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professorkenobi · 4 years ago

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bathtime

read the previous part here!

The rush of running water echoed off the walls of Obi-Wan’s upstairs bathroom. He tested the temperature with a hum of satisfaction before flipping the brass lever that controlled the drain.

It was well past time that his bathtub got some use. The huge old thing had been touted as a selling point by his realtor, but he’d really selected the house for its proximity to work. He didn’t have the time or inclination to lounge about, preferring to stick to economical morning showers.

Hopefully Anakin would enjoy it.

Knowing the tub would take a few minutes to fill, Obi-Wan headed downstairs. The itch of apprehension whenever he let Anakin out of his sight was quickly becoming familiar— as was the wash of relief when he found him where he’d left him.

Approximately, anyway. He’d gotten up and was examining the sparse decorations on the fridge. At a small clear of Obi-Wan’s throat, his ears twitched and he jerked back with a guilty look.

Obi-Wan smiled gently. “Nothing interesting there, I’m afraid.”

“I wasn’t—”

“It’s fine to be curious; ask me anything you like.”

Even in the dim light, the conflict of opposing impulses was clearly visible on that expressive face. Obi-Wan had to stifle a smile.

Finally, inquisitiveness won out.

“Why do you have this?” Anakin jabbed a finger at his copy of the year’s academic calendar.

“Oh, that?” He wasn’t sure what he’d been expecting. “I teach there. I’m a professor of sociology.”

Anakin wrinkled his nose. “Really? Aren’t most professors, you know...”

“What?”

“Um. Old?”

This time Obi-Wan couldn’t hold back a laugh. “Indeed we are. And terribly boring, I’m sure you’ll find.”

He’d hoped to draw out a smile. If he had, it was hidden as Anakin curled in on himself, beginning to shiver again. The sight was perturbing, unacceptable.

“Will you come with me? Your bath should be nearly ready.”

Anakin ducked his head and followed.

The air in the bathroom was muggy, the mirror fogged with steam. Obi-Wan turned off the water while his guest watched, fidgeting, from the doorway.

“There we are. If it’s too hot, you can just— well, I’m sure you know.” He winced internally. He wasn’t used to stumbling over his words like this, but then again he was hardly used to overnight guests, either.

“I got it,” said Anakin, taking a few apprehensive steps towards the tub.

“I’ll be nearby if you need anything,” Obi-Wan promised. He turned to leave but paused at the threshold as a thought occurred to him. “Oh— if you leave your wet things outside the door, I’ll throw them in the laundry. You can borrow something of mine for the night.”

Anakin gave a jerky nod, still staring at the water like it might bite him.

“Remember,” he repeated, “Whatever you need.”

Obi-Wan closed the door, shutting in the heat and humidity. Right. Clothes. Pajamas would do for now. He walked purposefully to the bedroom, meaning to fetch them right away, but as soon as he entered his legs went oddly weak and shaky. His neatly made bed awaited him; Obi-Wan sat down heavily, fingers twisting in the duvet.

For the first time since Anakin had knocked on his door, he was alone. He pinched the bridge of his nose, doing his best to push back an impending headache as his thoughts raced to catalogue the implications of the night’s events.

He’d let a complete stranger into his home, his sanctuary, without even hesitating. Anakin had been far from forthcoming about his situation, but it was clear he was in some sort of trouble. Something serious, perhaps beyond what had landed him on the streets and in Obi-Wan’s backyard in the first place. He might be risking his own safety, all for a boy whose last name he didn’t even know.

Alone in the dark, Obi-Wan sat with these facts, turning them over and over in his mind. What was he doing? Was he being gullible, a fool?

A slight splashing, the sound of a body getting comfortable in a hot bath, filtered in from down the hall.

With a rising sense of certainty that he rarely experienced, Obi-Wan realized that he didn’t care. He didn’t care what kind of mess Anakin was caught up in. He didn’t care what he’d done to end up here, or what the consequences might be.

From the moment he’d laid eyes on Anakin, Obi-Wan had been seized with an inexplicable desire to protect him. To care for him. And Anakin... Anakin had asked him, begged him, for help.

To turn him away was, quite simply, an impossibility.

Obi-Wan breathed slow and deliberate, in through his nose and out through his mouth, until he felt calm again. His knees were still a little weak, but he felt much better by the time he’d managed to dig out his spare pajamas and return to the hallway.

Anakin’s clothes lay by the bathroom in a crumpled pile. As Obi-Wan bent to pick them up, he froze at a sound from the other side of the door. He almost thought it was his imagination until he heard it again, this time unmistakable— a small, hiccuping sob.

“Anakin,” He pressed his face to the doorframe. “Is something the matter?”

“‘m fine,” came the muffled response.

“Are you sure? You don’t sound fine.”

“It’s just,” he sniffled. “My hair, I can’t... it hurts.”

Obi-Wan frowned, at a loss. “What do you mean? Is there something I could do, bring you something or...”

A short pause, and then,

“Can you help me?”

“Help you?” He must be hearing things. Surely, Anakin wouldn’t want him to... “You mean, come in there and... and what?”

Anakin sniffled again. “I’m sorry, it was stupid, please just forget I asked—”

“No!” Obi-Wan interjected, far too sharply. He shook himself and tried for a softer tone. “No. It’s good that you asked. You just caught me by surprise, that’s all. Are you sure that’s what you want?”

Another pause. “...yeah, okay.”

“Alright.” This night was getting more surreal by the minute. He took a deep breath and put his hand on the doorknob. “I’m coming in now.”

Obi-Wan opened the door slowly, leaving plenty of time for a change of heart. He was determined not to look unnecessarily, but he could make out Anakin in his peripheral vision. His back was to Obi-Wan, his head hung on drawn-up knees. His tail hung over the side of the tub, slowly dripping water onto the floor. Every few seconds, he drew a ragged little breath that echoed too loudly in the tiny space.

Obi-Wan could scarcely stand it.

“What do you need me to do?”

Anakin glanced back over his shoulder with puffy eyes. “It’s all this,” he said miserably. “It’s a mess and I can’t, I can’t fix it.” He lifted a hand out of the water to run over the back of his hair. Obi-Wan’s eyes caught on the pale golden skin of his arm, the graceful line of it that bent to a broad back flushed pink with heat, the curve of his spine disappearing beyond— stop it.

He was here to help, not— whatever that was.

A few cautious steps put him within arms reach. “May I?”

“Yeah.”

A single brush of Obi-Wan’s hand made the problem clear; Anakin’s curls were snarled and matted, doubtlessly from the depridations of wind and rain. The process of detangling would be painful, perhaps downright impossible with the claws Anakin was sporting.

He tutted softly. “I see. We’ll get this sorted out.”

Obi-Wan fetched a bottle from the shower and rummaged in his grooming kit for a wide-toothed comb, grateful for a few moments where he didn’t have to rigidly control where his eyes were pointing.

“What’s that?” Anakin asked suspiciously, craning his neck to see what was going on.

“Conditioner.” Obi-Wan knelt on the bathmat and set the comb aside, again doing his very best not to look at Anakin’s shoulders. “I don’t have to use it, but it’ll ease the way quite a bit.”

“It’s fine, I’ve just—” Anakin looked down. “I’ve never really used stuff like that.”

“First time for everything,” Obi-Wan said lightly, dispensing a large dollop into his hand. “Ready?”

At a short nod, he began to apply the conditioner, starting at the crown and carefully distributing it through the messy locks. The parts that weren’t tangled were very soft, slipping pleasantly between his fingers. He wasn’t quite sure what to do about Anakin’s ears, which twitched slightly in response to each touch. It looked like Anakin had avoided them in his attempts to re-wet his own hair, so Obi-Wan tried to do the same.

After a few seconds, Anakin made a tiny oh.

“What is it?”

“It, um, smells like you.”

Obi-Wan raised an eyebrow. “You can smell me?” He wondered if that was an ability that came with Anakin’s more... unusual features.

“Yeah,” Anakin admitted, dragging a finger along the surface of the water. “It’s nice.”

“Er.”

“The conditioner, I mean.”

“Oh.” Obi-Wan cleared his throat awkwardly. “Good.”

Anakin’s hair was now covered in conditioner, as were his hands. Unwilling to dip them in the bathwater, so close to Anakin’s body, he opted to wipe them on the nearby hand towel with a grimace. Then he took up the comb, hoping for the best. It would be a shame to cut any of that beautiful hair.

As Obi-Wan gathered up the ends, his knuckles rubbed across the nape of Anakin’s neck. He felt rather than saw the damp skin erupt in gooseflesh, peach fuzz brushing softly against his fingers.

Anakin didn’t move, nor did he make a sound when Obi-Wan began to comb through the tangles. Though he was as careful as he could be, the sharp tugs required to undo the worst of them must have been painful. But Anakin made no complaint but an occasional quick intake of breath. He just stared down at the water, quietly allowing Obi-Wan to see to him.

For the second time that night, Obi-Wan felt unsteady with realization. It suddenly occurred to him how petty his concerns had been. Whatever fear he’d experienced was infinitesimal compared to how Anakin must be feeling right now, in the house of a near stranger with no way of ascertaining his intentions.

Anakin was hurt and alone. Naked and vulnerable.

And yet somehow he trusted Obi-Wan to be near him, to touch him.

He had to let Anakin know that his trust was not misplaced. That Obi-Wan would protect him, take care of him. That he was safe.

Still moving the comb in steady strokes, he searched for the right words.

“Anakin— I want you to know that, well... I’m in your corner, alright? Whatever is going on, whatever kind of trouble you’re in, you have me on your side.”

“No, you’re not,” said Anakin in a hollow voice. “You don’t know.”

Obi-Wan hummed as he finished undoing a particularly nasty snarl.

“I know you won’t give me details, but answer me this. Did you hurt someone? Beyond the bounds of self defense, I mean,” he added hastily.

“No, but—”

Obi-Wan continued, speaking over him. “And do you plan to hurt me?”

“Of course not.” The response carried just a tinge of defensive fire, making Obi-Wan smile.

“Then you have me on your side, for whatever you might need.”

Anakin flicked at the bathwater dispiritedly. “What does it matter? I’ll be gone tomorrow, anyway.”

A sudden, overwhelming surge of protectiveness made his hand involuntarily tighten in Anakin’s hair. No, he wanted to say. You’ll stay here, with me, where you’re safe.

That was something he had no right to decide or even ask. Obi-Wan mastered himself, loosening his grip and clenching his jaw until he was sure something less wildly inappropriate would come out.

“That doesn’t have to be the case,” he said tentatively, beginning to comb again. He was working on the front pieces now, nearly finished. “Not if you don’t want it to be.”

“I... I don’t understand.”

“If you wish to leave, of course I won’t stand in your way. But should you need a place to stay... it can be here. For as long as you need.”

Anakin’s ears flattened. “Don’t say that!” he snapped, then almost inaudibly added, “You don’t mean that.”

“I do,” said Obi-Wan gently.

“You don’t,” Anakin whispered. He hunched forward in the tub, wrapping his arms around his knees in a tight, self-protective hold.

“I do, but there’s no need to decide yet.” Obi-Wan said lightly, setting aside the comb. “Let’s just get this all rinsed out, shall we?”

If Anakin wouldn’t stay, he could at least do his best to take care of him until he left. Obi-Wan opened the tap again, letting more warm water flow into the bathtub, and gently guided Anakin underneath. Anakin was pliant under his hands, allowing Obi-Wan to tilt his head this way and that as he rubbed gently at his scalp.

The ears presented a problem again. There was nothing for it but to carefully lift them, one by one, so he could scrub underneath. Obi-Wan thought they were by far the softest thing he’d ever felt.

His fingers moved of their own volition, stroking for a split second until the ear twitched under his touch and he remembered himself. If Anakin made a sound, it was lost beneath the roar of water.

Finally, Anakin’s hair was clean, hanging back from his face in a sopping curtain. Obi-Wan regretfully eased his head forward and let go, deprived of the excuse to touch.

What would happen now, he wondered. He could, should, dry off his hands and take his leave, show Anakin where to sleep and get some rest himself, and then...? It seemed all too clear, what he would find in the morning. An empty bed, an empty house. Anakin in the wind again, this time maybe forever.

The thought was intolerable.

Obi-Wan had to try. He dug deep to find the magic words, the perfect words that would convince Anakin to stay, and found nothing but the truth.

It went against every instinct to say it, but it was the only card he had left to play.

“About my offer,” he ventured, sitting back on his heels.

“Yeah?” Anakin mumbled into his knees.

“I wanted to let you know that, well... I would like it. If you stayed.”

“W-what?” Anakin’s head lifted and his ears twitched slightly.

“It would make me happy. I—” Obi-Wan took a deep breath. “I want you to stay.”

He pressed his lips together, leaving the words to hang without any qualifiers or equivocations, even as the seconds stretched with no response. And then, in the stillness, Anakin began to tremble.

“Anakin? What’s the matter, please tell me, I didn’t mean to upset you.” As if drawn by a magnet, Obi-Wan reached out a hand and rested it comfortingly on Anakin’s shoulder. It only shook more under his touch, and Anakin gasped in a harsh breath as silent sobs wracked his body.

“I’m sorry,” Obi-Wan continued frantically, “You don’t have to stay, you don’t have to do anything you don’t want... I’m sorry.”

He knew he shouldn’t be touching Anakin, not when he’d overstepped like this, so he began to pull away— and froze, shocked, when a warm, wet hand wrapped around his own, keeping it in place. Holding it.

Without warning and far too quickly, Anakin spun to face him. A tremendous surge of water drenched the floor and Obi-Wan’s pants. But he barely noticed, not as Anakin, very wet and very naked, leaned over the side of the tub and threw his arms around Obi-Wan’s neck.

Anakin was hugging him. Obi-Wan froze in shock, but he didn’t seem to notice. He only sobbed harder, burying his face in Obi-Wan’s sweater.

Obi-Wan couldn’t remember the last time someone had held him this tightly. The sharp points of Anakin’s claws grazed his back, and a silky ear tickled his skin.

Slowly, tentatively, his arms lifted to return the embrace. He wasn’t quite sure where to put his hands, and settled for placing one on the middle of Anakin’s back, the other in his hair.

“Shh...” he found himself whispering. “Shh... there, there.” He could hear Anakin crying now, choked breaths endlessly chasing each other out of his throat. “I’m here, sweetheart. I’ve got you.”

Obi-Wan ran his fingers through Anakin’s damp curls, over and over, scratching lightly against his scalp. He held him, with no thoughts but to comfort him, to soothe whatever pain had him so undone. Slowly, slowly, the wracking sobs subsided, leaving Anakin hiccuping and sniffling into his shoulder.

“I’ve got you,” he repeated, even as Anakin slipped out of his arms to curl in on himself once again, as floppy eared and despondent as before.

This time, though, something felt different. A lingering warmth, the ghost of a touch, that perhaps stood a chance at melting the many barriers between them.

Red-rimmed eyes flicked up to meet Obi-Wan’s, just for a moment.

“Okay,” said Anakin. “I’ll stay.”

#stray catboy au #the triumphant return!#sorry it's been so long but i think you guys will enjoy this one #obikin

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justatiredghost · 3 years ago

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The Cost Ch4

Based on this idea by @serikyl, in which Klaus is able to bring Dave back to life, but there’s a cost; he also gains the ability to see the dead.

Just getting dressed in the clothes Klaus had found him felt like a huge undertaking to Dave’s tired muscles. By the time he was done, his arms were shaking from the exertion and he collapsed back onto the bed to rest a moment. He felt suddenly nauseous, itchy all over, and his entire body felt sore and drained completely. And the horrible ache in his chest was back, like he’d been punched in the sternum. Or hit by a cannonball.

It seemed like Klaus was feeling some of the same things, because when he glanced over, he saw him scratching his back and arms and everything else as he pulled on his own clean clothes. Or, at least, cleaner. He’d just grabbed some from off the floor, doing a quick smell check before shrugging and pulling them on.

Dave couldn’t help but smile as he watched him, loving any time he got to be so himself, in all his messiness and chaos and joy. Their hire-ups tried to stifle any personality out of all of them, but they never could get to Klaus. And getting this look into his childhood, his room? He felt so lucky to be able to get this peek into his life.

He wanted to look around more, maybe examine the writing and doodles on the walls, but his head was getting so heavy and fuzzy, and he was having trouble focusing enough to even make out the words, so he let his head fall back onto the bed and closed his eyes. He was just so tired.

“Dave? Dave, can you hear me?”

Klaus’ voice broke through, bringing him back to the present, and made him realize just how close to falling asleep he’d been. But there was a fear and urgency in Klaus’ voice that he had rarely heard, and somehow that hurt more than any physical ache.

“Yeah, yeah, all good here,” he said quickly, trying to sit up a little, reaching out to blindly pat Klaus’ arm. A habit they’d picked up, a way they could show some physical comfort and reassurance even when surrounded by fellow soldiers.

“Sorry, you were just so still,” Klaus began with a shaky sigh before he seemed to pull himself back together, voice taking on a teasing tone. “I probably should have let you sleep. You look like shit.”

“Ouch,” Dave chuckled. “Hit a guy while he’s down, why don’t you.”

“Oh, don’t worry, you’ll be as good as new once you get 30 or so hours of sleep,” Klaus said with a grin.

Klaus had left the door to the bedroom open. It was a habit of his, not wanting to feel trapped, which Dave could understand. Still, if he’d been paying more attention, he might have at least asked to close it while they dressed. But then, they hadn’t seen anyone since they arrived and he was beginning to wonder if the place was completely abandoned despite how many siblings Klaus was supposed to have. He was wrong, though, and the sound of someone pointedly clearing their throat caused them to flinch apart.

“You good?” a boy, probably in his early teens, asked, one eyebrow raised as he glanced between the two of them and the bloody pile of clothes they’d left on the floor. He studied Dave with an intensity that made him feel like he was looking right through him, like there was nothing he could hope to hide from him.

“Five, hey,” Klaus exclaimed, and at least he didn’t sound upset to see him. He shrugged casually like this was all completely normal. “Yeah, fine.”

Klaus had, of course, told Dave a bit about his siblings, and Dave frantically tried to get his foggy brain to recall anything he could about this brother.

“Where do you want to begin?” Five asked, turning his full attention to Klaus, like Dave held no more interest to him.

“What do you mean?” Klaus asked innocently.

“Well, there’s the blood, the new tattoos, the man in your bed--”

Horrified, Dave shot up and scrambled off the bed to his feet. He could feel his face burning. Maybe he was overreacting, Klaus had mentioned his family didn’t caring that he was pansexual, but he didn’t exactly want to test that. Especially when the consequences of discovery not too long ago would have been severe, if not fatal. That initial fear response wasn’t something he was going to be able to overcome easily.

“Oh, no, it’s not—” Dave began, stumbling over his words and with no real idea what he was going to say, just that he needed to give Klaus some sort of out if he wanted it. Thankfully, he was interrupted.

“It’s fine, sit down,” Klaus said, waving a hand dismissively at him, like this wasn’t anything to worry about. To an amused Five, he continued, “It was just a crazy night, don’t worry about it.”

“More than one, by the looks of it,” Five said knowingly. He gestured towards Dave. “What about him?”

“I’m Dave, nice to meet you,” Dave said quickly.

“He’s with me,” Klaus said defensively. He dropped down into a chair, rubbing at his temple like his headache was getting worse. Dave let himself slump back down onto the bed, itching absently at his arm.

“Fair enough.” Five said, shoving his hands in his pockets as he studied the two of them. “You know, I can recognize the symptoms. And you’re both having them”

“What?” Klaus asked, sitting up to look at him, clearly ready for an argument.

“Jetlag, full body itch, the headache that feels like someone shoved a box of cotton up into your nose and through your brain,” Five explained, voice surprisingly sympathetic. “You gonna tell me about it?”

Klaus sighed and leaned back in his chair, glancing at Dave briefly before giving in. “Your pals, when they broke into the house and couldn't find you? They took me hostage instead.”

“And in return you stole their briefcase,” Five guessed, a slight grin tugging at his lips like he was impressed or proud.

Dave had heard some of the story and was worried Five was focusing on the wrong part. Yes, he was glad Klaus had managed to get the briefcase and escape, but if Five really did know these people that had been after him, he should know what they were capable of. What they might have put Klaus through.

“Yeah, I thought there was money in it, or I could pawn it, whatever.”

“And then, next thing you knew you were-- where? Or when?” Five asked excitedly.

“Why do you care?” Klaus said, standing up and turning away, suddenly defensive, and Dave knew he wasn’t going to tell him what else he’d been through.

“1968,” Dave filled in quickly when he saw the annoyance flash across Five’s face. He earned a glare from Klaus, and maybe he was overstepping, but he could tell when Klaus was ready to start an argument just to end a conversation. It was what he did when he felt too vulnerable, and maybe this way he could at least get the attention off of him. And, perhaps, avoid a fight between the two brothers.

“Thank you,” Five said pointedly to him. “Now, please tell me you’re from this time and just happened to accidentally get caught up in all this.”

“Um,” Dave said, glancing between the two, not sure what to say. Klaus shrugged unhelpfully.

“Klaus, you didn’t,” Five groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose. “You can’t just— pull people out of their timelines like they’re souvenirs! Do you have any idea what his absence could do?”

“Don’t worry, he was already dead at the time,” Klaus said much too casually.

“Oh, great, you faked his death too?” Five said, exasperated.

“Didn’t need to,” Klaus said simply.

“I guess that means I was already absent from my timeline if you think about it,” Dave chimed in, earning a glare from Five. It was surreal to be talking about his own death like this, but he did his best not to think too much about it. Whatever drugs he’d taken earlier were helping with that at least.

“I— don’t have time to unpack what that’s supposed to mean,” Five said absently, beginning to pace. “Just tell me what you did with the briefcase. One disaster at a time.”

“I don’t know, I threw it in a dumpster,” Klaus shrugged.

“Where, Klaus?” Five snapped, spinning to face him, clearly running out of patience.

“In the alley behind the bus stop on 6th,” Klaus said, hands raised defensively.

“Fine. Don’t go anywhere,” Five snapped. “Just tell the others to stay put too.”

“Yeah, like they'll listen to me.”

“We’re not done talking about this,” Five spared a pointed glare in Dave’s direction before disappearing in a blue flash.

Dave just stared at the place he had been for a long moment, trying to figure out if he’d really just seen that. Sure, Klaus has talked about his family of superheroes, but it was still jarring to see someone literally vanish in front of him.

“Well, I think that went quite well,” Klaus sighed, dropping onto the bed beside him, sprawling out.

“Yeah?” Dave asked doubtfully, gingerly laying down beside him. “If that’s going well, I’m worried what going poorly will look like.”

“Blood, violence, for sure knives, there’s no getting around that one,” Klaus said cheerfully.

“You’re not helping,” Dave couldn’t help but laugh, gently shoving Klaus’ arm. But then he took his hand and squeezed it. Whatever weirdness he was going to go through, at least he could go through it with Klaus. “Are you doing okay?”

“What? Yeah, sure,” Klaus said. His voice was casual, like the answer was obvious, but there was no missing the way his eyes slid to the side, avoiding eye contact.

“Should we have told him about the whole coming back to life thing? If he knows about the briefcase, maybe he knows what happened.”

“Maybe later,” Klaus said. “He has to go save the world first.”

“Oh.”

“Come on,” Klaus jumped to his feet and hauled Dave up with him. “Let’s go raid the fridge and get some real food while we still can.”

#klaus hargreeves #dave katz #klave #klaus x dave #the umbrella academy #fanfic #the coast #my fic

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anonthenullifier · 4 years ago

Note

I have a quote prompt, actually it’s from the first issue of the 1985 Vision and the Scarlet Witch Comic. “The Scarlet Witch is never helpless”

I love this quote! My mind went through so many options that were all really different. Hopefully you enjoy the one I settled on!

——

The cave smells of sulphur and the air is swamp-like, her hair bunching into curls with each additional minute in the humidity. “Hey, Vizh,” Wanda keeps her voice low, as calm as possible, hoping the only attention she rouses is Vision’s and not the transdimensional lava demon clomping back and forth across the cavern. Neither of them stir so she tries again, a touch louder, “Vision.” Under normal circumstances she would reach out not only to his mind but also send a tendril of scarlet to dance along his jaw, except said demon has apparently been studying them, devising vices to limit the use of their powers. Without the freedom of her hands, she finds it hard to channel her powers with enough finesse to only alert Vision, leaving her able only to feel the outermost furling of his thoughts. This is not enough for her to determine that Vision is okay, especially in his current state, his body suspended so that it is leaning forward, arms uncomfortably hoisted behind him to eliminate the chance he can turn his head and sear away the chains with the Mindstone. It reminds her of the nightmare that was aerial battle yoga with Natasha. Wanda tries to nudge his mind while defaulting to conversation in the hope he’ll respond. “I don’t know about you, but my arms are tired.”

Without even opening his eyes, he provides an autopiloted insight to her discomfort, “That would be due to the gravitational field of this planet being almost three times that of Earth.” Two seconds is all it takes before his mind seems to catch up to his surroundings, voice trembling with realization as he raises his head to look at her, “Wanda...when did you get captured?”

Time is meaningless down here, mainly because she can’t access her handheld device to determine how long it’s truly been. “Maybe half an hour ago?” This shouldn't be the point of conversation, however, her own capture not accidental by any means, but she can’t risk alerting their captor to that. “How are you holding up?”

“Rather uncomfortably, as you can no doubt observe.” If his response were a wine, she’d be puckering. At least his spirits are still intact enough to be sardonic. “Are you unharmed?”

His swing from sarcasm to unfettered anxiety dictates she give more than a nonchalant I’m fine. Unlike him, she is in a pretty basic prisoner-in-an-evil-lair position—ankles shackled to the stone wall and shoulders screaming at being suspended by the metal glove encasing both her hands. Even if she’s been here a couple hours less than him, all blood has already drained from her hands and forearms causing pins and needles to colonize under her skin. “Other than my arms, I’m not hurt.” Relief sags his body as much as the restraints allow, maybe a millimeter, but it’s enough, along with his shaky breath out, to convey his ever present concern for her over himself. It’s why she redirects to the real concern here: him. “I assume your powers aren’t working?” The chains attached to Vision’s wrists and ankles jangle morosely as he demonstrates phasing for her. The second his body flickers it is consumed by an electrical shock that sizzles along the edges of the vibranium. She finds herself wincing just so someone acknowledges how agonizing it looks. “You could have just said yes.”

The resounding clink of metal this time is due to his attempt at a shrug, “I felt it pertinent to test the efficacy of the power destabilizer in case it had malfunctioned.”

“Looked like you were trying to win the pitiful award.”

His breathy, contained snort very briefly eradicates the twinge she’s developed in her lower back. “I presume you are either a fellow victim or,” hope enters his question with a little vocal uptick, “here to enact a daring rescue?”

“That’s the plan.”

“Good...good,” they lapse into a moment of silence, “and that plan is?”

The plan was for her to get captured, as it’s the only known way into the deepest cavern and then either wait for the others to find a way to infiltrate (not even Strange’s portals capable of getting in) or she has to identify a weakness from within. It’s not a great plan but it’s what they have to work with since she refused to go another minute not knowing if Vision was okay. “Um, still finalizing it.”

“Ah, well, looking forward to it then.” If anyone else was down here with him they would likely have overlooked the subtle undercurrent of sass, assuming he was just being anticipatory, but she knows every rise and fall of his voice, every carefully planned cadence and right now he is being an ass. A very handsome ass, but an ass nonetheless.

“But now that I’m here, it’s kind of nice,” it’s not, it’s hot, it’s muggy, it’s dripping with molten rock and peppered with vents puffing up noxious gases, “like one of those spas with the hot stone massage.”

Vision does his best to examine the hellscape, neck only able to crane so far due to the angle of his suspension and the increased gravity, not even his attempts at lowering his density are successful in alleviating either impediment, “I would temper your excitement. The attendant,” he nods towards the demon who is currently pacing in front of an iridescent oval, “informed me they are fresh out of those little cucumber slices for your eyes.”

Without thinking, Wanda allows a single syllable laugh to escape her lips, an action that causes the horned, amorphous head of their captor to turn towards her, its eyes burning like two embers hanging on for life at the end of a campfire. Wanda quickly puts on a pathetic whimper, giving her chains a few good rattles and a pitiful, “Please let us go” and then waits until the demon has returned its attention to guarding the prismatic holding container before responding. “I’m knocking a star off their rating then.”

“That seems fair.”

Having confirmed Vision is relatively fine, Wanda lets them lapse back into silence, a recommendation from Carol to not be overly loquacious in case it stirred suspiciousness towards their still forming grand rescue plan, which is usually fine, one thing she loves about Vision is how easy it is to feel comfortable in silence, the gentle thrum of his mind a soothing, harmonious white noise. Except currently she can’t get deep enough into his thoughts to find reprieve. All she can experience is the echo of evenly spaced though labored breathing, the rhythmic rise and fall of his chest, and the clenching of his teeth anytime he attempts to shift his density to counteract the angle of his imprisonment. Wanda tries to tamp down the rising worry of what failure would mean, instead directing all of her own attention to feeling out the options for escape.

First she has to figure out her powers. Not only are her hands bound together in the metal glove, her fingers have been forced into fists with no room to expand. It’s uncomfortable and aggravating but also a grave misunderstanding of her abilities because sometimes finesse isn’t necessary. As controlled as she can manage, Wanda collects her powers into one concentrated ball centering in her chest, holding it steady in case she needs to utilize what Vision has lovingly deemed her supernova. No matter how impressive, however, it’s a dangerous maneuver, one she can’t risk in unstable environments, like a potentially active alien volcano. Which is why she needs to channel the man next to her and be patient. Assess everything. This would be easier if her arms didn’t feel like they were about to fall off.

“Um Wanda…”

Her Yeah? shrivels into terrified nothingness the second she raises her eyes, the lumbering form of their captor oozing over towards Vision. Behind it the shining oval and prismatic container are blindingly bright. That’s never a good sign. Neither is the way it reaches a coal colored hand towards Vision. “Don’t touch him.” There’s a snort, dismissive and loud and like a million steam engines erupting all at once If Wanda had her hands free, she’d use them to cover her ears, the world around her muffled now, even her own breaths sounding distant and unconnected from her.

The demon doesn’t listen to her, a solitary finger delicately (as delicately as a monstrous entity can) touching the Mindstone. The stone lights up in response. Based on the shock spreading across Vision’s face and rippling through his body, he is not in control of it. She has made the stone betray him before, and still lives with that guilt, still remembers the way he described it to her, the suffocating realization that he lacked control over such an integral aspect of himself. She’ll be damned to allow anyone else to make him feel it again.

“Stop!” Horrified, she watches the demon ignore her, beckoning the Mindstone energy forward in a docile beam, inching it along with malicious encouragement even as Vision thrashes against his restraints. Clearly the time for planning is over. “I said stop!”

The demon's head swings towards her and she almost screams, the crackling skin of their captor close enough for her to gaze into the smoldering eyes studying her. She imagines standing in the middle of a raging forest fire would be more comforting than the depths of hell in its pupils. “Accept your fate, little witch.” The words spoken are not the ones she hears, its voice akin to the shattering of an entire hutch of china during a tornado, a tinkling of shards as they get whisked away in the howling wind, and yet she understands it, likely some form of mental translation Dr. Strange told them existed in other beings. It’s awe-inspiring while also being a complete ass.

Wanda meets its eyes and glares. “Only if you accept your fate.”

It laughs, wings expanding out across the entire cavern, shaking as if it has heard a joke for the first time in eons. “You,” it bends low, the heat of its body drawing droplets of sweat along her forehead, “are helpless here.”

“You are going to regret that.” For a man who only seconds ago was fighting for his life, Vision’s gleeful taunt enlivens in her the last bit of strength she needs.

Wanda siphons his confidence into herself, unlocking the core of her power as she sets up her daring rescue at last. “You made two mistakes today.” The transdimensional demon lacks hair and any sort of eyebrows, but that doesn’t stop the distinct feeling of it raising them in disbelief. “First,” Wanda leans forward as much as the chains allow, “you kidnapped and tortured the love of my life. And second,” scarlet begins seeping through her body, crackling along her skin as she speaks, “you assumed I was helpless,” the plan was to cause as little harm as possible, the terrain unstable, the power of this demon unknown, but that’s too soft a punishment for a being that doubts her might, that thinks it can control her, that tried to take from her and think she wouldn’t fight back. Wanda makes sure the demon is looking directly at her when she invokes its fate . “The Scarlet Witch is never helpless.”

As the last word falls from her lips, she allows her powers to erupt.

Oiled hands knead up and down Wanda’s arm, applying the perfect amount of pressure to alleviate the last of her aches. There’s a lovely waft of chamomile each time she breathes in and a soothing melody of some nondescript instrumental track. Even more peaceful is the ebb and flow of Vision’s thoughts, her powers greedily deep in his mind. It’s why she’s able to smile in anticipation of his next comment.

“I agree with you.”

Wanda stays face down, far too relaxed to even think about moving, “Obviously,” a little snort comes from her left, guiding her lips up higher into victory, “what specifically?”

“I just finished the report,” only Vision would consider mission reports a comfort read, “Dr. Strange is still perturbed with your methods.”

In her mind there was no inkling of doubt their de facto mission leader was seething, mostly due to the forty minute lecture she received on excessive use of powers, but rarely does he allow it to seep into ink for everyone to read. “I think he’s jealous.”

What she expects is an airy laugh and then a gentle rebuttal, instead she is delivered a treat, “I do believe that is part of it.” Wanda apologizes to the masseuse as she props herself up to look over at Vision, tickled at the unadulterated relaxation before her. He’s engulfed in a snowy white robe while reclined in a chair, a hot towel wrapped around his head with two little cucumber slices on his eyes that look like lifeboats in the waves of the clay mask slathered on his face. When he talks it forms little cracks in the mask, “You achieved a feat he could not, anyone would experience at least a speck of jealousy.”

“Even you?”

“If I had been in his position?” the cracks splinter in six different branches as he contemplates. “Yes, even me. But,” gingerly he reaches up and lifts a cucumber, allowing her to see the swirling gear of his iris, “given I was not in his position, I, instead, am able to appreciate how very fortunate I am to be loved by such a stunningly powerful woman.” A flirty little wink is sent her way before the cucumber drops back into place.

Wanda grins, cheeks rising high enough to hurt a little, as she settles back into the massage table. After all these years that little boyish grin and wink of his urges her heart to beat a hair faster. Maybe she lied in the cavern, overstated the level of helplessness she can experience, because no matter the circumstance, she will always be helplessly in love with Vision. A fact that doesn’t weaken her, can never tame her, one instead that challenges her to understand and harness her powers even more because the universe will never stop trying to take from her, will relentlessly pursue her happiness. This she won’t stand for anymore. Whatever comes next, no matter how intimidating or powerful, she will be ready to yet again prove that the Scarlet Witch is not so easily crossed.

#vision #wanda maximoff #wandavision #scarlet vision #ask anon #mine

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barnesbabee · 4 years ago

Text

Welcome, to The Club || J.W

Summary: What secrets do the quiet ones keep?

Pairing: Jeong Wooyoung x Reader

Words: Oh so many

Genre: Smut

⚠ degradation, name-calling, spanking, choking, praise kink ⚠

A/N: I was writing the pornstar!au version for wooyoung and this idea popped into mind and I was like oh??? Enjoy 💖

No one knew about it... No one but the ones included. And you wouldn't know you were included until you received a pretty, pearl-coloured envelope with your name written in cursive on the back of it, in black.

It had somehow dropped out from the middle of your books once you got home and settled them down on your counter. It flew away and settled down on the floor. You cocked your head and furrowed your eyebrows, looking at it confusedly.

'Y/N'

It clearly was meant for you to read, or else your name wouldn't be on the back...

You picked it up and examined it for a second, before reaching for a knife and ripping it open. There wasn't much inside, there was barely anything. Just a black card, written on with white text with an address and a time plastered on it. No other text or information... You looked inside the envelope to make sure you hadn't left anything there and alas, inside it there was a piece of black fabric. You picked it up and inspected it, rolling it between your fingers. It was made of lace entirely, and it had the shape of a mask. You looked at it for a second before tying it around your head. You inspected your image in the bathroom's mirror. Who sent you that invite? What was it for? A masquerade ball perhaps?

Since there was no date on it you'd just assumed it was on that day, which made you even more confused. Why was it on such short notice? Did they forget to invite you previously or?...

You gave it some thought. What did you have to lose anyway? You weren't proud of it but you weren't a very... safe person. If it seemed interesting you immediately jumped on it, not giving it further consideration or even thinking about the risks.

The mask especially interested you... Carnival was long gone and the way it was sensually designed made you curious about what kind of even it was. You jumped in the shower, excited to see where the address would take you. The shower was as quick as possible, since you only about two hours and a half, and your destination was quite far.

You slapped on a red lipstick and some contour, before curling your hair slightly. The voluptuous waves definitely gave your look the intense and intimate touch it lacked.

It took you no longer than ten minutes to find a dress you thought would suit the occasion: a tight, off shoulder, v-neck black dress with a tight pencil skirt. You didn't want to wear something too flashy, only God knew what was about to happen...

You grabbed your black glitter stilettos and stuffed the mask and the invitation inside whatever small purse was lying around, ready to leave.

When you stepped outside, the cold air hit your legs and exposed arms, and immediately the idea of walking there flushed down the drain. You waved your hand, signaling the taxi passing by that you needed a ride, and he pulled over.

"Where to miss?" He asked when you settled in the backseat, eyeing your Thursday night dress choice questioningly.

You fiddled with the items inside your small bag until you found the black note, and read the address aloud to the male driver. He nodded and started moving the car.

Your leg bounced as you approached the destination, with no clue in what to expect.

"Here it is."

You looked outside of the window and looked at the building. It looked... abandoned. It looked like it would crumble down at any second and you were honestly confused.

"Um... Thank you." You thanked and handed the driver the money shown on the small screen.

As soon as you exited the car you felt fear and worry wash over you. What the fuck had you done!? What made you think this was a good idea!?

You looked at the building, and at the piece of paper in your hands. It was the right address...

You hurriedly grabbed the laced mask from your bag and wrapped it around your head.

The steps you took towards the gated door were wary and careful, almost as if something would jump out at you if you weren't careful. Your finger rang the doorbell, almost expecting it to not work, but a loud 'ding dong' echoed inside. A small rectangular hatch opened in the middle of the door. You rationalized a little and realized that they were probably asking for the invitation, to confirm you weren't an unwanted outsider.

You slid the thick, black paper through the opening and it immediately closed shut.

A second passed and you heard an unlocking sound coming from the inside, and before you knew it, you were being welcomed by a buff man and a tall woman, whose faces were totally covered by white masks.

"Welcome, to The Club." The woman said.

She took your purse and set it down along with the coats and purses of what you assumed belonged to the other guests.

You walked in slowly, looking around at the scenario. It was a long hallway, with about five dark wood doors on each side, and a big black door by the end of it.

You squinted your eyes. The inside of the house looked luxurious, you wondered why it looked so beat up from the outside...

There was some noise coming from behind the door, and you assumed that's where you were supposed to go. You stepped towards it, and as you turned the handle and opened it, your eyes immediately widened.

Before your eyes was a luxurious salon. The floor was made of dark brown marble, the walls had an exquisite bordeaux wallpaper and the windows (that were at least 4 meters tall) were covered by brown and golden curtains. You were mesmerized by the gigantic chandelier hanging beside the enormous staircase.

You were a little intimidated by the atmosphere, and you didn't quite know what to do. There were men and women, seemingly wealthy from the way they handled themselves, sitting in big chairs and sofas chatting away as expensive drinks were handed to them. It seemed as if each of them had a toy: another person taking care of them. Whether it was actually fucking, giving them head or just providing them attention, every person in the room was accompanied, and you felt very out of place...

At least you did have something in common. Everyone had a mask covering their face, whether it was a full face, or just half, decorated or plain, complex or simple, everyone had a unique way to hide their features.

All of the talking, moaning and dirty sounds stopped and all eyes turned to you. Whispers echoed around the room and you became flushed with all of the attention, not knowing what to do.

"I understand my guest has arrived?"

A voice spoke from the top of the stairs and all of the ruckus stopped once more. All of the people looked at the man standing tall above all, and he chuckled.

He looked at you, and an overwhelming sense of fear and discomfort spread through your body.

All pairs of eyes followed the seemingly important man's movements, as he stepped towards you. You kept your incredulous face while he kept his smirk. When he was just a couple centimeters away from you, he could see your blush, even with the dim lights.

The man was wearing a mask just like yours, the first identical pair in the room you had seen. His blonde hair was neatly swept back and he wore an expensive-looking suit.

He extended his hand and said in a very husky, familiar voice.

"Shall we go somewhere more private? I wouldn't want you to be uncomfortable during your first time."

You swallowed thickly and reluctantly took his hand. You weren't thinking of anything when you followed the man, you only hoped to escape the lingering eyes of the strangers.

He took you upstairs and into a big room, with nothing but a bed, a sofa, and a big wardrobe. The bed was huge, and had transparent curtains around it.

The man's back faced you.

"Who are you?"

You thought you should at least know, since you apparently were his guest. His fingers reached for his mask and he removed it, tossing it aside.

"I guess there's no use keeping this, you'll recognize me eventually."

He turned around, and you gasped at the sight.

He licked his lower lip and trapped it between his lip as you looked at him from head to toe.

It was unbelievable.

Jung Wooyung, the quiet kid that always sat on the front row, the class president that always volunteered to help teachers, the goofy, nerdy kid that always avoided girl's gazes... He stood proudly in front of you, looking like candy and practically eye-fucking you.

"Wooyoung?..." You asked, still in hopes you were wrong.

It was too unbelievable...

He stepped towards you and placed his hand on your hip, pulling you closer to him.

His finger hooked around the bow that held your mask and he undid it.

"Since we're alone you don't need this, do we?"

You shook your head lightly and allowed him to toss it somewhere.

"Wooyoung what the fuck is going on?" You asked and exhaled deeply.

He hummed and squeezed your sides.

"Exactly what you see. I run a club for rich people to drink and have a good time. Their guests are unknown people assigned to them based on their preferences. Except for you of course, I had to get you here..." His hand moved to your ass, giving it a squeeze "You tease me so much with that body... You don't even know. I love every single curve you have, and I didn't want to get you in this mess, but I just couldn't help myself, I had to fuck you."

Your eyes widened, and he chuckled at the reaction. You had no words for what he had just said...

"But why?" You asked, confused as to why he'd do this.

"Because the outside is just so boring... I needed a little something. And this" He gestured around the room "is my little something."

There was a long silence. There was no possible response to that...

"Of course I don't want to make you uncomfortable. Once you're in, you're in for good. You have the chance to walk out now and never come back." He smirked and leaned closer to your ear, so he could whisper to you "But you don't want that, do you? You love the thrill... That's why you accepted the invitation. That's why you put on this slutty dress and came here not even knowing who had sent you the mask."

You shivered under his touch and you felt the urge to succumb to whatever he wished.

His hands settled on the bottom of your skirt and started lifting it, slowly.

"Now is your chance pretty baby, when I take this off, there's no going back.”

You didn't give it much thought. You also wanted to feel the little something he talked about.

You pulled his hands away and his face fell for a second, thinking that you would actually back out.

You had other plans, however. Your fingers hooked around the hem of your dress and pulled it over your head, allowing the cloth to pool around your feet. You stepped closer to him and wrapped your arms around his neck, as your fingers played with the hairs on his nape.

"I guess there's no going back now."

Wooyoung smirked and his lips moved to your neck, kissing and licking it softly.

"I knew I made the right choice." He whispered against your skin.

You hissed and cocked your head to the side slightly, giving him all the access he wanted.

Wooyoung's fingers played with the sides of your panties, playing with them around his fingers, and snapping the material against the skin of your hip.

As he worked on leaving marks around your neck, your hands stripped him from his fancy jacket and started unbuttoning his grey silk dress shirt, exposing his chest and toned arms.

Your hand caressed his skin as it traveled down his body, ready to palm him through his clothes, however when your hands reached his belt, he grabbed your wrist and pulled away from your neck, to look you in the eye.

"You're my gest doll, I should treat you accordingly."

His hand swiftly reached for your back and unhooked your bra, removing it completely do he could look at your breasts bouncing free from the material. He then picked you up, bridal style, and threw you on the large bed.

You could feel how comfortable and soft the sheets were the second your skin came into contact with the material.

Your eyes darted to Wooyoung. He took off his belt and placed it on the nightstand, followed by his pants that he threw near his jacket.

He climbed on top of you and pinned your wrists above your head, holding them down with one hand only.

His fingers found their way inside your underwear and began teasingly playing with your clit.

The male looked down, seeing how you squirmed under his touch.

"Hmm, just as I thought, you look even more beautiful like this..."

You moaned at the comment and rolled your hips, wanting to get more contact.

"Tsk, so needy... You want more? Hm?" He asked, with a low chuckle.

"Y-yes, please, I need more."

Wooyoung hissed and his face immediately shifted. He had a feral expression, his eyes were hungry and when he heard your pretty pleads he just wanted to ditch all the foreplay and devour you there and then.

He slipped two fingers in you, earning a loud moan.

"Such a slut, begging to be fucked... But you like it, don't you' You like being fucked like a slut."

You nodded desperately, earning a chuckle.

Wooyoung removed his fingers and brought them up to his face. You watched as he inserted them in his mouth, licking them clean and tasting every little bit of your juices.

"You taste so good..." He complimented, as he moved to stand in between your legs "I can't wait to have more of you."

He gently slipped off your underwear and dipped his head down for his lips to meet your clit. You gripped his hair and your mouth fell agape when he started sucking on your sensitive bud.

His tongue flattened against your pussy, licking long stripes along it, and entering your hole occasionally, leaving no corner of your womanhood unexplored.

"Oh my God- Wooyoung you're so good-"

He pulled away from your cunt and slapped your thigh. His face was now level with yours and he gripped your jaw with one hand.

"Never say my name inside these walls, I am unknown to them, understood doll?"

You didn't dare speak, you just nodded to his words. His fingers fell from your jaw to your neck, applying some pressure around your throat as his lips attacked yours in a violent kiss.

You could taste yourself in his tongue. He would bite your lip from time to time, making you whimper at the roughness.

You placed your hand on his hardon and squeezed it, innocently looking him in the eye.

"Please..." You begged once more.

Wooyoung cursed under his breath and flipped you around. He slapped your ass, and you lifted it in the air for him. As he removed his underwear, you felt his cock slap against your ass.

He gripped your ass cheeks harshly and slapped them. When he heard your little whimper at his spanks, he smiled dirtily.

"You like this, pretty baby?" He asked.

"I do..." You muttered shyly.

Wooyoung's eyed darted to the belt resting on the bedside table, and he reached for it. He folded it in half, and swung it back, before hitting it against your skin.

You moaned loudly and the pleasurable pain you got from the sharp whips. Your cunt was dripping, and you were clenching only from the abuse he was giving your ass.

"I can't take it anymore, please, please fuck me!" You yelled between whimper and moans.

Wooyoung happily obliged and stuffed your tight hole with his cock. He moaned at the tight feeling, and his grasp on your ass grew.

"You feel so good around me, fuck..."

He started moving, and as time went by the sound of your hips smashing against each other grew louder. One of Wooyoung's hands left your ass, and he placed it on your neck, squeezing it slightly as he pushed your face farther into the pillow.

"Tell me how much you like my cock you little whore." The man growled.

"I love it... I love your big cock filling me up so well." You told him.

His cock twitched inside you at the dirty words, and his thrusts became more violent, yet sloppier.

"Look at you, taking me so well... Taking my cock like a good girl."

When he slapped your ass and tugged on your hair to whisper that in your ear, a wave of pleasure washed over you, and you clenched around his shaft as you came. You back arched, your toes curled and you couldn't silence the loud moan even if you wanted to.

Wooyoung couldn't take it anymore, and he buried his member deep inside you, releasing his warm cum inside you with a quiet moan. You hissed at the warm sensation hitting your walls.

The second he removed himself from you, he walked from the bed and put on a black silk robe and his mask.

You cocked your head and looked at him confusedly, as he approached you with a robe just like his along with your mask. He handed them to you.

"Come on, put these on, princess."

You obliged and wrapped your body in the soft material, followed by the mask. Wooyoung helped you up and held your hand. Before leaving the room, he looked at you for a second and fixed your hair, smiling a little at your disheveled look.

He opened the large door and you followed him, hand in hand.

As you stood on top of the staircase, the curious stranger eyes were all on you once more.

Wooyoung wrapped his arm around your waist and pulled you close.

"I would like you all to meet The Club's new member. Welcome to The Club."

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shoutosteakettle · 4 years ago

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⤷ pairing: natsuo todoroki x fem!rreader

⤷ genre: slight angst, fluff

⤷ word count: 2418

⤷ warnings: maybe ooc natsuo

⤷ a/n: i am so fucking excited to post this fic because it is my first fic for a server collab!! check out the rest of the fics for the collab here, everyone on the list is such a talented writer and i know that they put a lot of effort into their fics. and as always, thank you @ererokii for the beautiful banner for this fic,, i love you aims

☆彡

You have memories from one year ago today!

You looked at the notification on your phone, trying your best not to let the tears biting at the corner of your eyes spill out onto your cheeks. Even though you know you shouldn’t have, you opened the app; your eyes immediately darted towards the face of your ex. It had only been a couple weeks since he parted ways with you, but you had already forgotten just how handsome he was, and just how happy you used to be.

“Fuck!”

Your pained yelp was loud enough to startle the elderly couple sitting on the bench in front of you. You got up, brushed the dirt off your skirt, and sent a bow to them as a quick sorry for your vulgar language. When you straightened your back to stand up, your shoulders still slightly hunched, you looked in front of you, losing sight of why you had come here in the first place – not sure you ever really had a reason.

It was hard to keep track of your thoughts when you were overwhelmed by the amazingly beautiful scenery in front of you. The warm colors of the wilting leaves on the autumn trees paired almost perfectly with the fairy lights strung from them, lighting the path of food stands, game booths, and street performers as if it was art taken from the pages of a fairytale book.

As you trailed the path you had many times before, though you were usually accompanied by the person you thought you would love you forever, you let the nostalgia wash over you, almost completely forgetting about the stabbing pain in your right ankle for a minute or two. But you were brought back to your less than desirable reality when you found your face buried in the broad chest of a stranger. You limped backward, fully ready to apologize profusely to the stranger, but your breath hitched, and you couldn’t find the words to do so when you caught sight of his face.

The first thing you noticed was the definition in his jaw, the bones shaped as if was done by the gods themselves. Your eyes took note of just how clear his skin was, absent of even the slightest imperfections (despite being a full-time college student). In all your awe, you hadn’t noticed that his eyes were tracing your face in the exact same way. Taking in everything from the volume of your hair to the shape of your nose. It wasn’t until your eyes met his did you finally say something, “I- I’m so sorry, I must not have been paying attention.” You sent him a curt bow before standing back up and continuing on your limped journey for the infirmary.

But you stopped your steps once again when the white-haired male that you had run into placed a hand on your shoulder. “Are you okay,” he asked, gently turning you around, noticing the way you were trying to avoid putting pressure on your right foot.

“Yeah, I just- I think I sprained my ankle,” you told him, not even bothering to hold back the pained expression on your face anymore.

“Oh? That’s perfect- this is the nurses’ booth,” he said, pointing to the sign hanging from the hem of the tent.

“So, what happened,” he asked, rummaging behind his desk, most likely looking for what he would need to get you patched up.

You cringed at the memory as it replayed in your head in response to his question. “I was, uh, distracted on my phone and ended up missing a step going down the stairs, I took a little tumble, and here we are,” you explained, still mortified by the whole ordeal, but smiling to yourself about the way he chuckled at your last comment.

You watched him rise from his squatted position, ice and bandages in hand, before striding over to the cot you had situated yourself on. He sat down his supplies on the table next to you, making small talk as he rolled over the stool from his desk to the foot of your cot. “May I,” he asked his hands hovering above your right foot. Understanding he needed to take off your pump to help you out, you gave him a shy nod.

You felt your cheeks heat up at the sight of the chipped nail polish on your toes. You meant to get them done; you just hadn’t gotten around to it yet, what with all the self-loathing. You jumped at the feeling of his hands on your skin.

“Cold right,” he laughed, looking up to send you a quick smile, “I get it from my mom.” His smile looked sad, like there was a lot more emotion behind it then he was letting on.

“So why are you here instead of enjoying the festival,” you asked him. He looked pretty young, around your age, so it was hard to believe he was actually a nurse.

“I’m actually in Uni, my first year. I’m majoring in health and welfare; extra credit for one of my classes was tending to the booth,” he explained, not looking at you, but rather focused on examining your ankle. You didn’t mind though; he had the most beautiful side profile and was truly a joy to look at. Everything from the lack of color in his hair and how it framed his face perfectly, to the length of his eyelashes and how they [make blinking sexy]. He went to ask you a question in return but was cut off when you let out a sharp hiss in return to his fingers pressing a little too hard on your ankle.

“Yeah, it’s definitely sprained,” he confirmed, looking up to see your face completely drained of little positivity it had before. “Don’t worry babes, this is what we’re gonna do.” You watched with glossy eyes as he rolled over to pick up the ice pack sitting on the table next to you before rolling back over to take another look at your ankle.

“We’ll use ice to help with the swelling and hopefully some of the pain, yeah,” he said very matter of factly despite the questioning tone of his voice. He looked up to you once again, waiting for a sign of confirmation that you were following him, so you sent him another shy nod. “We’ll do this for around 15 minutes. What time is now?”

You grabbed your phone from on top of the table next to you, tapping the screen and seeing the numbers 8:53 shine across the top. “It’s 8:53,” you repeated, reading the numbers off of your home screen.

“It’s already that late,” he questioned more to himself than anyone else. “So 9:03, go ahead and set a timer, so we don’t lose track of time.” You did as he asked, ignoring the smile of your ex as you swiped out of that app and onto the clock app, putting in fifteen minutes into the timer and pressing start.

“So what are you doing here at the festival,” he asked, finally taking a good look at you for the first time since you ran into him outside.

“Um,” you started, looking for an answer you could give him. “I come here every year to celebrate my anniversary.”

“Oh, you’re married,” he asked, taking a second look at your hand, dreading that he might see a ring he missed at first glance.

You feel your cheek heat up at the thought of marriage, how nice that would be. “No, actually, I’m recently single,” you clarified for him, shifting uncomfortably in the awkward silence following.

After a minute or two, perhaps the longest in your life, you found it in you to look him in the eyes again, only to find his were already looking back at you. “It’s probably for the best. Everything happens for a reason, and all of that, right?”

“Right,” you chuckled in response. Of all the ways you looked at your breakup trying to put reason behind your ex’s sudden, I think we’d be better off apart, never had you once looked at it as it was just fate. Your relationship being simply not meant to be, but maybe that was the best way to see it.

“What about you, are you in a relationship,” you asked, not meaning to come off as desperate as you're sure you sounded.

“Unless you're asking about the intense love-hate relationship that I have with my textbooks, then no,” he said, laughing with you at his own joke. “Why do you ask?”

You felt your cheeks heat up once again at his sudden inquiry, and for what felt like the thousandth time today, you found yourself without an answer to his question. “Just curious,” were the two words you were miraculously able to get out without stuttering.

“You said you were majoring in health and welfare, right,” you asked, desperately trying to detour the conversation from the topic of relationship status.

“Yeah.”

“So you want to be a doctor,” you asked, tilting your head to the side just a bit so you could get a better view of his face.

“That’s the plan,” he answered, keeping in line with his usual jokey tone.

“Why is-”

“I think it’s my turn to ask a question or two,” he suggested, cutting you off with the most teasing voice.

“Are you in Uni,” he asked. Your face, while beautiful, was an unfamiliar one.

“Yeah, but I go to school in Tokyo,” you said, a little embarrassed at the fact that you drove so far just to reminisce a little.

“That’s pretty cool! The city life over there is pretty exciting, right,” he asked, sounding almost awestruck.

“Yeah! I don’t go out much, but when I do, I always have a lot of fun,” you gushed, unable to keep the smile off your face as the memories came rushing back to you.

“Maybe I’ll have to come up there and take you out sometime,” he laughed, playing it off as a joke, but you didn’t miss the wink that he sent your way.

“I think I would really enjoy that,” you smiled, watching as a soft pink tinted his cheeks at your sudden bluntness.

“I-”

Just as he was about to say something in return, the timer you had set went off, the sound of the phone’s default ringtone blaring throughout the room.

“Alrighty,” he groaned, taking the ice off of your ankle and rolling over to the bedside table one last time. He put down the ice and picked up the bandages before rolling over the foot of your cot once again. You winced at the feeling of pain when he reached for your ankle. You could see it in his face that he was hurting for you as he wrapped up your foot. You're sure he said something doctorly about how compression was supposed to help with the swelling but you were too focused between the delicate work of his hands and the look on his face as he concentrated to pay attention.

It wasn’t until the feeling of your pump being placed back on your foot did you finally realize that he was finished. You set yourself down on two feet, listening to his advice about not putting too much pressure on your right foot. But even without walking on it, your right foot still hurt like a bitch.

“I can help you out,” he offered, already sweeping you off your feet before you had a chance to politely decline, sure that he had better things to do than helping you for any longer.

You couldn’t stop the soft giggle that left you as relaxed in his arms, feeling like you were right at home. Like this is where you were supposed to be there. Like he was made for you and you, him.

“It’s really pretty out here in the moonlight, huh,” you questioned rhetorically, the lights that shone in the streets reflecting in your eyes just like stars twinkled in the night sky.

“Yeah, it really is,” he agreed, but his eyes weren’t on the scenery. They were focused on you. Taking in your face all over again in fear that he might forget just how beautiful you were in the time between now and whenever the next time you see him is, that is, if he ever sees you again.

As he carried you bridal style through the festivities that was the fall festival and through the parking lot to your car, silence overcame the two of you, but unlike before, this silence was comfortable, nothing but the murmurs of people indulging in conversations and the crunch of leaves under your savior’s feet every now and then. No words were needed; if anything, they would probably ruin this moment between you and him. You couldn’t remember the last time you felt this at home with someone, but you certainly wouldn’t say that you minded the feeling. Despite his cold hands on your skin, your heart was overflowing with warmth, and it was all because of him.

“Which is yours,” he asked, nodding his head towards the cars. When you pointed out yours, he took his last couple of steps with you in his arms before carefully setting you down in front of your car. You weren’t ready to say goodbye yet. You wanted a little more time with him.

“Oh my god, I never got your name,” you confessed, mentally kicking yourself for forgetting something so important.

“Don’t sweat it. I’m Natsuo, Natsuo Todoroki.”

“Well, Natsuo, Natsuo Todoroki,” you began, playfully mocking his cliche answer to your previous question, “would you mind giving me your number,” you asked, offering him your phone.

“Of course not,” in return for your he handed you his phone already opened to the contact app, and ready for you to input your information.

“I don’t give that out to just anyone, so make sure you put it to good use,” he winked, taking his phone from you and turning around to walk back to his booth, but not without stealing one last glance from you as you climbed inside your car.

As you suffered the pain that was driving with a sprained ankle, there was only one thing running through your mind that distracted you from it all; Natsuo Todoroki was starting to look like a person you could make new memories with.

#natsuo todoroki x reader #natsuo x reader #writing?

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authorialarcanist · 3 years ago

Text

Monster Collector (Tales of Symphonia)

Summary: When Lloyd and Colette drag the party off to complete the Monster Book, Raine can't help but wonder about what her students are thinking.

Written for Colloyd Week 2021 Day 2: Sidequest.

Gen, crack.

—

“Lloyd, watch out!”

“Right!” Lloyd leapt out of the way of a hammer blow from a massive bear, forewarned just in time by Colette’s shout. “It’ll take more than that to beat me, you know! Hurricane Thrust!” Air burst out from his sword in every direction as he jabbed back at the bear, sending it stumbling away. “Thanks, Colette! It’s open now!”

“Right!” Colette darted forward, multicolored wings carrying her to her target before it could regain its balance, and plowed headfirst into its fuzzy stomach. Nonplussed by the impact, the monster closed its arms to catch the girl in a painful bear hug, only for Colette to raise one of her chakrams in celebration, leaving a deep gash in its face where it had leaned in. “Yay, I got something! Okay, Lloyd, that’s everything I can get from this one!”

Lloyd pumped his fist, and shouted “You two can finish it off now!”

Raine Sage, half-elf teacher and current world-saving tagalong, raised an eyebrow at her compatriot. Zelos shrugged back.

“I don’t get it any more than you do, but I guess we’re doing this! Get ready!”

“I suppose it’s just as well… Now!” Raine raised her staff above her, and light gathered around Tethe’Alla’s Chosen.

“Plasma Blade!” With a shout, Zelos charged at the bear sword-first. Raine’s magic propelled him easily into and past his target, causing it to collapse to the ground in pain. To add insult to injury, a bolt of lightning struck its prone form a moment later, bringing the battle to an end.

“Annnd… there we go! Colette, what did you get from it?” By the time Raine looked back at her students, Lloyd had already pulled out a red book and a pen, and was examining some sort of herb Colette was holding out to him. “Alright! That’s one more down!”

“That’s great, Lloyd!” Genis, Raine’s younger brother, ran up to Lloyd from where he’d been waiting in the back line. “Only… Does that mean you’re going to tell us what we’re actually doing here, now?”

“Hm?” Lloyd looked up from putting the finishing touches on the book. “What do you mean?”

“I mean here, Lloyd!” Genis splayed his arms wide, and gestured at the mountainous terrain around the group. “You dragged us to this random patch of mountain, and never told us why!”

“Oh! Right! Whoops, I forgot about that!” Lloyd scratched the back of his head sheepishly. “Well… Colette, why don’t you tell them?”

“Uh-huh!” Colette stepped forward with a wide smile. “See, when we were in Izoold the other day, I heard a rumor that there’ve been sightings of a reeeaaaally big doggy up in these mountains! Apparently it’s been scaring goatherds and stuff! And there’s only one more entry we haven’t filled up in the Monster List, so I thought maybe it was the one we’re missing!” Lloyd nodded along beside her, and held up the empty page in demonstration.

Raine gave her two students a flat look. “…Lloyd. Is that really why we’re here?”

“Yeah! I mean, it’s really close to done, so we wanted to fill in that last slot!”

Raine sighed. “I’m loath to say this, since you’re apparently invested in your schoolwork for once, but… is this really the time? Aren’t there more important things we should be doing right now?”

“Eh. Kratos can wait!” Lloyd waved his left hand dismissively. “I mean, he’s like a thousand years old or something, right? A couple days should be like a minute to him! We can go and break Origin’s Seal once we’ve finished up with this!”

Suddenly, everybody jumped at a loud crashing sound. They turned to the source, to see Presea standing over a felled tree. The trunk was now bridging a gap that led to the path further up the mountain. “…Getting the Eternal Sword, and reuniting the worlds. Is less urgent than filling an empty page…?”

“I mean, yeah!” Lloyd nodded without a trace of irony. “Who knows what this place’ll look like once we’ve reunited the worlds, right?”

“Uh-huh!” Colette quickly backed him up. “And anyways, once we go to meet Kratos, we’ll have to deal with—mmmph!” Lloyd quickly covered her mouth. The two shared a meaningful look before he let go. “…Um, whoops! Ignore that, hehe!”

“Alright, what are you two hiding from us? Annnd… yoink!” Taking advantage of the brief distraction, Zelos leaned over and snatched the Monster List out of Lloyd’s free hand.

“Wh- hey! Give that back!” Lloyd dove at Zelos, trying to grapple for the purloined book, but his face met the ground instead as the Chosen leapt out of the way.

“Let’s see, here… No. 234, Meredy… No. 235, Abyssion, man that guy was an asshole… No. 236, Z—“ Zelos cut off with a choking sound, all the blood draining from his face.

“Hmm? What is it, Zelos?” Raine walked to Zelos, intending to check the list herself.

“…Hey, Lloyd? Hunny? Bud?”

Lloyd gulped. “Y…yeah?”

“Why do Ihave an entry in the Monster List?”

“Ehe…heh…”

Raine leaned over Zelos’ shoulder. Sure enough, there it was: a little, surprisingly well-drawn, sketch of Zelos facing the reader with orange wings spread behind him. Located at the Final Seal… Strong against lightning and light elements… Drops… “Zelos, were you hiding a Mystic Symbol from us?”

“What? No!” Zelos dropped the book in a panic. “I haven’t got anything like that, promise!”

“Hrm. Nevertheless, this is certainly odd. Lloyd…” Raine wheeled on her student, the righteous fury of a scorned teacher at her fingertips ready to be called. “Have you been writing fake entries to fill space…?”

“Wait! Hold on, Professor!” Colette stepped in front of Raine, shielding Lloyd from her wrath. “Lloyd hasn’t been cheating, I promise! It’s just… a reeeally long story, okay?”

Raine held Colette’s gaze for several long moments, but the girl didn’t seem to just be covering for Lloyd. Raine sighed. “Fine. But we’d better get an explanation once this is over, alright?”

“Ehehe…” Colette wilted and gave a sheepish smile. “A-anyways, let’s just keep going. We still need to find that doggy, right Lloyd?”

“R-right!” Lloyd, climbed back to his feet, and grabbed the Monster List from where it lay. “Come on, everybody! I’m pretty sure we’re almost there!”

Raine watched with a pensive expression as he clambered over the felled tree. Her students had changed a lot over the course of their journey, but… she wondered if they’d changed faster than she’d realized.

———

The group was resting at the peak of the mountain. After much searching, they’d at last found their errant beast; now, they were just waiting for Genis to prepare a meal to restore their energy.

Raine watched as Lloyd and Colette dance around, twirling each other by both hands and singing “Hun-dred per-cent! Hun-dred per-cent!”

Regal sat down next to her. “They certainly seem to be enjoying themselves.”

“Yes.” Raine nodded absent-mindedly. “For all that they’ve grown, I suppose they arestill children.”

“Hm.” The two sat and watched in silence for a moment before Regal spoke again. “You’re still thinking about what happened earlier, aren’t you?”

“I am,” Raine replied. “Did you notice? Those two are incredibly in sync when they fight, like they’ve been fighting together for years instead of months. And… Every so often, I’ve noticed them looking at each other and giggling, like there’s some secret that only they are privy to.”

“…” Regal raised his eyebrow. “…Are you certain they’re not just—“

“I thought that at first, too! But now, I’m not so certain. I just… I’m their teacher. It’s my job to notice and step in if they’ve gotten involved in something strange.”

“It’s a good impulse, Raine.” Regal awkwardly shifted his handcuffs so he could pat her on the shoulder. “But… those two have proven themselves time and again, right? That’s why we’re following them.” He met Raine’s eyes, a serious expression on his face. “As adults, it’s our shared responsibility to be there for them, yes. But it’s also our responsibility to recognize when they’re starting to spread their wings and fly without our help. It’s our responsibility to trust them, and give them space, when that time comes. Whatever those two know, I don’t believe they would ever use it for ill.”

“Perhaps you’re right.” Raine watched as the two in question grabbed Sheena and pulled her merrily into their dance. Whatever was going on there, they clearly still cared about all of their friends being happy. Maybe it was time to sit back, and simply have faith in them.

…Lloyd’s face, grinning sheepishly every time he’d gotten wrapped up in some prank or work-avoiding scheme gone awry, flashed in front of her eyes.

Alas. It seemed that the habits of a teacher would not so easily fade. “…And if they areusing the power of the Eternal Sword to transcend time and space in order to turn their homework in on time?”

Regal coughed. “Then that sounds like it would be a disciplinary question for their instructor to deal with. Mirage!”

Raine’s jaw dropped as Regal’s form rapidly vanished into the distance. What happened to their shared responsibility as adults? “Regal Bryant, you get back here this instant!”

#tales of symphonia #colloydweek2021 #lloyd irving #colette brunel #raine sage

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kyufiber-moved · 5 years ago

Text

101 ways to get the girl

member: haechan / nct

genre: fluff, comedy

word count: 1.4k

summary: lee donghyuck is a class clown without a care in the world— so why does he suddenly care about you? (or, in which donghyuck is a little shit but you kinda like it)

playlist: x

a/n: this can be a part 1 if enough people want a part 2 !!! aCK this was so SICKENINGLY cute i was dying the whole time i wrote it uwu. this was based off of this post !

It’s not like Donghyuck liked you. No, nothing like that. You just... always had a leaf in your hair or a smudge on your face, or he was staring at something behind you.

He definitely, absolutely, decidedly, did not have a giant crush on you.

“You sure stare at her a lot for someone who claims not to like her,” His best friend and (simultaneously) worst enemy, Mark, snorts, and Donghyuck is torn out of his trance.

“I wasn’t staring,” he protests, indignant. “I was... examining the room and she happened to interrupt my sightline.”

Mark doesn’t bother to hide the expression of pure skepticism and exasperation on his face and takes another bite of his sandwich.

“You’re gross,” he mutters through a mouthful of turkey, and Donghyuck sends him a scalding glare.

“I’m going to 3rd period,” he huffs.

“Where you’ll stare at her for another hour, no doubt!” Mark calls after him, pieces of lettuce falling from his mouth, and Donghyuck flips him off without hesitation.

Not even 20 minutes later, Donghyuck finds his eyes wandering to your desk of their own accord.

The teacher’s voice becomes white noise as his eyes study you, from the strands of hair sticking up at the top of your head, or the way your sleeves are a little too long for your arms, and you keep pushing them back every time you have to write. He wonders if your hair is soft, and how it’d feel if you smiled at him like you smile at your friends— not that he notices, he just happens to catch it.

You always seem to be everywhere he looks.

“Lee Donghyuck!” A sharp voice makes him jump to attention, and he sighs a little when he notices the teacher’s narrowed eyes focused on him.

“Yes, Ma’am?” He raises an eyebrow, preparing to use his notorious class clown snark.

But then—

“Do you plan to stare at Y/n all day, or are you going to join us for the lesson?”

A few classmates giggle. The color drains from his face, and out of the corner of his eye, he catches you turn to look at him.

He stares straight ahead, not daring to spare a look in your direction.

There’s a moment of silence, during which Donghyuck’s head is racing to come up with a response that will make him look less like a lovesick idiot.

“Her hair was sticking up so much, I was just wondering if she’d touched a static ball or something.” is what comes out.

You dumbass.

This time, he does glance at you for a moment. Your face has turned bright red, and your hand is abashedly smoothing down the strands on the top of your head.

The teacher lets out a loud sigh and turns back around to face the whiteboard. “Please pay attention to the lesson from now on, Mr. Lee.”

Donghyuck spares one more glance in your direction, and your head has lowered considerably— in embarrassment, probably— and he bites his cheek.

When was it? When did you change from being Y/n, one of the girls in his class, to Y/n, the class vice president that sits at desk 14.

He leans his head back against the chipped paint of the wall as students from Mrs. Tanaka’s 4th period spill out of the classroom door.

He’s waiting for an oversized pastel pink sweater and staticky brown hair—

“There you are,” he murmurs, reaching out a hand and pulling your head towards him out of the stream of students.

“Ah— what the f—” You cut yourself off when you catch sight of him. “Oh, it’s you.”

“You don’t sound excited to see me, VP.”

“I’m always excited to see the boy that humiliates me in front of 35 people,” you retort, sniffing. “Can I help you with something?”

“First you should worry about getting some anti-static conditioner—” (You shoot him a fierce glare, and he isn’t sure if the red on your cheeks is from embarrassment, anger, or a mixture of both). “I’m just kidding! I’m kidding.”

“Seriously, what?”

“Are Dumb and Dumber walking you home today?”

“You mean Jaemin and Jeno? They have names. And no, they’re both busy with soccer practice today.”

He sniffs airily, casting a glance above your head.

“Hm... Aren’t they worried about the flasher?” Donghyuck raises an eyebrow.

“The... flasher?”

“You haven’t heard? There’s a flasher around this neighborhood... Apparently, he’s targeting high school girls. Shame, really.” He tries not to burst into laughter at the look on your face. “Well, see you tomorrow.”

“Wait—!” Your hand darts out to catch hold of his wrist, and sparks jolt all the way up his arm. “Wait.”

“Hm?”

Your mouth opens, then closes. Then opens again. You glance at the ground, eyebrows furrowed, and fingers still grasping his arm.

“By any chance... do you want me to walk you home?” Donghyuck questions, feigning innocent surprise.

“No!” you retort a little too quickly.

“Then why are you still holding my wrist?”

You glance down in surprise, and then a small whine escapes your lips. “Okay, yes. Fine. Walk me home.”

He pretends to think for a moment, sucking in a breath. “Hm... I’m going to need a little more than that.”

“Please, walk me home.”

He smiles a little too smugly. “With a cherry on top?”

“I’ll kill you.” You fix him with an un-amused expression and whirl around, marching in the other direction.

Almost instantly, his confident facade melts into the image of a lovesick schoolboy, staring after you as you walk away.

“You’re disgusting~” Mark sing-songs as he walks past, dodging a smack from Donghyuck, who then sprints to catch up with you.

“So, like, serious question. Do you actually need hair-care advice?”

“Shut up.”

“—because I’m telling you, my hair is really soft. Feel it,”

“Not a chance.”

“C’mon, feel it!”

“I’m not touching your hair!”

“You know, on second thought, maybe you shouldn’t touch it. I might catch your static touch or something,”

You whirl around, glowering at him, and he returns it with a grin.

“Oh my God, is that the flasher?” he gasps dramatically, and you turn at light-speed, fear practically making your hair stand straight up.

“Where? Where?”

“I’m just kidding,” he snickers, and you punch him in the arm, and then march a few feet ahead.

“I don’t know why I even agreed to this,” you grumble, loud enough so he can hear.

“Ou~ch,” he calls out. “I’m here out of the kindness of my heart, y’know?”

You huff loudly. “As if. You probably just wanted to terrorize me because you were bored.”

He jogs a few steps forward to fall in step with you.

“Actually— wait, is that...?”

“What?” you ask, still focusing your gaze forward.

“I think that’s actually the flasher,” he finishes, voice lowering a bit.

You scoff. “I’m not falling for that again,”

“No, seriously—”

“Donghyuck, do you think I’m st—”

At that moment, the barefoot man with a scruffy beard and tan trenchcoat starts to run at you, and as you turn to look, he goes to open his coat.

Just in time, Donghyuck jumps in front of you, spinning you around into his chest and shielding you.

“Fuck off, dude!” He yells over his shoulder at the man, who sprints off as quickly as he came, and then turns back to you.

He freezes.

His arms are curled around your waist, your hands on his chest, and your bodies inches apart. Your eyes slowly rise to meet his through some stray strands of hair, and he feels heat creeping up his neck.

Jumping back, he rubs the back of his neck and mumbles: “See, I told you. Ahem.”

You cough, looking away, and then the two of you continue the walk to your house in a thick, awkward silence.

Once you reach your house, you unlatch the gate, but before you go in, you swing around.

Donghyuck blinks.

“Um... Thank you.”

He dips his head sheepishly. “Anyone would’ve done it.”

“No, thank you for offering to walk me home.”

“I didn’t offer!” he passes it off, a small laugh escaping his lips. “You begged—”

“Hyuck,”

His cheeks tint pink at the nickname. “Yeah?”

You take a small step forward, lift onto your tiptoes, and press a kiss to his cheek.

“Thank you,”

His whole face is bright red suddenly, and you bite your lip, smiling at the sidewalk beneath your feet.

After shooting him one last shy glance, you disappear inside the gate.

And Donghyuck would never tell anyone, but he blushed the whole way home.

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pinnithin-writes · 4 years ago

Text

Good Jokes

Chapter 10

Tommy wandered Black Mesa for what felt like days.

It couldn’t have been days; his hands were still sticky with rust and he hadn’t gone far from where -

Where that happened.

He didn’t feel like he even had permission to mourn. Tommy barely knew Gordon - had known him for maybe 72 hours max - but he had grown so important so rapidly that his absence punched a hole straight through Tommy’s torso. He couldn’t shake the sense of loss, how bitterly unfair it all was.

To have someone be such an almost. An almost friend. An almost lover. Never having gotten close enough to be allowed to miss him.

This was not to mention the overwhelming sense of guilt that had crawled inside his lungs. If he had been quicker, if his judgment were sharper, he could have prevented this. If he had been strong enough to break free of whatever bound him. If he had paid greater mind to his father’s warning.

Tommy drifted, heavy with regret as he glided through the halls like a spectre. Shackled down by should-haves. What did he do now? What was there left to do, when the world was fucked and the only person who gave a shit about it was dead?

The room he wound up in was cavernous, ringed with a toxic neon glow. Appropriate mood lighting, he thought wryly to himself as he stood in the shadow of a massive cistern. It was strange, standing there, saturated by radioactive waste, almost-grieving an almost-lover. Would have been nice if not for the cockroaches.

Would have been nice if Benrey wasn’t there, too.

Tommy felt his presence as soon as he appeared, unpeeling from thin air and hanging his elbows over the edge of the cistern. Looking all the world like a kid at a pool party. Tommy watched him materialize and felt something dark settle in the pit of his stomach.

“Hey,” Benrey drawled nonchalantly.

Tommy didn’t have the patience for pleasantries. He was going to set this guy on fire. As he raised his hand toward him, the entity blurted the only thing that could have possibly saved him.

“Dude, he’s alive.” His voice was pained, as if he were already feeling the blood boiling in his own veins. “Chill.”

He released his hold on the atoms that made up the entity’s body as hope lodged a painful lump in his throat. Benrey sagged with relief while Tommy took a thoughtful step back, eyeing him warily. His hand was still lifted in a threat.

“Where is he?” he demanded coldly.

Benrey threw his careless exterior back on once he was sure he wasn’t about to be immolated on the spot. He gave a narrow shrug. “I don’t fuckin’ know. On the move somewhere. Last I checked he wasn’t in the garbage anymore.”

The garbage. They had tossed him in the garbage. Tommy wanted to kill this guy all over again. He clamped down on that impulse, instead uttering a single, perfunctory syllable.

“Why?”

“Probably because he didn’t wanna be in the garbage anymore.”

“Why,” Tommy tried again, barely containing his anger, “did you do that to him?”

Benrey began picking at his cuticles lazily, rolling his eyes so he wouldn’t have to meet Tommy’s gaze. “I dunno. He was getting boring.”

“I don’t believe you.”

When Benrey showed him his teeth, it was more of a snarl than a smile. “Your problem, bro.”

Tommy was about to grill the entity, in both the physical and metaphorical sense, when a scuffling sound echoed from a pipe on the opposite wall. He turned, tempted to dismiss it as another alien, but a heavy thud followed, and a very human groan came shortly after. Benrey’s mouth turned into a knife as he leered at Tommy.

“Huh. Maybe he’s not so boring after all.”

Tommy turned back to face him, his stare hard and dangerous. “I’m going to kill you and then I’m going to kill you again.”

“Hurts, man,” Benrey said, but he was delighted. “Just like old times.” He dangled his arms over the edge of the cistern, grinning cheekily. “I missed this.”

The noise from the pipe was growing louder. The person inside - and he had a pretty fucking good guess who - was clearly in a lot of pain. Tommy’s heart squeezed just hearing it.

“Get out,” he told Benrey.

The entity smiled his shark’s teeth smile. “Make me.”

Tommy did. Clapped his hands together and slammed Benrey into the same pocket dimension he’d trapped that shithead soldier in only a day ago. His patience was nonexistent, his self control barely hanging on. Go have a time out in the void. It was a kinder punishment than the entity deserved.

He stood there, watching the space where Benrey had disappeared from, for several long seconds. Then he turned and strode across the room to watch the dead come back to life.

The relief that surged through Tommy upon seeing Gordon Freeman crawl out of that drain was so sudden and powerful it knocked the breath out of him. He was alive. He was alive. God, he was alive. Tommy could only stare, gaze catching mournfully when he noticed he was short a hand.

“Hey!” Gordon shouted hoarsely. He sounded terrible, like he had been dragged for three miles from the back of a moving van. Looked as much, too - he was covered in a horrible smear of his own blood and whatever sludge had been at the bottom of the trash compactor. A crack spiderwebbed across his glasses. Tommy felt awful, seeing him like that.

Gordon was still calling his name like it was the only word he knew. “He - Tom - Tommy! Tommy, up here! It’s me! Tommy.”

Tommy smiled sadly up at him. “Hello, Mr. Freeman.”

“Are you - are you here to fuckin’ kill me?” he demanded, and the fear in his words broke Tommy’s heart. “Did they tell you to finish me off? Please, please tell me-”

“No,” he interrupted him before Gordon’s voice could get any more distraught. “They tricked me.”

“What? Oh... god.” Gordon slid unceremoniously out of the pipe and onto the floor. Tommy took a step forward retroactively, but paused when he caught the nervous look Gordon threw at him. He didn’t know if he could trust Tommy. Hell, he didn’t know if he could trust anybody .

Keeping his distance took a great deal of effort, but Tommy managed.

Gordon groaned. “Oh, my fucking arm.” He staggered to his feet, clutching the stump where his hand used to be. He returned his gaze to Tommy’s face, studying him warily. “Hey buddy,” he ventured. “What are they-what did they do to you?”

What did they do to me? Tommy wanted to ask. What did they do to you, you half-dead, waterlogged, survivor of a man? He bit the inside of his cheek and looked away, joking to calm his nerves.

“Um, they gave me a Beyblade.”

Gordon paused, ignoring the jest as he puzzled over Tommy’s situation. “In exchange for - for going with them? Why are you - th - did they leave you behind?”

“Yeah,” Tommy answered. He turned his eyes back to Gordon, utterly loathing himself. “I ran away.”

Gordon, however, relaxed visibly at this. “Oh my god,” he sighed, and then he didn’t approach so much as he pitched forward, unsteady on his feet as he was from blood loss. Tommy caught him, pulling him in close. The armor of his suit dug into his chest but he hardly cared, arms clasped tightly around Gordon as if he would slip through his fingers if he let go.

The other man sagged against him, barely able to stand. “Thank you, man,” he breathed. “Honestly.”

Tommy supported him, tucking his chin into the crook of his shoulder. He smelled like sweat and weeks of garbage and the awful tang of alien guts. Ironic that the first time he got to hold him like this was in a pit of toxic waste. Tommy would find it funny if Gordon wasn’t rapidly losing blood.

He smirked into his neck, drawing out the bit despite everything. “They took the Beyblade back though, Mr. Freeman.”

Gordon exhaled through his nose in a weak, silent laugh. “Oh,” he said. “Would you go back if they gave you another Beyblade?”

Tommy took a step back, steadying Gordon with both hands on his shoulders, checking him for further injury. Other than the gaping fucking hole where his hand used to be, he was purpled with welts from the beating he took. There was no telling what kind of head trauma he had - the man could barely stand upright on his own. But he was alive, alive, alive, and that was better than Tommy had allowed himself to hope for.

He was going to shred Benrey for this. Him and Bubby both. If they wanted to play god, he’d step up to the plate and take a swing. Hot, angry tears suddenly sprang to his eyes, and he pulled back, blinking them rapidly away.

“I know, that’s hard to think about,” Gordon broke in gently. “That’s a good - that’s a good deal.”

He was still playing off his stupid Beyblade joke. Tommy gave him a watery smile and swiped at his eyes with the heels of his hands, wondering what had compelled the universe to gift him with this wonderful man twice over. He glanced back at Gordon’s ruined arm, making another lame attempt at levity.

“Oh my god,” he said sarcastically. “You don’t have a hand.”

Gordon chuckled mirthlessly as he examined his own wound. “I know. I know.” He sucked in a painful breath. “Oh, god.”

“How are you going to… write?”

“That’s the least of my concerns,” he answered, suddenly serious. “I’d like to live. And get out of here.” He cast a curious look around the room. “Where the hell are we? Are we back in the nuclear reactor?”

Tommy was still fixated on the hand thing. Maybe he could pull some strings with time and space. Call in a few favors. It would be tricky, but he felt somewhat responsible for the wound’s existence at all. The least he could do was find a way to reverse it.

“We can get you a new hand, but not in this room,” he said thoughtfully.

That caught Gordon’s attention. “A prosthetic?”

“This room has too many creatures in it,” Tommy went on, wrinkling his nose in particular at the cockroaches. “It doesn’t look sanitary.”

“Do you have any medical experience?”

“No,” Tommy answered honestly. His complicated relationship with mortality made first aid knowledge a low priority. He briefly thought back to what he’d read online. Was this a tourniquet situation? Was he bleeding enough to need one of those?

Gordon cast around for even a miniscule sense of relief. “D’you have any pills?” he asked. “You have like maybe an ibuprofen or an Advil?” He tried to laugh, but it came out more like a thin sob. “It hurts, man. It hurts a lot.”

Guilt closed around Tommy’s throat. All this power at his fingertips and he couldn’t ease Gordon’s pain even a little.

“I only have soda,” he admitted, too drained to make it humorous. “We should get going.”

Moving to support the man’s unsteady weight, Tommy reached for his elbow. If he could get him through the facility quickly enough, he’d make it. Gordon Freeman wouldn't die here. Tommy wouldn’t let him.

“Yeah, probably not gonna be in herewait wait wait, don’t go anywhere.” Gordon yanked away from Tommy, wincing as he did so, and fixed him with a critical look. “I need - we need to talk a little bit more.”

Tommy tried to meet his eyes, but he couldn’t pull his gaze away from the bleeding end of his arm as it slowly dripped scarlet onto the floor. The longer they stood here talking the less time he had to live. He waited wordlessly.

“So - enough - okay, I’m gonna trust - I’m gonna trust that you... are go - I trust-” Gordon shook his head, starting over. “Can I trust you, Tommy?”

He lifted his gaze and gave Gordon a heavy stare. “Yes.” It was not even a question. He had chosen Gordon. He wasn’t about to lose him again.

“Are we good together?”

God, Tommy hoped so.

---

He guided Gordon through the obstacle course from hell, answering his constant slew of questions as best as he could without breaking his brain. Tommy wanted to shush him - the more he spoke the quicker he would bleed out - but he suspected that the constant talking grounded him somewhat, so he spoke to him gently in reply.

Gordon’s thoughts had turned the tap on and his mouth was a faucet of words. He was steadily losing hope; it leaked out of him like the blood from his stump, his sanity going with it.

Tommy needed to keep him alert and engaged. He murmured into his ear as he carried him through Black Mesa, reassurances and stories and the shittiest jokes he could think of. I’m here. I’m here. You’re safe. You’re safe. Stay with me.

“Look,” he told him as they leapt unsteadily over a pathway of stones. “That rock you’re standing on looks like Tibet.”

It was a delayed response, but he saw Gordon’s shoulders shake as he snickered. “Showing off your geography skills even in the worst of times, huh?”

Good. They were still good. Tommy turned, continuing to lead.

They kept moving.

Emerging on the other side of a network of pipes, they were met with a room clustered with vats of waste, each one slowly pressed by a hydraulic plate. Tommy, struck once again by the utter ridiculousness that made up this backwards facility, snorted with derision. Beside him, however, Gordon staggered, looking crestfallen.

“It’s okay, Mr. Freeman,” Tommy muttered as he studied the presses. “I think you’ll be fine - this room is OSHA approved.”

Gordon managed to scrape together a response. “To code? To code, like you said?”

Tommy turned his attention to the man beside him. He was weary and haggard, too exhausted to smile, but humor glittered behind the lenses of his glasses as he stared back at him. The fondness flowering in Tommy’s ribs threatened to suffocate him.

He was going to get Gordon out of this nightmare and then he was going to date the hell out of him. Maybe even marry him. Become a second father to his stock photo son. Apocalypse be damned.

They kept moving.

Their path led them through darkened hallways and more vats of sludge. Where was all this shit coming from? Gordon had slipped into the substance a few times already, and was rapidly growing delirious, his words stringing out incoherently. Tommy was just beginning to wonder what it would take to physically remove the toxins from his veins without removing all of his blood in the process when Gordon caught him with another question.

“Did you hear anything else?” he asked, referring to the event that rendered him handless.

Tommy crouched thoughtfully in the dark as he gripped his rifle. “Screams after that,” he said. Even remembering the sound sent a chill through him. “But… I think that I - I also screamed.”

He could just barely see Gordon’s face in the glow of the flashlight beam reflecting off the tunnel walls. A worried little crease had formed between his eyebrows, and Tommy resisted the urge to reach out and smooth it over with his thumb. Gordon didn’t need to waste his energy on concern over him. They had a bigger, more blood-related problem right now.

Gordon didn’t ask him anything after that, so Tommy didn’t answer.

They kept moving.

Tommy would be happy if he never had to swim again. The pressing sheet metal walls and the smell of raw sewage had kind of ruined the experience for him. He hauled Gordon through the water, coercing a current to propel them along.

Gordon chuckled softly as he allowed himself to be carried. “You ever tried to swim with one arm?” he asked.

Tommy rolled his eyes and rewarded him with a smirk.

“It ain’t easy.”

He appreciated the levity, and the fact that Gordon could tell how uncomfortable Tommy was - enough, at least, to crack a joke on his behalf. It was beginning to get to him: the scent of blood and shit and the slimy water sloughing around him and the dead weight of Gordon on his arm and the harsh industrial lighting searing his eyes and -- Tommy wanted to hit pause and catch his breath, it was all so much. But he had to get Gordon out of here first. He had to make sure he was safe.

Tommy pressed on, pulling the man under a submerged barricade and breaking through on the other side. Stopping to rest was not an option. He had anticipated that this would be a hard journey and had steeled himself accordingly.

He did not, however, anticipate the clones.

Chapter 9 <-----> Chapter 11

#ink #fanfiction #good jokes #part of my endeavor to relocate all my ao3 work #blood #amputation #hlvrai

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packsbeforesnacks · 4 years ago

Text

Darkness Arrives (and Departs) || Lydia, Mercy, & Winn

TIMING: Friday, July 10th, 2020, Day LOCATION: Lydia’s Home PARTIES: @inspirationdivine, @cryxmercy, & @packsbeforesnacks SUMMARY: After Winn’s collapse, Mercy and Winn turn to Lydia for help. Lydia explains. Mercy regrets. Winn processes. WARNINGS: None, but it's sad.

Collapsing less than a week after you’d killed a man really took a lot out of you, it turned out. Winn was exhausted, right at the cliff’s edge where, if he was lucky, it would slip into awake again. His body wasn’t going to get a real break, he knew, until this was all over. He put a hand to his chest, hoping the pulse was still there, that he wasn’t already dead, and this was some sort of, he didn’t know, near-death experience? Living out a life he’d never get to lead. Shaking the admittedly super morbid thoughts away, Winn pulled up to Lydia’s home, looking for Mercy in the setting sun. When he found her, walking across the street to him, he gave her a tight nod. “Thanks. For comin’, I mean.”

Mercy had never expected to hear anything about Winn’s memories again. It had been simple. He’d wanted them gone, and Mercy had known a way to make that happen. They did the thing. It worked. And Mercy had taken the young wolf to Europe. All sorted. Or it had been. Until he’d called her up out of the blue, asking for help to get them back. So what choice did she have? When she saw Winn’s car pull up, Mercy crossed the street, greeting him with a nod of her own. “Welcome. You ready for this?” She tipped her gaze towards Lydia’s home.

“No,” Winn said, honestly. “She… I don’t know, she might not be able to help us, or, uh, help me, I guess. But if neither of us know how to get them back…” Winn shrugged, walking towards Lydia’s door to knock gently.

“What’re the other options? Y’said the ravens came from a museum, Lydia knows about art and…” Winn waved a hand loosely. “I mean, I don’t know what she, um…” He sighed. “I’m not good at this shit. But we have to try. And I don’t… I don’t know why I collapsed. And we can’t ‘put that thing where it came from or so help me’ my memories, if they’re somewhere else. So… No? But, let’s do it anyway?” Winn tried to give Mercy a smile, but, if he was bein’ honest, he felt like shit and was startin’ to get pessimistic about his chances of ever recovering what he’d lost.

At least he was honest about not being ready. That could save them a lot of trouble in the future. False bravado only got people hurt. Or worse.

As for other options, Mercy gave a small shrug. “Nothing I know of that’s pleasant.” But they would discuss that later, if this visit didn’t pan out. But hopefully, Lydia would be able to help. Speaking of. “Just be careful what you say around her.” Mercy gestured to the door as they approached. “She’s fae. I don’t know her personally, but don’t let her promise-bind you into something.” She gave him a pat on the shoulder, and a small smile as he knocked. “Meaning if in doubt, just keep your mouth shut, hm?”

Who on earth would knock when Lydia had a perfectly functional doorbell, and when she lived in such a grand place? Fortunately, Winn had messaged ahead, so she was ready. They wanted her artistic expertise, he’d said, which had intrigued her. Adjusting her sunflower yellow jumpsuit, Lydia opened the door. “Winn, darling, do come on in. And, if I recall, Mercy, right? Can I get either of you a drink?”

Winn straightened as Lydia appeared before him, a fragile (but true) smile on his face. “Hi, Lydia,” he said. “It’s real nice to see you again.” And it was, despite everything. Lydia had been kind enough to help him save face at the auction, and here she was again, offerin’ her expertise — well, Winn had asked, but she had to say ‘Yes.’ Winn hadn’t had much experience with fae, but knew better, given Juliet had beaten it into his head for a week, not to promise anything that he couldn’t, or didn’t want to, deliver on. Winn gave a low whistle, this house nice even by his loaded standards. “Dang,” he said aloud, openly staring at pieces of art that caught his attention.

Mercy waited quietly next to Winn as he knocked. She’d had her share of experiences with fae — some good, some not so much — but all in all, she liked most of them. Even envied one or two that had trusted her enough over the centuries to show her their wings. But that was neither here nor there. The door opened, and Mercy gave Lydia a nod in greeting. “That’s me. And I’m fine at the moment. But thank you.” She followed Winn inside, looking around the beautiful home. It was impressive. As were a few of the art pieces that were displayed throughout. Was that… a Degas? And across the way… an actual Rembrandt? Mercy’s fingers itched to get up close to them, but she remembered herself after a moment. “Someone knows their art,” she said, turning back to the others. “I’d say we’re in the right place.”

“My job is art restoration, darling, you’d certainly hope I would.” Lydia looked from one to the other, and clasped her hands when they both declined the drink. “Right, in which case, we can retire to my office and then you can explain what exactly it is that you need my help with.” She led them through a door to their left, into the main working studio, with several benches and easels all with art in various stages of reconstruction. She had one on the vacuum table, having the hide glue drained from canvas, another painting on wooden panels that had split and she was clamping together as it dried, another on the easel with her paints out, half way through concealing a coffee stain on the left corner. From there, she led them into her office, where she perched on the front of her desk. “Right, so what can I help with?”

“Uh,” Winn started, really showin’ off his elegance. It was a little overwhelming, if he was bein’ honest, to see such a… lavish display? It wasn’t bad — wasn’t gaudy, like he felt that maybe ‘lavish’ hinted at — but Lydia lived at a level of wealth that seemed, to him, to dwarf even his considerable trust fund. “So, I, uh, I’ll explain the situation, and Mercy can explain why we’re here, specifically?” There was too much of a question to his voice, he knew, but it wasn’t like they’d had time to rehearse. What had been a relatively normal interaction had suddenly catapulted to urgency — even if Winn wasn’t sure how urgent. “So, there’s a hole in my memories. From a time where I… from a time in my life I guess I thought needed buryin’. Found out they’re hidden somewhere from a friend of mine, that they aren’t in my head. Found out from Mercy here that we used, well… Mercy, would you mind takin’ it from there?”

Mercy merely hummed in response before they moved off towards Lydia’s office. She sat next to Winn and waited patiently — eyes roaming curiously over the works in progress that filled the space — while the young wolf started to explain. When it was her turn, Mercy looked back at Winn, gave him a small smile, and then turned to Lydia. Reaching into the satchel she’d brought with her, Mercy pulled out a very, very old book wrapped in a bit of worn leather. “This book contains the spell we used to remove Winn’s memories.” She sat the book on Lydia’s desk for her to inspect if she wished. “A pair of ravens were used as focal points for the spell.” Mercy set a second carefully wrapped bundle on Lydia’s desk. “I brought them out for Winn to see again, thinking maybe they would help him remember. Because the book says nothing about reversing the spell.” She glanced at Winn. “Can you tell her what happened when you touched the raven?”

“I saw me askin’ her to take my memories. Just that,” Winn started. “It was… painful. But it passed. I woke up on the ground.” Winn looked at the wrapped Raven, wonderin’ what would happen if he touched it again. Would it just kill him outright this time? “And then a few minutes later, I collapsed again. Since then, I’ve felt… weaker. It almost feels like I’m losin’ a connection to my wolf, like that part of me is bein’ muted, somehow.” Now, diagnose me, Winn wanted to say, but there was one more detail. “I’ve lost two years of memories, Lydia. It— We didn’t mean to take that much away, and we don’t know where they went. If they’re gone, why does it… hurt? Why does it feel like my heart is,” Winn clenched his fist in his shirt, grabbing at his heart, “dying.” There. He’d said it aloud. It was out there.

Lydia ignored the book, but picked up one of the Ravens, her face sinking into a heavy frown as she listened, waiting until the end before she commented. She weighed it from hand to hand, feeling the wooden grain and grooves under her fingers. “You’re centuries old,” Lydia said to Mercy, remembering her conversations with the woman fondly, discussing labyrinths and monstrous creatures within them, “which means that you likely aren’t a spellcaster.” She looked back to Winn, hearing the pain in his voice and unable to escape just how much it rattled her. There was no easy way to break her reply, as she carefully set the artefacts down on her desk, swallowing hard as she clasped her hands in front of her. Her lips were pressed into a thin line before she answered, her gaze full of concern. “These are fae artefacts, that have been missing for centuries. Between the two of you, you’ve misused them, desecrating this ancient magic in ways it wasn’t meant to be. You probably feel like your heart is dying because it is. I may have some answers for you, I want to help, but this is no small thing to ask of me. ”

Mercy’s eyes never drifted from Lydia as the other woman examined the raven. Winn’s story, while important, was white noise to the Fury who knew they were swiftly approaching an impasse. Two roads would soon diverge in the proverbial wood. One where Lydia was unable — or unwilling — to help them. And another, where she could. But that road would require a toll. Such things almost always did.

When Lydia finally spoke as Winn’s story concluded, Mercy nodded. “I am.” She figured Lydia as someone who’d seen her fair share of years as well, considering the lifespan of most fae, but didn’t comment. As for the spellcaster part: “Correct again. Which is why an acquaintance of mine performed the spell,” Mercy clarified. “I only spoke the three words at the end.” Lydia pressed on, explaining things to Winn much as Mercy had initially. Straight to the point. Mercy felt ice water rush through her veins. Dying. Gods…

“Fae artefacts?” Mercy said, frowning slightly. She didn’t doubt Lydia at all, it was simply new information. And it wasn’t often Mercy found herself genuinely surprised. “They were in a display on Norse culture. In a museum in Europe. Over three centuries ago. We only knew they didn’t belong with humans.” She didn’t elaborate on the ‘we’. “That they were… old. Perhaps even dangerous. So we took them. Stored them for safekeeping.” Mercy scrubbed a hand through her hair. It wasn’t an excuse, merely an explanation. If she had known they were Fae… “No one ever came looking, so they stayed with me. Stored away.” And what about the book? Was it fae too? When Mercy had thought otherwise? Gods what a fucking mess. A heavy weight seemed to settle across Lydia’s face, and Mercy looked to Winn, hoping he remembered what she’d told him earlier, despite the fact that the other woman wanted to help. Though what choice did he have? It was this, or die.

“Okay,” Winn said, after a solid minute of silence. “Okay, alright,” he said, after another five. He huffed out a humorless laugh. “So, have I been dyin’ since I had ‘em taken out? ‘Cause I—” Fuck. He could hear the brokenness in his own voice. “I have so much more I want to do, Lydia.” Winn wasn’t mad at Mercy, couldn’t find it in himself to even be angry at the situation. No. No, this was grief, pure and unadulterated. Anger, maybe, would come later. For now, he’d settle into denial, thanks. “I have so, so much more that I will do. ‘Cause you— you said you might have answers, and I…” He swallowed, hard around the knot in his throat, looking into his trembling hands. No claws were coming out, no fangs forming at the stress he was under. In this moment, Winn was small, and vulnerable, and so, so very fucking human. Death really was the great equalizer, huh? Ha. Hahahahaha. Winn went from laughing in his head to laughing aloud, a bark of a thing, high and panicked and intermixed with shuddering breaths. The look on the faces of the women was pitying. Pull it together, Winner. You have to. “I don’t want to die,” he said, finally, and then, quieter, a sob working its way, finally, out of him, “I don’t want to die.”

While Lydia was listening to Mercy, her eyes were on Winn, frozen with her admission hanging in the air in front of him. She nodded at Mercy’s summary. “Let’s put a pin in that,” she murmured, because at that moment, Winn cracked. More than cracked, he crumbled in front of her, his jaw trembling. Lydia stood up from her desk top perch, eyes widening in increasing alarm as he laughed, tears beginning to cloud his eyes. He wasn’t quite a stranger, but he was hardly a dear friend either, and so she didn’t quite know whether to cast her gaze away from him when he sobbed, or to take his hand. “Winn, I—” she said softly, but there was no reassurance she could offer that wasn’t a lie. Instead, she gave his forearm a tiny squeeze, before walking around her desk to reach into a drawer there, pulling out three crystal glasses and a bottle of whiskey, pouring one out for Winn, and bringing it back to him. “I’m so sorry.”

Winn couldn’t find it in him to lie, say ‘It’s okay. We all have to go sometime.’ So, instead, he downed the entire glass in one gulp, letting the burn ground him into the moment, back into the studio, the present, and not a future he might not have. Tears still ran down his face, but he swallowed the sobs. If he was going to die, he wasn’t going to spend his final — days, weeks, months? — moments wallowing in his sadness. “Thank you,” he said, finally, holding the empty glass between shaking hands. For once, he was sure he wouldn’t break it. “I’m— I’d rather know. Gives me time to… make arrangements, say my goodbyes or, um.” He thought of Noah, and his heart broke. Winn had promised. Winn had promised he wouldn’t leave Noah. If there was any chance he could survive this, any chance at all, Winn had to take it. For both of them. Mercy’s words echoed in his head. No promises. Ask questions. “Is there anything I can do?”

Mercy gave Lydia a small nod, and turned her eyes to Winn as he started to fall apart. Her expression was carefully neutral save the tiniest furrow of her brow, not because she didn’t care - she did - but because to show anything else was to risk her influence affecting the situation. She’d used it on Winn in the past, and even though what had happened was ultimately his decision in the end, who’s to say what would have occurred had Mercy not been involved. A voice in her head said that it was unlikely Winn would be dying, but she shoved it away.

The past was done. It couldn’t be changed, and lingering over what if’s wouldn’t help anyone. Least of all Winn. And Mercy would do everything in her power to make this right. “Dying isn’t dead,” Mercy said, grim determination in her tone as she glanced between the others. “Don’t hasten it’s coming by thinking they’re one and the same.” Her gaze lingered on Winn for a long moment before it settled on Lydia. “How long does he have? And what can be done?” she asked, adding her own questions to Winn’s.

Lydia only grabbed the bottle, and poured Winn more to drink. “I don’t know, but let’s also not waste time on false hopes. Can you show me the spell you used?” Lydia’s eyes lingered on Winn a moment more, before nodding to herself. First Luce, then Remmy, then that lady detective. Fae secrets, every time risking her safety and her community all at once. These were old, too, entrusted to the Leanan-Sidhe to safeguard. True art, made by fae, to which human art had no comparison. Fueled with frequent human meals, she walked over to her full bookshelf, and crouched at the knee. She grabbed one of the shelves, and lifted up the entire bookcase, which slid up on hidden railings. The floor had cut outs, and so by lifting she revealed two additional shelves of the book case. Straining a little, she grabbed one of the larger volumes, and lowered the bookshelf back so that what was hidden remained hidden. Wiping a drop of sweat from her brow, she flicked through the book, setting it open on the page of the raven models, Huginn and Muninn.

“Right,” she said, skimming her fingers over the texts, written in the dialect of her father’s Aos Sí, reminding herself of the tales she’d read as a child, as an adult. These were the things that needed remembering, especially those that were stolen by humans. To see them in front of her again made her hands tremble. And it was them, no cheap imitation. It was the pieces missing from the fae community, and they were killing Winn. “I’ll explain more if you like, but the main answer is… that, well, you’ll die when you’re most human, at your weakest.” Lydia looked back up to Winn. That wolf mask felt mocking in retrospect. “The next new moon.”

Winn snorted. He couldn’t help it; it was too perfect, too ironic for words. “Awoo,” he said, dryly. Taking another slug from his refilled glass, Winn slipped out his phone, scrolling to the calendar. “New Moon’s on the 20th. So, I’ve got… ten days, or thereabouts. Cool, cool. Nice, even number. 1:33 PM ain’t a bad time to die, all things considered. Not gonna ruin my mornin’, and, hell, if I really party my ass off the night previous, I might be able to sleep through it. Makes total sense I’d die on a Monday. Fuck Mondays.” If he rambled enough, he could pretend this wasn’t happening, right?

The spell. He turned to Mercy, pointing to the bound volume on the desk in front of them. “Spell’s in that book, right? The definitely-not-an-evil-book book?” Winn knew there was a reason he hated reading. It really would kill him to have to read. He laughed again, a dark sound in the back of his throat, and leaned forward to open it, flipping through the pages with mock-interest. “Please, Mercy, tell me what page it’s on. 666? 13? 320 for some big ‘Fuck you, Winner’ energy?” At least the book wasn’t makin’ him go through a flashback. One point in its favor. “And does the spell say why now? It’s been two-and-a-half years, y’all. Does this spell just hate July?”

Mercy nodded, and reached carefully for the book. Setting it in her lap and gently opened the ancient text to the page that contained the spell they were looking for. The words were there as they’d always been, written in faded ink and surrounded by beautiful, scrawling artwork in the margins. “This one.” She glanced at Winn to confirm the answer to his question, and set the book back on Lydia’s desk as the other woman moved to a set of shelves across the room. Mercy watched as they were lifted clear of the floor — quite easily, she noted, tucking the information away — revealing hidden rows beneath the floor. Clever, she thought to herself.

Winn was understandably upset, and Mercy didn’t stop him or chastise him. What good would it do? Best to let him rage and cry and do whatever else was necessary at the moment. Because later he would need to focus. If there was a later. Which is what they were here to find out, wasn’t it? She glanced at Winn as he pointed at the book. “Most magic is neither good nor bad.” There were exceptions, of course, but from what Mercy had learned over the years, it was the intent that mattered more. Just like anything else that could be used as a weapon.

She leaned forwards to look at the pages of the book Lydia set down. Mercy immediately recognized the ravens — so ingrained in her own history and beliefs — but didn’t recognize the language. The Fury looked back to the pages of the first book, which to her was still written in Irish Gaelic. “There are no page numbers,” she told Winn distractedly. “And no. It doesn’t.” Though Mercy had her theories on ‘why now’.

She also had questions. The first of which was why an Irish text seemed to be linked to Norse-inspired artifacts, even if they were fae. But then Lydia answered the most important question of them all. And Mercy felt herself blanche slightly.

Ten days.

Gods...

Less than two weeks and Winn would be dead. Unless they got his memories back.

“Where are his memories now?” Mercy asked. “And will getting them back stop this?”

“You’re going to need to give me some time with this,” Lydia said, pulling Mercy’s book towards her. “Even then, I might not have all the answers. If this text is what I think it is…” She looked down at it, tracing over the hand penned pages. Then she turned her own book, the fae histories to them, so that they could see it too, although the irish gaelic, quechua and spanish were more modern than anything in Mercy’s book. “These ravens were made between eight hundred and a thousand years ago. They were a collaboration between an A— a fae commune and spellcasters, to make all the local humans forget their existence after a particularly voracious mushroom season. Combining human and fae magic is an inherently unstable and risky endeavor, no matter how powerful it may be. Time has only made this magic more volatile.”

Lydia paused, looking to Winn. When she spoke to him, it was entirely gentle, but there was no kind news here. “The spell when first created killed several of the humans it affected, and throughout the centuries it has killed many humans that have come in contact with the ravens, until it was stolen. At a guess… something to do with repeated exposure, your body trying to process the gap, that you’ve been exposed to both the spell and the artefacts, the fact that you are much more human than Mercy and I. I’m sorry, Winn.”

She tapped Mercy’s text. “This is a copy of the original spell. However, it’s going to take me some time to decipher all of it. You’re welcome to hang around while I give it a go now, take advantage of my kitchen or my garden. Just be aware that if I need to call in some other fae to help translate, it may take longer.”

“Take your time, Lydia,” Winn said, trying not to think about how ironic that sentiment was, now. Standing, he put a hand on Mercy’s shoulder. “I’ll be in the garden. Think I want to spend as much time takin’ in nature as I can before… y’know. Come get me, if Lydia finds somethin’.”

The garden was beautiful, Winn could admit, even through the exhausted malaise that seeped into him, infecting even the wildflowers with a tinge of melancholy. Would this be the last time he’d see them? Lydia’s garden was new to him; would this be his last first time somewhere? No. No, he wouldn’t let that happen. Maybe he could convince Noah to… He pulled out his phone, flung off a text, and pocketed it again.

Winn chose a patch of grass beneath a shady tree to lay down, staring into the sky. Center yourself, Winner. He could hear birdsong from above him, felt the grass blowing gently against his skin, smelled the earth beneath him, and, closing his eyes, he let himself enjoy, maybe for the last time, the simple pleasure of living.

“It looks like Irish Gaelic to me,” Mercy said, if only to inform Lydia. She leaned forwards to look at the second book as Lydia explained what had happened all those centuries ago. She scanned over what she could translate, but when Lydia revealed the true origins of the ravens, Mercy’s gaze snapped back to the other woman. And suddenly that piece of an ages-old puzzle fell into place. “Well I’ll be damned.” She shook her head and sat back. There was no joy in her expression or her tone. Not this time. Mixing species-specific magics was like mixing oil and water, or so she’d always been told. “We knew they didn’t belong in that museum.” Again, Mercy didn’t elaborate on the ‘we.’ “They had… left a trail of death in their wake. Only humans. Never supernaturals.” If they had, she never would’ve— but that didn’t matter now.

“Sort of like… a much older, much more prolific version of the Hope Diamond,” she said, trying to find a good comparison. But it still fell short of the true gravitas of the situation.

She glanced at Winn as Lydia did, nodding at his request and feeling another wash of guilt as the young wolf excused himself. Mercy watched him go, her face a mask of neutrality. When he was out of earshot, she turned back to Lydia, rolling everything she’d learned over in her head. Finally:

“It’s not really written in Gaelic, is it?”

Lydia watched Winn go with an unplaceable expression, her chest hard and heavy as she pulled her notepad towards her and a pen, to write down her thoughts as she worked on understanding it. She looked up, briefly at Mercy’s question. She wanted to help them where she could, but the intricacies of Aos Sí language were still a secret to be kept close to the chest. “Mercy, I need to focus. If you mind?” Lydia nodded to the door of her office, and set pen to paper, working.

After an hour, Lydia rubbed her face, setting down her pen. It was legible in a long, roundabout way, much like the fae themselves, but the complex intertwining of languages left segments where their meaning was indecipherable to Lydia. What was decipherable, at least, gave some insight into the working of the spell, and the conditions around it. Yet it was the last line, with the words Mercy had spoken that Lydia was staring at now. Better not to be hasty. She read the sentence again, and again, before picking up Mercy’s spell book and her own notes, dashing from her office, through her work studio, and into her home proper. “Mercy?” she called, before spotting Winn under the trees outside.

Lydia swung open the french windows and ran over to him, and knelt in the grass and twigs and foliage beside him. “I have good news. This might be completely reversible.”

Winn hadn’t fallen asleep. Then, he never slept easy. Had it always been that way? Or… Instead, he focused on the sounds he could hear, even with his weakened hearing. Eventually, he heard the swinging of a hinge, soft feet on the ground, and blinked open his eyes, wincing at the sunlight which was now shining closer to him.

He sat up, pulling his legs close to his chest to regard Lydia. Hope was a fragile thing, and Winn wouldn’t let it root in his heart. Not yet. “Tell me more? Please?” He wanted to ask if there was a catch, wanted to know what he’d have to give up to save his life, but held his tongue. No need to be an ass to the one woman that could help him.

Mercy knew when she was being asked to leave. She didn’t take it personally, and rose without comment to leave Lydia to her work. But the lack of answer — where a simple yes or no would’ve normally sufficed — to her question said enough in itself. And that didn’t sit well with Mercy. At all. Not because of the secrecy, everyone had things they kept closely guarded, but because if it was some… fae language… what had Mercy potentially attached herself to in speaking the three runes? She had never felt different than she had before the spell. Maybe she was just thinking of the worst possible scenarios for herself. Even though Winn had gotten the short, shit-covered end of the stick, if she was being honest. So Mercy found somewhere to sit while she waited. She closed her eyes, and tried to rein in her wild, errant thoughts before they could run out of control. When Lydia called her name a bit later, it took Mercy a moment to open her eyes. Once she did, she saw Lydia going outside to where Winn was sat. She followed, standing in the doorway to listen.

Her heart leapt a bit at Lydia’s announcement. This was good. Really good. But with every good thing came the consequences. Mercy didn’t ask what the bad news was, not having the heart to smash the tiny flutter of hope that crossed Winn’s face. Instead, she let Winn take point with the questions, and waited to see what Lydia had found.

“Your memories weren’t destroyed. They were just stored in someone else, unreachable to both of you,” Lydia explained without dally. She looked back to Mercy. “You said you spoke the last three words? In doing so, you accepted taking his memories into you.” She turned back to Winn, her eyes sparkling. “If you can find a spellcaster who can find the memories in Mercy and return them to you, you’d disentangle yourself from the spell entirely.”

She looked down to her clasped hands, and picked up a brown leaf, dried to crumbling in the summer sun. As she spoke, she cracked it into pieces between her fingers. “I couldn’t understand all of it, and there’s plenty more I don’t understand simply because I am not a spellcaster. There will likely still be consequences and dangers. Memory magic, well, as you have learned, it is not simple. I don’t know if there is a spellcaster in town capable of it.”

Winn could feel his mouth hanging open in soft surprise as Lydia explained. Memories, stored in another person. It seemed too unreal to believe… and yet, not really any stranger than his memories being gone in the first place. “Wow,” he said, looking at Mercy. “I… actually know someone who can help with that.”

He tried to phrase his next remark to Lydia as carefully as he could. Winn trusted her, completely, but knew one wrong move could bring about some fuckery he just didn’t have time to deal with. “Lydia,” he tried. “I— I don’t know what to say.”

Not destroyed. Only stored away. Alright. That wasn’t the worst, right? At least Mercy thought so until Lydia looked in her direction, asking Mercy a question that Lydia herself already knew the answer to. Gooseflesh crept up her spine, but Mercy nodded that she’d been the one to speak the words. What came next was the last thing the fury expected to hear.

“I’m sorry… what?” She pushed up from where she’d been leaning against the doorframe. “I never consented to a goddamn thing. Those runes were Norse. And the only reason I spoke them was because the caster didn’t know the words. They were meant to repeat them after I translated.” But even as Mercy spoke she knew it didn’t matter. Winn had collapsed the moment the runes had been spoken out loud, activating the spell. The caster never got the chance to repeat them. “Fuck,” Mercy said to herself. She shouldn’t be upset, it was karma at its finest. But there was no helping it. “So… what now?” she said to them both, making herself speak calmly if only for Winn’s sake. “I’m just supposed to let some random caster dig around in my memories?” Mercy crossed her arms, looking between them both. “Been there. Done that. Didn’t buy the t-shirt because it fucking sucked. Turns out memory magic gets a bit overwhelmed when there’s a millenia to muck through. And that was over 200 years ago.” The revelation of her age was deliberate, because they needed to understand. If they were even going to consider this… if Mercy was considering this— fuck… what choice did she have? This was her fault. She had to make it right. She would make it right. But first… first they needed to know:

“One caster won’t be enough.”

“Those are fae rules. You spoke them; you’re bound by them.” Although, Lydia knew, to an extent, all magic was fickle when it came to words and intention. For that reason, her sympathy for Mercy was limited, relative to Winn, who was dying. That said, letting any human, even a spellcaster, rummage through her thoughts was enough to make her feel queasy. “What you do with that information isn’t up to me. Nor where you find your casters.”

She looked back to Winn again, and took his hand in hers. A small, reassuring squeeze was all she could offer. What else was there to say, in the face of impending death? “So don’t say anything yet. Just send me a text in eleven days' time.”

Casters? Winn looked up at them, a small smile bleeding through the anxiety he still felt: “I’ll make some calls.”

#wickedswriting #para #Lydia #Mercy #Darkness Arrives (and Departs)#Chain of Memories #//#my 1000th post #lol

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proxylynn · 4 years ago

Text

Underfell: File Name not Edgy Enough #25

WARNING: I WANT NO RESPONSIBILITY OVER SPOILING THINGS FOR OTHERS. THAT BEING SAID, THIS IS HOW FILE NAME NOT FOUND WOULD FUNCTION IN THE AU OF UNDERFELL. BEFORE YOU READ THIS, UNLIKE THE NICE TIME OF UNDERTALE, THIS WORLD IS KILL OR BE KILLED. THIS STORY WILL BE GRAPHIC, GORY, USE SWEARS LIKE NOBODY'S BUSINESS, AND DEAL WITH SENSITIVE SUBJECT MATTERS. FOR EXAMPLE, THOSE OF YOU WHO HAVE READ THE FILE NAME RELOCATED SPOOF WILL KNOW HOW I PICTURE THIS VERSION OF LYNSIE COMING TO THE UNDERGROUND. IT IS NOT AN ACCIDENT. IT IS NOT BECAUSE OF SOMETHING DUMB. IT IS BECAUSE SHE CHOOSES TO END HER LIFE. SO TAKE THIS WITH A GRAIN OF SALT. I MADE IT BECAUSE I NEEDED TO LET SOME OF THIS EDGINESS OUT OF MYSELF. WHICH I GUESS MAKES UNDERFELL LYNSIE EVEN MORE TRUE TO WHO I REALLY AM. ANYWAY, ENJOY. ^_^

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

Hell hath no fury like this fish woman. For Undyne's rage casts a near-visible aura of hate as she stormed her way into Hotland. Clad in her special armor, keeping her form from dehydrating, she intimidates those that witness her barreling towards the Lab. With a mighty kick, she almost hurls the doors from their hinges before continuing inside. Knowing all too well where her intended target is. Cameras follow her movements but do little to warn their owner in time. Alphys receives the signal just as the echos of hurried stomps reaches her ears. By the time the doors are thrown open, Alphys has made the scene a little more authentic and hides away her more sketchy items. As one can imagine, the Captain of the Royal Guard is less than pleased to see a human being given treatment instead of having its soul collected.

"U-Undyne...W-W-What a surprise."

"Cut the crap, Alphys. How long have you known about it being in the Underground?! Why wasn't I informed?! And why, in Asgore's name, are you keeping that thing alive?!"

The disgruntled captain points at the unconscious human strapped to a bloody slab with several machines around her. Thick bandages cover the wounds given on-screen, the eerie beeps of the machines that are annoyingly loud in the silence, sticky liquid crimson softly dribbles from the slab edges to a small pool draining on the floor as tubes and wires are placed on vital areas. The scene looks like a medical mess. For what good it does to try, Alphys puts on a straight face and gets professionally cold to defend her work.

"Your Captain of the Guard status does not mean I report to you or have to inform you of anything."

The rage of Undyne only increases.

"What did you say?!"

Alphys adjusts her glasses, snidely flipping Undyne off with her middle finger.

"I am the Royal Scientist. I work under and report directly to the King himself. My rank supersedes yours. And as such, unless it is a matter that requires your assistance, I will inform only those that are needed to be informed. Understood?"

Undyne snarls beneath her helmet. This type of thing wasn't uncommon. She knows that Alphys separates herself when it comes to her work. Undyne does it too but tries not to be so obnoxious. It's moments like this that make her crush a little less on this lizard girl.

"But to answer your question...This human has been living in the Ruins for quite some time. Sans and Papyrus have been monitoring her for me."

The skeletons? Those sneaky bastards! She bet Papyrus was thinking he'd use this to one-up her.

"Why use them and not me?"

"Really? You can't stand the cold and they live there. It's a no brainer."

Good point.

"Okay...But why monitor? The law clearly states that the soul of any human is to be collected. No exceptions!"

Undyne summons a spear and readies to spike the human through the face. That is till Alphys moves over to the human and interacts with one of the machines, making her soul slowly emerge...it's white. This sight has the captain of the guard drop her weapon and remove her helm to ensure her eye was not playing a trick on her. Without her helm, the true visage of the Captain of the Guard is shown. Undyne is a piscine anthropomorphic monster. She has blue scales and a long red hair she keeps in a wild ponytail. Red and blue fins on the sides of her head act like ears, she has no nose to speak of. Her teeth are sharp yellow daggers like a barracuda or shark. She has red eye shadow and has an eye-patch on her left eye. Her good eye has a black vertical pupil and a yellow sclera.

"It's...White? What the hell? It was light blue on TV. I saw it!"

"We all did. And it was purple when I first examined her. This is why I've had her under severance and not executed. This human...It's not like the humans we've encountered or the ones in our texts. She seems to be able to change traits or possesses multiple traits."

"How is that possible? Is that even a thing? Is that a thing humans can do now?"

"I haven't collected enough data to determine that. My current theory is that she may be a random mutation, an evolutionary anomaly of sorts. Though, from the information I have gotten, it seems the humans of now have indeed fully lost their usage of magic."

"I thought those past ones seemed off."

"Yes. The previous humans were lacking in their levels of magic but they still possessed it. This one, however, according to my scans had no magic in her soul prior to coming to the Underground."

Scientist say what?

"Wait...What's that supposed to mean?"

Alphys pulls out what looks to be her cell phone and moves it over the soul, scanning till it beeps. She then shows the results to the Captain.

"There's at least 20% to 30% magic now resonating in her soul. Enough to trigger magic prepubescence."

Undyne snickers at the thought of such a thing and it nearly breaks Alphys's composure.

"You can't be serious."

"I am. I had to stabilize the flux with those patches we give out to teens. It's why she's about 30%."

"Dare I ask...How a non-magic soul suddenly has magic?"

"Not sure. Perhaps it's the nature of such a weak soul to pull magic when it can, however, it can. Be it from the surroundings, food, or contact with other beings of magic. Who's to say? Or her soul could be like a parasite and leeching magic for as of yet unknown reasons. I'm just throwing ideas at this point."

"So...What you're saying is the human is dangerous."

"All humans are dangerous, Undyne. But this one? *scoff* Since being down here her LV hasn't budged from its base level."

The Captain is intrigued.

"Has it not been in a fight?"

"Quite the opposite. There's plenty of telltale signs, not to mention video surveillance, that indicates she's been attacked."

"So the wimp flees? Pathetic."

"Sometimes. Most of the time they endure the fight and find a way to end it without fighting back."

A gruff laugh leaves the fish woman.

"Pacifism? Down here? Now that's a joke."

Alphys checks on a liquid-filled bag that's emptying into the human's veins.

"As dumb as it may be, her strategy is a good thing..."

She increases the dripping.

"By not attacking, she isn't killing anyone. And by not killing anyone, she isn't gaining LV. And you know what that means."

Undyne grins like a hungry barracuda.

"It makes it all the easier to collect the last soul."

Alphys nods and removes her glasses to clean them.

"Still...With the number of unknown variables, I'd have to insist on further study of this soul and not just yet bringing it to the King, even if she dies."

"How come?"

"Like I said, too many unknowns. If Asgore wishes to fuse with the seven souls it would be best to make sure this one doesn't overpower or corrupt his own."

"Hmmm...I guess that's fair. We don't need to waste the human souls and lose the King if we can help it."

"My thoughts exactly."

Alphys puts her glasses back on and steps away from the human.

"Come, Undyne. We must leave now."

Confusion comes to the Captain.

"What? Why? You're really going to leave her unattended?"

Alphys grows colder.

"Do not be so stupid."

Undyne had to bite her tongue hard.

"I never said she'd be alone."

With a simple button press on her phone, the sound of speeding rubber screeches towards them, the door opening seconds later.

"IS IT TIME? SHE'S IN STABLE CONDITION?"

Mettaton skids to a stop with excitement.

"She's stable. And under heavy sedation. You may proceed with the prep work."

Digitized giggling pours from the automaton.

"EXCELLENT. LADIES, IF YOU'LL EXCUSE ME..."

Undyne is ushered out by Alphys before she can question things.

"Um..."

"Don't think about it too much."

"But..."

"As they say...The show must go on. I suggest you stick around and watch what unfolds."

Undyne groans to herself.

"I'll make that spicy ramen that you like."

"...Extra chili flakes?"

"Yep."

"Hot damn!"

With the women gone, Mettaton turns his attention to the human on the slab.

"OH DARLING..."

A compartment opens on his side and he extracts what looks like a kit of some kind.

"WE HAVE SO MUCH WORK TO DO."

[AN HOUR AND A HALF LATER-BEHIND THE LAB]

The wall of the building opens up, a split door allows the heat of Hotland in while the unconscious human carried by the killer robot comes out.

"FINALLY...THE SHOW CAN COMMENCE ONCE AGAIN."

While two of his arms set the human down his other two open a bottle of smelling salts and wave it under her nose, slowly rousing her back to consciousness.

"WAKIE WAKIE, DARLING."

She groans in delirium and sits up. Medical grade sedatives really pack a punch.

"FOCUS DEAR. HOW MANY FINGERS AM I HOLDING UP?"

Mettaton holds up his four arms and each is displaying two fingers. Her head wobbles with dizziness and she rubs the sleep from her eyes.

"Mettaton? *yawn* Why is it so hot?"

Why did she have to be so cute when so messed up?

"I'LL ANSWER YOU IF YOU ANSWER ME."

She shakes her head clear and stares at him for a bit.

"Eight."

He sighs with relief and helps her up before patting her head.

"GOOD. YOU'RE PERFECTLY FINE."

"Not entirely sure that's what I'd call it after the game you made me do. But whatever. Least I ain't dead."

"THERE WE GO. ALWAYS LOOKING ON THE POSITIVE SIDE OF THINGS."

Her senses coming back, she looks at her form and begins growling at the mechanical television star.

"IS SOMETHING THE MATTER?"

"I'm going to ask this as calmly as I can and I want you to be honest...Did you dress me in my sleep?!"

In Mettaton's defense, it's not like he could leave her in her bloody outfit or the medical gown. And to his credit, he made it for her to be both fashionable as well as comfortable in Hotland's arid heat. A black zip back cutout crisscross cami top with MTT emblazoned in red across the chest, waist-high black garter shorts with tiny Mettaton studs along the straps, black ripped footless tights end in knee-high black riding boots that have red MTT zippers, and to add to her annoyance her nails were also painted red. The only normal thing about her was he kept her hair tied in a ponytail but moved it higher up to be more lively than her usual dead weight droop.

"TO BE FAIR, DARLING, YOU WERE A BLOODY MESS AFTER THE SHOW. IT WOULD BE TASTELESS TO HAVE MY CO-STAR CONTINUE IN ANYTHING LESS THAN THE BEST."

She gets flustered.

"That's not the point! You could've waited till I was awake and I would've dressed myself! Instead, you did so while I was vulnerable."

She shudders and looks away from him.

"To think...I started to like you."

An exclamation mark flashes on his screen.

"But it seems you're just as bad as the scum on the surface."

He panics and waves his hands in defense.

"W-WAIT A SECOND, DEAR, IT'S NOT LIKE THAT!"

"Then...Aside from seeing my frail body, do you deny the obvious usage of me as brand advertisement?"

The look she gives him is cold and hurt, making him flinch.

"UM...WELL...I..."

She turns around with her hands on her hips and smirks.

"We're not on camera right now, are we?"

His screen flashes in confusion.

"...NO? NO CAMERAS ARE ACTIVE AT THIS MOMENT. WHY?"

"Heh...Because you're being you right now. The same guy I got to know over the phone. TV you is more cold and sticks to the script, like a soulless machine. This you, the ghost in the shell, this guy I like and willing to work with."

He's caught off guard by that remark.

"UM...WHAT EXACTLY DID YOU MEAN BY THAT?"

"Which part?"

"GHOST IN THE SHELL."

"Oh, that? It's the name of a manga/anime series. The setting is a future where technology is so advanced that it becomes an existential crisis if souls can transfer over to pure machine bodies and if artificial intelligence can gain humanity through cyber-evolution. It's really deep."

"OH."

"It also is a play on the fact you're literally a ghost in a robot shell."

He flinches.

"W-WHAT? I HAVE NO IDEA WHAT YOU'RE..."

"Dude, don't lie. We're not on camera and Alphys already confirmed my suspicions."

He blanks for a moment sighing.

"WELL...BRAVO, DARLING. YOU'VE SOLVED MY GREATEST SECRET."

She shrugs.

"It's no big deal. And don't worry about anyone else knowing, I ain't a snitch."

"SUCH A CLEVER GIRL. I KNEW YOU'D BE PERFECT FOR THIS."

Her arms fold.

"While I was messing with you before, I am pissed about this."

"WHICH PART?"

"This! This isn't my style. It feels weird and shows way too much skin for my liking."

At this rate, he was lucky she couldn't see her reflection or she'd be pissed about how he did her makeup. Red eye-shadow to create a smoky effect on her eyelids. Mascara to make her long lashes even longer. A bold black swoop of liquid eyeliner all the way to the outer corners of her eyes and swept a little up at the end. And the pièce de résistance is the luscious red lipstick to make it all pop.

"BUT, DARLING, YOUR OLD CLOTHES WERE RUINED. BESIDES, WITH HOW THICK THAT FABRIC WAS, YOU'D DIHYDRATE IN MOMENTS OUT HERE. AND NO ONE WANTS A SWEATY DRIED OUT SACK ON SCREEN."

She leers.

"NOT SAYING YOU ARE ONE. MAKING THAT CLEAR HERE."

She sighs.

"I see your point. I ain't happy about it, but I see the reason behind it."

"GOOD."

She checks herself and gets upset.

"My items? Where are my items?!"

"I TOLD YOU, YOUR CLOTHES WERE A MESS AND I CHANGED YOU INTO THIS."

She grabs him.

"Metta, my buddy, I need my gear. My stats are crap without my items. Please tell me you didn't trash them...Please?!"

To understand her panic he checks her.

[Lynsie - LV:1 - HP: 40 ATK: 20 DEF: 11 - Too nice for her own good.]

Her HP increased? How? Her LV hasn't increased. Did she earn EXP in the game and recovery? Wait...The other stats are dangerously weak. Hmmm...This gives him a wicked idea. If his screen could grin it would be wide and twisted.

"OH HEAVENS NO, DARLING. YOUR POSSESSIONS ARE SAFE."

Her eyes light up.

"Sweet! Can I please have them?"

He grabs her waist and scoots her back from him a bit.

"UNFORTUNATELY, I DO NOT HAVE THEM ON ME."

"But...W-Where are they then?"

All four hands point out into the distance.

"YOU CAN HAVE YOUR ITEMS BACK...ONCE YOU MAKE TO THE NEXT FILM SET."

Her jaw drops.

"Dude! Are you freaking serious? Do we see the same stats? Because I'm fairly sure I can get one-shot killed out here."

"RELAX, DARLING..."

"Relax?! Says the guy that literally can't be hurt!"

He waves dismissively.

"AND THEY CALL ME DRAMATIC. LOOK, I CAN'T JUST GIVE YOU THEM BACK NOR CAN I TAKE YOU TO THE NEXT SET. YOU SHOULD KNOW THE REASON WHY."

She glares before pouting in defeat.

"The law requires you to still attempt to 'capture' me."

His screen flashes.

"BINGO! AND TO PROVE THAT I AM FOLLOWING THE LAW WHILE STILL WORKING WITH YOU, YOU WILL BE TELEVISED AS YOU MAKE YOUR WAY THROUGH MY SHOW GAUNTLET."

She looks at him funny.

"TO BE HONEST IT'S JUST NORMAL ENVIRONMENT AND PIPEWORK FOR THE CORE. BUT I DID ADD OBSTACLES AND PUZZLES, SO TECHNICALLY IT COUNTS."

Her funny look grows.

"And you film back there in all that?"

"IT MAKES MORE SENSE WHEN YOU SEE IT."

"I guess."

All four hands slap together in a loud clap.

"GREAT! NOW THAT THAT IS ALL SAID AND DONE, HERE'S THE DEAL. ONCE YOU TURN THAT CORNER AND BEGIN THE TREK, YOU'LL BE BACK ON TV."

"Okay."

"TRY NOT TO BREAK THE FOURTH WALL, WE DON'T NEED VIEWERS KNOWING YOU'VE BEEN HERE LONGER THAN ADVERTISED AND WITH THE HELP OF OTHERS."

"True, very true."

"AND SINCE YOU DON'T HAVE YOUR PHONE..."

"Can I get that back too? I swear I won't make calls."

"OR TEXT?"

"Did you even see my phone? It can't text or take pictures."

"HMMM...I'LL THINK ABOUT IT."

"Please and thank you."

"LIKE I WAS SAYING SINCE YOU DON'T HAVE IT AND MAY NEED HELP UNDERSTANDING A FEW OF THE MORE TRICKIER PUZZLES..."

On hand retreats into his body and pops out with a small clip-like earring that, you guessed it, looks like him.

"ATTACH THIS TO YOUR EAR AND YOU'LL BE ABLE TO HEAR MY MELODIOUS VOICE WHEN I NOTICE YOU'RE NOT PROGRESSING."

"Not that I'm against it, but isn't this cheating?"

He chuckles while bringing her close and clipping it to her right ear.

"DON'T THINK OF IT LIKE THAT. IT'S LIKE YOU SAID, YOU'RE WILLING TO WORK WITH ME AND WE BOTH DON'T WANT YOU DEAD. YOU'LL STILL BE GOING AT THIS ON YOUR OWN, BUT WITH A LITTLE LIFELINE THAT GIVES YOU CLUES AND NOT FULL ANSWERS. NOW DOES THAT SOUND MORE OKAY?"

"FANTASTIC!"

He spins around and shoves her to the ground before retracting his wheel to begin hovering.

"WELL, DARLING, THE NEXT WE MEET I HOPE IT TO BE SOON AND WHILE YOU STILL BREATHE."

"Um...Me too."

He takes off like a rocket to the next stage, kicking up dust and smoke in his wake.

"FAIR THEE WELL...!"

The cloud takes a bit to settle and the human finds herself alone. The path ahead is unknown but the only way to go. Somehow being behind the building she thinks she was held within and with no door to speak of insight. She silently prayed that her trust in the robot that abducted her was well placed...even though that thought made her question her ability to pick people to trust. Either way, her journey through game show hell begins now as she walks the lonely road that is way too narrow and high up for her liking.

[Snowdin: Skeleton House in present time]

Nothing. Nothing but re-run filler has been on the TV for hours. And all they could do was wait. Wait for any change on that damn picture box. Papyrus was doing his best to keep a worried Toriel and tense Grillby from burning the house down. Sans on the other hand was lost in his mind, retracing the history of his time in the LAB and its many rooms. Where were they hiding the human? What new rooms were added since he left? Could Alphys still be using the old underground facility?

*obnoxious fanfare*

The television cuts from its old showing to Mettaton live out in Hotland, on real clues can be seen as he hovers about the volcanic rock.

"SORRY FOR THE DELAY MY DEADLY GUYS AND DOLLS. SEEMS I WAS A BIT TOO ROUGH DURING OUR LAST GAME AND MY CO-STAR NEEDED EXTRA TIME TO RECOVER. GUESS I DON'T KNOW MY OWN STRENGTH."

His nonchalant attitude and words were far from comforting to the four.

"BUT FEAR NOT, AS SHE HAS MADE A FULL RECOVERY!"

A weight is lifted from the room.

"IN FACT, SHE'S ON THE START OF THE NEXT PHASE OF OUR SHOW. A DANGEROUS GAUNTLET OF OBSITCLES, DAUNTING PUZZLES, AND THE RANDOM VAGABOND THAT MAY OR MAY NOT JUST HAPPEN TO BE WANDERING AROUND."

The video feed shifts to the human on a conveyor belt. Merely scrolling along in a tacky outfit and makeup trying not to look down.

"The fuck is she wearing?!"

Grillby fumes. Toriel is equally unhappy about her daughter's new look. Sans rolls his eyes, finding it somewhat funny that Grillby is displeased by this when did way worse before.

"HER GOAL, REACH THE END TO BEGIN OUR NEXT SHOW SEGMENT. SHE WILL REPEAT THIS TWO MORE TIMES BEFORE ENDING WITH OUR FOURTH AND FINAL ENCOUNTER."

That doesn't sound good. The feed zooms in on her.

"WILL SHE SURVIVE AND EARN HER LIFE TO LIVE FOR ANOTHER DAY? OR WILL THIS BE THE DAY THE LAST SOUL IS COLLECTED? WE SHALL FIND OUT SOON ENOUGH. IN THE MEANTIME, I NEED TO AQUIRE A FEW ODDS AND ENDS, SO I LEAVE YOU TO OUR DARLING'S DARING DO. ENJOY."

The camera switches to a different angle and continues to follow her. Before the words can even leave Papyrus's mouth Sans is already shaking his head.

"i still don't know where that is."

"ARE YOU SURE?"

"trust me, i don't recognize where she's at."

"Don't you have a post in Hotland?"

Grillby points out much to Papyrus's puzzlement.

"YOU HAVE A POST IN HOTLAND?"

Sans sighs.

"it's like i told ya, i do more than ya think i do. i have posts at the start of snowdin forest, waterfall's beginning, level two of hotland, and i am the one that waits in the judgment hall."

Papyrus is even more confused but Toriel starts to broil.

"You...You were the one all along, were you not?"

Sans balls his fists, bracing for this.

"You were the one that killed the humans that left the Ruins."

No Tori...not all...just one...over and over again.

"no. i haven't killed anyone."

That gave her some relief. But more questions.

"Then if not you, who does harm them?"

"asgore does."

And that killed it. Her eyes sink with a flame, one of hate and despair. It's painfully obvious. She's going to snap.

"ya should know he doesn't take pleasure in doin' it."

Her expression falters.

"it's a lot of weight on that old goat's shoulders. what with bein' a king and everyone expectin' him to solve all our problems, like breakin' the barrier. it's one thing to kill someone that's wronged ya. it's much harder to look an innocent in the eyes and end them."

She frowns, seeing some truth in his words.

"ya may hate his guts, but he's harborin' the biggest burden. bein' the one to harvest the souls."

"But..."

Does she still wish to fight?

"But the law states humans are to be killed on sight, right? You can not tell me the Guard has not spilled blood in all this time!"

"ACTUALLY..."

Papyrus chimes in.

"WHILE IT'S TRUE, THAT IS THE BLUNTEST FORM OF THE LAW, IT'S NOT THE EXACT WORDING. *AHEM* IF A LIVING HUMAN IS FOUND IN THE UNDERGROUND THAN THEY ARE TO BE ENGAGED AND CAPTURED. EXTREME CAUTION AND VIOLENCE IS TO BE USED IN THE APRENTION OF HUMAN SOULS. NOWHERE IS IT SAID WE ARE TO KILL ON SIGHT. BUT THE CURRENT CAPTAIN OF THE GUARD HAS INTERPRETED THIS LAW IN HER OWN WAY AND INFORCES IT AS SUCH...DEATH TO ALL HUMANS. NO EXCEPTIONS. OVERTIME, THAT'S HOW THE LAW EVOLVED TO BE KNOWN TO THE PUBLIC."

"Why?"

"captain undyne lost her family in the war. that kind of wound doesn't heal easily. it didn't help much that the hammer of punishment took her in as his own."

That name struck a chord.

"Gerson? I suppose that does make sense. He was ruthless in his prime. And he left our court when we choose to surrender. Said we were showing weakness by giving in. So many were already lost...We wanted to end the slaughter before the dust count became unrecognizable."

"seems that spite got passed on in undyne."

"OUR CAPTAIN GOES BY ANOTHER...THE SPEAR OF PUNISHMENT."

Her worry overcomes any animosity she held.

"I pray my child never encounters your Captain."

One can only hope.

"Shit..."

Grillby gets their attention.

"She's been spotted."

Eyes return to the television and the footage shown. The human had passed the large system of conveyor belts going forward and backward. Exhaust ports of vermilion flame burst from nearby pipes in the background, the wooshing sound of steam and cogs adding to the scenery. Reaching the end of the conveyor belts, the human comes into view of several small islands surrounded by boiling lava. Most of these islands hold steam vents. However, the human is unaware of this due to being blocked by a Tsunderplane.

[HOTLAND: LEVEL ONE]

Damn this heat. Damn this plan of yours, Mettaton. And damn this odd-looking monster that won't get out of my way. It appears to resemble a regular real-world modern airplane, an Airbus A340-300 to be exact, wearing a black mob cap with thin red ribbons on it, a faint blush tints its nosecone.

"Um...Do you mind?"

I move slightly to the side, trying to give it room while avoiding the edge. But it just moves the same as I do, almost like a mock mimic. Maybe it's just a fluke. I try it again. And again it does it.

"You're not gonna let me by, are you?"

My soul feels gripped and without skipping a beat, my blue soul comes out, a battle begins.

[Tsunderplane gets in the way! Not on purpose or anything.]

Wait...Don't tell me that name means what I think it does. What are my options?

[FIGHT]

[ACT]

[̴͝SP͜͞E͡L̵͜L͟͠͏]͘͢

[ITEM]

[MERCY]

That weird one came back? It looks so...messed up. I won't touch it. Maybe as a last resort, but not if I can help it. Let's see what this thing is made of.

[ACT selected.]

[New options available.]

[CHECK]

[FLIRT]

[APPROACH]

I am not doing those last two before I know what this thing can do.

[CHECK selected.]

[TSUNDERPLANE – HP: 80 ATK: 25 DEF: 26 – Seems mean, but does it secretly like you?]

"The fuck...?"

This plane catches an attitude.

"No way! Why would I like YOU?!"

Especially since we've only just met. Wait...

"You can talk?!"

It moves it's wings up, summing its attack. Several smaller planes fly horizontally straight from either side above me, dropping bombs that look like miniature nukes. Once a bomb hits the ground, a vertical line of toxic smoke appears and blocks my sight momentarily. All in all, this is not easy to avoid because of the lack of space and I end up taking a really nasty hit.

[HP ████████████████ 15/40]

I'm too afraid to check my wound. My ears are ringing and I feel damp somewhere on my side. I won't stand another hit like that. Damn it! I need my defense items!

*bang*

My head is smacked hard by metal.

[Tsunderplane "accidentally" bumps you with its wing.]

It pushed me back. It's keeping distance. Why it's not like it needs the room, damn thing can fly. I wonder...What'll happen if I get close? But first I need to heal.

[ITEM selected.]

I need to remember to thank Flowey when I see him again. If it wasn't for his prodding I'd have nothing in my inventory.

["Butterscotch Cheesecake" - All HP - Butterscotch cheesecake, one slice.]

"Mmmm...So good. Thanks, mama."

[You ate the Butterscotch Cheesecake. Your HP was maxed out.]

[HP ██████████████████████████████████████████ 40/40]

Ah, much better. Now I just need to avoid getting hit again. My turn ends.

"Hmph! Id... Idiot! Don't get in my way!"

You blocked me, asshat.

She uses a different attack but one that's somewhat easier to deal with. Large planes fly directly at me, leaving a horizontal-moving toxic trail of smoke balls. I am grateful this was it's second go. I dodge this one better, no damage taken.

[Tsunderplane shakes its nose dismissively at you.]

"_... Human..."

Now it speaks in emojis? I mean, I guess that's a thing that can happen, Gaster speaks in hands and junk.

"Something wrong? I can't help but notice."

Going off its behavior and name, I put some real emphasis on the word notice. It flinches. Got you.

Tsundere is a Japanese term for a character development process that depicts a person who is initially cold and sometimes even hostile before gradually showing a warmer, friendlier side over time. The word is derived from the terms tsun tsun ('to turn away in disgust or anger') and dere dere ('to become affectionate'). They're the opposite of a Yandere. Yandere is a Japanese term for a person who is initially very loving and gentle to someone or at least innocent before their devotion becomes destructive in nature, often through violence and/or brutality. The term is derived from the words yanderu (a mental or emotional illness) and dere dere. They are different and yet have one weakness...Wanting the attention of Senpai, the person they have a fondness for. Why do I know all this? Because I'm a big freaking dork! I can use this. I just don't understand why it would have such feelings.

"...H-human ... ...?"

Now to test my theory.

[APPROACH selected.]

[You get close to Tsunderplane. But not too close.]

"Eeeeh? H-human ...?"

It's getting flustered. I'm not proud of this method but if it works to keep me alive, so be it.

"You don't mind me getting close, right?"

[Tsunderplane looks over, then turns up its nose.]

"Huh!? Y-you sicko!"

It spins on heels it doesn't have and nearly takes my head. This ain't going to be easy.

The mini planes return but something's off. Six planes attacked me before, but now there's only three. Easier than before yet still dangerous. That smoke is noxious and obnoxious.

[Tsunderplane gives you a condescending barrel roll.]

"Don't think I'm going easy on you! It's not like I LIKE you."

Your actions say otherwise, so does that growing blush. Time for phase two.

[FLIRT selected.]

[You tell Tsunderplane it has an impressive wingspan.]

"I must say, birds wish they could have wings like that. Very cool."

It covers its nosecone in its wingtips.

"Ah...is that true...?"

"Why would I lie?"

I think this is working. It summons the large planes again but this time the planes are surrounded by narrow green auras and the smoke trails aren't moving. Curiosity has me touching the green and finding it does two things. One, it doesn't hurt me. And two, it's blushing more excitedly. After touching four Tsunderplane is practically glowing, or it could be the headlights. And when that last sixth plane passes Tsunderplane looks away shyly and starts to give off the smell of an airport perfume counter. Maybe just one more to seal the deal.

[FLIRT selected.]

[You tell Tsunderplane it has cute winglets.]

"Awww...Those wingtip fences are so cute! Then again, on such an adorable aircraft, that's to be expected."

It loses its mind. Jetting high up and aileron rolls three times before zipping off into the distance.

[YOU WON!]

[You earned 0 XP and 60 gold.]

Damn! That's some gold! Much needed due to spending all my gold in Waterfall so long ago.

"Not my worse fight but one of the more interesting ones. Till we meet again, Tsunderplane-chan."

I wave to where I saw Tsunderplane fly off and return to my journey. However, this is short-lived once again, but not by a monster. I think this is one of the obstacles Mettaton told me about. The land is broken. Vents shoot out big gusts of steam. I think he intends for me to use these to traverse the area since there are painted red arrows on the one in front of me and the one across from it. The flaw in this plan of his is this...In trying to have seen any of this, I ended up looking down.

Sweat begins to slide down my brow, but not from the heat. My wide eyes can't look away from the high as hell drop to lava that I'm meant to cross. My body starts to tremble. My breathing harsh. I'm going into a panic.

[Snowdin: Skeleton House in present time]

That was a stressful fight to watch. The massive damage the human took at the start made it clear she had been stripped of her armor, adding harsher levels of difficulty to an already challenging task. But they know her well by this point. She's clever. She's adaptable. She's stubborn as hell. And she knows they're likely watching.

["Butterscotch Cheesecake" - All HP - Butterscotch cheesecake, one slice.]

"Mmmm...So good. Thanks, mama."

[You ate the Butterscotch Cheesecake. Your HP was maxed out.]

[HP ██████████████████████████████████████████ 40/40]

Toriel's motherly heart was swelling. This one. This was the one she believed could survive in this hell. And her non-violent victory against the Tsunderplane made it more clear that her daughter wasn't so much the child she believed her to be.

"Yeah! Way to go, pussycat!"

Grillby is at least in better spirits. He nearly torched the couch when he thought of Mettaton stripping her of her armor.

"SHE'S NOT MOVING."

True. The human had won the fight but was now frozen in place by the vents, fear dripped from her face.

"uh oh."

This got attention.

"What is wrong? Why does she not continue?"

"pap and me found this out about her when she first came out of the ruins. she's afraid of heights. and if she doesn't move soon, she'll pass out under the pressure."

"But...It's not like she can just leave. And if she falls..."

No one wanted to finish that thought.

"THE HELL...?"

Something new appears and has their attention.

"Flowey?"

[HOTLAND: LAB]

Undyne had been watching the many screens Alphys controls as part of Mettaton's live feed broadcast. Nothing had been particularly interesting, not even that bogus fight with the Tsunderplane. But then...

"The fuck...? Alphys, you seeing this?"

Of course, the lizard was scribbling like a madman on her notepad. This was something new.

"Huh...Show me what ya got, human."

The fish woman resumes watching with a hearty slurp of noddles.

[HOTLAND: LEVEL ONE]

It's happening again. My legs turn to jelly and I drop to my knees. I can't do this. I can't move. What if I fall? I don't want to burn to death. I heard it's not quick either like how movies portray it. The pain overload is what kills you. I don't want that. I ̕ca͢n̛'́t ͢de̶al͏! Í ̸c̷̨a̴n'͡t!͘

*STATIC* HELLO? DARLING? CAN YOU HEAR ME?

The earpiece Mettaton gave me goes off. But something's interfering.

*STATIC* YOU NEED TO GET GOING, DEAR. DON'T WORRY ABOUT THE STEAM. IT WON'T BURN. THOUGH YOU MIGHT GET A BIT TENDER IF YOU PLAY IN THEM TOO LONG.

T̷̵h̷́at̵̨'̧͞s̵̸͞ ́̀not ̷̕͜h́el̴͘̕p̛i̸͜ng͟!̢͟

I feel it starting. The blood dripping from my nose. Why? Why am I so weak?!

*STATIC* DARLING? COME ON. YOU NEED TO MOVE. WE HAD A DEAL.

F̴̶͢u͘͞c̶͞k͏ ͟͏̴ý̢ou ̸́a̶̕͜n҉͞d҉̛ ̶̀y͢o̡u̸͠r̸ ̧́͝d͞e̢͜ą̕l͢͝! ̨̛I͝͞͝'̶m̢҉ n̡o̡͜͝t̴ ̵҉̛m̀͏o͘͝v̴́͠i͏̀n͟͡ǵ͜!̴

Strange energy begins to crackle around me. I don't know what it is and it's freaking me out more!

"There you are..."

Life returns to me upon hearing Flowey's voice.

"You just always seem to...The hell is up with your face?!"

"B̢͢͞ŗ̡̀o̸t̡h̡͟e̵̛r͘̕͞?"

The strange energy slowly dissipates, Flowey being here is calming me down, though the sight still unnerves him.

"Easy now. Just calm down. You don't want to overtax your soul."

"S̨-̀Sơr͡ry̷.̛.͞.I.̶..͢*shaky inhale*I looked down."

Flowey moves over to me and pats my leg with a tiny vine.

"Don't worry, your big brother's here for you."

I give him a nervous smile and wipe my nose.

"So...What's wrong with my face?"

"Uh...Nothing. You look fine."

I look at him flatly.

"I have makeup on, don't I?"

"Well..."

God dang it, Mettaton.

"Fudge it. As long as I'm not dolled up like a clown, ignore it. Right now I need help."

"Fine with me, but first...I want an apology for that stunt at the bar."

I nod.

"I'm sorry. It was a dirty move. But..."

He pouts.

"You wanted to talk to him without me butting in."

I claw the ground.

"...There are things I still can't tell you."

"When? When can you open up to me?"

"Soon. Lots of stuff I know is in pieces. I just need to figure out how it all fits to understand."

"Like what?"

"Well for starters...Getting through this crap."

Flowey looks out at the vents.

"You really can't do this?"

"No. My acrophobia, paranoia, vertigo, and lack of self-confidence prevents it."

"Sheesh. At least your honest."

I sit on my heels and slap my face a few times, trying to psych myself out.

"The body and mind both have their own ways of keeping themselves safe. Even if one of them is tricking the other. My body won't move if my brain keeps telling it no because it feels in danger."

"Hmmm...And I take it you're not up for that blindfold idea again."

I look at him confused.

"Over lava?!"

He sighs.

"Yeah, fair enough."

This sucks.

"Oh! I got an idea. What if I carry you over?"

Flower-goat-boy say what?

"Not to put you down, bro, but I ain't exactly light and I don't want you to hurt yourself trying."

He winks.

"Trust me. I'm stronger than you think."

I don't doubt you, I'm more worried I'll freak out if he does. But what choice do I have? Sit her forever or move forward.

"Okay. But not yet."

"Huh?"

I feel the ground again.

"This is rock and yet you're moving through it..."

"Yeah?"

"Can you scout ahead through this vent thing? Tell me if other monsters or crap is hiding?"

He nods.

"Can do."

He sinks into the ground. Here's hoping he stays out of sight of any hostiles. A few times I see his petal head pop up from time to time, but in areas I can't see I get a bit shook. Especially when he's out of sight for too long. I count the seconds between each puff of steam, giving up because it's too fast. A small rumble off to my side, part of Flowey's stem is protruding but seems to be having trouble coming out. With some wiggling and what looks like some tugging, he emerges yet only partly.

"*strain* H-Hey...I found something you can use."

I'm curious. I help chip some ground away and something metal appears. Looping my finger through a hole, I help him pull this mystery thing out and wow it puts up quite the struggle. With a final double pull from the both of us, the object reveals itself...a frying pan?

"The hell...?"

"I found it at one of the areas off over there. It once belonged to a human that fell a long time ago."

All this mismatch stuff. What were the humans that fell before even doing to fall with such stuff? Whatever, an item gained is better than no items at all.

[You equipped the Nasty Pan.]

[You gain 10 Attack.]

[You don't know if it's covered in old food or gore. Either way, the damage is rather consistent. Consumables items will heal 4 more HP.]

"Damn. Was really hoping for some defense boost."

"Sorry. How uneven does this make your stats now?"

"See for yourself."

He's confused till he CHECKs me.

[Lynsie - LV:1 - HP: 40 ATK: 30 DEF: 11 - Too nice for her own good.]

"What the...? What happened?!"

I stand and stretch.

"I got mugged."

He frowns.

"The robot?"

I answer with a nod and change the line of chatter to current events.

"Was there anyone out there?"

He shakes his head.

"At least that's some good news. So how do we do this?"

He moves back, over to where the path sort-of splits.

"This way."

With no other moves, I follow him to a spot where a vent is missing and he points to the land across it.

"Over there is the exit. If you can not freak out, I should be able to take you over there."

My spine shivers.

"Are you certain you can lift me over? That's at least a ten-foot gap, give or take."

"Trust me. I know what I'm capable of."

I swallow what little courage I have and shut my eyes tight.

"Please, make it quick."

"Don't worry, I got you."

There's silence for a bit. Then something slithers under then over my shoulders and slinks to wrap around my waist. I want to look but when my feet leave the ground my entire body clenches.

"Easy now. No sudden moves."

That doesn't help.

I do my best to block out everything. Like the feel of wind brushing past and intense heat that wafts up from below. My nerves are threatening to go off again. The instant I can feel a foot touch anything solid my eyes shoot open.

"See? Told you I could do it."

He's already on this side with me. Probably moved here first then reached over and carried my dumb frightened ass over. Bless you, super flower-goat-boy! The vines release and I'm once more on terra firma. I use this moment to hug Flowey.

"Thank you!"

He chuckles and now it's two going through Mettaton's show. If only I didn't leave my bag at home. Then he'd be riding with me. Then again, Mettaton would've taken that too and really screwed me over.

FINALLY. AS TOUCHING AS THAT WAS, DARLING, YOU NEED TO GET MOVING. WE'RE ALREADY BEHIND SCHEDULE AS IT IS.

I pop my neck and nod. The sooner I get through this the sooner it ends and we can go home.

"You okay with following me in case of other bull?"

"Oh yeah. You're going to need me. There are more vents past this.

I groan and silently curse everything before walking. Upon entering the north path past the steam vents, we come across another path made of pipework that veers to the right. This would be super chill if it weren't for the freaking lasers!

"This shouldn't be a big deal."

I look down at Flowey funny.

"Dude...Do you not see the lasers?"

He shakes his head.

"Don't think of them like you think they are. Those are made with magic energy. You remember what I told you about orange and light blue magic, don't you?"

It takes a second for that to click in my head. My small smirk lets him know I'm not completely stupid.

"See you on the other side."

He retreats to the ground and has to move through that, not like he can go through metal shit. So I take on this obstacle. There are nine lasers in total that go the order of orange, orange, cyan, orange, cyan, orange, cyan, cyan, and orange, with the cyan ones moving around. So by the logic of magic properties, I move through the orange ones and pause for the cyan ones till it's safe to keep going. In no time I'm at the end, a large metal pillar has a big red switch and out of spite I flip it. This effectively turns the laser off. Sweet! That was easy. Onward I go. The path veers upward and, can you guess, has more of those damn vents. A base one that changes directions, a one on the left and right side as well as in front. The path wants me to go forward but is blocked by a locked door. No doubt each side has a puzzle that opens each lock. Gotta love real-life video game logic.

"Not so bad, right?"

Speaks the emerging flora to my right.

"Still in one piece."

I joke to myself to keep the dumb side of me from saying something to jinx me.

"Need another lift?"

Looking at the gap between vents, it's not so evil as the first ones, maybe about four or five feet.

"I think I can manage this one."

He's relieved, thinking I'm being a big girl and fighting my fear.

"Great! I knew you could...wait...What are you...?!"

Don't think. Just act. Fear can't affect you if you don't realize it's there.

I take a short sprint and make nice bound over to where he's at. He's rather confused.

"The hell? What about your phobia?"

"Easy...Didn't think about it."

I head for the puzzle and he's flabbergasted.

"Wha...but...You still could've used the vents!"

"Nope!"

He catches up to me as I get distracted looking at two monsters sitting at the cliff's edge.

"You scare me something."

"How do you think I feel? I scare myself and I'm the one doing it."

There's a room nearby but these two just pull my attention. There's what appears to be a pale-green dragon in a black business suit and slick shade, like some sort of scaly lawyer. A black wisp-like monsters that reminds me of Grillby, even sporting glasses, in a gray tank-top and red pants drinking something steaming hot, dude looks chill in this heat. They don't seem to notice us and I can hardly hear bits of their chit chat. Something about how they're glad that the reactivated puzzles are preventing them from progressing as they do not want to go to work. They are also muttering some other stuff but I head for the room before they see this random human.

Inside the puzzle room, I'm met by two things. The puzzle itself and a disembodied fox head wearing sunglasses. The fuck am I tripping on?!

"The door leading through the area is closed?"

Dear God, it bounces as it talks and speaks with an upward inflection like valley speak! It hurts my brain. Good news, it has no clue what I am. Yay!

"So I tried the puzzle? But I kept running out of ammo, and it kept restarting?"

"...Bummer."

"And my two co-workers won't help? It's like they don't even wanna go to work?"

"Harsh."

"Why don't you try? Try using the console?"

I shrug and give this thing a little checking out. No real help from the fox so maybe the puzzle will tell me what to do. Oh, look! The convenient "?" icon is super tiny and hidden in the corner while also being somewhat the same color as the background. That's not a dick move, oh no, not in the slightest.

(Shoot the opposing ship!)

(Move the boxes to complete your mission.)

Okay, that's useful. Let's see...Four immovable blocks, two movable ones, and two open spaces. The immovable blocks are in each corner and the movable ones are in my way. And to top it all off, I get only two shots. Scoot the two away, shoot, and puzzle solved.

(CONGRATULATIONS!)

That's one done, another to go.

"Wow? You solved it? I'm impressed? You must be a total nerd?"

...Jackass.

Leaving the room has Flowey grabbing my wrist with a vine and tugging me to get moving.

"Bro, chill, what's wrong?"

"I heard them talking. They've been watching Mettaton's broadcast on their phones."

Yeah, that's our cue to skedaddle.

"Please use the vents this time."

I speed past him much to his chagrin.

"Screw...the...rules!"

I shout with each leap taken. I know deep down he wants to call me dumb and yet I'm kinda proud I'm able to forget about the incredibly high path we're treading that drops into freaking lava. He rejoins me as a non-moving cyan laser seemingly impedes my progress. However, it's waist level in height and nothing is stopping me from crawling underneath it.

"Wow."

"I know, right?"

Like on the right side, the left has the puzzle room and two monsters just hanging out on the cliff. These two monster girls are wearing what look like red and black Japanese school uniforms. The fuck? Not sure what's weirder, everyone's bravery by being that close to death or how the hell they got those clothes. Either way, one girl is purple with possible tentacle hair and has red eyes with black sclera, she is so clearly a tom-boy with her red back facing cap and skateboard. While the other girl is made up of lime green flame and gives off this way too innocent vibe for being here and with the bad-girl. Hotland does seem more and more to be Grillby's former home. How many more fire elementals live here?

"You think the laser has them stuck here?"

"Maybe. I know I wouldn't crawl on the floor with a skirt like that."

I enter the room and thankfully there's no head laying around that speaks in headache-inducing jabber. Let's see...Are the rules the same?

(Shoot the opposing ship!)

(Move the boxes to complete your mission.)

Yep. Same rules but different layout. Five immovable blocks, six movable ones, and five open spaces. The three immovable ones are in corners, one is above a corner, and the last is touching the corner of a corner block. And once more I get two shots. The movable blocks from a backward jacked letter C. This one is a bit more complex. The majority of the blocks move in one push. I have to try this a few times before I'm able to have it clear enough to shoot through one block and then the target.

(CONGRATULATIONS!)

If my calculations are correct, the door should be open now and further progress can be made. I leave the room and notice the laser is off. Flowey is also nowhere to be seen, probably due to the girls having moved from their original spot.

"Finally! Someone turned off that laser!"

Don't thank me, I'm just awesome.

"Now that we're free we can... Well, uh, I guess we'll just keep standing here."

"Hm? Nice try, but your loitering technique still needs work."

They chat with themselves. Great time to be invisible.

"Loitering around... What's the point?"

"Beats being in school. Why should we bother going to school, anyway...? What's the point in learning how to make a buncha puzzles? There's GOTTA be a way to cancel school."

"But isn't it summer vacation?"

"...Auuuugh! This world's got no future!"

A bit overly dramatic. Whatever. Back to business. I rush to make my final leap and almost trip on the pipework floor. Yeah...Not gonna be doing this jump thing anymore. Lost my nerve for it. Motion activates the door and it slides opens into the rock.

"Okay, Metta...Here I come."

Going through the door leads me to a small bit of land that turns to the right and three widely spaced vents in a row to reach the next...Is that kitchen linoleum? I can't be seeing that right.

"Seems like you have no choice this time."

Flowey appears.

"Can't at least hurl me across?"

He shakes his head.

"I can't support carrying you that far and I'm not risking you falling to death."

"Yeah, my luck as of late would be that level of crap."

I smack myself a few times to ready my timid nerves.

"Any words of wisdom before I do this?"

He thinks for a moment.

"Beware of chainsaws."

"What?!"

He sinks into the ground and I internally scream...Fuck my life!

Stepping onto the vent blocks the steam for a bit. The building pressure launches me from one vent to the next. By the time I reach solid ground I'm about ready to vomit my still-beating heart out.

"I hate heights!"

I'm gonna punch him. I swear, even if it breaks my hands, I will beat the shit out of Mettaton for this.

Still shaken I crawl my way into the next area. It's very weird. As if the linoleum wasn't odd, I'm now in what looks like a kitchen set. Oh...Oh god no...This can't mean...

"Don't tell me this is what I think it is."

As if on cue, low and behold, my metal master of moronic mayhem hovers down from the heavens wearing a chef's hat.

"OHHHH YES! WELCOME, DASTARDLIES, TO THE UNDERGROUND'S PREMIER COOKING SHOW!"

(Cooking with a Killer Robot)

"PRE-HEAT YOUR OVENS, BECAUSE WE'VE GOT A VERY SPECIAL RECIPE FOR YOU TODAY! WE'RE GOING TO BE MAKING...A CAKE! DEVIL'S FOOD CAKE TO BE EXACT."

Two of his hands stretch out and grab me, despite my pointless clawing at the floor, to present me to cameras I can't see.

"MY LOVELY ASSISTANT HERE WILL GATHER THE INGREDIENTS. EVERYONE GIVE THEM A BIG HAND!"

An applause sound effect goes off as well as confetti falls. I glare at myself.

"*mutter* You better have my stuff as promised or I will purposefully make sure your ratings bomb."

He pulls me in so only I hear him.

"*WHISPER* DO THAT AND YOU CAN KISS YOUR ITEMS GOODBYE."

I snort a huff and try to put on a smile. This seems to be what he wants.

"WE'LL NEED SUGAR, MILK, FLOUR, CHOCOLATE, AND EGGS. GO FOR IT, SWEETHEART!"

He's being overly flashy and fantastic. I should play along...but I'm too pissy and bitter. Plus calling me sweetheart irks me. You want a nice human? I'll be so sweet your blood sugar will spike!

"*giggles* Golly-gee. Thanks for having me on your show, Mr. Mettaton. Let's make the bestest best cake ever!"

This is stooping to new levels of pettiness that I might want to find a therapist for later. I'm pushing for a nearly unbelievable level of childish innocence as I scope the set and gather ingredients. All the while he watches every little skip and mean-spirited twirl I make before bring it all back to him a dopey smile.

"All done, Mr. Mettaton. This is going to be the most choco-lickity-yummiest cake in the universe!"

He puts two of his hands together and one on my head before sighing.

"DARLING...I LOVE WHAT YOU'RE DOING, I REALLY DO. BUT FOR THE SAKE OF THE AUDIENCE, COULD YOU LOWER THE CUTE DOWN A BIT?"

I give the puppy dog eyes.

"Am I in trouble? Did I do something wrong?"

He flinches and without thinking he slams my head into the counter. I roar and cover my face, trying not to burst into a hurricane of swears while he goes about the show.

"PERFECT! GREAT JOB, BEAUTIFUL! WE'VE GOT ALL OF THE INGREDIENTS WE NEED TO BAKE THE CAKE! MILK... SUGAR... FLOUR... CHOCOLATE... EGGS..."

He gasps suddenly while I check if my nose is broken. Good news, it's not.

"OH MY! WAIT A MAGNIFICENT MOMENT! HOW COULD I FORGET! WE'RE MISSING THE MOST IMPORTANT INGREDIENT!"

I wipe a small bit of blood off my forehead.

"And what ingredient is that? This was everything you told me to get."

Some of my attitude is coming out but not too much.

"WHY, IT'S NOTHING WE HAVE TO GO SEARCHING FOR. YOU BROUGHT IT HERE WITH YOU."

I look at him funny until I see him pulling two chainsaws out from under the counter.

"A HUMAN SOUL!"

My heart sinks as he revs them up. Yet when he begins to do a slow methodical approach...My brain remembers to do one of my many pointless talents. Poking holes things with needless but true knowledge.

"Objection!"

The nerd in me is giddy for being able to make him pause with that.

"YES?"

I slap the counter.

"This recipe is bogus. What kind of cake calls for an ingredient that is so rare and priceless as a human soul? I submit my dumb argument, because I'm willing to admit the idiocy of saying this, that a human soul would serve a far greater purpose than being used for baked goods. Such as breaking the barrier. What say you, Metta? Do you have anything to back up your reasoning to use my soul in this cake?"

I wonder if Napsablook has an emulator on his PC? I want to play Phoenix Wright: Ace Attorney now.

His screen blinks a little in thought. Before one of his arms leaves the murder weapon to go somewhere off set and return to put a can on the counter.

"...What is that?"

"THAT, MY DEAR, IS MTT-BRAND ALWAYS-CONVENIENT HUMAN-SOUL-FLAVOR-SUBSTITUTE! AVAILABLE AT ANY OF MY FINE RETAIL MARKETS! PROOF THAT THIS IS SOMETHING RATHER COMMON DOWN HERE AND THEREFORE, NOT A COMPLETELY UNREASONABLE IDEA AS TO WHY USE OF YOUR SOUL WOULD BE IN COOKING."

I stare dumbfounded at this can.

"This...This thing holds stuff that tastes like a human soul?"

He turns one chainsaw off and leans on it like a villain does with a cane.

"IT IS WHAT IT IS, DARLING. THE LABEL DOESN'T LIE. I SELL ONLY THE BEST. AND I GUARANTEE, IF YOU TRY IT, YOU'D NEVER KNOW THE DIFFERENCE."

My mouth opens but nothing comes out. I put my hands together, hold them to my face, and ponder the meaning of life."

"Metta, my dude...This is some messed up stuff right here."

"HOW SO?"

I sigh through my nose and lose my ability to be subtle.

"You do know that souls can be used as sexual organs, right?"

He slips from his cool pose in shock.

"DARLING! CAREFUL WHAT YOU SAY! THIS IS LIVE AND KIDS MIGHT BE WATCHING."

"Do not change the subject by insinuating children don't have the ability to understand. Kids are always learning and they find things out quicker than others give credit. Such as their body's and, because it's a monster's core, soul. You can not expect me to believe that knowledge of that caliber is unknown."

I grab the can harshly.

"Knowing that, the fact this can exists and as you claim is indistinguishable from the real deal, it insinuates that you or someone else on your staff knows what a human soul tastes like. Meaning...Someone has had oral sex with a human soul."

He falls over at my accusations. Chainsaws long forgotten. But I'm not done.

"Further more, this can opens a can of worms in its implications. Forgive my armature knowledge on the subject, but in the old myths above, there is no mention of monsters feeding on human souls. Such things usually are connected to demons. So this concept is either new to the Underground or you're making it up purely for this show!"

My head is swimming with weird thoughts and I'm unable to keep them to myself.

"Fearing that the humans would one day turn on monster kind and slaughter their people, absorb their few boss souls and become dominant over them, the monsters decided to launch a preemptive strike. That's what the old text said, but...If this feeding on souls it true..."

I glare at the can, not liking the thoughts it's making me get.

"Then humans had a reason to seal you away."

Those words are bitter and I spit them getting angry, squeezing the can with force.

"Tell me I'm wrong."

It crunches, metal splitting to cut into my hand before furiously throwing it at the fake window behind us.

"Tell me I'm wrong! Don't make me feel bad for humanity!"

I'm physically shaking. My rage tapering on the verge. It's not even towards anyone. How can it? What's in the past is there forever. But this...Don't tell me this is real and in the present.

"Please..."

I lick my hand, trying to focus on the sting and hint of copper to calm me down. Finally able to recover, Mettaton dusts himself off. Taking note of my behavior and picking his words carefully.

"WOW, DARLING. SUCH RAW EMOTION. THE PASSION. FEAR. ANGER. AND DESPERATION. IT'S PERFECT IN EVERY WAY!"

A low snarl from me reminds him that I'm in no mood for his fabulous side.

"BUT TO ANSWER YOUR RATHER INTERESTING QUERY...NO. IT'S NOT TRUE."

A small sensation of relief begins to hit me as he opens a compartment under his screen and pulls out a small advertisement poster.

"I FIGURED THIS IDEA WOULD WORK MAINLY BECAUSE..."

He lightly touches my face.

"YOU'RE SWEETER THAN ANY DESERT~."

With the whole 'about to kill me' and fucked up line of thought thing that happened seconds ago, his little flirt has no effect and I slap his hand away. He's taken by this yet keeps his composer.

"BUT I SEE NOW THAT WAS FOOLISH. USING YOU IN A SIMPLE COOKING SHOW WAS A MASSIVE UNDERESTIMATION. ESPECIALLY TO PROMOTE MY NEWEST PRODUCT."

He crumbs the add and tosses it away.

"BUT AFTER THAT SCENE, I CAN KISS THOSE SALES GOODBYE. IT WAS WORTH A SHOT THOUGH. YOU NEVER KNOW WHAT WORKS WITHOUT TAKING RISKS."

I am so done with all of this it ain't even funny.

"YET THIS WASN'T A TOTAL LOST. I LEARNED YOU HAVE A REAL TALENT."

I eye him cautiously, getting the bleeding to at last stop.

"CLEARLY A COURTROOM DRAMA IS PERFECT FOR YOU!"

I hate my luck.

"I NEED TO MAKE SOME CALLS! GET A SET MADE! OOOOOH! THE SCANDALOUS SCRIPT IDEAS I HAVE!"

"I think you're jumping the gun a bit early on this."

He puts a finger to my lips.

"NOT NOW, DARLING, I'M WORKING."

I gesture to where I assume a camera is that he's nuts.

[RING-RING]

His phone goes off.

"THIS BETTER BE IMPORTANT! I'M ON AIR RIGHT NOW!"

Damn it. I can't hear the caller.

"WHAT DO YOU MEAN SHE WON'T MOVE?! YOU TELL HER..."

He's cut off.

"W-WHAT?! HOW MANY OF YOU ARE THERE LEFT? ...JUST YOU?! DAMN IT, BUGERPANTS, SO HELP ME IF THIS IS A PLOY TO GET OUT OF YOUR SHIFT..."

While he's distracted, I use this time to move the chainsaws away and out of sight. No need for them to come back into play.

"WAIT...SAY THAT LAST PART AGAIN. ARE YOU CERTAIN IT'S HIS POST?"

Post? What post? Who's post?

"*HUFF* FINE. RETURN TO YOUR POST. I'LL DEAL WITH THIS MYSELF."

He hangs up and is not too happy.

"*MUMBLE* DAMN SPIDER AND HER STUPID PET, KILLS MY MINIONS AND STILL DENIES MY BUSINESS DEALS!"

"You okay?"

My voice snaps him out of his thoughts and he calms down.

"UM...A CHANGE IN PLANS HAS COME UP. YES! DUE TO SOME SET ISSUES AND TIME CONSTRAINTS, OUR SHOW RUNS ON A STRICT SCHEDULE YOU KNOW, I'M GOING TO PERSONALLY DROP YOU OFF AT THE NEXT LEG OF THE GAUNTLET."

Well, that sounds like a load of bullshit. But my dumb brain has to dumb brain.

"So what you're telling me is we're not even going to finish this segment by making the damn cake?"

He pulls me into an uncomfortable side embrace.

"I KNOW, IT'S HEARTBREAKING. BUT YOU SHOULD'VE MOVED FASTER AT THE START OF ALL THIS."

"I have a fear of heights!"

"NOW WE'LL JUST HAVE TO LIVE WITH NOT KNOWING HOW GOOD THE CAKE COULD'VE BEEN."

"Don't ignore me."

"OR HOW MUCH MORE DELICIOUS IT COULD BE IF EATEN OFF MY BODY."

"The fuck did you say?!"

"BUT COME ON, DARLING, I'M ONLY MESSING WITH YOU AND OUR MALICIOUS VIEWERS. HAVEN'T YOU EVER SEEN A COOKING SHOW BEFORE? I ALREADY BAKED THE CAKE AHEAD OF TIME! SO FORGET IT! BECAUSE YOU'RE NOT GETTING ANY OF IT!"

"Is the screaming in my ear necessary?"

"WOULD YOU LOOK AT THAT! RIGHT ABOUT NOW IS WHEN WE HAVE OUR COMMERCIAL BREAK! SO STAY TUNED TO THAT SCREEN AND CONTINUE WATCHING AS OUR DEAR DARLING DARES TO DART FORTH INTO DANGER ONCE MORE!"

"Can you at least tell me I don't have to do any more vent platforming?"

"SORRY, BUT I'D BE LYING IF I DID."

I start trying to swear but I end up roaring out in meek frustration.

"SEE YOU ALL AGAIN REAL SOON."

A few seconds go by and he lets me go.

"OKAY, WE DON'T HAVE MUCH TIME..."

He moves to the sink and opens the cabinets under it.

"WE HAD A DEAL. DESPITE THAT LITTLE SHOW YOU PUT ON, I AM IF ANYTHING A MONSTER OF MY WORD."

He tosses me a bag with his face on it. Taking the hint, I open it and find my missing gear. Though...no phone. I take this small victory without a fight. I'm fairly certain I know who has it anyway. That cat is so getting skinned. I equip my items and CHECK my stats.

[ HP: 40 ATK: 45 DEF: 27]

"Someday, I swear my defense will be decent, damn it!"

"ALL SET?"

I may look ridiculous with all this all but it's not like I was a supermodel before.

"Yeah, I'm good. Thank you."

"UM..."

"What?"

"I WANT TO APOLOGIZE."

I scoff.

"Forget it."

"NO. I...WHAT I DID WAS STUPID. I SKIMMED OVER THINGS AND WASN'T EXPECTING HOW YOU'D REACT. A GOOD SHOWMAN IS MORE PREPARED AND KNOWS HIS CAST BETTER. FOR THAT...I'M SORRY"

No matter the mood I might be in, I know how hard it is to swallow one's pride and admit a wrong. I just wish he wasn't such a flip-flopper because this personality switching is making it difficult to trust him fully.

"*sigh* ...I forgive you. But don't ever pull that kind of crap again. Got it? I like you monsters. I like being here. I don't want to feel bad for my kind and see THIS punishment as justified."

He nods, or what I take as the equivalent to one for a guy without a neck. With that now all said and done he once again snatches me into his arms and he blasts off like a rocket. Where to? No damn clue.

[HOTLAND: LAB]

"Well, that was disappointing. Freaky, but disappointing."

Undyne collects another bowel to enjoy.

"Not his best move. That's for sure. All that controversial fuss."

Alphys had cut the feed but was still viewing the robot and human.

"Yeah. He didn't even use those chainsaws. Such a wasted opportunity."

"Still, the way she interpreted all that from a simple can of spice...And that reaction..."

Theories were coming to Alphys.

"Definitely something to remember for future use."

Undyne takes a long slurp of ramen.

"It's a freak, Alphys. Plain and simple."

Alphys's companion's lack of imagination made her sneer.

"At least he's prolonging her activity. That provides data. And that's all that matters."

Undyne rolls her eye.

"Still...I wonder what that phone call was about?"

Alphys, being the one that sees all, knows the answer to that question. She just finds it more interesting to see if her hot fish friend can figure it out for herself. Oh, what a tangled web we weave, when first we practice to deceive.

[Snowdin: Skeleton House in present time]

They weren't sure what they just watched. Such a strange buildup and quickly smothered show. Sure this wasn't over but no one honestly thought that second showing was going to be over in about twelve minutes. Still...The lingering questions remained when the commercials played.

"This is nerve-wracking."

"I know. But at least there's some good news. He's moving her further. She'll be done faster."

"I suppose that is true."

"OR SHE'LL BE KILLED QUICKER."

Toriel and Grillby glare at Papyrus.

"WHAT? I'M BEING REALISTIC BY SAYING THE OPTION YOU'RE IGNORING."

The glares and fire strengthen.

Papyrus takes the hint and walks away. Maybe Sans had some sort of idea and won't want to beat the shit out of him as the others do.

"you need to work on your people skills, bro."

He growls but that's it.

"i got an idea as to what happened near the end."

"REALLY?"

"yeah. i think someone tipped him off about my post there."

"YOU SURE?"

"got no other clue as to why he'd move her himself and not let her walk."

"HOW MUCH DO YOU THINK HE'LL HAVE HER SKIP?"

"who's to say? i only know what i can see from my post. and it ain't much."

"WHY DO YOU HAVE SO MANY POSTS?"

"do ya know anybody else that can teleport?"

"...GOOD POINT."

"you sound underwhelmed."

"I DON'T KNOW...I JUST DON'T SEE IT. YOU WORKING THAT MUCH? IT'S WEIRD."

"if it makes it less weird, i sell hot dogs at those stations."

"THAT...THAT MAKES MORE SENSE."

The television flickers suddenly. The commercials end and the human is back onscreen. Her exact location is odd in that there doesn't seem to be a path to leave on. There's a signpost they can't read and random cacti. Among the positives, she is sporting her equipables again and thus have her stats boosted. On the negative side...she isn't there alone for very long.

#undertale #underfell #Anomaly #Lynsie #sans #papyrus #gaster #grillby #grandpa semi #mettaton #napstablook #chara #frisk #flowey #Asriel #asgore #toriel #undyne #alphys

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mysweetestcreature · 5 years ago

Text

Tomorrow Never Knows (President!Harry) Chapter 6: Better in Time

(Banner by the wonderful noblewomankat!)

***

Masterlist

***

Saturday, October 24, 2008

In most cases, Harry likes having a well thought-out plan before he charges into any battle. All his life that’s what he’d been accustomed to doing. In football, they always have a game plan with all the plays they’ll need to defeat the opposing team. During debates, he’s always ready with the fact to back up his arguments to make his position all the more convincing to the judges. Even when buying gifts for his family, he always does his share of research to see what things they’re into and where to buy those particular things.

However, if this last month has taught him anything –– even if he’s still completely suffering on the inside –– it’s that sometimes spontaneous decisions may be the only way to get the job done. All he had really wanted was to tell her that he likes her –– so, so much –– and then ask her out on a proper date and maybe if he’s lucky, he’ll get to finally kiss her like he’d wanted to on that fateful Friday afternoon. But like he’s said before, he’s not that lucky.

That’s probably why he’s found himself outside her house at ten in the morning on a chilly Saturday at the end of October. He’d woken up after only about three hours of actual sleep only to have the conversation with Cici replay unapologetically in between his ears. If everything had been confusing before, now it’s top to the bottom beyond his wits. Without much preparation –– all he did was step under the shower head for a quick hose down –– he had gotten on his bike, not even answering Anne’s question if he wanted any breakfast (which may have been his first mistake today) before running into the garage and speeding off.

Now, it’s not like the events that had brought him to this very spot were completely out of the blue. In fact, he would say everything that’s happened in the last month has forced him here as though it were the only possible outcome.

As Harry holds his finger up to the doorbell, no plan, no intelligible thoughts to pass on, and no feeling other than this annoying churn deep in the pits of his stomach, he hopes at least something positive (for a refreshing change, just to spice it up a little) will come out of what he’s about to embark on. He takes in a deep breath with the cold air swirling in his nose and pinching at his sinuses and fully waking him up, before he presses down firmly on the button.

The ringing of the bell makes his position all the more real. Despite the nippy weather, he suddenly feels heated wrapped in his varsity, a bead of sweat dragging down the curve of his spine and leaving goosebumps behind in its path. Almost immediately, he hears footsteps sounding from inside the house getting louder and louder before they come to a halt just on the other side. “Mason, I said no cookies until after lunch!” A voice yells out, and at that moment, maybe he should have at the very least anticipated who would be home instead of coming in completely blinded by lightning.

The door opens, revealing a man with thick black-rimmed glasses falling down the center of his nose.

“Can I help you?”

“Uh...” Harry can feel the blood drain from his face as he comes face to face with a man he recognizes from the pictures in her locker. “I um...” he swallows hard. “I was, uh, wondering if I could...um...talk to...Y/n?”

The man tilts his head back just a bit, examining him with narrowed eyes. It’s not that he looks intimidating, actually, he looks like he’d be quite the opposite (just don’t tell him he thought that), but Harry doesn’t think he’s ever felt more self-conscious in his life, and he’s spoken in front of at least a hundred people at once.

“What’s your name, son?” He pushes up on the bridge of his glasses before crossing his arms tightly over his chest.

Before Harry can answer, another pair of footsteps, this time much gentler than the ones before, soon races towards him.

“Harry!” Mason runs past his father and latches onto Harry’s leg. “I can’t believe you’re here!” he squeals. The little boy stares up at him with wide exuberant eyes and a smile just as cute to match. “I told Y/n that I missed you, but she said you were probably busy, so you couldn’t come over,” he says with a protruding pout, but it’s soon washed away in his joyous excitement. “But now you’re here! We can eat all of Y/n’s peanut butter chocolate chip cookies together! They’re my favoritest!”

Harry looks back up, Y/n’s dad wears a mild scowl across his face. Yikes. If only their dad was as easy to talk to as the little boy. But Harry’s just happy that at least one familiar face –– even if he is a little kid more than half his age –– is here to raise his morale just the tiniest amount. “That’s odd,” he contemplates, bending down to his knees. “I thought your favoritest was her Neapolitan cupcakes?”

Mason nods his head. “They’re my other favoritest,” he explains as though it were the most basic fact, the most simplest of logic. “I have a lot of favoritests, Harry.”

“Oh yeah?” he plays along, pretending to be completely shocked.

“Yeah!” He turns to his father. “Right, Daddy?”

The older man suddenly transforms into a more tender version of himself before Harry’s eyes. For a quick moment, Harry sees someone familiar in the expression on his face. Looking down fondly at his son, he smiles. “You sure do, kiddo. And it drives your mom and me up the walls.”

“I told you!” Mason says knowingly as he turns back. “Now come on! Or else the cookies are gonna get cold! And they taste bestest when they’re warm!” He grabs Harry’s hand and pulls him inside. All Harry can do is send Mr. Y/l/n an apologetic look as he sheepishly allows himself to be guided through the house without his permission.

The smell of melted chocolate soon becomes prominent, and it’s enough to make Harry’s mouth salivate and his empty stomach growl with desperation. As Mason leads him under the arch that connects the dining room to the kitchen, he hears a low hum of a song he knows all too well, one that he’s heard her sing over a thousand times since meeting her.

“Y/n! Look who Daddy found outside!” Mason exclaims.

His sister looks up from her mixing bowl, only to drop the wooden spoon in her hand to the floor. “I-” Her eyebrows furrow together as she stares at him in bewilderment. “Harry? What are...what are you doing here?”

Harry runs the side of his finger across the tip of his nose twice over, trying to hide the red as it creeps up to his cheeks from the base of his neck. “I actually came here to talk to...you.” He isn’t sure why the last word had come out with a delay, but there’s no use worrying about it now.

“And it couldn’t wait until Monday?” she asks, still completely perplexed.

“Yeah, Harry. It couldn’t wait until Monday?” Her father interjects, strutting into the room. He stands directly in front of Harry, then circles around him as though scanning him for a disease. “I don’t think we’ve been properly introduced,” he begins. “I’m Jeremy, but you can call me ‘sir.’”

***

It may have taken a while, but Harry is finally able to get her alone. After being grilled about his life story by Jeremy –– from where he was born to where his paternal great grandfather went to university to what his credit score is (Harry doesn’t even know what that means) –– and eating his weight in cookies with Mason (which really wasn’t all that bad), Y/n had excused the both of them, letting her dad know that they would just be taking a walk around the block.

Despite Jeremy’s disapproving demeanor, he waved them off, closing the door behind them, but not until sending one last glare in Harry’s direction. Mason, on the other hand, had begged for Y/n to take him with them. “But I want to hang out with you and Harry! Daddy is boring!” he had cried as she put on her sneakers. Harry’s pretty sure Jeremy wasn’t too pleased with that last part.

The air feels a lot colder than it did just an hour and a half ago, or maybe it’s just that Harry isn’t the sweaty fool he had once been when he had arrived. This is nice, he supposes. At least there’s no way he can screw this up, but who knows with the way things have been going recently.

“I can’t believe you rode your bike all the way here,” she snorts. “You could have just texted.”

“Yeah, well,” he laughs, hands buried deep within his pockets and shoulders shrugging upward. He knows all too well that he most likely would never get a response, or if he were to get one, it would be short and to the point. Yesterday he’d asked her about the homework that Señora Gustavo had assigned, which she had promptly answered back. When it came to his follow-up question, a friendly “what are your plans for the weekend?” message, he received nothing in return.

His eyes are trained ahead, but he still manages to get a glimpse at her in his peripheral vision. “I just really had to see you.” He doesn’t miss the way her lips twitch up just as she looks down to her feet. She tucks a strand of loose hair behind her ear, then runs her hands up and down her arms. A part of him debates what to do, if he should overstep himself just this one time. After all, it would be for a good reason, right?

Before either one of them can proceed to say anything more, Harry stops and slips his varsity jacket from his shoulders. His lips lightly pursing together as he holds it open in front of her. “You look like you need it more than I do.” Y/n switches between him and the fabric hanging from his hands. “You really don’t have to. I can manage-”

“Y/n,” he interrupts. “Just take it.” A close-mouthed smile appears across his face, his dimples only peeking out just barely. “Here,” and he steps behind her, carefully placing it over the thin material of her long sleeve shirt with the faces of the young Beatles on the front. He remains stiff until the jacket settles around her, and he’s finally able to let out the breath he wasn’t even aware he was holding.

The jacket feels heavy on her body, while still radiating the heat from his body on the inside. A faint aroma of vanilla with a slightly more masculine undertone rises to her nose, and for some reason, it makes her feel oddly at ease and brings this sensation of security down into her bones. “Thanks,” she mumbles, pulling the linings inward for an added layer of warmth.

He doesn’t answer, her image taking him aback more than he had ever anticipated. Because damn, it’s something he wishes he could get used to seeing. “Uh,” it erupts from the back of his throat like a frightful belch. “Of course.”

They continue forward, occasionally knocking elbows. This is nice, Harry says to himself.

“It looks good on you.”

She peers up. “You think so?”

“Could never lie to you,” he says earnestly. His own words manage to make him somewhat contemplative, and he guesses that is the reason he’s here in the first place. “Which is actually why I need you to know that...” he starts off slowly, while his footsteps noticeably star to slow down. He looks into her eyes as they stare back anxiously into his. There’s something perceptive in her expression, as though she’s anticipating the worst to come out of his mouth. “I’m not into Zoey.”

“Oh...” her voice is nearly inaudible as she breaks eye contact. She looks ahead of them, choosing to watch as elderly woman a few houses down water her perennials. “That’s...wow.”

“I just didn’t want you think that we were together or anything. Because we’re not! And I wanted to make that totally clear.”

“So that kiss...”

“Meant nothing.”

It takes a minute, but as his words sink, the burden she had once lifted in her chest seems to have dissipated. She nods slowly, walking ahead of him, leaving Harry without an answer. A grin slowly appears and rounds the apples of her cheeks, but she would rather him not see that just yet. Once she’s controlled herself, she gives him a look over her shoulder. “Are you coming? There’s a diner a few miles down and you said your treat.”

***

Wednesday, October 29, 2008

Things seem to be getting back on track, at least that’s what Y/n likes to think. Sure, sometimes an awkward silence may fall between them every now and again, but the good moments –– them just talking and laughing and enjoying each other’s company as though nothing in the last month had ever happened –– have outweighed all other not-so-pleasnt occasions.

She’s so thankful, too. Had whatever was happening with her and Harry continued, Y/n is sure she would have gone crazy within the next week, tops! And that’s not just because she shares three classes and few free periods with him –– although, she’ll be the first to say that avoiding someone she sits next to was a particularly trying and tiring challenge –– but because in Harry’s time since starting Ashwood Prep, her best friends have become his best friends. Take Maxxie, for instance, she could never make him choose between the two of them! He’s always had a harder time relating to a lot of the guys in their year, but with Harry it was like an instant connection. They’re practically brothers now, and she couldn’t be happier for him. The best part is that she doesn’t have to pretend to know what he’s talking about when he rehearses for his debates now that Harry is there to do it with him. Even Cici has taken a liking to Harry, and Cici doesn’t like many people (she prefers a close circle of friends, while the rest are mere acquaintances that she has to be forced to socialize with on exclusive occasions).

Y/n can honestly say that she’s pleased with how things are going right now. No longer present is the feeling that used to bite at her insides like a no-good virus. It used to insert itself into her thoughts, even when she was trying her hardest to focus on other things. Now, she feels the weight of the last few weeks finally lifted off her shoulders, and she really can’t complain about much else.

There is a minor issue that she does have to frequently remind herself of, however. It might as well be the most important lesson she had learned from all this. She has to remind herself not to fall, or at least not as hard as before (she’s still human, after all). The best thing she can do for herself and for her friendship with Harry, for the matter, is to take each day one step at a time. At least that way, feelings can be spared and drama can be saved for more serious events. If only that weren’t just wishful thinking on her part.

“Fine.” She shrugs into her shoulder, trying her best to hide the giddy smile that manages to round the apples of her cheeks. He looks at her with the toothiest grin, the indents of his dimples becoming more and more defined. And gosh, does he look so cute right now. It’s like she’s back to where she started, and that flutter beneath her chest is still just as strong as ever, if not more. “Now get out of here! The last thing we want is for Coach Davis to go on a manhunt.” Harry hops off the stool and grabs his duffle bag. “Right here, yeah? Promise you won’t leave without me?”

“I swear, you’re so annoying!” she giggles, pushing him towards the door. “Go!” “Hey!” he whines, making himself heavier by leaning back and letting his weight slow her down. She huffs, her arms no match for him as they try to hold him up. “You gotta promise me first, or else I’ll just wait here until lunch.”

She rolls her eyes, jaw slacking to the side. “I promise I’ll be right here,” she assures him. He turns to her, still a bit unconvinced. She raises her hand to the height of her face, her pinkie finger pointing towards him. “Here’s my promise.” A twinkle sparks in Harry’s green irises. He chuckles softly, then intertwines his pinkie with hers. They remain that way for a while longer, both just alternating their gaze to where they’re adjoined and then back into each other’s eyes. Y/n is the first to speak up. “Okay, so get your butt to the weight room!” And she drops her hand back to her side.

He does the same, but the smile remains firmly embedded. “Alright,” he blushes mildly, “I’ll see you in a bit.” He sends her a wink before making a sprint for the exit.

Within the next fifteen minutes, she’s able to whisk together both her wet and dry ingredients, all while multitasking with her Algebra homework that she’s sure she won’t want to do later. As she starts folding the mixture (she’s sure to be extra careful this time since she may have overdone it the last), her ears tingle when the kitchen door opens up.

She sniggers to herself before turning around. “Harry, I told you that-” she pauses when she sees that it’s not him. “Oh! You’re not...Sorry, about that,” she chuckles nervously.

“Sorry, were you expecting...” the boy says.

“It’s nothing,” she shakes her head. “I just thought you were my friend for a second there.”

The boy studies his surroundings as he approaches, even stopping to peek at a cake that Miss Genevra had designed herself this morning. He runs the tips of his fingers along the cold metal surface of the table.

“This might be really forward, but I was wondering if you could help me with something?” he speaks up, adjusting his beanie over his dark hair. He looks up at her with the deepest chocolate brown eyes she’s ever seen, and yet, the longer she stares, the more hidden depth of color she discovers.

“Uh...sure,” she replies unsurely, wiping her hands on the front of her apron. She thinks she might recognize him as being a year ahead of her. What was his name?

“I’m Jasper, by the way,” he says, as though reading her thoughts. He peeks over the top of the bowl in front of her. “What’re you making?”

“Y/n,” she returns. “And macarons.” She gestures towards her supplies. “So, what did you need help with?”

“This is probably going to make me sound like an awful son,” he chuckles lightly, shaking his head, “but I was in charge of getting a cake for my mom’s birthday, and well...I sort of...okay, definitely...fucked up.” The tan skin of his face scrunches in self-disgust. “There’s no bakery within thirty miles that’ll accept a custom order on such short notice and her birthday is tomorrow and my dad’s already on edge as it is, and I really don’t think I can handle that and I heard from a bunch of people that you’re a good baker and I actually just tried one of your cupcakes earlier, so I just thought I’d try to...” he quickly becomes winded after having said it all in one breath.

She can’t help but giggle at the poor boy. “Okay!”’ she says, patting him gently on the side of his arm. “Just tell me her favorite cake flavors.”

Jasper gives her a blank look, mouth completely hung open.

“You don’t know, do you?”

He timidly looks down to the floor. “I am a bad son, aren’t I?”

“I wouldn’t use those exact words,” she smiles.

***

He knows he probably should have taken the workout seriously, but who can blame him? She’s finally talking to him willingly again, and he’s just so excited because maybe now things can progress the way he wants them to. With Zoey hopefully all the way out of the picture (she had given him one hell of a nasty look this morning), he’s feeling the confidence starting to make its way back into his system and energize each one of his nerves.

Coach Davis yells after him as he dashes out the weight room with a measly parting and the assurance that he’ll bring his A-game to practice later today. He stops in front of the reflective glass outside the principal’s office, fixing his hair, and adjusting the collar over his sweater until it’s near perfection.

“Harry!” He sees a reflection of Maxxie’s figure drawing closer. “You on your way to lunch?”

“I’ll be there in like three minutes,” he says, giving himself one last look over before turning around. “I just have to pick up Y/n from Home Ec.”

Maxxie’s brow cocks up. “Oh?”

Harry takes long strides towards the kitchen. “Save us a seat, yeah? We’ll just be a few!”

When the curly-haired boy disappears around the corner, Maxxie pulls his phone out of his pocket.

To: Cici

You’re good, I’ll give you that.

From: Cici

You should learn never to doubt me.

***

“Alright, I got Maxxie to save us some seats. Are you ready to-” he stops mid-sentence. There’s a boy right next to her, positioned a little too close for his liking. He watches as they hover over Y/n’s notebook, just laughing to themselves. The boy with the beanie gives her a look that Harry wishes he could wipe away because for some reason he feels himself becoming more and more annoyed. Harry’s tongue pokes against the inside of his cheek as a foreign feeling erupts within him like hot lava.

Y/n perks up, instantly smiling when she sees him in the doorway. “Hey! I was just finishing up,” she says. She turns back to the boy. “Okay, so chocolate cake with mocha whipped cream icing, right? Come by after school tomorrow, it should be ready by then.”

“You’re an angel,” he tells her. “You literally just saved my ass, big time.”

“It’s nothing,” she says softly as she closes her notebook and caps her pen. “Three o’clock tomorrow.” She gives him a pointed look. “Don’t be late.”

“It’s a date.”

Harry’s eye might have just twitched a little too violently.

***

#i couldn't wait so excuse any typos!!!#please let me know your thoughts!!!#president!harry #harry styles #harry styles imagine #harry styles smut #harry styles au #harry styles fanfic #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles fluff #harry styles drabble #one direction #one direction imagine

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lets-talk-appella · 5 years ago

Text

They’re Us (Ch 1/5)

PP Horror Week Day 3 - [Evil] Doppelgangers

Summary: When the enemy looks like your friends, how do you know who to trust?

Word Count: 2.5k

Rating: M (for horror themes, not for smut.)

AO3 and FFN

They moved in at night.

No one noticed, no one heard. It was ideal for them.

Their eyes, amber in the moonlight, found the house, taking in its darkened windows and quiet demeanor. They thought of its occupants, sleeping right now, completely oblivious to the outside world.

They grinned at one another, exchanging anticipatory looks. This was going to be fun.

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

It starts small.

Chloe’s felt it for a few days. She’s felt it on her walk to and from campus, while on campus between classes, and even at the grocery store. She’s sure it’s all stress—it has to be—what with midterms coming up and preparation for Worlds in the spring. It’s stress, and stress alone. It’s gotta be.

It’s not like anyone is really watching her. That’d be insane. No one would have any reason to just… follow her all day.

She’s imagining things. She’s sure of it.

Still, she doesn’t particularly enjoy the (totally imagined) feeling that someone, once again, is watching her as she walks across the campus quad. She should be able to blame the chill running down her spine on the cool fall air. She should be able to blame the prickling of the back of her neck on the cold dampness of the rain/fog mist combination enveloping campus. She should be able to blame her unexplained skittishness on some assignment she’d forgotten to turn in.

She tells herself these things as she walks, tries to force her heart rate into a slower, steadier pattern than its current rapid flutter.

It doesn’t work.

Unease rises in her chest as she once again feels the weight of eyes trained on her. She glances over her shoulder, only seeing other bedraggled-looking students following her, headed to their own classes. Most of their eyes are trained on the ground, or at nothing in particular ahead of them. No one is following her too closely, no one stands out from the crowd, and no one is watching her. She looks ahead again, scanning her surroundings and seeing nothing—not one thing—that should be making her this anxious.

She walks faster.

Her skin crawls at being out in the open in the quad. Her last class of the day isn’t far away, but the idea of being so visible for any further length of time is unbearable.

She veers left sharply without warning, cutting off several people on the sidewalk who bristle immediately and glare at her, but she pays them no mind. She speed-walks off the quad, taking a path that deposits her between two tall brick buildings that act as security blankets, enclosing her with a relative feeling of solitude that the wide-open quad could not provide. However, it doesn’t make her feel any better, and she walks faster, breath starting to come in short bursts. If anything, the feeling of being watched, scrutinized, examined only intensifies, growing and developing until it starts to weigh on her lungs, crushing the air from them until she’s walking so quickly she’s nearly running, and she doesn’t care that people are looking at her now, because they’re not the ones she’s afraid of—who is she even afraid of?—and her heart is pounding so violently that she can feel it trying to escape from the confines of her ribs and can hear its every pump in her ears. Her head swivels, eyes scanning, always scanning for anything, any sign of real danger that could make her feel this panicked but finding nothing. She rounds the corner of a building at top speed—and stops dead.

She registers bright blue eyes trained on her own and red hair, but her brain can’t comprehend what she’s seeing. Who she’s seeing, standing only twenty feet away, watching her. Her stomach jolts, flips, tries to throw itself from her mouth and she doesn’t know what to do.

A huge group of people walk in front of her, disrupting her line of vision, cutting between her and the person who’d been staring at her, and Chloe knows she should run or turn away or something, but she’s rooted to the ground. The mob passes and Chloe braces herself but—the stranger is gone.

“No, no, no, no, where…” Chloe mumbles to herself, looking around wildly, searching for the bright eyes, unable to find them. She stares uncomprehendingly at the spot the stranger had occupied. Gone. She spins on the spot, getting even more weird looks from the students walking around her, but she doesn’t find who she’s looking for. The agitation in her chest is fading, though, draining away, and she knows that whoever she’d seen is gone.

With one more pivot on the spot, she catches a glimpse of Cynthia Rose walking past, headed in the opposite direction.

Relief floods Chloe’s veins, rolling through her and leaving her weak at the knees. She’s stressed and imagining things and Cynthia Rose will make everything better.

“Cee!” she shouts, voice cracking. “Cynthia Rose! Hey, Cynthia Rose!” Chloe calls, moving towards her, but Cynthia Rose doesn’t look up. She walks quickly and must have her earbuds in or something because she gives no indication of having heard Chloe’s shouts.

With an exasperated huff, Chloe starts to follow, intending to tell her all about her hallucination—it was most definitely a hallucination—but then Chloe’s phone vibrates in her pocket.

Distracted, she pulls the phone out and glances at the screen: call from Aubrey.

She looks up—Cynthia Rose has already been swallowed by the crowd—and answers the phone.

“Aubrey?”

“Hey! This is super last minute, but are you doing anything in, like, half an hour?”

“I—uh, what?” Chloe asks, still searching half-heartedly for Cynthia Rose but unable to spot her.

“I… asked if you were free soon?” Aubrey repeats, her voice turning uncertain.

“Oh, sorry, I was just… um…”

Chloe can hear Aubrey’s intake of breath, can sense her concern through the phone. “You okay?”

“Yeah. Yes,” she answers more fully, forcing herself to focus on Aubrey and Aubrey alone. “Sorry. Um, weird day. So, uh, yeah, I’m free!” There’s no way she’s going to her last class of the day if she’s hallucinating. “Why, did you want to talk about anything?”

“Actually, I’m in Barden!” Aubrey says, sounding happy and excited and so normal that it sets Chloe at ease instantly. “Had to run kind of a last-minute errand with the lodge, so I’m here and wondered if you had a sec to meet up for coffee or something.”

“Oh… oh, wow, sure!” Chloe exclaims happily. It’s unusual for Aubrey to stop in randomly, but she’d done it before, and Chloe can definitely use the company. “Where were you thinking?”

“Um, how about the Smiling Goat?” Aubrey suggests, and Chloe grins; they went there often before Aubrey had graduated, and she’s missed the friend-dates.

“Awes! I guess I’ll see you there in…”

“Twenty?”

“Great. I’m just on campus, so see you soon!” Chloe says before hanging up. The sound of Aubrey’s voice had completely calmed her down. With one last look around, she starts making her way toward the cafe on the edge of campus, only walking a little more quickly than she usually might.

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

Twenty minutes later, she’s seated across the table from one of her favorite people in the entire world. Aubrey sips at her usual hazelnut latte while Chloe admires the heart the barista had created on the surface of her caramel one. The warm drink in her hands grounds her just as much as Aubrey does, and Chloe feels more relaxed than she has in days.

“I’m really happy you were free this afternoon,” Aubrey says. “I’ve missed you so much.”

“I’ve missed you, too,” Chloe says, meaning every word. “And, yeah, I’m glad it worked out.”

Something in her tone must give her away; Aubrey narrows her eyes suspiciously. “You were free, right? No classes or meetings or anything?”

Chloe shifts somewhat guiltily.

“Chloe!” Aubrey gasps, scandalized. “Are you skipping class right now?”

“Just Russian Lit!” Chloe exclaims defensively. “I’ve taken it a ton of times already, so it’s fine!”

Aubrey shakes her head reprovingly, but she’s smiling. “Are you actually going to graduate this time? Since a certain someone is graduating?”

“For your information,” Chloe says flatly, “that someone has nothing to do with my graduation.”

“Uh huh. She’s single now, right?”

Chloe hesitates. “Yes, but—”

“But still an oblivious little hobbit?”

“Aubrey,” Chloe chides gently.

“What? It suits her,” Aubrey huffs.

Chloe hums. “For the record, I stayed because the Bellas—”

“Would have been fine if you’d graduated with me,” Aubrey says gently, reaching out to rest her hand on Chloe’s. “But I know you wouldn’t have it any other way. You know,” she adds, leaning across the table. “Sometimes, I wish I’d had the idea to stay, too. Or the guts,” she says, shifting back into her chair and taking another sip of her drink.

“I wish you’d stayed, too,” Chloe sighs wistfully. “We could have had so much fun.”

“I have the lodge,” Aubrey shrugs, rubbing at the corner of one eye. “Maybe the Bellas need some bonding time before Worlds?”

Chloe ponders that for a moment. “You know, that’s a good idea,” she says. “I’ll probably take you up on that sooner or later.”

“Definitely,” Aubrey nods. “Just let me know.”

It’s easy to talk to Aubrey like this, to fall into rhythm as if it’d only been hours since they’d seen each other instead of weeks. They’ve always been able to do that, and Chloe knows it’s a testament to the strength of their friendship. They talk about each of the Bellas some more—with Aubrey displaying far too much interest in Beca’s newly single status and what Chloe might do in response (“Nothing, Aubrey,” she insists)—and also about the Worlds competition in less than six months. Aubrey talks about work, Chloe talks about classes, and when Chloe’s phone chimes and she automatically reaches for it, they see that nearly two hours have passed.

“Oh, wow,” Aubrey sighs, “I should probably go soon before it starts getting dark.”

“Already?” Chloe asks, hearing the whine in her own voice but not caring. She feels safe with Aubrey there, and had temporarily forgotten all about the stress and worry of the last few days.

Aubrey hesitates, apparently sensing that something is wrong. “You okay?” she asks, her eyes flicking between both of Chloe’s. “You seem… I don’t know. But earlier on the phone things were kinda—”

“Just stress,” Chloe sighs. “I think my mind has been playing tricks on me lately. Maybe I just need some sleep.”

“What kind of tricks?” Aubrey asks, absently rubbing at her eyes again. Chloe wonders if fall allergies are bothering her.

“Um, nothing major,” Chloe says, shifting in her chair. She doesn’t want Aubrey to worry about her. “Just, like, seeing things every now and then. Probably just need sleep,” she says again in response to Aubrey’s raised eyebrows.

“Okay, if you’re sure…” Aubrey trails off. “But call or text me if you need anything, okay? I mean it,” she says seriously.

“I will,” Chloe promises. “Thanks.”

Aubrey studies her for another long moment before again checking the time. She glances out the window as if checking the rapidly darkening sky. “I really should go,” she says. “I don’t like driving through the woods after dark. It gets creepy.”

“Okay, well,” Chloe says, standing as Aubrey rises from her chair. “In that case, drive safe! I’m really glad we could meet up.”

“Me too!” Aubrey says, pulling Chloe into a warm and solid hug. “This was so nice.”

“Yeah,” Chloe breathes, squeezing Aubrey more tightly for just a moment. “I’ve missed you.”

When the hug ends, Aubrey picks up her purse—it looks new, Chloe notices—and says her goodbyes. Chloe hangs back, intending to use the cafe’s Wi-Fi to email her professor and make up some excuse for missing class. Aubrey waves at her just before passing through the door, and then she’s gone.

It takes Chloe maybe five minutes to type up what she deems an acceptable email; she hopes her professor won’t ask too many questions about a sudden bout of food poisoning. As soon as the email sends, Chloe slips on her jacket, grabs her bag, and heads out the door with a friendly wave at the barista.

She doesn’t get more than ten steps from the cafe before she again feels eyes on her back.

Steeling herself with a deep breath, she looks over her shoulder, but doesn’t see anyone.

She pulls her jacket more tightly around herself and keeps walking, flipping up the hood of her jacket. She almost immediately lowers it again; the hood restricts her peripheral vision, and she wants to be able to see everything. Just in case.

It starts to rain lightly, and she wishes she’d brought an umbrella. The chilly drizzle seeps into her supposedly rain-proof jacket, making both it and her jeans cling to her as she walks. The noise of the raindrops hitting the pavement around her sounds like footsteps to her paranoid ears, which strain for anything unusual.

Chloe picks up her pace, jumping when a gush of rain from a nearby gutter startles her. She can’t wait to get home.

“Hey, wait!”

A hand lands on her shoulder, scaring Chloe so badly that she makes some strangled scream, twisting around to face her attacker.

The barista from the cafe, already drenched from rain, recoils in surprise.

“Sorry!” Chloe gasps, knowing she must seem hysterical. “I—you scared me.”

“I didn’t mean to!” the barista rushes out. “Just—your friend left her umbrella at your table,” she says, holding up Aubrey’s purple umbrella, all wrapped up. “I saw it when I was cleaning. Though... it looks like you could use it,” she adds, eyes flicking down Chloe’s sopping outfit.

“Oh,” Chloe breathes, taking Aubrey’s umbrella from her. “I’m glad you spotted it. Thanks for bringing it to me.”

“No problem.”

“And, uh, sorry for… yeah, that,” Chloe says, waving her hand in the air in reference to screaming at the barista.

The barista shrugs. “No problem,” she repeats. “Have a good day.”

“You too,” Chloe says as the barista turns and jogs back to the cafe to escape the rain and return to her job.

Without thinking about it, Chloe unfurls and opens the umbrella, holding it up to counter the downpour. She’s still soaked through, but at least she’ll keep the cold rain off her. She pulls out her phone as she walks back toward the Bella house, hoping she can get to Aubrey before she drives too far out of town. Maybe Aubrey will even take pity on her and give her a ride home in the rain.

The phone rings three times and Chloe almost ends the call, not wanting to bother Aubrey while she’s driving, but then Aubrey picks up.

“Chloe? What’s up?”

“Oh, nothing, you just left your umbrella,” Chloe answers.

“What?”

“Your umbrella?” Chloe says, raising her voice to be heard over the rain. “You left it at the cafe just now.”

There’s a pause, and Chloe wonders if Aubrey still hadn’t heard her properly. “You left your—”

“Chloe, what are you talking about?” Aubrey asks, sounding concerned. “Are you okay?”

“What?” Chloe blinks, confused. “Aubrey, just now, when we met for coffee. You left your umbrella.”

“My… are you sure?” Aubrey definitely sounds lost now.

“Of course I’m sure!” Chloe says, that sense of disquiet returning, threatening to cut off her voice. “We—I was with you!”

Another pause, this one longer.

Chloe’s heart is once again beating uncomfortably hard. “You’re kidding around, right? Aubrey, that’s not—”

“Where are you right now?”

“I’m still close to the cafe, just walking home. You could meet me—”

“No, no, I mean—” Aubrey cuts herself off sharply.

Pause.

Chloe walks faster.

“Aubrey?” Chloe asks. Her voice seems very, very small to her own ears. “You were just here. Just now.”

“I… you said we met for coffee?” Aubrey sounds as scared as Chloe feels.

“Yeah! I—I just saw you. Aubrey, I just saw you.” Chloe’s pleading with her.

Aubrey takes a deep breath, one that makes the phone crackle in Chloe’s ear. When she speaks again, Chloe can tell she’s fighting to control her voice.

“Uh… Chloe, I’m—I’m at the lodge right now. At work. I haven’t been to Barden in… weeks.”

#pp horror week 2019 #HW193 #bechloe fic #my writing #chloe beale #beca mitchell #all of the bellas #horror #doppelganger #there will be mild gore later on #bechloe #pitch perfect

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