that, and I just...never came forward." He shrugged. "I just sort of watched, and listened, and followed them for another ten years, and I thought that was pretty good, you know?

"I couldn't interact with them, sure, but at least I could still see them. It was...better than nothing." The hero fell silent, for a few moments, and then looked Question in the eye. Or...as close as he could get. The featureless mask tended to throw off people's frame of reference for facial features. "What are you going to do now?"

"Absolutely nothing." Question casually leaned back in his own chair. "I've already put the pieces together. This was just the last piece I needed to finish the story." He stood up, and pushed the chair in under the table. "This time, I just wanted to satisfy my own curiosity." Gawain seemed surprised, and remained sitting as Question walked out of the cafeteria.

He could feel four pairs of eyes burning into his back, but for once, being watched didn't bother him. Curiosity killed the cat, they said, but satisfaction brought it back, and Question was very much satisfied with this answer.

Now, he could focus on more important matters...like the long-ignored connection between Girl Scout cookie sales and the appearance of crop circles in Midwest America.

#mun's writings #ask #Anon #Gawain #Reptilitones #AU: Super Ghost #((I haven't written with Question before so pls forgive me if he's a little out of character))#((thank you for the prompt!!))#((I know your original prompt involved the Skulls a lot more but this was getting long))#((I'll see if I can do a part 2))

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nevertherose · 4 years ago

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One Hundred Seconds to Midnight: Chapters 1-8

"All Roman wanted to do was take Logan on a Doctor Who LARP within the Imagination.

But with Thomas's Sides at their figurative breaking point after the disastrous wedding, the Imagination may just have a few ideas of her own..."

Hello, Tumblr fanders, it has been a while since I've poked around in here...mostly because, I've been writing another story!

Do you like Sanders Sides? Do you like Doctor Who? Do you like the idea of the Sides playing Doctor Who characters? If so, this story was written especially for you.

I found that the process of cross-posting Mahogany and Teakwood across three platforms, one chapter at a time, involved a lot of me spending too many hours squinting at html code. Not especially fun. This time around, I've only been posting on AO3 and Wattpad.

But I wanted it to exist here as well.

So! Today I'm going to post the first half (in two posts, because apparently Tumblr has a post size limit, who knew?), all the chapters that are up so far. Then, when the whole story is up on the other platforms, I'll post the other half.

Of course, you could head to either AO3 or Wattpad, if you want to read as the chapters go up.

But if you're like me, and like to read stories in nice, big, juicy chunks...here you go:

One Hundred Seconds to Midnight

Chapter 1- The Eleventh Hour

“Who are you?”

“I don’t know yet. I’m still cooking.”

Midnight.

The witching hour.

Or was that 3AM? Roman wondered. No, that’s the devil’s hour…damn it, Virgil! You had to get them all mixed up!

It was nearly midnight on the Imagination’s border.

Moonlight, pearlescent and brighter than it could ever shine in the real world, streamed feather-light through the tall windows on Roman’s side of the Dream Palace. It made patterns of light and shadow over the black marble floors, made nighttime caricatures of the white ivory statues that lined the corridor.

Roman’s heeled boots echoed in the silence; Logan’s dress shoes, in comparison, were whisper-quiet.

Logan himself had been uncharacteristically quiet since they entered this place, Roman noted, glancing back. Normally by now the logical Side would have asked a million questions, made a million plans, or be several bullet points into a lecture about palace construction or the history of measurement units or some other nerdy, obscure subject.

And Roman would either pretend to be annoyed, or would interject witty counterpoints to make Logan stop and bluster and…

But not tonight.

Maybe he’s nervous about being here, Roman told himself, smoothing a hand over his red sash. He’s only pointed out a million times that Logic and the Imagination are anathema to one another. Maybe I should have planned something else…

Or maybe he’s just annoyed at you for dragging him out of bed in the literal middle of the night, a more insidious inner voice whispered. When you know he likes to keep a consistent sleep schedule.

Roman pressed his lips together, lifted his chin…he might be a mere facet of a single personality, but he was also a Prince, and Princes do not listen to inner demons. However, he also looked back for the dozenth time to make sure Logan was actually still following.

That was the only reason Roman kept looking back.

It had nothing to do with the way the translucent moonlight caught the other Side’s dark, immaculately kept hair, or glinted off his glasses.

In the real world, of course, and whenever they manifested near their Source, the Sides all had precisely the same face and body as Thomas. But deep inside the mind, where physical appearance was an illusion anyway, the Sides exercised much more control.

Thomas remained their base template, but each Side also tended to portray himself with features that Thomas associated with their core function. Like Patton’s fluffy curls and childlike freckles, or Virgil’s anxious, ever-changing eyeshadow, or Remus’s abominable comic-book villain mustache.

Like Deceit’s…no, Janus’s very real scales.

Damn that snake. Why did I have think of him now?

Hopefully the lying bananaconda had better things to do than pop up and spoil things tonight. Because tonight, Roman was finally fulfilling a longtime promise to Logan, and taking him on a grand adventure.

The thought made his heart flutter in anticipation, and he looked back again.

Logan within the mindscape was leaner than Thomas, an inch or two taller, and his neatly trimmed hair and intelligent eyes were almost black in the low light. His face was narrow and intense, the nose more aquiline, and he had a habit of standing straighter than any of the rest of them.

(A habit which constantly showed off his trim waist and chest muscles…not that Roman paid any attention to that…)

Roman, by contrast, was a bit shorter, but his shoulders were broad and he was more muscular, due to all the questing and sword fighting he did here in the Imagination. He wore his hair in longish disarray that paired devastatingly with his clean, square jawline; hair that could be turned loose and wild on quests, or pulled neatly back as befitted royalty. His hands were strong; with long, artistic fingers, as skilled at wielding pens and paintbrushes as they were at wielding swords.

He liked to think he was handsome.

He was also painfully aware of how little it mattered when a certain someone…ehem…never seemed to notice.

“Roman, I confess to still being a bit lost as to the purpose of this journey,” Logan said at last, breaking the high-ceilinged silence. “You said you were taking us on a…’lark’? If so, why are we wandering around the Dream Palace?”

“LARP,” Roman corrected, flashing him a smile. “L-A-R-P. It stands for live action role play, Specs.”

Logan’s nose wrinkled at the words “role play”, and Roman’s stomach lurched. He hates it, he hates the very idea of it, you haven’t even started yet and you’ve already failed…

“Oh, don’t make the scrunchy face!” he added, a bit louder than necessary, and waved a hand. “At least wait until you’ve seen it.”

Roman had only been planning this for weeks.

“You know, when you promised to take me on one of your ‘adventures’,” Logan said, making finger quotes. “I was not expecting to be roused from bed in the middle of the night.”

“That’s because this isn’t your average adventure.” Roman gestured around them. “I constructed a special dreamscape to get all the details right, and we can only use the Dream Palace when Thomas is asleep.” He turned and dared a wink. “Only the best for you, my detail-oriented friend.”

Logan adjusted his glasses.

“Let it be known that I am indulging your antics right now because you have, on occasion, had some good ideas. You will, in turn, have to indulge my skepticism.”

“I have no idea what you just said, but I’m gonna pretend it was a compliment,” Roman said with a wink, which Logan rolled his eyes at.

“Ah ha, here we are!”

Roman stopped at a set of iconic blue doors, nearly vibrating in excitement as he waited for Logan to recognize them.

The nerd did not disappoint.

“Roman…” Logan murmured, stepping forward to touch the white PULL TO OPEN sign. “They look just like the doors to the TARDIS. The attention to detail is exquisite. But why?”

“Because I’m taking you on a Doctor Who LARP!” Roman exclaimed, flapping his hands. “All we have to do is step through, and the Imagination will make us Doctor and companion, and whisk us away through all of time and space!”

Logan’s face was a mixture of confusion and curiosity. “Again…why?”

“Because it will be fun?” Roman bit his lip, looking at his toes. “I…I know you aren’t into swords and sorcery and dragon-witches and whatnot. I wanted this to be something you might actually enjoy.”

Logan’s brow furrowed, as it often did when he tried to process something that didn’t fit neatly into his graphed, notated, logical worldview.

Usually, it was an emotion.

“But won’t us enacting such an intense scenario at this time of night negatively affect Thomas’s sleep?” Logan asked.

“That’s the genius of adventuring in the Dream Palace,” Roman explained. “You can do hyperreal, immersive stuff, and if Thomas does happen to remember anything, he’ll just think he had a weird dream. The worst that could happen is he might post about it on Twitter.”

“Hmm. I can see you’ve thought this through. I am…flattered that you went to all the trouble,” Logan said in a quiet voice.

Roman had to bite back an ecstatic giggle.

Not…not because of the way his nerves skittered below his skin when his gaze caught Logan’s black eyes and soft expression. No, Roman was merely…excited! That someone like Logan appreciated his hard work!

It wasn’t like he was trying to impress anyone, like some middle school boy with, you know, a crush or whatever. For the last, well…two years.

…and then some.

Ugh. There was little point in denying his feelings; he’d only accidentally summon Janus and his oily smirk, and if that happened, Roman would most certainly die of embarrassment and that was not a lie, thank you very much.

The truth was, ever since Thomas had placed that jar of Crofters into Logan’s hands and inspired him to sing…not just rap, or begrudgingly harmonize, but actually sing…Roman had fallen, and fallen hard.

How could he not?

Logan’s words and ideas had always challenged him, pushed him to be smarter, sharper, better, just to keep up. Logan was the grounding anchor to his sails, the clarity to his excess. It used to infuriate Roman, the way he and Logan always came at problems from opposite sides and fought, sometimes bitterly, over the best way to meet in the middle.

But now?

Now Roman relished the way they traded words in a good fight, like blades in the hands of expert swordsmen. Logan, despite his dislike for anything fanciful, was a natural wordsmith…and Roman was a great lover of poetry. Even better, it seemed like Logan was also starting to enjoy their verbal sparring matches…

And then these last few months had happened.

The Decision, and Deceit, and the way that snake had let Remus out of the shadows to wreck havoc, and then the disastrous wedding itself…and Roman knew that Logan, through all of it, had been feeling pushed aside.

Goodness knew the logical Side hadn’t deserved to be shoved to the back of a courtroom, or relegated to a pixel-y shadow of himself before being removed from the discussion entirely. Worse, in both of those scenarios, Roman had either done nothing…or actively made things worse.

Roman knew he was guilty of letting his mouth run wild in his zeal to solve Thomas’s dilemmas…or in desperately hiding his true feelings. He knew his nicknames often came with barbs, his insults sometimes hit too close to home, that he often ignored or dismissed Logan’s cool, much-needed perspective.

He knew he needed to be better.

I’ll make it up to him tonight, Roman told himself as he laid a hand on the rough wooden blue doors and glanced back at Logan. The logical Side nodded, giving Roman a tiny burst of confidence.

He’ll get to play his favorite character and be his best nerdy self. This is going to be great!

Roman took a breath, and shoved open the TARDIS doors.

Chapter 2- Human Nature

“It’s all becoming clear now. The Doctor is doing the things you’d like to be doing.”

The blaring of a dozen sirens burst in Logan’s ears.

He was yanked across the threshold, Roman’s hand practically a vice around his wrist. Logan inhaled the sharp scent of metal and warm electronics, and a million figurative lights went off in his brain.

Being the physical incarnation of Logic, this wasn’t an entirely unfamiliar sensation.

The TARDIS shuddered…wait, TARDIS? We’re actually on the TARDIS?…under impact. Lights flashed; reds and greens over an ambiance of steely blue-gray, and Logan knew exactly what to do.

He shook free of Roman’s grip and strode to the center console…console, how do I know this is a console?…flipping several switches and turning the green dial to precisely 3.56 degrees to offset the radiation sheer from the M-class star they’d just spun past.

Because naturally they happened to be careening through an asteroid field.

The time rotor rose and dipped, Gallifreyan symbols whirling overhead; Logan adjusted shields and dodged rocks, striding confidently from station to station. He guided his TARDIS around the last large asteroid, one that easily could have smashed his beloved ship to bits, and then they were clear.

The TARDIS chimed reassuringly under his hands, relieved to be in empty space again.

Roman screamed.

The sound echoed off the metallic walls, causing Logan to whip around and nearly lose his balance.

“What happened?” he said sharply, leaving the console. The creative Side stood near the railing, staring down at himself in obvious dismay. “What’s wrong?”

“Look at me, Logan!” Roman said shrilly and gesturing at his body. “Just look!”

Logan examined his fellow Side. There were no obvious injuries he could see, no blood, no bruising, nothing that would merit a scream. There was just Roman, unfairly handsome as always.

(He still wasn’t sure how Roman managed that feat when they all literally, at least some of the time, had the same face.)

“I…don’t see a problem?” Logan asked slowly.

“I meant, look at what I’m wearing, Calculator Watch,” Roman snarled, and turned to yell nonsensically at the ceiling. “Am I a joke to you? When I said I wanted to be a companion, this is not what I meant!”

Logan focused on Roman’s clothing, which had shifted rather drastically since passing through those doors. His normal princely attire was replaced by a denim cutoff skirt, overalls, pink leggings, and a tight pink blouse that clung to his muscular chest and arms...

“I look ridiculous, don’t I?” Roman murmured, scuffing a combat boot against the metal grated floor. The motion drew Logan’s gaze again to the way the cutoffs hugged his hips and wow, that skirt was really short, wasn’t it?

And those tights, the way they accentuated Roman’s legs...

Logan frowned, his face feeling unusually warm. Why did he keep noticing these things? Of course Roman was more fit than the rest of them.

Perhaps it was simply that Logan didn’t usually see the evidence of it so…plainly.

Stop, Logan told himself sharply. You might be gay and allosexual, but that is no excuse to be disrespectful.

He cleared his throat.

“If I may, Roman?” he said, approaching, and made a closer examination of Roman’s outfit.

“I gather from your earlier ranting that you instructed the Imagination to cast you as one of the Doctor’s companions for the duration of this scenario?”

“Well, yeah,” Roman admitted, “but I was thinking someone like Jamie McCrimmon, or Rory Williams, or maybe even Jack Harkness!”

“You know there is some debate over whether Jack Harkness would be considered a proper ‘companion’, as he was never full time on the TARDIS,” Logan argued absently, still eying Roman’s ensemble.

It was attractive but also familiar; he just couldn’t quite place it…

“Neither was Clara Oswald at first, but nobody had a problem handing her that label from the start!” Roman folded his arms and Logan had to look away because wow, short sleeves and arms…

“Just because she was a girl and the writers obviously intended for her to be a love interest—”

“A girl, of course!” Logan snapped his fingers. “Roman, you are a companion. Specifically, you are Rose Tyler.”

“What?” Roman frowned, smoothing the overalls across his middle. “I…Hmm. You might actually be right.”

“Of course I am right.”

The creative Side scoffed at that, but continued to frown.

“I think it’s a good choice,” Logan added. “Rose is arguably one of the most beloved companions in new Who; bold, kind, and intelligent in her own way. She was pivotal to the Ninth, Tenth, and arguably the War Doctor’s character arcs.”

He laid a hand on Roman’s shoulder. (To convey reassurance, of course. Not because he suddenly wanted to touch…)

“Hers are not the worst shoes you could be given to fill,” Logan said, “idiomatically speaking.”

“Only you would drop a word like ‘idiomatically’ in everyday conversation,” Roman grumbled, but some of the spark returned to his caramel eyes.

“But look at you!” Roman said in a brighter voice, gesturing. “All proper and Doctor-ish. At least the Imagination let you keep your tie, or, whatever that thing is around your neck.”

Logan glanced down at himself for the first time.

His sensible polo and jeans had become a clean-cut black suit, with a warm grey waistcoat, a crisp white undershirt, and a silver pocket watch. A navy cravat was knotted around his throat.

His knee-length suit jacket was also black, with a striking cerulean lining.

He retrieved a slender, metallic something from the jacket’s inner pocket: of course, the Doctor’s signature sonic screwdriver. Specifically, the Tenth Doctor’s screwdriver.

Logan chuckled, remembering all the times he’d ranted to Roman about how impractical and flashy Eleven’s screwdriver became, and don’t even get him started on Twelve’s, it was practically a lightsaber…

“Interesting,” he murmured, stretching his arms to turn in a slow circle, letting the jacket flare. “Fashionably, I appear to be a cross between the Eighth and Twelfth Doctors, which I appreciate, as they are the two most sensible dressers of the bunch. And by the way, Roman, this is a called a cravat, not a tie…”

He’d lifted hands to his neck but the words died on his tongue.

Roman had summoned a mirror and was, quite literally, checking himself out. He swayed his hips, tilted one toward and then away from the mirror, pouted, did a tongue smile, and…and Logan realized he had been watching for more than a socially acceptable length of time.

He swallowed hard and cleared his throat again. But he was saved from having to speak by a loud crackling at the center console.

Both Sides rushed over, Logan seizing the TV screen and pulling it down. Gray static skittered over the polished surface. He flipped two switches and turned a dial, trying to zero in on the signal.

“I meant to ask earlier…how do you know what to do?” Roman asked, tilting his head. “You were piloting before I think you even realized we were on a TARDIS in the first place.”

Logan froze in the middle of winding one of the cranks.

“I…I really do not know.” In fact, the more he thought about it, the less sense any of the controls made. “Now that you’ve drawn my attention to it, you are correct: rationally, I should not know the function of any of these…gizmos.” He gestured at the crank he’d been winding.

“Yet somehow my hands just…know.”

Roman leaned casually onto the console.

“When I built this LARP, I gave the Imagination quite a bit of leeway in how it wanted to construct our characters,” he said. “I’m thinking it took things a step further than costume changes, like making me the companion it thinks I most resemble instead of the companion I wanted to be.”

Roman bit his lip as though troubled, then clearly shook himself out of it.

“And it must have imparted some of the Doctor’s knowledge upon me.” Logan added, not sure how he felt about the Imagination having such a direct influence over his mind. He supposed if it didn’t get too invasive, and was confined to this one night, he could deal with it.

It had proven useful so far, after all.

Roman shot Logan a fierce grin.

“Indeed! So engage that big Doctor brain and let’s see who’s trying to call us. Allons-y, adventure awaits!”

“You know ‘allons-y’ is my line, right?” Logan said dryly.

He had to use his screwdriver on the screen before the picture came clear. The stream of static acquired the cadence of a voice…and then a disturbingly familiar face stared back at his own, looking equally shocked.

Roman, for the second time since entering the TARDIS, let out a bloodcurdling scream.

Chapter 3- The Witch’s Familiar

“If you’re going to take my stick, do me the courtesy of actually killing me. Teamwork is all about respect.”

Janus had just settled into his favorite chair with a mug of chamomile tea and a political science book when he was yanked…rather rudely, he might add…onto the deck of a spaceship.

He sighed, and dismissed his drink.

When one lived in the same mindspace as the literal embodiment of chaos, one unfortunately learned to expect such interruptions.

“REMUS!” he roared, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Did I not specifically ask to be LEFT ALONE tonight?”

Silence.

Deeply annoyed now, Janus took a moment to look around himself. This was not a normal spaceship; no windows, for one, and it was laid out in levels around a translucent column at the very center. His mismatched eyes followed the center rotor up and down, his mind almost placing it…

Something clumsily rose up from the deck with a clatter, causing Janus to summon his crook with a yell.

Only…the object that dropped into his hand wasn’t smooth wood, but a slender metal instrument just barely longer than his hand. A…sonic screwdriver? What the actual heck?

Well. It was what he had.

“Get back!” He pointed the instrument at the…figure…who still slowly climbed to its feet. It was an android or robot of some sort; humanoid, and the same kind of weirdly familiar as the ship.

“Janus?” the robot said, tilting its head.

Janus froze, all the scales standing up on his body. That was…that was Patton’s voice. Flat, mechanical, but unmistakable.

After all, Patton was the only Side who consistently called Janus by name.

“Patton?” Janus whispered.

“Oh, that was so weird-feeling! Thank goodness I’m not all by myself,” Robot-Patton said, putting a hand over his…well, where his heart should have been…in obvious relief. “But why are we both suddenly on the TARDIS?”

Janus drew in a sharp breath.

Of course, he should have recognized the stupid time rotor immediately. He’d never admit it to any of them, but he was as much of a Doctor Who nerd as Logan or Roman, sometimes going so far as to spy on them when they argued over episodes together.

To learn their arguing styles, of course.

Not because he had any desire to join those discussions.

And now, looking at Patton with a sinking feeling in his stomach, Janus deduced exactly what he was: a Mondasian Cyberman. They were older and cruder in design than the reboot versions…no wonder he hadn’t put a finger on it right away.

That wasn’t really the issue.

“REMUS!” Janus shouted again, more angrily this time. Bad enough his pleasant evening of solitude had been interrupted by…whatever this was. But putting the sweetest, most emotional Side into a canonically unemotional shell, a robot?

That was cruel. That was insulting.

It was too far, even for Remus.

“Janus, is everything okay?” Patton asked, coming closer. Janus shivered at the sound of that warm voice coming from a blank metallic face with empty eyes.

“Do you…feel all right?” Janus said in a hesitant voice.

“I’m a little chilly, but otherwise I’m in ship shape!” the other quipped, giggling. “Get it? Cause we’re on a ship?”

Is it…is it possible that he doesn’t know?

“Hilarious,” Janus deadpanned, but inside his thoughts spun.

He sensed they were in a dream construct within the Imagination, which meant this had to be Remus’s doing. Remus, who reveled in gore, despair, disturbing imagery, angst, and who was in charge of Thomas’s nightmares.

Remus could…and would, given the chance…recreate the experience of being a Cyberman down to the Last. Grim. Detail.

Maybe he hadn’t meant to ensnare Patton specifically to fill this role…Remus didn’t generally pull other Sides in for nightmares, come to think of it…but meanwhile, Janus didn’t want to find out what this might do to Patton’s head.

Worse, it was becoming clear that Patton was somehow oblivious to the state of his own body; he’d used his metallic hands to clutch at his metallic chest and found nothing wrong with either. He couldn’t hear the electronic rasp in his own voice, or the heavy clanging of his steps on the grated floor.

Should Janus say something?

Would Patton believe him if he did?

Ever since Thomas’s near mental breakdown after the disastrous wedding, Patton and Janus had orbited around each other in a state of tenuous truce. They talked now, sometimes, and those talks didn’t always end in arguments. Patton began to leave space for him by Thomas’s blinds when he was called up, and he…and by extension Thomas…occasionally actually sought his input.

But Janus, well.

Janus was still a liar.

The others still called him Deceit, either by accident (Logan) or out of spite (Virgil). Then there was Roman, who invented a colorful, wounding ego-jab for him every day, and Remus, whose fond nicknames tended to double as sex jokes.

Having no other real allies in the mindscape, Janus really, really didn’t want to screw up his tenuous alliance with Patton. Why sabotage his figurative “seat at the table” over one of Remus’s stupid nightmares?

Patton would assume Janus was slipping back into his old ways, lying just because he could, and Janus would never be able to prove otherwise. And later Patton would make that sour, pinched face he always made when he was disappointed, the one that made Janus want to crawl into a hole…

So.

Best to keep his observations close to the chest, for now.

“Do you have any idea what we’re doing here?” Janus asked, striding to the center console. True to dream logic, the controls made no sense and simultaneously made perfect sense.

Patton shrugged; a strange, clanky motion of his shoulders.

Janus sighed. “Although Remus has dragged me into dreams before, even he generally understands the concept of consent.” He casually flapped a hand. “And he always leaves you ‘light sides’ alone.”

“Honestly, this doesn’t feel like a nightmare to me,” Patton said, nearly making Janus choke. The Cyberman clanked over to stand by the console.

“It’s too clean,” Patton added. “Roman let me glimpse Remus’s side of the Imagination once, not long after he showed himself to Thomas, and it was…”

Patton trailed off.

“Fragmented? Chaotic? Disturbing?” Janus supplied.

“Sure, we’ll go with that,” Patton said quietly. “This,” he waved a hand around, “feels more like Roman’s work.”

“I suppose you would know.” Janus ran a thoughtful thumb over his face, tracing the ridge that ran from the corner of his mouth to his ear.

“And I would almost have to agree,” he added slowly. “If this was a nightmare, surely something ghastly would have happened by now. But my being pulled into one of Roman’s creations makes even less sense. He literally cannot stand me.”

“Maybe this is one of those dreams Thomas has sometimes after binge watching a show?” Patton suggested. “When there’s enough material in short term memory that the twins don’t get much input? Did Thomas binge a season of Doctor Who yesterday or something?”

And to think the others still view you as stupid, or slow-witted.

Janus bit back a smile.

“It’s a good theory, Patton, but no,” he said. “Thomas hasn’t really binged on much of anything lately.”

Patton ducked his head.

“You don’t…you don’t have to rub it in, you know,” he said lowly, the metallic rasp grating on Janus’s ears. “You and Logan have both made it pretty clear that I’ve been too strict with Thomas’s time.”

Janus fought to keep his expression neutral, but his stomach twisted.

Damn it.

Leave it to Patton to find guilt where none was meant. Even if Janus claimed he hadn’t meant it like that, Patton would probably not believe him.

Patton tilted his metal head as he examined Janus’s face.

“Did you know you have a mustache now? And a little goatee?”

“I have a what?” Janus felt at his face and groaned, his gloved fingers tugging at hair that most certainly did not belong on his face; with the scales, it probably looked hideous.

His entire outfit had altered in subtle ways, he realized. His usual plum tunic and trousers were now a brown suit and waistcoat ensemble, crossed with yellow pinstripes, with a black collared undershirt. A brown, knee-length suit jacket replaced his caplet, with subtle gold trimming. His yellow gloves were unchanged, thank goodness, and his hat…?

His hands flew up to his head and found something perched over his hair, sitting at an angle. Janus yanked down a screen at the console and stared. His beloved bowler had shrunk into a tiny, flat, rakish thing with a wide brim, festooned with a cluster of yellow rosebuds and black beads.

“What on earth, Remus?” he grumbled, turning his head from side to side. Well, if he had to be honest, pinstripes and a hatinator weren’t a terrible look.

“Well, if we’re on a TARDIS, I guess you’re supposed to be the Doctor,” Patton pointed out. “Which would make me your companion.”

Janus stroked his goatee and examined their surroundings in more detail. But am I a Doctor? he wondered. And if so, which one?

And whose TARDIS is this?

Because while it was clear they were on a TARDIS…what other class of spaceship had a time rotor?…he wasn’t almost certain this was not the TARDIS.

Every corner of the Doctor’s ship, no matter which face it belonged to, tended to overflow with bright, shiny, eclectic whimsy. By contrast, this one was plain, stark, with exposed metal beams and sharp angles.

Too dark, too full of shadows.

An awful suspicion rose up in his mind.

He crossed to one of the bookshelves, ignoring Patton’s soft inquiry, and his jaw clenched. There was the Necronomicon, shelved between the Liber Inducens in Evangelium Aeternum and The Black Scrolls of Rassilon, Book of Vile and its Black Appendix, The Ambuehl Lores and the Insidium of Astrolabus.

Janus finally looked at the sonic device he’d been holding all this time; seeing now that it wasn’t a screwdriver at all, and thanked every god he knew that he hadn’t tried to use it on Patton earlier.

It was a sonic laser.

Once again, even in a stupid, nonsensical dream, Janus had been cast as the villain.

His fist had collided with the bookshelf before he even realized he was moving, books falling to the floor. He punched it again, and again, until a cool rigid hand closed around his wrist and yanked him back.

“Janus, Janus, stop!” Patton yelled in his ear.

Janus wrenched his arm away and stalked back to the console, running gloved fingers over his scales, pushing them up and smoothing them down. The familiar sensation grounded him.

“You were right, Patton,” he threw over his shoulder. “This is definitely one of Roman’s dreams, and he definitely fucking hates me.”

Patton’s heavy footsteps clattered behind him.

“Language. And how do you know that,” he asked. “…Doctor?”

Janus whirled, lips curled in a snarl.

“I am not the Doctor, Patton, and we are not on the TARDIS.” He spread his arms to encompass them both, gesturing to the dimly lit spaceship. “Look around. Look at me!”

He turned, slowly, and eyed his mustached visage in the dark view screen.

“Clearly, I am the Master.”

Chapter 4- Nightmare in Silver

“You think he knows what he’s doing?”

“I’m not sure I’d go that far.”

Patton rested his arms against the console and sighed.

Once again, someone I care about is upset, and I don’t know what to do. I guess I should be used to it by now.

It didn’t help that it was so cold in this TARDIS. He folded his arms around his middle, which felt strange and heavy, to combat the chill that seemed to have settled deep in his bones.

Janus stalked past again, grumbling to himself.

“Of course the Prince would pull me into one of his little ‘adventures’ without my consent. He probably needed an antagonist. And naturally the slippery snake would have been the first person to come to mind!”

Patton opened his mouth…though he had no idea what he was going to say…but Janus drowned him out.

“Come on, Roman!” he shouted, throwing his yellow-clad hands up. “You’ve had your fun. Yes, I’m evil, I’m the villain, I’m the bad guy, blah blah. Let’s have our epic confrontation or whatever nonsense you have planned, as I would very much like to get back to my reading sometime tonight.”

Silence.

Patton didn’t know what Janus was expecting.

“Look, maybe we should just play along for now?” Patton said aloud, wincing when Janus turned his murderous expression on him. The deceptive Side had such deep, cutting golden eyes, the human one so much darker than the other…cynical eyes that were, ironically, almost impossible to lie to.

They’d see straight through it.

“It takes a liar to know a liar.”

The glare quickly softened, though, which in Patton’s opinion said a lot about how far Janus had come.

“And how do you propossse we ‘play along’?” Janus said, hissing his s’s in frustration.

“Well, we’ve kinda decided this is Roman’s dream, right? And since we’re in his part of the Imagination, we know he won’t let anything bad happen to us…”

Patton trailed off at Janus’s pained expression, reminded of just how badly Janus and Roman’s last encounter had gone.

“What are you, a middle school librarian?”

“Thank god you don’t have a mustache.”

And I just stood there and did nothing…no, I can’t dwell on that right now. Patton shook himself out of the memory.

It was surprisingly easy; even his emotions felt a little heavy and muted. He supposed he wasn’t used to being in a dreamscape; unlike Roman, who played in them all the time.

I know Roman, Patton reasoned. He might hold a grudge for a while, but he wouldn’t actually be out to hurt Janus.

Right?

“So, if we’re on a time ship, on some kind of adventure leading up to a confrontation like you said, the first thing we’d have to do is figure out where we need to go,” Patton finished, shrugging.

Janus pursed his lips…which looked downright weird with a mustache and goatee, almost making Patton giggle…and began pushing buttons on the console.

“You are definitely incorrect, Patton,” he said, pulling up another screen and flipping a few switches. “If I have been cast as the villain in this ridiculous charade, that means Roman is likely prancing around as the Doctor right now, on the proper TARDIS. Which, as the Doctor’s nemesis, I should be able to contact…ha!”

The screen burst into static.

“Doctor, oh Doctor, do you read me?” Janus crooned, and if Patton hadn’t known just how angry he was in that moment…well, he would have never known.

Janus had tucked it away entirely, in half a second's time.

That’s the scary thing about him, Patton realized uneasily. He’s smart, nearly as smart as Logan. Smart enough to run circles around me, that’s for sure. And he’s easily as good an actor as Roman.

Those attributes, combined with his naturally manipulative nature, made it difficult to trust him.

Patton was trying.

He’d been trying since the wedding, and well, since everything else that had happened. (Patton still cringed when Thomas encountered even a picture of a frog.) He’d done a lot of thinking and growing that day (in more ways than one!), and he’d come to a disturbing, but inevitable conclusion.

Janus wasn’t evil.

He never had been.

Just like Virgil had never been evil. Mean, sure; and sarcastic, and spiteful…but at his core, Virgil had wanted what was best for Thomas.

They all did.

And then there was the uncomfortable corollary to that: Patton, despite his best efforts, despite his core Purpose…Patton wasn’t entirely and automatically good.

Two weeks ago, Janus had proven beyond a doubt that Thomas needed him…ruthlessly, cuttingly, but no one could say he hadn’t made his point. It had been Patton who’d inadvertently pushed Thomas to the brink of a breakdown, and Janus who had to pull them all back.

Despite Patton’s unease, and the little voice in his head telling him that Deceit couldn’t be trusted, could never truly be trusted because it was in his nature to deceive…Patton remembered how they’d pushed Virgil so hard he decided to duck out, and how much of a tragedy that could have been if they hadn’t all intervened to bring him back.

With a pang of guilt, he pictured Thomas lying on the floor, crushed under the metaphorical weight of everything Patton needed him to do to keep from being a bad person…

He would not make those mistakes again.

If Virgil could learn to work with them instead of against them, so could Janus. If Patton could learn to recognize when his own Purpose did more harm than good, so could Janus.

Patton had to believe that.

He’d made too many mistakes lately to believe otherwise.

The screen in Janus’s hands cleared to reveal…

“What? Logan??” Janus exclaimed, as a scream echoed somewhere in the background.

“D—Janus?” Logan countered, then looked over his shoulder. “Roman, for the love of Archimedes, will you stop shrieking? I cannot hear.”

The screaming cut off and Roman’s fuming face squished into the frame with Logan.

“Deceit! I should have known you would show up to ruin this!” he managed to shout before Logan shoved him away.

“Ruin…I’m sorry, what?” Janus glanced at Patton, looking honestly confused. “Is he roleplaying right now? We assumed this scenario was Roman’s creation.”

Onscreen, Logan placed his whole hand against Roman’s mouth to prevent him from interrupting.

“It is. But to my understanding, it was only supposed to involve myself and Roman, and…wait. You said ’we’.” Logan peered around. “Who else is with you?”

Patton started to wave, but his view was blocked by Janus bending close to the screen to whisper something. Suspicion flared in Patton’s stomach; old, familiar, but after the talk he’d just given himself, he purposefully pushed it down.

I won’t assume he’s being shifty unless he actually gives me a reason to.

Lifting his chin, he crept forward until he was next to Janus’s shoulder.

“Hey, Logan,” he said brightly, waving.

“Ah…hello, Patton,” Logan squeaked after a moment, his eyes still wide.

“Wait, Patton’s there? With the snake?” Roman’s voice yelled from the background, and then there was Roman’s face again.

“Patton?” Roman said, narrowing his eyes. “But why are you—?”

Both faces disappeared for a moment as Logan yanked Roman out of frame. Patton thought he heard a rapid, hushed conversation. He glanced at Janus, who only shrugged, looking at puzzled as Patton felt.

Roman’s face reappeared, solemn and deeply annoyed.

“Patton,” he said, and hesitated. “D—Janus. You two…well, you’re not supposed to be here.”

“Very reassuring,” Janus quipped.

“This was only supposed to be a two-person adventure: Doctor plus companion. I have no idea why the Imagination brought you both in as well; I certainly didn’t tell it to.”

“Aw, that’s okay, kiddo,” Patton started gently. “It’s not your fault—”

“Oh, sweetie.” Janus folded his arms. “I’m sorry, but that’s bull. Putting me in the Master’s shoes? Are we seriously going to pretend the Side who unashamedly hates me had nothing to do with that?”

“I didn’t!” Roman argued, his voice going high. “You really think I wanted you here, in any capacity?”

“Deceit…er, Janus, you are being unnecessarily antagonistic, and as such, unhelpful,” Logan cut in with his low, reassuring voice. “But Roman, it might behoove us to consider the role of subconscious influence. You may not have intended to pull the others in, and yet here they are.”

Roman looked at Logan, aghast, and Patton almost flinched at the raw hurt in his caramel eyes. The creative Side backed out of frame.

“So you’re on his side, too,” his voice said quietly. “Is that how it is?”

“I am not on anyone’s side,” Logan argued, raising his hands. “We are all currently in this situation together, and as such—”

Whatever he’d been about to say was cut off by another garbled transmission, taking over the screen and blocking out Logan’s face with crackly, purple static. A gray, snarling face flashed out of the haze, making Patton shriek in surprise and even Janus took a step back.

Then it was gone, dissolving back to static…and the sound of someone laughing filled the connection.

“Hellooooo, nurse,” a familiar sing-song voice crooned. “Did you miss me?”

Chapter 5- The Long Game

“You can’t just read the guide book, you’ve got to throw yourself in. Eat the food, use the wrong verbs, get charged double and end up kissing complete strangers. Or is that just me?”

Logan sighed.

He knew that voice; they all did. Even Thomas, unfortunately.

“Remus,” Roman hissed.

The mustached Side filled the screen, grinning madly. “Boo!”

“Get out of my scenario,” Roman said, his eyes flashing. “If you know what’s good for you.”

“Your scenario?” Remus echoed, faux-outrage in his expression. “Yours? The Dream Palace is my domain, too, brother, whether you like it or not.” He leaned closer, letting his nostrils and a single radioactive green eye fill the screen. “Did you really think you could keep me out?”

Roman made a sound of disgust deep in his throat.

“Am I to assume, then, that you are responsible for bringing in the other Sides?” Logan asked, careful to keep his voice even. Remus thrived on getting a rise out of people.

“Of course he is!” Roman snapped, throwing up his hands. “He loves to ruin things, especially my things.”

“Now why would having the others here ruin anything, brother?” Remus asked in a sickly sweet voice, propping his head on his hand. “Unless you intended for this nighttime romp between you and Logan to be private?”

Roman sputtered and glanced at Logan, red-faced, as Remus giggled.

“It was meant to be so, yes,” Logan supplied, unsure why Remus would find that funny…or why Roman would find it embarrassing.

“As amusing as this all is—” Janus’s crooning voice cut through the speaker.

“Great. You’re still here, snake?” Roman snarked, his arms folded around himself.

“We’re all listening, kiddo,” Patton’s metallic voice said.

Roman’s lips always curl into a pout when he is angry, Logan thought, eyeing him without turning his head, and he gets a little wrinkle between his eyebrows. Why…why am I noticing such things all of a sudden?

Maybe it was the stress, or the unfamiliar environment.

Or maybe it was the Rose Tyler outfit.

That skirt ought to be illegal.

Logan deliberately focused on the screen, his cheeks warm.

“So this is kinda new,” Patton went on, “all of us actually talking—”

“If Remus is responsible,” Janus cut in again, “then perhaps he would be so kind as to explain the objective of this late night group therapy session?”

Despite the biting sarcasm, Logan did appreciate Janus’s insistence that they get to the point, even if it did mean talking over Patton…

Speaking of, why would Remus have paired Patton with Janus?

Surely he should have grouped Patton with Logan and Roman, and put Virgil with Janus? Or…maybe not, given how Virgil hisses if Janus so much as enters the same room.

Ugh. Interpersonal drama. Logan was thoroughly sick of trying to keep track of who carried a grudge against whom, especially when it seemed to change from day to day.

And on top of that, why would Remus make Patton a Cyberman? None of these decisions make any sense…

“Right?” Roman agreed softly next to him, and Logan realized he’d said that last bit out loud.

“If anything, I should have been the unfeeling killer robot,” Logan murmured.

“You don’t give yourself enough credit, Specs.” Roman shot him a strange look, both warm and troubled. “And frankly I don’t give a stinky rat’s ass about my stinky rat brother’s sick thought process. What I want to know is why Deceit doesn’t want us to mention it around Patton?”

Logan, who was still mentally stuck on rodents and donkeys…Roman’s metaphors were always something else…shook his head slightly.

“There’s no logical way Patton is unaware of his condition,” Logan pointed out. “So I can only guess he wishes to protect Patton’s feelings on the matter, by not allowing us to talk about it in front of him.” He shrugged when Roman’s frown deepened. “Those two have been getting along much better these last few weeks.”

“I think you’re giving the snake too much credit,” Roman muttered. “Even after he impersonated you, Logan? C’mon. It has to be something else.”

Logan bit back a sigh.

He doesn’t understand, he thought guiltily. Because he doesn’t know what really happened…

“This is unacceptable, Deceit,” Logan snapped, flinging the crook away from his body. “I was in the middle of a discussion—”

“He won’t listen to you,” Deceit had said, and there was no sarcasm or snark in his voice.

“Patton asked for my opinion!”

“And he dismissed you from the conversation the moment that opinion went against his preconceived notions!” Deceit snapped back.

Silence.

Logan could hear the others still talking, out in the real world…without him…as the misty dregs of subconscious curled around their feet.

“You tricked him.” Logan folded his arms. “He was scared and off balance and you gave him an out.”

“I didn’t make him take it!”

Deceit sighed, and pinched the bridge of his nose.

“Logan. You know he is wrong on this. You know what this is doing to Thomas. His unquestioning, black-and-white, juvenile morality; it’s not working anymore. Thomas needs to grow up, and Patton is not letting him.”

Logan bit his lip.

“Logan.” Deceit moved closer, dismissing his crook into mist and setting both gloved hands on Logan’s shoulders. Logan stiffened.

“Logic. Please. I am…no good at this.” Deceit dropped his head, his hat obscuring his eyes. “I operate through deceit because that is the only way I can make them acknowledge me.”

“They don’t acknowledge you because you operate through deceit,” Logan pointed out.

“A perfect catch 22.” Deceit let out a bitter laugh. “But a snake cannot change its scales and I don’t…I have tried everything I know. I cannot fix this from the shadows. I am out of ideas.”

A strange thought entered Logan’s mind.

“You care. You care what happens to Thomas.”

Deceit looked up, his mismatched eyes glittering with stinging intensity. “I am the literal representation of selfishness. Why the hell else would I go to all this trouble if I didn’t care?”

“Well…” Logan trailed off, troubled.

He’d let the others get to him, he realized in that moment. He’d let Roman get to him, with his talk of evil and Dark Sides and how they were always trying to tempt Thomas off the right path.

But…they were all part of Thomas, even the so-called “dark sides”.

Of course they wanted what was best for him…well, what Remus wanted at any given moment was debatable…even if they didn’t always go about it in the healthiest of ways.

Deceit had laughed then, high pitched and bitter.

“Really? Really? Even you think so low of me?”

“You are manipulating me right now.” Logan frowned. “You are using my concern for Thomas to make me trust you.”

“Yes! I am!” Deceit got in his face, fangs flashing. “I am a manipulative bastard because that is the lens through which my Source perceives me. But that doesn’t matter because you, Logic; you see through me, always have. And you know perfectly well that logically, any objection you have to my personality or my methods does not change the fact that I. Am. Right.”

He punctuated each word with a poke to Logan’s chest.

“Deceit—” Logan started.

“Janus.”

“What?”

Deceit sighed. “My name. My…real name. It’s Janus.”

Logan blinked. He knew the mythology, of course: Janus, keeper of doorways and thresholds, looking simultaneously to the past and future. Two faces. Seeing things from every angle.

Self-preservation.

“It suits you,” Logan said quietly.

Tension bled out of Janus’s shoulders, a stiffness Logan hadn’t even realized was there until it was gone.

“Thank you.”

“Why am I here…Janus?” Logan asked, glancing away. “What do you need from me?”

Janus looked at him intently.

“Let me speak to them as you.”

Logan raised an eyebrow, and Janus sighed, waving a hand.

“I know, I know, more deceit, more lies, but—”

“No, it’s…” Logan pressed his lips together. “You already pointed it out. They don’t listen to me, either.”

The bitter twist that accompanied those words was becoming an all too familiar sensation in Logan’s chest.

Janus snorted.

“Oh, they do. Eventually. They heeded your advice on how to deal with Remus.”

Logan shrugged uncomfortably.

“Look,” Janus added, “honest people know how to tell the truth, but liars…” he smirked, not especially nicely. “We know how to wield the truth to accomplish an end. I can pull Thomas and the others out of this rut, but they have to be receptive to my tugging on the reins.”

Logan pursed his lips.

“You won’t fool them. If you recall, you tried to impersonate me once already and barely lasted two minutes.”

“I didn’t have your blessing.”

Janus fixed Logan with his intense mismatched eyes again, and held out a hand.

Logan stared at it, torn.

This was Deceit, the master liar: Thomas’s entire capacity for deception condensed into a single, snake-faced Side. How could Logan possibly trust him to not make things worse, after all the falsehoods, the impersonations, how he’d manipulated them all in one way or another to get his way?

But…as much as Logan, personally, didn’t understand why that callback had been so important to Thomas…he could not dismiss the fallout Thomas had suffered as a result of missing it. The decision to attend the wedding had turned out to be a bad one.

Patton had been wrong to insist upon it over Janus’s objections, and over Roman’s.

Those were just the facts.

Janus sighed.

“I’ll unmask myself when an opportunity arises, if that would help,” he offered, and to Logan’s shock, slowly tugged off a glove. “I won’t…I won’t let it go on as long as it did with Patton.”

He offered his now bare hand to Logan again.

Out in the real world, Logan could hear Patton’s increasingly desperate and ridiculous responses to Thomas’s and Roman’s questions, and winced. Janus did the same.

“Please,” was all he said.

Logan sighed…it really couldn’t get any worse, could it?…and shook Janus’s hand.

In his TARDIS, Logan let out the sigh he was holding back.

He might have personal, concrete evidence that Janus wasn’t evil, but he also knew Janus had wounded Roman, badly, that day. The creative Side was simply not currently capable of viewing any situation involving Janus with any sort of objectivity.

Passionate, sensitive people like Roman tended to have an unfortunate habit of hanging onto grudges.

As Logic, Logan needed to remember that.

“Oh, all right,” Remus said, his voice crackling over the connection. “Since you’re all here—”

“Actually, Remus, we’re not all here,” Patton’s voice pointed out. “You all know perfectly well who we’re missing; we’ve done this before.”

Logan’s eyes widened. “‘Where is Anxiety?’” he quoted.

“You mean Tickle Me Emo isn’t with one of you?” Remus asked, looking delighted. “Oh dear, oh dear. Is he lost?”

“I mean, TARDISes are huge,” Roman pointed out. “He could be somewhere on one of our ships.” His voice dropped again. “I’ll bet Deceit stashed him away, because we all know how he hates Virgil.”

“Excuse you,” Janus’s voice interrupted, annoyed. “It is Virgil who hates me, not the other way around.”

“Let’s both scan our ships,” Logan suggested, hoping to head off an argument. Honestly, if Roman and Janus didn’t stop picking fights with one another, he was going to lose his marbles.

The scans pulled up nothing.

“Oh well,” Remus said with a shrug. “Guess the emo gets to miss out.”

Janus grumbled something that sounded suspiciously like “lucky”.

“All right, here’s what’s going to happen.” Remus leaned close to the screen. “I’ve crash landed on a lovely snowbound planet that’s crawling with psychotic tin cans who like to roll around yelling ‘exterminate’.”

“Daleks? A snowbound planet, so not Skarro, but where else…” Logan narrowed his eyes.

“He’s on the Dalek asylum,” Roman said lowly. “That was one of the episodes I had in mind when I plotted this adventure.”

“Very good, brother.” Remus clapped his hands. “And up there in orbit is a ship full of people who’d really like to blow up the whole planet. Oh, woe is me, whatever shall I—”

“Save it,” Roman snapped. “You’d probably enjoy getting blown up.”

“Hmm, true.” Remus’s green eyes sharpened. “Think of the mess! Little bits of intestines floating through space, long pink ropey—”

“Or?” Logan interjected, before Remus gave Patton nightmares.

“Or you have to come rescue me!” Remus’s teeth flashed as he grinned. “Because otherwise it’s nighty-night for me and all the other aliens in the asylum.”

There was a beat of silence.

“As terrible as that sounds,” Janus drawled, sounding anything but worried, “given that none of this is real, and at least one of us would very much rather not be here at all…why exactly should your plight concern us?”

Logan secretly agreed, but felt his stomach clench when he glanced at Roman’s troubled face. None of this was real…right? Would something concretely bad happen to Remus if the planet he inhabited was blown up?

Surely not.

This was only a dream. Perhaps, then, Roman was merely upset that his twin had usurped his adventure for the night?

“Also.” Remus buffed his fingernails. “You should know that the Imagination will only release us if we complete the objective. In other words,” and he sneered, purple-shadowed eyes glittering, “we’re all stuck in this scenario until we’re all reunited.”

Remus giggled as Logan exchanged a shocked look with Roman.

“I don’t believe you. This was my dream,” Roman said darkly. “And I’ve just about had enough of all this!”

He stepped back and snapped his fingers with a flourish. Frowning, he did it again, and again, his face growing paler with each try.

“Roman, what—” Logan started.

“I can’t end it,” Roman whispered, still snapping. “He’s right. He’s…he’s sealed off the dream’s boundaries somehow. Remus!”

This he roared at the screen.

“Keeping Thomas trapped in a dream state is going too far, Remus!” he yelled. “I don’t care what kind of demented game you want to play with us, but we don’t bring Thomas into it.”

“Oh, you think I created an unbreakable dreamscape?” Remus snapped. “You let the Imagination have too much reign, my dear brother, and now neither of us have the power to end the dream ourselves. I estimate we have about ten hours before Thomas wakes up.”

For a moment, all Logan could hear was the soft whoosh of the time rotor, and Roman’s shallow, angry breathing at his shoulder.

“So I suggest you all pilot your ships to these coordinates,” Remus added, and a series of numbers and strange symbols flashed up on one of the smaller console screens. “And get started.”

The main screen blipped, and Remus’s face was replaced by an expressionless Cyberman and a snake-faced Side who looked extremely pale under his scales.

“Well,” Logan stated. “This is a problem.”

Chapter 6- Asylum of the Daleks

“You’re going to fire me at a planet? That’s your plan? I get fired at a planet and expected to fix it?”

“In fairness, that is slightly your M.O.”

“Don’t be fair to the Daleks when they’re firing me at a planet.”

The familiar wheeze of the TARDIS materializing filled Roman’s ears as he waited by the doors. Logan joined him a moment later.

“Ready?” he asked, smoothing a hand over his cravat.

He looks good as the Doctor, Roman thought, eying the slimming black and navy, the graceful arc that hand made as it adjusted a pair of glasses…

He shook himself out of his distraction. “Let’s do this, nerd.”

Logan opened the doors and the two stepped out…not onto the asylum, but onto a spaceship. Shiny copper terraces lined the vast walls in curving rows, leading the eye up to a domed ceiling with a clear view of black, star-studded space. Like a huge amphitheater, or stadium. Even Roman had to admit, the Imagination had really outdone itself on the realism.

Of course, given that the ship was filled with hundreds upon hundreds of Daleks calling for violence…realism wasn’t exactly comforting at the moment.

“Surprise, surprise, I don’t see my stupid brother,” Roman commented over the dull roar of the crowd.

“No. But I recognize where we are.” Logan waved a hand. “You were right about Remus’s location; this ship is from the episode ‘Asylum of the Daleks’, in Season 7. If we are following the basic plotline, Remus is likely somewhere down on the planet below, and we will be sent to him in due course. However…I am curious as to why all the other aliens are here.”

Roman looked around again, seeing that Logan was right. Daleks formed the majority of the crowd, but he also spotted Zygons, Sontarans, Silurians, other Cybermen, Ice Warriors…and quite a few aliens from older seasons he couldn’t remember the names of.

(Logan probably could.)

A second TARDIS materialized near their familiar blue box: plain, gray; a squat column of a ship. Janus emerged first, a silver instrument gripped in one gloved hand, followed by an old-school Cyberman…Patton. Roman frowned. Seeing that metal…being…and having to remember it was actually his friend was going to be difficult now that there wasn’t a screen separating them.

“Nice work, Roman,” Janus said, sidling up next to him and faux-clapping his hands. “A ship full of aliens who want us dead; always an excellent starting point for an adventure.”

“This is how the episode starts, Mr. Oh-I’m-Such-an-Expert-in-Doctor-Who,” Roman retorted. “Accuracy is important.”

“But this isn’t accurate,” Logan pointed out. “There should only be Daleks here.”

Roman folded his arms, stung.

Damn Logan and his damned need to be right all the time.

“I…well, I didn’t model this adventure after just one particular episode,” Roman admitted. “I wanted it to be a challenge, and it wouldn’t be if Logan and I already knew the ending. So no, I can’t exactly explain why all the other aliens are here, okay?”

Logan sighed.

“I was not criticizing you, Roman,” he said in a gentler voice. “As this has apparently become as much Remus’s and the Imagination’s handiwork as it is yours, it would be unreasonable to expect you to know what comes next.”

“THE DOCTOR AND THE MASTER WILL APPROACH THE SUPREME DALEK,” a grating robotic voice boomed across the ship, making them all whip around. A large white Dalek with an antenna on its shell loomed on a raised stage near the center of the amphitheater.

“They were expecting me, too?” Janus raised an eyebrow. “Interesting.”

The lights on the Dalek’s head flashed as it spoke again.

“THE DOCTOR AND THE MASTER WILL APPROACH WITH THEIR COMPANIONS.”

The four Sides exchanged a glance, and weaved through the assembled Daleks to the raised stage. The White Supreme Dalek was not the only occupant; it was flanked by an Ice Warrior, an Emojibot (which made Patton giggle), and…

“Look, a Janus,” Roman chortled, nudging the snake-faced Side in the ribs and pointing out the two-faced alien.

“You are all nerds and my logo is a two-headed snake,” Janus complained, rolling his eyes. “I literally do not know how all of you missed that obvious clue to my name.”

“DOCTOR,” the White Dalek said as they climbed the dais. “MASTER. WHAT DO YOU KNOW OF THE DALEK ASYLUM?”

“I’m just impressed my rat-faced brother wasn’t lying about his location,” Roman grumbled, and sputtered when Logan placed a hand over his mouth.

“According to legend,” Logan said, “you have a dumping ground, a planet where you lock up all the Daleks that go wrong.”

“The battle-scarred, the insane. The ones even you can’t control,” Janus clarified. His voice dropped to a hiss. “No wonder they ssstuck Remus there.”

Roman covered his mouth to keep from snorting.

The snake would not make him laugh.

“CORRECT.” The Dalek pushed a button and a hole opened in the middle of the floor. A snow-covered planet lay below them, pristine from this high up.

“Ooh, that’s,” Patton started, and let out a metallic gulp. “That’s quite a drop. Do we, ah, have to go down the same way? Cause I remember that part, and—”

“How many Daleks are down there?” Logan asked.

“A COUNT HAS NOT BEEN MADE,” the white Dalek said.

“Millions, certainly,” a new voice chimed in. The tall, robed, dark-skinned Janus stepped forward, their front face addressing them. “But they will not be your only concern. The population of the planet consists of more than just Daleks.”

Roman exchanged a suspicious glance with Logan. This wasn’t in the episode. This is new.

“What do you mean?” Janus, their Janus, asked.

The alien Janus turned to a nearby monitor, pulling up some information. The backward-facing face continued to address them.

“Some time ago, the Daleks began noticing a curious phenomenon,” they said. “Random people, from all different races and species, started turning up on various planets in this quadrant of space, including the asylum. No ships, no technology, and no knowledge of how they’d gotten there. At first the imprisoned Daleks on the asylum simply killed them off as they appeared—”

Patton visibly winced, even with his metal body, and Logan’s eyes grew flinty.

“—but the new arrivals eventually became too many to exterminate,” the alien Janus went on, unconcerned. “By now we suspect the planet has a population of over a billion, far too many for its automated systems to handle.”

They turned their forward face to the four again.

“THE ASYLUM IS COMPROMISED,” the Dalek Supreme proclaimed. “IT MUST BE CLEANSED.”

“Hang on, you’re still going to blow the whole planet up?” Roman protested. “A billion people?”

“To be fair, that is what they did in the original episode,” Logan pointed out quietly.

“But that was just Daleks!”

Janus rolled his eyes. “Ah, so genocide is fine when it’s only the evil aliens getting blown up?”

“You know, somehow I’m not surprised to hear you defending the bad guys!” Roman snapped.

“That is enough!” Patton snapped in his robotic voice, stepping between them and raising both his hands. Laser pistols popped out of both of them, making both Roman and Janus step back in alarm.

After a tense moment, Patton lowered his arms again; the guns clicked and vanished into their casings.

“Uh, sorry kiddos, I don’t know what came over me,” he said in a sheepish, more Patton-y voice. “Can we please not fight? It…it kinda makes me feel weird and jittery when you do.”

Roman stared at Patton’s blank Cyberman face and armored Cyberman body and swallowed, hard.

Their Patton would never deliberately aim a gun at anyone, let alone his family. But Cybermen were created to eliminate…or rather, delete…anyone who got in their way.

Did Patton even realize what he’d almost done?

What would happen, if and when he was forced to confront the reality of his body in this realm? What if he didn’t figure it out until he accidentally did something terrible? It wouldn’t be real, of course, but to Patton…that wouldn’t matter.

If his Cyberman programming forced or tricked him into hurting someone, the guilt of it would devastate him.

All I wanted to do was take Logan on an adventure, Roman thought bitterly. A fun little dream adventure where he could play one of his heroes. Was that too much to ask, Imagination?

He folded his arms and glared around the Dalek ship, anywhere but at his fellow Sides.

Whatever the hell this has turned into, I want no part of it anymore.

“In order for us to destroy the planet, we will need you to disable the planet’s forcefield—” The alien Janus started, but Logan held up a finger.

“Excuse you,” he said sharply. “We have not agreed to do anything, least of all help you murder a billion people whose only crime is to have accidentally turned up in your prison. Have you even attempted to solve that mystery?"

"And why do you care what happens down there?" Roman added, sneering. "If the insane Daleks are armed—”

“DALEKS ARE ALWAYS ARMED,” the white Dalek proclaimed.

“—then why can’t they defend themselves?” Logan finished, shooting Roman a questioning glance.

Roman huffed, and looked away.

“At first they did,” the Janus explained. “But as I said, the automated systems cannot keep up with the influx. Wars are being fought over food and other resources as we speak. A starliner crashed on the surface mere days ago, and—”

“Ah,” Logan said slowly. “You’re afraid, with all the shifting alliances and new activity, that the mad Daleks will escape in the confusion.”

“We do not know who or what is behind the influx,” the Janus said. “But eventually, they will start coming with ships, or they will build them on the surface, or reach out to those who could attempt a rescue.”

“‘If sssomeone can get in, everything can get out’,” their Janus quoted darkly.

The other Janus nodded. “Even the Daleks agree, their mad brethren cannot be allowed to escape. We, of this assembly—”

They waved to the assembled crowd of aliens, who observed in eerie silence.

“—have decided that one planet must be sacrificed for the greater good of the universe.”

Roman slowly and deliberately drew his sword (which the Imagination had kindly left as part of his outfit). It rasped as it emerged, the sound hair-raising in the sudden lull.

Instantly every Dalek gunstick and alien weapon on the ship was primed and pointed at the four Sides.

“And if we refuse?” Roman said evenly.

“THE DOCTOR AND THE MASTER WILL COOPERATE,” the Supreme Dalek warned, its lights flashing balefully.

“COOPERATE! COOPERATE!” the cry was echoed by the other Daleks, filling the ship with a cacophony of robot voices.

The alien Janus shrugged, spreading their hands.

“You don’t really have a choice. If you want to live, that is.”

“Is that so.”

Roman tensed and sprang at the white Dalek, not giving himself time to think. He dodged a blast from its gunstick and leaped, bringing his sword down hard. This being the Imagination, the katana cut through the Dalek’s metal armor like butter, and it clattered to the deck in two pieces.

There was a shocked silence…but no retaliation.

“Well?” Roman shouted, spreading his arms and turning in a slow circle. “This is me, not cooperating. What are you waiting for? Are you really going to shoot us?”

If they all died on this spaceship…the worst that would happen is they’d be kicked from the Imagination, and that was what they wanted, anyway.

“Roman,” Logan warned quietly, pointing.

Roman looked.

The white Dalek’s shell was…laughing?

“Oh, Roman,” Remus’s crackly voice emerged from the fallen Dalek’s casing. “Roman, Roman, Roman. My poor brave brother who thinks he can solve all his problems with steel and bravado. Did you really think it would be that easy?”

Each word bit like sandpaper against Roman’s ears.

He growled, and stalked to the Dalek’s top half, snatching it up and quickly locating a tiny speaker.

“C’mon, Remus. End this stupid charade,” he said quietly, holding the casing to his face so he could speak quietly. “You’ve had your fun at my expense. Go back to your pile of severed limbs and gloat if you must, but end this. For Patton’s sake, if nothing else.”

“I’ve already told you, it’s out of my hands,” Remus responded; typically, annoyingly casual. “If you want to end the game, you have to come down here and find me.”

Roman exhaled, resting his head against the cold, bumpy metal for a moment. His eyes burned, but he was Prince; he wouldn’t cry, not here.

“Why must you make everything difficult?”

“Roman, in all seriousness,” Remus’s voice dropped. “I didn’t know you were taking Logan on a date tonight—”

“It’s not a date,” Roman hissed, glancing at the other Sides…one in particular.

“The Imagination brought me into this without asking, just like it pulled the others in,” Remus went on. “I am aware of what has to happen, but I did not cause this.”

“You’re lying,” Roman said tonelessly.

Remus’s whiny voice grew hard.

“I don’t lie, and you despise that about me. You hide so much shit from yourself that it baffles you when I refuse to do the same.”

“Look,” Remus added when Roman didn’t respond. “The Imagination is clearly trying to get our attention. Sure, it usually goes through one of us first, but it doesn’t have to. When it comes down to it, Thomas’s mind answers only to Thomas. ”

“How are you so sure?” Roman frowned.

Was Remus seriously suggesting the Imagination they both oversaw had gone rogue somehow?

“Because I don’t curate my side as meticulously as you do, brother.” Remus chuckled. “I listen. I let the Imagination do as she pleases, free from all those pesky ethics and morals and other boring boxes you always force her into, so that our sweet Thomas doesn’t fear the contents of his own head.”

“You expect me to believe that you know what’s going on because,” Roman let every ounce of disdain seep into his voice, “the Imagination talks to you, and not me…because you don’t make her behave?”

“You should try letting her loose sometimes,” Remus drawled, “or you’ll end up with a cane up your butt like Nerdy Wolverine over there.”

“Don’t call him that,” Roman spat.

“What you so-called ‘light sides’ always get wrong,” Remus went on, “is that the juicy stuff, the gruesome and grim, the ‘bad’ thoughts that filter up from the subconscious; they can’t all be locked away and ignored.” His voice dropped ominously. “Repression can be very bad indeed, you know.”

Roman’s reasonable nature knew that his brother, despite his infuriating attitude, was actually making some good points. Thomas had been dealing with a lot lately; the tension in the mindspace felt like a ticking clock, counting down to the next disaster.

But at that moment, Roman had no desire to humor his twin.

All he wanted to do was lock himself into his own room in the Dream Palace and spend the rest of the night writing sad poetry about love, or listing his mistakes to himself until he fell asleep.

“I just wanted to show Logan a good time,” he said aloud.

“And oh dear, apparently you couldn’t even manage that correctly,” Remus said, implacably. “So maybe you should use this opportunity to get your head out of your poopy ass, and reevaluate yourself.”

Roman slammed the Dalek shell against the floor.

It cracked upon impact, the wiring inside sparking and finally flickering down to darkness. He ran his hands through his hair, reminded, once again, why he hated talking to his brother.

Like looking in a funhouse mirror…

“Roman…” Patton sidled up behind him, laying a cold hand on his back. Roman shoved the metal arm away and stalked back to the others.

“Let’s just get this done,” he said in a low voice.

“You will need these,” the alien Janus said, pushing a button on a nearby console. A translucent vertical tube rose from a gap in the floor, holding three bulky black bracelets.

“Ah yes, I remember this,” Logan said, striding forward and taking a bracelet.

“They will prevent—” the Janus started.

“The nano cloud from converting us into Dalek puppets, yes?” Logan interrupted, snapping the bracelet onto his wrist and handing another to Roman.

The nerd is getting into this, Roman thought as he put it on. I guess that’s something.

“The cloud is only active in certain areas of the asylum,” the Janus warned them again. “And those change as different factions seize control of different areas and weaponize them.”

Patton hesitantly raised a hand.

“Um, Mx. Alien, I can’t help but notice that there are only three bracelets, and four of us?”

Logan frowned. “But Patton, why would you—?”

“I’m sure it’s because I’m part snake, Patton,” Janus interrupted smoothly, swooping in to grab the last bracelet and snapping it onto Patton’s arm.

Roman exchanged an alarmed look with Logan; that was the last bit of confirmation he needed. Patton really was unaware that he was a Cyberman.

But why on earth would Janus go to such lengths to keep him in the dark about it? Even leaving aside the fact that Patton was a walking weapon; being a machine, he didn’t need protection from the nano cloud at all.

Whereas Janus…probably did.

But when Roman opened his mouth, Janus shot him a look full of daggers and promises of pain, and shook his head. Roman rolled his eyes and mentally washed his hands of the situation.

Typical Deceit. Protecting his lies.

At least Patton would be twice-protected. If the snake wanted to risk his life for a lie, let him.

“The gravity beam will convey you close to the crashed starliner,” the alien Janus said, and then there were Dalek blasters being shoved into their backs, propelling them toward the hole in the floor.

“Oi,” Roman protested, “get your freaky little eggbeater appendages away from me, you AAAAHHHH!”

There was a push, and they were falling.

Chapter 7- Oxygen

“Look at this. Classic design. Pressure seals. Hinges. None of that ‘shuk shuk’ nonsense.”

“Space doors are supposed to go shuk shuk.”

“Are you gonna be like this all day?”

Janus was done.

He sat up with a groan, brushing snow from his jacket and vest, making sure his hat and gloves were still in place. Everything ached. Bad enough he never wanted to be part this stupid dream game in the first place; now he was probably going to literally turn into a Dalek.

All because the Imagination is being a dick and Patton doesn’t know he’s a killer robot.

Wind gusted around him, making Janus glad that the Master, like the Doctor, usually preferred long sleeves and a coat. He stood, turning in a slow circle as he took in the lay of the land. Nothing but snow and rocks; true to the episode, still.

The gravity beam had split into four as it hurled them at the planet, but Janus was reasonably sure at least one of the others had landed nearby.

He hoped it was Patton.

Not because he was concerned or anything. It was just that either of the others would be absolutely insufferable company, that’s all.

“Janus!” a metallic voice called, and Janus breathed a sigh of relief.

Patton’s Cyberman body clattered awkwardly down a nearby snowbank, sliding the last few feet to land in a heap.

“It is all kinds of chilly down here.” Patton stood, and waved rather nonsensically. “Hullo there, Janus, so ice to see you.”

Janus rolled his eyes. (He would deny to his dying day that the corner of his mouth twitched at the ridiculous pun.)

“If this scenario is consistent with its source material,” he said, gesturing to the closest ridge, “there should be an escape pod from that crashed ship nearby. Come on.”

He set off across the snow, Patton following in his wake.

“Say, what do snowmen call their offspring?”

Janus exhaled carefully. Hoo, boy, maybe Logan wouldn’t have been so bad…

“I haven’t the faintest.”

“Chill-dren!” Patton chortled at Janus’s grimace. “What did one snowman say to another?”

“St. Genesius spare me,” Janus grumbled, pinching the bridge of his nose. “What, pray tell, did one snowman say to another?”

“‘Do you smell carrots?’”

Janus quickly covered his mouth.

“You smiled,” Patton crooned.

“I most certainly did not.”

“Okay, okay, one more.” Patton scurried ahead and turned around, so that he was walking backwards. “Knock knock.”

“Who’s there?” Janus said flatly.

“Snow.” Patton hooked his thumbs into the metal rim at waist, like one might on a pair of pants. Janus swallowed and looked away.

“Snow who?”

“Snow laughing matter, Janus, I don’t know why you’re smiling.”

Janus snorted before he could hide it, and cleared his throat.

“I am not smiling, how dare you.”

“That’s twice now!” Patton cackled, the sound coming out all distorted. “Admit it.”

“I refuse,” Janus said, drawing himself up. “You won’t make a liar out of….”

Liar.

He felt the joke fall flat and cringed. Even though Patton’s metal face couldn’t react, those metal shoulders visibly stiffened.

Too soon.

Liar.

Too much history between them.

Besides, you are a liar, his mind whispered. Lies of omission are still lies, Deceit, and you’re doing that right now.

Janus gritted his teeth. They topped a ridge; the expected escaped pod lay half-buried near another ridge, across a flat stretch of snow. The two Sides glanced at each other and continued their journey in silence.

Patton seemed disinclined to continue his little pun war.

Janus badly wanted to say he hadn’t minded the punning, but truthfully, keeping silent was easier. Patton’s baffling ignorance over the state of his own “flesh” was starting to wear on Janus’s conscience. He knew the longer he kept it secret, the worse the fallout would be when Patton finally learned the truth.

The urge to come clean was an unfamiliar one for him, and extremely uncomfortable.

Ironic, the master liar, conflicted about maintaining a lie.

The old him would have laughed, but…the old him hadn’t heard the sincerity in Patton’s voice, when he’d spoken Janus’s true name aloud for the first time. The old him had assumed Thomas would reject him forever…because of Patton.

And then, with Janus still smarting from the sting of Roman’s mockery, Patton had said his name.

Patton had trusted him to take care of Thomas in his stead, when the moral Side knew he had failed at it. The memory still made all Janus’s scales tingle and his heart beat a little sideways.

The new him…this him…couldn’t find it in his small, shriveled, but very much present heart to risk pushing Patton away.

They reached the pod.

Muffled shouts and something that sounded like blaster fire filtered up from inside, making them exchange another glance.

Janus set a hand on the ice-crusted latch.

“Remember, we’ll have to fight our way through a bunch of dead Dalek puppets,” he reminded Patton.

“That’s a lot of noise for just a few puppets,” Patton said softly. “That canonically shouldn’t even be awake yet.”

“I know, and that is strange,” Janus agreed. “Maybe someone got here before us. But we won’t know exactly what to expect until we get down there.”

Patton sighed, a cloud of frost puffing out of his small, rectangular mouth.

Janus pushed the latch, popped his head in, and was met with a scene of utter chaos.

About six or seven human-Dalek puppets, with stalks sticking out of their heads and blasters sticking out of their hands, were locked in a fire fight with a horde of robotic humanoids that looked like they came from the Fourth Doctor’s era, if Janus remembered correctly. Round, bulky shoulders and faces that looked like metal sunbursts.

Both puppets and robots were using the seats as cover, blaster fire zinging back and forth and exploding against the walls in little showers of sparks. Janus and Patton would be directly in the blast zone when they jumped down, a little closer to the robot side.

“Well, someone definitely got here before us,” Janus muttered.

He withdrew his head and studied Patton. Honestly, with his metal body he’d be in far less danger, and those guns in his arms would actually be useful in this situation…but telling Patton he was a walking weapon, now, would definitely not go over well.

“The hatch down into the asylum should be in the cockpit of this thing,” he informed Patton. “There’s a lot of blaster fire, though, so—”

“—don’t get cold feet and hesitate?” Patton finished.

Something in Janus’s heart twisted…something he didn’t dare examine too closely.

“Say, Patton,” he said softly, looking away.

“Yes?”

“What did the hat say to the scarf?”

Patton turned his black Cyberman eyes on Janus.

“What?”

“‘You hang around, and I’ll go a-head’.” Janus let a smirk curl his lips.

Patton was silent for a moment, but then he began to giggle, covering his mouth.

Janus pulled out his sonic laser.

He dropped into the pod with a swing of his legs, catching one of the robots in its metal chest. It fell with a screech, careening into another of its kind, but by then Janus had gained his feet and ducked behind a seat. Patton clattered down behind, with less grace and far more noise…and a random Tivolian tumbled in directly after him.

Patton caught the rodent-faced alien with a startled shout, immediately dropping them again when they screamed and struggled. Janus blinked; where the hell did they come from?

The Tivolian tumbled across the pod’s floor, only making it a few feet before getting cut down with blaster bolts. Janus saw Patton cry out, and caught the Side before he could leap out and draw more hostile fire.

“It’s too late!” he shouted over the noise.

“I should have hung on!” Patton, if he’d had a proper face, would probably be in tears. He hated death. “I don’t know why they were so scared of me!”

Janus could answer that…

“I’m more curious about where they came from,” he said instead, frowning. “They surely weren’t up on the surface with us. It’s like they just teleported in, but Tivolians don’t teleport. They don’t have the technology—”

A blaster bolt exploded across the top of the seat they were hiding behind, showering them in sparks and forcing them both to duck.

“Janus!” Patton snapped. “We need to get out of here!”

“Right.” Janus brandished his sonic. “We’ll just have to run for it.”

He leaped out, activating his weapon, and discovered that a sonic laser had a very satisfying range and kickback. Forget the Doctor’s screwdriver, he thought, blasting a Dalek puppet aside and ducking another gun blast. I wonder if the Imagination will let me keep this…

A cold, dead hand seized the collar of his jacket, yanking him back.

Then there was a yell, a clatter, and Janus turned in time to see Patton blast a puppet with a fire extinguisher. The moral Side chuckled at Janus’s shocked expression.

“I’ve seen this episode too, you know,” he pointed out.

Janus huffed.

The two dodged and fought their way to the cockpit; Janus used his laser to seal the door behind them. For a moment they simply stood there, catching their breath.

(Well, Janus caught his. Did Patton even breathe, in that form?)

“Unauthorized personnel may not enter the cockpit.” Remus’s high-pitched voice came over the speaker system. “Unless it’s an actual pit full of cocks, in which case, where’s my invitation?”

Janus was going to need something a lot stronger than tea, once they finally got out of this mess.

“Remus, for god’s sake,” he grumbled.

“God has nothing to do with my cock, but if that’s how you want to roll…” One of the cockpit screens flickered to life, and there was Remus in all his ruffly, sparkly, mustached glory. Clara’s warm, messy cove spread out behind him, reds and yellows clashing horribly with the green of his sash.

Janus moved so that his chest and shoulders blocked the screen, to prevent Remus from catching sight of Patton. If Remus saw Patton as a Cyberman, Janus would never be able to convince him to keep his mouth shut.

“All right then, where do we find you?” Janus said. “And where did the others land? Not to mention our dear missing ball of anxiety.” He leaned forward, putting on his trademark smirk. “Come on, Re. You must know. One Other to another, you can tell me.”

“Aww, Jan Jan,” Remus crooned, also leaning forward. “You care.”

“I most certainly do not!” Janus sputtered, and cleared his throat. “Patton was worried about Virgil, that’s all.”

“I was?” Patton asked from the other side of the space. “I mean, of course I am, but—”

“But surely you can at least tell us why this scenario isn’t playing out quite like the episode it comes from,” Janus interjected smoothly. He didn’t want Remus to notice the metallic quality of Patton’s voice.

“Sorry to disappoint, but I’ve already told you everything that I know.” Remus shrugged. “Roman really did give the Imagination too much freedom.”

Janus frowned.

“Then how do you know the scenario will end when we find you?”

“I actually don’t! Isn’t it great?” Remus crowed, clapping his hands. “I love stories where anything could happen. We could all get vaporized, or have our flesh eaten by—”

“Remus, focus.” Janus pitched the bridge of his nose. “So, given what we know of this particular episode, you’re assuming that our main tasks are to come get you, and to drop the forcefield on the planet so the Daleks can blow it up.”

“That’s the idea, Double Dee!”

Behind him, Janus heard Patton make a weird, choked noise, and grimaced.

“By the way, Roman and Logan are already inside the asylum.” Remus grinned, the whites of his eyes flashing. “So if you want to catch up, you’d better scute those scaly asscheeks along. Check the floor for a breach; that will be your way out. A breach, ha! Like a butth—”

Janus pointed his laser and fired on the screen, cutting the transmission and sending sparks flying all over the cockpit. An awkward silence fell in which he turned to face Patton, who of course wore no visible expression.

This, and all the reasons for it, annoyed him further.

“I swear if you ask one question about scutes or scales,” he warned, holding up a finger.

“I wasn’t…going to.” Patton held up his hands. “Logan kind of taught us how to tune out the more, er, naughty things Remus says. But I am wondering,” he added hesitantly. “Are you…feeling okay?”

“Fabulous. Peachy,” Janus said flatly, kneeling to feel around on the floor. “Fantastic, allons-y, geronimo, what have you.”

“It’s just, you seem a little angry,” Patton went on. “And you remember, that’s, that’s the first step in being converted. Maybe you should wear the bracelet for a while? We can trade on and off…”

Patton’s fingers went to his wrist, but Janus stopped him with a gloved hand on top.

Tell him, an inner voice whispered. Tell him now, before this gets any more awkward.

“That’s sweet of you, but no, I’m merely frustrated,” Janus admitted. “I would very much like to get out of here, so I can return to the pleasant evening I was having before all thisss.”

He gestured irritatedly around them.

Patton joined him on the floor and together they found a person-sized hole, with a rope ladder hanging down.

“Hey, Janus,” Patton murmured, as they were about to start the long climb down. “Can I ask you something?”

“Why do I have a feeling you’re going to ask no matter what I say?” Janus said wryly.

“Do you remember when that puppet attacked you in the main part of the ship, and I fought it off with the fire extinguisher?” Patton ducked his head.

Janus raised an eyebrow.

“They hesitated, when they saw me.” Patton’s unnaturally black eyes met Janus’s. “That’s why I had time to grab the extinguisher.”

Janus swallowed, his heart starting to pound.

“Well, I’m sure they aren’t used to anyone fighting back—”

“No, they hesitated like…like I scared them or something,” Patton pressed. “It was weird, Janus. Please. If there’s something you need to tell me…you know you can.”

Janus’s mouth compressed into a flat line and he looked away, bitterness welling up inside him.

“Can I, Patton?” he asked softly, holding up a gloved hand. A yellow indictment of everything he was. “Can I really?”

Patton sighed, long and deep.

“Touché.”

Chapter 8- Extremis

“Something’s coming. And I’m blind. How can I see them when I’m lost in the dark?”

Logan awoke to someone shaking him.

He opened his eyes to an expanse of blurry blobs and color splotches, and Roman’s sharp, frantic face very close to his. His eyes have amber flecks, his brain noted inanely. But why is he clear when nothing else is…?

Roman threw his head back and exhaled in obvious relief when Logan groaned, blinking rapidly to clear his vision.

“Singing chimeras, Specs, I was starting to worry.”

Logan sat up and touched his bare face. Ah, there’s the problem.

“Where are my glasses?”

Roman was quiet.

Logan leaned closer to the other Side, squinting. Bad eyesight was such an annoyance. If only Thomas’s developing brain hadn’t decided early on that “smart and logical” also meant “stereotypically nerdy”, and pigeonholed his own sense of Logic into actually requiring corrective eyewear.

“Roman?” Logan tried again.

“Um. About that.”

Roman bit his lip, and handed over a smashed set of frames. Logan’s stomach sank as he examined them; the lenses were shattered beyond repair.

“I found them next to you like that, when I woke up,” Roman explained. “I’ve been trying to summon another pair, but for some reason the Imagination won’t let me!”

Logan pushed down a growing sense of dread, that he’d have to navigate the rest of this adventure half-blind.

“My glasses getting broken is obviously not your fault. We did fall down a rather deep hole,” he pointed out. “But what do you mean, the Imagination isn’t letting you?”

“I mean it’s not letting me!” Roman threw up his hands. “I could summon things on the TARDIS just fine, but now…” He sighed. “I am Creativity, right?”

Logan tilted his head and frowned.

“Is that…Roman, that is a nonsensical question. Of course you are.”

“So summoning a tiny object in my own dream scenario should be easy.” Roman hung his head.

“How long have you been trying?”

“Twenty minutes, maybe?” Roman shrugged, still not looking at him. “All that time, and yet still I fail.”

Logan resisted the urge to point out that twenty minutes should be long enough to realize a thing might be outside of one’s control, and to start brainstorming other options.

Stubborn fool.

“Maybe it’s just as well we picked the wedding over the callback,” Roman added darkly, an uncharacteristic glower twisting his face. “When Thomas’s Creativity apparently can’t even control his own dreams.”

Oh…this isn’t about glasses at all, is it? Logan swallowed around an achy sensation in his chest; the one he always got when something was wrong and Roman made that face and he just…needed to fix it.

Native English speakers have a passive vocabulary of around forty thousand words, he thought, frustrated. So why, in situations like this, am I constantly struggling to find the right thing to say?

The resigned set to Roman’s jaw prompted Logan to try.

“Your inability to summon things may not be your doing,” Logan said, laying a hand on Roman’s knee. “Perhaps the Imagination is attempting to impose a sense of realism on this adventure.”

“Realism,” Roman echoed flatly. “In Doctor Who.”

Logan huffed. “You must admit, summoning objects out of thin air does defy even time-traveling alien logic.”

Roman’s face twitched in the tiniest of smiles. “So why did it work before, Teach?”

“Maybe it only worked on the TARDIS because the ship already defies every known rule of physics.” Logan shrugged. “I admit I cannot possibly intuit the inner workings of the Imagination; I can only theorize from what I have observed thus far.”

Roman chuckled softly to himself, and bumped Logan’s shoulder.

“Aww, Nerd, I’m touched. You’re trying to logic me into feeling better.”

“Is it…working?” Logan asked.

“Kind of?” An unreadable expression flitted over Roman’s face. “At least one of us is still grounded in reality.”

“Where else could one possibly be grounded?”

Roman laughed outright at this.

“Oh, Logan. Never change, okay?”

He stood up, and pulled Logan to his feet as well.

“Where are we?” Logan asked, squinting.

He could tell they were in some large, open space; all blacks and browns and dull grays. Blurry domes of copper were scattered amongst what could be bits of fallen scaffolding or machinery.

Logan was also hyperaware of Roman’s warm arm pressed against his, and his own hand clasped tightly within the Prince’s larger grip. With everything else blurry, physical sensations were all the more distracting.

“Don’t panic, okay?” Roman started.

Logan scoffed.

“You are fortunate that I am not Virgil,” he commented wryly. “Because starting a sentence like that would almost certainly have caused him to panic.”

“Well, it’s just, do you remember that scene in the Dalek asylum episode where Rory wakes up in the hanger full of dead Daleks who turn out to be not actually dead?” Roman said in a rush. “Because…yeah.”

Oh. Logan swallowed.

“So, I am guessing that those copper domes are actually Daleks?” he said softly.

Roman snorted.

“Copper domes? Jeesh, your eyesight sucks.”

“I am aware,” Logan said flatly. “Which means you will have to guide us out. If I remember correctly, as long as we are quiet and don’t kick any pipes on the ground, we won’t wake them up.”

Roman let go of Logan’s hand… and replaced it with an arm wrapped around his waist. Logan only held back a squeak because it would have been extremely undignified.

“Hey, relax, I got you, Specs.” Roman’s breath ghosted over Logan’s ear. The Prince’s shorter stature allowed him to fit snugly against Logan’s side; if Roman turned his head, he could comfortably tuck his face into the crook of Logan’s neck.

Not…not that Logan imagined him doing any such thing.

Roman drew his sword with a metallic rasp, prompting Logan to pull out his screwdriver, and they set off across the floor.

It was a strange, vulnerable sensation, Logan thought, being this close to another, being forced to rely on him for direction…or maybe it was just that Roman’s Rose Tyler outfit left so much more skin on display than his usual royal attire…

To be fair, Roman’s bare arms and short skirt and leggings were the only non-blurry things in Logan’s line of sight at the moment.

“You know, I am not sure how much good a sword will do against a Dalek now,” Logan said dryly (to distract himself). “Since it would seem that the Imagination is now attempting to be realistic.”

“It’ll be a lot more useful than a screwdriver,” Roman retorted. “Honestly, the War Doctor had a point. The later seasons really do start to treat the sonic like a weapon, and it looks ridiculous. There’s an oily-looking puddle to your left.”

They dodged around it.

“The sonic screwdriver is an ingenious, multipurpose tool,” Logan argued. “Fitting for a character who is, at heart, a pacifist. In the right hands, it most certainly could serve as a weapon. For example one could scramble a Cyberman’s circuits, short out fuses, or calculate the precise amount of blunt force needed to take down an enemy.” Logan waved the hand with the screwdriver around them. “All things that a sword could not accomplish.”

“Sure,” Roman drawled, leading them around one of the still, silent Daleks, “but you don’t point a sonic at an oncoming Dalek and expect to survive. Even the Doctor had more sense than to try that. At least a sword could cut off its blaster arm.”

“We don’t know how strong Dalek amor is down here,” Logan pointed out. “You could end up breaking your sword and then where would we be?”

“Better off than we’d be while you assembled a cabinet at them!”

Logan’s foot collided with a metallic something that made an awful CLANG and went skittering across the floor. Roman pulled them up short, his face going pale.

All around them, round blue lights began to flicker on, one by one.

“I kicked the pipe, didn’t I?” Logan said, his heart starting to pound.

“You kicked the pipe,” Roman confirmed in a sick voice.

“EGGS…!” a crackly Dalek voice next to them stuttered, making them jump. “EG-EG-EG-EGGS…!” Its twin lights flashed erratically as it spoke.

“Roman,” Logan started.

“‘Eggs, you may laugh and that’s great…’” Roman sang in a wavering voice. “‘Your smiles are what make my day’…”

The Dalek rolled toward them creakily. “EEEEEGGS!”

Logan’s breathing sped up. Another Dalek rolled in from the other side, causing him to stumble. All around them, mechanical creaks and groans and a chorus of digitized voices rose up…

“EG…EG-EGGS…TERM…”

“Roman, I believe we need to run.” Logan could see the Dalek almost clearly now, its eyestalk glowing, its gunstick rising up.

“…IN…ATE…”

Blurry, flashing lights closed in.

“‘My self-worth’s fragile like an egg,’” Roman sang. The hand gripping Logan’s middle tightened painfully. “‘When it breaks it’s tough to put together again…’”

“EX…TERM…IN…ATE!”

“Roman!” Logan shouted. “Get us out of here!”

“EXTERMINATE!”

A blaster bolt warbled past and exploded over their heads.

Roman shuddered and seemed to snap out of it, seizing Logan’s arm and pulling him so hard he nearly fell. Logan staggered, hanging onto Roman’s hand for dear life as they ran, and ran, and blaster bolts burst at their feet and shattered around them.

“This way, boys and boys,” Remus’s voice sing-singed across the room. Roman yanked them hard in that direction.

“REMUS!” Roman shouted as they ran, and Logan was impressed he had the breath for it. “Remus, you better open that door like you’re supposed to or we are DEAD!”

“Oh, keep your pants on, brother,” Remus snarked, sounding a little closer. “Although maybe Logan would prefer that you didn’t—”

Whatever else he said wasn’t audible over a hanger full of jabbering Daleks and firing blasters.

They reached a wall and Roman shoved Logan down.

“Straight ahead, crawl. Go, go, go!” he said, turning and brandishing his sword.

Bless that Prince and his stupid, stupid bravery.

Logan went, nearly tripping over his coat as he crawled under the barely lifted hatch door. Once he was past the threshold Roman flung himself under and through, knocking into Logan and sending them both sliding across the floor.

There was a hiss and a heavy thud that Logan hoped was the door shutting behind them, and finally, blessed silence. They both leaned against the wall for a moment, catching their breath.

Roman thunked his head back.

“Jesus Christ Superstar,” he muttered.

“Your welcome.”

Remus’s voice crackled through the hallway. Roman growled and sat up straighter, looking around as if his brother would magically appear.

“I did just save your lives,” Remus added. From the direction of the sound, Logan guessed he was talking through a speaker somewhere on the far wall.

“Yeah, and I’m still gonna whip your butt when this is all over,” Roman groused.

“Oooh, do I get to choose the instrument?”

Roman sputtered, but Logan grabbed his arm before he could yell back.

“You know he just likes to get under your skin,” he murmured, and raised his voice. “Thank you for opening the door, Remus. We are grateful for your help.”

There was a silence on the other end, with a quality that Logan would have described as shocked.

“Well. You two lovebirds better move along,” Remus drawled finally, shrill as ever. “Before the Silurian army shows up.”

“Excuse me, the WHAT?” Logan exclaimed.

No answer.

“Remus!” Roman clambered to his feet and helped Logan up.

Nothing.

Except now that Logan was listening for it, he definitely heard approaching footsteps and murmuring, heavily-accented voices. And they were getting closer.

“That dick,” Roman grumbled through gritted teeth.

“To be fair, I think he is trying to help,” Logan pointed out. “In his own way.”

“Don’t be fair to my brother when he’s just led us out of the frying pan and into the fire.”

“We are neither in a pan nor on fire, Roman; I have never understood that saying—”

The lights dimmed and flashed an eerie purple; Roman silenced him with a hand over his mouth. There was a voice…not Remus’s, not alien, not like anything Logan had ever heard. It chanted something, over and over again, before fading out.

The lights flared back to normal.

Logan waited, counting Roman’s shallow breaths against his neck.

Nothing.

“What was that?” he asked softly.

“Beats the hell out of me,” Roman responded. “But I guess that’s our cue to go. Stay close, Mr. Magoo.”

Logan grumbled, but allowed Roman to recapture his hand and lead them in the opposite direction of the approaching footsteps…which had resumed the moment the purple light vanished.

Next time Roman asked him to come on an adventure, he was bringing a spare set of glasses.

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