#ch: alan wake

[wondrouswendy]

Why Fictional CaseyWake Is Interesting

Back by popular demand (one person asking me to continue my essay), I will continue promoting my Fictional CaseyWake agenda. The Fictional CaseyWake tiger has escaped its cage (and is doing just fine, if a little tortured).

DISCLAIMER: While some of this post involves media analysis, I am not an expert by any means. I am just a fan interpreting things. Don't take what I say as gospel. Also, I am only working with canon presented to us through the video games.

Further, this post is not to discredit or attack FBI Casey/Alan Wake. This is just my way of explaining why this other version of CaseyWake is interesting to me. Don't come at me with a pitchfork.

As a reminder, this post was made with fun in mind.

With that said, this will be a much longer post than those I usually make, so buckle up buckaroos.

I. What's the Deal With Fictional Casey?

The Casey we meet in the Dark Place in Alan Wake 2 is not the same as FBI Agent Alex Casey. There are certainly parallels between the two men, they of course share the same name, the same face, the same voice, a handful of the exact same dialogue lines, but their perspectives on life, Alan Wake, and everything in between is extremely different.

In Abhi Jha's interview with Sam Lake, Lake describes how he decided to revive his love of hardboiled fiction through the Casey we see in the Dark Place. Alan has received visions he doesn't understand of the real Alex Casey which he has then interpreted and curated into becoming his own character named Alex Casey. At the time of this creation, Alan believes Casey came from his imagination. We later learn in Vision 02 that Alan was receiving visions of the real Alex Casey as his inspiration. In Lake's words, this is "an echo of Casey he has molded... turning the knobs more, going more into that hardboiled inspirations." He is a "fictional character coming to life" who is different than the "actual FBI Agent in Washington with Saga who does have similarities and potential of being pushed in that direction but not quite. More three dimensional. With real worries and all of that."

From this, we can extrapolate that Fictional Casey is an exaggerated version of the real Alex Casey and not necessarily a one for one copy of him. Fictional Casey's worries are therefore extremely different than his source material's worries. They live in two entirely different contexts and have vastly different people around them. FBI Agent Alex Casey had an ex-wife and currently has a partner he has a close relationship with. Fictional Casey essentially only has Alan.

Also, Fictional Alex Casey has a little hair floof whereas FBI Casey does not. Their wardrobes are completely different. FBI Casey prefers coffee as his poison of choice; Fictional Casey prefers whiskey.

II. Tropes of Interest

A. Hatemance/Enemies to Lovers

If you’re looking for a hatemance, the pairing has you covered given the whole “Alan killed Casey off for shock value” situation. There’s sex appeal in that alone, but I also think there’s this tender bond between Alan and his character which I will continue to go through later. Alan calls on Casey for help in the Dark Place later on. Maybe it’s on a subconscious level, but it’s certainly there.

In the QR code videos released by Remedy and added into the remastered version of the game, Alan brings up the importance of his character, Alex Casey several times.

In Vision 01, he describes how the Dark Place tapped into his "unconscious mind." Taking things and twisting them to ultimately create a mystery for him to unravel. He specifically writes, "I needed a detective to guide me. Echoes of Casey haunted me."

From Vision 02, he writes, "I saw visions carried by the ebb and flow of different dream states, they seeped in from the reality beyond, things I had a connection to but also things I couldn't possibly know. I used them in my writing to make it real so the parts that weren't would become so. And there were visions that I knew were not real. Ideas I had lost. Often of Casey. I had written about him for years. I use them as well."

In Initiation 2: Casey from Alan Wake 2, Fictional Casey introduces himself with no aggression. To me, in this scene, he is almost acting like a questgiver, an NPC you'd meet in a game whose purpose is to be the guide for the protagonist. There's no immediate malice. In fact, he sacrifices himself to the monster that threatens them.

Casey, who's supposed to be the hero in the narrative, is killed by the Dark Presence. Alan doesn't protect him. You could argue that Casey's final lines of dialogue in this chapter are a moment in which he's breaking through the narrative, implying that he's tired of being used as cannon fodder to protect Alan and to further him on his quest to escape the Dark Place.

B. The History Between Alan Wake and Fictional Casey

For six books, Alan exclusively wrote Alex Casey's story. I would argue that most authors do not stick with a character as long as this. Authors tend to write trilogies if they stick with one character. Often, authors tend to write a story with a character for the course of one novel and then in their next novel, they may shift that character to the background to let another character take the spotlight (this happens all the time in romance novels, for example).

For Alan to write six books worth of Alex Casey, he must have enjoyed it in some way. Something must have appealed to him. His character, the universe, the mysteries. However, something changed with Alan to cause him to not only kill off his star character, but to then proverbially shit-talk him during an interview with Harry Garrett (though the argument could be made that because this interview is shown in a dream sequence that it isn't necessarily something we can reliably trust happened in the real world; if this has been confirmed to be real canonically, please feel free to tell me).

You could argue that Alan killing off Casey in The Sudden Stop threw his marriage and his life out of control. Alan experiences writer's block because Casey's gone. Now this could simply be because the well of inspiration with real life Casey ran dry, because FBI Agent Casey's life had become warped because of Alan's novels.

Alan spends an undefined time with his character Alex Casey. Six novels worth and then thirteen years in the Dark Place. That's a lot of time together.

C. Hurt/Comfort, Angst, and Whump

Alan hurt Casey, personally. He killed him off. Not once, not twice. Several times. He sacrifices Casey over and over.

Casey's echoes in Alan Wake 2 are familiar to Alan. They guide him along to create suitable plots for his escape attempts.

Even though Alan has hurt Casey so much, Casey can't help but assist him with escaping the Dark Place. Even when Casey begins to question his existence, even when Casey starts breaking the fourth wall, he doesn't stop helping Alan.

This lends itself to juicy Hurt/Comfort, Angst, and Whump potential.

D. Alan Wake: Dude in Distress

The bodyguard trope. Casey arguably functions as a bodyguard to Alan in the Dark Place. Casey is always there for Alan.

I hear what you're saying. Is it because he has no choice in the narrative? I would argue no. He has a choice. We see moments where Casey questions his state of being, he breaks the fourth wall. He acknowledges his status as a fictional character as Alan leaves Zane's theater. He knows there will always be another case for Casey. he walks off into the night's loving arms and cheekily says, "Roll credits."

In my interpretation, there's a part of Casey that enjoys this life, fucked up as it may be sometimes.

E. Forbidden and Star-Crossed Romance

There is potential for forbidden romance between these two. After all, you aren't supposed to fall in love with your creation. It isn't real in the physical sense.

If Fictional Casey isn't important to Alan, if he isn't a threat, then why does the Dark Presence continue to kill off Casey? Why does it continue to separate them, as it does in Initiation 5 when Scratch takes over Alan's body to shoot Casey? It knows that Casey is Alan's guardian angel in the Dark Place. It knows that Casey has been useful in creating plot points to help Alan figure it out.

Further, there is the potential for no happy endings with these two. Of course, that could be a turn off for some and a delicious morsel for others.

F. Sexual Tension

In culmination, these elements of their relationship create sexual tension between Alan and Casey. There's so much potential in their history for romance. Charged moments in the Dark Place.

One could argue there's a will they/won't they moment in Initiation 5 - Room 665 when Casey is pinning Alan to the alley wall. Freud did say, after all, that gun's have phallic imagery. Take that as you will.

On a more superficial level, Alan can shape his fictional character to be his vision of the ideal man, the ideal partner. Or, conversely, his ideal fling. His ideal hot mess. Maybe Alan's version of the manic pixie dream girl is a hardboiled detective.

III. The Act of Creation as a Form of Love of the Self, the Creative Process, and the Creation Itself

Prepare yourself for a bumpy ride through my philosophizing. Sorry in advance. I'm sure others could dive deeper into these particular subtopics better than I could, but I want to just throw this spaghetti at the wall and pray something sticks.

A. Love of the Self

Loving yourself is hard. It's a platitude to say it, but it's true.

Alan and his character Casey do share some qualities. Depression, alcohol abuse. Often as writers, we do draw inspiration from ourselves to add dimension to our characters. Alan doesn't need to be a hardboiled detective himself to share similarities to his fictional character. Alan is destructive, angry, confused, self-loathing, and dysfunctional all throughout Alan Wake 1 and 2. Much of Alan's worst qualities are in Fictional Alex Casey.

In Initiation 5, as Casey lays dying from Alan/Scratch shooting him, he says,

"I was dead tired. I just wanted it to be over. It was all my fault."

Circling back to Alan's writer's block, arguably Alan being in the Dark Place is Casey's fault to an extent. Something happened to cause Alan to want to quit telling Casey's story. Perhaps if Casey had continued to be a source of inspiration, Alan would have continued writing his books?

Going back further, if Alan had never created Casey, his life could have taken an infinite amount of turns. But because Casey came to life through Alan's writing, because of their history, Casey feels some degree of responsibility for how events in the Dark Place have shaped up.

Continuing, he says,

"...I'd had this dark place in my head for so long. Sometimes I'd forget the pain was there. Like it was the way you were supposed to feel. I was not in a dark place. I was the dark place, the source of it all, the vessel. Me and the writer, we were the same."

Casey's final monologue in this chapter echoes sentiments Alan is experiencing. The overall metaphor of the Dark Place as not necessarily a physical or supernatural realm, but a state of mind. Some days are better than others. Some days, you're used to your pain that it feels natural.

This then relates to Fictional Casey's potential guilt. What broke down between Alan and his character to cause Alan to want to kill him off? Did writing Casey's story leave Alan feeling too depressed? Too gloomy as he tells Harry Garrett? Was it early signs of writer's block? A lack of direction?

Relating back to Alan, Alan and the Dark Place are largely one. He finds out Scratch is him. Scratch is Alan + the Dark Presence. Alan/Scratch has been the one haunting Alice, tormenting her. He is the source of it all.

Thus, there is a recursive relationship where Alan's self-loathing feeds Casey and vice versa.

However, there are positive elements of Alan's character in Fictional Casey and vice versa. Casey solves mysteries, he protects others, even at risk to himself. Alan has goodness inside him, but it is cloaked by his own self-doubt and self-loathing.

Alan so badly wants to be the hero all throughout Alan Wake 1 and 2 to save Alice (from the Dark Place and later Scratch), but he's struggling against his own narrative and the meta narrative at large. Fictional Casey is arguably the idealized hero-fantasy he has for himself, which is later realized when he sacrifices himself. He willingly goes back to the Dark Place to save Saga, her daughter, and FBI Casey from the Dark Place and its jailor, the Dark Presence.

B. Love (and Hatred) of the Creative Process

To quote a great tumblr post for the 100th time, the act of creation is like sticking your hand in a cylinder of irradiated water full of piranhas. At the bottom is a button, that when pressed, will give you the best orgasm of your life. However, the irradiated water is obviously toxic and the piranhas are constantly biting. In short, the act of creating something is a struggle. But when you manage to hit that button...

Ask any writer (and any creative person at large), there's nothing more enjoyable than being inspired and filled with energy. Writing a new story is exciting. It's often why people tend to have a backlog of WIPs, because sometimes creatives are always chasing after the next new rush of endorphins. Sometimes we fall in love with a universe, sometimes it's a character, an idea of ours.

On the other side of the coin, hating the creative process, I'll quote a tweet from one of my favorite Youtube video essayists, "I hate literally every step in the filmmaking process. The only thing I hate more than making a film is not making a film." Similarly, most authors state that the worst thing about the writing process is not writing.

Alan can't write because he has writer's block, and he has writer's block because he killed off his character, and he hates that he isn't creating. See the vicious cycle? He can't psych himself up for whatever new book he was supposedly going to write prior to the events of the first game.

C. Love of the Creation Itself

Even in Alan's nightmares, he has copies of The Sudden Stop stuffed into his car's trunk like that meme about the person who trips and has pictures of their senpai shoved up their sleeves.

Art is subjective. It's tailored to our personal experiences and vision. Alan (and on a meta level, Sam Lake) enjoy hardboiled detective fiction. Alex Casey is the realization of that love come to life.

Understandably, there are elements of this style of relationship which are not equal in power. We see these elements repeatedly with how Alan uses, yes even abuses Fictional Casey to further his own goals.

Yes, you could say that loving your own creation (no matter the medium) is masturbatory. It's self-aggrandizing. But loving something you put time, effort, blood, sweat, and tears just feels good. We as creators have a right to feel proud of our works.

IV. Interesting Parallels

I'm sorry to all my English major friends for the fumbling I'm about to commit with literary analysis.

A. Biblical

It wouldn't be a deep dive analysis if we didn't bring up the Bible. Of course I'm talking about God and Adam. Anyone creating their own original universe with their own original characters is playing God. Alan creates Alex Casey through the divine act of turning his imagination into tangible writing.

Will someone PLEASE draw Alan Wake and Fictional Casey in the vein of Michelangelo's The Creation of Adam already???

B. Literary

John Milton's famous lines from his work Paradise Lost:

Did I request thee, Maker, from my clay To mould Me man? Did I solicit thee From darkness to promote me?

Of course, Paradise Lost is an epic poem about the story of Genesis, but this stanza in particular, spoken by Adam to God can easily be applied to Fictional Casey towards Alan. Casey didn't ask for any of this. He didn't ask to be created, he didn't ask to become Alan's guide in the Dark Place.

I’m a sucker for Frankenstein by Mary Shelley so I regret to inform everyone we're bringing it up.

I think there’s some Frankenstein/His Monster vibes with this flavor of CaseyWake. I think there were moments where Casey resented coming to life, certainly much later on as he lives and dies over and over.

From his dying moments in Initiation 2:

"I remembered dying in this alley in a dream I had. He was just gonna keep killing me here, loop by loop. You're not gonna get what you want. You think you know. You know shit. You don't really wanna know. You're gonna get what's coming to you."

And then from Frankenstein:

"Remember that I am thy creature; I ought to be thy Adam, but I am rather the fallen angel, whom thou drivest from joy for no misdeed. Everywhere I see bliss, from which I alone am irrevocably excluded. I was benevolent and good – misery made me a fiend. Make me happy, and I shall again be virtuous."

Unlike his real counterpart, Fictional Casey has no one other than Alan. He has no friends, no found family. Arguably, even FBI Casey wants nothing to do with his fictional self. He is completely reliant upon Alan. I suppose you could say we the audience are his only true friend, as we function as voyeurs into his fictional life, much like Alan (but we seem to want to take better care of him than Alan does).

C. Mythological

Pygmalion and Galatea.

The Greek sculptor Pygmalion fell in love with his sculpture of a woman. He asked the goddess Aphrodite if his sculpture could become real, and somehow the goddess of love was like "yeah sure bud." The sculpture, Galatea, comes to life, and they live happily ever after.

(This is the part where I'll make a brief Weird Science shoutout since it's a somewhat similar premise).

V. Conclusion

If you have somehow made it this far, thanks for reading.

There are likely things I've forgotten that I wanted to talk about at some point. Maybe I'll have to make a part two if I end up remembering them.

Hopefully my essay will help inspire others to create fanworks featuring this particular version of CaseyWake. I would love to hear what others think, so please don't hesitate to share your thoughts!!

And finally,

[wondrouswendy]

This comic and the fic inspired by it were so much fun to work on together. The title for this comic/fic comes from the song Neon Nights by Dreamchaser. I'm convinced it's THE Fictional CaseyWake song. The first time I heard it, I knew it would become a huge inspiration for this pairing, and I've been slowly exerting my influence over Zath: more Alan looking hot and sexy in neon!!

And Zath provided in spades. I love this comic so, so much you have no idea. It's so well done, so beautiful. I love how Alan looks in the third panel, especially. He's so gorgeous, so slutty. A total temptress. I'm so proud of you Zath for drawing your first NSFW art. I hope there's more to come 😉

When Zath finished the panel with Alan, I had to write something for it. So I did, writing a scene from Casey's POV which was a refreshing alternative to what I've done in the past with Alan.

I hope we get to collaborate more in the future with comics!❤️

I always found it ironic...

@wondrouswendy and I collaborated on a Fictional CaseyWake short comic titled Baby Looks Good in the Neon Night. It's too spicy for tumblr, so here's a teaser featuring the first panel!

I am still surprised I drew this honestly. This comic started with one panel and grew into a longer story. I've always loved comics because they blend writing and art together. I am thrilled to have created a comic inspired by Wendy's Out of My Hands and Into Your Heart fic. CaseyWake is such a great pairing with so much angst but passion too. A writer and his creation, what more could you ask for?

Wendy wrote an accompanying fic to go along with the comic which you can check out in the link below! We hope you enjoy! Let us know what you think!

Read the entire comic and fic here on AO3.

[homelande-r]

cold case casey

[justicecaballer]

finally started alan wake 2 and i am DELIGHTED at how re2-pilled it feels

[wondrouswendy]

Thank you so much Tarphi for this wonderful piece of art! You captured the mood I was looking for so, so well. I love how romantic the scene is, with the moonlight peering through, the stillness of the church, just the two of them there at the aisle. Their clothes, the flowers, the pose, the smooch 😭it's so beautiful and just like how I imagined the scene.

This is a scene which may or may not be featured in the sequel to my fic Out of My Hands and Into Your Heart. This commission helped inspire me to write out the scene and finalize details for it, so I'm super grateful for that! ❤️

A cute Alan x Casey commission for @wondrouswendy <33 Thank you again!

[hebuiltfive]

Specter: The Discovery

Ch.3 - Zero Hour

The last chapter (for the moment) inspired by the prompt given by @idontknowreallywhy (which we finally get to here!)

Chapter One on Tumblr; and on AO3. Chapter Two on Tumblr; and on AO3.

AO3 link for this chapter here.

01:48

His fingers curled into velvet-like fabric. As he fidgeted and stretched, slowly waking up from his unconscious state, Alan realised that the fabric was covering his whole body, from his shoulders down to his toes. It reminded him of his duvet back home, only this fabric was so much softer.

Did Grandma put too much fabric softener into the wash again? She occasionally did like to go overboard. Alan allowed the memory of Scott lecturing her on wasting product, and Grandma’s following retort about him and his love of hair gel, wash over him like a warm ray of sunshine. He smiled to himself, shuffling further under the sheet and deeply inhaling the floral scent of the softener—

Wait a minute…

It didn’t smell like Grandma’s usual lilac and jasmine at all. It was more… chemical. Sterile. Plain. Alan’s smile quickly morphed into a frown, his happy little memory fading fast.

“You do not need to be afraid, Alan.”

The same robotic voice brought him out of his sleepy daze instantly. Blue eyes blinked open rapidly and Alan was blinded by the harsh white lights that surrounded him. Despite the Voice’s reassurance, he could feel his heart rate climb.

Noticing he was linked up to various machines, Alan realised so too could the computer.

“Please, remain calm.”

Still groggy from his slumber, Alan mumbled his retort. “Easy for you to say. You’re not the one who’s just been kidnapped by some crazy robot in a bunker on the Moon.”

“You have not been kidnapped.”

“No? Then what would you call it?”

Alan shuffled himself into a sitting position. He glanced curiously around the room, at the various other beds that lined the walls, all neatly made and crisply white. He observed the machines that were stationed beside his bed. They monitored his vitals signs and made soft whirring sounds, reminding Alan of an old fashioned computer’s fan. Wires connected him to the machine from his chest and his head with electrodes. He tugged softly on one of the wires stuck to his temple but whatever glue they had used was strong. There was no subtle way of detaching himself.

“Please desist from interfering.”

Much to his own surprise, Alan did so. He dropped the wire from his grip and glanced up at the white ceiling. He wasn’t sure where the Disembodied Voice was coming from, or exactly who the voice was, so he directed his next line of questioning to the pristine tiles above his head. “Where am I?”

“You are in MediBay—”

“Yeah, I kind of figured that one out already. I meant, where am I? What is this place?”

The Voice did not reply. For a brief moment, the only sound echoing through the room was the machine to his left.

Alan rolled his eyes. “Fine, if you won’t tell me, I’ll find out myself.”

He pulled back the covers to find that his uniform had been swapped with a plain, white hospital gown.

“Where is my uniform?”

“Your clothes have been sent to Decontamination Bay Three.” 

“I thought you already decontaminated me? You know, the… thing with the box?” Alan’s memory was hazy still, but he was certain he remembered the glass containment unit that had sealed around him, the whoosh of chemicals that led him to being knocked out in the first place. “Which, by the way,” He began as he swung his legs off the side of the bed. “I’m still not convinced wasn’t some sort of poison.”

“I can assure you, the decontamination process is safe for all human life forms.”

“Coming from you, O Disembodied Voice, that doesn’t necessarily make me feel any better.”

The machine beside him screamed when he peeled off the electrodes. Red lights flashed around the MediBay, bathing the room in an eery glow, a stark contrast to the pristine colourlessness of the area moments before.

“Please desist from interfering.” The Voice once again commanded, only this time Alan did not listen. 

He jumped from the bed and eased his feet into the slip-ons that had been provided for him. Alan ignored how snug the slippers fit, how they were the perfect size for him, and marched towards the doorway. The steel handles felt like ice and, no matter how much Alan tried to pull the doors open, they wouldn’t budge.

“Let me out.”

“I am afraid I cannot do that, Alan.”

“This is isn’t helping me feel less kidnapped, you know?”

“Zero Hour has commenced. It is safer for you to remain in the MediBay while Zero Hour is in progress.”

Alan sighed, pushing down both his fear and his irritation. “What exactly is Zero Hour?”

Again, the Voice remained silent.

Again, Alan tried the doors.

“It is no use, Alan. All doors have been sealed. Lockdown has begun. Zero Hour has commenced. Please wait while Zero Hour is in progress.”

“I need to find my brother!” Alan blurted out. He had once learned to never reveal all your cards to an enemy, and though he was still unsure exactly what the Disembodied Voice was, he was inclined to treat it as hostile until he knew better, especially now it had essentially locked him away somewhere. Yet, there he was, willingly giving the Voice his Achilles Heel on a silver platter.

Scott had to have entered… this place, whatever it might have been. There had been no other entrances or exits out of those tunnels that had led Alan here. His brother had be within these walls, and Alan was determined to find him.

“Which brother?”

“Let me out!” He resorted to banging on the heavy doors. “Let me out right now, else… Else there will be consequences, alright? John… He’ll come down on you so hard that… that… you’ll wish you’d never been programmed in the first place!”

Alan knew his threats were weak, that they were here, there and everywhere. They mirrored his current thought patterns — hazy and fuzzy. Try as he might, and he was trying very hard, the fear that was bubbling away simply would not be squashed, and every second he spent trapped in that MediBay, the harder it became to keep his breathing steady.

“John Glenn Tracy is no longer aboard.”

His brows furrowed and Alan spun on his heels, facing the room. “How do you know that?”

“I do not understand. He signed himself out at—”

“No, I mean my name, my brother’s name… How do you know so much about us?”

The Disembodied Voice’s elected silences was beginning to frustrate Alan more than he’d care to admit.

“Either you tell me what I want to know, or you open this door right now.” Alan ordered with an authority he hadn’t known he possessed. Being the youngest of five meant he rarely had cause to use such a tone, but he was glad to know he had the ability within him.

At first, he wasn’t sure if the Voice would respect the ultimatum. Then, the doors unlocked with a sharp click and Alan restrained from allowing his satisfied grin to show.

“Caution! Zero Hour has commenced! Advisement: stay inside. Caution! Zero Hour has commenced! Advisement: stay inside.”

“I think I’d rather take my chances with whatever this ‘Zero Hour’ is, thanks.”

Alan pulled the doors open and stepped out into the corridor beyond. Unlike the MediBay, which was still bathed in red, the long passageway he was now faced with was lit in a soft, warm glow. It was far more preferable.

Cautiously, Alan began to stroll down the corridor, leaving behind the Disembodied Voice and it’s repeated mantra.

“Caution! Zero Hour has commenced! Advisement: stay inside.”

02:06

The unending corridors had left Alan feeling disorientated. Then again, that might have been due to him leaving that MediBay too early. Perhaps there was something in what the Disembodied Voice had been advising…

Alan cast a quick glance over his shoulders. The problem with this bunker — for he had decided on designating this vast network of tunnels as a more advanced version of the one he had originally found himself in — was that it was identical. Cold, stone metallic-grey walls and soft, glowing strip lighting… If Alan came to learn that he’d been going around in circles, it wouldn’t have surprised him.

Occasionally he came across a door, but each and every one had been sealed shut. With no distinguishable features of any kind, it was easy to get lost inside this maze of hallways. There was no way of knowing what his current position was. He had no map, no compass, no… anything. He had been strolling aimlessly for what seemed like hours and now he was thoroughly lost.

He supposed he could have tried to raise that Disembodied Voice again, to ask it some questions and hope it would assist him, but Alan was not-so-secretly pleased that he hadn’t heard the robotic voice since leaving the MediBay. To say he was unnerved by the system was a vast understatement. The more space he got between himself and it, the happier he felt.

Symbolically, anyway.

He still couldn’t shake the unease he felt over the Voice knowing his name. Enough of his memories had come back for Alan to remember how the system had welcomed him back to the chamber when he had first entered it. How that was possible Alan did not know. There was no logical conclusion he could draw, other than perhaps the computer taking a DNA sample from the biometric reader he’d accidentally touched.

But that didn’t explain why the Voice knew John’s full name too.

What else did the computer know about him? What other data was stored away here that might be used against him?

Then there was the fact that the Voice had claimed that John was no longer on board. Perhaps this wasn’t a bunker, then. But what else would one call something so vast and underground like this?

Alan had picked up his pace at some point and was now jogging down the hallways. His toes gripped at the slippers, willing them to stay on his feet. The more he thought about this place, about the connotations of what the Voice was implying, the more nauseated he felt.

Time was meaningless when one didn’t have a watch to hand. Alan couldn’t have been sure how long he’d been jogging, but it was long enough for him to need a break. He stopped and leant against one of the walls in order to catch his breath, which, in itself, proved to be a difficulty. 

Breathing in and out, in and out… and he still felt like he couldn’t get enough air in.

Alan gasped for more oxygen.

It didn’t help.

He was spiralling again.

With his back against the wall, Alan slid down to the floor. He pulled his legs up and wrapped his arms around his knees, hugging them to his chest.

Nothing good will come out of anything if you keep panicking like this! Alan thought to himself, but he knew as well as anyone that trying to bury his fear would only make it grow more intense.

He reached for his wrist, where his communicator would normally sit, only to remember that he no longer had it on him. The Voice had taken his uniform to Decontamination Bay Three, or whatever, which made no sense to Alan whatsoever because how could the Disembodied Voice change his clothes…?

A cold shiver ran over Alan’s body.

Was there someone else ‘on board’? If so, why hadn’t the Disembodied Voice informed him? It could have been Scott, but Scott wouldn’t have been helping the Voice.

Unless he had no other option.

“Do you require assistance, Alan?”

Alan jumped out of his skin. He hadn’t been expecting to hear the Voice again so soon and, given his latest spiralling thought, he wasn’t sure it was welcomed.

“Do you require assistance, Alan?” 

The Voice questioned again, louder this time as if it thought it had gone unheard.

It made Alan wince.

“No!” He yelled at nothing in particular. “Leave me alone!”

“Zero Hour has commenced. I cannot leave you alone.”

“Can’t or won’t?”

“… I do not understand—”

“Forget it.”

Silence descended. Alan was sure he’d never felt so isolated. He knew the Voice was probably still lurking — had it been stalking him since he’d left the MediBay after all? — and he had his suspicions on there being at least one other person around if he didn’t count his brother, who he refused to believe would be helping the Voice, and that missing miner, of course, who Scott had been searching for, but still Alan felt deeply alone.

“Hey, Disembodied Voice? Are you still there?”

“My programmed name is Molly.”

Alan’s lips involuntarily quirked upwards. “We used to have a dog called Molly, years and years ago.”

“What is your request, Alan?”

Alan snapped back into action. “I’m looking for my brother.”

“John Glenn Tracy is no longer onboard.”

Alan nodded away the repeated line. “Yes, I know. You told me that, but I’m not looking for John. I’m looking for Scott. He’s just over six foot tall, has chestnut hair… He would have been wearing a similar uniform to the one that I was in but his had a grey sash instead of red. Did anyone like that pass through here?”

For a minute, it seemed like the Disembodied Voice — Molly — had chosen to remain tight-lipped once again. Then, presumably after searching the records, she replied.

“Scott Carpenter Tracy. Pilot. He has been taken to MediBay Seven.”

He felt a rush of relief. Scott was here. Alan wasn’t entirely lost. There was still a chance of finding him.

The relief was quickly overshadowed when Alan digested the news of where his brother was.

“MediBay…? But I was in the MediBay. There was no-one else there.”

“You were in MediBay Eleven. Scott Carpenter Tracy is in MediBay Seven.”

“Why would you split us up?”

“The risk of contamination was too great. Separate entries are treated separately.”

Alan pushed aside his frustration of having been so close to Scott without realising it. “Can you take me to him?”

“Visitors prohibited. Zero Hour had commenced.”

Alan scrubbed a hand down his face. “That isn’t what I asked. Can you take me to him?”

“Visitors prohibited—”

“If you talk about Zero Hour one more time, without telling me what—”

“—Zero Hour has commenced.”

Rising to his feet, and with a more noticeable spring in his step, Alan began to traipse back the way he came. “Fine! If you don’t want to help me, I’ll find him myself. MediBay Eleven can’t be too far away from MediBay Seven, right?”

“Warning: action discouraged.”

“Yeah, well, Tracys are stubborn. I will find my brother, Zero Hour or whatever be damned.”

02:37

Alan had been certain he’d been going the right way, that he had been retracing his steps perfectly, but he couldn’t even find the MediBay he’d been put in, let alone wherever Scott was supposed to have been. Maybe he’d taken a right somewhere when he should have carried on straight ahead, or taken a left too late? Either way, he was beginning to feel tired. He stifled a yawn as he slowed to another halt. The balls of his feet were aching, his legs thankful for another break.

Behind him, he heard the rustle of fabric. Alan span around to face whoever was approaching…

Only there was nobody in the great expanse of the corridor in front of him. He sighed in partial relief. Was he starting to imagine sounds? Or was that the ominous other?

“… Molly?”

“Yes, Alan?”

“Am I close to the MediBays?”

“Visitors prohibited.”

Alan groaned. “Why?! Why are visitors prohibited? What’s so bad about Zero Hour? What is it?!”

“Information classified.”

It was a better response than the eery silence that Alan was used to expecting when it came to Molly, but it still frustrated him.

“Classified by who?”

“On-duty Medical Officer.”

“Who is that?”

“Information classified.”

Alan squeezed his eyes shut. Maybe the eery silence was better after all. “You’re useless.”

“Feedback recorded.”

“No, it wasn’t…” He sighed, over-exaggeratedly in the hope that Molly understood his annoyance. “Alright, what about this? What if I tell you that I’m not trying to find Scott? What if I say I want to go back to my MediBay instead? I’m listening to your advice and I want to return to MediBay Eleven.”

“Take the next left. Follow straight. Turn right after three hundred yards. Take the elevator down to the fifth level. Follow straight. Turn left after sixty yards. Follow straight. Turn left after seven hundred yards. MediBay Eleven is named.”

Alan set off immediately, ignoring the pain in his calf. Whatever was causing his exhaustion, whether it was the time or simply the excessive exercise after being unconscious for however long, Alan knew he would need to rest soon. Perhaps going back to his own bed in the MediBay was a good plan. If he could nap, or even just take five minutes to himself on a semi-comfortable bed, maybe he’d be able to come up with a way to get Molly to help him find Scott after all.

02:52

He followed the instructions, managing to remember almost all of the directions without having to ask the thin air which way was next, and soon he found himself on the familiar floor of the MediBays.

Multiple.

He could see his own, still bathed in that red glow. It leaked out of the room and into the hallway, a diagonal line across to the other side of the corridor and highlighting one room in particular.

Seven.

Scott.

Alan disregarded Molly’s previous warnings, her previous orders of staying away, and dashed towards the door. He tugged on the handle, willing the door to open, but much like his own MediBay doors had been, Scott’s were locked tight.

“Caution: Action discouraged. Please cease trying to gain entry.”

Alan ignored Molly’s words, continuing his attempts to open the door.

Molly repeated herself and, as before, raised the volume. “Caution: Action discouraged. Please cease trying to gain entry.”

“Quit telling me what you advise and just open the door.”

“Caution: Action discouraged. Please cease trying to gain entry.”

“My brother is in there!” Alan yelled. Any hesitation he had in trying to keep his secrets to himself faded. He no longer cared. He was tired and he was hurting and he just wanted his brother. He sighed, shoulders slumping. “I don’t know where I am. I don’t know where Scott is. If I’m being honest, I won’t believe he’s behind these doors until I see it with my own eyes. I don’t know who, or what, you are. I just want to find my brother and go home. Molly, please, let me in. Let me see my brother!”

“I do not understand. You are home.”

He was too exhausted to question Molly over whatever the hell that meant.

Alan shook his head. “No. No, I’m not.”

“Information incompatible.”

“Molly, please open the door.”

“Negative. I cannot.”

“Oh, forget about Zero Hour, will ‘ya?!”

“I cannot open the doors to MediBay Seven. System overridden.”

Alan blinked, flinching when the doors behind him unlocked with a loud click regardless of Molly’s words. He pushed the door, opening it a crack.

“Action discouraged. Alan, I did not open the door.”

“And that matters why? You weren’t going to open it anyway.”

Disregarding Molly’s warnings, as he had done the entire time he’d been trapped within the walls of this bunker, Alan proceeded.

Compared to the corridor outside, it was dark. Shadows of objects were hidden within the shadows of the gloomy, unlit room. Alan stepped carefully. His eyes needed to adjust. He had to take it slow.

“Scott?” He whispered. “Scott, are you here?”

“Alan, I advise against this.”

Again, Alan ignored the voice. All Molly had been trying to do was hold him back. For all he knew, Molly could have been some evil AI, desperate to keep him and Scott apart for some reason. He still remembered the trouble EOS caused them a couple of years back, still had the occasional nightmares of being too late in finding John.

He wasn’t about to let his nightmares become a possible reality with Scott.

“Scott?” Alan called out again, a little louder this time. “It’s Alan. Are you… are you in here?”

“Alan, it is not safe for you in here. Zero Hour is still—”

Alan whirled around. The fear that had been harbouring in him turned into anger, boiling away in the pits of his stomach and erupting out of his mouth like he was Mount Vesuvius.

“Leave me alone!”

“I cannot, in good faith, do that.”

“What do you know about good faith? You’re a robot. You don’t understand.”

“I understand more than you currently do.”

The scoff was as brutal as Molly’s retort but Alan didn’t care. “Go and understand it somewhere else then, will ‘ya? I’m sick and tired of hearing your voice!”

Molly went quiet. Whether or not she had actually left, Alan couldn’t be sure. 

He didn’t care.

As his eyes adjusted to the dark room, he noticed there was an area that had been sectioned off. Walls topped with glass allowed him to peer in but, at this distance, Alan could make out nothing more than shadows. He approached cautiously, manoeuvring himself around an upturned chair and a machine that was almost identical to the one Alan had been hooked up to, which had been pulled out from its position by a nearby bed.

“Scott?”

Behind the section Alan heard a small whimper, like a wounded animal. He rushed behind the screen, his heart breaking at the sight of his eldest brother cowering in the corner of the room. Glass bottles had fallen from an overhead cabinet and smashed on the floor around him. The shards crunched beneath Alan’s slippered feet as he crouched beside his brother.

Scott was shaking like a leaf, staring at the far wall as though he’d seen a ghost. Alan reached out to grab his hands. They were cold to the touch, quivering uncontrollably beneath his palms. Alan gave them a squeeze and Scott’s eyes darted from the wall at the other end of the room to Alan’s. Blue met blue and Alan couldn’t recall a time he’d ever seen his eldest brother look so terrified.

“Hey… I’m here. I’m here.”

The questions about what the hell happened could be asked later, once they were out of whatever place this was. Alan couldn’t even recall the final missing miner that had led them both down that hole. He only had the capacity to worry about Scott.

He didn’t let go of his hands. No matter how much Alan tried to stop them shaking, Scott continued to tremble.

“Let’s get out of here.” Alan suggested, urging Scott to stand with him.

Scott shook his head, remaining in his seated position. “Alan… We can’t.”

“Why not?”

“Did you not see her?”

“Who? Molly? Nah, she’s just a voice. She can’t stop us from leaving.”

“With respect, Alan,” Molly chirped up out of nowhere, “it is not me your brother is referring to. I believe there has been a miscalculation in my data banks.”

Alan sighed. For the sake of his brother, he tried not to yell. “I thought I told you to leave.”

Scott’s hands were suddenly vice like around Alan’s. He tried not to wince. 

Footsteps alerted him to the newcomer. Soft clicks across the linoleum. Alan had suspected there was another there, helping Molly, he just never expected to see that face.

Her face.

The face Alan could only recognise from photographs and not from his own memory.

Her blonde hair, currently up in a neat bun, was darker than it looked in the pictures. Alan blamed the holograms for blurring the colours. He could see why people said John took after her the most. She had her hands in the pockets of her lab coat, smiling down at both of them as though she hadn’t been dead for almost fifteen years.

“Zero Hour is complete.” Lucille Tracy told them. “You’re both safe now.”

[braunbakery]

little sparrow

☞ jean kirstein x fem reader [ one-shot word count: 2.7k]

☞ sfw, angst angst angst, canon-verse

☞ plot: the world is ending, you are on a boat to your death, and your thoughts are of jean. (takes place on the boat to the hangar in marley season 4, managa ch. 131)

☞ inspired by little sparrow - alan dunham

☞ little sparrow

jean stands at the deck of the ship looking out at the surrounding ocean. you watch him from the other side of the deck. you watch the wind brush through his hair. you watch his jaw clench as he looks up at the trail of smoke the ship is leaving in its path. you watch him.

(you’ve watched him before. you’ve spent years watching him. most times he catches your gaze and shoots you a smirk. a knowing smirk, a friendly smirk, a pitiful smirk? you don’t know. but he looks you right in the eyes when he does it and that’s all that seems to matter to you.

“what you lookin’ at, huh?” he says, knowing full well it’s him. you huff out a smile in response, trying to cover up the speeding of your heart and the dryness of your mouth.

“nothing much,” you say, and he breaks out into a smile that makes you break out into a wider one. you’ve known jean for years, you’ve been through battle and war with him, yet in this moment you still can’t tell if he knows. if he knows the way your heart tugs in your chest when he breaks your stare and looks away.)

he catches you this time too, albeit this time is different. this time the wind is rushing through both of your ears, and even if he wanted to say something, you wouldn’t be able to hear him from how far he is. even if he wanted to say something, he doesn’t. he holds your gaze and looks at you solemnly, looks at you with the kind of exhaustion that makes you want to grab him and whisk him away from all of this.

there is no smirk this time. there is no joke quipped or cheeky smile. he stares at you and it would seem almost blank if you didn’t know him inside out. and then he nods at you (a slight nod, like it’s taking all of his power to do it) and goes back to looking ahead at the waves on the horizon.

“you okay?” a voice softly asks you, cutting you out of your thoughts. you turn to your left and find armin.

“armin, hey,” you say, and offer him a smile despite current circumstances. armin nods at you again, ushering you to answer his question (like you’d tell him the truth. like you’d admit that in the midst of this war and carnage and the end of the fucking world, you’re thinking about jean kirstein and wondering if he’s thinking about you. you’re thinking about jean kirstein and wishing his heart was aching because of you and not her).

“i’m fine, i’m just –”

“just?” armin cuts you off, interrupting your rehearsed response. just looking at the waves, you wanted to say. but you know that just as you’ve know jean for years, armin has known you for those years as well. and even if you haven’t been with them through the same thick and thin that they have all endured, he knows you enough to know that you’re still pining after jean in the wake of corpses and flames.

“…just,” is all you can say back. armin offers you a slight smile (pitiful, almost. you don’t want to be pitied).

“right.”

“and you, are you okay?” you ask armin. armin nods his head at you.

“to the best of my ability.”

“and…” you look back off to your side at jean, who’s still holding the railing of the boat and looking out at the distance, “how about him?”

“he was talking to mikasa earlier and hasn’t said anything to anyone since,” armin bluntly states. you refuse to make eye contact with him.

(the mikasa of it all.

the mikasa of it all is a simple yet utterly painful concept. no matter how much you train, how much you pour your soul into being better, how much you are there for jean, you will never live up to mikasa.

and you are there for jean in an amount that is almost poisonous to you. you watch him watch her pine after eren, you offer him words of support, and in the darkest of moments you offer him yourself.

“jean,” you whisper in the in the night. you both stand leaning against the walls of headquarters, having just come back from a busy day of basically being the backbone behind building the new paradis railway. the chill of the night is biting at your cheeks and fingers and you’re barely able to see each other despite the dimly lit lantern hanging from the wall.

jean’s nose is brushing up against yours, and his breath is fanning your cheek. you had just come out here to talk, to escape the chaos of dinner (you more so believe it was to escape mikasa trying to urge eren to finish his food, but this is something that you can ignore for now as jean softly holds your face in his palms).

“is this okay?” jean whispers back at you, and when you look up into his eyes they are already boring into yours and you’re almost entranced by the reflection of the flickering lantern in them. you wonder if you stare long enough would you be able to make out mikasa’s silhouette in his thoughts?

this is not the first time this has happened. where jean has snuck you away to talk, or to walk, or to on some occasions kiss. and each time you think you feel even more deeply for him and for the way he listens and laughs at what you say. each time you think you disregard the fact that he is secretly wishing you were her more and more. more and more until you simply will yourself to forget. you swallow.

this is all you will ever get from him. that’s okay.

“yes,” you respond.

he offers you a soft and almost fleeting kiss. )

armin nudges you.

“right, okay,” you say, basically mechanically. you avoid armin’s gaze. this is ridiculous. now is not the time to become jealous and insecure of this crush that has plagued you for much too long, and yet here you stand doing exactly that. at the end of the day, you are stuck on this boat until you reach the azumabito hangar. you are stuck watching jean and wondering what it is about you that is not enough for him to be agonising over you and not her.

“maybe you should go talk to him,” armin offers.

“no, i think he’d rather be alone.”

“it’s the end of the world,” armin says. annie slowly walks past the two of you and climbs back down below deck. armin’s eyes momentarily follow her until she’s out of his vision. he looks back at you, “no one should be alone.”

armin stares at you meaningfully, and suddenly your limbs are moving before you will them to and you’re making your way to the other side of the deck. to jean. he turns his head towards you as you approach him and you can feel your stomach tie into a knot. you’ve fought men and titans, and this is what is sending your heart racing.

“hey,” you greet once you sidle up to him. jean offers you a close-mouthed smile. tired.

“hey,” he’s looking at you.

“how are you doing?” you ask as carefully as you can, jean’s smile widens and you both know it’s not out of any rush of happiness.

he laughs sarcastically, “great,” and you feel stupid until he smiles at you again, a real one this time. one that comes from sharing this whole ordeal together, “how are you?”

“fantastic,” you echo a similar sentiment. he huffs out a short laugh and you’re both looking at each other.

out of the context of death and destruction and feeling the weight of the world on your collective shoulders, you think jean looks quite beautiful right now. his eyes are tired, he has scratches across his face, his hair is tousled and there are smears of dirt over his clothes – but you are captivated by this view of him and the ocean. you think it is the most solace you have been offered in the past twenty four hours.

“you know…” you’re suddenly saying, and jean’s eyes are flitting back and forth between yours, “you know you can talk to me, jean.”

jean nods slightly and curtly, sidling up closer to you in what feels like an attempt to make sure you know what he is saying is true, “i know.” he doesn’t break away from your gaze.

“okay,” you say, “just… just reiterating.”

he tears his gaze away from you and stares ahead at the blue once more, and then you hear a slight mumbling from his direction.

“…there really isn’t anyone else i’d rather talk to.”

lie.

(jean always does this thing sometimes. he lies without meaning to, without really understanding the depth of his words. or maybe he doesn’t really understand the depth of how well you know him.

you think he has a habit of saying what he wishes to be true, what he believes to be true through logic and deduction, but not what is actually true.

he’s supposed to meet you straight after dinner outside to go for a walk. it’s not that serious, you’re just hanging out because you’re friends. you’re spending time together because your friends – but unfortunately when it comes to him it is that serious. everything is always that serious and you’re stuck waiting under the same lantern he kissed you at outside (this has become some sort of regular meeting spot now. you wonder if it holds the same significance to jean as it does to you), stuck leaning against a shitty cold wall and wondering what’s taking him so long.

at first, you don’t care – not really anyway. jean is boyish in the way that he has the same boyish stupidity that runs through half of the male population of the regiment under the age of twenty one (even armin). he’s either still eating and taking his time because he’s forgotten, getting caught up talking to someone, or taking a shit.

you venture back into the warmth of headquarters to find him and you know once he spots you he’ll remember and excuse himself.

and you do find him, outside the entryway of the dining hall of course distracted by talking to someone. talking to mikasa. and you know he was on his way out because he’s at the entryway. and some twisted part of you is enraged by the hypothetical of him knowing that you’re being kept waiting and choosing fleeting conversation with her over meeting you. a part of you is enraged by the part of you that is enraged.

and a part of you is slowly sinking back into yourself, hiding in the darkest corners of your body and trying to hold yourself together. trying not to catch onto small snippets of conversation and compare your voice to mikasa’s, your mannerisms to mikasa’s and your flare for conversation to mikasa’s (maybe you need to make yourself smaller and softer and quieter).

and then jean catches sight of you, eyes widening slightly. he holds up his index finger and mouths two words, ‘one second’.

lie.

you feel almost out of your own body when you make your way back outside and wait for ten more minutes.

you know that deep down you are somewhat just a simple distraction for jean from mikasa. whatever he wants you to be, you find yourself already morphed into it. whether a friend to laugh at his jokes or someone to hold. someone to hold him.

that does not make the reminder of it hurt any less. )

“right,” you say, lips pursed.

“what?” jean asks, angling his head to look back at you.

“nothing.”

“oh, come on,” he’s elbowing your side, echoing images of him from when he was just a young cadet, “you can’t hide from me.”

and you can’t help almost laugh to yourself at the irony of that. hiding from him is something you have been doing for years. hiding the true extent of your feelings, hiding the parts of yourself that you think will scare him away (the jealous parts. the upset parts. the angry parts that wish you had never offered yourself to him. that you had kept yourself to yourself.)

“it really is nothing, jean,” you say, placing a hand on his elbow and pushing it back down to his side. you swallow, “compared to all this anyway.”

jean holds your gaze, thinking about your statement and then sighs.

“yeah, i guess everything would be.”

a comfortable silence settles between the two of you, as you both listen to waves breaking and the wind rushing past your ears. you both lean over the railing, eyes squinting as you look out once more. the view does not get old. you don’t think it ever will.

“i hope that with some miracle eren makes it out.”

your head shoots towards jean, and you can tell he’s trying his hardest not to meet your eyes. his jaw clenches and unclenches and his grip on the railing is tighter than necessary.

“yeah,” is all you can say back. you want to give him enough room to speak. to be listened to. even if it means you have to bury whatever it is you may feel or may want to say.

“and i hope we do too,” jean continues.

your heart sinks. the thought that he may not make it terrifies you even more than the thought of your own demise. it’s scary that you feel enough for someone to not even blink an eye at your own imminent death but feel your world may come crashing down at the thought of theirs.

“jean, i –” you’re suddenly blurting out, and the way jean’s head immediately shoots towards you cuts you out of whatever it is you were going to say. you don’t know what it is you were going to say, but it feels like it’s trying to claw its way out of your mouth.

“yeah?”

“i have something to tell you,” you pronounce every vowel and syllable carefully, trying to sound them all out in a way that soothes the way your insides feel like they’re caving in.

jean’s brows scrunch in concern and you can feel him gravitating towards you (which does nothing for your heart), “yeah?”

you can hear hange yelling in the distance and out of the corner of your eye you can make out the hangar slowly coming into view. jean follows your gaze and notices it too, but then he’s looking back at you as more people shuffle across the deck.

“i –” you try to start, but there are more yells. reiner stomps up the steps and onto deck towards hange.

“i –” it gets caught in your throat again as you make out mikasa’s dark hair blowing in the wind and walking over to armin.

jean, filled with sweet concern gently places a hand on your arm, and you wish you could disappear. you wish you could escape this feeling, this aching and this torment. you wish you had never met him. you wish you could be someone else. you wish you could be the perfect someone else for him, the one that is enough.

“i love you,” you blurt out.

you’re staring at him in shock at your own words and he’s staring at you like he’s trying to piece your words together over and over to figure out what they really mean. you swallow and swallow and swallow and your heart runs and runs and runs. there’s more shuffling all around you and suddenly everyone is above deck, chattering and planning and discussing.

but it’s still just you and jean alone at this corner and you can’t hope but pray for this moment between words to go on forever, so you never have to know his reaction. so you never have to plan how to go on after it.

jean’s hand moves from your arm as he now clasps your shoulder. like a comrade.

“i need to go.”

and he makes his way to hange.

you stand and listen to the howling wind alone.

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[idontknowreallywhy]

Estera Ch 7 - Gull

(Prologue, Ch 1, Ch 2, Ch 3, Ch 4, Ch 5, Ch 6)

(Sofasurf’s Recrudescence which is the foundation for all of this)

Scott paces, Virgil paints, John panics…

Another little warning for things discussed but not actually happening here. Some of Scott’s pondering is based on either my own experience or that of friends… sorry if it therefore seems ‘out of voice’ for him, but it’s where I think he lands at this point in the story.

✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨

The Sunday morning sun peeked cautiously over the horizon and cast a burnt orange glow over the water as Scott paced the length of the balcony again and again. He barely noticed the changing light, his focus on wrestling his own mind into submission… with minimal success.

He wanted to run. Run until he was too exhausted to think. That would help him get out of this spiral. But he knew he’d never back get past the puppy pile he’d managed to sneak away from when he awoke suddenly desperate to see the sky. He paused and pressed his face against the glass to see them still peaceful, all in wildly different sleeping positions and, he smiled affectionately, probably making the full range of amusing sleep-noises between them.

He’d not get away with opening the door again, not now the dawn chorus had started, someone would wake. And they needed their sleep. Fine. He was trapped here for the time being.

Unless he climbed down…

He peered over the railing down at the pool deck.

No, he couldn’t run if he broke a leg. And his brothers would probably panic and assume he’d been trying something silly. Sillier than climbing down a cliff face merely because he needed to adrenaline-burn some thoughts from his mind without an audience.

Predictably they were very worried about that. John had asked him outright last night if there was any ideation - a form of words that sounded very much like Patricia in risk-management mode. Of course she’d probably had a word.

He knew why he was asking, but it was hard not to shrug it off as a non-issue. Sure, he could admit wasn’t in a great place right now… but as he told her at the start of every session when the question came - his protective factors were rock solid. And they were the brothers he was responsible for. He wasn’t ever going to deliberately do anything to hurt them, they’d suffered enough loss.

As much as he wished his family had been left with somebody more… well… Everything… Scott was what they were stuck with and despite the darker thoughts he knew logically that he was better than nothing. He knew he couldn’t knowingly leave them with all the burdens his father had left him with. One of the more frequent questions he’d yelled at the horizon from the privacy of the far side of the island was why on Earth Dad had saddled him with so much ADMIN?

A gull screeched at him in agreement.

A wry smile. He could sort the admin. He was good for something at least. And, for whatever reason, they did love him, he knew that. They kept going out of their way to demonstrate it.

And Dad had had flaws, hadn’t he? More apparent in retrospect… but Scott still loved and missed him… so it stood to reason the others might miss Scott if he was gone.

No, no silliness.

Whether he’d ever be any real use again though…

He watched the bird wheel overhead and his heart sank. No flight for him for a while. If One was needed, Alan would pilot her. He’d made the decision before poor Virgil had been forced to. His brother had been through enough dealing with Scott’s mess and selfishness recently. He seemed exhausted, he felt a stabbing guilt, and John was little better.

The pacing recommenced.

In retrospect, switching off the comm for the flight home had been unwise. But he’d felt it best that the full range of military-schooled curse words he’d yelled into the void of One’s cockpit did not end up on the official record and could not be overheard by impressionable younger brothers. It had made sense at the time. But yeah, they’d assumed the worst and… he cringed… Virgil and John seemed to have been really freaked out by something else that he needed to get to the bottom of.

Yet another thing to fix. Typical Scott Tracy, number one impulsive idiot - why think it through beforehand when you can overthink it one hundred times after the event?

The seabird suddenly nosedived to plunge into the water. He stopped to watch. It emerged empty-beaked and Scott felt a twinge of sympathy. Better luck next time little friend. The gull seemed to shrug it off, flew out of sight and the useful distraction was lost.

His mind swerved unavoidably back to yesterday and the relentless back and forth began again.

She stared up at him, again, pale-faced and wide-eyed, clear as the fists he clenched in front of him, closer than his own skin.

It had to be her. He knew it was her and she’d known him. But what if it wasn’t? What if she had merely been one of the many other rescuees over the years? His reaction would have seemed so weird and inappropriate. There might be a complaint.

But what if it was her? That was worse? It was definitely worse. He felt sick as he realised he’d grabbed her by the shoulders in much that same way as that monster in the square had when… when…

Maybe it wasn’t her. Maybe he hadn’t recovered as well as he thought. He was just seeing her in the faces of random people. That had happened before, when he first got back he passed her on the street several times a day, she was serving behind every counter, brought the mail to their door…

Could it have been though?

It was. He knew it was as sure as he could be sure of anything. He’d seen her so many times, particularly recently when he’d been sick.

Before the sickness, he’d contained it all fairly well during waking hours. There were certain odd triggers he struggled to counter. The slightly blood-like scent of rusted iron for example, thankfully not a common building material these days, but when they encountered it at close range… for a few moments he’d be back there crouching behind the rubble, the fence pole in his hand resting slightly on the side of his face as he watched her defy the soldiers.

But the nights… So many nights he’d shouted again and again for her to run but the sound wouldn’t come out… or if it did, it was rasping and painful and too slow. Too slow. She had waited too long. He strained and struggled against the unrelenting arms holding him back as the thug with the combat knife barked an instruction, then turned and gave chase.

She hadn’t got far enough away, he’d known that truth for ten years.

He’d failed.

Then there’d been pain and darkness.

He’d regained consciousness in the tiny cell and the pain and darkness had only intensified… he squeezed his fists and eyes closed and sang the names of his brothers to himself under his breath. He didn’t need to go there.

That Place didn’t hold him anymore.

SHE did, though.

She was watching every time he failed to save another person. All the times he wasn’t quick enough or strong enough, he had apologised to the ghost of her over and over and over.

If she was alive…

If she WAS alive… it changed everything.

He had to know for sure.

He turned his back to the sun and gazed up at the fading morning star for a long moment. Then tapped his comm and whispered quietly “EOS? Can you do me a favour?”

✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨

It had been a quiet couple of days.

Alan and Kayo had completed one rescue in orbit and the rest of them had sat in the lounge assisting on comms. Scott had been a little quieter than usual, deferring to John on a couple of points where usually Virgil might have expected him to be more decisive, but it WAS a space rescue and that wasn’t entirely unheard of. Scott had never been space’s biggest fan.

Other than that they’d all done their own thing, mostly within reasonably close proximity to their oldest brother because, at least for Virgil, it was difficult to actually let him out of his sight. So he’d played piano, painted on the mezzanine, baked a couple of apple pies. Normal things he’d normally be in the communal area to do and not suspicious at all.

Scott himself was sorting some TI paperwork and, at one point, handwriting the little cards they tried to send to young rescuees within two weeks of the event in which they were involved. Many were drafted by a special department at TI, the actual Tracy involved usually just adding a signature or, in Virgil’s case, a tiny doodle. But Scott did like to make them more personal when he had the time so the only unusual thing was that it wasn’t being done at 2am the night before their posting deadline.

When a quick count had revealed 11 cards rather than 10 stood up to dry, Virgil had wandered past and casually queried it - they didn’t usually include the adults after all. Scott silently handed him the extra card which appeared to be addressed to “Alex’s Awesome Right Shoe” at which point the younger brother concluded that whatever the story was behind that, it could wait for when Scott was ready to tell.

Along with all the rest. Hopefully.

He’d even gone to bed at a reasonable hour which was rather more odd. Virgil felt slightly uncomfortable asking EOS to confirm he was actually in bed… like she was some kind of high tech baby monitor… but her assurance meant he felt able to retire to his studio to work on a project too messy for the lounge.

✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨

Shortly before midnight Virgil was clearing up in his studio when John popped up on the comm, looking serious but not in the usual way.

“Evening John, what’s up? Do we have a situation?”

His brother cleared his throat and appeared uncertain of what he was about to say.

“Virgil, Scott asked EOS to hack a couple of… databases.”

Virgil frowned and turned off the tap, spinning to face John’s hologram with paintbrushes still dripping, “What databases? Whose databases?”

John’s eye twitched. “The UK Home Office and the GDF War Archives.”

Virgil cursed as one of his more delicate brushes snapped in his fist.

“And… did she?”

“Of course she did, he’s the Commander. Honestly, Virgil, I’m beginning to think she listens to him more than to me. She’s certainly been chatting away on his direct line fairly frequently. Apparently he’s been answering some of her ‘modern historical and anthropological questions’” John’s use of air quotes somehow conveyed deep unease. “I have instructed her not to annoy him but he hasn’t complained. If I didn’t know better, I’d say she’d gone soft on him since he was sick.”

“Well it’s better that they get along, I suppose. But John, what are they up to? Why?!”

“She said she was instructed not to reveal the details but has interpreted that instruction to mean she can tell me the basics without detail. She’s quite proud of how quickly she got through their firewalls.”

John paused.

“Virgil, maybe you should put those down?”

He looked down at the expensive brushes he’d been mangling and flung them into the sink.

“When was this?”

“Yesterday morning, apparently. Has he been working on Tracy Industries material ALL day today?”

“Yes. At least… I assumed so? I try not to get involved unless it’s R&D. All I did was check in and remind him to go to bed at a sensible time. From what I could tell then it was mostly spreadsheets on screen. Didn’t he have a budget thing to approve?”

“No. That was last week. I’ll see if I can find out what documents he was looking at but...” John coughed awkwardly at this point and Virgil looked at him quizzically until he continued “I haven’t currently got EOS’s help because she’s powered herself down for what she called “essential self care and maintenance” so with one thing and another it might take me a little while. Could you go and check on him?”

Virgil wiped his hands on his jeans and sprinted from the room.

He paused and listened at his brothers’ door. Gentle snoring floated through the wood and Virgil’s frown deepened. His brother didn’t tend to snore unless he was sick? He pushed open the door and found himself unsurprised to find the room empty, his brothers’ comms unit carefully located in the centre of the un-slept-in bed and a sound effects track playing on loop. He swiped it off in frustration and was lifting his arm to call John when his brother popped up in a state of extreme agitation: “Tracy Two has just taken off. Comms are inactive.”

✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨

Chapter 8…

[sonicspacecadet]

#1 DAD MUG

A/N: enjoy this little north/sonic/kim (They're all together bc i can) gifting Alan a #1 dad mug on fathers day thing I threw together.

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

*Kim pov*

"We should go in here I've been wanting a new jacket,"  Sonic says gesturing to a little vintage shop.

"You're got it," North pipes up bolting to the door so he can hold it open for us.

We've been together for a few months now and decided it would be nice to have a nice shopping date where we walk around a bunch of small shops and just exist with each other. I started liking them when I was staying with Alan, they were just such a different energy than I was used to. They're always so lively and happy all the time and it's hard to not have it infected you too.

When we told everyone about our relationship they were all so supportive, though a little shocked that North and Sonic hadn't been together for a while and hadn't told anyone yet. I had been too honestly but what matters is we are all together now.

We walked around the shop together for a while before North got distracted by the wall of trinkets on the side of the store and wondered off. I stayed with Sonic helping him pick out some jackets. At one point he slips his hand out of mine to grab some bright green and black jacket so I slip my hand in his back pocket.

He gets the jacket half off the hanger when we hear North start giggling so loud it was like he's right next to us. We look over at him and he just waves us over.

"GUYS HOW FUNNY WOULD IT BE IF WE GAVE THIS TO ALAN!!" He shouts bouncing up and down like a kid who just ate a shit load of candy.

"TOMORROWS FATHERS DAY!" Sonic chimes in instantly matching his energy.

"We could get him a card too," I add while I set my elbow on Norths shoulder.

"YES!!" they both shout.

After that's settled we walk around the shop and pick out a few more things before I pay for it all and we head home.

-------------------------------------------------���---------‐-------------------

*the next morning*

*Alan's pov*

"Wake uuuuppp," I barely hear some voice call for me as I'm shaken awake. After recognizing Norths voice I ignore him and tuck my head into Jeff's neck.

Unfortunately he doesn't get the signal and continues pestering us or should I say me, he's leaving Jeff alone. I look at the alarm clock and see it's 9:30 which is later than we are usually up but we didn't have to be at the garage until the afternoon so we wanted to sleep in.

However it doesn't seem like I get to be granted that wish today. I prop myself up and see North, Sonic, and Kim sat up and snuggled at the end of the bed.

"What is so important that you couldn't wait until work?" I ask them. By now Jeff has also stated to wake up but still leans on my shoulder from drowsiness.

"So rude we come here to bring you A PRESENT and this is how you treat us," North places his hand on his chest to mock offense.

"You could have at least knocked."

"To be fair I knocked one time and you acted like I had three heads," Kim inputs.

"You know when you three got together I thought you would reign those two in a bit and calm them down. I miss those days."

"Get over it and open your present," Sonic says shoving a bag at me.

First thing I pull out is a "#1 dad mug" under it I see a cheesy card with an ice cube on it that says "ur a cool dad" with all their names signed in it. I hate to admit it but it was so cute I got over the fact that they woke me up just to mess with me.

"IM NOT YOUR DAD!!" I say throwing the now empty bag at them.

"You kind of are," Jeff says now that he's fully awake.

"You do realize that makes you their step dad."

"I can live with that."

"Anyway we have brunch reservations so we need to go," Kim says and they all tackle us in a hug and run out the bedroom door.

The last thing I hear is them shout "love you dad" before the front door closes.

"You act all annoyed but you know if you ever had to go week without their chaos you wouldn't know what to do with yourself. You absolutely adore them and their mischief as much as they love you and pestering you. Anyway I'm going to shower," Jeff says before kissing me on the cheek and heading to shower.

He's right but honestly I don't mind I love this family I have around me and wouldn't change a thing about it. I wipe away the tears that started building in my eyes before propping the card up on my bedside table and going down to make breakfast.

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

*some morning a couple weeks later*

"Wow Alan you're really leaning into the whole dad friend thing aren't you?" Babe teases gesturing the the mug North, Sonic, and Kim gave me as I fill it with coffee. Everyone's over for our monthly movie night a tradition started as a way to relax after everything with Tony.

"AWWW you use the mug we got you, you do love it," North taunts from the couch.

"He uses it every day," Jeff adds from beside me.

A chorus of "awww"s sounds from the living room and I shoot Jeff a playful glare.

"And he keeps the card on his bedside table."

I swear they all drive me crazy I think and smile to myself.

[loopstagirl]

Slippery Slope, Ch 4

Virgil smiled before he even opened his eyes. It was the first time in weeks he'd woken on his terms, not a brothers' – and not just the younger ones. Scott was taking his Field Commander role seriously, and didn't think there was time to sit around. Virgil personally thought they should get all the rest they could.

He was warm and cosy, basking in the knowledge he'd been allowed to sleep in.

That made him frown. It was great, what he wanted, and so out of the norm for his family that he couldn't trust the quiet.

With a long-suffering groan, Virgil wriggled free of the duvet and dressed. It was too cold to wander around in anything less than six layers.

He didn't even make it down the hallway before deciding neither Gordon nor Alan were in the house. It wasn't physically possible for them to be here, and not be heard. It made Virgil relax a touch, no longer expecting something to jump or fall out of every door he passed.

The smell of coffee led him to the kitchen. A pot was being kept warm and Virgil thanked John under his breath. If it had been Scott's doing, there wouldn't be nearly as much left. He poured out a mug and jumped up on the worktop. Cradling his drink in both hands, Virgil blew on it as he thought back to the previous evening.

It had taken a while to wake Scott. Virgil vehemently denied it'd taken as long to wake him. While the sleep had helped and Scott had sobered up a little, it hadn't taken Gordon long to realise the true state of his oldest brother.

After that, it was sheer entertainment. Scott tried in vain to act like he was fine. He apparently hadn't noticed their dad's smirk, a clear indicator he'd guessed. While their grandmother didn't give anything away, Virgil knew there was no fooling her. Scott didn't help matters when he'd almost fallen off his chair and then tried to cover it up.

At least by the time the five brothers had returned to their own chateaux, Scott had been able to walk in a straight line. A solid meal and a few cups of coffee had helped. It had still taken both Virgil and John to get him into bed, though.

Virgil smiled at the memory. While they had come here to test equipment, moments like that were more precious. Once operations were up and running, who knew when they'd have time for that. Scott certainly wouldn't be getting drunk.

Finishing his coffee, Virgil slipped off the counter and looked out the window. It was late morning: no doubt the others were at the slopes. His board was missing. Gordon hadn't said anything the evening before and Virgil had followed his lead; Gordon wouldn't want the others knowing his back was given him grief.

He left his mug in the sink and headed towards the bathroom to clean up. Then he stopped and walked backwards down the corridor, pausing when he realised what had caught his eye. He was level with Scott's door: Scott's closed door.

But the only time he kept his door shut was when he was asleep. It had stemmed from childhood and wanting to always be accessible to his little brothers. Virgil couldn't remember the last time he'd seen Scott's door shut during the day, even on vacation.

Virgil frowning, glancing up and down the hallway. No one miraculously appeared to give him an answer. He lifted his hand to knock, lowered it, lifted it, then swore and edged the door open. The room was in darkness, the curtains still drawn, but Virgil could hear steady breathing.

"Scott?"

He'd seen Scott drunk before, and the man had still been up at the crack of dawn to run it off. Although Virgil guessed the deep powdery snow put a stop to that.

He smirked at the answering grunt.

"Time to rise!" he called in a sing-song voice, overly cheerful for this time of day. But this was his chance for payback for all the times Scott had pulled him out of bed. While his brother had literally tipped him out before, Virgil wasn't feeling brave enough to push his luck that far. He did intend to survive this trip.

He crossed the room, not bothering with the light. Scott was a stickler for neatness; Virgil didn't fear stubbed toes. He reached the window and flung open the curtains with a flourish. The skies were clear blue, the sun reflecting off the snow and making Virgil blink at the brightness.

There was an inaudible mutter from behind him.

"Didn't quite catch that," Virgil laughed, hooking the curtains back. He wasn't faking it. His own lie-in meant he felt more awake than he'd done in days.

Scott's words were audible this time.

"What would Grandma said?" Virgil chuckled. "That sort of language in front of a little brother."

A hand stuck out from under the duvet and Scott's gesture matched his words.

Virgil crossed the room and perched on the edge of the bed.

"So?" He said, still sounding far too cheerful. "How're you feeling?"

A pair of eyes glared blearily at him over the top of the covers. Then Scott promptly pulled them up over his head without a word. Virgil decided to take pity on him – just a little, anyway. Scott's movements had almost dislodged him from the bed as it was and he stood up, moving back to the kitchen. He returned a few moments later with a glass of water and a couple of painkillers.

"Here." While his tone was quieter than before, it wasn't softer. Not only was this far too entertaining, but Scott had also brought it on himself. Virgil was going to make the most of it.

He did, however, retreat to the far side of the room. He wasn't sure he wanted to be in reach. If this was what Scott was usually like before a run and three cups of coffee, Virgil was glad his brother was (nearly) always up before him.

A groping hand found the items, although Scott nearly upset the glass of water in the process. He emerged from under the covers again so he could take the tablets. Virgil frowned. He was certain that they'd dumped Scott in bed fully clothed and already nearly asleep, but somehow, his brother was now topless.

His face was pale, eyes sunken and red. It was a far cry from the decorated Air Force pilot Virgil was used to seeing and he couldn't help but smile softly.

"Human after all," he muttered.

Scott struggled for a moment before managing to push his pillows upright and slumped back against them, groaning.

"Thanks." Even his voice was hoarse.

Virgil nodded, then looked out the window. "You don't want to build a snowman, do you?"

"Huh?" Scott's expression was entirely blank. Whatever he remembered from the night before, it wasn't that. It gave Virgil hope that he and John had got away with throwing him in a snow drift.

"Do you really think you should be able to do everything?" he suddenly asked on impulse. Scott had let his defences down last night, but Virgil was curious whether they were back up yet.

"No one can do everything," Scott mumbled, keeping his eyes open long enough to shoot Virgil a puzzled look before closing them again.

"I'm getting breakfast," Virgil said, taking a step towards the door. "Want anything?"

Scott went paler than before as he shook his head. As Virgil reached the door, his brother called him back.

"What's the time?"

Virgil checked. "Just gone 11."

It really was the perfect time to have only just got up. Scott looked alarmed.

He grasped for the covers, preparing to shove them off. Virgil's life flashed before his eyes.

"Wait!"

Scott stared at his yelp.

"What?"

"You've got something on, right?"

He really couldn't face being scarred for life if Scott had lost more than his top overnight.

Scott thought for a second, then glanced under the quilt.

"We're good."

He made it out of bed, which impressed Virgil given his complexion. Scott was dressed in an old pair of running pants and grabbed a thick sweater as soon as he was upright. Virgil was impressed Scott had come round enough to even think of getting changed the night before.

His brother yawned, dragging a hand through his hair.

"I'm not sure I've ever got up this late," he admitted. Virgil believed him: even as a teenager, Scott had never done well at sleeping in. Then again, four younger brothers might have had something to do with that.

"It's the perfect time," Virgil said happily. He led the way to the kitchen, passing Scott a coffee even as he set about toasting some bread. Despite his grumbling stomach, he gave his brother the first batch, figuring it might take a while. Sure enough, Scott initially shook his head, but it didn't take long before he started to pick at it.

They fell into an easy rhythm, both getting through two rounds of toast. They'd been back under the same roof for a couple of months, but it'd surprised Virgil how easily they'd fallen into new routines. He'd been a child when Scott had moved out and, apart from the odd vacation, they hadn't lived together properly since.

But it was as if that had never happened. Virgil enjoyed the chance to sit and chat with his big brother without anyone else demanding attention. Even Brains seemed to make contact at regular intervals these days as designs progressed and more input was needed.

Food and coffee brought the colour back into Scott's face. It was almost lunchtime when he looked at his watch, blanched, and headed for a shower. Virgil dutifully cleared up the kitchen, but then toppled onto the sofa, snagging a sketchbook as he did. He flipped it open, pencil in his hand as he continued the shading of a previous drawing.

He could've stayed there all day but his family had other ideas. When Scott reappeared, he was pocketing his cell.

"Get dressed," he said. "Dad wants us altogether for lunch.

Virgil knew better than to argue. Promising his picture he'd return later, he got up.

Scott seemed to be back to (almost) normal as they trudged through the fresh snow to the other accommodation, both speculating what the man wanted to talk about. For such a short walk, they managed to come up with some wild theories. Which was saying something given the last surprise their dad had sprung.

John was storing his skis when they arrived.

"How you feeling?" John asked innocently. Virgil chuckled at the glint in his eye even as Scott rolled his own.

"I'm fine," Scott said.

"Doesn't remember wanting to make a snowman," Virgil said. It was the only way he could tell John that they were off the hook: Scott didn't remember them throwing him in a snow drift, either. John winked, understanding.

But it didn't go unnoticed.

"What am I missing?" Scott said, looking between them.

"Nothing." Virgil headed inside before Scott could ask anything else. He'd always been rubbish at lying to him.

Gordon had beaten them there. He had his legs dangling over the arm of the chair, and his flushed cheeks gave away a morning out in the cold air.

"Good time?" Virgil asked, taking the chair opposite. Gordon's posture told him enough; he wouldn't have been able to sit like that the day before. Gordon turned to face him properly, dropping his legs.

"Everything I ever said about you wanting a snowboard? I take it back."

"She's a beaut, isn't she?"

Their two big brothers went to get coffee. John because he was cold; Scott because he was Scott. Virgil chatted to Gordon about his morning on the slopes. Their dad appeared, frowned when he saw he was missing a son, then disappeared again.

Alan didn't leave them waiting long. Virgil swore the entire building shook when the door slammed open. His brother appeared, eyes shining, face flushed, and a grin on his face. The same level of contentment radiated from TinTin as she entered behind him, still holding Alan's hand.

"Where've you two been?"

There was no way Alan had spent the morning failing to ski.

"Down in the valley," Alan said. Unless Virgil was mistaken, there was a smug tone in his voice. "They've got the best concealed hot spr-,"

"Shopping," TinTin blurted out. She slipped her hand from Alan's, crossing the room to hang up her coat. Alan gaped after her, nonplussed, then looked around. TinTin had seen what he hadn't. Kyrano, entering the room, his own dad just behind him.

Gordon laughed.

"Sorry," he said when Alan glared at him, "something in my throat."

He gave a false cough. Virgil looked away, hiding his own smirk. No wonder the two teenagers didn't want their fathers knowing they'd spent the morning together at some secluded hot springs.

"Quite some cough, kiddo," Scott said with a grin. Gordon's answering smile was sickly sweet.

"How's the head?" he asked, far louder than necessary. Scott didn't rise to it.

"Not as big as yours."

"Thicker, though."

"Alright, boys." Their dad cut in, crossing the room, and taking the final armchair. Scott and John took the sofa, leaving Alan to pull around a dining room chair.

Silence fell as Jeff sat down. Virgil looked around his siblings; they all had the same look of anticipation on their faces that he felt.

"We came here for a break," their dad began. "But we all know that if we want to be operational by the end of the year, we need to keep tests running. The cold weather gear seems to be doing well-,"

"No complaints," Gordon interrupted.

"Speak for yourself," John said. He was cradling his mug as if his fingers would fall off if he didn't. Too much time spent in controlled environments meant extreme temperatures always got to John.

Their dad silenced them with a look.

"What've we got?" Scott said. He was sitting bolt upright, alert and poised. If he felt any of last night's repercussions, he was hiding them well. The thrill of talking about their future business was a good hangover cure.

Their father looked around, meeting each of their eyes', letting the suspense build. As Alan opened his mouth, the man spoke.

"Motorised jet-packs."

"Cool!" Alan exclaimed. He exchanged an excited look with Gordon while John suddenly sat up straighter, mirroring Scott's position.

"They're motor-powered, not fuel," Jeff continued. "Not the fastest, but they're strong. Wearing one will allow you to ski uphill, for starters. It also has the power of a small car, assisting with moving heavy equipment where necessary."

"We're not going to be shifting stuff by hand," Virgil said. Then he glanced at his brothers. "Are we?"

Scott shook his head. "An easy way to move uphill in these kinds of conditions will be good though. We'll need somewhere secluded to test it."

Virgil could tell that Scott had switched into his new role of Field Commander. It was something in his posture.

"Already taken care of," their dad confirmed. "The fact it's not peak season meant a generous donation to the rescue teams got us an exclusive space."

"You've bought a mountain?" Gordon said. He sounded impressed.

"No, I've hired-,"

"He's bought a mountain," Virgil agreed. An exasperated look crossed their father's face, but Scott spoke first.

"Guys."

They both settled back again.

"How many prototypes?" John asked, steering the conversation back again.

"Only two," Jeff admitted. "Brains needs one. The other…"

Trailing off, Jeff looking around his sons. He first looked at Scott, who sighed.

"I can't even go downhill," he said, glumly.

Virgil looked away, hiding a grin. He knew that had cost his brother to admit that, especially in front of Gordon and Alan.

Alan spoke next. "Neither can I."

"Can't believe I'm saying this," Gordon chimed in. "But count me out."

That was another confession that would've cost a brother. Virgil caught Gordon's eye and gave a small smile. Gordon shrugged, trying to act like it didn't bother him, but Virgil knew better.

They all loved testing the equipment. But if the pack didn't work as expected, Gordon couldn't afford to pay the price.

Their dad looked between Virgil and John. "Up to you two, then."

"Virgil, obviously," Alan scoffed. They all looked at him, and he shrugged. "No one's even seen John on the slopes. Probably hiding in some bar with a book instead."

"More Scott's style," Virgil murmured, just loud enough to be heard. "Only without the book."

Scott shot him a look, but then smirked. "Better the bar than the hot springs."

Their father held up a hand before Alan could respond.

"It's your call, boys. Which of you want it?"

Virgil looked at John.

"You take it," John said. "Just let me look at Brains' circuitry before you burn it out."

"I don't short-circuit everything!" Virgil protested, flushing. Just because he had a track record…

"Just control panels," Scott said.

"The communicators' wiring."

"Those engine components."

"Okay." Virgil held up his hands in surrender. "They weren't my fault, and you jerks know it."

The trouble with testing prototypes was that they weren't always ready.

"The coffee machine was, though." John said.

Virgil winced. "Yeah, fair," he admitted, "that was my fault."

"I knew it!" Scott glared at John. "You made me think-,"

"I never said it was your fault," John said. "I just let you believe it."

"Thanks," Virgil said, touched. John winked. He'd been terrified Scott would find out he was the reason why coffee wasn't an option for a couple of days.

"Any time."

"Are you quite finished?" Despite their dad's tone, there was a sparkle in his eye.

Virgil once again looked at John.

"Finished," they said in unison. Gordon laughed and Scott shook his head, half-fond, half-exasperated.

"It's agreed, then? Virgil will take the second jetpack tomorrow. Prototype rules only, son. No heroics; no trying to break records; and for goodness sake, no listening to whatever your brothers suggest."

"Agreed," Virgil said, drowning out his siblings' protests.

His dad stood up. "Tomorrow morning, then. Your grandmother wants to go into the village in the afternoon."

He didn't look thrilled at the thought, but they could hardly leave her sitting in the châteaux for the entire vacation.

"Al may have recommendations," Gordon said innocently.

Their dad glanced at Alan's flushed face and shook his head.

"I don't want to know," he said. As he moved away, Virgil was certain he was repeating that mantra.

"Plans for this afternoon?" John said, heading off Alan's retort before he could utter it, ever the peacemaker.

"Coffee," Scott groaned. His entire posture slumped now their father was out the room. "Lots of coffee."

Virgil chuckled. "I've got a sketch I want to finish."

His dad would have him testing the pack all morning. Then his brothers would likely want a second-by-second account in the afternoon. Virgil didn't think there would be much time to himself the following day.

John and Gordon exchanged looks.

"What?"

"Where one goes…"

"… the other follows."

"We do not!" Virgil was not staying off the slopes just because Scott wasn't going up.

"Do we?" he added, glancing at Scott.

"We don't," Scott confirmed.

"Yes, you do." Alan, Gordon, and John all spoke at once.

"I'm going to help Grandma," Scott said. No one spoke before he was out of the room.

"Bets on his excuse for falling off his chair last night?" Gordon said with a grin.

"I'm not sure he even remembers," Virgil said. He uncurled his legs, stretching his toes towards the heater. "But if it gets us off washing up for a week, then that's good by me."

What were brothers for, if not to get him out of chores occasionally?

FF.Net ->

[wondrouswendy]

So me and @rangerzath decided to make Alan and Casey in WoW. Why, you ask? Because we love these characters so much, and if they can exist in Dead by Daylight and Fortnite, why can't they can exist in World of Warcraft 😊.

Speaking of which, we're in the top ten of our server. We pugged our way to AOTC for this tier (though poor Zath/Casey hasn't been able to get the legendary 😭). We've also been pushing M+. Also you're probably wondering why I put Alan in a mini skirt. The answer is: why not? He deserves to look pretty.

[8bitsupervillain]

Higurashi When They Cry Hou Ch. 7 Minagoroshi pt. 18

Should I refer to these as Watanagashi hijinks, since it’s after midnight and all? Guess that’s the age old question isn’t it, is it actually a new day when twelve midnight rolls around? Or is it only a new day when you go to sleep and wake up?

Considering their plan is literally called Operation Doomsday what really does it matter if the time of death for Miyo Takano doesn’t quite add up? I wonder why the people in charge of the research into Hinamizawa Syndrome decided Tomitake had to die? Was it just a cover so they could pin the suspicion on Irie and the Irie Clinic, or was there some deeper motive to taking him out? Is it really just the rogue element of those in charge of the entire operation, financially and otherwise, just decided they wanted to take out members of the other faction? Such speculation unfortunately will have to remain that way for the foreseeable future, I don’t recall if they ever bring up Tomitake, and the motives behind his death for the remainder of the chapter.

I also don’t know if they really delve into what the eighteen specific classified documents Takano was meant to secure are. I think it’s fair to assume that they’re to do with the research into Hinamizawa Syndrome that she and Irie had compiled in the years they’d been running the institute. But again I’m not sure if they ever really go into specifics in this chapter. I think it’s just the body of research they’d made over the past few years, but I don’t remember specifically at the moment.

Since the Mountain Dogs/Takano are responsible for propagating the myth of Oyashiro I do wonder if this means they are the ones responsible for the disappearance of Satoshi. Also if they’re the ones behind it all, does that mean that they actually killed Tamae Houjou? It stands to reason since Takano at the very least is behind trying to spread the legend of Oyashiro that would explain how Rika’s dad died of a “mysterious disease.” She mentions when she injected Tomitake that there’s a chance at the highest levels of infection with H173 that he could become disabled for life. It doesn’t necessarily mean that it’s a terminal infection that shuts down one or more major organs, but there’s a chance that’s what it could do.

My theory now is that Takano, and the Mountain Dogs, are responsible for at least three of the five years worth of Watanagashi killings/disappearances. There’s proof that the first killing was just a drunken argument that escalated far beyond reasonability. The only year I’m not certain on is the second years sacrifices of Satoko and Satoshi’s parents. It makes sense on paper that they’d be responsible there as well, but I’m just unclear on the motive, or when exactly Takano got control of the Mountain Dogs (due to information read in Chapter Eight: Matsuribayashi I estimate it happened around 1981). Why the Houjous had to goujou makes sense, it’s playing on the long-standing idea that the Houjou family were traitors to Hinamizawa. But again, this is just speculation on my part, I don’t believe it actually gets into the details as yet.

I know that it said Takano wanted to dump the bike along with Tomitake. But I like to imagine she dumped him wherever, drove a bit and got into a comically exaggerated fiasco of getting the bike out of her car before just flinging the damn thing away, going “good enough” and meeting up with her military contacts. Not every thought I have regarding this series is a serious well thought out thing, sometimes I like to imagine the characters having to bumble their way through stupid scenes. Or I’ll have a thought about “which character from another franchise would I imagine stuck in the Hinamizawa time loop?” The only one that really came to mind was Alan Wake, and I can’t really justify why. But at the time I just thought it was hilarious thinking of Alan just waking up being forced to deal with all the goings-on within Hinamizawa and just blasting someone away with his revolver. I should probably finish Alan Wake 2…

I do occasionally wonder if some of these confirmations are only there to make sure everyone is more or less caught up to speed? Based on previous interactions when Ooishi has Irie look at Tomitake’s body, did anyone really believe Irie actually knew nothing? Although, based on Irie’s internal monologue here I can’t help but wonder, when did they make H173? Going off of other information it must have been a relatively recent invention, because up until Takano and Irie started their research on it in earnest it was implied that there wasn’t much to go on in terms of Hinamizawa Syndrome. Just the research journals of Hifumi Takano, and precious little else. I believe they mention it towards the end of the chapter that the Clinic got a hold of the ringleader of the first dam murder, and they were able to do some research on the parasite that way, but I don’t recall them mentioning having a way to weaponize it at that point. So it must have been sometime between 1981 and 82, right? Or maybe I’m just pulling dates and times out of thin air, and I’m entirely off-base.

It’s true, in Meakashi/Watanagashi he does show up and interact more with Shion than he did the others. He also talked with Keiichi a bit, but he tried to get information from Shion after the disappearance of Satoshi Houjou.

I can’t help but wonder, in these timelines when Ooishi suspects Rika, does he actually think Rika did the deed? Or does he think she just ordered someone to carry it out for her? Perhaps maybe she had someone from the Sonozaki group carry it out? Because if it’s the former we all know that alternate universe Tomitake and Takano got away alive because Rika is a terrible assassin.

It sure is a wild coincidence though that Ooishi is instantly overcome with doubt about the situation with Takano and Tomitake. Professional skepticism for the fact that “Takano’s” body was in fact someone who died a day before it was found?

[homelande-r]

ilmo koskela

[amindinmotion09]

kiernan heslop kelly - thirty eight - mystery writer 

“Nightmares exist outside of logic, and there's little fun to be had in explanations; they're antithetical to the poetry of fear.”

-Stephan King 

[mcnystorcies]

Tap that HEART button on this post if you want a STARTER from Alan Wake from the video game, “Alan Wake”. Length will vary from one-liners, para, and multi-para as well. If you are a multimuse blog please comment with your muse you want it for. Mutual’s only!

[txemrn]

Hey, friends!  I'm ready to see some of y'all's future projects, whether they are fics, text edits or picta edits! Tags will be at the end, but if you are reading this, please consider yourself tagged to share!

If you're interested, check under the cut to find some of my current WIPs: 2 TRR snippets and 2 OPH snippets!

Thank you so much for all of the support! *hugs*

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Pour Two Glasses, Ch. 5: TBD  

TRR; Liam x Riley, Drake x Riley

As she approaches a knoll, a large shadow grants her body brevity from the warm sun. She brings a hand to her forehead, shielding the brightness from her eyes. She strains to make out the broad shapes and chiseled lines of the man standing before her. His eyes shimmer with the brilliance of the Mediterranean, his skin like the soft sands of Nissi.

“My love,” he smiles endearingly at her; he cups two filled wine flutes in one large hand as he extends his arm out towards her, his open palm ready to take her into his arms.

“My king,” she breathes, her heart swelling at the very presence of him. She drops her skirt. She draws closer to him as a smile brightly bubbles across her lips. It’s him; it’s really him.

But as their fingertips almost touch, Riley missteps.  She trips over an imperfection in the terrain as she falls to her knees, her hands catching her on the ground. As she looks back to her husband, he is gone.

“No,” she whispers as she frantically scours the rolling hills around her.

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TBD (one-shot)

Open Heart; Ethan Ramsey x f!OC (Tatum Erikson)

“Ethan?” An older man grabs the young boy's skinny arms, gently shaking them to wake him up. “C’mon, buddy, it’s your birthday.”

“Dad,” the preteen groans, “just five more minutes.” He dramatically flops over, pulling the covers over his head.

“Well,” his father takes a seat on the side of his bed, “I guess then a certain eleven-year-old won’t get to open a birthday gift before his party–”

Ethan quickly lifts up the covers, peering at his dad with one eye barely open. “Really? I–I can open a gift before tonight?” Alan Ramsey holds up a small, wrapped box in the shape of a cassette tape. “No way… is that…?” He throws the covers off of his body as he sits up, stealing the present from his father.  He puts his ear up to it, shaking it gently. He scrunches up his freckled nose, his wide smile exposing his lone, cute displaced tooth as his crystal eyes dance with amazement.  “Did you get me the Pearl Jam album?”  

“Don’t know,” Alan feigns ignorance, shrugging his shoulders. “Guess you’ll have to open it up.”

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Stay, Chapter 3: Don't You Speak for Me

TRR AU; Drake Walker x f!OC; f!OC (Reid Ambrose) x ?

About this snippet... the Ambrose Siblings: Reid (24), Tana (21), Nick (18)

Tana looks to Reid with concern. "There are protests down in the villages–violent ones." She sighs, "they had to call in the national guard," she clenches her jaw. "They started mowing down Auvernese like dogs."  

The siblings fall silent as Reid takes in these words, confusion and a sense of anger etching across her face. She had taken the back way home; this was the first she had heard about any violence.

Thinking about all of the displaced people, her people, that sought safety in Cordonia during the war, Reid blinks back tears.  She kisses her niece's temple before attempting to change the subject, hoping for something less gloomy.

"So... where's Papa?"

Tana and Nicky exchange worrisome glances to one another before focusing on their older sister. "He went looking for you–"

"What?" Reid hisses, handing baby Mila back to her sister. "And you let him go?" She opens the front door and begins to unlock her bicycle. "How could you let him go?"

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Like Ships in the Night, Prologue: We Finally Got it Right

Open Heart; Ethan Ramsey x f!OC (Tatum Erikson)... and other former pairings...

Recinching the white satin belt of my short, lace-trimmed robe startles him into a double-take.  “There you are,” he beams brightly at me; he offers a guilty smile as he claps his hands. “Nothing was open at 1:30 in the morning except…” he sighs, “the golden arches.”

Raising a playful eyebrow, I saunter closer to him, closing the gap between us. As I wrap my arms around his thick, swole musculature, his taut, strong arms envelop my own body. He pulls me closer, pressing me lovingly into the flat planes of his chest.

“Mmmm…" I nuzzle into him, "it’s perfect. My husband did good,” I steal a fry.

He smirks before kissing my forehead. He looks at his watch. “It’s been–” he clicks his tongue, “--nine hours? I really hope I haven’t messed this marriage-thing up too badly just yet. Although, I’m not so sure that feeding my wife McDonald’s on her wedding night is being a good husband.”

"I think you're doing a damn good job on keeping her satiated, Mr. Ramsey," I giggle under my breath.

The man truly is a god. His glorious tongue and nimble fingers permeated secret parts of me during our quaint wedding reception earlier, making us swiftly take our exit during the main course.  Even now after spending four breathless hours making love, I look up into those possessive crystal eyes, and my arousal instantly awakens.

God, I need him.

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