#There's just something about moss-covered robots that gets to me...

[kirk-goes-to-gallifrey]

The Wild Robot (2024) | The Wild Robot (by Peter Brown) | Pluto (2023) | A Psalm for the Wild Built (by Becky Chambers) | Zima Blue (2019) | The Last Bastion (2016) | All Watched Over by Machines of Loving Grace (by Richard Brautigan) | Castle in the Sky (1986)

[marlynnofmany]

There’s No Aggression Like Passive Aggression

“So is this a food plant, or a decoration plant?” I asked, adjusting my grip on the clear case as I walked. “Or do we know?”

Zhee flicked an antenna. “Not my business.” He faced forward, businesslike, but with bug eyes that size, there was no need to turn his head.

Paint looked up from elbow height. “I think it’s food,” she said, giving the package a discerning stare. The alien flowers were a similar orange to her scales. “I’ve seen these at markets before. They’re expensive.”

“Makes sense,” I said. The private estate that we’d been walking across for some time now was covered in the most rigidly cultivated berry bushes I’d ever seen. Even the pathway was paved in thick moss, pruned to within an inch of its life. The owner of this place had both money and a fondness for plants. Especially edible-looking ones.

A berry dropped to the path ahead of us, then was snapped up by something that darted out of the undergrowth. I couldn’t tell you if it was an animal or a robotic gardener.

“Don’t ask the client,” Zhee said. “Keep that curiosity to yourself. Best behavior and extreme politeness.”

“Right,” I agreed. “Soooo… any tips on what that means for this particular culture? I haven’t met them before.”

Zhee walked stiffly, with only his shiny purple legs moving. “I haven’t either.”

I blinked. “What? I thought you were the expert.” I looked to Paint, but she was shaking her head.

“None of the crew has met them in person,” she said. “I think this whole area usually gets deliveries from a specific company, or individual, or something — anyways, it’s not us. We’re the last-minute replacement.”

“Uh-huh.” I held the bio-shielded case full of expensive plants a little tighter. “So they’re rich, probably important, and if we do anything to displease them, we’ll never make another delivery in this part of the system again.”

Zhee clicked a pincher arm. “Accurate.”

Paint spread her scaly hands in what was probably a calming gesture. “It shouldn’t be that bad,” she said. “We’ll just hand the package over quietly, and not make a fuss. We know some things about the client.”

“Do tell,” I said. “I wasn’t up front when the captain took the call.”

Paint ticked off points by counting on her knuckles. “The client is the only one who lives here, though she throws big parties. She didn’t seem to like talking more than necessary. She has very fancy fur patterns. Prey species.” Paint looked up a bit guiltily. “I misses the name of the species, but they eat plants, and evolved with some big predators that aren’t a problem anymore. Captain Sunlight said so.”

Zhee made a quiet noise that I interpreted as confidence that they wouldn’t have been a problem for him anyways.

“So I guess we’ll be polite by keeping quiet and not making any sudden movements,” I said. Then I looked at Zhee, with his shiny exoskeleton and natural blade arms. “If she looks afraid of you, hang back.”

Zhee scoffed, but paused to let Paint and me get a single step ahead.

We reached an archway woven with multicolored vines and dangling pea pods. The hedges on either side were crisply trimmed to an absurd degree. And through it was a sprawling meadow of lounging spots, fountains, and flowering trees. Dozens of locals socialized there in absolute silence. I hadn’t heard a thing aside from the fountains.

I froze at the archway, with Paint and Zhee right beside me. A couple of the closest partygoers glanced our way, then ignored us with body language that felt pretty rude, honestly.

They all had elaborately-patterned fur: mostly spots and swirls, in the gold-to-brown range. Proportions that seemed just as comfortable on all fours as on two. Tall ears like many a prey animal that I’d known, very mobile and expressive, speaking a language of tilts and twitches that I could only guess at. Big eyes.

Paint whispered, “That’s her by the big fountain, with the starburst swirl patterns.”

“Which? Oh, there. You’re sure?” Those definitely were some fancy patterns — did she get her fur dyed? — and the cushy spot surrounded by red berries did seem like a place of honor.

“Yes, I saw her on the call,” Paint said firmly. “Oh, and that one too! The captain said they’re having some sort of feud.” She pointed at an especially bright-furred party-goer who was approaching the host.

I shifted uneasily. “Why isn’t the captain doing this delivery?” I muttered.

“Busy,” said Zhee.

Paint sighed. “Busy. But look; I think they made up. We should be clear to approach.”

The golden-blonde local had strolled over to within a few lengths of the host, then flopped down to lounge in the sun, looking just as relaxed as anyone there.

Anyone but the host. I saw her nostrils flare, and thought of rabbits.

“Wait,” I said urgently, holding out a hand. Paint and Zhee stopped. “That might be a ‘I’m a happier rabbit than you’ move.”

“A what,” Zhee said, just as the host scrambled to her feet with an angry thump to the ground.

Every head there whipped around to watch. The blonde offender was also getting to her feet, but not fast enough; the host tackled her into a vicious tumble of fur and angry screeching.

Others dashed over, but the fight ended quickly, and the offender was ejected from the party. A half dozen others escorted her towards the archway with tense body language of their own.

We were still standing there like idiots. Paint and I jumped to one side and Zhee to the other, letting the procession pass. Once they had, everyone was looking at us instead.

Not my best entrance, but here goes, I thought as I stepped forward with the plant held front and center. I heard Paint and Zhee fall in behind me.

There was an unnerving amount of silent staring as we approached, but nothing outright hostile, and nobody seemed afraid of Zhee. Good enough.

The host of the party was back on her mossy cushion, plucking berries and eating them one at a time with an air of deliberate haughtiness. She’d smoothed her fur, though there were a few damp spots. She looked past me as I set down the case.

Normally I would have said something cheerful to the client at this point, a friendly greeting, maybe a compliment or two, but this time I just held out the ID pad. With hardly a glance, she pressed her delicately clawed hand onto the screen. The beep of confirmation felt loud.

I nodded, stood smoothly, then backed up a couple paces before turning away fully. The three of us made our careful way back through the archway.

“Whew,” I whispered once we were out of sight. “All the friendliness of a firing squad.”

Zhee walked ahead, muttering about mammals and unnecessarily complicated social rituals.

“I’ve seen worse,” I told him. “This was just a bit of passive-aggressive ego drama.”

Zhee waved an arm in disdain.

I didn’t comment on the kind of ego drama that he himself was fond of.

“I’m just glad we didn’t walk out into the middle of all that,” Paint said.

“Seriously,” I agreed. “Might have dropped the package. And then what would we do?”

“Pee, scream, and run,” Paint declared.

I thought of that many gnawing teeth aimed in our direction. “Yeah, probably.” I held up a hand and pointed out a tiny pale scar. “I got bit by a rabbit once. Well, more than once, but this one left a mark. She was much like these guys, just a lot smaller. Every inch the princess, mind you, but I have known some very nice rabbits too.”

I told Paint comforting stories on the walk back to the landing pad, with Zhee pretending not to listen, and both of us pretending that we didn’t notice.

~~~

The ongoing backstory adventures of the main character from this book. More to come!

[genesisvirus]

tell me of br u D

okay! i really need to talk about brud in general so yea!

-brud's mimicked species is.. an enigma. bear with me here. he's an otter and earthworm mix, hence his love for moss. moss and dirt are really good to him, AND packed with nutrition!

-it's kinda unknown if he has a disability or not, but the other sprunkis don't really care and treat him pretty fairly. at most raddy bullies him sometimes, but it's for other aspects rather than his "stupidity".

-his left eye is a lazy eye and always faces a direction different from his right. this doesn't affect his vision too much.

-he's semiverbal, he can get by for the most part but struggles with more complicated words. it also mostly affects his words - his musical noises are just fine, considering what they are.

-the spike on his head is a defect, it's not sharp but it does cause discomfort when touched (the closest brud can feel to pain), so he hides it for that + so he doesn't get looks about it.

-he's best friends with simon, while brud tends to follow along with whatever simon sets his mind on, simon does know to slow down at times for brud's own comfort.

-surprisingly enough, OWAKCX acts fairly calm around brud. likely becuz it's obvious brud isn't a threat or out to get anyone, but still noteworthy.

-brud likes hanging out with the "robotics" family (clukr, garnold, fun bot, and mr. fun computer). he relates to the two AIs alot, and clukr and garnold tend to like fussing over him like he's one of their kids too.

-brud does tend to get blunt at times, especially if he needs to voice his feelings. he does make his boundaries very clear if he doesn't like something.

-due to the aspects of his earthworm traits, he not lacks a proper bone structure, but he can't feel pain. this is not a good thing tho, as he easily gets himself hurt and fails to notice. tunner does tend to keep a closer eye on brud becuz of this, + he just has a soft spot for him.

-the situation during the whole horror events is something he doesn't understand too well, the other survivors aren't too sure if his consistent behavior is just a coping mechanism or genuine. either way he seems eerily. unphased by it all. despite some of the worser things he had to witness first-hand.

-brud was there when simon was physically corrupted, and was the first to be attacked by simon, losing half of his face, one of his sides, and his tail. they were interrupted by tunner, who managed to scare simon off of brud and get him away from the area. thankfully, due to brud's body anatomy, he managed to survive the attack.

-he and tunner survived for a bit together, the two trying to figure out what was happening and where the other survivors were. they eventually find jevin and grouped with him for a bit, however it ended when wenda managed to find them, and during a struggle tunner lost his gun and got shot. brud managed to escape the struggle, but still heard the gunshot. he wasn't sure who got shot, but didn't stick around to find out.

-tunner did make him a haphazard bandage to cover some of the wounds, but they didn't have enough for a proper cover, and they were planning to get find more equipment. after tunner's death, brud's bandages got worn out to the point of falling off. gray would end up finding brud, and helping his wounds afterwards.

-he does eventually find out about tunner's fate, and while he doesn't outwardly showing a reaction (other than ofc the "sorry you died protecting me"), he's still really shaken up about it. he also doesn't fully understand why tunner barely responds to him, but doesn't push him too much and mostly tries to stick with him until the other infecteds notice him.

-he still doesn't fully understand that simon isn't himself. whenever he spots him, brud initially tries to run over to him, only to stop once he sees simon's face.

-he doesn't fully understand that none of the "dead" are fully there, but he does try to reach them and offer some sort of comfort, which some of them do appreciate. notably he's been the only one that's been able to even get close to OWAKCX after his death.

[writingmysanity]

Favor Chapter 1

Summary: Science reigns, as godly devotion fails. After being abandoned for his work, Viktor turns to the one source he believes can help him- the old gods. Granting him their favor, they allow him to access the source, the magic itself and all that it is intertwined with- with supervision of course. Content with his visions, they decide to show their favor once more- a gift only whispered about in myths and legends. A soulmate.

<Previous Master List Next>

Word count: 2034

TW: Attempted murder, meds, slight contemplated death

A/N: I know you said the prologue was enough, darling, but I feel I owe you, even if you don't feel that I do. I have many ideas for this AU that I'd love to share with you all, if you will have me! I hope you enjoy this. @spiderholland101

“Come, Dear,” Geoff calls to you gently, a soft smile on his lips. “Let's go for a walk before the weather worsens.” you just nod excitedly, nearly skipping to his side. Neither of you had spent much time together since you've been married. It's been years since you've gone on vacation, since before the wedding. 

“Coming!” He allows you to slide through the door before him, not seeing the way his jaw works itself, or how his eyes narrow after you. 

“Blitzcrank,” a soft voice calls echoed by the creak of lumbering foot falls. 

“Yes, child?” she snorts at the robot eclipsing the door. There is a hum as she nods towards you, blue hair falling into her eyes as she fixes her barrett, again. 

“She is moving,” he just nods, the click of metal echoing in the otherwise silent room, the soft whirring of machinery like white noise, always there. 

“Humans do move, child,” he confirms. If she didn't know any better, she would assume that he was toying with her. Eyeing him, she huffs, crossing her arms.

“Are we sure that Mister Viktor did not install an attitude?” she grumbles, watching as he blinks at her slowly, crimson eyes trained on her.

“I assure you, Master Viktor simply gave me a physical form,” he states clearly. “Anything else was by the grace of the gods.” he states before starting to turn away, ignoring the way her mouth lies slack. Before he closes the door, he pauses to watch you with something she can only describe as curiosity as your head thrashes to the other side of the pillow, jerking a whimper from your chest. Nodding slowly, he looks at Powder.

“She will wake soon,” he confirms before turning to answer Viktor's call.

Careful of your steps, you take his hand lightly, allowing him to help lift you up the rock, moss covering the ground because of ocean spray- even all the way up here. Beaming up at him, your eyes slide past his seemingly indifferent expression- schooling his nerves. Instead, you step up closer to the edge of the cliff, eyeing the storm clouds with excitement, watching the lightning flicker, electric blue and purple light brightening the sky, a distant rumble shaking the ground under your feet.

“It's beautiful up here,” you hum, watching the waves crash against the rocks below you, spraying up earning a laugh when you yourself get sprayed. 

Silence.

You look out for a few moments more before turning to face Geoff, opening your mouth to speak, eyes widening at the malice etched into his face. 

‘Geo-” he cuts you off, taking a step towards you quickly. 

“Don't speak my name,” the rumble of his voice mixes with the deep rumble of the thunder overhead, rain beginning to fall around you both, quickly soaking you both through. You shiver, unsure if it's from the cold of the rain or his eyes. 

“What is going on?” you gasp, stumbling back when he takes another hurried step towards you, mouth twisting anxiously. 

“Don't make this harder than it needs to be,” his voice is low, almost lost in the pounding of the blood rushing to your ears, the sudden flash of lightning casting sickly shadows over his form, blackening his normally brilliant gray eyes. 

Looking behind you nervously, you watch as a rock tumbles behind you, rolling off the face of the cliff before landing with a nearly silent splash, heels teetering on the edge. Gagging on your breath, you try to ignore the dizziness that makes you sway, a shuddering sob retching from your chest. 

“I… I am sorry!” you cry, hands tearing at your dress. “Please,” you beg. “Whatever I have done, I can fix it.” he just shakes his head, hurriedly closing the distance, his hands resting on your shoulders, hesitancy resting in his eyes before the resolve hardens them again. 

“You exist,” he snarls before pushing. Your eyes stay on his as you fall, your screams echoing around you, only disappearing once your body is pulled beneath the waves.

Gasping, you jerk forward, a scream dying on your tongue as your eyes dart around, looking for danger. 

The room is dim, curtains blocking the majority of the light from filtering in, but keeping it illuminated enough that you're able to see clearly without a light. The walls are tall, bordered with bookshelves that seem to wrap halfway around the room, cluttered with books stacked in increasingly concerning ways, more than half of them threatening to spill onto the floors at the slightest shake of the walls. Adorning the empty space not taken by the books are several figurines, bottles of various sizes and colors and random colorful items, including those of several rather rare looking bird feathers. You have never seen such colors before. To your right, there is a desk, papers strewn about its surface with nothing of an organizational system you have ever seen, but then again- you dont think youd be able to understand the notes on them if you tried, many of the symbols adorning them are completely indecipherable to you. 

Wincing, you muffle the whimper as you turn your head slowly, eyes falling to the small body curled up in the chair to your left. Blue hair nearly hidden by the blanket she has wrapped from the top of her head, pulled completely around her body as she rests. Frowning, you watch her, head still swimming, a mix of your dream and the way your body aches. 

As if on cue, the door opens. Eyes snapping to the sound, you can't help the painful hitch that catches in your throat as the hulking robot inches in slowly, heavy footsteps seeming to shake the floors, knocking a few of the books loose- more than one fluttering to the floor with a soft thump as he comes to rest at the foot of the bed. 

“You are awake,” swallowing hard, you nod slightly, hugging the blanket tucked around your chest even tighter. “Good,” seemingly unaware or uninterested in your reaction to his presence, he continues on with what he came in for. Without thought, he crowds closer to you, only pausing when you cringe away from him, shrinking in on yourself. 

“I am only to check on your injuries,” he explains, large hands coming to rest on your forehead, tugging the bandage there back slightly. “There is no need to be afraid.” wincing, you hiss at the pressure of the metal pressing into your forehead, but it quickly cools under his touch, blinking up at him confused. 

“Where… am i?” nodding along to a system of notes in his head, he answers you offhandedly. 

“My master’s home,” he states clearly, his even tone deepening with thought, but still oddly reminding you of the boy who used to live next door to you when you were young. “He was the one to pull you from the waters.” 

Sloshing rings in your ears, the feeling of waves crashing over your skin making you shiver, as if your body temperature had suddenly dropped.

Giving in to the currents, your body stops thrashing, accepting your fate, lungs screaming for air. As you go to take your first watery breath, you are propelled forward, again, gripped by another current, gasping in pain as your body slams into the rock face. Coming to rest at its feet, you fight the black edging at your vision, but can't seem to find the strength to push yourself up.

You are unsure of how long you laid there, body tugged back out into the channel before sloshed back into the jagged surface, not fighting the warmth that envelopes your arms as you are pulled from the water.

A feeling of safety washing over you, you stop fighting the black.

Swallowing at the memory, you nod, eyes flitting around the room anxiously, the memories of your husband’s betrayal fresh amongst the images as well. Maybe it would have been better that you had died in those waters. 

As if sensing your frame of mind, the large bronze man before you taps on your forehead, catching your attention once more. 

“Blitzcrank,” he states, looking down at you, almost expectantly in spite of him not having any actual facial expressions. Taking a deep breath, you force a smile, muttering your own name under your breath. You watch him with slight awe as he nods, the creak of the metal somehow comforting. 

“You aren't better in those waters,” he says quietly, almost as if he is trying to keep his voice down, reddish eyes glinting to the small bundle at your side. “I think you will find life to become quite agreeable, soon.” silently, he turns away, heading towards the door, inching through it slowly, tucking his shoulders in slightly to make himself smaller, using the tip of one of his fingers to bring the door to a close. 

“I will bring you food,” his voice is a hum, mixing with the whisper of the gears ticking. “Your body requires it after two days, I presume.” With that, he closes the door, disappearing with little more than the distant thunder of his steps to assure you that he had indeed been there. Quietly, you flop back, hissing in pain, suddenly regretting your motion. All of your muscles aching, nausea tugging at your stomach.

Two days

Sighing, you melt back into the pillows, allowing the warmth to settle over you as your vision becomes hazy again, trying in vain to focus on the girl lying beside you. As darkness takes your vision, you swear you see her eyes open, as blue as the sky itself. Humming contently, you let the sloshing of the waves pull you back out to sea- only this time, somehow, you are relaxed, floating in the familiarity of the afternoon sun. 

__

You are woken next to the rumble of Blitzcrank’s foot falls, the door swinging open as you struggle to sit up, back pressed against the pillows, rubbing at your eyes in an attempt to ignore the pain. It doesn't work well. 

After the steps in, tray in hand balanced perfectly as he bounces the door shut, he walks over to you once more. 

“Your food,” he states, setting it on your lap. It is simple enough, eggs, bacon and some toasted bread- and it smells heavenly. Leaning forward, you don't even bother with trying to maintain any sort of dignity of what Piltover considers a lady, nearly inhaling it. There is a soft rumble above you as blitzcrank catches your attention, a glass of water balanced on his outstretched hand and a small bundle in the other. 

“Medicine,” you nod, reaching up to take them from him, smiling the best you can. 

“Thank you, Blitzcrank,” he nods, head tilting slightly towards the door. Blinking, you glance around him, eyes meeting the same sky blue eyes you met earlier, peering through the crack in the door. You are about to invite her in when another voice calls to her first, the accented lit foreign and familiar at the same time. 

“Powder, aren't you supposed to be studying?” you are about to defend her, until you realize that the voice isn't angry- it is amused. There is a soft squeak before, her giant eyes locking with yours once more before she takes off to do as told. 

There is a pause before familiar eyes slide into frame in the same crack Powder had just been peeking through. The door creaks open just slightly, brilliant golden eyes boring into your own with a softness you've never had fall on you. With a soft sigh, he offers you a small smile and a nod before tugging the door closed. You stare at the door silently for a moment longer until blitzcrank gently taps you, pulling you from your thoughts. 

“Medicine,” he reminds you, waiting patiently until you take it in front of him, seeming satisfied. “Master will be pleased,” he all but hums, turning. “They will help with your pain,” he answers as you open your mouth to question.

You just nod as he closes the door behind him, leaving you alone to your thoughts.

___

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[hermannsthumb]

possible prompt for a university au: newt is the biology major who maintains all the fish tanks in the physics building at 11pm and hermann is the physics student who likes to wander the halls to think. newt accidentally flings water all over the ground and hermann trips, hijinks ensue.

earlier today I was thinking about how I wrote a college AU fic almost 3 years ago to the date, and how I wanted to do more bc its fun thinking about newt and hermann as dumb college students

----

Newt's not really sure how he ended up with the weirdest work-study job on the planet, but honestly, things could be much, much worse (he could be stuck down in the dining hall, or dealing with confused freshmen in the school bookstore) so he keeps his thoughts on the whole thing to himself. Every Friday at eleven sharp, Newt pulls on his grodiest t-shirt and a pair of long rubber gloves and treks all the way over to the physics department to set to work scrubbing down the fish tanks that line the classroom walls. Why does the physics department have fish tanks? Newt's not really sure about that, either. It's kind of an insane amount of them, too, more than even the marine bio department has. Maybe it's supposed to boost morale or something. Hey, look at these crazy cool tropical fish who get to do nothing but eat and swim in circles, sorry you're stuck inside calculating velocity and shit.

Whatever, Newt's not complaining about that either. Let the physics nerds have their fun. It'll be good for them to branch out a little, realize there's life beyond robotics club meetings.

Also, Newt likes the fish. They're cute. He likes to think they like him, too, because they're very well behaved when he has to scoop them out of their tanks and plop them into smaller fish bowls (the kind goldfish in movies always use). He's going to teach them tricks eventually—he had a beta fish once who would do a little flip when Newt tapped the glass a certain way because he knew he'd get rewarded with dried worms, so Newt knows it's possible. Just imagine, a hundred fish doing flips on command. Newt Geiszler, fish whisperer.

Yeah, maybe the job could be more glamorous. It's really hard to get algae out of the gloves, and he hasn't been allotted the budget for a new pair yet.

"Hey, guys!" he shouts as he pushes in the door to room 214. The fish don't acknowledge him: they just continue swimming in their giant tank. In and out of plastic plants and rock caves. The rock caves were a gift from Newt three months into the job, and so were some of the moss balls—stimulation is important for fish! He wouldn't want to be trapped in a glass box with nothing to do, either. "I bet you missed me. Ready for a clean tank?"

Newt always talks to the fish, even if they don't talk back, because he thinks it's important to build their trust. He'll usually keep a running commentary of his week as he scrubs the tanks, just get everything off his chest that he needs to get off. Stuff he's worried about. Stuff that went well. Stuff that went badly. Therapy's expensive, and Newt's student health insurance can only cover so much, but talking to fish? That's free.

That's also kinda why he does it so late at night and over the weekend. The last thing he wants is an audience. Because, one, talking to fish is admittedly weird, and two, no one wants a glimpse at Newt's psyche like that, probably not even the fish.

The first step in cleaning the tanks is relocation. Newt digs his stereotypical goldfish bowls and an industrial-size mesh wand out of the supply closet, fills the former with some of the special tank salt water, and begins the slow and arduous task of scooping out the fish and depositing them into the bowls. "I had the lamest week," he announces once he's about three clownfish in. "I was working on a group project Saturday—"

Then Newt stops, because he hears footsteps in the hallway just outside the classroom.

Serial killer, Newt's instincts supply helpfully.

No, Newt corrects himself, that's dumb. Why would a serial killer wander into the physics building at eleven o'clock at night? Why would anyone, period? He's probably imagining stuff. Lack of sleep, stress over his upcoming projects, residual embarrassment from his disaster study session Saturday, all of it culminating in Newt thinking there's someone there. No, definitely imagining it. Newt can only even get in this late to the department because his ID swipe card is set up with the right permissions—not even the physics students have the permissions he does to be in this late at night. Well, not unless they clean the kitchenette in the student lounge or something.

Or if Newt left the door unlocked.

More footsteps. Closer now.

Newt's pretty sure he didn't leave the door unlocked, because he thinks it locks automatically behind him, and he would have to literally prop it open for anyone to get in after him. But anything's possible. The door could've caught on a dropped pencil or a paper scrap or other weird shit that physics students leave around, and a serial killer could've noticed and taken the opportunity to sneak inside on the off chance a hapless young biology major was scrubbing slime off fish tanks in the middle of the night. Any minute now, Newt's about to end up on an episode of Unsolved Mysteries. The Physics Department Murder. The Disappearing Biologist. (Nah, neither of those are very good titles, but that's why Newt isn't on the creative writing track.)

Step-tap-step. Closer now; Newt's heart leaps to his throat. Step-tap-step. Step-tap-step. Pausing just outside the door of room 214. God, why didn't Newt turn the lights off? Why didn't he shut the door?

Newt reaches for the first vaguely weapon-shaped thing he can find—an empty fishbowl, because Newt's not going to sacrifice any of the fish for this—and, as the door swings open, hurls it with a cry.

The bowl clunks on the ground. Except it turns out Newt grabbed the wrong fish bowl, because (even though it doesn't shatter, thank God) water quickly begins to seep across the slate floor tiles towards Newt's serial killer, a pathetic little clownfish (Newt thinks this one is named Albert, because the physics department is made up of nerds who do shit like name their random pet fish after their kind) flopping around in the puddle. Newt's serial killer, meanwhile, cries out similarly, his arms windmilling as he loses his footing and slips backwards, his cane—

Oh, fuck.

The intruder is not a serial killer. It's someone possibly worse, actually: Newt's mortal enemy, Hermann Gottlieb.

Newt's not really sure at what point Hermann became his mortal enemy and not just some guy I have class with that I hate, but he can pretty easily say that they've hated each other since the moment Hermann walked through the doors of Engineering 101 and was deigned Newt's lab partner by the Alphabetized By Last Name Seating Chart god. Something about Hermann just gets under Newt's skin. It's not his prissy English accent, or his oversized sweaters, or his absolutely horrendous haircut, and it's not even that he takes every opportunity to savagely rip apart every single thing Newt says in class. Don't get Newt wrong, that's all super fucking annoying, but it's annoying levels he can deal with.

It's the stuff they have in common that makes Newt hate him. It's like Hermann's a slightly broodier and more angular mirror that reflects all of Newt's most egregious faults—his arrogance, his stubbornness, his social awkwardness, his desperation to be taken seriously—right back at him. It sucks.

Plus, one time Newt caught Hermann ripping down the flyer he put up on the quad for Anime Club to advertise his stupid chess club instead, and he's never managed to forgive him for that.

Newt may hate Hermann, but he's not about to let him land on his ass in a puddle of fishy water (especially not on a freezing November night) just because the subsequent bitching would be unbearable, and, yeah, it would be supremely shitty of Newt, so he leaps forward just in time to catch Hermann and his cane before he hits the ground. He's so impressed with himself with his amazing catch that it takes him a few seconds to realize that Hermann is shouting and probably has been shouting since he slipped.

"—bloody maniac! What on earth are you doing in here? How are you in here? Did you just assault me? I'm going to phone campus police, you wretched—"

"Hold that thought," Newt says.

He rights Hermann and snags the mesh net and rescues poor Al before it's too late, dropping him back into the big tank with the rest of his friends. Newt can't be sure, but he thinks Al blows a bubble in thanks at him. Maybe he needs to make friends outside fish.

Hermann is still yelling at him.

"I am going to tell the head of the department you're—you're skulking about in here after hours!" he declares. "You're a menace. Pay attention to what I'm saying to you, Newton!"

Newt sighs and turns around. Hermann's turned an interesting shade of red—sort of like an over-boiled lobster, or if he fell asleep in the sun for too long. Newt wonders if it's from embarrassment (almost falling on his ass) or anger (almost being knocked on his ass). Probably anger. "Look, dude, I'm sorry," Newt says. His face twists like he ate a lemon, and he hopes Hermann doesn't notice. Newt hates apologizing to Hermann. "It's my job to clean the tanks every weekend. You scared the shit out of me and I freaked out—it's just that, like, no one ever comes by this late. Ever." He decides not to mention the serial killer thing. Hermann might make fun of him for being jumpy or paranoid or something.

Hermann's scowl doesn't lessen, but he does nod. Plus, he stops shouting. That's as much as Newt's gonna get of forgiveness. "Hmph," Hermann says. "You clean the tanks?"

"Every weekend," Newt repeats. He realizes he got some fish tank slime on Hermann's button-up when he caught him. Oops. Hopefully Hermann won't notice until Newt's in the safety of his dorm. "Gotta pay for my textbooks somehow." Then he frowns. "Wait, so what are you doing here? I didn't know you had access to the building this late."

Maybe Hermann is the kitchenette-cleaning guy after all. But, to his surprise, Hermann sniffs and casts his eyes to his dorky Oxford shoes. "Er," he says. "It's just—I was having trouble working out a solution to a problem, and thought a walk might do me good. Chilly nights like this one always do. And I quite like this building at night—it's calm, and much quieter than my dormitory." He fidgets. "And—well—only don't say anything to anyone, but I rewrote the permissions of my ID card so I could come and go wherever I please ages ago."

"You rewrote the permissions?" Newt says. "What the hell, wouldn't you have to hack into the security system or something to do that?"

"Well, obviously," Hermann says.

Despite himself, and despite Hermann being his Mortal Enemy, Newt is genuinely impressed. "Dude," he says. "That is so badass." Since when has Hermann been a badass?

Hermann's eyebrows jump, and he blinks at Newt behind his dorky librarian glasses. What twenty-one-year-old wears librarian glasses? With a chain? "You think so?" he says.

"Uh, totally," Newt says. "What problem were you stuck on? The one from Saturday?"

Being lab partners for engineering means Newt and Hermann have to collaborate on pretty much everything, including their midterms. Their midterm is what they've been working on for the past two weeks. On Saturday, though, they met in neutral ground to work on it (a reserved study room in the library), and, after a stupid and massive argument that had the librarians hoisting them out by their shirt collars and threatening to ban them for life, Hermann called Newt an idiot and stomped off into the night. Newt still hasn't gotten around to giving the problem another shot. Whatever, they have another week before the dumb thing is due. Plenty of time. Hermann nods. "Yes," he says. "Er—that one."

Newt glances at the clock ticking away on the wall. Quarter after eleven. Hermann's delayed him a whole fifteen minutes. Technically, he reminds himself, he doesn't actually have to have the tanks scrubbed by Friday night—he has the whole weekend to get it done. Also, he kind of feels like he owes Hermann for attacking him the way he did. Accidentally attacking. "Listen, Hermann," he says, feeling totally insane for what he's about to suggest. But he kind of wants to know more about Hermann The Badass. "What if we went back to my place and worked on it together? I'll buy us pizza, and I have, like, a bunch of energy drinks." The pizza place nearest campus is open until three in the morning, almost definitely because they get all of their business from sleep-deprived undergrads. Plus, they have midnight specials where you get free breadsticks with every pizza. Newt could go for some breadsticks. "It might be...fun," he adds.

Fun? With Hermann? Hermann will think he hit his head or something.

But to his surprise, Hermann doesn't hesitate even a second before saying "Alright, then."

"Oh," Newt says. He honestly thought Hermann would put up more of a struggle. "Cool!"

"But I might need to borrow a jumper," Hermann says. "If you'd be so...courteous, that is. I'm a bit chilly."

For some reason, the thought of Hermann (Newt's mortal enemy, but also a secret badass) curled up in one of Newt's baggy sweatshirts makes Newt feel all weird and warm all over. He swallows a few times, because his throat feels a little weird, too. Too tight. Like he just ate something he's allergic to. "No sweat," Newt says. "Let me just get these fish back in the, um, the tank. And—" He waves his slimy, gloved hands. "Take these off. And clean up that puddle. Gimme—um, gimme like, ten minutes?"

"Of course," Hermann says, and gives Newt a small, terse nod.

From Hermann, it's a smile. Newt almost slips on the puddle he's so blindsided by it. Stupid Hermann, making him feel all weird and clumsy.

[miss-kittys-magical-library]

Teenage Dirtbag

(Cormac x Jeanie)

Warnings: fluff and smut

A/N: Cormac feels bittersweet about his abnormal teenage years, but a tryst at the abandoned O'Keefe's College with Jeanie changes his mind about what never was.

The last of my birthday weekend self-indulgent drabbles. I dug deep and pulled Cormac back to the front of the closet to wear just for today.

Jeanie inhaled the scent of moss and rain that filled the air around the abandoned boarding school. If it weren't for Cormac, Hannah and Brett this was surely how her own building would end up in a few years. She didn't mind the dynamic it created between her and her boyfriend, or that the purchase was for some ulterior scientific motive. She got to keep the kids and her job, and he got to maintain one of the last untapped portals.

Now they were in Galway where everything started. Or, as Jeanie pointed out once she knew the stories, Cormac’s friends gaslit him for an entire semester.

“That's how comic book villains are born,” she watched as he turned on the power grid and fumbled around with his necklace.

“I suppose,” his catch phrase, “But even Tony Stark created a murder robot. He scrunched his nose and scratched his head in the most adorable way. Then something clicked.

“Tony Stark is a murder robot.”

A calming female voice responded before Cormac had the chance. “Tony Stark is more closely related to a cyborg than a robot. Good morning, Cormac. Jeanie.”

“See how she uses disdain when she speaks to me?! Jarvis doesn't speak like that.”

“Silvia doesn't have disdain for you. She's a computer program.”

Jeanie and Silvia spoke collectively, “I'm an artificial intelligence system.” The schoolteacher pointed at nothing as if to say even they can agree on her being beyond just a program.

“I'm also not female or male, I am a sexless non-binary system. You decided to gender me when you were fourteen years old based on the voice modulation you placed inside of me. I have no body or sexual organs.”

“You just got out Cormac’d!” Jeanie teased as his cheeks grew rosy.

“Come on, I'll show you around.”

----

The next few hours were like visiting a museum of Cormac’s memories. He admitted that he had the ability to go to university much earlier than most anticipated, but he hung around because he actually enjoyed the small group of friends he accumulated his years at O’Keefe’s. Even if his relationship with Martin, the resident Draco Malfoy, was contentious. Even if they were understaffed, underfunded and simply unable to accommodate any real science program. He felt a sense of duty to the school that kept him safe when his Nan could not.

“I could have gone with my mum’s side in Dublin if I wanted. My aunt was just worried what I might just get up to if I did.”

“What, like a criminal?” Jeanie burst into a fit of giggles picturing Cormac in a life of crime. Although.. “That's the Delaneys, right?” Jeanie pondered. “Gordon and I knew some Dublin Delaneys.”

“That's like knowing a Smith.”

They had circled back around to his old dorm room where they had dropped off all their gear for China. Jeanie lingered on the old desk having perched on the corner. Her arms hugged around herself against the draft. Cormac sat comfortably on his old bed stretched out with his arms towards the wall behind him. An aged and browning poster of a full moon above his head.

Jeanie grimaced at the water stains underneath him and tried to hide her disgust. “At least I hope those are water stains,” she joked.

Cormac moved his knees apart and stared down at the bed, “Jaysus, love, what kinda stains d’ye t’ink t’ey are?!”

Jeanie raised an eyebrow. Cormac’s eyes nearly rolled back in his head. “If you need t’know, I was a shower wanker.”

He was so matter of fact, like he was about everything, Jeanie snorted. Still he made a big production of unpacking his massive sleeping bag and rolling it out along the mattress. He smoothed out the nylon, and presented it to his girlfriend for her to sit down finally.

As Jeanie settled in, Cormac stuffed his hands between his legs and his face flushed. “Do you have a boner right now?! Wait, because I'm on it bed? Is this some.. Puberty regression? AM I THE FIRST GIRL WHO SAT HERE?!” Jeanie couldn't help but squeal.

“NO! Hannah and Tara have sat here loads of times.”

“Yeah, but have you touched their vaginas?”

“JEANIE!”

“CORMAC!”

Jeanie played along and stole a kiss. Her lips pecked his briskly, but then again. They lingered longer so her tongue could sneak just inside his welcoming mouth. She may as well have waged war.

Cormac pushed his own tongue deep inside of his girlfriend’s mouth. As their tongues battled for the upper hand, Jeanie clung to his shirt and laid back on the bed pulling him along with her. She ran her hands under his tee-shirt up his back to dig her nails into his shoulder blades. His forearms on either side of her to prop himself up.

Cormac situated himself inside of Jeanie's legs that drew up alongside his hips. Still fully clothed as they kissed heavily. His belt buckle got trapped by the button of her jeans as they fought to come undressed. Both laughed at the absurdity of acting like horny teenagers simply because they were in a childhood bedroom.

Still, Cormac finally undid Jeanie's pants and tugged them over her hips to her ankles. He was clumsy at the laces of her boots which he gave up on and just yanked off and tossed somewhere in the room. Up on his knees, he threw both shirts he wore over his head. He fumbled with his belt and pants, standing only to strip them off before climbing back on top of Jeanie now in her bra and panties.

The cold air pimpled their flesh, but they ignored it when their kisses commenced. Jeanie’s hands were enmeshed in Cormac’s soft, dark hair. His lips and tongue started to wander to the base of her throat which he nipped and sucked where he could feel her pulse beat under his warm mouth. A brief moment she thought he would bite harder for fun; then he did. All the while he palmed the fabric of her panties in quick succession.

Jeanie’s breath caught at how brazen Cormac was being in broad daylight. Out in the open on top of the sleeping bag instead of in it. The static from portaling that ran through his nerves just under the skin passed on to her. Her brain was too fuzzy with desire to tell if the heat on her sex and clit was from the rapid friction or just the electricity Cormac emitted.

Jeanie couldn't even focus beyond the sensation. Her fingers and hands with a mind of their own drew his boxers down to expose his bare ass to her touch. She used it to draw his no longer secret erection into her entrance. Cormac’s hand and her panties in the way. He happily let her go so he could start pushing into the fabric with the head of his cock. Her ankles locked on his waist so her heels could dig into his lower back. They urged him to rut faster in spite of their underwear.

As klutzy as Cormac was with her jeans and boots, his long fingers were experts at undoing Jeanie’s bra. He kissed her shoulders and arms behind the straps he pulled off to expose her breasts. Breasts his mouth consumed hungrily. His tongue circled and practically inhaled one of her nipples before alternating to the other. He sucked in time to his bucks.

Jeanie deigned to speak, her words punctuated by Cormac’s movements. “I'm.. really..” she moaned “Cold.”

She was, he realized all of a sudden. With more laughter and flourishes, the two managed to zip themselves snug inside the sleeping bag. Jeanie's panties and Cormac’s underwear discarded in the process. Their bodies pressed to each other while his cock pushed into her thigh. The heat was immediate, in more ways than one.

They laid on their sides and faced one another. Cormac’s leg tangled around Jeanie's lower one. Her leg closest to the ceiling wrapped around his hip. Her calf draped along his ass while her hand reached between their bodies and took hold of his shaft. She positioned it just outside her entrance that ached to be filled. All the blood in her body swelled there.

Cormac gazed downwards at her hand, his breathing uncontrolled as Jeanie guided him again inside. Without any more instruction, he thrust inside of her so far and sharply that his pelvis collided with hers. Then he pulled almost completely out and sheathed himself to the hilt again. He repeated this over and over until they found a rhythm. Hips and sexes crashed like meteors with each powered motion.

Jeanie could only hold on. Her nails felt inches deep in Cormac's muscles along his shoulders. she had fleeting thoughts that yesterday wasn't his first time. That he lied perhaps out of embarrassment thinking he was no good.

Except he was, she was out of practice. The last time she had sex this good was.. She didn't want to think of him now. He was gone, Cormac was here. His forehead pressed into her jaw and cheek as he pounded into her. It only just dawned on her his glasses were on, bent at an unnatural angle in the crook of her neck. He didn't like to travel with his contacts in.

At this angle, Cormac hit Jeanie's clit every time he lost himself in her tightening walls. He was silent except for snorts of heavy air like a horse that escaped his nose. Both of them covered in a sheen of sweat until that lightning shot through Jeanie’s body. She coiled and recoiled and drew her boyfriend to her as she came. Cormac’s name echoed off the empty walls.

Not much longer until he did the same with a shudder and a muddled, husky “fuck” in Jeanie's shoulder. Cormac's body trembled which took her aback. Whether it was from the post-orgasm rush, or emotions, she didn't ask. Instead they held onto one another and babbled mindlessly until they fell asleep in the sleeping bag.

It was loud thunder and SILVIA through the old PA system that startled the couple awake.

“Cormac. Jeanie. May I suggest you leave as soon as possible? There is an approaching electrical storm that will surely affect the magnetic field produced by portal travel.”

They rushed to get dressed and repacked. Cormac was annoyed, “If you knew. SILVIA, why the hell didn't you tell me before?”

“Coitus interruptus. Perhaps Ms Turner feels I dislike her, but I can't imagine how much animosity she would display towards me should I interfere with your sexual intercourse. She's already jealous of our long-standing relationship”

Jeanie felt highly uncomfortable at that moment, watched even. Cormac was incensed. “SILVIA.” Then he shut her off, and they were bound for China.

Tag: @robertsheehanownsmyass @elliethesuperfruitlover @super-unpredictable98 @forenschik @slutforrobbiebro @frogs--are--bitches @nightmonsters @bisexualnathanyoung @bwritesstuff @rob-private

[titularkilljoy]

nameless, faceless.

Summary: These days, he starts to think he might not be Tobias, but he’s not much of a Spencer either. Gen-fic following a newly exonerated Spencer Reid. 

Content Warnings: Drug use, angst, slight references to gun violence and physical abuse.

Thanks to @imagining-in-the-margins who listened to me rant about this messy fic for weeks on end, and for being the first to read it. 

Spencer Reid is an excellent shot. A perfect shot. He can take apart and put together his service weapon with his eyes closed. He’s tried, and succeeded. Thrice, because once might be a fluke, twice might be a freak coincidence, but the third success counts as scientific proof.

Years ago, Aaron Hotchner tried, unsuccessfully, to help him pass his firearms qualification. Adrenaline was his friend that day. He could have succumbed to the agony of the cobweb-covered boxes in his head creaking open, bit by bit, every time Hotch’s foot knocked the air out of his lungs; or, he could have used his brain and his training and finally done something that would prove people wrong about him. He chose the latter.

One shot, right through Philip Dowd’s skull. In the solemn aftermath of his first kill, Hotch was proud of him. He was proud of himself. That night he went home and allowed the pain in his ribs take control. It felt good. It felt like a victory.

Of course, he knew he didn’t really deserve to wield the weapon. Once was a fluke. Which is why he kept going back to the shooting range every chance he got, until he finally felt a little less like a child, however prodigious, playing dress-up in an FBI vest.

Hotch would be proud of him if he saw the perfect score. But he hasn’t spoken to Hotch in years. The number in his phone has long since gone inactive, and no matter how bad he is at reading social cues, he can hear Hotch’s unspoken request for a clean break loud and clear. He deletes the number.

~

JJ is careful around him, these days. She’s always been protective of him, but these days she knows he can take care of himself. It’s more like she’s circling him slowly, trying to put her finger on what exactly has made him so different, so maybe she can zoom in on that and fix it and then everything will be back to normal again. He’ll be her nerdy best friend Spencer who once had a desperate crush on her and is still half in love with her but never a real prospect. Spencer. Predictable, quirky Spencer.

He doesn’t quite know how to tell her she’s not going to get her wish, though, so he just ignores her heavy stares pricking his neck when he isn’t looking her way. He ignores the urge to tell her to stop looking so tormented when he’s the one who’s been to hell and back. He knows it isn’t fair, and no matter how off-kilter he feels, he knows he doesn’t want to hurt her.

At the moment he is ignoring her hushed conversation with Will in the kitchen while he sits cross-legged on the floor and helps Henry with his science project. It’s very clear she’s talking about him because he can hear her whisper his name every now and then, and her husband seems to be trying to comfort her. Will has been pleasant to be around since he got out; he will usually just engage him in mundane conversation that surprises him with how calming it is. At the very most, he will offer him a word of support that never feels condescending, and he’s immensely grateful in a way he suspects will always remain unspoken between them.

“Uncle Spencer, look!”

The little primitive robot is moving around successfully, and Henry looks jubilant. He also looks at Spencer with unbridled adoration, and absolutely no one but his godson has ever looked at him like that. It makes something swell inside him and he has to clear his throat.

“Whoa! You did it, Henry. You’re a genius!” he praises with a grin that stretches from ear to ear, picking him and resting him on his shoulders. JJ and Will are watching fondly, and as he meets their eyes, he is relieved that JJ, for once, doesn’t seem to be worried. Why would she be? Right now, he doesn’t feel broken. He just feels happy and loved, and he wishes he can make this moment last forever.

~

He’s in a cement box and the walls are slate grey and his mind is trapped. There is silence all around him and he feels like he can choke on it.  He’s on his back and trying to sleep but his eyes won’t close. His hairs stand permanently on end and there’s a rapid thumping that he decides must be his racing heart. The thumping grows louder and louder; there’s a clang and suddenly he isn’t alone in the grey box anymore. Suddenly there is a flash of too-bright light and several nondescript faces in there with him and the only thing he knows for sure is that they want to hurt him.

There are hands around his chest and hands around his legs and hands twisting his arms behind him and they’re all tightening like a vice and the air is running out but then his eyes adjust to the light and it’s Calvin Shaw in front of him and he looks powerful, and he knows he has to get away, or he’s going to die in here, he’s going to die a murderer, and he fights with all his might and his lungs are spilling out hoarse helpless screams, but then there’s cool metal in his hands and something splashes onto his face.

He cannot afford to stop for a second or he will be done for, so he keeps going, he swings wildly without knowing what he’s doing, over and over and over until the only noises in the box are his own. Shaw is on the ground and so is everyone else and he’s sweating but when he wipes it away and licks it lips it tastes like copper. He jolts, there’s another clang, and he looks down to see a bloody knife has seemingly fallen from his hand. No, no, no, he thinks, he was only fighting to be able to breathe, he didn’t mean to-

But you did, the walls seem to chant and then the walls aren’t walls at all, they’re glimpses of Emily’s deep brown eyes and JJ’s sunshine smile and Rossi’s paternal gaze and Morgan’s brotherly smack on his back, except now they’re all betrayed and afraid and their guns are trained on him, on him, on Spencer, and he keeps telling them he didn’t do it, he swears he didn’t but Nadie Ramos is on the ground and she’s so dead and cold and bloody and the guns are taking aim and-

And then he’s sitting ramrod straight in his bed, sweating profusely, panting and throwing the blankets to the floor. The clock on his nightstand innocuously tells him it is two forty-three a.m. He’s in his apartment. The walls are moss green, there are books everywhere; he tries to calm the pounding in his chest.

He waits for the relief to fill him and lull him back to a restless sleep. It never comes. Instead, all that fills him is shame.

Shame makes him feel small—young, younger than he is, and strips him of the precious shreds of confidence he’s managed to drape over a scared little boy tied to a flag post. There’s bile crawling up his throat and he needs to escape.

What happens next is an out-of-body experience. One moment, he’s sitting on the bed and feeling fourteen. The next, he’s watching himself walk over to the nightstand with purpose and open the locked drawer. Then, there’s a needle sticking out of his arm and he’s on the floor and there’s sunlight filtering in through the curtains.

The reality of what he’s just done hits him all at once. The shame follows immediately after. Then comes the one he can never quite seem to shake.

Self-loathing has been his dogged pursuer all these years, always carefully kept at the peripheries by Gideon’s watchful eye or Hotch’s uncharacteristic words of affection or Morgan’s warm arm slung over his shoulders; this time, he’s all alone. And right now, it is consuming him.

~

Garcia is more astute than people give her credit for. This much, he’s always known. But he isn’t particularly fond of having her turn that perceptive gaze onto him with laser focus.

Emily and Rossi have decided to give him space, and his further retreat into himself after the night where he slipped doesn’t seem to clue them in to anything he’d rather they never knew. Matt, as a rule, doesn’t pry and doesn’t meddle, and if Spencer is being honest, he really wishes the rest of his team would follow his example. Tara is quiet and observant and besides all that, she has seen him drug-addled and half-confessing to murder before—she might sense that he’s hiding something but he doubts she will go as far as confronting him, since they don’t really talk about things. Luke, on the other hand, is definitely the type to meddle, but he also seems to look up to Spencer a bit, seeming impressed not just with his intellect but also with his track record at the FBI; it’s a nice change.

What he doesn’t expect is for Garcia to keep her keen eye trained on him behind all the emotional speeches and hugs. He definitely doesn’t expect her to show up at his door the day after they’ve returned from a case in Colorado, looking like she means business. He can feel a headache coming on just at the sight of the defiant tilt of her chin.

“Garcia, what are you doing here?” He lets a bit of his annoyance seep into his tone. It’s eleven at night and they’ve been swamped with cases and he could really use this time alone. There’s a small voice in his head taunting for what, but he ruthlessly squashes it down.

“Oh, don’t start that with me, boy wonder,” she warns, ignoring his protests as she pushes past him into the apartment. Sighing internally, he shuts the door and rests his forehead against it for a second. Please let this be over quickly.

Garcia whirls on her heel to face him again, pointing an accusatory finger at him.

“You have been hiding something, mister,” she begins dramatically, and his heart stops.

“You’re not sleeping, Reid! And you’ve avoided coming out with us every single time we’ve asked. You know how many times we’ve asked since you’ve been back, Reid? Twenty-three!”

She’s pacing now, seeming troubled, and yet he’s the one who feels like a cornered animal.

“You won’t talk to JJ, you won’t talk to Emily, and you won’t talk to me!” Now her eyes are wide and pleading and he startles himself with how little he cares about what she’s feeling right now. He just wants her to leave so he can be alone again.

“You’re not even seeing your therapist!”

“I saw my therapist and I got cleared for duty,” he retorts, narrowing his eyes.

“Well, duh. I know that. I meant the therapist JJ suggested for you after that? The one outside the bureau so you wouldn’t get all concerned about the FBI stealing your emotional secrets?” Her accompanying eyeroll says aren’t you supposed to be a genius? His hackles raise.

“How do you know I’m not seeing that therapist?” His tone is clipped, and of course he knows how she knows. He just wants to see if she’ll admit it.

She falters, but only for a second. “How do I know everything? Do you want me to explain the internet to you?”

“I’m asking why you know.”

“Because we’re all worried about you!”

“So you decided to pry into my personal life?”

“Well what else are we supposed to do if you won’t tell us anything?!”

He wants to lash out at her. He wants to yell about boundaries and that this is his business, not hers or JJ’s or Emily’s, and they should just mind their own. He wants to demand to know why he has to constantly keep proving himself, after all these years. But he sees how that will play out.

Garcia will try to protest for a while, but as his words pierce through her defences, her eyes will shine with hurt and betrayal, and he’ll be too proud to try to fix it. He won’t hear from her for a few days, and then he will hear from them all at once. They’ll confront him and they’ll be so painfully earnest about it, and Emily will likely “suggest” that he take some time off, and he’ll be forced to remember that she’s not just his friend, but also his boss, and her hands will be tied. He foresees spinning off the rails in the absence of something to occupy him. He imagines falling even further from grace; from the FBI’s golden boy to a barely exonerated murder accused, to an unreliable drug addict who’s more of a liability than an asset.

So he tames the impulse and forces himself to look contrite. His head is throbbing now, and he needs to get her out of here as soon as possible.

“You’re right. I’m just going through a lot. I’m not used to feeling so…adrift,” he whispers, running a hand through his hair and gazing at the floor to the left of where Garcia’s bright green shoes are planted. It works; he can feel her resolve crumble. The tension between them eases, and she approaches him like he’s a wounded animal.

“Oh, honey,” she whispers, pulling him into a tight hug, “we’re all here for you. We know how hard you must be struggling, and we want to help you, but you have to let us, okay?” She pulls back, looking him straight in the eyes. “No more trying to handle all of this crap on your own, mister.”

He nods like he knows he’s supposed to.

“Oh, and, and! You have to go to the therapist. No arguments,” she tells him, “You know I’ll know if you don’t end up going.”

He does know. Garcia stays a little while longer, fussing over the mess that is his apartment and his nearly empty refrigerator. She makes him promise to replenish his supplies, before finally leaving with one last hug.

He shuts the door behind her and leans against it. He supposes he should feel bad about so coldly manipulating one of his closest friends, but these days he’s so full of shame anyway that he thinks he’s maxed himself out. Fulfilled his self-hatred quota for a lifetime. Or maybe he just can’t really tell what it is he feels bad for anymore.

He used to wonder if he wasn’t really himself anymore. If Tobias had killed him and brought him back except now there was more Tobias in him than there was Spencer. Then the marks on his arms weren’t visible and he could walk without much of a limp again and the white-hot brand in his mind screaming ‘sinner’ dulled to an orange glow, and he realised he couldn’t possibly be Tobias. Tobias only cared about dilaudid and a twisted sense of morality and judgement and avenging. Spencer wasn’t like that.

These days, though, he starts to think maybe that’s changed. Sure, maybe he isn’t Tobias. But he doubts he’s much of a Spencer either.

~

He thinks he’s doing pretty well. Handling the drug addiction, he means. He isn’t just getting high every chance he can get and walking into work with telltale sunglasses and trembling hands. He plans it out. He rations out his supply. He also fully intends for it to be a temporary thing.

In retrospect, that was remarkably stupid of him.

It all comes to a head during a case in Denver. It involves, as it usually does, dead women, a frustratingly broad profile, and largely unhelpful local law enforcement.

Spencer is standing in front of a corkboard, peering at a map of the town and meticulously tying a strand of red yarn between the crime scenes and the locations frequented by each of the victims, indicated by slightly rusty dull-green thumbtacks. JJ and Rossi are off in one of the interrogation rooms, speaking to the latest victim’s boyfriend. Luke and Tara are in the field, interviewing a bereaved mother. Across the table, Emily is on the phone with Garcia, poring over a case file.

The door slams open and an officer walks in, carrying two Starbucks cups and wearing a wide, hopeful grin. Emily smiles kindly at him even though there’s a furrow between her eyebrows; this man hardly deserves to have their irritation directed at him.

He quickly realises Officer Cole is either flirting with Emily or flirting with the BAU, and Emily is patiently indulging him. Spencer ignores him for the most part, his mind drawn to a solitary green pin on the periphery that remains hitherto untethered to any other. He glares at it balefully, willing it to fit perfectly into the intricate pattern he’s identified. He pinches the bridge of his nose, mentally scanning the details of the crime scenes and case files. Still staring directly at the pin, he reaches blindly towards the table to grab the red yarn, and then promptly yelps in shock. His eyes jerk over to his dripping left forearm and then up at Officer Cole’s mouth hanging open in horror, trying to stutter out an apology but nothing comes out; he looks like he’s about to cry.

Spencer mumbles something along the lines of “it’s alright” while inspecting his arm. He unbuttons the cuff of his long-sleeved shirt, and after a cursory inspection, concludes that it’s nothing a little running water won’t fix. He gingerly pries the fabric away from his skin, confirming his theory that the skin is unblemished, if a little pink, and makes his way to the restroom. He’s distracted with reassuring Cole to think anything of the way Emily takes one look at his arm and then inspects his face with a strange intensity.

It isn’t until he’s in the room again, ten minutes later, with both his sleeves rolled up to his elbows, that it hits him. The air is distinctly chillier now, or maybe it’s Emily’s stare that sends a shiver down his spine. She looks disappointed and furious all at once, and this time he doesn’t have to fake the urge to avoid her eyes. Of course she’d be the one to find out, he thinks. But he supposes, if he’s sloppy enough to slip up so badly, he deserves whatever is coming.

When she makes him book the first flight home and decides he needs to take another two weeks off, he scarcely puts up a fight. When she tells him about her conditions, he nods in resignation. If she listens to what she has to say, she will see how pathetic he really is, and maybe that will be worse. As of now, she only knows the bare bones of what happened to him over a decade ago: she knows of a kidnapping and a resurrection and PTSD, but she doesn’t know of the vials and the meetings and Gideon’s guilt; hopefully, she never will. As he walks out of her makeshift office, he feels the rift between them grow impossibly wider.

~

The woman smiling cheerfully up at him and offering her assistance from behind the reception desk is unfamiliar. He’s been called a robot so many times he’s stopped counting, but right now he feels exactly like a machine that has come screeching to a halt when confronted with data beyond its knowledge. He stares at her, unable to move, as his mind torments him with all the things that could possibly have gone wrong. He’s faced one too many formidable adversaries to be able to shut off his profiler’s eye, and he scans her head to toe, looking for the slightest hint of deception. She doesn’t seem to be hiding anything but he could be wrong, he’s been wrong, and it nearly cost him everything; what if she can’t be trusted and this time his luck has well and truly run out, what if-

“Doctor Reid?”

The greeting jolts him away from his spiralling thoughts. It still takes him a second to come back to himself, and when he does, he notices his hands are clenched into fists. He’s standing stock still in the lobby of Bennington Sanitarium. The receptionist is staring back at him with a look somewhere between fear and concern, her hand twitching towards the landline on the desk. He realises he must look somewhat threatening; he isn’t used to having that effect on people. But, he supposes, that is the least of the changes the last fifteen years have wrought on him.

“Doctor Reid, are you alright?”

He forces his body to relax, joint by joint, giving the woman as genuine of a smile as he can muster, hoping it will set her at ease. It doesn’t seem to; he can’t quite bring himself to care. The concerned voice is a familiar one, and he turns around to greet his mother’s new caretaker.

“Hi, Ruth. Sorry, I, uh—I had a rough flight,” he manages to say, running a hand through his hair, “how is she?”

Ruth always has a maternal air about her, and right now, she looks like she can see right through his flimsy excuse. She’s about to pry, he knows, and he suddenly feels claustrophobic. He needs to get away.

“Actually, I’m going to get some coffee, I’m a little tired. I’ll come back in a little while.”

Ruth frowns. “Doctor Reid, have you been sleeping?”

“Just fine, thanks. We just had a big case.” The longer this conversation stretches on, the less air there is in his lungs. His own voice sounds far away, like he’s shouting to be heard over the sounds of waves crashing against unmoving rocks.

“I see.”

“I’ll see you later,” he says, sidestepping her to get to the exit.

“Diana is having a bad day.”

The words make him stop short, if only for a moment.

“Ah.” A bad day means his mother doesn’t even know who he is. Trying to job her memory would only confuse and agitate her. He would know. He’s tried.

Ruth isn’t a woman who likes silence. “I’m sure she would still be happy to-“

He forces the muscles of his face to conjure up something resembling a smile in her direction. “No, that’s alright. I’ll just come back another time.”

With that, he pushes past her, taking long strides forward and not stopping until he’s hunched over and sucking in desperate lungsful of the warm night air. He can taste the saturation somewhere in the back of his throat and it almost feels like a home he’s long since left behind. It was stupid to have thought that seeing his mom would give him answers to questions he doesn’t even know how to voice. It’s stupid to think there’s any comfort to be had anywhere, in this new life.

Eventually, he catches his breath and straightens up, beginning to walk aimlessly. There are no stars to be seen above him, but this city could never be quite pitch dark. Vegas is all flashing lights and seductive mystery, and perhaps that’s why so many lost souls end up here. For him, it’s simply familiar; and so little of his life is recognisable these days that he clings to it like a drowning man. That’s probably why this is where he’s chosen to come the day before his mandatory leave is over.

He doesn’t put much thought into where his feet are taking him, until he hears the familiar sounds of whirring machinery and celebratory shouts and sultry jazz music being crooned into a microphone. The air reeks of artifice, but he couldn’t care less. In a few minutes he’ll be raking in victory after victory until someone grows suspicious and he ends up getting kicked out of the casino. He’ll never admit it, but even the inevitable outcome gives him a thrill. This, at least, is a sure gamble. Here, he may be nameless and faceless, but here, he’s also a winner.

~

Spencer hesitates at the door. He knows he has no choice but to enter, but the thought of being back there is overwhelming. It fills him with a shame he knows he ought not to feel. He reaches into his jacket pocket and his fingers grip the bronze token he almost never leaves at home. The cool metal grounds him somewhat.

Three times this fortnight, he has gotten as far as ten minutes into a meeting before being called away for work. Like the coward he is, he took the easy out and rushed to play Superman, when he’s really not even a half-decent Clark Kent. He is fraying at the edges. He knows himself well enough to be sure that wherever his current path is leading him, it isn’t anywhere good. So he takes a deep breath, and crosses the threshold.

As he takes a seat among the quietly welcoming group of fractured souls, he turns off his phone. Whatever horrors the world outside might need his help to rectify, he knows that leaving this safe haven for them is not an option; not when it would mean allowing the tendril of ice in his chest to spread and consume him and render him permanently useless.

A shadow falls over his hunched form, and he looks up to catch the eye of an old friend.

“John,” he remembers to say.

“Spencer,” the man greets back warmly. He takes the seat next to him. “It’s been a while.”

He hears the real questions: Why did you stop coming to meetings? What happened that led you back here now?

“I- I just figured I needed a reminder.”

The wan smile he directs at the older agent supplies the real answers: I was too proud to believe I needed to be here anymore. Now I’m here because I have no pride left.

That seems to be enough, and John offers a nod and an encouraging smile before he settles back into his seat, turning his attention to the front of the room. There’s a man talking about a messy relapse after a divorce. A woman follows with a pleased announcement that she is two years sober, to which the room responds with enthusiastic applause.  As more and more people offer up their stories, Spencer feels his nerves grow increasingly calmer, until he finally musters up the confidence to stand up and walk the short distance himself.

“Hi,” he begins with a small wave, “My name is Spencer, and I’m an addict.”

When he says the word, his entire being sighs in realisation. His mind stretches to accommodate this new piece of previously unacknowledged information, hugging the jagged edges of sharp defensiveness and tired denial that adorn it. There’s an odd sense of calm that comes along with it. He knows now, really knows, and if Spencer Reid knows something, half the battle has been won.

~

Last time, he never even really slipped. He just held on to the vials like some kind of a sick lifeline. When the nightmares became too intense, he would grip them so hard he actually feared they would break. That was back when he still had a lot of things left to live for, though; a mother, a team, a life that he loved. Now, his mother doesn’t remember him. His team is fractured and each of them is scarred in myriad ways. And his life is more a tragic comedy than the heroic sagas his mother adores. Still, he tries.  

Time passes and things are more or less normal.

Emily no longer looks at him with suspicion. He wouldn’t go as far as to say she trusts him again, but she doesn’t distrust him. That’s more than he expected to get, at least.

Garcia is still much nicer to him than he deserves; when she greets him in the morning with a batch of homemade cookies, he wonders, not for the first time, whether she truly doesn’t know what he’s been up to in his spare time. Garcia isn’t the best at keeping secrets, and he’s sure she would have let something slip by now. Rossi still invites him to extravagant dinner parties and he still goes to a few of them and the whole team is there, and it’s still fun and lighthearted and easy. It shouldn’t be this easy.  

The more he thinks about it, the more likely it seems that Emily has done him the enormous favour of keeping his secret. No one treats him differently—except JJ, the lengths of whose understanding and patience are tested a little more every time he says no to babysitting Henry; he can’t tell her he needs to be as far away from Henry as possible for the time being, so he makes up flimsy excuses that make the smile on her face look forced and painful. But otherwise, no one asks any pointed questions, and none of the higher-ups are watching him any more closely than usual.

The thought chokes him up. The worst part is that there isn’t much he can do to show his gratitude besides say the words. Which he does, in the quiet of her office after everyone has gone home for the weekend, and tentatively reaches for a hug. She lets him embrace her, and the familiar scent of her shampoo makes some chunk of a wall inside him crumble.

Apart from that, though, all he can do is just—live. There’s no way to make amends as soon as he wants to. The only way to thank Emily is to try not to be such a colossal disaster in the future. Some days, it seems like that’s a feat that is beyond him. Those days, he stays hunched over his desk in the bullpen into the wee hours of the morning, trying to hit that sweet-spot of mindless exhaustion that will have him dead asleep as soon as his head hits the pillow.

It’s on one such night, a little past midnight, that he’s startled by the sounds of approaching footsteps behind him. He swivels around in his chair and comes face to face with an impassive JJ. He didn’t know she was here. She’s carrying a pile of paperwork and her hair is just slightly disheveled, so he assumes she has been in the records section.

In the dim yellow light, she still looks angelic, and it feels like she holds the weight of his existence in her hands. He just stays perfectly still while she studies him. Neither of them says anything, until she finally seems to make a decision, pulling up a chair, sitting next to him, and silently getting to work.

He stares at her for a few more seconds before returning to the file, and soon the only sounds are the scratching of pens on paper. It’s peaceful, this silence, and he takes it to mean he’s been given a little more time to figure things out.

She still ends up leaving before he does. As she packs up her things, she shoots a few concerned glances his way. She spins on her heel and takes a step before pausing. Then there’s a small pressure on his shoulder as she whispers, “You’re allowed to be happy, Spencer. You know that, right?”

He keeps his eyes trained on the paperwork, but he raises his hand to squeeze hers.

“I’m getting there, I think.”

~

The cement box is closing in on him. There’s cement in his mouth and Calvin Show is smirking at him and his hand is bleeding, dripping red rivulets of blood onto Nadie’s prone body. Someone is laughing in the distance, and Shaw and his goons join in until the sounds are drowned out by a scream, a desperate, long, agonising scream.

He sits erect with the scream still in his mouth. The immediate sight of his lamplit room makes it fizzle out into shallow, shaky breaths.

Despite himself, his gaze is drawn to his nightstand. He knows he threw the vials away. He knows there’s no temporary solace to be found. But he stares at it anyway.

In a concerted effort to distract himself, he grabs his phone. There’s an overwhelming urge to talk to someone, and he tries to squash it down. The leaky faucet in his bathroom is especially loud.

Plop. Plop. The familiar tension in his temples starts building, and he releases a frustrated groan. The phone in his hand is taunting him.

Plop. Plop. Plop. He gives in and dials a number on reflex, pressing the phone up to his ear as he stands and paces wildly.

“Reid?” The voice is rough with sleep but it’s also alert and so achingly familiar that all he can give in response is a slightly incredulous laugh.

“You picked up,” he says.

“Of course I picked up.” Silence. “Are you alright?”

Another laugh, though this one borders on hysterical. “Yeah. Yeah, Morgan. I’m alright.”

He knows it won’t work, even as he’s saying the words. The man on the other end is still sharp, and still knows him too well.

“I might be wrong, kid, but I don’t call up my best friend at two a.m. when I’m alright,” Morgan tells him gently, with a teasing smile in his voice. It sets him at ease.

He chuckles. “I guess you’re right.”

The silence that follows is expectant, but patient. It makes him want to talk about everything and he knows this is why he has been avoiding Morgan so much; he knows how to get his guard down. Spencer hasn’t really talked to Morgan since he showed up at his front door his first night home after getting out of prison, with an overnight bag slung over his shoulder and a face that said no nonsense would be tolerated. Spencer isn’t ashamed to admit he broke down that night, but he is a bit reluctant to repeat the exercise. He knows it’s about to happen.

“I don’t think I’ve really been alright since—since prison,” he finally offers, with an audible swallow.

“That’s to be expected, Reid.”

“I know.” He picks up the three-month token from his nightstand, and squeezes as tightly as he can. “I know, but lately…lately I’ve just been letting everyone down. I’m not…useful anymore.”

“Now that’s just not true, kid,” Morgan chides, uncharacteristically serious, “Listen to me. You went to prison, kid. Let that sink in. That’s not something that just goes away. It takes time, and patience, and no one is going to fault you for that.”

“Morgan, it’s-”

“I’m not done yet, genius,” he retorts, “and you need to understand that your worth isn’t determined by how useful you are in any given situation.”

Spencer snorts. “I’m pretty sure that’s exactly what ‘worth’ means, Morgan.”

“No, it isn’t.” There isn’t an ounce of levity in the response, and it makes Spencer hold his breath in anticipation. “In this job, it’s easy to think that way. I get it. I’ve felt it too. More times than I can count. But you need to know and believe that you’re not just the job. You’re more than the job. You’re a person. And I think you forget that way too much, kid.”

The breath leaves him in one loud whoosh. He fumbles for words, but he doesn’t have any.

“You mean something, Reid. And a lot of people love you for more than what you have to offer in a case. Get it?”

“Okay,” he whispers, because he knows Morgan will not let him get away with a non-answer or an evasion. The words have thrown him slightly off-balance, in a good way, so he files them away in his mind to retrieve and study and turn over later. He fiddles with the token as he clears his throat.

“I’m sorry I called so late.”

“You know you can call at any time. I’ve been getting too much sleep these days now that Hank isn’t a baby anymore.” His voice is always warm when he talks about his son, and he feels a sudden pang. He misses his best friend.

“It’s hard not having you around.”

“You know you can come over any time. Hank and Savannah miss you too. And I need someone to annoy Savannah more than I do so she’ll cut me some slack.”

The banter is familiar and fond, and after so many years, he knows there’s never any malice in it. He’s always loved the straightforwardness and simplicity that Morgan wears like a badge of honour.

“Yeah. I’d like that,” he replies, smiling.

“Okay, good. Now go to sleep, Einstein.”

“Alright,” he laughs. “And hey, Morgan?”

“Yeah, kid?”

“Thanks.”

“Any time.”

The call ends with a beep, and this final silence is tranquil. Armed with the knowledge that he truly is not alone, that he might actually survive this and be okay, it’s easier to sleep now. He may never be the same again. He most probably won’t. He may be more Tobias than Spencer some days and some days he may be neither, but it’s still not the terrible fate it once seemed. Maybe, he thinks just before he loses his train of thought, maybe he doesn’t have to be the most useful person in the room. Just for a while, that should be okay.

[ask-anti-cosmo]

Return of Anti-Cosmo

“So, you’re saying you work on a ship, and your boss was paid by some woman to drop a safe in the ocean?” You frowned at the man. “And…that’s significant?”

The scruffy seaman took out his phone. “Yeah, look!” He said and showed you a video of a very large safe being dropped into the ocean

“...And…?” You frowned unimpressed. “What was in it?”

“That’s the thing, she refused to say! We were paid for our silence, but I wrote down the coordinates cause I knew there was either something really good or bad in there! In the very least something of Value!”

“Why would she drop something of Value in the ocean like that?” You frowned.

“Well she certainly didn’t pay us thousands of dollars to toss nothing in the ocean.”

You thought about it for a minute. He wasn’t wrong, not one would lock trash in a safe and toss it in the ocean, it’d have to be significant. But what would they want to get rid of so badly? Maybe it’s a dead body or evidence. Either way, your curiosity was growing.

“Alright Mr…bade? How long ago was this?”

“About 15 years ago.”

You stared at him a minute. “and you only decided to come forward with this now…why?” you glared, feeling annoyed because now whatever was in the safe had time to deteriorate.

He looked a little bashful at this. “Well…I knew if I came forward boss would fire me…but I was fired last Friday so I figured…it was worth looking into now.” He said with a slight shrug.

You took a deep breath and sighed with irritation but decided it wasn’t worth getting mad over. “Fine, I’ll fund an expedition for your buried treasure, but since I’m paying for everything I get 90%.” You said.

“I only get ten percent?!”

“You’re honestly lucky to get that much. There is no guarantee there’s a profit to be made! It could just be a body disposal, then what do we get?”

“A reward from the police?” he asked hopefully.

“if that, and even if then it’d be minimal.” You frowned. “I’m doing this out of curiosity and boredom. If we find nothing, I will make your life Hell.” You assured. “I am older than I look and hate my time being wasted.”

He shivered but agreed, seeming very confident in the treasures for this endeavor. “Yeah, keep me updated! And I want to be there for the safe opening, I want to be sure I’m not being fooled!”

“Yeah yeah, get out while I make some calls.” You waved him off.

You were rich, you had connections, and you have eternity to spend, but that won’t stop you from tearing out the throat of Mr. Bade if there was nothing good or interesting in the safe. You didn’t mind your time or money being wasted if you get that much out of it, but you did make him a promise. And you kept your promises. Cross your heartless chest, you were an honest vampire.

~~~~~~~~

You easily had the voyage set up, a ship rented, a secure crew, and a plenty long enough cord to bring up the fabled Safe. A deep water submarine was attached to the boat with a robot crew, and a remote control way for it to find and guide the safe back up.

You and Mr. Bade were aboard, and although you were feeling a bit seasick, he seemed to be perfectly fine with the situation.

“haven’t been on the sea much?” he laughed at you.

“Not for years…” you huffed. Well, specifically decades but you didn’t advertise that.

You waited in the cabin for to pass the time before you were told that the ship had reached the coordinates.

You went to the room where The submarine camera footage was being recorded. You watched it get dropped into the water and descend into the darkness, shining it’s little lights around.

The sub seemed to take forever, drifting downward farther and farther till it found the floor of the ocean. It began to crawl along, searching for the man made object.

You actually started to drift to sleep before Mr. Bade jumped from his chair. “There it is!! That’s the safe!” he said with excitement.

You looked at the screen to see, sure enough, a mossy Safe that looked big enough to hide either a lot of treasure in it, or a body. “Bring it up then!” you ordered.

There was a lot of waiting involved, but no boredom as you watched the subs robot arms linking the chain around the safe. Then it followed the safe back up to the surface so you could see the progress and keep it from getting loose.

You saw the sunlight began to shine on it and went outside to see it starting to be lifted from the water slowly. Water poured from the cracks of the safe and seaweed and moss hung from the walls.

You grinned as you watched it slowly get set on the deck. “alright, let’s crack it open!” you declared and called forward your expert for getting the safe open.

It didn’t look high tech, in fact with the safe being at least 15 years old or more, it took your safe cracker almost no time at all. Mr. Bade rushed up to see what kind of treasure he had lead you to.

The door of the safe creaked open, more water poured out, and inside was a small man chained to the back wall, and drooping with a dead weight. He was covered in moss and tiny barnacles, his dark clothes slightly tattered from the water damage and small organisms that crawled around it.

A collective gasp went throughout the people of the deck and Mr. Bade swore under his breath.

“So it was a corpse…” you sighed in disappointment. “I half expected it…go get the coroner.” You called to a crewmate.

While waiting, you walked up to the drooping wet body to look closer, hoping there would be more inside. He wore dark blue clothes that looked almost Victorian. His hair was dark, looked almost blue, and upon closer inspection so did his skin, but you assumed it was discoloration from suffocating or perhaps the moss that grew on him. Not to mention an odd looking thing in his mouth, maybe a ball gag.

You squinted at the back of the safe to see a “do not feed the animals” sign behind him and gave a soft laugh. “Buddy, what in the world did you do to deserve this?” you laughed to yourself in disbelief. Maybe he was a cheating husband or something.

The coroner came over and looked around. “Well, any evidence will have been eaten or washed away at this point…let’s just get him out of there so I can inspect him farther on my table.” He said and called over the two policemen that accompanied him.

They used bolt cutters to cut the chains and ease the body out, pulling him onto a gurney. It was odd that he showed no signs of stiffness, but was still very droopy and almost ragdoll like.

You stepped forward curiously, looking closer at him. You noticed some weird black leather on his back. “what are those things on his coat?” you frowned and pointed to them.

The coroner blinked and looked closer. Just as he reached for them, suddenly they erected straight out, making you all jump back from the body.

The man’s red bloodshot eyes suddenly opened and he jolted up. His body convulsed a second before his hands came up and ripped off the ball gag off quickly. He got on his hands and knees and he began coughing up the water in his lungs. Everyone sat back, watching in shock as he gasped and puked up water and other particles of sea life.

“N…not possible…” the coroner said in shock as you watched the man catch his breath.

You walked closer to him, wondering what kind of being could survive 15 years underwater in a safe. Your mind started to race with excitement at the thought of him possibly being a vampire like you. There weren’t many of your kind left after all.

After he coughed up as much water as he could, he sat a minute, not moving besides breathing hard with an occasional cough. The black leathery wings on his back at reached weakly but started to droop once again.

You touched his back and he jumped back from you, baring fangs that made your heart soar. He glared at you with red rimmed neon green eyes. He coughed again before attempting to talk.

“what….year…is it…?” he said hoarsely.

“You’ve been in there for 15 years. That fellow over there watched you get dropped in the ocean before and lead us back.” You motioned to Mr. Bade.

“…wand.” He rasped out.

“Wand??” you asked in confusion and looked at Mr. Bade.

“Oh…I don’t know about a wand, but we dropped another smaller safe somewhere else, but I don’t have any clue where…” he frowned.

The supposed dead man growled in anger, but he tried to sit up.

“Sir, please stay on the gurney! You’re in terrible condition!” the Coroner told him urgently.

He started to lash out at everyone nearby, so you approached him and talked softly.

“You’re hungry aren’t you? You need blood to heal, right?” you asked softly.

His eyes widened but he didn’t say anything, just staring at you. At least he stopped attacking. “Its okay, we can help, okay? Just please calm down.” You told him. “Just…get on the gurney, and I’ll get what you need.”

“I…fine…” he frowned rasply and he sat on the gurney. He looked like he wanted to argue but didn’t have the energy for it. They carefully lifted him up and began to carry him to the medical room. You followed with excitement at finding another vampire. It’s always been so lonely and hard to find other vampires.

He let them bring him to the room before sitting up and curling up into a ball. The coroner tried to get closer but he snarled angrily, making him back off. You came closer with a blood bag, but if anything, he looked more annoyed and angry about it.

“Here you go.” You held it out to him.

He huffed and took the bag, drinking from it. He coughed again and even though he only took a sip, he set the bag aside.

“Hey, you should drink it! You’ll feel better!” you told him.

“Wrong kin-“ he said before breaking into a coughing fit.

“Wrong kind? Can you only have one kind of blood type?” you frowned.

He got up in frustration and took the bag with him. He walked over to the bare wall and spilt the blood on his hands and started writing on the wall furiously.

When he was done, he was breathing hard and looked back at you angrily. On the pale walls, he wrote:

“BLOOD OF THE UNFORTUNATE”

“Um…a misfortunate persons blood?” You asked in confusion. “Why would you need-“

He hissed in frustration and anger and began shoving people out of the way and rushed out the door.

“Sir! Get back here!” you called after him. You followed him. He kept grabbing people and breathing in their scent before shoving them away. He seemed to be going crazy, not finding what he wanted. “Sir!” you yelled again.

He stopped and looked back at you in a frenzy. “I! AM! ANTI-COSMO!!” He screamed, his voice sounding stronger than before, his anger tearing through the pain he was no doubt feeling.

“He is mad with hunger…” you realized and ran at him, tackling him to the ground. “Settle down!”

“Bad luck! I need bad luck!!” he screamed and fought back. You were able to get on top of him and attempt to hold him down as he thrashed. “I need bad luck!!” he insisted again.

“I think you’ve had enough!” you demanded and bit him in the neck.

He gasped and his grip got loose with shock. His attempts to fight back were nothing but weak flailing now. You held him down, making him lose whatever strength or fight he had left.

You have never tasted blood like his before, it was unreal. It tingled on your tongue and burned down your throat. It even started to make you feel giddy. Anti-Cosmo gasped and began to lay back and relax, seeming to be too weak to fight anymore.

You pulled away and studied his features, discovering that the blue skin you thought was moss, was his actual skin color that you could see. His eyes were still ringed red with signs of suffocation, and his ears were elfish, with earrings and a cracked monocle attached to one. You looked at the monocle to see it had to be prescription, so you unclipped it and called someone over so see if anyone could fashion a replacement, as well as find someone with bad luck. It must be frustrating not being able to see and you hoped it would help him settle down.

He pulled away from you and curled up, making you realize how small of a person he was, almost child like in size and proportions. His small wings retracted and clung to him sadly.

“I…used to be…a god…” he said softly.

“Hey, it’s okay…” you told him gently and scooted closer. “you’re…not a vampire are you?”

“I’m…an…Anti-Fairy.” He said slowly, the hoarseness in his voice becoming more faint. “I’m…powerless without my wand…” he said quietly and curled up tighter.

“No, you have wings and survived the safe and water pressure. You’re stronger than you think.” You told him and tried to get closer, but he let out a soft hissing screech.

“Even if I could find an unfortunate soul to feed from…I cannot pay them back.” He sighed. “I need to…to have perfect exchange.”

“How do you pay them back?” you asked.

“With my wand!” he said upsetly. “I need it!”

“Okay okay, we’ll look for it.” You promised. “Can you take blood and repay them later?”

“…yes.” He sighed in defeat.

“Then settle down. We’ll find someone to feed you.”

“Before I feed we must write down what they want from me with a guarantee of no change. Debts can change with time, but not if they’re perfectly agreed upon with proof of agreement.” He told you. Now that he was speaking more clearly you could hear a British accent in his voice.

“Okay then…what are you, a lawyer?”

“A dealmaker.” He stated.

“Like a demon?”

He actually smirked at this, his mouth twisting upward and showing off his fangs. “Yes…of a sort. But instead of a soul, I simply get blood.”

“Not a bad deal.” You nodded.

“As far as you know.” His eyes shimmered slightly with mischief. He then leaned slightly closer to you.

“What?” you frowned, starting to feel slightly uncomfortable.

“You bit me.” He simply stated.

“To…calm you down.” You stated.

“How did my blood taste? Like magic?” he whispered as someone came up.

“Um…ma’am?” he asked. “You said you needed someone with misfortune. Uh, Bill’s got a lotta health issues and too many medical bills to deal with…does that count as bad luck?” he asked.

You looked at Anti-cosmo expectantly. He took a deep breath and sighed.

“Yes, that will do.” He agreed. “We need some paper to write up his wish, so I know exactly what I’m exchanging for.”

“Wish? Like, a genie wish?” you asked

“Not too far off my dear.” He said and adjusted his collar.

“I’ll get you dry clothes if you want, maybe a shower…” you offered. “After you eat of course.”

He sighed, looking annoyed but significantly calmer than before. “Yes, fine.” He agreed. “But I can’t see a thing without my monocle.” He huffed.

You were able to find him glasses of close to the right prescription. He popped out the left lens and put them on with a sigh. “It’ll suffice.” He said.

You got Anti-cosmo paper and he wrote up a whole contract with almost printer-like speed.

“That was fast…” you blinked.

“I don’t do this normally. Usually the wisher says the right words, I grant it, then I take the blood as needed. But in this case, I am taking no chances.” He said and pushed the paper to the crewman.

“Uh…is there limits? Like, rules?” The crewman asked cautiously.

“Bigger the wish, the more blood I get. I’ve gone so long without I’d appreciate nothing small.” AC stated. “It doesn’t have to be huge though.”

“Uh…okay. How about a wish for good health?” He asked.

“Decent.” AC responded flatly.

“Uh…r-right…” he nodded, feeling awkward from the hard stares AC gave him with his sickly neon green eyes. He wrote down his wish and name on the paper.

Anti-cosmo began to stare at him hungrily as the doctor started to draw blood from him. You recognized the blood lust and started to worry that he’d get impatient and attack the man. You took his hand, making him flinch and look at you. He narrowed his eyes at you, almost suspiciously.

“And how old are you?” he asked.

“Its rude to ask a lady that.” You stated. You knew he must have known or at least suspected you were a vampire, but it was like he was messing with you. You certainly didn’t want it advertised and you wondered if he planned on messing with you the whole time about it.

“I am thousands of years old.” He offered, which certainly made you double glance at him.

“Then I’m decades old.” You offered, making him snicker.

“So vague.” He said with amusement. He was then offered a half pint blood bag by the on-site medic. His eyes lit up as he started to drink it happily. As he started to drink, the hemorrhaging around his eyes started to instantly heal and he started to look a little less deathly, but still blue skinned.

He finished and sighed with satisfaction.

“You okay now?” you asked.

“Very much so. I won’t be perfect till I get my wand though.” He sighed. “In the meantime, I’d appreciate that shower.”

“Yes of course.” You nodded.

You allowed him to use the shower in your suite and had the crew look for clothes that fit him while his were washed and dried. You weren’t sure they were worth saving considering the moss and water damage, but he was so petit, it was difficult to find anything to fit him.

You came into your suite with clothes you hoped would fit him but wasn’t sure. He walked out of the bathroom wearing only a towel. Even with his small stature, he certainly didn’t have a child body. He was most definitely mature. You supposed he had to be after 1000 years if he wasn’t lying about his age. You blushed at the sight of him, but he then ran into the door.

He cursed and squinted at the door and held his face.

“Oh, do you need your glasses?” you asked. “You set them over here.” You said and picked them up. You came over and set them on his face, making him blink and look at you curiously again.

He reached up and put a hand on your face before moving your lip up to see your fangs. You tried to pull away. “Stop it! Yes I’m a vampire okay?!” You huffed.

“What was it like? Drinking my blood?” he asked in a soft yet frightening voice. “I have never been fed upon before.” He said darkly.

“Yeah it was weird okay?! I only did it to knock some sense into you. I was excited at first when we met cause I thought you were a vampire too, but now I see you’re…” you paused when seeing his wings flex. “…different.”

“We’re not so different.” He said and tried to move into your line of sight. His height seeming to grow suddenly, but his wings weren’t flapping. You looked down to see he was levitating, but also about to lose his towel.

You looked back up in embarrassment but realized he made no effort to stop the towel from falling. “Would you cover yourself?! This is highly inappropriate!” you huffed.

“You invited me to your room.” He said, placing the blame on you as he touched your face again.

You turned away from him and tossed him the clothes you brought him. “Just get dressed!” you said, feeling slightly humiliated and annoyed.

“Oh, what gaudy clothes…” he complained.

“I’d sooner toss you back in the ocean than let you walk around naked.” You told him.

He sighed in defeat. “Oh fine. How is the search for my wand anyways?”

“Not good, it’s not like we have a giant metal detector that can find a small safe in the vast ocean. You may be stuck without.”

“I’ll find a way.” He insisted with confidence.

“I thought you said you’re worthless without it.”

“I still have minions I can use to help.” He shrugged. “It’s just finding them is the key.”

You heard his groan in in Disgust. “These clothes barely fit.” He complained.

You glanced back to see him only wearing a shirt but it was long enough to keep him covered. “Where are my other clothes?”

“Being washed and possibly condemned.” You frowned.

“If I had my wand this wouldn’t be a problem.” He huffed.

“Well you don’t, so it is. Get over it and deal with what we have till we get to land.” You said, getting annoyed with his complaining.

He looked surprised at your outburst and came over. “Even though I usually prefer to stay more modest, I must say I don’t mind in your company.” He said and you felt a finger run up your spine.

You flinched and quickly stepped away from him. “What the *beep* is wrong with you?!” you huffed. “horny *beep*!” you cussed at him, but he just laughed.

“What can I say? I feel more…loose around you.” He smirked, fluttering in place.

“Well you’re no helpless creature you pretend to be.” you huffed.

“You have questions for me I assume?” he asked, laying belly down in the air.

“Yeah…like if you’re powerless without your wand, how are you doing that?”

“I am a magical being with magic coursing through my veins, it’s does have its perks. Like how I can still do this without my wand.” He said and changed his form in a puff of smoke. He now stood in front of you as a black cat, strutting happily.

“You can shapeshift?” you asked.

“I can do little things for myself is all. I can’t help anyone else.” He said and changed again in front of you in the single shirt again. “Of course, I suppose I have my hands to work with.” He smirked at you.

“Couldn’t you shapeshift into a more modest outfit?” you glared.

“Oh dear, you’ve found me out.” He said sarcastically. “No, I can change my body and that’s it.”

“Well maybe I’ll make you stay a cat or a goat.” You folded your arms.

“Oh? And how will you do that?” he asked, leaning closer to you as he flouted up in the air.

You thought for a minute. Throwing him back in the ocean wouldn’t do much with his wings, and it’s be sadistic to lock him up considering he just got out of the safe. Then you thought of something.

“You grant wishes for blood right?” you asked.

“You’d give me blood to keep me modest?” he rose an eyebrow at you curiously.

“You’re the one being ridiculous! You won’t stop flirting with me!” You glared

“You bit me first.” He smirked, making you blush. He reached forward and stroked a finger down your neck. “Besides, I can’t be sure your blood would be satisfying anyways.”

You slapped his hands away. “That’s it, I’m going up deck. Stay here, float around, do whatever!” you said angrily and walked out.

He watched you leave with amusement. It has been so long since he’s got to toy with anyone, and you were just fun. Not to mention, it’s been even longer since he met another blood drinking fanged person. Which made you twice as interesting.

And he certainly had no intention of letting you go.

Part 2

[lostonehero]

T

Tw for slight body horror reference to self harm and parts are inspired by cave troll series

The news was soul crushing to the pair. They didn't know going back with giratina, they didn't know that the legend would do something. Now they got the news there dna is changing, and Guzma now thinks when it's done they won't remeber who they were. Cyrus hated to admit it but it had merit to the idea. He was curled into himself watching his admins go into panic mode trying to figure this situation out.

He got up trying to calm himself as he robotically headed back to his room not realize Guzma was following him. He was shaking when he got inside before he could start crying he felt two strong arms wrap around him. He just started to cry clinging onto the familiar scent of honey and moss. "I-." His words died on his tongue as Guzma shush him.

"We will get through this together." Guzma's voice was strained but strong. They were both leaning on each other for comfort and strength.

The words between them died as they just filled the silence with comfort in each other.

......

A few days go by the news finally sunk in, and it was like a silence between them that broke as they continued to lean on each other for comfort.

"So what kind of pokemon do you think you'll become." Guzma asked breaking the silence. "I hope I become a bug type."

"Of course you do, bug man." Cyrus sighs no real malice in his tone. "I don't know."

"Maybe you'll be your cleffa Cy."

"Maybe you'll be your bug Guzma."

"That would be great my partner woukd have me as a brother."

Cyrus sighs and a faint smile creeps on his face. "I can be a friend to my pokemon as well."

"I'm glad we are in agreement."

.....

"Get off of my trainer."

The soft hiss and malice of the voice made Guzma think of Cyrus, but Cyrus was asleep wrapped around him. They were just friends and just needed to comfort each other.

"Leave weird man don't need you" another hiss from the strange voice.

Guzma still not really registering who or what said that. "Mmh sleeping leave us be."

This silenced the voice for a second. "Understand me?"

"Mmh yeah sleep." Guzma yawns pulling Cyrus closer.

"No away from my trainer." The voice now louder.

Cyrus stirred awake. "Stop talking, you make a better furnace then a companion."

Guzma chuckles falling back asleep

"Trainer no get away from strange man."

Cyrus yawns "he's warm " and curls back to sleep.

The voice seems to pout and climbs onto the bed and lays next to Cyrus annoyance dripping off them.

......

Cyrus was the first to come too realizing his Wevile was released amd curled next to him. This was odd his pokemon knew to stay in there balls till he released them. He reached out and pet the small pokemon with a soft smile. "This better not become a habit of yours Comet."

"Protect my trainer"

Cyrus blinked and looked behind at Guzma who was still fast asleep, then returns his gaze to his own pokemon. "What?"

"I protect you "

"Right..." Cyrus rubs his temples realizing this must be an effect of him slowly loosing his humanity. He can now understand his pokemon. It wasn't a bad thing he just didn't know how to feel about this.

Wevile sat up looking at Cyrus. "Need to protect from that strange man."

Cyrus actually smiled and pet his pokemon again. "Let the strange man be"

His wevile looked up and nodded its been awhile since he saw his trainer smile like that. Maybe the stranger wasn't that bad after all.

.....

Guzma couldn't stop looking at his wrists, his old scars were still there but now he had matching open wounds on his wrists. He knew this was from his body changing, and it hurt so much yet he couldn't do anything but keep it covered. Cyrus didn't help much he was dealing with something similar on his head his hair had streaks of red from the blood. It just hurt so much.

"It hasn't been two weeks yet. Why does this have to happen in stages?" Guzma gave a frustrated huff then a soft oof when his pokemon Goli picked him up amd hugged him.

"Ok now Guzma nobody hurt my Guzma."

Guzma sighs and gives a soft smile. "Buddy you know I'm not there anymore I'm just in a little pain right now."

"Got to fix and protect Guzma."

He chuckles and was let down. "Alright alright I'm ok now Guli I'm ok."

Cyrus watched this curiosity now filling his mind. He wondered why Guzma pokemon was so protective like it knew how to calm down Guzma in an instant. How did it know?

"What ya lookin at space man?"

Cyrus rolled his eyes "you what else am I to distract myself from this pain."

Guzma let out another laugh. "Man Cy you always know how to lighten the mood."

Cyrus frowns not realizing that was a joke he said, but a red tint brushed across his cheeks as he saw Guzma give that smile at him. In that moment he felt no pain but only a warm feeling in his chest.

The next day....

"Are you going to keep poking your protruding spurs?" Cyrus huffed ignoring the new weight on his head.

"I have spurs on my arm like a heracross." Guzma's eyes sparkled. "I am becoming bug man"

Cyrus rubs his temples annoyed and sighs. "I'm so glad you're enjoying our impending doom."

"You've got matching horns with your cleffa, you should be happy, your hair hides most of it anyway."

"Thats not the point Guzma, I'm afraid of loosing you." He immeditally regretted the words that came out of his mouth in his panic. Emotions were never his strong suit yet he still let them get the best of him. He quickly sputtered. "I mean you're the first good thing and i..."

Guzma's face was bright red. "Ya really mean that Cy? I mean I like you too ok." He huffs amd leans in and pulls Cyrus into a kiss. Pulling away just as fast. "You could of stopped me if I crossed a.... line."

Guzma looked at Cyrus who had stars in his eyes. "That is not enough evidence for me I require another to deem it appropriate." This time he goes in for a kiss and pulls away red faced. "Inconclusive I belive we need to try again."

Guzma laughed and pulled the smaller man into a tight hug. "I love you too Cy, and you don't have to make everything so sciencey having emotions is ok."

Cyrus hugged him back like his life depended on it. "I fear now that I have something to loose I don't want our time to be up."

"Neither do I Cy, but I'm glad our fleeting time is spent together." Guzma smiles even though he can feel his own tears fall down his face.

........

"This is a awful idea Cyrus, and I can't belive I'm saying that." Guzma can barely hold his balance in the ice skates he was wearing.

"I used to ice skate a lot growing up when I was with my grandfather, I wish to make a new memory doing it with you." Cyrus explains trying to push the taller man onto the ice.

"You're lucky I'm not as cold as before atleast this weird dna thing is helping me adapt to the cold Cy." He looked back to see Cyrus huff amd go onto the ice himself, he had to admit that houndoom tail did fit him, and became a great excuse to look at his ass.

Cyrus was amazing on the ice and Guzma just wanted to get closer but as soon as he got on the ice he went face first into the cold floor. This caused Cyrus to start laughing which was the first time the taller man heard him laugh it was like the best music he ever heard.

"You really are bad at this, I guess destruction in human form only works in sneakers." Cyrus smiles continuing to skate.

Guzma smiles pushing himself up to just sit on the ice and watch him go. He wasn't angry for the first time after failing he was happy. Cyrus really did help him with his emotions.

......

It was getting closer to the final day and they weren't ready. Both felt as if they had no energy to do anything, and yet both have been eating like crazy. There pokemon have been showing so much concern they've been treating the two like they are baby pokemon that need help with everything, even Cyrus's little cleffa has been getting concerned.

Guzma stared up at the ceiling "your admins have been driving me...." he yawns cutting off the sentence, and he curls closer to Cyrus. "Can't blame them tomorrow is the day."

Cyrus held onto Guzma not wanting things to end, he wished he had more time. "I'm sorry."

"Don't.... be" he stifles another yawns. "Mmh too tired."

Cyrus was equally exhausted yet they haven't done anything for a week. All they've been doing is eating and sleeping so much. "Mmh Guzma?"

"Yeah..."

"I love you."

"I love you too"

The two embraced barely able to stay awake spending the final hours they had together.

......

Cyrus didn't expect to wake up, he expected to forget everything and live on as a pokemon. Yet here he was next to Guzma in a wet and sticky bed. His body did feel different though he could still see he had hands with sharp claws like comet, but still hands. He was able to wiggle his toes and move his legs so that was the same. Something had to be wrong. He looked over to Guzma who was still dead asleep and noticed it first.

Guzma had two prominate attena from his head along with clawed fingers like his own but different, he had spurs on the back of his ankles and what looked like armor speckled about his body which reminded him of different bug types exoskeleton. His teeth were sharper as well, and he swore it looked like Guzma back had a large shield on it covered the entire thing.

Did his body change that much as well? He couldn't really tell, but all he felt was hunger as his stomach growled louder then he was used to. He needed to figure himself out first, but he could smell something delicious from somewhere in this building. He wiggled free from Guzma and headed towards the smell.

....

Cyrus's former admins looked shocked when they saw him walk towards them as he sits at the table eyes locked on the food they were cooking. Saturn ran up to him with tears and thanked the higher powers at be that master Cyrus was still alive and here.

Cyrus wasn't really listening when a large plate of food was placed in front of him. It took a moment for him to use utensils with his new claws but once he got it he gladly ate until he was full.

It seems as if the smell attracted Guzma as well like a bug pokemon to honey. They both ate in silence not really registering that they both were ok.

When it did dawn on them they held each other's hand under the table and shared a smile. They made it together.

[ashintheairlikesnow]

Jake comforting Chris after nightmares or during storms with cuddles is actually my favorite thing in the entire world pleeeease don’t tell me I’ve seen the last of it

CW: implied noncon as part of a nightmare + inappropriate actions towards another person on waking. References to drugging.

Note - this is not part of a narrative timeline exactly. Consider it within the third week or so of Chris living at the safehouse.

The boy called Baldur, because Sir has a thing for old Norse God's and the boy's name is whatever he is called when he steps from the box, feels buried in the scent of cologne sprayed on soft sheets, bergamot and lavender with a deeper hint of something like moss and sandalwood underneath. The sheets are navy and slipping between them feels like drowning in a featureless pool, staring into a pond with no bottom, so far down light can't filter in any longer. There are too many pillows.

Still, the boy wishes there could be more softness, here.

He is good, in the dark, because that is what he has to be. He tilts his head back, pulling his neck into an inviting arch. He digs his heels down into soft sheets, he says the right whispered words, makes the correct sounds, keeps his eyes open when he should and closed when he should and through it all, his thoughts race in a wild screaming panic of get me out, get me out, I don't want this, this isn't what I want to be.

He buries those thoughts. They belong to someone else, and the boy called Baldur must be good, between the navy sheets, in the darkness.

I want this, he whispers, twisting fingers in short, clean-cut hair, mussing it up, listening to the low chuckle he receives as a reward.

Half of him loves the sound of that laughter - half of him is a cry of pain and fear and shame only barely covered by skin.

Darlin' you barely understand what those words mean, Sir says in response, oil-slick smooth, a man whose voice was made to be heard on TV.

The boy speaks slowly, or not at all, because silence is better than stammering, and his words are all wrong when he tries. But he can speak the phrases they taught him. In that way, he is still good.

I want you, he murmurs, and pushes up on his elbows, then, tilting his head just right to bite his lip. His heart pounds with fear he can't name, and his thoughts are sluggish and slow, the pill he is given after dinner lets him drift through the nights with only one thought at a time.

It feels awful, to think so slowly, but it helps, too.

Baldur, darlin' that is the truest thing you've said all night.

That's not his name anymore.

Some nights Chris has to force himself out of these dreams, swim up like a drowning man desperate for air. Tonight, though, the sudden realization that Baldur isn't his name anymore is all it takes for Chris to come fully awake, gasping for breath, sitting up in the twin bed in the room he shares with Antoni.

Across the room, Antoni snores lightly, soft little whistle-sounds Chris doesn't mind.

His soft jersey sheets - he picked them out himself, they are blue and orange plaid and ugly and his -are soaked with the sweat now drying on his skin, and he feels shivery and unmoored, like he'll fall off the earth and float away in space like a lifeboat lost at sea.

He slips out of bed, his hands shaking, and moves out into the wall on nearly soundless bare feet. They're all good at walking without sound, after training.

He doesn't feel real. Everything is wrong, and he wants, but he doesn't want, and he's scared of the drumbeat of it, the flames that lick his skin.

He wants and doesn't want, and he needs... what does he need?

Jake's room is across the hall and one down, next to the stairs, and Chris doesn't tap on the door to knock, he only moves in, still feeling drugged and slow, one-track thought, exhausted and throbbing with a pain that exists only inside of him.

Jake sleeps on his side, his feet hanging a little off the end of the bed sticking out from his blankets, hugging a pillow the way children hug teddy bears. Chris watches him. Jake is kind, and sweet, and treats him so well.

And Chris wants, so much, to feel real again.

He moves to the bed, focused - too focused, this isn't right, he isn't like this - and breathing a little harder, flushed, as he gently pulls the pillow from Jake's grip. The older man shifts around, rolling into his back, letting out a low exhale.

Just what Chris wanted. Doesn't want. Can't want anything else.

He doesn't climb into the bed, but pushes the blankets off towards the wall and climbs onto Jake himself, laying over the top of him, shivering at the warmth and solidity of the body he is straddling.

Jake groans, eyes moving under closed eyelids. "Mmmn, sh-shit, what-... what's-"

"Ssssshhh," Chris whispers. He knows the training will carry him through until he can make the shivering stop, the fear that chases him in the dark, the terror that it won't ever be over. Jake is the safest person he knows.

He presses his lips to Jake's and rolls his hips, whispers, "I want this," just like he's supposed to.

Are they trained to convince their owners, or themselves?

Jake's hands grip hard onto his shoulders, his eyes flying open, and he pushes Chris away from him, holding him nearly at arm's length. "Chris? What the fuck?"

His voice is slurred with sleep, and Chris tries to lean in to kiss him again, but Jake's grip is too strong.

"No," Jake says, firmly. "Absolutely not. What's gotten into you?"

"Nothing," Chris says, feeling his own eyes fill with tears. "I woke up feeling, feeling, feeling weird and I wanted, I just, I wanted to, to to to feel better, just to-... to feel better! And I thought, um, I like you, and, and and and-"

"You woke up-... Okay, liking me is not the same as-... Chris, I am not going to do anything to you. No. Absolutely one hundred percent the fuck no." When Chris's face falls, Jake sighs, blinking sleep from his eyes. "I won't ever, not with rescues. I'm not safe for you if I do, Chris. You said you woke up like this?"

Chris swallows, nodding. Jake's grip on his shoulders slowly loosens. "I was, um, I had a, a, a dream about, you, you know... And I woke up, I just... was scared, of the, the dream and I, I needed... to, to, to to to feel... um... I don't know."

Jake nods, shifting in the bed, gently moving Chris so he's lying in the spot he likes between Jake and the wall. "You needed to feel like you're here, not there. I got it. It's okay, Chris. I'm not mad at you."

Chris settles onto Jake's pillow - scratchy but fun, some movie on it that Chris doesn't know, he likes the image of the robot on one side though. Jake pulls the blankets back and Chris breathes a sigh of relief when he realizes Jake is putting the blankets on him, too. "You're not?"

"No. Nightmares are normal. But you can't try that with me, man, I won't do that to you."

"With me," Chris corrects, but his voice trails off when Jake fixes him with a long, hard stare, eyes glittering with the dim reflection of moonlight through the blinds.

"No. To you. If I... That would be wrong. And I won't. You should know that I'm safe, and anyone who would-... They wouldn't be safe. But you can stay here."

"I, I, I can?"

"Yeah." Jake closes his eyes again, and Chris watches the lines of his face relax, tries to mirror it. "If you have bad dreams, man, you can always come see me, okay? That's what I'm here for."

"Okay," Chris whispers, and he's smiling. Some of the shivery horrible feeling is gone, the fear settles into something closer to the tired he was before. He feels less worry that he isn't real, because he is, even just laying like this. "Okay, Jake."

"You can trust me," Jake murmurs, already halfway back asleep. "No matter what, Chris, I got your back. Go t'sleep, I got class tomorrow."

"Good, good, good good good night, Jake," Chris says, softly. His feet find a spot of warmth where Jake's legs had been before, and Chris closes his eyes, tapping happily on his stomach. He feels better, and nothing happened, and he feels better because nothing happened.

He waits until Jake's breathing is soft and even again, until he's sure the other boy is sleeping. Then Chris opens his eyes again to look at Jake's sleeping face, erasing the horrible smug smirk in his memories and dreams with Jake's gentle, insistent, I am not going to do anything to you.

Chris smiles, in the dark.

He never smiled in the dark before.

"I, I can trust you," He whispers, and lets himself slip back into sleep.

[pennamesmith]

Flowers for Skeletor

Hordak and Entrapta return to the Fright Zone. Perfuma gets some things cleared up. More ‘Skeletor’ stories.

*

Hordak and Entrapta strolled into what had, once upon a time, been the heart of the Fright Zone. Now it was covered in lush greenery, and sunlight shone through the open spaces in the ceiling. 

Entrapta was riding cross-legged on top of Emily, and gazed in wonder at everything around her. Hordak walked at her side, watching her expression warmly, while supporting the shuffling footsteps of the Horde drone she’d rebuilt and named ‘Skeletor.’

“Am I supposed to be frightened?” Skeletor asked, incredulous, taking in the rebuilt ruins. 

Hordak hushed him, but it was true that nearly all of the horror had gone from the place. Flowers bloomed on every vine. Soft moss covered the floors. The cushioned red throne in the center of it all rested atop a much shorter set of steps, and it was currently occupied by a giddy scorpion princess who was bouncing in her seat and waving. 

“Entrapta! Hordak! Hi! Welcome! Thank you for coming! Oh, it’s so good to have you visit here!” Scorpia bubbled. 

“Hello Scorpia! And also Perfuma!” Entrapta hollered as they approached. The Princess of Plumeria, tending to a patch of roses sprouting on the side of Scorpia’s throne, gave a little wave and smiled awkwardly in reply. 

“Skeletor has come for you!” Skeletor declared. 

Hordak flushed in embarrassment and quickly pushed the robot away. He bowed deeply before Scorpia. “Ahem. Thank you for inviting us here, Princess. How is reconstruction progressing in the New Scorpion Kingdom?”

“Oh, no, Hordak,” Scorpia admonished, smiling. “I’m an official princess now. That means you have to call my kingdom what I named it.”

“Of course. My apologies,” Hordak replied. “Tell me, how are things in…” His face appeared to visibly strain. “...The Delight Zone?”

“Oh, just peachy!” Scorpia beamed back. “We’re working on turning all the garbage incinerators into pottery kilns. And those hydro-electric generators you helped us install? Wow!” She tapped her claw-tips guiltily. “Which, uh, is actually part of the reason I asked you here. See, one of them broke down, and…”

“Have no fear!” Entrapta announced, hefting an overstuffed toolbox. “We’ll get to the bottom of it!” 

Scorpia sighed in relief. “Oh, thank you! And it really is nice to have you visit since we started redecorating. There’s so much less, uh, crushing brutalism. And Perfuma is putting flowers  everywhere!” 

“I like them! They’re so pretty!” Entrapta gushed. “What do you think, Hordak?” she asked, plopping a daisy crown on his head. 

Hordak made a noise. 

“Anyway,” Perfuma spoke up suddenly, standing stiffly at the arm of Scorpia’s throne. “We should show Entrapta to the power generators before it gets too late. After all, it is a rare honor to host the Princess of Dryl and… her royal consort.”

“Not that rare,” Entrapta said, unoffended. “You saw us at therapy group yesterday.” 

“A rare honor that we would hate to besmirch with an excess of small talk!” Perfuma insisted. Her eye twitched, slightly. “Right this way, please!” 

*

They walked along bridges that had once looked over belching smokestacks and polluted junkyards. Now the view was of farmland under clear blue skies. 

“We’ve been growing vegetables!” Scorpia boasted, sweeping her claw across it all. “And to help the plants grow, we started keeping an apiary for local pollinators in one of the old bugshell towers.”

“Bee-People!” Skeletor shouted in delight. 

“This is incredible!” Entrapta cried, standing up on Emily to get a better look. “Hordak, look how much they’ve repurposed! It’s like a completely different place!”

“It is,” Hordak agreed, and he did not sound entirely displeased about it. A calm smile played at his lips. 

*

Soon enough, they reached their destination. In an open-ceilinged space, several machines the size of small houses sat astride a clear-flowing artificial river. This place, like the others, was covered in verdant and blooming plant life. The sun shone down on a forest in the heart of a factory. 

One of the large machines was not making noise, and its lights had gone dark. Scorpia rapped on it with a claw, and it made a hollow clanging sound. 

“This is the, ah, problem area,” Scorpia said sheepishly. “It’s — ”

“Destroyed! Totally destroyed!” Skeletor interrupted. He rushed forward and peered at the silent machine. “What’s that? The fusion alarm? The main drive is about to explode!” 

“No, Skeletor. Nothing is going to explode,” Hordak chided, as Scorpia hyperventilated. He guided the robot away from the generator. “I need you to look after Emily while Entrapta diagnoses the source of the malfunction. Emily will be recording, so do not misbehave.”

“I had anticipated that, bat-ears,” Skeletor grumbled, but dutifully shepherded the spherical bot away from the group toward a cluster of trees with bright turquoise fruit. “We’ll be in the banshee jungle!”

“I’ll beep you when I need you, Emily!” Entrapta called cheerfully as she spread out her tools. She grabbed Scorpia. “All right. I need to get topside of this machine to find out what the problem is, and I’m gonna need your electrical magic to run some tests. So, upsy-daisy!” 

“Oh, wow, hangout time!” Scorpia exclaimed. “That’s great, because I just got a new board game I wanted to tell you about, it’s called — whoop!” 

Her words were cut off as Entrapta hoisted her in her hair and scaled the side of the generator like a purple spider. 

Perfuma watched them go and then looked, finally, at Hordak. She coughed. “So,” she said. 

Hordak waited. 

“...How’s Wrong Hordak?” Perfuma asked eventually, reaching for one of their commonalities. 

“Quite well,” Hordak answered. He began to sort some of Entrapta’s tools. “He is very grateful that you’ve started helping him with the Ex-Horde Therapy Group, by the way.” 

“Oh. Well, I’m glad that you’ve been… going to it,” Perfuma said. She seemed to be choosing her words carefully. “The Princess Alliance wasn’t entirely in agreement about what to do with you at first, you know.”

“I am aware,” Hordak replied, flatly. 

From the trees, Skeletor emerged, covered in colorful flowers and desperately clinging to an unhindered Emily. 

“Stop! You shall not escape!” Skeletor protested. “Your puny lasers mean nothing to me!”

“Speaking of the group,” Perfuma continued. “I think this is actually the first time I’ve had a chance to talk to you outside of it since all the official business when the war ended.” 

Hordak’s eyes narrowed. “Are you driving at something, Princess?” he asked, evenly. Quietly, he practiced a breathing exercise that he had, in fact, learned from Perfuma herself. 

“Your hatred of me will work in my favor!” Skeletor wailed from behind them, trailing Emily by a vine. 

Perfuma pouted and put her hands on her hips. “Look, just… You had better not do anything to hurt Entrapta, okay?”

“...What?” said Hordak. 

“What?” said Skeletor. 

Perfuma crossed her arms. “I  know  you’re a good guy now, but that doesn’t make you a… a good guy. Entrapta really likes you. If you break her heart, some very powerful people will be very upset with you. Just so you know.” She struck what was probably meant to be an intimidating pose. 

Hordak finally turned to face her. His expression was one of shocked surprise. “You are concerned about Entrapta’s emotional safety with me?” he asked. “I understand you are the one who kept her on a leash.”

“I — ! That was — !” Perfuma faltered, raising a finger. “...Not my finest moment,” she finally admitted, deflating. “But I swear, we all only want her to be okay. There are some things Entrapta just doesn’t understand.” 

Hordak seemed rather taken aback by this. Politely, yet firmly, he said, “I assure you, Entrapta understands everything she needs to perfectly well. Often better than I do.” 

He looked upwards in her direction, and the sun seemed to brighten on his face. “I… respect her. Incalculably. It is my privilege to learn from her.” 

“There is the answer to my evil needs!” Skeletor said, from somewhere. 

Now it was Perfuma’s turn to seem stunned. “You really do love her,” she murmured, and couldn’t help letting her eyes shift to where Scorpia sat and laughed in the sunshine. 

Hordak followed her line of sight knowingly. “Entrapta is not the only one you are worried about,” he deduced after a few moments. 

Perfuma fretted. “Scorpia just has such a big heart!” she said, helplessly. “And she’s new to being a princess. She got yanked around a lot with… with the Horde, and I don’t want her to be taken advantage of like that again.”

Hordak considered this seriously. After a long pause that was interrupted several times by the distant sound of Entrapta’s hammering and various exclamations of delight, he ventured, “Perhaps Scorpia understands more than she appears to as well. She was exceptional, if unusual, while in… my employment. I expect she will only continue to grow and flower in her new position.” He offered a friendly hand to Perfuma’s shoulder. “Especially with someone who loves her at her side.” 

At this, Perfuma blushed furiously and quickly strode away from Hordak. “Hey, do you need anything from us up there?” She called to Scorpia and Entrapta. “A big vine-ladder maybe? Or some kind of robot stuff?”

“Bee-People?” Skeletor offered. 

Perfuma finally seemed to notice him. “Why is Skeletor here, anyway?” she asked, turning to Hordak. 

“Ah. This is to help improve his work for the therapy group,” said Hordak. “Entrapta wanted to provide him with more exposure to social situations.”

“That seems… contrived. But I’ll allow it.”

“Any more questions?” Skeletor asked. 

Before anyone could reply, Entrapta slid back to the ground, with Scorpia in her wake. “I’m gonna need some more parts from the ship!” she announced brightly. “Hordak, can you try to balance the dynamo while I’m gone?”

“Certainly. That will allow us to safely remove the alternator.”

“Exactly what I was thinking! And then we can connect the charging coils to the…” 

“Excitation field,” Hordak finished, sharing her smile. 

Perfuma and Scorpia traded baffled looks. 

Entrapta tweaked one of Hordak’s ears. “You get it!” she giggled. “You’re doing great, Hordikins! Back in a minute!” And with that, she was off again. 

“‘Hordikins,’” Perfuma repeated, rapidly losing all composure. Beside her, Scorpia made a tiny, ecstatic squeak.

Hordak turned to face them both in mute horror, suddenly realizing that he was still wearing the flower crown Entrapta had placed on his head earlier. 

“I am not discussing this,” he intoned, but he could tell from the looks on the princesses’ faces that this particular trial was far from over. 

“If that’s the way you want it,” Skeletor said, “Then that’s the way you get it!” 

[maple-writes]

Dissidia final week

this took much longer than I thought it would, but here we go! Thanks again @dissidia-writeblr for your patience hosting!

It’s been a great time!

###

Sitara and Zeth made quick on their agreement. Within the hour they led Richard and Volt out of the city, and not long after the four of them were out of Torr and standing back at the base of the mountain. After being in the city the air felt so much quieter without the buzz of little robots overhead but the peace and quiet didn’t last long though as a shadow fell chilly over the clearing. They turned, and Volt squinted up at the airship that blocked out the sun. Surprising for it’s size, it was near silent as it approached.

Sitara turned towards them with a grin and Volt tore her eyes from the ship.

“Thank you so much for letting me study your tech! I’m sorry about the officials of Torr. I’m going to have Zerith, the captain of this ship, send you to Velaris. No one will follow you there. It’s abandoned. There won’t even be any of the beings. You’ll be safe. And here.” She pushed a packet of paper into Richard’s hands. 

He held it carefully, lifting the tucked-in flap to peek at the papers. Volt watched as he scanned the text and his eye widened.

“This is all the information I have on your tech. I also wrote down how to fix your broken tech as well. I hope this helps!” She grinned as a ladder came down from the airship. 

Richard re-sealed the packet, returning her smile. “I don’t know what to say, thank you so much.”

Sitara didn’t have a chance to respond before a woman with an eyepatch over her right eye climbed down the ladder and smiles at Sitara. “Where would you like me to take them?”

Sitara pulled out a pouch of money and hands it to the woman. “Velaris. They need to get away from here.”

“Wonderful! I’ve already sent others over there to get away as well. They’ll at least have company.” She looked over at Richard and Volt and bowed her head. “My name is Zerith, and I’m the captain of this humble vessel. Let’s get going.”

Richard and Volt returned the greeting, and after a brief goodbye to Sitara and Zeth, followed Zerith up the ladder and into her airship. As curious as she was about how the ship worked, more importantly how to operate it, Volt was grateful when Zerith left them alone to rest during the journey.

She and Richard sat on either side of a little table in a small side room, quiet with only a faint engine hum reaching through the metallic walls. Volt’s eyes wandered. Panels set in the wall probably led to electrical controls, or… Something. This ship was so unlike what she was used to she didn’t even want to bother guessing how it worked.

The soft thud of Richard setting the packet of papers on the table made her turn. He nudged it towards her.

“What do you think?” Richard said. “Can you use this?”

Volt picked up the packet and slide out the stack of papers. It was thick, more pages than she’d thought when Sitara had handed it off. The papers rustled as she thumbed through them. Notes, diagrams, schematics… Clearly the girl had been busy, and she seemed to know what she was doing too.

Volt tucked the pages carefully back into their packet with a hopeful smile. “I think letting her look at you turned out to be a good idea. Its detailed, clear, and I think it might just get us somewhere. I’m sure for the parts I don’t know how to do we can find a technician who can. I know a few people.”

“Really huh?” Richard returned her smile. “That’s great news.”

It was, wasn’t it? Volt ran her hand along the edge of the papers. Maybe this whole ordeal would turn out to be worth it after all. It was a weight off her shoulders at least to finally be getting somewhere, to finally have hope that she wouldn’t have to worry about him breaking down beyond repair.

His chair squeaked as he stood with a stretch and a yawn. “Well, I think I might try and get some sleep. You should too.”

“I had a nap in the workshop.”

“Yeah, but does that really count? It’s been a long day.” Richard jerked his head towards the hallway. “I think I saw somewhere comfortable around the corner.”

For a moment Volt considered arguing, but then maybe he was right this time. She sighed, letting her shoulders fall as she slipped off of her chair and tucked the files under her arm. It really had been a long day.

#

Hours later, Zerith announced over the intercom system that they were getting close, and Richard watched the approach through one of the little windows lining the corridor towards the ship’s exit. They passed over mountains, deserts, jungles, prairie, finally slowing as the ship descended over a forest and Volt called for him to hurry up.

They reached the forest floor and just like that, Zerith’s airship was gone, drifting silently farther and farther away until it disappeared over the canopy. Richard craned his neck to stare up at untamed branches tangling from tree to tree, draped with soft moss and laden with verdant leaves. The sunlight that filtered through them reached his shoulders stained green and cool. Even the air felt green, refreshing and earthy.

“You know,” He turned to Volt with a grin. “Of all places to hang out and wait, this isn’t half bad.” He stretched his arms above his head, cracking at least three joints with successive pops. “Don’t you think?”

Volt shrugged, but eyed the ground-level ferns warily. “They really meant it when they said this place was uninhabited.” She swallowed and stepped just a little closer to Richard’s side. “I’ve never been much into camping, there’s too much that could go wrong out here, too much to think about, too many unknowns. How long are we going to have to survive out here? Is it cold at night?” She shook her head with a deep sigh. “I think I prefer cities, at least then I know what to expect.”

“Hey, at least there’s no one here to worry about.” Richard leaned out in front of her, hoping to distract her before she worried herself too much more. “How about we start by having a look around?”

Volt sighed. “Fine.”

She let him lead the way through the undergrowth, watching every stick and leaf and rock with distrust. Sure, she was probably right about some of the things she was worrying about. Neither of them really had a whole lot of outdoors experience, neither really knew how long they were going to be stuck out here for, but for now at least Richard was more focused on how springy the dirt was under his feet and trying to figure out what noises were birds.

He glanced back over his shoulder. “Hey, do you think we’ll see a bear? Like a grizzly bear? I saw some on an old TV show a few weeks ago and they were pretty cool, I hope we get to see one here.”

“What?” Volt shook her head. “No, I sure hope we don’t see a fucking bear. Do you know how big those things are?”

“But they looked so nice just hanging around that river.” He grinned, wide and teasing. “Wouldn’t you want to just go and sit with them? Just hang out with them and—”

Volt gave his arm an exasperated smack. “No! Do not go sit in the fucking river with a bunch of fucking grizzly bears Rick.”

“Okay, okay,” he held his hands up before breaking into another grin. “What about cougars? How about—”

“No!”

“But they look so soft!”

Volt huffed, though by the tiniest tugging of a smile on her lips, she wasn’t as frustrated as she pretended to be. “You know what?” She pointed at him. “Sure. If we see a cougar go right ahead and pet it, see what happens.”

“I will!” Richard gestured dramatically towards himself with a smirk. “I’ll pet it and it’ll purr and it’ll follow us around and fetch—”      

“I think you’re thinking of dogs now.” Volt shook her head. “But why not? Go hang out with a pack of wolves while you’re at it.”

“Wolves come packaged?”

Volt sighed again, but this time couldn’t hide an amused smile. Her steps seemed a little less stiff, and her shoulders a little looser. Richard smiled as relief spread sweet through his chest. It was nice to see her starting to relax again.

“Very funny Rick.”

“Thank you. Though I guess by now I’ve scared off most of the wildlife anywhere near—”

Shouts.

Richard snapped his head towards the sound, antenna by the side of his head fanning out and quivering as he tried to find the source of the noise. Volt fell silent by his side. She glanced between him and the direction of the noise, waiting.

“We’re not alone,” Richard whispered. “Something’s happening over there.”

He hurried forward as quickly as he could without noise, Volt following close behind. The shouts got louder, yelling, screaming, snarling, human. The trees thinned out and they crouched behind two side by side trunks, peering out at the edge of the forest.

Crumbling ruins of what might have once been a settlement stood covered in moss and writhing with people fighting inside. Looked like humans, humans fighting against…

“What are those?” Volt stole his words.

They looked like people, but with wings on their backs covered in black and white feathers. A lot of them, fighting against the humans in the ruins.

Volt glanced at Richard. “Are those, are those the beings everyone’s talking about? They aren’t supposed to be here.”

“There aren’t supposed to be people here either.” Richard murmured.

He leaned forward, shifting his weight to one arm and trying to see more of what was going on behind the ruined walls. Something to make sense of the noise and the fighting and the wings. Something wasn’t right.

“Whatever it is,” Volt continued, “It’s none of our business.” She started to turn. “Come on, lets-“

A flash of a dark ponytail caught Richard’s eye and he froze, staring with wide eyes and a quickened heart.

“Will’s in there.”

“What?”

Richard watched, eyes locked on as much as he could see of Will as he fought against the winged people. He looked different, and fought different, but it was him without a doubt. Out of the corner of his eye, Zero was there too.

“Zero too.” Richard’s voice dropped to a growl, something whirring faintly as systems started to activate. “I can’t tell if they’re outnumbered. We can’t leave them.”

“Are you sure about this?” Volt whispered. “We don’t know how long you’ll have to recover between now and when we get sent back home. They could return, whatever they are.”

“If we win now that won’t matter.” His claws dug into the soft dirt, tensing to charge, eyes locked on the ruins ahead. The skin of his arms flushed with blood shunted to the muscle. “We owe them don’t we?”

Volt nodded. “I’ll find somewhere to scout. Watch for me.”

Richard returned the nod and sprung forward, tearing across the short clearing towards the ruins. He leapt the wall and slammed into one of the winged people that knocked Will to the ground before she could attack again. He landed hard on top of her but she slipped out of his grip just in time, escaping with only a gash across her shoulder.

She spun to face him again just as he lunged. He tore at her outstretched arm and pulled her forward, raking claws deep along her side and catching against solid ribs. Blood smeared hot and bright against his skin as she stumbled back, light and dark patches swirling across her skin.

Richard rushed for her again until a flash of red hair and a shout made him whirl. Zero fought two of them, the winged people, his back against a solid stone wall. Magic whirled all around them, fast and violent and desperate.

He ducked around debris scattered from a collapsed roof towards Zero. One of the winged people turned just as Richard caught his elbow and thew her back. He turned on the second and his claws met skin just under her ear as he tore across her neck.

She staggered back, blood welling immediately at the wound. Snarling, Rick turned from her to the other but before he could attack the winged man kicked him back, thrust his arm and sent a shock of magic flying past his ear.

The stone wall collapsed on top of him.

Richard didn’t move, stunned under the weight of the ancient stone on his back. The rock across his shoulders pressed down on his ribcage. He gasped, head spinning when he couldn’t take a breath. The fans, why weren’t the ventilation fans kicking in? They were working just last week. He gasped, heart racing and frantic in his compressed chest.

He shook his head out and brought his elbows in, pushing up just enough to free up space to breathe. His arms shook and his shoulders ached as he caught his breath. Shit. This was going to hurt for a very long time.

His hearing came back loud with shouts and magic crackling through the air, and Will’s voice in his ear.

“—okay? Hang on, Zero! Come help.”

Zero appeared on Richard’s other side, magic swirling over both arms as he helped Will shift the stone enough for him to wriggle himself free. He got to his feet and shook off the dust and pebbles. Good, nothing seemed broken, structurally at least.

“Are you okay?”

Richard gave a thumbs up, scanning the ruins for more of those winged people. They must have been busy elsewhere, fighting within what was left of the building, because for now at least they were alone.

He glanced back at Will and Zero. “What’s going on?”

“The Chikara—those guys with the wings—they captured our friend.” Will answered. “And now they want to take our magic and use it to torture more innocent people and make them fight to the death for eternity.”

For a second he could almost feel cuffs on his wrists and the sting of cold water on broken skin. He growled, narrowing his eye as he caught a glimpse of one of the Chikara through the ruins. “They’re going to regret that when we’re done with them.”

#

Volt skirted the ruins until she found what was left of what was maybe a small tower, maybe not, but definitely tall enough to see over the rest with enough of a ledge to hide. She scrambled up to the top and ducked down behind what was left of the low wall at the top, watching the battle below through cracks in the worn wood.

Glimpsed through the cracks in the structure, there were humans, and there were people with wings, and they fought with what must have been magic. Well, most did. A few looked almost as lost as she felt, fighting however they could. It was messy, disorganized, and whatever it was they were fighting over, it must have been important.

She scanned what she could see of the ruins and swore under her breath. She couldn’t see Richard anywhere.

“Enjoying the view?”

Volt jumped, whirling to be face to face with one of the winged people. Black and white flowed beneath his skin like spilled ink and he tucked his wings behind him. She instinctively reached for her gun before remembering it was still laying useless at home.

She took a deep breath and steadied herself. “What’s going on here?”

The man glanced down at the fight below. “This? This is a fight for our world.” He nodded towards a group of the humans. “These people are traitors dead set on destroying this world with magic they don’t understand. If you help us take care of them, we can help you get home immediately.” He looked at her again. “What do you say?”

Volt kept her mouth shut and eyes locked with his. What was she supposed to say? She glanced down at the ruins below as a movement caught her eye. Will and Zero helping Richard out from under a collapsed wall. She set her jaw and turned to face the winged man again.

Maybe he was right, and Will and Zero and all their friends running around down there were evil traitors hellbent on burning everything to the ground, but what did she care if something happened to this world? Of the two sides, only one had ever done anything for her or Richard.

“I’m afraid you’re too late to win me over.” She took a step back towards the edge of the ruined tower, glancing back over her shoulder to make eye contact with Richard across the ruins. Turning back to the winged man, she held one hand behind her back and beckoned for him.

The man frowned. “Are you sure? Don’t you want to go home?” He took a step towards her. “We can get you there right away, and these are traitors. They’re dangerous.”

Volt backed away, the back of her calf bumping into what was left of the low wall. “In my world I’m considered a traitor too.” She grinned. “A traitor twice over.”

A quick whistle came from the ruins below and Volt stepped up onto the ledge, her heels backed up against the open air.

“Tough luck.”

Before the man could react, Volt dropped from the ledge. Her stomach lurched until Richard broke her fall, catching her from the side and rolling along the ground. They came to a stop and Volt shook herself off, glancing up at the rooftop. The winged man was gone.

“Thanks, Rick.” She turned back to him. “How are you holding up?”

Richard groaned as he dragged himself up but stuck out a thumbs up anyway. “For now.” He grit his teeth and glared. “The Chikara tortured these people. They’re going to pay.”

“Do it.” Volt stood and offered a hand to Richard, her anger mirrored in his face. That winged bastard had the audacity to call them the traitors? “Tear them apart if you want, I’ll take care of you later.” She looked up as Will and Zero appeared, joined by others she didn’t recognize but were probably on their side. “I’ll do what I can, just give the word.”

[ranchhands]

🍅, 🏀, ☀️, 🌙, 🐍, 💧, 🌷, ❤️, 🧡, 💙, 💗 for the oc asks please. I know it's a lot, so feel free to answer only a part of these, or one for example. As for which oc, I thought of Gabriel, but if you want to talk about Berend, go ahead :)

gonna answer for gabe!!

“🍅 How easily is your OC embarrassed? What subjects make them flush and why? What event has made your OC the most embarrassed they’ve ever been?” - Gabriel gets embarrassed a fairly normal amount; he’s not as shameless as some of my others, but doesn’t really melt at stuff, either! I can’t really think of any times he’s gotten embarrassed off the top of my head lol

“ 🏀 Does your OC have any skills that people wouldn’t expect them to have? Do they have a hobby or pass time that others would consider strange or weird? How did they learn this particular skill or pick up this hobby?” - baseball!! he was taught when he was young :) he also likes gymnastics, but doesn’t really talk about it much :3

“☀️ How well does your OC take care of themself? Do they tend to put others before their own wellbeing and if so how often? What is their favourite way to pamper themself?” - he’s prob my second most hygienic oc, next to Moss:. as for what he does to pamper, he likes to take the occasional bath!! & it’s kinda a toss up whether he’ll put himself or others first

“🌙 What are some of your OC’s favourites? Favourite food, colour, season, stuff like that! Give some general simple facts that tend to get overlooked!” - robots!! Gabe also likes Italian foods, orange, teal, & winter!!

“🐍 Is your OC a good liar? How easy is it for them to tell lies? What is the biggest lie they’ve ever told and did they ever get found out? On the other hand, what is the biggest lie someone has told your OC and did they believe them?“ - he’s a pretty good liar, actually!! lot’s of experience LOL.. the biggest lie really depends on what I’m feeling; for bad timeline Gabriel - aka him walking in on William killing - he panics & helps cover everything up!! ofc I’m watering it down a LOT, but yk!! as for lies he’s been told, he’s pretty good at spotting them!! in his actual tl, that’s what got him killed :((

“💧 What is something from your OC’s past they’re the most ashamed of and why? What is something they’re really proud of? And lastly what is something in their past that could make them shake with dread?” - working with Will; in one universe, Gabe actually lives, and he REALLY regrets helping him out, so f

“ 🌷 How much effort does your OC put into their looks? Do they care much about how they’re dressed or what their hair looks like or are they not bothered? Could they be considered a snob or a slob?” - he’s fairly good about his style!! not the snobbiest, but def not a slob!

“❤️ What inspired you to make this OC? How long have you had them? How have they changed in the time you’ve been developing them?” - he’s fairly new, so there hasn’t been many changes!! idr what inspired me to make him in the first place, but he’s a good change in pace to my other boys!!

“🧡 What traits of your own do you see in this OC? Are they a little bit self-inserty? Don’t be shy, we all put parts of ourselves into the creations we love!“ - I WAS JUST TALKING TO MY FRIEND ABT THIS!! he’s def self inserty; mullets, glasses, physical scars, gymnastics, robots/animatronics, the list goes on!!<3<3

“💙 How important is this OC to you? Are they a character that’s helped you through some pretty tough times or could you scrap them without feeling a thing?” - he’s fairly important!! no Moss or Rusthound, granted, but still funky!! I wouldn’t wanna scrap him cuz I’m super proud of him tho

“💗 Ramble a bit about this character!” - OK HDFHJ THIS ISNT SPECIFICALLY ABT GABRIEL BUT IT KINDA IS OK SO..... ONE TIME I WAS TALKING TO MY FRIEND, VEC, & I STARTED TALKING ABT MY OCS WHO LIKE ANIMATRONICS & HOW I LIKE ANIMATRONICS & STUFF & THEY WERE ALL.. “...like fnaf.?” BCUS THEY DONT LIKE FNAF AND LIKE!!! I GET IT, BUT IVE LITERALLY BUILT ROBOTS WITH THEM!! LIKE?? IDK I JUST THINK ITS FUNNY CUZ WE LITERALLY MET BCUS OF ROBOTS

[crypticalwitch]

Dr. Hide, The Mechanisms, and a New friend.

The story of Dr. Marie Hide, Her small crew, and how they all met. The Story of my Mechsona crew.

Warnings-death, Poison, ask to tag.

Dr. Marie Hide was raised on stories of the Mechanisms. She would sit and listen to her great grandmother telling tales of a Man of copper singing tales of the past, tales of a man with a heart of metal being passed a baby and panicking, of Women with Wings or Minds of metal. 

She fell in love with the tales from the stars,and no matter how many times she was told to stay planetside for her own safely, she would look to the stars, the old warped disks her Great Grandma left her playing. The singers voice haunting as they told their one man audience the tales of Gunpowder Tim and Ashes O’Reilly. 

So, it wasn't much a surprise to herself or her family when she became an Engineer, and a Doctor, and a Pilot. and She headed off to the stars, gathering her own tales to be told. 

And then she found it. A very old file, something that took months upon months to update and break through all the passwords and safeguards to get at whatever was hiding in the file. and boy was it something.

A very old file, full of things written and made by the Mechanisms, Not the ones who her Great Grandma told her about, the ones whose voices filled Dr. Hide’s speakers when she was alone in the engine room, but the real ones. The immortals from all over the stars who played deadly pranks and who held a mini war over something called an Octo Kitten. Whatever the hell that was. All written by Dr. Carmilla and Raphaella La Cognizi.

But the most exciting thing, was the blueprints and instructions for Mechanization, Immortality developed by the Doctor.

It wasn't a hard decision for Her to make. She already couldn't walk, what was the worst thing that could happen. But first, she would need someone to do the procedure, since she really didn't want to be conceness for her legs to be cut off and guts scooped out.

So she built Jekyll. It was programed with hundreds of medical procedures, as well as what they’d need to do the whole mechanization process, if lacking in preprogrammed personality. 

So waking up with the ability to walk was interesting, and the first thing she got to do with her new skill was clumsy run and steal a ship with her unemoting companion.

The pair wandered, gathering more stories of their own, both ones they were involved in, and not always in their little junker ship, nicknamed “Borealis”.

Borealis tended to break down, stutter and never quiet be as safe as it should, but for a new immortal and her Robot companion, whose personality was only just starting to develop. It was home, if barely big enough.

When they landed on Pistil, Dr. Hide had only planned to make a fuel stop, until she heard from one of the local merchants that a warlord was making quick work of the planet, maybe she had extended her stay for a few....years, much to jekyll’s chagrin.

and She really wasn't expecting to find someone with her legs injured beyond belief. She was face down in the dirt, long grey-blue hair splayed out in long loose curls, her legs down to bone and blood.  

so Hide brought her back to the makeshift lab. Patching up the mysterious woman was easy enough, however, waiting for her to return to the waking world was a nightmare.

When she did, she cried, scared and alone. Now, the good Doctor is not really savvy with emotions, so having a panicking, sobbing, stranger on her table, was not her ideal situation. To make everything so much better, Jekyll had just walked in, and stood staring with its lack of eyes.

“Jek, now is not a good time.” She had hissed, rubbing the back of the woman.

“The Police are here.” It had said.

“fucking hell.” Dr. Hide had shoo’d the police away, who simply wanted to know who lived at the house. When she had returned, the woman had calmed down, and was wiping her tears away with a cloth given to her by jekyll.

She had introduced herself as Carcei Wisteria, the teamaid of Emperor Ivalace. Dr. Hide didn’t quite know what that meant, but was happy enough to support her.

Carcie was on her way to get a very specific flower to make tea with. something that would be VERY HARD WITHOUT HER FEET. So Hide offered her help, Pulling out her old wheelchair and offering her help carrying the flowers and seeds back to her home.

Carcie had (Reluctantly) accepted her offer, and the pair took a three month journey to find these flowers, a gorgeous plant nicknamed “Selene's Prayer”.  

For months after meeting and befriending the woman, someone Hide quickly grew to admire for her silver tongue and for her sharp mind, Hide would not know why Carcie wanted Selene’s Prayer, until one night, late in Pistil’s seasonal cycle, when plants dried and what chill that constituted Pistil’s winters was just beginning to set in, gathered over warm tea and surrounded by the smell of drying earth and burning silverwood, Carcie wove her tale.

Carcie Wisteria had been born Carcie Forsythia, and had trained under a noble of Dandil, the once name of the kingdom before it became territory of Peat. She had quickly became a gift to the Empress, Magnola, and even quicker became her High Teamaid, a position of high honour and status.

Magnola was apparently fond of Carcie, and often took her to peace talks and trade negotiations. Which is how she met them, a otherworldly seeming person who chose their name as Odyssey Velium.

Odyssey was tall, dark, freckled, with short dark red hair and smoky violet eyes that shone like a sunset. They was a similarly high ranked dressmaid to the former Emperor of Peat, a kindly older man by the name of Prairifire and one of Dandil’s strongest Allies. Carcie fell in love near instantly, and apparently Odyssey felt the same way, and the pair began a whirlwind relationship over letters. 

The years went on, the pair only seeing each other in person when Empress Magnola and Emperor Prairifire met up for tea, their love affair remained a secret. until one of the more Enterprising Teamaids discovered Carcie’s letters from Odyssey, and outed her relationship to both rulers. 

The pair believed themselves to only had a few hours together before their verdict handed out and they would be separated. 

and they were given their rulers blessings to be wed.

Odyssey was gifted to Magnola as a dressmaid, and they were engaged, choosing their family name to be Wisteria.

A few months passed, the kingdoms Alliship stronger than ever, before Emperor Prairifire died,and his War mongering son took the throne, and a new treaty needed to be written up.

Carcie just happen to be late to the Congress, her maids having made a near unrecoverable mistake with the petals, and she arrived just in time to see her Queen, her court, and her never to be partner slaughtered.

As was customary, she was taken as a prize, and made to serve her loves killer the same tea she would to her queen, as he took over the land she loved.

The petals of Selene’s Prayer, it turns out, were a horrific paralysis agent, as well as a hallucinogen. and a strong one. When mixed with the right Poisons, it would lead to a painful and terrifying death. One Carcie intended to give to the entire court as she watched.

Hide had only one thing to say after that.

“after the revenge, what will you do?“

“Probably be put to death, why?”

“wanna join my semi-immortal band of space pirates exploring the galaxy?” When Carcie said nothing, Hide continued, “i could just replace your feet with a mechanism like my lower body and Bam! Unkillable!”

“your kidding.”

“nope!” To demonstrate, Hide put a knife through her hand, and then showed the skin kniting itself back together.

“holy shit your not kidding?” Carcie puffed up “WHY DIDN'T YOU DO THAT WHEN WE FIRST MET!”

“DO YOU WANT BE STUCK LIVING WITH SOMEONE WHO DIDN'T ASK TO BE IMMORTAL AND IS ANGRY WITH YOU FOR ETERNITY? I'D FEEL SO GUILTY! plus it kinda hurts for a few weeks after”

the pair laughed.

“Mari,” Carcie said, 

“Oh wow, using my first name! this is serious.”

“Mari.” Carice narrowed her eyes, “I want you to promise me something if i go through with this.”

“ok?”

“Promise me we’ll steal a bigger ship than Borealis after my revenge.”

“HELL YES!” Hide laughed, “so when is this going down?”

“Tomorrow.” Carice said,carefulling sipping her tea as Hide suddenly choked,

“TOMORROW SHIT I GOTTA GET A GOOD SEAT!” Hide threw a hug around Carcies shoulders, “Can't wait to see your magnum opus of vengeance, if Jekyll asks i'm following my family's footsteps!”  

“see ya Hide!”

 Sunrise came, and Carcie got to work. She dismissed her Teamaids for the day (”you’ve all worked so hard lately, and you deserve a break!”), and set to work brewing her poison. 

When the court downed the tea, the poison took quick. The paralysis only took hold of a few but the hallucinations were strong and maddening and within hours, the branches of the meeting hall were covered in madness and gore and horror. And standing in the middle, survivors would later say, stood Carcie, her mourning veil cloaking hazel eyes that had long hardened to earth and moss.

and dropping from an over head branch, was Hide, casting impressed eyes over her work.

“Were grabbing more of those seeds right?”

“mhm.”

“were taking all of your seeds aren't we?” 

“and the dry flowers.”

“sounds good!”

----------

WOO! That was fun! 

If you have any questions about my Crew, please ask! My ask box is open and Id love to gush or expand on the universe. also ask me to tag

[galionne-vibin]

Welcome to Earth - Chapter 2: Radio Silence

Title: Welcome to Earth

Chapter: 2/3 (Previous Chapter) (Next Chapter)

Summary: Gigan awakens in Seatopia to Megalon's friendly face, a bunch of Seatopians- and a completely silent mind.

Warning(s): None

A/N: You thought this fic was dead, didn't you? Well so did I! I've been struggling with this chapter for MONTHS (I unfortunately hit a big "stress and panic" moment while working on this due to college work and some (minor) health issues, which I think really impacted my energy for writing this specifically). BUT! Here's chapter 2, finally! Hope you enjoy! (And sorry if it's a bit messy)

Read on Ao3 or below.

Gigan groaned and stirred as consciousness began ever so slowly pulling him out of his slumber. His mind felt hazy and his body incredibly heavy, weighed down by the lethargy still coursing through him. He took long, deep breath as bits and pieces of information pushed their way back into his brain. It was all muddled together but he was beginning to remember a desertic scenery, a fight...

He exhaled deeply as he tried to collect his thoughts.

So the Nebulans had sent him to Earth, that he remembered... They had sent him over to help some of their allies cause some well deserved mayhem and destruction on the planet's surface. And there was this other kaiju... Ah yes, Megalon was his name. The giant beetle with drills for hands... Not the brightest of beings but a good fighting partner nonetheless. Although that fight... Considering Gigan barely remembered anything from it, he must have received a pretty ruthless beating.

He sighed and focused on his body, trying to put his senses to work. It took a few minutes before he finally became more aware of his surroundings: he was lying on his side, the ground beneath him hard and rough but surprisingly warm. The air smelled faintly of salt, heated metal and smoke. There was a lingering taste of blood on his tongue and his throat felt incredibly dry for some reason. He coughed lightly at the unpleasant sensation- only for it to turn into a full-on coughing fit as his throat tightened painfully. He hacked and gasped for several minutes, clenching his teeth and wheezing once it was over, trying to catch his breath. As a few more seconds passed, he suddenly heard a faint noise which slowly grew louder, sounding like a high pitched cry of some sort. It felt... Familiar, although he couldn't quite make out if it was saying anything. He tried to concentrate on it but to no avail. His hearing and his translator hadn't quite re-adjusted yet it seemed...

Gigan mumbled a little. Some more memories of the fight were coming back to him ; namely Godzilla's presence. Of course that radioactive mutant would show up to ruin his fun... Although this time, rather than the angry "ball-of-spikes-on-legs" that usually accompanied him, Godzilla had become allied with some sort of giant humanoid robot- an abomination created by humans, he assumed. A supposed 'equal' to creatures like he and Megalon...

"Can you hear me?"

Oh. Speaking of Megalon.

Now that his hearing had come back, Gigan could tell that was definitely the giant beetle's voice he'd been hearing. He groaned and nodded slowly before turning on his visor, causing it to emit a small flash of red light.

"You're alive!" the beetle kaiju cheered.

Had Gigan had functional eyeballs, he would have rolled them. He looked up and paused for a moment as he took in his surroundings.

The two giants were in what appeared to be a large cave of red mineral, the ground covered in a thin layer of dust. About twenty or so cables of varying color and width snaked along the rocks above them, a few of them disappearing into the rather sizable round lamps hanging down from the ceiling. There was moss growing in uneven green patches on the cave walls ; water trickling down through cracks in the rocks here and there.

Megalon himself was sitting opposite to Gigan with his back against the wall. His arms were splayed out to his sides, resting on two odd metal scaffolding-like structures which crept upwards along the stone. As he squinted, the cyborg could see a dozen of humans on either structure, seemingly working away at Megalon's drills- presumably the reason he could smell heated metal earlier...

"-Where are we?, he asked tiredly. -In Seatopia, the giant beetle responded cheerfully. -Seatopia...?"

The name rang a bell... Gigan looked around some more, spotting some houses and other similar buildings towards the end of the tunnel. If he remembered correctly, the Nebulans had referred to the allies he was supposed to help as "the Seatopians". So this must be their kingdom... Gigan frowned.

"-Why did you bring me here? -You were hurt, so we needed to fix you. -Did you contact the Mothership?"

Despite Megalon's lack of facial muscles and inability to frown, Gigan could see the confusion in his yellow multi-faceted eyes.

"-The... What? Who? -The Nebulan Mothership. I was supposed to go back to it ; did you manage to contact it?"

The beetle's antennae twitched.

"What are you talking about...?"

Gigan groaned and began sitting up, pushing himself up with his bladed arms which were folded beneath his body.

"-Wait, Megalon said as he leaned forwards ever so slightly, You shouldn't- -Did you ask the- AAAH!"

A high pitched cry escaped the cyborg as he felt pain shoot up his right arm and bounce around the rest of his body. He jumped up into a sitting position, holding the agonizing limb to his side as he tried to catch his breath, the pain blinding even his visual receptors. Suddenly, the image of his arm being grabbed by two hands of metal flashed in his mind. He remembered Godzilla's robotic ally attacking him ; savagely breaking his limb with one swift movement of its knee… Once the pain subsided, he looked down and was surprised to find his arm encased in what appeared to be a contraption of black metal and plastic. It kept the limb bent at an angle and secured it from moving too much. He poked at the metal curiously.

"-What... Is that...? -The robot broke your arm, so we put a cast on it to fix it! You never had a cast before?"

Gigan was silent for a moment before shaking his head. The Nebulans didn't really do 'fixing' as much as 'replacing'... Which they were probably going to do anyway, once he got back to the Mothership... There was another moment of silence before the cyborg sighed.

"-Listen, I don't think I should be here. Can you tell me where the exit is- -Oh! And we had to take another thing out of your head that was hurting you, too. -Out of my head...?"

Gigan felt a weight in the pit of his stomach.

"-What did you remove? -Oh, It was just this little metal thing..."

The gigantic beetle turned towards the other side of the cave and let out a call, slightly lower than his usual roar. It took a few minutes before a human appeared at the entrance of the cave carrying what looked like a flat, metal slate which was nearly half his height. The newcomer was dressed in all white and silver and carried himself with great confidence in his stride. Gigan watched as the other Seatopians bowed before him, leaving him room as he walked by them. He approached the two giants with his head held high ; no fear or even the slightest hint of hesitation in his eyes. The cyborg was a little taken aback by this attitude. He watched as the human looked up at him, still silent, before slowly setting the metal artifact down before him. He then turned to Megalon who let out an approving sound and bowed to the gigantic beetle, before promptly leaving.

Gigan watched him go, still a little taken aback. Humans usually ran away in utter terror when they saw him, they didn't casually stroll by to bring him gifts... He huffed and carefully slid his left blade beneath the object to pick it up and inspect it.

It was a bit hard to identify ; especially because it was completely burned and had apparently been deformed under great heat. Gigan could tell it was originally supposed to have a somewhat green color and a rectangular shape. It was also still very lightweight and had, although they were damaged, about half a dozen metal downwards-pointing pins attached to either of its longer sides. Gigan also noted it was roughly the size of one of his scales- and smelled faintly of his own blood, too... He looked up at Megalon, feeling uneasy.

"-Are you sure this came out of my head...? -Yeah!, the Seatopian kaiju nodded, It was hurting you and you were trying to pull it out, so we did it for you. And then you passed out..."

There was a moment of silence, before he asked:

"-... What is it? -It's a microchip, Gigan explained. -What's that? What does it do? -A lot of things really... Wait, how do you not know-..."

The cyborg trailed off as he noticed a symbol on the back of the artifact. It was barely visible and scorched over but he could recognize the simplified drawing of an orange cockroach- the Nebulans' signature. Gigan felt his stomach twist.

"Why would they chip me...?"

Something was wrong, but he couldn't quite pinpoint what...

That's when he noticed the silence.

He could still hear sounds ; his own breathing, the Seatopians' tools working away on metal, Megalon's wings scraping against the cave wall... He could still hear things from the outside. But his mind was completely silent.

"You have to put it back."

Megalon's antennae twitched as he looked at the cyborg quizzically.

"-Uh? What- -You have to put it back in my head! Now!"

The color had drained from Gigan's face. He began trembling as the realization of what had happened took hold of him.

"I can't hear the voice without this! That's-! I-! I need it!"

The gigantic beetle was taken aback by his counterpart's sudden outburst. He pulled his drills out of the metal structures in one swift movement and held them flat-side up against the edge of the platforms, waiting for the Seatopian workers to get on before carefully lowering them to the ground and quickly ushering them away. He had no idea what Gigan was panicking about, but he knew better than to let his people get in harm's way...

He turned back to the cyborg who was frantically looking around and breathing loud and hard.

“-Why do you want it back?, he began, It- -You don’t understand!, Gigan cut him off almost immediately, I need the voice! I-I don’t know what to do without it! -What are you talking about?! What voice?!”

Gigan swallowed thickly, shaking.

“-The voice in my head! The voice that tells me what to do! I need it! I-I can’t do anything without it! I need the chip to hear it! -But it was hurting you! -I NEED IT BACK-”

Gigan was interrupted by a sudden flash of blinding white light and the sharp sound of electricity crackling all around him. He stumbled back with a cry and hit his back against the wall, dropping the chip as he did. He coughed and looked up to see Megalon looming over him, the occasional spark of electricity still bouncing off of his horn. The beetle kaiju remained silent as he walked towards him. His foot bumped lightly into the chip as he took another step, stopping him in his tracks. He briefly looked down at it before looking back up at the cyborg.

Gigan didn't have time to utter a single word before the chip was crushed under Megalon's foot.

He opened his mouth for a few seconds before closing it, speechless. Instead, he only stared at the other kaiju in disbelief.

"It was hurting you, Megalon simply stated as he sat back down, I don't know what voice you're talking about, but that..."

He lifted his foot, revealing the shattered pieces of the chip.

"It was bad. It was making you scream and burning you, so we took it out to help you. We're not putting it back in your head."

Gigan remained silent, staring at the broken pieces under Megalon's foot.

 It was hurting you...

He brought his left arm up and behind his head, running the blunt side of his blade against the back of his neck. There was a distinct spot where scales were missing and he hissed lightly in pain as he touched raw, burned flesh instead of his usual thick hide. There was also some kind of scarred hole in his flesh where he assumed the chip was implanted. So they really had chipped him... But why? Why would they do this? Sure, they'd thrown all kinds of prosthetics and gadgets on his body before- blades, his universal translator, his visor ; even his beak was made of steel. But chips were different... Chipping was for machines. To tell them what to do, to keep them under control...

Gigan's chest suddenly tightened painfully, leaving him breathless for a few seconds as the Voice's last order rang in his head.

     "Return to the Mothership..."  

By all logic, that's what he should be doing. Listening to those disembodied which had guided him his whole life ; this empty tone he knew so well...

But despite all the logic and familiarity involved, something felt incredibly wrong. The thought of going back to the Nebulans was making Gigan... Uneasy. He had been fighting for them for as long as he could remember ; if anything that was all he knew. His entire life consisted of nothing but battles and destruction...

And yet.

He couldn’t help but think back to his fight with Godzilla and the robot… Being thrown around like a rag doll, punched, kicked, burned ; getting his arm shattered… He was reminded of Godzilla’s atomic ray hitting him in the head and the pure, blinding agony that had followed ; reminded of how he’d completely lost control of his body as he lay helpless on the ground. Megalon caught him shaking lightly and pressed the tip of his drill against his arm gently.

“-Are you okay? -I… Don’t know…”

Gigan swallowed thickly, mindlessly running his left blade over his cast and toying with the straps.

“I should go back, but I… It sounds wrong...”

The words barely made any sense to the cyborg. How could something he was so familiar with suddenly feel so foreign and unsettling? What was this weight in the pit of his stomach? Megalon gave him an awkward pat on the shoulder.

“If you don’t want to go back you don’t have to.”

Gigan paused.

“-Don’t “want” to…? -Yeah, you know… If it makes you feel bad, then you shouldn’t go back.”

The cyborg fell silent again, pondering the question. This was new... This gut feeling... None of the Voice's orders had ever made him feel like that before...

He looked down at the destroyed chip with a worsening feeling of dread, a shiver trailing up his spine. Was this why? Was it because of this minuscule device that he'd never felt anything similar before? Why he'd never tried to go against the Voice's orders before? Did it control his emotions? Was this how the Nebulans had kept him fighting for so long?

He turned to Megalon, feeling a little light headed.

"What... What do I do?"

The large beetle was a little taken aback by the tone in Gigan's voice and the look on his face. Despite the cyborg having no real eyes he could still read the fear in him... And although he didn't really understand what he was fearing, he also knew he had to help. He pressed his drill against Gigan's arm, giving it a gentle rub.

"You can stay here if you want... You're hurt and Godzilla and the robot might still be out there, so maybe it's better for you to stay in Seatopia until you feel better..."

Gigan's visor flickered for a moment before its light was dimmed, indicating he had 'closed his eyes'. If it was a question of not making him feel 'bad', as Megalon put it, then staying in Seatopia certainly sounded like the right option.

As if he had any other...

He didn't know anything outside of the Nebulan fleet and this single cave. If he didn't pick one or the other then he'd have nowhere to go. And in that case, the choice was simple...

"I'm staying."

Megalon's antennae perked up.

"Really?"

Gigan nodded and gave a gentle sigh, the light in his visor flickering back on.

"I don't know what else to do... So I'll stay here for now."

Before the cyborg had even finished his sentence Megalon clapped his drills together, letting out an excited sound which Gigan assumed was both a laugh and an exclamation of joy.

"Great! Great! You'll see, it's great down here!"

He pushed himself up and stumbled awkwardly for a second before catching himself.

"Come on! I'll show you around!"

Gigan sighed as he stood up, following an excited oversized beetle through the tunnels of his new temporary home.

What kind of mess had he gotten himself into now...?

[the-insomniac-emporium]

Not sure how much of a prompt you need, but Overwatch, and an OR14 in a scenario like Bastions. The reader is just wondering the woods, and stumbles across it.

{Aye I finally finished this, woot! I know it ends at kind of a weird spot, but it felt like a good place to leave this one off at. If you want me to continue it I can definitely try to do a sequel of sorts. Hope you enjoy it though!}{-J}

You had expected to find lots of interesting things on your hike. Animals, flowers, maybe some nice clearings or viewpoints, or even a geo-cache hidden away near the path. What you hadn’t expected to see, however, was a big, moss-covered Omnic plopped down at the summit. It was a little off the beaten path, just beyond where the main trail ended. A strange humming sound had caught your attention, luring you towards the machine, your eyes going wide as you took in the strange sight.

Most of the people you knew would have run at that point. Realistically, that’s probably what you should have done. But instead, like the naive, trusting person you often were, you had simply slowed down, approaching with only a mild level of caution. The OR14 bot didn’t seem to notice you, not that it was necessarily even active. It didn’t seem to be moving at all. A fair amount of plant life seemed to be growing on and around it, centered around the different cracks and joints of the Omnic’s plating, a strange mosaic of earth and steel.

Still, the humming sound was ever-present, never shifting in pitch or pattern. At this point your curiosity was overwhelming. What exactly was going on here? You squinted at the machine in front of you, searching for any signs of life. Or, well, at least the closest Omnic equivalent of life. Maybe if I just get a little bit closer, you muse, your hands shaking as you dare to take that step.

A branch snaps beneath your shoe. There’s a pause, the whole world freezing around you, your breath caught in your lungs, your eyes wide and staring at the machine in front of you. For a second, all you can hear is your heartbeat and the omnic’s humming… and then the humming stops. Metal starts to creak and moan a moment later, a sure sign of old joints reawakening. All of your curiosity breaks away in an instant. Fear replaces it, urging you to bolt away; that’s exactly what you do, turning and booking it back towards the path.

In your panic, you don’t pay much attention to where exactly your feet land, and soon enough your ankle catches a branch and you’re sent flying into the underbrush. You’ve maybe made it a dozen meters away from the Omnic. The sound of metal shifting has slowed down, though your heartbeat has only sped up, and you find yourself too scared to look over your shoulder at the OR14. Gulping, you try to flatten yourself against the ground, hoping to hide yourself from the centaur robot. But as soon as the sounds of metal scraping against metal stop, noises from behind you stop completely. It’s absolutely silent.

Fear still has you in its grasp, however, and you don’t feel comfortable enough to move just yet. A minute passes, then another, before you finally hear a few birds chirping in the distance. Leaves start to rustle. Some kind of small rodent strolls past you without a trace of fear. The wildlife goes back to acting like normal. If your time on these trails has taught you anything, it’s that if the forest critters are calm, then there’s a good chance you should be too. A breath of relief passes past your lips at the thought.

“Hello?” The voice rings out just a split second after your sigh. It startles you, nearly making you jump out of your skin. It’s a robotic voice, for sure, and it sounds like it’s coming from behind you. “H-Hello? Assistan-tan-tan- ERROR. Rebooting spEECH systems. One one one Moment, please.” You stay low to the ground as the voice continues on, managing to summon just enough courage to take a peek behind you at the Omnic. It’s standing now, though one of its legs seems to be struggling to support any weight. Lights have turned on all over its body. The brightest of which are on its head appear to be some sort of ocular sensors. They’re turning back and forth, occasionally moving with a twitch, likely looking for you.

When one starts to focus on something in your direction you flatten yourself once again, another spike of fear shooting through you. The sound of slow, heavy footsteps reaches your ears, and you can’t decide whether staying put or running would be safer.

“Assistance Required. Location: Unknown. Date: Unknown. Systems needing repair: 32-2-2-2… Systems Needing Repair: 33. Please Assist,” the OR14 called out, stopping about halfway to you. It hadn’t tried to fire its gun in your direction, and its pleas for help seemed oddly honest. Maybe it won’t kill me if I offer help? You wondered, before very, very slowly standing up and facing the machine. At this distance you could tell all of the lights were currently blue. From what you remembered from school, that was a very, very good sign. “Please Assist. This unit is in need of repair.”

There’s not much of a chance that you actually know how to help the Or14 in front of you, other than maybe helping it figure out where and when it is. But seeing the poor thing up close and functional now actually tugs at your heartstrings a little. There’s a desperation in the machine’s voice, something you didn’t know this model was capable of. Maybe you’re going crazy… but your curiosity kicks in as your fear takes a backseat again. You might not be able to help much… your uncle, however? You know that he could. So you take a deep breath, look the damaged OR14 in its eye, and say the words that’ll change your life forever:

“I know someone who can help. Follow me.”