#dr snaps: HOW DID YOU FIND MY POST VAGUEING ABOUT YOU HOW DID YOU KNOW IT WAS YOU I WAS SPEAKING ABOUT

[ittybittybumblebee]

does the Dr have a blog what does she post

blurry photos of whatever project shes working on. some times its a creature and attacking her. she doesnt do text posts a lot but when she does its shout complaining about something or someone that pissed her off

[cno-inbminor]

iterum vivere (childe/tartaglia)

a/n: wow, it’s been fucking forever. first genshin fic featuring childe/tartaglia!!! a very huge thank you to @suspensin​ for reading this over and being my rock and support, and i love her so fucking much. I couldn’t have finished this without her!

plot: reincarnation and modern/uni!au ft. afab reader!traveler with she/they pronouns x childe/tartaglia 

-- in which meeting childe is a bit of a dangerous game of push and pull

wc: 12.1k; angst + fluff

warnings:  DOES CONTAIN IN-GAME SPOILERS (1.5? 1.6? + story quest and idek) and NSFW MENTIONS (mdni to be safe). there’s no explicit smut but thoughts do run a bit wild here and there

EDIT: Altered ChiLumi version now posted on AO3 here!

“Haven’t we met before?”

The shine in your eyes does nothing to hide your curiosity, head even tilting a little in observation. He watches them scan his face for any recognizable features, but attempts to focus on the strange, taut string of déjà vu that pulls him toward you. In a moment of absentmindedness, he had heard a faint voice call out his name from your direction. Confusion overtook him as you weren’t looking at him, but something inside his brain said that it had to be from you. And so his feet redirected his path towards your figure in the student union building, as if on a mission.

“A fucking whale, Childe?”

Oh.

“I don’t think so…?” You trail off, curiosity now replaced by perplexed feelings. “Do we have a class together?”

I think I would’ve noticed you by now if you were.

“Ah, what’s your major?” Childe asks quickly to avoid listening to the little voice in his head.

“History and anthropology, you?”

“Economics, but I’ve taken a history course for core credits. Maybe it was then?”

“With Dr. Zhong?”

“Yes!” He snaps his fingers. Part of his brain decides to usefully function and scan his memories to see if he remembers your face or head of hair in the lecture hall then. “Last year? Tuesdays and Thursdays from 10 to 11:20?”

“Actually, yeah,” you affirm in surprise. You think you would remember the relatively attractive ginger in your class, but honestly, it had all been such a blur and you were often pretty sleepy during class. Dr. Zhong didn’t quite appreciate it, but you made up for it with your exam and essay grades, as well as paying better attention in some of his other courses.

“Did you need me for anything?”

“I’d like for you to come visit and meet my family.”

He’s really not appreciating this extra voice speaking for him.

“Well…uh…” Childe stammers and looks away sheepishly, hand rubbing the back of his neck. He honestly had no reason for approaching you, and now, he just looks like a desperate idiot. Think quick, he tells himself, floundering for some shitty excuse.

“I wanted to, uh, take another history course as an elective and um, wanted to know if you had any recommendations?”

“Oh,” you blink. That’s a first. When he meets your gaze, the swirling shades of sapphire strike something deep within you. Flashes of events you can’t make out go by in the blink of an eye, but then you realize you’ve been staring for too long. Blood rushes to your cheeks because you don’t exactly want this guy to get the wrong idea from you, because how are you supposed to explain, “I’m sorry, but I think we have met before, but just a really, really long time ago, and we might’ve been more than just acquaintances because that’s what it feels like?”

“I think you’d like Teyvat Mythology,” your voice wavers on the verge of cracking. “Dr. Zhong might have a TA this time around, but Xiao’s a great teacher. Doesn’t have long, rambling anecdotes, but explains things well and gets straight to the point.”

“C-cool, I’ll look into it,” Childe replies and smiles brightly. “I’ll head out then,” jabbing a thumb over his shoulder, where he just realized he left a grouchy Scaramouche waiting by a vending machine, newly purchased Starbucks Tripleshot drink in hand. “Nice seeing you, (y/n).”

He scurries off before you both realize that you never told him your name.

“Who’s that?” Scaramouche asks, jutting his chin in your vague direction.

“Someone from my Intro to Liyuean History course last year,” Childe waves off. “Come on, let’s go before the line at the pasta bar gets too long.”

-

The next time you see Childe is by accident, traversing across an open field of grass that many students like to sit out on to relax with friends, sunbathe, hold events, or play casual team sports if room permits.

You had your earbuds in and were scrolling through social media when laughter rang above all other sound, causing your head to snap up and swivel around to find the source. And while it might’ve been strange to an outsider, your steps immediately slowed as you watched the man of your tiring, vivid dreams sprint in your direction, eyes pinned on a frisbee heading towards him.

He’s wearing a grey sports tank and basketball shorts, headband holding back his bangs as he makes a slight jump in the air to catch the plastic disc between his palms. His feet plant into the grass as he looks for someone to pass it to, and you watch (with embarrassment) the muscles in his throwing arm relax and tighten with practice, frisbee steadily soaring through the air in a beautiful arc towards a teammate. He then lightly jogs to get closer to his group, but then his back stiffens.

Before your instincts kick in for you to turn and bail, he looks over his shoulder and stares straight at your now stunned self.

The sole ruby earring that glints in the sunlight catches your attention, and you recall your dreams of terrifyingly dark, violet electric power, blades of water rushing toward you, and then the stomach-churning sensation of falling from great heights pours concrete into your veins—

Childe looks a little amused for having your sole focus, hand lifting up for a quick wave. And as you numbly return the greeting, your heart beats out, “Run from him.”

And so with the flight response pulsing and firing from your synapses, you abruptly speed walk away, almost breaking out into a sprint towards your dorm. You ignore his pointed, confused look, and pretend you don’t feel the two holes of imaginary fire searing into your back. It isn’t until you’re laying back in bed that you release a huge sigh of relief and pray to a deity you don’t believe in that those eyes of mirth will not haunt you tonight.

But of course, with a deity that doesn’t exist, the prayers go unanswered.

-

“Do you believe in any of the mythology you teach?” You ask Xiao about a few days later when you stop by his cubicle. Luckily, no one else is around for this conversation, and Xiao has always been kind enough to humor your thoughts. Granted, he might feel obligated because you had asked Dr. Zhong to be your advisor for your undergraduate Honors thesis, and Xiao was directed to be your receiver of some general questions and source of information if he wasn’t around.

A quick scan of your complexion tells Xiao everything he needs to know. Your eyes are overtaken with rumination and exhaustion, haziness clouding them as you seem to ponder over your own question. It’s not often that you ask him anything not related to your thesis or coursework.

“Perhaps there’s some sense and truth to the tales passed down,” he softly muses. “What makes you ask?”

You lift yourself to sit on the clean area next to his computer, legs slowly swaying back and forth. “It might sound crazy but...I’ve been having dreams lately. They feel too real, too natural to be anything that my mind would make up. I’ve never had the most creative imagination by any means, which is why there’s some comfort to me being a history major, but I can’t shake these.”

“So why ask me about the mythology?”

“...the Archons are there. I even dreamt that I met the Geo and Anemo Archons. And they controlled various elements, just like we were taught.”

You don’t notice that Xiao has ceased his rapid typing, fingers hovering over the keyboard before one hand removes his glasses from his face. He uses the other to rub his eyes and softly pinch the bridge of his nose before sliding the frames back on. Dark, golden amber eyes survey you as you grapple with the unfathomable possibilities of your nightly visions, at least until you shake your head in disbelief at yourself and lightly scoff.

“Who am I kidding?” You ask no one in particular. “Maybe I’ve been doing too much research and everything’s mixing together.”

“You’re ahead of schedule, if that provides any consolation.”

“Some.”

-

It takes Childe a grand total of one minutes and 53 seconds to sign up for Teyvat Mythology for the spring semester.

-

WInter in Liyue is only slightly miserable, being so close to the ocean. It’s chillier than usual on this dreary day, yet something compelled you to exit your dorm and shakily make your way to the campus coffee shop for a warm drink. Coffee, hot chocolate, you haven’t quite decided yet, but just as you let yourself bask in the warm building, familiar ginger hair and blue eyes wash away the comfort.

Or do they douse you in security?

They remind you of your recent dreams that now have shifted away from stress and violence to easygoing summer days by the oceanside, running barefoot in the sand while collecting beautifully patterned azure starconches. Sometimes, you thrust a hand towards an oversized four-leaf clover on a wooden stake with the power of wind and catch yourself in the air, soaring and looking around to find more of the little shells. Other nights, they consist of climbing steep cliffs, only to sit at the edge in the clouds with fatigue wracking through your system and marvel at the view before you.

Someone’s always with you though, ruby earring and maroon mask and cobalt blue gem hanging from the waist, sprinting with you, playfully tackling you down, pulling you up towards mountain peaks, laying their head on your shoulders, brushing their lips against your cheek--

You welcome the change of peace in those dreams, but only because they don’t leave you quite as tired the next day, as if you’d been avoiding an inescapable dark force.

Part of you wants the burning question of why this person, this man, in all his glory and brightness, affects you so fucking much when you barely even know the guy -- why looking at him sends your heart to lodge itself in your esophagus, why your lungs feel like they’re so close to being completely collapsed under the weight of his stare, why feeling like you’re trapped and  caught between wanting to run towards yet away from him.  It makes no sense, and you’re tired of trying to make sense of anything you don’t exactly want to remember from your dreams for some, once again, inexplicable reason.

But there’s no time to think as he quickly ambles towards you, your own feet shuffling forward to meet him in a warped reference of a distance that constitutes to “the middle” before you can stop yourself. Your shivering hasn’t quite stopped yet, and Childe seems to take notice of it.

“Pretty cold out there,”  he softly states. It’s cute, the way you’re curling in on yourself to retain some warmth.

“Y-yeah, not sure why I decided I really needed something warm to drink right now,” you reply and avoid his gaze. He watches you peer over his shoulder to squint at the menu display hanging from the ceiling, seemingly contemplating on what you should get.

“How about I get yours today? My treat for your class recommendation last time.” Anything to keep you here longer. Childe doesn’t realize how much he’s missed you, which confuses him, and chooses to ignore the fact that he’d been camping himself at the study tables in the building where the history department is located in hopes of even just catching a quick glimpse of you.

“Oh, you don’t have to do that,” you immediately attempt to subvert his generous offer, hands shooting out from your jacket pockets and waving in rejection. “It was nothing.”

“Please?” Childe puts on his best puppy eyes before reaching for one of your wrists, gently tugging you to the register. “Just this once?”

You want so badly to squash the tiny flare of disappointment that erupts in your chest from the newly acquired knowledge that this was just a one time thing. Do econ majors hate to feel in debt? That they must be even with everyone, or would rather have people indebted to them than the other way around?

There’s no time to think when Childe gives the cashier his order before turning to you, and without wanting to waste anyone’s time, you rattle off your usual beverage. He’s quick in fishing out his student ID to spend some of his campus currency, shooting you a boyish grin when you pout at your half-opened wallet.

“Go take that table over there,” he says, pointing to one in the corner by some windows. “I’m gonna tell my friends to go on without me.”

“I didn’t mean to intrude or pull you away from them,” you slightly panic. The sooner you can leave, the better. Right? “You don’t need to sit with me, I was just gonna head back to my dorm.”

“I insist. Go ahead, I’ll be right there.”

Why your brain takes his orders over your own is a mystery in and of itself, because before you know it, you’re plopped down in one of the lounge seats and staring off into space, mind reeling over the last two minutes. You pretend you can’t hear the way Childe’s friends nudge his arm playfully with their shoulders, wiggling their eyebrows suggestively as Childe tries to get them to stop being nonsensical.

“You’re gonna scare them off,” he hisses at them, hands pushing at their backs so they could finally leave him to his devices.

“Not before you do!” One of them laughs and Childe groans at their antics. “All right, all right, we’ll go. They’re cute though, might steal them if you don’t make a move.”

The darkening of the aura surrounding Childe is too quick for them to fully process, not before he dampens any of their fleeting hopes with a, “Don’t even fucking think about it.”

But it disappears just as fast when his and your drinks are called out, and he gives them one last shove before retrieving your to-go cups. Childe directs all his focus towards the seat diagonally from yours as opposed to the one that’s straight across, and you’re sharply ripped away from whatever reverie you let yourself slip into.

“Thank you,” you murmur, hands cupping the drink and feeling the heat seep into your fingertips. “You really didn’t have to, it was nothing big.”

“Can you blame me for just trying to find an excuse to finally talk to you?” He asks without a skip and you can’t tell if the quickening of your heartbeat is from a looming sense of doom or excitement. Those eyes, the tiny swirls of the ocean, blue like those shells buried in the sand--

It takes three seconds too long for you to understand where he was going with in his words, and part of you feels unamused at his smooth talking. You’ve always guarded yourself against guys like Childe, devilishly handsome who know their way around language semantics, ready to pull you in and just as ready to push you away. That (possibly unfair) bias, coupled with everything else you’ve been feeling for him, sounded the alarms and set the walls up around your heart. Perhaps you need to stop wearing your heart on your sleeve, because Childe immediately retracts his forwardness.

“I’m sorry, I don’t mean to make you uncomfortable. I promise I’m not looking for anything in return and you don’t owe me anything, but I really did just...want to sit and talk and...get to know you?” Childe trails off a little towards the end. Your body loosens up and relaxes just a tiny bit, feeling bad for your snap judgment. Let the guy do something nice, don’t look into it too much, you tell yourself. It’s a coffee, not a five-course dinner.

You reach out a hand towards him, small smile across your lips, ready for his to join yours in a quick handshake. “I’m (y/n), senior history and anthropology double major. It’s nice to meet you.”

The pounding of your heart against your ribcage has nothing to do with the shimmering of his eyes, nothing to do with the fact that his hand fits with yours just right, and nothing to do with the fact that an eerily similar voice from your dreams whispers, “I love you.”

You learn a number of things about Tartaglia in the four hours, like his family members and their respective interests, which classes he did and didn’t enjoy taking, certain takes on Schnezhnayan politics, his own various hobbies, crazy accidents from the occasional college parties, and more. He’s a bit of an open book, probably telling you way more than any regular person would, and definitely more than anything you revealed during all this time. Everything you tell him seems surface level, nothing too deep. The walls are still there to protect you from the unexplainable, profound feelings his presence seems to elicit, and luckily, he doesn’t prod any further. Childe feels the resistance and respects it, which just adds more brownie points in your book, and you almost feel bad for having given so little in return.

“I wish we were taking Teyvat Myth together,” he sighs when walking you back to your dorm, hands stuffed in his pockets. His ruby earring catches the light from the sunset, the shade almost complimentary to the golden amber rays that streak across the sky. “Would’ve helped having a history major in there.”

“Is that all I am to you, an answer bank?” You jokingly ask, but he watches concerningly as you shoot your gaze to the ground, mindfully stepping over the cracks between concrete slabs.

“Of course not,” a gentle sincerity reaches you, giving you the confidence to make eye contact with him. “I’m sorry for making it sound like that, it wasn’t my intention. I really just meant it as a way of saying if the professor or TA ended up being a total bore, then well, having you would make it more fun.”

“I’m sure I’d bore you even more,” chuckling, speeding up to get away. You’re growing too comfortable in whatever atmosphere Childe has created, like an enclosed air bubble bobbing gently in the depths of the sea and letting the waves carry you both to whichever ends of the earth.

“Hey,” he interjects, hand reaching out to stop you with a soft yank of your wrist. There is no resisting force from you, feet stepping backward until he meets you eye to eye. It’s unfair in the way that he can render you motionless by standing just an inch from you, arms brushing with his head tilted closer to your own. “Seriously, I’m glad we did this today. Are you?”

No, because now I don’t know what to think, I don’t know who you are, I’m not any closer to figuring out why you terrify yet leave me so enamoured with you, I’m torn between punching and kissing you and--

“Yes,” you subconsciously answer, brain immediately short-circuiting to scold yourself. “I had fun.”

His grin, charming, devilish, is so so bright, bright enough to rival the Liyue sun that sits on the pier, on the edge of the ocean, bright enough to rival the love that your fraternal twin showers you with on a daily basis. You want time to stop right here because you’re almost sick of the voice settled deep within your heart that screams, “Don’t get comfortable, you must run from him!”

“Good. Let’s do this again?” And you nod, of course you do. Foolish you. “Don’t be a stranger!” He calls out as he turns on his heel and waves over his shoulder, hand raised in the air, and you’re suddenly transported to another scene, a less refined version of the Liyue Harbor, watching as the head of ginger hair with a red mask in a flashier attire of grey and maroon walks away from you and onto a roaring, magnificent ship; big, ivory sails only seen in books and museums. It’s the same gesture of “see you later”, and just before he turns, you blink, and you’re back to seeing your campus again.

But Childe does look back once, warm and content that you’re still standing there, watching over him, and he can’t help but think about when he can spend time with you again, because suddenly, it truly feels like there’s not enough of it anymore.

-

“Excuse me, what’s a Red Bull?”

The last thing, or person rather, you expect to see on the last day of finals for the fall semester, is a small boy who looks way too young to be here, tugging on the sleeve of your windbreaker. He’s at most eleven, ten maybe, but he has eerily similar characteristics, as well as an accent that doesn’t quite belong to most Liyue natives. Still gathering your bearings from your own perusing of the fridges that hold all the possible beverages a college student could consume, you kneel down until you’re at eye level with the child.

“Repeat that for me? Are you looking for a Red Bull, you say?”

“Yes!” He beams and holds out a student ID that most definitely doesn’t belong to him. “My brother asked me to grab him one because he was busy with something.”

Your eyes flit over to the top shelves where the aforementioned cans of caffeine are located, and definitely too high for someone of his height to reach. “I’ll grab one for you. Did he ask for a specific flavor?”

“Nope, he said regular. Thanks, you’re really nice! Do you know my brother?” He asks, waving the ID at you so you can get a better look at the name. That’s definitely a face you recognize, but the name leaves you confused.

“Yeah, um,” glance over again, “I know...Ajax…”

“He’s the best toy seller in the whole world!”

Somehow, it suits him much better than Childe or Tartaglia, and you’re not quite sure what toys have anything to do with the matter at hand. Speaking of hands, the little boy grabs yours in sheer delight. “Can you take me back to his room? I kinda forgot the directions he told me, and everything’s so big around here.”

“Sure, just let me buy something, too, and I’ll take you.”

“Okay!”

The cashier isn’t the least bit fazed by the little brunette at your side -- it’s always common for family members to come in around the end of semesters to pick up kids or visit, and being an open building with snacks and drinks and a stopping point of most tours, they’ve seen it all. You even let him pick out a bag of chips and a candy bar for himself for being so polite and not a complete menace, paying with your own campus currency.

Teucer, as you’ve learned in the last two minutes, likes to point out things and ask you questions. Luckily, you have answers to most of them and do your best to pad the time, enjoying the feeling of a tiny hand wrapped around three of your fingers. It’s sweet to any normal passerby, believing they’re witnessing an older sister doting on their little brother around the holidays, but to Childe, seeing the tender sweetness on your face as you nod along to whatever Teucer is rambling about to you, sets his heart aflame. He’s already constantly on the verge of wanting to hug and kiss you and never let go, but you haven’t made any indication that you could potentially like him back, and this is just torture.

“Look what they bought me!” Teucer shoves his rewards in Childe’s face as if he had extremely poor eyesight, and you can’t help but laugh a little as you set his Red Bull down on his desk, clutching your own preferred beverage while looking around his room. Finals must have gotten to him with the unusual lack of tidiness in the small space, some laundry strewn here and there, a couple boxes of eaten microwave dinners in the metal wire trash can, some textbooks left open and marked with more sticky notes than you’ve ever seen. You’d only been here once before to drop off some food that he desperately messaged you about, stuck doing a project that he just couldn’t step away from.

“Pretend you don’t see the mess,” Childe pleads, handing a kid tablet to his brother but holding on before Teucer can take it. “What do you say to our nice friend here for buying you these snacks?”

“Thank you!”

“It was nothing,” you shyly smile, ruffling his hair. “I enjoyed meeting you.”

“Wait, what’s your name again?”

“It’s (Y/n).”

“Okay, (y/n)! Wait…(y/n)..as in…”

Teucer trails off and gives a look to his brother, one that spells curiosity and trouble, before he grabs your hand and pulls you into a corner. Any movement Childe makes to leave his desk chair is immediately squashed by Teucer’s disapproval, and the older man is left to helplessly worry when you’re told to squat down so secrets can be whispered into your ear.

“He talks about you a lot whenever he calls home,” and you want to laugh at Tecuer’s attempt to sound as scandalous as possible. “All the time! I think he likes you, like, like like.”

Oh. Oh dear.

“What makes you say that?” You whisper back, indulging both yourself and him, yet also internally snickering at how troubled Childe looks.

“Sometimes, he video calls mama, but we’ll all sit around and talk, and whenever he’s talking about how he saw you or something, he just looks...happy. Really happy.”

The surprise on your face does nothing to settle Childe’s nerves and he’s about to start wringing his hands together. Whatever Teucer was telling you couldn’t be good, probably embarrassing, like the one time he unceremoniously fell on his ass while ice skating over a frozen lake, or when he tried fitting fifteen marshmallows in his mouth and nearly choked on them when their mother caught them in the act, or--

“I think he just thinks of me as a good friend,” you try to inform Teucer, not letting yourself get any semblance of hope. “Nothing more, nothing less.”

“If you say so,” Teucer pouts. But then he stops whispering and bounds over back to his brother, grabbing the tablet before plopping down on the half-made bed.

“Look, I was overconfident and thought I could execute a perfect single loop on the ice, but there was a rock and I lost balance and--”

“I wasn’t being told any stories about you falling on ice, but do tell me more,” you chuckle and take some joy in watching the blush spread across his cheeks. It’s easy to tell that he’s mentally berating himself for jumping to conclusions.

“Well, first off, thanks for buying him all that, and my drink, too,” he sighs. “I spoil him enough as it is.”

“I can see why it’s hard not to,” you smile knowingly. “So is it just him here? Where’s the rest of your family?”

“Funny story, he somehow managed to convince my parents to let him come here on his own as his first ever plane flight, so I had to pick him up yesterday from the airport. He’s flying back with me tomorrow.”

“And the RA?” You ask with an eyebrow raised.

“Ah...well...what he doesn’t know won’t hurt him? Speaking of, what was Teucer whispering to you about?”

There’s a pensiveness that overtakes you when you look at Teucer again, who’s happily playing some sort of game and completely oblivious to the rest of his surroundings. You won’t, can’t, take his words to heart, and will take them with a grain of salt at most.

“Nothing important. Although I did learn something new...Ajax?”

“Say my name -- fuck, say it, please--”

“I guess cat’s out of the bag,” he chuckles and looks away, absolutely unaware of the flare of heat that swirls in your stomach from the fleeting vision just now. “I came up with other nicknames as a kid to seem cooler, and they just stuck with me. Plus, the business world is full of people who just want something from you, or just a transactional relationship. I’d rather not give my real name to them, if you know what I mean.”

“That’s fair,” you nod and lean to sit on the edge of his desk. A thought pops into your head and you turn the words over in your head like a washing machine on the spin setting, teeth gnawing on the flesh of your bottom lip. If Teucer hadn’t been in the room, he would’ve been this close to kissing you.

“But if it’s worth anything,” your voice slowly, softly starts, cautious and wary of your thoughts. “I think...Ajax suits you best.”

Curse fate. Curse the legendary Archons. Curse karma and deities and spirits because all he wants to do right now is stand and tower over you, trap you between himself and his desk so you can’t escape, take those pretty lips between his until they’re bruised and swollen because of him, hear you call out his name in the throes of pleasure so he can finally replace his fantasies with tangible memories. The unnatural, magnetic pull that draws him to you is unbearable now -- he feels like he’ll lose the last tendrils of his sanity if he doesn’t do something.

You can’t stop him from slowly reaching out to grab one of your hands, lifting it towards him until he’s close enough for you to feel his breath ghost over your knuckles. It sends a shiver down your spine and blood is pounding in your ears because you can’t begin to fathom what he’s thinking about while doing this, even more so when his lips make contact with your skin and your breath hitches, stuck in your throat as he languidly peeks at you beneath his eyelashes with a heated gaze, then lowly confessing, “My name sounds best when you say it.”

Good heavens.

It’s difficult to swallow and keep your composure, especially when Teucer yells out in glee over, what you can assume, beating something in his game, and Childe drops your hand. But his dilated pupils don’t retract in the slightest, refusing to let you look away so that maybe, you can understand what he’s trying to convey to you. He’s taking the first step because he’s terrible and can’t contain his self-control anymore, pushing the ball into your court, ready for you to either play or exit into the sidelines.

When you do blink, there’s a vision of your naked body wrapped around another, limbs clinging desperately to a sturdy and panting frame. Lips, much like the ones that have seared themselves onto your knuckles, are at your neck and sucking, biting, before moving to your ear and laying filthy words into them that drive you closer to the edge. It all happens so fast that you feel you’ve just experienced whiplash, yet also feeling secondhand embarrassment at how lewd some of these thoughts have been.

You can’t stay here any longer.

“I-I have to go,” spills off your tongue before you can really think about it. The way the haze shatters in his eyes is heartbreaking in its own way, but there’s no time for you to explain. Your brain is in overdrive and eager to run, run, run. It detects danger on all fronts, but you muster out a, “H-have a good break, come find me next semester, mmk?”

And you’re out the door with inhuman speed. When the door clicks shut, only then does Teucer look up from his screen and frown at the lack of your presence. “Where’d they go?”

Chlide doesn’t seem to hear him, and Teucer has never seen his big brother look so sad and confused before.

-

He holds on to that last tendril of hope, because mark his words, he will find you come January.

-

After about a week at home, enjoying the festive time with his family and mildly unconcerned about next year’s courses because that was a problem for another day, Childe has his first, crazy, nonsensical dream.

At least, that’s what he tells himself when he snaps awake and his body aches with exhaustion. Not only are his joints in agony, he also feels like he’s sporting unforeseen bruises, which makes absolutely no sense because he hasn’t done anything that would warrant them, no matter how much he and his brothers do some rough-housing. His night of sleep was all consumed by flashes and scenes of weapon fighting, lucid enough to remember feeling his arms flex and wield bows and double-headed polearms and being cognizant of all the enemies??? surrounding him. They ranged from deranged looking monsters, floating beings with soulless masks, and large humans in electricity-padded armor, to behemoth machines in the sky that could leave you within an inch of your life thanks to a drill for a hand?!

But what’s even worse is that you seem to have managed a deal with Morpheus himself and infiltrated his dreams. You were there, too, sometimes fighting with him, sometimes against him, much to his dismay, and while it was nice, he just didn’t get it. Why the friendliness and hostility? Why was there an anger that overtook him when looking directly at you, parrying your blade and sending harmful arcs of water toward your figure?

Why did he relish the fear in your eyes when he darted towards you with electricity cracking through the air?

There’s an overwhelming sensation now to grab his phone to text you and apologize -- for what, he can’t fathom and there are no words to accurately convey what he’s thinking. “Hey, sorry for wanting to kill you in my dream :( “? Or “Sorry for being a friend but then stabbing you in the back, but then being nice to you again”?

And the only thing that really made sense was the serenity and contentment that would course through his veins as the two of you danced around on ivory sandy beaches, picking up shiny blue starconches and taking down more weird creatures; the breathlessness when you would fall back into the water and re-emerge to reconfirm his beliefs that you were one of the most beautiful humans he’d ever laid his eyes on; the love--

Hold the fuck up.

He doesn’t love you. He likes you a whole lot and he’s severely and deathly attracted to you, but he doesn’t love you. Your existence has only been made known to him for about two months, and he didn’t really start talking to you until three weeks in. So no matter how comfortable he feels with you, no matter how much he wishes that you were sleeping peacefully next to him so his nights wouldn’t feel so lonely, it was too early, too hasty, to say that he loves you.

“I’ve been wondering, why didn’t you bring them home?” His mother asks him out of nowhere during breakfast, all to add to this extremely tumultuous roller-coaster morning he’s been having. All he wants to do is eat his bowl of milk and cereal, then potentially go back to sleep before fulfilling his promise to go with his siblings to the nearby skating rink. It takes everything in him to not choke on his spoon of grains.

“Agreed, didn’t you mention they didn’t really have any family to go back to and that the move to Liyue was semi-permanent?” His father chimes in, laying a quick peck on his wife’s temple. “It’s never fun to spend the holidays alone.”

“They would’ve felt like they were intruding,” Childe replies quietly, stabbing his bowl a few times before scooping up another spoonful of cereal to his mouth. “I know we’re friends, but we haven’t known each other for that long, and maybe they’d be uncomfortable because that’s a lot honestly…”

“You don’t know until you try,” his mother sings and pats him on the shoulder. “We do have a guest room after all.”

“For them and their twin?”

“And quite a comfortable futon with enough blankets.”

Childe smiles fondly at his parents’ kindness. He can only imagine what this winter break would’ve been like now -- you and your twin floating around, trying to help out with certain chores, sitting by the fireplace and watching TV, huddled up with mugs of hot chocolate, playing board games with everyone and engaging in all the shenanigans…

Laughing. Loving. Grinning. Basking.

Handing over one of his hoodies to you as a sick way of torturing yet blessing himself for seeing how lovely you look in his clothes, standing silently in the doorway as you attempt to help out with mealtimes next to his mother, watching you run around in the backyard and dodging his siblings’ snowballs while lodging a few of your own -- how wonderful it all would be.

But he squashes it down as quickly as possible, because you escaped his grasp. You ran away from his advances temporarily and even though you gave him permission to seek you out come the spring semester, he worries that you might take it back. Something will wake up inside of you to keep him out of your heart and your life, and he’s not confident enough at this point to believe there’s a good chance you will come spend the holidays with him and his family next year.

“Maybe next year, ma,” he sends her a hesitant, yet somewhat broken purse of his lips that’s just the least bit curved. It tells her everything he’s thinking, and the quick patting of his cheek lets him know she understands.

Half an hour later, Childe finds himself curled up on his side under the sheets, phone in hand as he stares at a blinking cursor. It shouldn’t be so hard to send a text to convey his holiday greetings, because that’s all it is -- part of him is becoming desperate and aching for some interaction with you, even if it’s just a text sent back for conventional social pleasantries. He’ll take it for now, right?

Before he can totally chicken out, his thumbs quickly type a, “Happy Holidays, (y/n) :)”, and it’s a little embarrassing how quickly after he hits the ‘send’ button that he tosses it over his shoulder so he’s not directly looking at it anymore. His heartbeat is too quick and he prays for no phantom vibrations or phantom sound notifications to avoid any disappointment of thinking he got a reply. It was a harmless text, yet he’s treating it like he just got assigned on a mission to go and murder someone for the first time. What will he do if you never text him back? Does that mean you really don’t want to talk to him? Are you dead in a ditch somewhere? Did you change numbers and not tell him? Did your twin get all the details and make the executive decision to block his number? Will he never get a chance to talk to you again, even if it’s about something in the Teyvat Mythology class next semester? Will you--

His shoulder screams in protest when he quickly flips himself over at the text notification sound, hands shakily unlocking his phone and opening up your conversation again. His heart rate significantly decreases, reaching back to its normal pace, especially as he reads the little words on his screen.

“Happy Holidays, Ajax ^^”

There is hope.

-

“You’re thinking about him, aren’t you?”

You’re huddled under the comforter of your twin’s bed, phone just peeking above the edge as you stare at it with a brightness in your eyes. For the most part, you had been sulking there, apart from meals and going back to your own room to sleep, and mentally berating yourself for the way you reacted to Childe the week before.

“He just texted me to say happy holidays,” shrugging to put on a facade of indifference. It’s stupid that you’re trying to hide your feelings from your twin of all people, who could pick apart and identify your emotions in a heartbeat. A roll of his eyes lets you know that you haven’t fooled him at all.

“So you think that whatever comment he made, which was very suggestive and indicative of clearly non-platonic feelings, was just something...friendly? Remind me again how you came to that conclusion?”

“I don’t know what I was thinking!” You whine, looking around to see if there was anything you could toss at him. “It’s just, with everything, all the dreams and stupid gut feelings, I just -- I don’t know, okay?? I can’t tell you enough how much I wish I had just kissed his stupid face and see where it goes from there.”

“Okay, gross, but don’t beat yourself up. Though...I do have a good idea on how to maybe get a good reaction out of him. You wanna go to the New Years’ celebration at Xiangling’s?”

“I think she’d threaten me with a knife if I didn’t. She wanted to go shopping at some point, too.”

“I’ll drop the overprotective brother act for one night, okay? One night, just to let this happen, and for your peace of mind.”

He does a fair amount of conspiring with Xiangling, a friend they met one time at a restaurant a couple years ago, even tagging along on the shopping trip. Together, the three of you find yourself a dress that Xiangling swears would make any person drool over you, including Childe, because at the end of the day, he was a person with the possibility of being attracted to you.

You think it’s a bit silly, but honestly, what do you have to lose at this point?

-

At 11:57PM on New Years’ Eve, Childe is standing outside in the freezing cold with his family, arms lifting up bags of sparklers and fireworks. They’ve driven out closer to the wild like they do every year, and everybody excitedly gets lighters ready, making sure someone’s got a clock out there that tells the seconds. As the younger kids open up the packaging and argue over which one to set off first, Childe’s phone vibrates in his coat pocket.

It’s 11:58PM when he manages to fish the device out and thank himself for buying gloves that are touch-screen friendly, excited to see that there are two texts from you, the latter reading, “Happy New Year!”. It doesn’t matter that you’re a little early, but he’s mainly intrigued by the fact a photo came before it. In his mind, you’re probably curled up with your twin brother, hopefully a selfie because wow, he misses your face.

He gets something else instead, and he is so glad that it’s dark outside and the electric lamp they have is too far away from him to draw any attention.

You have your arm around your brother’s waist and another girl’s that he doesn’t recognize, but it’s a full frontal view of your outfit, one that hugs your curves beautifully and shows more cleavage than he’s ever seen from you, sophisticated and elegant, yet fun and leaving enough to the imagination. There’s a bright smile coming from all of you, and you look like you’re at someone’s house or apartment with plenty of other people milling around in the back, but they don’t matter, not when all he can focus on is you.

Gorgeous, breathtaking, arousing, mind blowing, and gods, he wishes he could teleport to Liyue at this moment, find you, and kiss you right at midnight. Fuck the fact that he doesn’t exactly believe in superstitions like, “Kissing your significant other at midnight means you’ll last forever!” but he’s willing to take the chance with it on this night and the ones after, if he’s allowed. He tries not to think too much about pinning you against the wall and letting the world dissolve -- wants to be the one with the privilege to drag down that zipper and feel his bare skin on yours, and --

As Teucer starts yelling there’s only a minute left, he instinctively locks his phone and shoves it away out of anyone’s view. The last thing he needs is his family teasing him about ogling at your photo for a straight 50 seconds, wide-eyed and pupils on the verge of dilating, the visible breath leaving his mouth just a smudge more dense and prominent than usual.

The only thing he can do to distract himself from popping a boner in front of his parents is to join in on the countdown, making sure all the fireworks are set up correctly and grabbing a sparkler for himself. He waves it around with Tonia and promises to fulfill her wishes of taking one of those pictures right as she draws a pattern in the air. Their excitement is palpable and addicting, and even though the larger fireworks set off a few seconds after midnight hits, the nostalgia fills his lungs with fond memories and future wishes that they only continue this tradition for as long as possible, and hopefully, with you at his side.

-

When it’s 12:04AM, you get a picture message back of Childe bundled up in a black paletot coat, matching beanie and all, a gloved hand holding a sparkler and lips curved upwards, with a caption that says, “Happy New Year��s! See you soon :)”. You show it to Xiangling and your brother, both taking it as a win in their books, although the former does tipsily protest that there should be a better indicator of Childe’s brain breaking at how amazing you look right now. Maybe she’s prophetic, because another text chimes in and the words set you aflame, as well as suggestive whoops into your ears.

It’s a simple, “You look incredible btw”.

If you didn’t want to properly savor this moment, you would’ve found the nearest shot of the strongest liquor and tossed it back with abandon. But you want to remember the warmth in your veins that wasn’t from the alcohol or the heating, the fluttering of your heartbeat, the teeth-baring grin that you couldn’t fight off, the constant re-reading of those four words -- because they’re so different from everything you had been feeling before with him, the need for protection, the need to escape. Instead, you’d like to be in his arms right now and see for yourself how he’d look at you in this moment, and if he would take any action.

You want him to. So, so bad.

-

Childe spends his last week at home hating the fact that you’re just sitting around somewhere in Liyue, doing whatever you’re doing, probably doing some light preparation for your last semester of classes, and he’s not there to take advantage of all this free time and hang out with you. When classes start, it’ll be busy and hectic. You still have your thesis to finish and revise, and while that won’t eat up all your time, it’s still some that he’d want to fill in with his presence if he could. He debates whether or not he should ask for your schedule and compare it with his, maybe set up meetings every other day or propose that they all eat one meal together every day. Childe’s not quite sure of what you plan to do after graduation, as it hasn’t come up in conversation yet, but either way, he’s determined to stay in contact and make things work out. Long distance isn’t ideal, but with technology now, he’ll take it.

He feels a little bad for how excited he probably looked to be leaving home, uncharacteristic for the most part. His older siblings have already gone back to their respective homes, and it’s mainly Teucer and Tonia that worry and tear up when he starts packing his belongings. Tonia finds it unfair that Teucer got to meet you first and the latter makes sure to rub it into everyone’s faces. It’s hard for Childe to sleep on the plane because he’s thrumming with excitement, yet somehow even more nervous than usual when the plane hits small bouts of turbulence, and he doesn’t seem to relax until he sets foot back on campus.

He’s here. It’s January, and you’re physically closer to him than ever in the last two weeks.

-

“Found you.”

On the first day of classes, you’re sitting alone with some salad greens in a bowl, poking your fork at some scraps while you watch something on your phone, earbuds in and back towards the entrance of the canteen. It would explain the unannounced entrance of the very person who’s been at the forefront of nearly every thought in the last 96 hours, his fingers gingerly removing an earbud to surprise you as best as possible, and you startle in your seat.

Your heart kicks into overdrive when he hands you back your earbud and pulls out the seat next to you, setting his own plate of food down as he plops down in his chair. But then he says nothing afterwards, instead choosing to send you a cheeky grin before digging in. You’re left to slowly phase out of your state of shock, stuck between either running away or frantically texting your twin to come and save you even though he was off on a date with Keqing.

It’s not that you weren’t elated at the fact that Childe had done exactly as you told him last month, you just weren’t...prepared? It’s a shitty excuse and a cop out -- you’re mainly just having trouble with racking your brain to find the right words. What are you supposed to say? What should you do? Is it socially acceptable to lean over and kiss him on the cheek because that’s what you’d like to impulsively do at this very second??

“So you did,” you settle and steal a roasted potato wedge from his plate. It’s his turn to be taken by surprise, but he gets over it much quicker than you do. In fact, he spears two wedges and drops them in your bowl, smiling at you as best as he can with a mouth full of food. You give them your thanks before the silence settles in again.

“Did you have a good break?” He asks before his next bite.

“I did. You?”

“It was nice. My parents said I should’ve brought you and your twin home to spend the holidays with us. Can’t say it didn’t cross my mind before finals.”

Holy shit, what? “We couldn’t intrude like that, but that’s really nice of you guys.”

“That’s okay, there’s plenty of chances to visit later.”

You tilt your head and furrow your eyebrows. “But we graduate this semester?”

Childe challenges you with one of his own eyebrows raised. “And? Are we never gonna see each other again?”

Honestly, the possibility had occurred to you. You aren’t entirely sure of Childe’s plans after graduation, and if that meant he was staying in Liyue or going back to Snezhnaya or even moving to Inazuma or Mondstat. While people preach on and on about how lasting friendships and relationships are often formed during college, you believe it’s more common to slowly drift apart as life gets busier. And if Childe moved away, or if you did, it’d be hard to consistently keep in touch with 10 hour workdays.

The thought saddens you, regardless. You like him so much and you’re glad that he was even in your life to begin with, because as unbelievable as it sounds, seeing him was almost akin to the feeling of coming home. Amidst all your nerves, your confusion, your spiraling thoughts, something deeply sated in your heart was a comfort that you found with very few people in your life whenever in his presence.

The thought of leaving and never looking back somehow doesn’t feel new -- it’s bittersweet, but the air in your lungs feels like it’s surrendered to something, like it was to be expected.

“You can’t just leave without telling me--”

“It was last minute! I had no choice!”

“You could’ve written up a message, anything--”

“Can you imagine the position you’d be in if the message got intercepted? I wouldn’t have been safe, she’d make you come after me--”

“As if you’d be any safer in Inazuma of all places! That’s the one place I can’t easily get to!”

“I can take care of myself, Childe, I don’t need you to protect me.”

“This isn’t about me protecting you, (y/n) and -- stop walking, will you?!”

“Then what is this about?” You spin on your wheel with eyes aflame. “Why are you so angry with me? It’s normal for me to disappear for weeks at a time, why was this any different?”

“Because you could’ve died!” He yells back in despair, chest heaving. Your silence is his cue to continue. “You could’ve died and I wouldn’t have known until much later. You could’ve died and all I’d ever think about were the things I never got to say to you, and how I wish I had treated every day with you like it was our last.”

It isn’t hard to tell that you’re stunned and at a complete loss for words. Childe often hides behind facades of charm and wit, and only when he is truly weak does he choose to be this vulnerable, baring his heart for you to see.

“I only have two nightmares in this world. One, my family being harmed in any way. Two, reading in a report or hearing from an agent that you’ve been captured and killed.”

“I like to think that we will.”

His hand reaches out to lay on top of yours, giving it a quick squeeze. “Well, let’s make the most of it this semester.”

Conversation afterwards is easy, filling each other in on holiday activities. Childe speaks extensively about several family traditions and you listen with rapt attention, basking in how fond he is of all of them. Even as you both bring your dishes to the return belt and leave, he immediately offers to drive you both somewhere to get boba, noticing your reluctance to part ways. But boba shops have to close, and you both have class tomorrow morning, and you’re both finding any excuse to keep talking, even if that means sitting outside your dorm building on a nearby bench.

You eventually bid each other good night’s and see you later’s, him refusing to walk away until the heavy door locks shut behind you after you swipe your student ID, and you looking over your shoulder to watch his figure disappear into the night.

-

True to his intentions, Childe makes great efforts to meet you at least once a day, and he can’t get enough. Each parting from you tugs and tugs at his heart, as if there’s a high possibility you’ll never want to see him again the next day, and he wouldn’t know what to do with himself. Your twin and Childe get along well for the most part, and he even meets Xiangling on one of her shifts at her regular restaurant, who sends you a salacious wink and an eyebrow wiggle over his shoulder that nearly causes you to burst from embarrassment.

February rolls over without a hitch, even if you’re a little disappointed that Childe didn’t make a move for Valentine’s Day. Granted, you two still spent time with each other and he’s so darn physically affectionate and he bought you a carnation from the event his dorm held, but you wish you had the guts to fess up and just kiss the man.

It’ll happen some day, you tell yourself. You have time before graduation.

Two days before the end of the Friday that would signal the start of Spring Break, you wake up in a cold sweat, mind reeling and head splitting, heart so so heavy, as a connection is made between your present and your dreams. Not long after, there are tears streaming silently down your face and into your open palms placed in your lap, and you sit in shock as everything comes back to you. Memories are such treasured burdens, you realize.

For the most part, you had gotten used to the dreams, choosing to take charge of what you know and feel now with Childe over succumbing to some strange neurological premonitions. Especially in your dreams when many people’s faces were blurred over and hazy, and the only things you could rely on were voices, touch, and other physical features. You thought that maybe your mind was just playing tricks by transposing Childe’s hair onto a body that was also strikingly similar to his, but for the first time last night, you could see each defining feature on his face as clear as day.

The sight of his figure arching gracefully over yours, the water arrows that appeared out of thin air, the back that protected you from some military men, the voice that said, “Hey girlie, hold still.”

And that was when you had snapped awake to your current state.

Past the initial shock and uncontrollable tears, you soon bent over as sobs wracked your chest, overwhelmed by all the emotions and the pain the memories brought you; losing your twin, finding him to only be left with even more questions after roaming for decades and decades, meeting all your loved ones throughout Mondstat and Liyue, fighting yet falling so hard for Childe, feeling the fear when facing his Foul Legacy form, hating him for Osial, loving him, breathing heavily as the tip of your blade was pointed at his neck and his own just centimeters from yours, tendrils of water inching closer and closer--

Everything makes sense now.

When you meet your twin for lunch at the cafeteria, you pay no mind to the fact that you’re in public and hug him harder than you ever have in years. He’s already a little alarmed that your eyes seem swollen and you look like finals came two months early, but when he asks what’s wrong, all he gets is a shake of your head and nothing more than, “Just a bad nightmare. I love you, y’know that?”

“I love you too?”

“Don’t sound so unsure, now let’s go and get in line before they run out of Jueyun Chili Chicken.”

Even when you meet Xiao later in the early evening to talk about your thesis, you find yourself holding back more tears just two minutes in, reminded of his past and his own life, and he’s moderately concerned, hesitantly handing you a tissue from the corner of his desk when a stray tear escapes. “Is everything okay?” He hesitantly asks, really hoping that he didn’t do anything to make you cry.

“No,” you almost wail and sniffle while dabbing at your eyes. “Sorry, it’s just been a really long day.”

Xiao’s inquisitive gaze softens, remembering how hard undergraduate life could be sometimes. Graduate school was a whole other level, but that shouldn’t discount your own personal difficulties. Plus, in all of the year and a half that he’s known you, you’ve never broken down like this before in front of him.

“You work really hard, Xiao,” you continue, and he’s not sure where this is coming from. “You’re always so helpful and willing to work with me and answer my stupid questions and like-- you practice self-care, right?”

Xiao nods as a white lie, but it seems to comfort you. Maybe too much because you pull him in for a quick and unexpected hug, and you both decide to reschedule this meeting for tomorrow.

As per usual, you wait for Childe to join you for dinner since you finished up earlier than expected. It gives you more time to think about everyone from Mondstat -- Kaeya, Diluc, Lisa, Jean, Amber...funny to think that some things never changed as you compared their past version to the ones you know now.

“Mora for your thoughts?”

There’s a peace that warms your heart when you hear Childe’s voice, one that forces you to smile at him as he sits down next to you. “Just thinking about old friends.”

“I have to admit, I’ll be a little jealous if it’s another guy taking up more space than me in that pretty brain of yours.”

What a flirt. This man isn’t good for your heart. “Who said you had any to begin with?”

He dramatically places a hand over his heart. “You wound me, (y/n). How will I ever recover?”

“You’re ridiculous,” you snicker. Childe reaches over to pinch your cheek and you bat at him in protest. Easily, he grabs one of your hands and simply pulls you towards the food lines, knowing that you’ll stop fighting back soon.

Part of it feels strange now to feel and see his hands with no leather gloves on.

“Childe,” you start halfway through your meal, continuing after he hums back in reply. “Do you believe in reincarnation?”

He freezes briefly, but recovers so quickly that if you hadn’t been watching so closely, you wouldn’t have noticed. “I think it’s neat, the idea of having past lives. Why do you ask?”

What he really wants to ask is if you’ve been having those dreams, too; if he’s starring in your nights like you have been in his.

“Just a thought, especially since you’re taking Teyvat Myth now, too.”

“Do you...do you think if there was a past life, that we knew each other?”

There’s something about the look of content on your face before you meet his gaze -- he thinks that you know more than you’re letting on but you’re holding back for some reason. He wants to know what’s going through your brain right now, why the fondness in your eyes sends a jolt through him like he’s been searching for it all his life, if you know anything about this magnetic pull between you two.

“I like to think that we knew each other well.”

-

Even though the first day of your returned memories was somewhat eventful, you couldn’t help but feel yourself wanting to pull back from Childe -- at least, until you can successfully compartmentalize which emotions belonged to you past self and which ones belonged to your current mindset. You didn’t quite agree with his duties and his affiliation with the Fatui back then, even if he had his reasons that did make sense, to some degree.

The killing, the threatening, so intent on stealing Rex Lapis’s Gnosis in the name of the Tsaritsa, summoning Osial as a mean to an end -- and you definitely can’t forget how stubborn he was in not listening to your protests, so caught up in his brain that you had betrayed him and sent you plummeting to a near-death experience despite his earlier promise of no intention of killing you specifically.

Everything had been toeing a faint, thin line with Childe then. Undeniable chemistry and tension, guarding yourself for yours and Paimon’s safety, slashing at Fatui agents, whispering out pleas and affirmations of “I’m yours” while riding him, sometimes having to sneak out in the mornings…

The only thing you don’t remember is how everything ends -- maybe it’ll come back to you eventually, but for now, you think you’re okay not knowing.

If Childe still doesn’t remember anything from back then, you think it’d be unfair to spend time with him in all your conflicting emotions, even when it’s spring break, where you have so much more hours in the day to be with each other than normal. Fun plans around Liyue had been made, like a two-day one-night trip to Yaoguang Shoal, and you’re this close to cancelling on him.

But he had been looking forward to it so much, even made most of the preparations for it. Who are you to rob that joy from him when it was you who couldn’t figure out your own shit? Are you self-destructing?

Perhaps.

Before you know it, you’re sitting in the passenger seat of his car, staring out the window at the scenery. Somehow, it pleased you to see that the nature of Liyue had been carefully preserved over the many centuries despite its development into the modern age. You get lost in picking apart the differences between then and now that you don’t notice how quiet you’ve fallen and Childe looks over worriedly when you show no reaction to your favorite songs playing on the stereo.

Even when he calls your name once, twice, nothing gives as you clearly have tuned everything out. So he leaves you be until there’s about half an hour left on the drive, unable to hold back and succumbing to reach over for your hand. You startle so strongly that he almost feels bad for having done it unannounced. But what’s even more disturbing is that this isn’t really the first time.

You’ve been talking to him less, often sitting quietly and staring off into another world that he can’t seem to reach. His texts are answered less frequently and with less wit and enthusiasm, so much so that he just appreciates you still show up to see him. Each time he asks if you’re okay, you always affirm that you are. He’s had a hard time believing you, but Childe believes you’ll tell him when you’re ready, surely.

It’s a little ironic yet fateful that Childe planned to bring you here, of all places. In the past, you had spent many days and nights running around in the sand with him, fighting slimes and hilichurls and collecting starconches for him. You remember laying on a large towel next to him as you both looked up into the sky, pointing out stars and constellations while sharing endless kisses away from prying, spying eyes.

“I’m sorry, I must’ve zoned out,” you sincerely apologize.

“It’s okay, I just wanna make sure you relax while we’re here. This is supposed to be a vacation.”

“You’re right,” you agree and squeeze his hand. “Let’s make the most of it before we become adults who are too busy to have fun like this again.”

And you do. Childe rented a small beach cabin (rich boys) closer to one end of the shoreline, just big enough with two bedrooms, a bathroom, and a small kitchen with a dining table. You help him bring in your bags and some groceries bought the night before, setting them down quickly so you can peer out the window again to take in the view. Childe picked a good time, too. Although it’d be a little chilly at night, the day was still warm and mainly overcast with clouds.

“What do you say we change into our swimsuits and head down to the water?”

“Sure.”

Childe hadn’t really been expecting for you to step out in a large, casual tee and gym shorts, one shoulder exposed. He might have been hoping to see a little more skin, but his mother didn’t raise a chauvinistic pervert for a son.

The light in your eyes as you both approach the water is everything he had been missing the last few days, your excitement and joy contagious. As soon as you place everything down on the sand, you kick off your flip flops and leave him behind to step into the water, giggling at feeling the waves crash over your ankles and bring sand between your toes. Childe approaches you from behind and starts smearing sunblock on the back of your neck, to which you just grin beautifully at him in thanks and he has to fight off the desire to kiss you right then and there.

You’re too caught up in embracing the ocean afterwards to feel the shrinking distance between you two, mistaking his warmth for the general spring air. It isn’t until he’s done with your shoulders that he hands you the bottle to leave you to do the rest of your body, and when you turn to thank him, he’s much closer than you remember. His eyes are gentle, holding your gaze and almost daring you to look away first.

But if there’s one thing you can place without a shred of doubt, it is the unmistakable look of love, because you had seen it many, many times before without knowing until later what it meant.

How so incredibly lucky you were to have Childe back in your life now, loving you all the same, and with no life-threatening barriers. Fate or the Archons have given you a second chance, and you’d be damned to take it for granted.

Childe welcomes your lips against his, wasting no time to bring you into his arms so you’re pressed against him as much as possible. He can’t care for the overt public display of affection because this is everything he’s wanted for months now, waiting patiently for you to give him permission to make you his. Your lips are incredibly soft and pliant against his as you first kiss him patiently, then applying more force and desperation to taste more of him. He mirrors you, one hand cradling the back of your head and the other on your neck with a thumb extended to your jawline, teeth moving to nip at your bottom lip. It’s dangerous, the way you smile against his lips, and when he sinks his teeth in deeper before pulling back, your quiet mewl nearly drives him over the edge.

But you’re in public, and this was an amazing first kiss. You two have a beach to enjoy and a fun night planned, and now that he doesn’t have to hold back on his affections, it’ll be even better.

His lips part from yours regretfully, his eyes languidly opening to meet yours. Out of the corner of his eye, he spots a blue starconch in the sand and freezes.

It’s not that he’s never seen one before, but something clicks. You. The shore. Starconches. Starry nights. His dreams. Monsters. Gods. Fighting. So much fighting. Training. His family. Dragons. You. Falling. You falling. You fighting him. Yelling. Kissing. Loving. Chasing. Him chasing you before you disappear at a teleport waypoint that somehow you only can operate. The abyss. Your twin.

Oh, Archons.

“ -ou okay, Ajax? Ajax?”

He snaps to look at you again. How does he go about this? How does he ask?

“(Y/n)...have you ever heard of the Fatui Harbingers?”

He has to admit that it’s a bit amazing to be able to identify all the emotions that cross your complexion, from curiosity to realization to conflicted. You’re actively trying to piece everything together without revealing too much on the off-chance that you’re wrong, that Childe hasn’t regained his memories and is just asking about something from class randomly and completely out of the blue.

Wait.

“You haven’t reached that material yet in class,” you whisper, heart in your throat at the realization. Could it really be…

“I was once Tartaglia, eleventh Harbinger of the Fatui, who possessed a Delusion and used my Foul Legacy Transformation with you several times,” he murmurs back, tucking a stray tendril behind your ear. “Is it too late to apologize again for summoning an ancient god and letting you fall about five floors with no warning?”

He should’ve been prepared for you wrapping your arms around his neck, pulling him in for a tight embrace. “No, never, but I spent weeks after kicking your ass so you’ve been long forgiven.”

Childe burrows his face into your neck, breathing in your scent and basking in this moment. There was so much to talk about, but you two arguably had more time in the world than ever with nothing holding you back. There was no impending war looming over, no one on the run, no opposing forces. His silent wish for a different life with you seems to have been answered finally. If running into you had been the event to set everything in motion, he only wishes he’d done so earlier.

All that matters now is you’re here together in this plane of existence, given a chance to love again, and experience everything you couldn't before.

As written in the stars, take my soul for it is forever yours.

fin

[doitwritenow]

How long did Stephen spend in the 14,000,605 futures?

So, I was doing some thinking. 14,000,605 is a big number--big enough that it’s meaning sort of becomes unquantifiable, just like the blank looks you get when you try to explain how far the sun is from Earth. And remember, it’s canon that Stephen didn’t just see the CliffsNotes of those timelines:

"He has to physically live them, and then die in each of them, and right before he dies, he has to reset it, as we saw at the end of Doctor Strange, and do it again. And take copious notes each time he does it." - Joe Russo

So, if every one of those timelines was a life Stephen lead, what does it translate to? What, in terms of time, is the value of all those realities?

Math time.

There are two broad designations we can sort Stephen’s ultimate futures into. The first are futures where Stephen focuses on preventing the Snap, and the second are futures where Stephen focuses on undoing a Snap that did happen. I can only imagine it takes a significant number of futures for Stephen to give up trying to keep Thanos from getting all the Stones. I’ll call that 3/5 of the futures; little less than half of them spent undoing as opposed to preventing.

Within those two broad designations, there’s another set of factors: the Dusting itself. Assuming the Blip is truly random, we can generalize that in 1/2 the futures, Stephen was in the dusted 50%. By definition, if Stephen (and indeed anyone) is dusted in the prevention futures, it’s game over and he abandons that timeline. That leaves us with three vague situational constants:

Okay, great. Now for the part where I get to make a couple of educated guesses. 

How long, then, is a “prevention future”? The shortest one probably starts around the length of the battle on Titan in Infinity War. From the moment Stephen returns from the time projection to the moment Thanos supposedly kills everyone and takes the Time Stone is, by my estimation, at least 45 minutes. We all know Stephen Strange is a self-sacrificial bastard (I will cite canon for this if you truly need me to but I choose to assume you aren’t blind), so he wouldn’t have considered this a true loss until Thanos retrieved the rest of the Stones in Wakanda. (The events on Earth aren’t a variable in this; Stephen can’t influence them when he’s not actually there). Let’s tack on another 45 minutes for Wakanda. 

Shortest prevention timeline: 1.5 hours

What about the longest time, then? The longest possible situation I imagine goes something like this:

Stephen & co. leave Titan and hide in the reaches of the universe

Thanos goes to Earth, kills everyone there, and probably mind-controls Wong using the Mind Stone into disclosing who has the Time Stone and preforming some sort of tracking spell to find it.

Thanos tracks down Stephen & co.

Thanos captures Stephen (”You’ll find removing a dead man’s spell troublesome”)

Torture. Extraordinary amounts of torture.

Snap

OR:

Stephen & co. portal back to Earth and collect all the remaining Infinity Stones

The Guardians help them hide the Stones amongst various parts of the universe, in pocket dimensions, behind containments, etc.

(Now I think this is a great plan, but canon dictates it has to fail so:) Thanos eventually finds the Stones.

Pain, suffering, death of Stephen & co.

Snap.

Now, Stephen spent a whole other blog-post worth of time repeatedly dying inside a time loop to save the dimension as we know it, so we’ve got to assume he doesn’t break quick under torture. Therefore, I’m going to call the longest prevention future 7 years. 

Longest prevention timeline: 7 years.

That’s quite a difference! I’m going to assume that most of the futures fall on the shorter side, and these higher futures are outliers. By standard distribution and some rather arbitrary bounding of graphs, I find the average time spent in these futures to be about 10220 hours, or approximately 1 year and 2 months. (There’s 8760 hours in a year, and in favor of underestimating instead of overestimating, I chose to assume that very few futures drifted in the 7 year direction.)

Alright, so, Stephen spends an average of 1 year and 2 months in each of the the prevention timelines. Remember, we decided about 3/5 of the 14,000,605 futures are prevention futures. That’s 8,400,363 futures. 1 year and 2 months in those futures means Stephen lived 9,800,423 years and six months in just the prevention futures. That’s a hell of a long time. 

But now, let’s do the undoing futures.

So, in 50% of these, Stephen gets dusted. He has to stick around these futures a while after that before abandoning them as failures--and a really long time to be sure, as well. So depending on how long it takes him to realize the consistent factors that lead to undoing a snap (Tony being alive, Scott coming back from the Quantum Realm, Nebula in general), he’d have quite a long time to wait in these. He’d only know to abandon them when those critical factors were undermined/killed/prevented by Thanos or other means. 

 In the One Future, he would’ve had to stick around for 5 years because of that stupid rat. But Scott’s escape from the Quantum Realm could have been hurried by Stephen mentioning that fact to Tony or somebody before Thanos Snapped. Remember, though, that Stephen would have had to live out timelines, probably a good number of them, where the rat thing happened all on its own to even know it was important. Let’s say, then, that the One Future was on the higher end of the spectrum for the length of this type of future (undoing: Stephen dusted). On average, the length of the dusted undoing futures was about 2 years. 

Blah blah blah, math math math. 2/5 of 14,000,605 is 5,600,242, and half of that is 2,800,121. 2 years in each of those futures gets us right back to 5,600,242, but years this time. 

So what about the timelines where Stephen lived? Since he knows the way the future will play out, it’s safe to assume his existence speeds those futures. I would say the longest of these (undoing: Stephen lives) is around a year. Giving up the Stone means Tony doesn’t trust him and hesitates at the wrong moment, etc. etc. etc. Stephen is killed by other factors besides the Snap in some. Thanos still has the Stones when they try and kill him to take them. On and on and on and on. 

The shortest ones would probably be no longer than a month--those Infinity Stones can really do some damage. Which means the average time in the non-dusted undoing futures is around 6.5 months.

14,000,605 * (2/5) * (1/2) =  2,800,121.  2,800,121 * 6.5 = 18,200,786.5. 12 months in a year means approximately 1,516,732 years. 

Adding all those sections up gives us 16,917,397 years. 

That is 208,857 lifetimes. That’s longer than humans have existed on earth. That’s about 84.6 times as long as humans have existed on Earth. If Stephen truly lived through all those futures, he’d be 1/250 the age of planet Earth itself.

Even if we take the very bare minimum and say Stephen spent only a day, on average, in those 14,000,605 futures, that’s still 38,357.8 years. If we say he only spent an hour in each of those futures THAT’S STILL 1,598.2 YEARS!!! WHAT THE FUCK????

*a series of deep breaths*

And in every single one of those futures, in every one, Stephen fought and died and killed and lived beside Tony Stark, Peter Parker, and the Guardians of the Galaxy. In every single one, he got to know them, got to understand them. Thousands upon thousands of lifetimes, and Stephen Strange grew to know the Avengers like he knew himself. 

Think about that, and think about the look on his face when he kneels to Tony’s dead body, mmhmm? 

(Thanks, I’ll just be crying for 14,000,605 years).

Tl;dr: 16,917,397 years is a reasonable, even low estimate for the years Stephen Strange lived while viewing ultimate futures. Give my sorcerer the recognition he deserves.

[notmrskennedy]

Friendliness

A/N - ha so i just wrote this - no editing we die like men. here’s the alternate ending to my other post Likeability (this one is the more predictable one y’all will probably like whoops) if you’ve read the other one, just skip to the end it’s all the same in the middle 

Summary - The Team meets a very unfriendly scientist which Spencer’s taken a fancy to

W/C - 2.9k (whoops)

Warnings - Mild Anatomy/bones/etc discussion, a pinch and change of swearing

----

Luke is holding his stomach in his hands. He could usually pride himself on keeping his cool, keeping his head—and stomach—together during a case. He’d seen enough dead bodies that this shouldn’t have thrown him like he’d just sailed twelve foot waves in a dingy. 

But he is, after all, standing over a mass grave. Watching a too giddy scientist dig up the bodies. 

You’ve captured everyone’s attention, for various reasons. Rossi is vaguely amused by your joyous shouting of bones and your rat moustached assistant. Luke can’t tear his eyes away from the car wreck—are you supposed to swing bones around like baseball bats? Reid seems more interested in your bad jokes and coveralls than he is in solving the case. 

The rat assistant—Stewart Walsh—squeezes between Luke and Reid, scuttling like some kind of diseased turtle. “Doctor Y/L/N!”

You barely stop pouring over the mud covered pelvis in your hands to even acknowledge him. 

“I just thought you should know that Dr. Evanston just got here.”

You look up, toss the bone to him, and snort. “Tell him the soil samples are four miles due east from here.”

“What’s wrong with Evanston?” Luke asks to no one in particular it seems, waving Stewart off to run for a group of approaching nerds in coveralls. 

Ignoring the question or maybe Luke, you just turn back to your search. Elbow deep in mud, being nice must not have been on the to-do list. Reid leans over, hands in his pockets, and whispers, “Evanston stole one of her research papers. I thought he was going to get his teeth kicked in—“

“Skull!” you holler. Luke isn’t stupid enough to miss the glare reserved for the sheepish Dr. Reid.

He clears his throat. “Thoughts so far, doctor?”

“I’m thinking beetles,” is all you say before turning back to your skull. Luke might not know many scientists, but he doesn’t think that most of them look at human skulls like its the Mona Lisa. Like this fat piece of bone held the answers to the universe inside its empty eye sockets. 

“Beetles?” Luke coughs. Rossi just shakes his head. Pretends this isn’t a conversation he’s having. Reid is still studying you like Luke might study infiltration schematics. Stewart runs up, out of breath, very rose coloured. 

You’re eyes are sparkling as you wade over to them with a new radius bone in your hands. Everyone bends like they know what they’re looking at and you point along the edge of the bone. “It’s a subtle difference but these bones have been cleaned before being buried. My guess is carrion beetles. They’re very hard workers. And—“ you switch to pointing at the radial head— “minute scoring and kerf marks. These look pretty old, so I’m assuming we’re getting close to the bottom.”

“So our unsub dismembered his victims,” Rossi begins, “then cleaned the pieces?”

You nod and hand off the bone to a very blushing Stewart. “I won’t know for sure until I’ve had a chance to examine all the bones. There’s nothing definitive yet. What a hobbyist though, right?”

You chuckle to yourself and dive back into fishing out more finger and wrist bones. Luke turns, runs his hands over his face, and hikes a thumb over his shoulder. “Where did we find her?”

Rossi shrugs, “FBI easter egg hunt.” Luke blinks, while Rossi chuckles at his gullibility. “Come on, the doctor’s the best in the field. Good kid, I can tell.” 

“Y/N’s great,” Spencer absently adds on, too busy staring at you. You’re explaining different types of dismemberment to Stewart like you’re discussing the rain. Luke grips onto his stomach just a little tighter. 

“Y/N, huh?” Luke teases, momentarily forgetting the unsettling feeling in his gut about you. “You two, uh, friends or something?”

It’s Reid’s turn to stumble. “Yeah, but it’s—we’re just—we’re just—.” 

Rossi shakes his head, slaps Reid on the shoulder. “Oh yeah, just friends. So, tell me. Do you talk about dismemberment before or after you make out?”

#

JJ wants to beg Emily not to make her go down into the basement. You’re down there. She knows it’s childish to be this avoidant—you are just a person after all. A creepy, psychopathic weirdo that makes JJ’s gut churn. She gets why Spencer’s taken to you—shared love of science and random trivia. She does. But that doesn’t mean JJ enjoys the cold ass morgue, smiling along as you ramble. Most of everyone’s limited contact with you has involved random facts and Stewart’s too intimate knowledge of fracture patterns. 

There had been ten minutes of reassurance from Emily that you were, in fact, not a horrible person. Ended with JJ making the cold and dark trek down to the morgue. She couldn’t imagine working down here all day long. No one to talk to, no one to strategise with, no where to go. Maybe it suited you. No one would have to listen. 

“—don’t know what to do!” echoes across the bottom of the stairwell, the morgue’s doors cracked open. The distress breaks JJ’s heart. Your voice stops her dead in her tracks.  

“They don’t hate you,” Spencer’s voice comes after. Gentler, softer. “They—they just don’t know you yet.”

“They don’t want to, Spence!” and JJ winces with the words. It always hurt more when the truth came out in that tone. “I get it! You know? I work with human remains and don’t bring my people skills with me when I’m on the job, but—that shouldn’t matter!” 

JJ winces again, tries to ignore how those are nothing short of teary sniffles echoing through her ears. She leans back against the wall and has no idea what to do. Spencer had obviously been down here for hours. Knew you well enough to get the teary truth. What could she do now? Interrupt? 

She’d walked into hostage situations less freakin’ stressful than this. 

“You’re right,” Spencer soothes, steadfast and strong, “it doesn’t matter. This isn’t—“

“It’s not your fault,” you sigh. JJ doesn’t want to hear the strangled touch to your voice. Doesn’t want to hear the break. “They’re your friends and I’m just your—“ 

 “Doctor!” Stewart calls and JJ could scream. You’re his what? 

At least, it’s as good as any moment to intrude. 

“What, Stewart?” you snapped, already broken away from Spencer with wet cheeks and stained glasses. You wipe them off haphazardly with the tail end of Spencer’s sweater sleeve—JJ couldn’t help but smile, even if it’s a little strangled. 

Stewart jumps like a wet cat and tosses a bundle of files into your hands. “Beetles.”

One word snatches the tears from your face. Snatches you away from Spencer’s side for one of the dozen skeletons on the tables. There was no reason to think that she’ll get her report from you now. With a rib bone in one hand and contemplation in your features—JJ can’t decide how unnerved she is—you’re a little too concentrated. 

Stewart scuttles around you. A little too attentive. A little too cherry tinted. Yep. No reports to be had from either of you. JJ turned to Spencer instead, hoping that maybe he’d be helpful. Plastered up like a billboard, JJ knows that saccharine smile isn’t going to get her anywhere. 

“Spence?”

He hums, halfheartedly tearing his eyes away. “Yeah?”

“I need the latest report for Emily, but I don’t think—“

“I’ll—just a second, JJ.” Spencer grins, sugary sweet, and slips away. JJ doesn’t miss how he places a hand on your shoulder as he passes. How you barely even notice that quite intimate contact. She also doesn’t miss how Stewart’s face sours at the action, how his eyes narrow enough that Spencer feasibly should’ve noticed. 

Reports in hand a minute later, JJ leans over to Spencer. Elbows him in the arm. “Stewart seems pretty jealous. Any reason for that?”

Spencer shrugs. “Wouldn’t know a thing about it.”

#

Rossi doesn’t have an opinion. Everyone keeps asking—oh Rossi, you’re the wisest of us all, what should we do about poor little Y/N? He doesn’t know, doesn’t care. You are just some scientist who is doing a thousand percent better job than any other forensics ‘expert’ he’s had the pleasure of working with. 

Your lab doesn’t smell. You don’t smell. Is there anything more to ask for? 

But he does get the brute of having to make the trek down to the morgue—god, his knees alone—and receives most of the reports from the not as horrible as everyone thinks Dr. Y/N Y/L/N. Who is joyfully humming while squinting over one of the skeleton’s hands. 

“Hey, doc,” he calls and you look up at him with an adorable sort of grin. “Got anything new?”

“Sure,” you chirp. Hesitate to wave him over. “If you want the details, that is.”

Rossi shakes his head, pulls up a stool to sit next to you and your subject. “I like to have as much knowledge as I can. You never know what will lead you to your un-sub.”

You settle your elbows on the table, straighten a stray finger bone. The team shouldn’t be worried about you being a psychopath. You’re dedicated, careful, attentive. Rossi hopes that if he ever gets turned into human remains, you’re the one looking over him. There’s been more care put into one skeleton than into his three combined marriages. 

“You’re in luck,” you answer, “I’ve got a lot to tell you about our attacker. You’ve got time, right?”

Rossi nods, smiles. “Plenty.”

#

Penelope still hasn’t met you and that kind of pisses her off. You haven’t made it upstairs once? She flies into some dingy Wyoming hovel of a police station for like a week and no one’s thought to bring you upstairs? Rude. 

She’s sitting in JJ’s desk chair, waiting for her and Luke to get back from interviewing a potential lead—some ex-felon who fit your makeshift profile. Reid’s scouring over some boring geographical profile, trying not to get annoyed as she nervously—angrily—rants about the case to him. She knows he’s tuning her out, but her work’s been put on the back burner until someone comes up with something to give her. 

There’s only so much a computer can find and she’s no profiler. 

It’s about five minutes after Reid snapped and left to get a coffee refill, when she picks up a call from the desk. “Hello?”

Creaking metal and shuddering breathing comes first. “Set the scalpel down” comes second.  She swallows, silent, and panicking. What the heck is she supposed to do? Paying attention to those hostage negotiation seminars that she definitely didn’t go to would’ve come in handy right about now. 

Said scalpel clatters onto some metal table, followed by a strong, “You really don’t want to do this. Please put the gun down.”

Oh god, this is happening. 

“You just—“ a male voice snips, bellowing out, “YOU DON’T LOOK AT ME.”

“I do look at you, Stewart,” you plead just as JJ and Luke clamour through the bullpen’s door. Penelope puts the call on speaker, mutes it, and screams for them. 

“I don’t know what to do,” Penelope sobs professionally, “someone’s got a gun.”

JJ runs for Emily’s office while Reid returns heedlessly. Luke puts a soft hand on Penelope’s cold one and squeezes. Newbie or not, it’s appreciated as the man’s voice returns. “I’ve tried for so long to get you to—to just—just look at me! I’ve done so much!”

“I know, Stewart,” you ease and Reid tenses. Nearly drops his coffee. “It’s not your fault. You’ve worked so hard.”

“Yeah,” Stewart sobs; Penelope can only imagine how crazy this kid must be. 

“Did you leave all those bodies for me, Stewart?” you question and everyone holds their breath. Luke squeezes harder on her hand. Reid’s twitching like a rabbit’s nose, a death grip on his mug, frozen as a Michigan pond. 

Stewart sniffles. Probably nods. Penelope doesn’t know whether to run or sit or cry. She decides it’s probably cry, but instead her fingers start moving to record the call, trace the office origin. 

“It was a great puzzle, Stewart, it was really genius. It was a fun case to follow, you know that.” You swallow hard, metal tinkles through the speaker. Please, Penelope begs, don’t let them kill each other. I haven’t met the doctor yet!

“Why did you kill these girls, Stewart?” your voice is so gentle and lulling Penelope almost forgets that she’s listening to you try to save your own life. 

 “I wanted you to look,” he says, sniffles. “I wanted you. I want you, Y/N. I want you to love me.”

It’s either her computer beeping or someone falling through a table or a gunshot. She doesn’t know. She’s crying too hard to care. 

#

Tara doesn’t know when she started to run—probably just after JJ, Luke, and Reid barrelled passed her by the bathroom shouting about the situation—but she’s almost to the morgue doors, right on Reid’s heels. Lord almighty, she feels so stupid. She’d had enough little one on one chats with Stewart to know he was some sort of psycho in disguise. To know that something was wrong with that kid. No one could last more than three minutes with your grad student assistant without wanting to take an eyeball out—his or theirs it didn’t matter. She’d let herself believe you when you told her that all forensic anthropologists seem like that. That there was nothing to worry about. 

Nothing to worry about her ass. 

Luke’s the first to storm the morgue, expecting what Tara is: you, dead, on the floor with Stewart on the brink of killing himself. But they stop and they stare and Reid beams on with the absurd look on your face. 

You’re shaking with rage, pointing a gun at a very unconscious, crumpled, bleeding Stewart Walsh. Your teeth are bared in what Tara would consider out of a comic book—ludicrous and of someone who’s completely lost their mind. JJ makes the mistake of asking if you’re alright.

“Alright?” you chirp, feral and ravenous. JJ and Luke shrink back as you shout, “I lived in Honduras for three years! This isn’t even the worst thing that’s happened to me. It’s my third fucking kidnapping!”

“T-third?” Luke croaks. 

“Third!” you shout again and recklessly set your gun on the table. Spencer grins, which sets you off further. “I’ve been nice. I’ve been accommodating. But this is my fourth psychotic grad student! I fucking swear—!”

Stewart groans—thank god he’s alive—and Spencer, thankfully, rushes forward to catch you before you can take anything else out on the kid. Tara’s heard rumours about mysterious other instances of your being under arrest. Illegal transportation of goods was one thing, police brutality was another. The scalpel sticking out of his knee is bad enough. 

She helps Luke haul Stewart to his feet, reeking of desperation and a much needed psych eval. JJ follows close behind, closes the morgue doors behind them. But not before they hear your muffled sobs and Spencer’s smiling. 

“You got him, Y/N.”

“No, Spence,” you correct, and Tara can’t help but be proud, “I kicked the snot out of him.”

#

Emily is barely awake when she sees it. JJ’s soft breathing next to her is lulling by itself, let alone if you add in Rossi’s rhythmic snoring and Luke’s idle whispers of sleep talk. Emily could do with some sleep and maybe a few days off. They could all use a few days off, especially after coming to terms with the fact a grad student had killed 12 women just to get a little action. 

From a scientist who freely admitted to enjoying the company of bones over real people. 

Alive people. 

No wonder Stewart had done what he’d done. 

Emily turns in her spot, lays back against the wall of the airplane and the seat. After nearly five decades—she’s never thinking about that again—of plane rides, she can comfortably say she can sleep anywhere. With any amount of noise, or cold, or pain. 

But her eyes are accidentally open when she peaks around the seat cushion. Spies the Wild Dr. Reid in his natural habitat, reading some ridiculously long book and…carding his fingers through your hair? He’s got a lock curled up around his finger, gently twisting it as he reads. You’re sleeping—knocked the fuck out—in his lap, gripping loosely onto his leg. 

You deserve the sleep, Emily decides with a smile. You’d worked the hardest on the case, up for nearly four days with as little rest as you can manage. How Stewart managed to stay awake enough to attack you is beyond Emily. She’s missed out on a few hours just today and she’s losing the battle with her eyelids. 

No one ever asked her opinion of you. Probably didn’t have to. You were not the easiest to like, but you’d captured her respect and a bit of her heart when you’d said at the beginning of the case: “I’m an excavator by trade—I’m at archeological digs most of the time—so it’s hard to wrap my head around the fact that these ladies are murder victims. I don’t think I’ll sleep until I’ve got names for them. And maybe the murderer on my table.”

Emily understood the unease, the apprehension. Why everyone was relieved when you’d turned down the plane ride she’d offered you. How they all bit back groans when Emily had insisted. But they’ll have to get used to it, Emily thinks and she settles again. Because they’ll see you again. No doubt about it. The way you’re wrapped up around Spencer, how you hold tighter when the jet bounces a touch, says just that much anyway. 

[young-dumb-and-vaccinated]

Cult Girl: Doctorate (Hannibal x Female!Reader) pt. 2

Oils

Cult girl socializes at the opera and receives an unexpected call. 

Note: I tagged this as “anti mlm” as in multi-level marketing and not men-loving-men. 

Trigger warnings: Discussions of cults and emotional manipulation

It wasn't until after the opera was over that people began to notice you may have had a little fun during intermission. Hannibal's hair wasn't in its usual perfect side part and his jacket was slightly wrinkled in places. You could cover most of his love bites with your stole, but nothing could hide that post-orgasm glow.

Most opera-goers stayed to socialize for hours after the show concluded, making an already long night even longer. It was like clubbing, but for rich old people.

"So you're the future Mrs. Hannibal Lecter?" A woman with silvery hair said. She dragged her husband into the conversation by the arm. "I've heard so much about you."

You were about to say something witty, but noticed the way she was looking at you. Scanning you up and down. Looking for anything out of place to grill you about.

"Only good things, I hope." Hannibal said in your silence. His voice was vaguely threatening. "She is a doctoral student, in her second year of her graduate studies in clinical psychology."

The husband, who, up to this point, hadn't spoken a word, perked up. "Is that right?"

You smiled, excited for the chance to talk about your passion. "Yes sir. I've still got quite a ways to go, but I love my work."

"You should be proud." The man praised, looking at Hannibal. "You've got yourself an ambitious wife."

"Oh, we're not married yet." You corrected.

"So when can we expect an invitation?" The woman asked.

"Six months from now, isn't it?" Hannibal answered. "Memorial day weekend. Then I'm taking her to Italy for a lengthy honeymoon."

The woman threw her head back and sighed. "That sounds heavenly."

"You young modern girls are always so intuitive." The man commented. "I'll bet you tricked him into marrying you."

You wanted to call this guy out for his sexist bullshit, but he wasn't far off. It was Hannibal who tricked you, though.

Technically, he proposed to you within the first six months. You just didn't know it. It took until shockingly recently to find out.

It was during a ballroom dancing lesson of all places. You were sweaty, but loved the feeling of your lover's hands gently guiding your movements. You stepped away from the lesson to get some water, and innocently asked when he would propose to you.

"I believe I already did." He said with enough conviction to blur the lines of seriousness and sarcasm.

"You pretended to." You corrected. "Remember? We were just pretending to be engaged for Anna's wedding."

"But it didn't end after the wedding, did it?" He observed. "You kept calling me your fiancé long after that weekend passed."

You paused, then threw your head back in exasperation. "Oh my god, Hannibal."

Hannibal laughed. "I told you. Someday it won't be a lie."

"You're a piece of shit, you know that?" You pressed your fingers to your temples. "So we've been engaged this whole time?"

"What can I say?" He said, gently. "I knew you were my one and only even then. It was just a matter of circumventing your inhibitions."

"I'm not complaining." You folded your arms. "But a little notice would have been nice."

"Well, if you insist." He laced his fingers between his own. "[F/N] [L/N]. Will you be my wife?"

Even though the question was truly just a formality, you were still as giddy as a schoolgirl to hear those words.

"Yes, Hannibal Lecter." You said, cheeks stinging from smiling so hard. "I will marry you."

Then you just went back to the dance lesson like nothing happened. It was shockingly in-character for both of you.

"No." You shook your head. "We killed someone together and took a blood oath to never separate."

The couple laughed. Hannibal looked down at you with pride.

“So [F/N].” The man said. “Have you given any thought to your doctoral dissertation?” 

“Oh, Charles.” The woman rolled her eyes. “I’m sure she didn’t come here to be grilled about her studies.” 

“No, it’s okay.” You smiled. As long as you were talking about school, you weren’t being interrogated about the thirty-year age gap between you and Hannibal. “I have been thinking about my dissertation. There are plenty of fascinating topics to choose from, but I can’t not write it about, well, the reason I began to study psychology in the first place.” 

“And that is?” The man raised an eyebrow.

“Cults.” You said, grinning ear to ear. “Understanding them, their leaders, their followers, why people join them. How they evolve and grow more insidious as time passes. What form they’re starting to take in the digital age.” 

“That is interesting.” The woman’s voice rose, connoting genuine engagement. “And what form are they taking in the digital age?” 

You looked up at Hannibal, as if to ask for permission. Permission to rip into her and burn that bridge for good. He answered in the affirmative. 

“Ma’am, could I take a look at your bracelet?” You asked, already knowing exactly what she would say. 

Her face lit up. “Oh, do you like it?”

She pulled it off her wrist and handed it to you. You brought it to your nose and took a whiff, confirming your theory. Then you handed it off to Hannibal, whose sense of smell was much more refined. He took one breath, then recoiled. 

Hannibal covered his mouth and nose with his hand and coughed. “That is... quite strong, Mrs. DeMarco.” 

“It’s Affirm, by doTERRA.” She revealed, her voice growing defensive. “It helps you ground yourself and remember your worth.” 

You handed the bracelet back to her. “Do you sell doTERRA, Mrs. DeMarco?” 

“Well, now that you mention it...” A small smile appeared on her lips. “Why? Would you like to buy some?” 

“I hate to be the one to tell you this, ma’am, but...” You lied. “You’re actually in a cult.” 

She had nothing to say to that. She just stared at you with her mouth agape, urging you to explain yourself. 

“Multilevel marketing companies employ a host of cult manipulation tactics to con people out of their savings.” You explained. “Just because the promise is financial independence instead of a spot in paradise, doesn’t mean it’s not a lie. Research conducted by the Federal Trade Commission shows that the vast majority of participants actually lose money. The statistics are just a google search away, yet thousands of people still insist on the legitimacy of the companies they sell for.” 

“Well, I-” She protested, but couldn’t find the words to defend herself. “I’m there for the community, really. For the first time in years, I have a sisterhood of like-minded women who love me!” 

You smiled through a cringe. “That’s another pretty common cult manipulation tactic. They appropriate familial language to make people feel more connected to the group than they really should be.” 

Although you didn’t expect her to, she looked to be genuinely considering it. 

“Next time you see your ‘sisters’,” You began. “Pay attention to how they talk about people who are not in the group. Or, better yet, tell them that you’re considering leaving. You’ll see how conditional their love is.” 

An awkward, deafening silence followed. The woman looked at her husband, as if willing him to do something. To stand up to the evil twenty-something grad student who had the audacity to cite her sources. 

Instead, the husband just burst out in riotous laughter. 

“Miriam!” He nearly shouted, heaving like he was about to collapse. “I told you that oil business was up to no good! No honest company makes their employees pay to work!” 

The woman’s face turned red. You almost felt bad for her. The feeling vanished when the man put his hand on your shoulder. 

“Seriously, Dr. Lecter, you’d better keep this one.” He said, wiping a tear from his eye. “She’s an absolute godsend.” 

“No divine intervention was involved whatsoever, Dr. DeMarco.” Hannibal smiled to himself and brought a glass of champagne to his lips. “She is a woman of her own making."

"Oh, we all know that's not entirely true." The woman snapped, slipping into passive-aggression. She glanced at Hannibal. "How much are you spending on this mouthy little know-it-all? Isn't it about $80k a year?"

You, of course, brought this on yourself. You threw down the gauntlet by going after this girlboss's side hustle, so now nothing was off-limits.

"I wouldn't worry about that, Mrs. DeMarco." Hannibal said, calmly. "My soon-to-be wife's education is a much better investment than that overpriced napalm you wear on your wrist."

You couldn't help but laugh at that. It was a laugh you shared with the man. Hannibal looked down at you, admiring how your face lit up.

"You'll forgive my wife's rudeness." The man requested. "Please, Ms. [F/N], tell me more about your dissertation."

"Well," you laced your fingers together. "I'm planning to write my dissertation on the cult of academic elitism."

"I would tread lightly, dear." The woman warned, eyes darting to Hannibal. "You wouldn't want to bite the hand that feeds you."

You adjusted your stole, giving them a quick glance at the love bites along your neck.

"I assure you." You said. "He quite likes it when I bite."

Your clutch started to aggressively, audibly vibrate. You could have sworn you'd put your phone on silent, but it buzzed nonetheless.

"Probably just, y'know-" you stuttered, embarrassed. "An amber alert or something."

"We are expecting a snowstorm, I believe. I was warned of it a few minutes ago." Hannibal said, always ready to cover your ass whenever needed. The couple nodded along in understanding.

You pulled your phone from your clutch. Your eyes widened and your face turned sickly pale at the sight of a caller you thought you’d never hear from again. Without thinking, you slid the deny icon across the screen. 

“Right.” You said, tucking your phone and your secrets back into the clutch. “Winter Storm... Theresa is headed this way.” 

Hannibal cleared his throat. “In that case, [F/N] and I must take our leave before we get snowed in. It was very nice catching up with you. I will see to it that [F/N] and I have you for dinner very soon.” 

[fuckyeahderpcrew]

Important update regarding Galm (April 20th, 2021)

Hello, everyone. This is going to be a long post, so a lot of it will go under a keep reading.

It will include some links and a long, long, long transcript.

TL;DR John has addressed what's happened with Galm; Galm has messaged people and said some things troubling nature.

There may be some content you might not feel comfortable reading, so please be careful.

I'll put the keep reading right here, so please take the time to read this when you're able to. It's all very important. And please remember that with everything going on right now, we can only support the derp crew to the best of our ability by respecting their decisions and wishes.

Oriana_gray's post: Reddit (x) Her Twitter thread (x) cw for sexual harrassment

John's address: ( Twitch highlight here )

Transcript link: (on Reddit)

Read Transcript Below:

( URL - https://www.twitch.tv/videos/994753439 )

TL;DR John has addressed that Galm is not in a healthy mental state, and that things he has done during this time are inexcusable. Nonetheless, he hopes that Galm gets the help they need. At the time being, neither him, nor the derps, nor any of us can do anything to help him. This topic is no longer to be discussed in chat.

"So, we're gonna...before I, uh, get onto the actual stream, there was one thing I didn't really wanna talk about and, uh, it may be the reason why there are in fact like 5...6 mods in here, uh, just because this- it's something that we needed to like- we need to...sit down and talk about. Uh, just because, um, you know...it's- it's kind of necessary, it's kind of important and um...I've been thinking about it for at least a week now. Uh, so, before we get into it, just fair warning- I got all the mods here, all the mods who are hanging out. Uh, if you see something that like needs to get shut down, please do me a favor and shut it down. Uh, yes we’re having a serious sit down talk. [laughs softly] It is me, your father, we’re gonna have a talk. I...am fucking old- that’s not what we’re talking about. But, um… [laughs softly again]. Yeah, my point is, we’re gonna- we- I- this is serious- this is some serious time we need to have...um… Let me fix this really quick before we… [adjusts camera] I’m pushing- I’m delaying the inevitable, I’m sorry. But, yeah...More or less, um...so…

“Like I said- sorry. So, mods, you know what to do. Anyway… Let’s [claps hands] Let’s break it down really quick. I’m gonna try not to make this so in-depth because one, it’s not my place to, uh, divulge any information further on than what is out there. Uh, if- fuck, I’m dropping stuff on my desk, hold on. Um- this isn’t me delaying it, I promise you. Um- but yeah it is not my place to necessarily speak about a lot of the events that have happened, and… it isn’t my- I’m not going to be the one to do that. Uh, whoever wishes to talk about it and whoever wishes to tell their side of the story...I am obviously gonna listen. I’m gonna be open to it, and I’m gonna hear it out, but I need to start this off of course. And I’m not looking at the camera because this is gonna be- this is gonna be hard for me to do so I just gotta keep rolling through it. I’ve been trying to think about how I’m going to speak about this. I think if I just shoot from the hip and get it over with that’s the best way we’re gonna get through this.

“Um, so it is no secret that our friend Galm is very mentally unwell. And…[sighs] it’s- it’s one of those things where a lot of information has come out publicly- um- in the time in which his mental state has gotten worse. Um...the only thing I can say is I- it is no longer in our hands. And I say that because his family has gotten involved, so from this point forward, there is nothing we can really do about that. And that’s something I wanna stress like off the bat. I’ve spent a long time talking with my therapist over this stuff since everything has started. And...I find that I am a person who tends to internalize a lot of- a lot of things, so...uh, for me, I have been making Galm’s mental health my problem and making it my mental health, and um, because of that my anxiety has drastically spike to a point in which, uh, for those who remember a couple months ago I took a two month break off because I was having really bad anxiety attacks. And I’m not trying to make this about me. I promise I’m not trying to, I’m just trying to convey- like I- was like- it’s- things have been on that level again and I don’t want them to be. I can’t do that again. Um, but my point- I wanna get back to what I’m saying- ‘cause again I don’t want this to be taken out of context. I don’t want anything to be taken out of context and made to look like, uh, like a certain way. “Um, so, a lot of- of what has been going on. Uh...I’ve seen a lot of DM’s...I’ve seen a lot of text messages. Um, and to the people who’ve, uh, dealt with that, I know I’m not responsible for it but I am so sorry that you went through this shit that went down because it’s- it’s not okay. It’s absolutely not okay. Um...while Galm’s mental state is deteriorating, and while- I-I know for a fact based on dates, and based on times, a lot of what was sent out was during said, like, manic episodes, like those manic episodes where they were...con- they were consecutively tweeting minute after minute, constantly. Um, I know a lot of it was during that time, however, and I think that we can all agree here. Regardless of...your mental state and your mental health, um, none of that- none of what was sent to other people, none of what was texted to other people is absolutely not okay. It’s not okay for a person to um...send messages like they did- I’m trying to be as vague as possible. It’s not okay for...those conversations to be had in the way that they were had. Um...and, I personally can’t stand by it. That’s not something that I ever want to see happen in the...I don’t want to say “Derp Crew”...I’m not saying that. I’m gonna say, that’s not something I ever wanna see in general. I don’t wanna see anyone go through that ever again. Especially through um...especially due to someone who was so close to me for so long, and I’m not trying to say that- I’m not trying to say that, like… I’m not trying to be like- I’m not trying to be like “fuck Galm” you know what I mean? Like I’m not trying to do that, that’s not something I wanna do. But I just want to make a point to say what happened was not okay and we need to accept that. And we need to understand that that’s not something that never needs to happen again.

“But, on the flip side, we also need to understand that this was taking place- all of this was taking place during a deteriorative mental state, I think that’s the way to put it. Um… but again, on the flip side again, it’s still not okay, you know what I mean? Like it- it’s not. It’s not okay. Um...and, at this point, uh, th- it- I will be honest, like I’ve said, it has gotten much worse from the updates I’ve heard. I’m not going to divulge the information because again, it is not my business and- well it- [sighs] it’s not- it’s not my place to say, that’s what I’m trying to say, it’s not my place to say. Um...and unfortunately things are at a point with- I could- I could assume based on some of the things that Chilled has said, that Aphex has said, uh, that...I- I am also- I can also say that like...how do I...how do I put this…

“I understand that- that Galm...really, 100% needs help. I understand that wholeheartedly. The thing is, I can’t be the one to help anymore. Like, I can’t do it, because...my- how do I put this- uh, Galm’s mental health is not mine. It’s not Chilled’s. It’s not Ze’s. It’s not Tom’s. It’s not Aphex’s. It’s not any of you. It’s not- it’s none of our cross to bear, if that makes sense. None of us should be beholden to the burden of Galm’s mental health. It comes down to- and if I- just as an aside. If it sounds- I don’t know if I said “he” or “they”, I’m just trying to make sure it doesn’t- I’m going based on the Twitter profile of, um, uh… [snaps fingers] “she”, “her”, “they”, and then in parenthesis “‘he’ is sometimes okay”. But I’m trying to like- I- I have been really, like, I’m gonna be honest with you, I have been very, very, very careful. Because...I wanna make sure I’m trying to do this right, so, I’ve been trying to go with Galm and I think that- that’s where I’ve been with that all, because, as- as, I hate to say it, most of the stuff in that realm has come out of the blue. And I’m not gonna discredit that. I don’t want- I don’t want Galm to think I’m like discrediting, uh, their feelings, but like, I just- I wasn’t sure. I wasn’t sure in regards to how close the gap of these- the psychotic episodes and coming out- like, I wanna make sure he- uh- I wanna make sure that uh Galm is happy with who they are, and I’ve been trying to be very good with it. So...don’t mind me, I’m trying- I’m still trying, and it’s- I’m not trying to be an asshole or anything. I don’t wanna be. This is a serious talk and I’m just trying to make it understood.

“Anyway, so, getting back to it. A lot of this is- the things I’m saying is I’m processing a lot of this still. And this is like...this has been going on at least, for- since, February, all of this. And it’s now finally just coming to a hit, you know what I mean? And I hate to say it, but, like, what...like I said, this is...not my cross to bear. It’s none of our cross to bear. Um...I don’t even wanna call it like, the Derp Crew, I’m just saying in general. Like, none of this is for us to hold the burden of, because at the end of the day, um… Galm has unfortunately- and this is the only like, real, like, shit thing I’m gonna say about it is um… in- in the...things that Galm has said and done um...a lot of people were hurt. A lot of trust was- was broken, that I don’t know...if it can ever be...mended? I wanna hope, ‘cause I’m a person who hopes, that things will, uh, always be on the mend, as my Discord knows. I am something of a- a second chances guy. And I know I am to a fault, that I can be like that, but...um sorry I’m not- I’m not crying, my voice is just shot ‘cause I’ve been like screaming at work all day. [ wheeze-laughs ].

“Um, no, but...I personally- exactly- Jess-

[Addressing mod JessTries in chat who wrote “You always look for the best in people <3”]

“I try to look for the best in people and I’ve always tried to look for the best in people, even if, uh, those people have...have shit intentions, I guess is the way I can put it. But- not what I’m trying to say in this. My point is, um, yeah- a lot of- a lot of shit went down. A lot of shit went down and I don’t know how some of it can be recovered, but at this point… [laughs softly] At this point, my situation with Galm is… [sighs] My situation with Galm is that, like, they’ve- they’ve said to me we’re good, but it’s hard to be good when all of these messages are being shown, and people are coming out talking to you about how- okay- not talking to you, sorry, but, just talking about how, um, they were treated a certain way, and I don’t like that. I really don’t like that.

“So, my...my feeling is that, like, [sighs] I can’t really- I can’t really stand by Galm when all of this is going on. I can’t do it. I can...I can’t be of help to someone who- who wasn’t accepting it. And I can’t be...um, I can’t stand by someone who does things like that. Um, and, not to- I’m not trying to throw anyone under the bus, I’m not trying to throw Galm under the bus. That’s not...that’s not fair. Um...I honestly, if I could just, say to them I would, like, I- I feel like...like I don’t know...I don’t know what they can do...aside from getting help. That’s- that’s the main thing. Just...Galm needs help, and...I can’t be the one to provide it. Um...none of the group- none of the people in the group can provide it. None of you can provide it. Um...and, it’s a matter of owning up to what was said and done to a lot of people. And...what went down, obviously, if you know you know, um…

“But, like it’s just not fair to put you’re- you’re mental health...on- on...on your friends like that...so, I’m sorry I’m like coming down all of a sudden, I’m realizing like oh shit… [laughs softly] Um… but yeah, so like… [sighs] i-it’s hard, man. Like, it’s really fucking hard to do this, ‘cause you wanna- you wanna try and be honest, but like you wanna respect everyone’s privacy, and you wanna show like, hey, this is how it is. But, to everyone out there who dealt with this, and to everyone out there who had their- their problems...I’m gonna support you guys. I’m gonna be there for you, um… [rubs chin] I’m also gonna support my friends, but at the same time, I can’t support any of what happened. I’m not gonna stand by it, and, I- the only thing I can say, and I think the only thing that like everyone needs to say is like, you [Galm] need to get help. You need help. 100% you need help and like...I hope you get it. I really do hope you get it. And I hope things are...I hope things are on the mend for you. And I hope you can figure it out. Um… [clicks tongue]

“Okay, I think...I think I’m done. I’ve been just- this whole thing, this whole talk...I’m just- I’m just being honest with you guys. This is my way of processing my thoughts, and this is my way of getting past a topic. This is my way of getting past something of a chapter in my life, because this is...unfortunate. All of this is unfortunate that it had to go this way, and I was gonna say something earlier, it’s just- I felt as if when I try to come up with the right words, it was gonna turn...the wrong way. I really did. And like, I don’t want- I want it to be right. I feel like this is the right way, and um… [laughs softly] Don’t get me wrong...it’s- it’s taking a bit, and every time I try to… every time I’ve tried, something happens, and I don’t want- I don’t want- just right place right time I think is the way that it needs to be.

“Okay, so, we’re done. We’re done. From this point on, mods, you can- you can probably set up an automod or something like this, but mods, from this- and chat- from this point on, this- this topic? This conversation is over. Um...we’re done. We’re done talking about this. "

[kjack89]

Determination of Death (pt. 1/2)

Extremely self-indulgent, and the kind of angst I haven’t written in a long while. Because I was having a bad week and figured, hey, why not make it worse :)

I split it in two because it was getting long; second part should be posted sometime later this week.

Former E/R, modern AU. CW: car accident, major injuries, discussion of end of life care, referenced major character death. Y’know. The good stuff.

Joly sighed, staring longingly up at the clock in the emergency room as if he could somehow force it to jump ahead four hours to the end of his shift. Not that he would ever voice the thought out loud, since doing so was the surest way to jinx it, but it had been a quiet night, and this was his last scheduled overnight shift in the E/R for at least a few weeks.

He tapped his pen against the counter, idly wondering if he could maybe sneak out a few minutes early and surprise Bossuet with breakfast in bed. Suddenly, another doctor ran past, donning a trauma gown, and Joly immediately straightened. “What do we got?” he asked urgently.

“MVC,” the other doctor called over her shoulder, using the acronym to indicate a car crash. “Multiple victims incoming.”

So much for a quiet night.

Joly grabbed a trauma gown and followed her out into the ambulance bay to meet the ambulance that screeched to a halt, its lights blaring. “Unrestrained driver,” one of the paramedics reported. “Lost control of the vehicle and crashed head first into oncoming traffic. Nonresponsive at the scene, and we’re gonna need a tox screen – we think she might have been drinking.” 

“I got this one,” his colleague told him. “Go deal with the second ambulance.”

Joly nodded and jogged over to the second ambulance. “What do we—” he started as the paramedic shoved a clipboard at him, but his question died in his throat as he saw who was strapped down on the gurney.

It was Enjolras.

The paramedic was telling him something but it was as if Joly had gone temporarily deaf as he stared down at Enjolras, barely recognizable from the injuries he had sustained. Joly catalogued all the injuries he could see with a sort of vague detachment as if he was seeing them on someone other than one of his closest friends, the man he had vowed to walk through fire for.

Penetrating head trauma. Multiple facial lacerations. Chest and pelvis crush injuries. Open tibia fracture. Almost guaranteed massive internal injuries.

It was a miracle Enjolras was still alive, and Joly’s hands started shaking so badly that he dropped the clipboard the paramedic had handed him. “Dr. Joly?” someone was asking, and Joly just shook his head violently and turned away to empty his stomach on the pavement of the ambulance bay.

Christ, he hadn’t puked at the hospital since he was an intern.

He wiped his mouth with the back of his still-shaking hand and straightened to find his colleague gripping his arm and staring at him with clear concern in her eyes. “I’m sorry,” Joly whispered. “I just...he’s a friend.”

Understanding crossed her expression, and she nodded. “Ok,” she told him, her voice calm, soothing. It was the voice they used for hysterical family members, and Joly hated her a little bit for using it on him. “Get in touch with his emergency contact, get them to the hospital. You can brief them when they get here, ok?”

“I want to help—” Joly started, but she shook her head before he could even finish his sentence.

“You’re not a doctor right now. You’re a loved one.” She hesitated for just a moment before adding, with genuine sympathy, “I’m so sorry.”

He hated her even more for that.

Then she was gone, she and the paramedics whisking Enjolras inside to do what they could – if there was even anything that they would be able to do.

And Joly had nothing left to do but to call Combeferre and tell him the worst news he had ever had to deliver.

----------

It was now four hours past when Joly had been supposed to get off of work, and there was no indication that he would get to go home anytime soon. All of Les Amis had trickled in during the night and were now all camped out in the waiting room, eager for whatever news Joly could tell them.

But unfortunately, he had nothing that he could tell.

He pulled his scrub cap off as he slowly made his way over to where they were all waiting, trying to school his expression to something less grim, but judging by the way Courfeyrac’s smile slid off his face as soon as he saw him, he hadn’t succeeded. “How is he?” Combeferre asked, scrambling to his feet.

Joly swallowed. “He’s alive,” he said shortly. “That’s all that I can tell you right now.”

Combeferre and Courfeyrac exchanged glances. “What the hell are you talking about?” Courfeyrac asked, uncharacteristically blunt. “What do you mean, that’s all you can tell us?”

“I mean that I am required to tell Enjolras’s family first before I can share any details.”

Combeferre’s expression was ashen but Courfeyrac’s eyes flashed. “We are his family,” he started hotly, but Combeferre shook his head and squeezed Courfeyrac’s arm.

“Pontmercy,” he said, a little hoarsely. “We need to call Marius. He’s everyone’s power of attorney, remember? He can authorize them to share medical details with us.”

Courfeyrac quickly dug his cellphone out his jeans pocket, dialing Marius’s number from memory. “Come on, come on,” he muttered urgently as he waited for Marius to pick up. “Come on, damnit.”

A pile of coats that had been tossed onto a chair suddenly seemed to stand up of its own accord, and Marius emerged from under them, blinking owlishly as he clearly had just woken up. “Sorry, m’here,” he said between a yawn, and Courfeyrac looked like he was torn between wanting to hug him or throttle him.

Combeferre didn’t let him do either. “You’re Enjolras’s power of attorney, right?” he said in clipped tones.

Marius ran a hand over his face and blinked once more before nodding. “Yes,” he said.

“Then tell Joly that he can share medical details about Enjolras with all of us.”

Marius winced. “Ah,” he said. “Um, there’s a bit of a problem with that. I’m Enjolras’s power of attorney for certain things, mainly related to his estate and his trust fund, but I’m not designated as Enjolras’s medical proxy.”

Courfeyrac looked between Marius and Combeferre, his eyes wide. “What does mean?” he asked, a little faintly. “Who would make the decisions if Enjolras didn’t designate a medical proxy?”

“Well, generally speaking, the closest blood relative would—”

“His parents?” Courfeyrac interrupted, horrified. “He hates his parents!”

Marius shook his head. “No, I’m sorry,” he said quickly. “The problem isn’t that Enjolras didn’t designate a medical proxy, so we don’t have to worry about that.” He winced again. “The, uh, the problem is that he did. And the designation is still legally binding.”

“Who?” Combeferre asked, his brow furrowed.

Marius just gave him a look. “You know who.”

Realization crossed Combeferre’s face, followed by something like rage. “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.”

----------

Grantaire had been, up until that moment at least, thoroughly enjoying his evening. He had been hit on not once but twice at the bar, and had decided to take the second one, a thin, blond man (because Grantaire had always had a type, damn it), home for the night. They were right in the middle of making out like teenages on Grantaire’s couch when his phone rang.

Grantaire groaned and pulled away to reach for his cell, but the blond – Shane? Brendan? something? – pushed him back against the couch. “Ignore it,” he whispered before sucking on Grantaire’s earlobe.

He was only too happy to comply, but unfortunately, his phone had other ideas, ringing repeatedly until the best makeout session in the world wouldn’t have been able to hold his attention. “Let me just get rid of whomever this is,” he said, holding the man on his lap in place with one arm while reaching for his phone with the other. “Someone better be dying,” he said in lieu of a greeting, followed by a very confused, “Pontmercy?”

His brow furrowed as he listened to Marius, and he abruptly pushed the man off his lap, standing up and looking wildly around his apartment. “Yeah, ok,” he said. “Yeah, I’ll be there as soon as I can.” He hung up and threw his phone down on his couch. “You need to go,” he told the guy he’d brought him, unusually brusque. “I have to get to the hospital.”

“Oh no, is everyone alright?” the guy asked, reaching out for him, but Grantaire brushed him aside, grabbing his shirt from where he had tossed it earlier. 

“No,” he said shortly. “It’s my husband. He was in a car accident.”

“You’re married?” the guy asked, sounding almost offended by the thought.

Grantaire closed his eyes for a brief moment, wondering how he had got himself in the position of needing to explain this to a one-night stand. “No, I mean my ex-husband,” he said with a sigh.

“You’re divorced?” the guy asked, sounding even more disgusted by that.

“You know what, I don’t really have time to debate this with you, so while I’m sure you would have been a great lay—” Sudden pounding on Grantaire’s door cut him off and he groaned. “Great,” he sighed, hurrying over to open his door.

He was only a little surprised to see Combeferre standing there. “What are you doing here?”

“You weren’t answering Marius’s phonecall,” Combeferre said shortly.

Grantaire rolled his eyes. “Yeah, well, I did, and I’m getting ready to go to the hospital, so you can just—”

Before he could finish telling Combeferre exactly where he could go, the guy he’d brought home snuck past him, pausing to kiss his cheek and tell him breathlessly, “Call me when you’re back from dealing with your ex.”

Combeferre watched him leave, his expression stony. “Nice,” he told Grantaire, who rolled his eyes again.

“You have no right to judge me,” he snapped. “Enjolras and I have been divorced for longer than we were married, so I’m allowed to do whatever and whomever the fuck I want.”

“Yeah, well, about that,” Combeferre started, and Grantaire frowned.

“What?”

----------

“What?” Grantaire said, his voice cracking. “What the hell are you talking about?”

Marius quailed slightly under his glare. “Well, see, the thing about it is—”

“Enjolras and I got divorced!” Grantaire interrupted loudly. “I signed the damned paper!”

“You did,” Marius told him. “But Enjolras didn’t.” Grantaire’s mouth opened but no sound came out, and Marius continued, “He didn’t sign them, and he didn’t file them, so legally, you two are still married. And legally, you’re still his next of kin.”

Grantaire shook his head, but he still couldn’t seem to manage any words, and Marius reached out to grasp his shoulder. “We can talk through this more later but for now, Joly needs to talk to you.”

Without waiting for Grantaire to reply, Marius spun him around to face Joly, who looked exhausted. “C’mon,” Joly muttered, glancing at all their friends, who were staring expectantly at them. “Let’s talk over here.”

He jerked his head towards a meeting room off of the waiting room, and Grantaire numbly followed. Joly pulled the door open and stepped back to let Grantaire walk in first before following him in, closing the door after them. “So,” Joly started, but Grantaire shook his head.

“No, before you start, I just want to say…” He trailed off, then took a deep breath. “Despite the circumstances, it is really good to see you. I know Enjolras got you and Bossuet in the divorce, but—”

Joly let out what might have been a wordless sob, surging forward to wrap Grantaire in a fierce hug. Grantaire froze before slowly patting Joly on the back. Then, abruptly, his hand froze. “Wait,” he said, his chest tight. “This isn’t a good hug, is it.”

He didn’t say it like a question but Joly still shook his head as he pulled back, his eyes wet and red. “No,” he said hoarsely. “No, it’s not a good thing. It’s—” He broke off and shook his head, his tone turning professional. “It’s not good, R. Enjolras suffered severe internal injuries, but those—”

Again he broke off, but this time, he didn’t seem able to start again. Grantaire swallowed and nudged him gently. “But those?” he prompted softly.

Joly shook his head once as if to clear it. “The internal injuries were severe but probably not fatal,” he said tonelessly. “But he suffered massive head trauma. Part of his skull was broken in the crash and his brain swelled drastically, and likely irrevocably.” 

Grantaire reached out wordlessly to grasp the back of a chair, his entire body shaking uncontrollably. “Oh,” he managed finally as he stared unseeingly at the wall in front of him.

Joly quickly wiped a tear off his cheek and cleared his throat. “I know that this isn’t what you expected to be dealing with, but as Enjolras’s next of kin, you have some decisions to make.”

“He’s an organ donor,” Grantaire said hollowly. “I don’t– I don’t know if, in his condition, any of his organs are—” His voice cracked. “—are viable, but if any of them are, he would want to donate that.”

“His heart, his lungs, maybe a kidney and part of his liver,” Joly said, giving Grantaire a watery smile. “He could probably donate those.”

Grantaire jerked a nod. “So then do it,” he said, more harshly than he intended.

Joly’s smile disappeared. “Unfortunately, it’s not that simple,” he said. “It’s...I mean, it’s complicated.”

Grantaire couldn’t stop the laugh that bubbled up from his chest. “No shit, Sherlock.”

“No, I don’t just mean because of you and him,” Joly said impatiently. “I mean, it’s complicated medically.”

Grantaire blinked. “How so?”

Joly wet his lips. “In order to donate organs, a patient must meet one of two conditions. The easiest one is brain death. But unfortunately, we don’t know if Enjolras is brain dead yet.”

“How do you not know that?” Grantaire demanded. “Aren’t there tests?”

“Yes, and we’ve run all of them, but the tests revealed limited functioning. It could just have been an artifact of previous brain activity, so we’ll run the test again in a few hours.” Joly took a deep breath. “But if the repeat tests should even just the slightest amount of functioning, we legally can’t declare him brain dead.”

Grantaire shook his head slowly. “Ok, so what does that mean?”

“It means that him signing up to be an organ donor won’t be enough.” Joly met his eyes. “It means we would need your consent to withdraw life-sustaining measures and allow cardiac death if you wanted to donate his organs.”

Grantaire’s eyelids fluttered closed, and a muscle worked in his jaw for a long moment before he finally managed, his voice sharp, “Fine, whatever, I consent.” He opened his eyes to stare fiercely at Joly as if daring him to say anything. “Do you need me to sign something, or—?”

Joly just shook his head. “Again, it’s unfortunately not that simple.” 

“Why not?” Grantaire asked tiredly, feeling older than he ever had before.

“Because no matter how small a chance it is, if he isn’t brain dead, then there is still a chance—”

“That he could wake up,” Grantaire finished with sudden realization, and he hated himself for the way his heart leapt in his chest, hated that after all this time, the only person in the damn world who could still make him feel something like hope was Enjolras. 

Joly nodded. “Yes,” he said. “He could live in a comatose state for...well, technically indefinitely. And there have been cases where someone has woken up after a month, or six months, or a year, or—”

“But what are the chances of that actually happening here?” Grantaire asked, harsher than he intended, trying desperately to quash the hope he could still feel rising in his chest, that there might still be time left with Enjolras, time to at least say goodbye and tell him he was sorry, time to tell him he still – that he never stopped—

“In my medical opinion…” Joly hesitated. “Not high. The trauma that his brain has suffered...and even if he woke up, I don’t think he would be Enjolras anymore.”

Joly’s words hit Grantaire like a punch to the gut, and he sagged, still gripping the chair with all his strength to keep himself upright. “So then that’s that,” he said, his voice trembling, just slightly.

Joly just nodded once. “Like I said,” he said quietly, “you have a choice to make. Not even just in regards to donating his organs, but in regards to if you think he would want to live like this.”

A laugh burst unbidden in Grantaire’s throat, an almost hysterical sound, because that had been one of the last things Enjolras had said to him before telling him he wanted a divorce – “I just can’t live like this anymore,” Enjolras had said, sounding tired, and sad, and more defeated than Grantaire could possibly bear. “And I don’t think you can either. Or maybe you can, but that doesn’t mean we should.”

So Grantaire had signed the papers to dissolve his marriage to the only man he had ever loved and moved out, leaving Enjolras, and Les Amis, and his entire life behind. He had thought that chapter was over, but now—

He realized a moment too late that Joly had asked him something and was waiting for his answer, and shook his head once to clear it. “Sorry, what?” he asked.

“Do you want to see him?” Joly repeated.

Again, the words were like a dagger in him. “Until about three hours ago, my answer to that question would have unequivocally been yes,” Grantaire said, his voice low. “But now, like this…” He shook his head again. “But I have to, though, don’t I?”

He meant it more rhetorically than anything, but Joly shook his head, sympathy clear in his expression. “You don’t have to,” he told Grantaire. “Not if you don’t want to.”

“I should though,” Grantaire said with a sigh, scrubbing a hand across his face. “I can’t make this decision without seeing him – without it being real.”

He couldn’t, because no matter how things ended between them, he would never be able to picture Enjolras as anything other than alive, and perfect, and the thought of making a decision about ending his life when that was how he envisioned Enjolras still was frankly laughable. Absurd. Like the world’s sickest joke.

So he needed to see him. No matter how much it would break what was left of him in the process.

“Ok,” Joly said softly. “Then I’ll take you back to him.”

[bulkyphrase]

Everybody & the Avengers Team

I've got a new fic rec list for you!

The stories in the "X & the Avengers Team" tags focus on one person's relationship to the Avengers team as a whole. Courtesy of AO3's tag browse and Excel, here's a ranked list of the top 20 most popular pairings:

Tony Stark | 2470 total, 240 OTP

Peter Parker | 2255 total, 85 OTP

Steve Rogers | 602 total, 56 OTP

Loki | 387 total, 26 OTP

Natasha Romanov | 308 total, 35 OTP

Clint Barton | 268 total, 46 OTP

Bruce Banner | 244 total, 15 OTP

Thor | 209 total, 7 OTP

Avengers Team | 174 total, 24 OTP

James "Bucky" Barnes | 156 total, 7 OTP

Wanda Maximoff | 143 total, 4 OTP

Phil Coulson | 105 total, 9 OTP

Darcy Lewis | 91 total, 6 OTP

Matt Murdock | 60 total, 8 OTP

Sam Wilson | 53 total, 5 OTP

Nick Fury | 41 total, 5 OTP

Harry Potter | 40 total, 0 OTP

Pepper Potts | 31 total, 1 OTP

Vision | 29 total, 2 OTP

Stiles Stilinski | 25 total, 0 OTP

In chart form, if you like charts:

Notes:

The numbers after the names are the number of stories tagged with that ship. OTP means the number of stories where that is the only relationship tagged on the story. Numbers are accurate as of July 2021.

Story Recommendations

For your reading pleasure, included below is at least one fic rec for each pairing except the crossovers from non-Marvel fandoms (apologies to Mr. Potter & Mr. Stilinski). Most are gen fic, and even in the ones with a romantic pairing, romance is not the focus.

Tony Stark

As Subtle As Cognitive Recalibration by petroltogo (Teen, 8949) tumblr: @tonystarktogo

Standing inside his penthouse, listening to Rogers, Barton and Banner explain to Fury how they just happened to stumble over the Tesseract on a routine security check of Stark Tower’s roof and wouldn’t you know, they’ve managed to fight off the looming alien invasion before it could really start and secure the missing overpowered nightlight is one of the most surreal situations Tony has ever had the displeasure of experiencing.

Peter Parker

the worst field trip ever by shrill_fangirl_screaming (Teen, 3420) tumblr: @i-am-having-an-emotion

"We're on a field trip," Peter said. "To here. And Tony decided to be our tour guide and absolutely embarrass me, so can you please help get him under control?"

Which is how Peter Parker, architect of his own destruction, ended up with not one but two superhero pseudo-dads being annoying on his school field trip.

Steve Rogers

Do You Remember Being Happy? ('Cause I Sure Don't) by GalaxyThreads (Teen, 11022) tumblr: @galaxythreads

That seems about right. He doesn't know how he knows that, though. He does have vague memories of an annoyed fondness at finding peanut butter in some sort of jam. Thor's doing, because he doesn't see the point of using two knives when one works just as fine. He knows that. How does he know that? He knows all those little details, though, almost innately. How can he know these strangers so deeply?

Everyone else below the cut!

Loki

Proprietary by TheThirdMarauder (Teen, 7639)

No, Loki simply wants the Avengers conquered. The details of whom, how, and when matter not. Unless, of course, said details interfere with Loki's plans. Then, well, then none can fault him for protecting his own interests.

Loki has always been exceptionally good at lying to himself.

Natasha Romanov

What Girls Are Made Of by enigma731 (Teen, 4613) tumblr: @enigma731

She rolls her eyes but does as he’s indicated, using his shoulders to leverage herself up onto his back, her arms around his neck and her legs hugging his waist.

“You know,” he says blithely, “this isn’t really what I tend to picture when I think of a hot girl riding me.”

Natasha groans, deciding that if his sense of humor gets them arrested, she’ll kill him herself. “Just go.”

Clint Barton

Dear Clint Barton (circa age 7) by pollyrepeat (Teen, 4221)

With a normal person, this might count as blackmail material, but a) this is a case of mutually assured destruction if ever there was one, and b) Fury is immune to embarrassment. Not just in the regular, Tony Stark way, either, oh no. Things that could possibly end up being embarrassing to Fury get somehow warped and changed until they go from mortifying all the way over into useful and/or good for his image. It’s like a superpower.

Carrying Clint’s small child self around on his shoulders more than once has probably already hit the interagency rumour mill as an example of Fury’s innate awesomeness: good with rocket launchers and small children.

Also available as a podfic!

Bruce Banner

They're Not Wrong by Trumpeteer34 (Teen, 10163)

As Tony began to pace around the hole in the road to keep himself from shooting repulsors at the nearby buildings in a fit of rage, Thor began to study the nearby area. There was no sign of either the Hulk or Bruce Banner beyond the crater. The surrounding area, aside from the rubble of the fight, held no clue as to their friend’s location.

“Guys, he’s gone,” Tony growled into the communicator on their private line, drawing Thor out of his darkening thoughts. “Someone tranqed him and took him. He’s gone.”

Honorary mention goes to the Responsible Science series by @letteredlettered - the stories don’t have the "Avengers Team & Bruce Banner" tag, but they could, and they are amazing. The best Bruce Banner writing I've ever come across.

Thor

Fortunately, I Am Mighty by onward_came_the_meteors (General, 3062)

Steve was the first one to speak. “Are you okay?”

Thor nodded. Which was a bad idea, as it turned out, because now there were little gray lights flashing in front of his eyes. “I’m fine.” Absolutely everyone narrowed their eyes, and he added, “But, uh. Could we possibly not get back in the car just yet?”

Avengers Team

Civil Wasn't by onward_came_the_meteors (General, 7123)

"We're having an ideological conflict here," Tony stated with disbelief. "Are you telling me you still want to go out to dinner?"

"It's a standing engagement, Tony," Rhodey reminded him.

"Not you too—"

"We already had to reschedule from Friday when Natasha was..." Rhodey frowned. "What were you doing?"

The question was directed toward Natasha, who shrugged and said, "Spy stuff."

James "Bucky" Barnes

You Know How I Feel, aka, The Adventures of Bucky and Muffy the Dinosaur by ifeelbetter (Not Rated, 4511) tumblr: @ifeelbetterer

“As you may have heard, Bucky Barnes, a.k.a. The Winter Soldier, recently rescued a tiny part-robot dinosaur during the Avengers’ battle with Dr. Doom in Antarctica,” the other newscaster explained. “Pictures of Barnes and the dinosaur were posted on twitter by fellow Avenger, Clint Barton, a.k.a. Hawkeye, and immediately made Barnes’s new pet America’s sweetheart.”

“Her name’s Muffy,” said Steve."

Wanda Maximoff

and the woman was young again by Mira_Jade (General, 3669)

Tony Stark called them the Cap's Kooky Quintet, and sometimes the term amused her – causing her to lift a sardonic brow where someday a smile would truly smile. She enjoyed the presence of comrades – true comrades – and she enjoyed the way their minds wove and bound together about each other to fluctuate against her senses as one. There was something soothing about being in their midst, and even when their loud and brash ways – their painful Americaness - rubbed her raw and drained on her, it was ever the knitting of their minds that soothed those moments over, and made them inconsequential.

Phil Coulson

Coulson's First Day of School by storiesfortravellers (Teen, 3055)

Coulson looked up at him. “I like drawing pictures with Mr. Rogers. I like having tea parties with Ms. Potts. I like it when Dr. Banner reads me books, and I like it when Natasha teaches me things. And I like when you play with me. You do really good voices when we play action figures. And you’re the only one who lets me do stuff like jump off the high diving board at the pool or eat three cupcakes or play tackle with kids at the park.”

Clint didn’t realize that. He was pretty sure that meant that he was doing something wrong.

Darcy Lewis

Beginner Yoga for Dummies (Darcys) and Sad Hobos by chailover (Teen, 3434)

Darcy had a theory: crazy attracted crazy, working kind of like gravity. It was pretty much her explanation for her life after Thor. And if she had thought the type of crazy Thor attracted was bad, be it Loki or the Warrior Three and Sif, or the dark elves and the Convergence, it was still nothing against what the Avengers manage en masse.

Matt Murdock

Double Blind by smilebackwards (Teen, 2381) tumblr: @smilebackwards

Stark snaps his fingers. “You can’t see half of my inventions. This explains so much about you and why you’ve never been properly impressed by me.”

“Does it?” Matt says, ambiguously.

Sam Wilson

Bystander by scribblemetimbers (Teen, 52029)

“I just want you to know,” Sam says loudly, cautiously raising his hands, “That I’m very poor and very sleep-deprived and literally the only thing you can kill me for right now are my notes.” He pauses. Wait. On second thought: “Please don’t steal my notes.”

“I’m not—I’m not a mugger,” Not Mugger rasps out, and for all that he looks about to keel over and die, the man actually manages to sound offended.

Nick Fury

Bedtime Story by dixiehellcat (Teen, 2532) tumblr: @deehellcat

Fury snorted. “I have to check in with the duty officer. I’ll be back in, let’s say twenty minutes. I expect all of you to have whatever your pre-bedtime routines are completed, and be in here pajama’ed and ready to be read to.”

He tapped the book under his arm, then left with the usual dramatic swish of his long coat. Bruce scratched his head. “Did…he just say be ready to be read to?”

Pepper Potts

Pepper and the Avengers (Which She Knows Nothing About) by rebelmeg (General, 6696) tumblr: @rebelmeg

The Avengers, that mismatched group of hurt and heroism, was one of the most important things in Tony Stark’s life. So, naturally, Pepper had made them an important part of her life too.

Vision

039. Intoxicated by aimmyarrowshigh (Teen, 100) tumblr: @aimmyarrowshigh

It might be nice to fit in, just this once. To lose a bit of composure.

Vision floated over to the refrigerator and, with some timidity, pulled off a magnet. He stuck it to his forehead.

[redcat921]

Watch. Soul. Twice.

God, I haven't text posted in AGES but I think breaking down twice in a row for this pixar movie just hits so much BETTER. This movie will be on my mind for ages just because of how memorable it is.

EXTREME SPOILERS AHEAD!! Though, if you want to follow my lead, I'll tl;dr.

Watch the movie from Joe Gardener's perspective first. After, watch the movie from 22's perspective.

So, first off, I'll start with this. My own experience of watching this movie which was... absolutely amazing!! You're thrown into the middle school band class, and you immediately connect with Joe's music passion. Then, of course, crushed by the responsibility of having a job as a teacher. Even though his mother sees it as good, he still doesn't. And when he gets the chance of the lifetime to play with one of his jazz icons, Dorothea Williams, you feel as if he's finally getting what he's always wanted. Then he dies. You understand why he wants to get back to his life and his convictions, so you're rooting for him.

Obviously, this is Joe's story first and foremost. Which is why you're watching from his perspective, why you're watching him dream his dreams. Everything, from that first moment forward, is his perspective.

Okay, okay, that doesn't explain why I'm so heavy on watching Joe's perspective first, but I feel like any reader here will get it? As a movie goer, you want Joe to succeed in his dreams yet he's also beginning to care (platonically) about 22. Movie continues, and you see how much 22 is growing as a person, but you're still driven to let Joe back into his body to fulfill his dream. Then, when it hits that 22 found her spark and Joe snaps at her, his drive to become a jazz musician is only fueled. Of course, it's uncomfortable to watch how awkward 22 was in his body, but he's "just about to start living."

The best part? This one performance he felt his entire life built up to? It's... not everything he chalked it up to be. Then, that conversation with Dorothea hits. Joe wants the ocean even though he's already in it. And he only realizes it when he's home alone, playing the piano watching 22's memories in his body flash by.

This is why Joe's perspective hits. This moment, his Epiphany (according to the tracklist), is the trademark Pixar cry moment. All the memories of his life, the ones he didn't think of as important, are the ones he sees before accepting "death." This whole sequence just hits so well, as he realizes how small he truly is yet how meaningful his life was to those in it. Even more so because 22 deserves to live, maybe better than he ever could.

Now, I see this "climax" of the film (where 22 becomes a lost soul then is saved by Joe) as great, but most see it as unnecessary and a little immature in comparison to the rest of the movie. And this isn't the pixar cry moment every watcher probably had five minutes ago during Epiphany. This scene is probably the reason why I'm saying to watch it twice, but I'll get to it later.

End of Joe's story where he gets a second chance. (Yes, it's vague but that's because the literal point of the movie was that there wasn't a set purpose or meaning to his life. Hot take.)

Now, what you probably came for. Why you watch it twice. Well. That's simple enough, actually watch 22 this time. She's still a main character even from her first appearance past the title card, so she does deserve to be treated as such.

From 22's perspective, this Joe Gardner's life is the definition of dismal. Bleak. So much dreariness in life it could be draining... Yet, Joe wants to go back. To Earth which seems like the worst place ever. From her comments about how, "You can't crush a soul here. That's what life on Earth is for." AND "I've been trying for forever to find my spark.", you see her plight. Along with the fact you've seen how deeply this affects her in your first watch through, her movements matter a lot more.

I think the moment that stood out to me is 22's interest in Joe Gardner's life when Moonwind takes them to the "thin spot." It's a blink and you'll miss it moment for sure. But, for a split second, she looks at Joe while he's meditating and imagining his home. I can't help but imagine her interest in life despite all the things she's been told by the many mentors she's had. Then, you get to see her perspective about life on Earth.

From the awkwardness from standing still on the sidewalk in NYC to experiencing pizza for the first time, this is a true step outside 22's comfort zone. And she LOVES it. You get to experience how she found her spark in the littlest things that end up on Joe's piano during that first Pixar cry moment. You see when she talks to Dez, Joe's barber, and how she half reveals that she's scared of finding the wrong "spark" or "getting someone else's." You see her joy in playing with the window, taking the Take One van flyers, even laying on the grate pretending to fly. And you see how impactful Joe's relationship with his mother is too. Interesting that Joe's voice comes out during that conversation, which I noticed on my first watch, but really hit the second time. 22 has found out how meaningful human relationships can be.

Wow. The helicopter seed moment. Watching humans experience life and have relationships with each other is her spark. And that hits. Maybe enough to cry, maybe not. But 22 doesn't know about her spark, but you understand how desperate she is to live.

Then, of course, she gets put back into the Great Before, and Joe snaps at her. This hurts. You know how badly Joe wanted his own dreams, and he claims that your own life is only because he made it so. And... For that moment, she believes he's right. So she gives him the life he's been begging for and comes to the crushing conclusion that she doesn't have a purpose. She doesn't have that spark everyone else typically has. And, if that isn't relatable nowadays for those with mental health issues.

Yeah, it takes the wind out of the Epiphany moment, to watch from 22's perspective. But when you get to that moment where 22 wonders why she doesn't have a purpose in that white space, that broke me. The sand vortex in her lost soul did too, but that moment of being told that there is no being good at life, that evry soul is simply living, that no purpose could ever replace the relationships that she could build just like Joe had... "You're pretty great at jazzing." That's the second trademark Pixar cry moment.

For both of these watches, it makes the last moment when Joe holds 22's hand as they fall to Earth work. That's the lynchpin of this whole movie. This makes me cry too, but if you're too tuckered out from the other two, you're alright in my book. Both perspectives just allow this moment to be... That this mentorship mattered for both of their lives as they move forward.

Honestly, rewatch this movie 5000 times. This movie HITS all the right notes (forgive the pun) in their respective storylines.

I might watch it a third time after talking about it at length. To allow both stories to hit me. But, I hope you had fun reading my emotional journey while watching this film twice. (Yes, I did cry like a baby multiple times. I nearly cried writing this. Let me LIVE.)

Tl;dr Watch Pixar's Soul twice to get both perspectives from both Joe Gardner's perspective and 22's, so you understand the story in full. Thanks for reading!

[ilikefandom]

Healing the Stars

An: Hello my lovely readers!!!!!!! I am so sorry for not posting! I have finished my Caesar fic, if you peoples would like a version with a more developed relationship let me know!

Type: Fluff

Pairing: Light Caesar Flickerman x reader

Summery: The Star Squad has to find a safe place to hide, their lucky to find two secret allies on the way.

Warnings: Light description of injuries

When they entered the Capital, they were told to expect the unexpected. Unexpected didn’t cover half of it. With all of the booby traps in the streets and the citizens in their homes, the adrenaline pumping through the Star Squad was what was keeping them alive and alert. One unexpected thing that shook the group deeper than a bullet was the sight of a bald man running around a pool on a running track.

The man was tall and fair, his face masked with youth, even though he seemed to be older than the twenty something he presented to the world. He was dressed in the fancy workout clothes associated with Capital health ads, which were probably manufactured in District 8. He looked down at his watch, tapped it twice, then he sat down on a little bench that sat just beside the track. He picked up a clear flask from the floor and drank from it. Inside was a neon yellow concoction that flowed down his throat  like a river, and as he drank, the wrinkles that were on his face faded away. 

He looked familiar, so familiar, but Katniss couldn’t tell exactly who it was. It was then that it dawned on her, “Is that Caesar Flickerman?” She asked, a bead of sweat forming on her forehead.

Finnick grimaced as he lifted his gaze to look at the man on the bench, blood dripping from his legs, which were mangled by the mutts. “Yeah, I think it is.”

Peeta, who had suddenly found himself to be eloquent, stepped up to the glass and knocked thrice, hard.

‘Caesar’ jumped and looked at the rebels with shock in his eyes before getting up and disappearing into the depths of the mansion that he must have called his home.

Gale raised his crossbow and prepared to smash the glass, a sensor let out a small beep and the window slid to the side, revealing a hidden door. 

“It feels like a trap,” Gale noted as he loded a bolt in his crossbow. It did indeed feel like a trap, but there was nowhere else they could go and Finnick was in dire need of medical attention. 

Finnick was the first to hobble through the door, he barely made it the ten or so steps to the bench before sinking onto it, letting out a whimper as more blood spilled from the bite wounds. There was a red smear on the floor from where he had stood. 

‘Caesar’ reappeared  as soon as Finnick had found his seat. There was a young woman who came running in after him. She held a large red bag and a smaller bag filled with bandages.

He gestured silently at the rebels’ various injuries and she nodded. She looked unnaturally natural, like the man who had called her in, that was, apart from the tattoos littering her body. She opened her bag and produced a bottle identical to the one that sat next to the bench. She handed it to Finnick with one word, “Drink.”

She began to examine his legs, looking back up at him, “Drink the tonic. It will help to regenerate your cells faster. I should know I invented it.” She pulled another bottle out of her bag and began to dab the bites with the disinfectant in the bottle. 

The woman looked up again at the Star Squad, back to the man, then again at the Star Squad. “Go put on some hair, dear, you’re frightening the children. Finnick O’Hair, you drink up now!”

Finnick looked at the woman, seeming to recognise her, at least vaguely. Then he lifted the drink to his mouth and began to sip at the liquid.

‘Caesar’ left and appeared moments later wearing a very familiar blue wig. The same wig that Caesar had worn for the 74th hunger games.

“You are Caesar Flickerman!” Katniss gasped as the tattooed woman began to bandage Finnick’s now disinfected legs. Caesar nodded and picked up the partially empty bottle of disinfectant and screwed the lid back on then setting it in the bag.

“Then who are you?” Gale asked, directing his gaze at the woman as she pinned the bandages together at the top of Finnick’s legs. 

She stood up, smiled at him and tilted her head to the side, her natural (y/h/c) hair bounced on her head. “How rude of me! I remember most of you, but I forgot how you would never remember me. I’m Dr. (Y/n) (Y/l/n).”

Credessa’s eyes widened. “I remember you. Two years ago, you were on the hunger games program. You surgically attached Peeta’s leg and you had an interview about it.”

“You would be correct.” (Y/n) blushed as she played with a chain that hung around her neck. “I’m the official Hunger Games doctor. And, as you can see, I’ve lost a lot of patients.”

It was then that Katniss noticed the tattoo she thought was an interlocking chain of black links was a series of names. Each of the links had twenty three names and only one had more. She spotted Marlee’s name on (Y/n)’s left shoulder, where those who perished in the 50th hunger games sat. She saw the newest link, with Wiress’ name inked into her right wrist. Above the new tattoo was Rue’s name spelled in cursive with a flower background around it. It was the name of every single fallen tribute, every tribute from the 29th games forward. 

“Is that?” Finnick whispered, running his fingers up her arm finding the link that represented his first games. 

“Every tribute,” Dr. (Y/l/n) smiled sadly, “every single one.”

Peeta took a deep breath then entered the house to sit next to Finnick on the bench. He too touched her arm and began to look at the names as well. He looked back over his shoulder, gave a small smile and gestured for the rest of the Squad to enter.

Although hesitant, the whole Star Squad finally crossed the threshold. They let out breaths of relief when alarms didn’t go off and nothing seemed to trigger an alert. However, as soon as they all were gathered around the bench, the door snapped shut and the windows darkened.

“So nobody can see you.” (Y/n) smiled. “And so that you can see us.”

Katniss looked down into the water of the pool. Lights at the bottom were moving together, revealing a mocking jay emblem.

“You’re rebels?” She asked, wonder blooming in her eyes. 

“Why do you think that we both started working for the games? You think that we wanted to?” Caesar asked as he looked at the younger group, as he pulled (Y/n) to his side. She smiled and rested her head on his shoulder.

“During the 27th hunger games Caesar and I threw a party. It was a meeting of young Capital citizens who were going to refuse to watch the games. We were holed up in a basement when the Peacekeepers came.” (Y/n) shuddered and Caesar gave her a squeeze, holding her tight. 

“All of us were sent to prison.” Caesar continued for her. “We spent a year down there, then we were offered a choice, work for the Games or our families would die. We were stuck in these positions because we organized the party. We worked together the year district ten won the games.”

“We weren’t that old.” (Y/n) whispered. “He was only 26, I was 21.”

“I wanted to be like my father who was a talk show host on Capital TV. (Y/n) wanted to be a doctor. In the end I suppose we got our wishes.” Caesar said bitterly.

“When we found out what Pultrich was up to I went to him and asked if we could be in on it. Coin denied up entry on the grounds that we were too close to Snow.” (Y/n) turned to Caesar and smiled. He looked down to her eyes and kissed her forehead.

“Here,” Dr. (Y/l/n) said, handing Katniss a device with blinking lights on a map. “It’s a map of all the pods. The ones marked in red contain bad things. The green ones are for the Capital citizens, they are full of food and weapons. The blue ones are pods that have already been activated.”

Caesar slid an arm under Finnick’s and hoisted him to his feet. “He can’t come with you, he’s too slow and will only weaken your team. My wife will take care of him.”

(Y/n) took Finnick’s other arm across her shoulders and the two began a walk to the other side of the hall, where a door stood. 

Caesar turned to Katniss who was looking at him and Dr. (Y/l/n), no, Dr. Flickerman in shock. He smiled, “You go, girl on fire, burn his rotten regime to ashes.”

[notgonnarememberthis]

find your way (back to me) - chapter ten

God, I have been SO EXCITED for this chapter. BIG praise to Em who helped me get through little hooks and finding Martin’s voice. Honestly they are crazy talented and have such a grasp for his tone and movements they’re such a big help to me and I love my best friend so damn much ok. 

Anyways!! I wanted to send this out after tonight’s ep but I have yet to watch it. I was out with my sister helping her get over a sad spell so I unfortunately missed it live and won’t be able to watch until tomorrow so I would love to avoid spoilers. Thank y’all so much!! Hope y’all enjoy the update!

Gil opens the door to the morgue, Edrisa looks up from the body with a small nod but her normal smile isn’t quite there. Malcolm stands beside her shifting from side to side. He raises an eyebrow but says nothing. JT lingers in the corner of the room, jaw set. “Ready?”

This presentation feels heavier than most. It doesn’t help either he or Malcolm that they both had to reluctantly leave the apartment so early in the morning. Ainsley remained behind, having called in a few favors to work from his place at least until the case was solved. Still, he worries. They both do.

“Yes,” Edrisa breathes, settling into the motions. “Cause of death was the slit throat. There were traces of tranquilizer in the victim, that might be how he was transferred from place to place. The state of the body suggests he’s been dead for a day.”

“He was alive an entire week. Our killer waited. He waited until mother was out of the hospital.” He’s already agitated, it’s not good.

“He wasn’t killed in Mrs. Whitly’s home. He was transported post mortem.”

“We can assume our killer has completely unraveled. This kill goes completely off M.O.”

“He’s desperate.” Gil agrees. 

“Has she remembered anything yet?” Gil turns to where JT is standing.

“No.” Malcolm sighs, “She’s going through dissociative amnesia. Ainsley did after…” He gestures, it’s enough for them to understand. “Honestly, I hope she doesn’t.”

“You do?” The question isn’t meant as a harm but he sees Malcolm flinch. There’s a flash of guilt on JT’s face but Malcolm waves him off before he can apologize.

“From an investigative standing? I would. It would certainly help narrow it down.” He shakes his head, like trying to rid of a thought that was too much even for him. “But after Ainsley remembered? She completely shut down. She looked right past us and it tore my mother up.” Gil remembers that. The blank stare lasted for hours before she finally broke down. It was Jessica who finally got her out of it, playing with her hair and singing her a lullaby. “I don’t want that for her.”

Edrisa places a gentle hand on his shoulder, and to Malcolm’s credit rather than flinching away he subtly leans into the touch.

“Did we find out any more about Freddy?” The question seems to bring a new heaviness to the room. Edrisa and Malcolm share a look, one that tells they know something that hasn’t been spoken quite yet.

“We found an ID card on the inside of his jacket.” Edrisa grabs a baggie with the ID badge inside passing it to Gil. “He was a student volunteer at Claremont Psychiatric.”

“Claremont? You think-”

“We don’t know if he has any connection to the surgeon.” Malcolm’s eyes fall to the body. “But I’ve seen him around. It was only in passing but he was nice. Always smiled when I passed.”

“Does Jess know?”

“No. But it gets worse.”

“Worse?” Malcolm bobs his head before straightening, trying to summon every ounce of professionalism he has to ignore the warring feelings.

“Freddy’s full name is Francisco Garcia. When mom was delivering her statement to the police she said Freddy helped tie the tourniquet on her leg. That his mom is a trauma surgeon.” Gil’s face sinks, coming to the same conclusion. Jessica’s doctor that had been helping in the investigation, Dr. Garcia. “Agent Swanson is on her way to the hospital to confirm our findings. But we’re almost certain it’s Dr. Garcia’s son.”

“Did she know he was missing?”

“My guess? No. He was a med student and a volunteer. He probably went weeks at a time without checking in.” Gil runs a hand through his beard. Even thinking about telling Jessica was ripping him apart. She’d connected well with her doctor, it helped that she was a friendly woman. But Jessica will want to help with funeral expenses, help the family financially for whatever they need. There’s no way he can get past telling her.

A ringtone startles them out of the somber silence. Malcolm reaches into his pocket, eyebrows furrowing when he reads the caller ID. “Ains?” His anxious movements stop as his eyes meet Gil’s “What’s wrong?” He can barely make out the sound of crying coming from the phone “What do you mean she’s gone?” Gil sucks in a breath. Gone could mean too many things. “It’s ok. Is her phone still there?” He waits with a fearful beat. “That’s good. She might have left on her own. I’m going to go see if I can track her phone. Have Dani drive you here and we’ll find her ok?”

Malcolm hangs up and he looks ready to throw something. It’s Edrisa who slips the phone out of his hand before he decides to do just that. He clenches his hand taking a deep breath before speaking.

“My mother is gone.”

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Jessica’s eyes open to the sound of her phone chiming followed shortly by the sound of the front door shutting. From the light pouring into the bedroom she would guess its at least the afternoon. Sleeping in Gil’s bed made it easier to chase away the nightmares and if she did wake up his presence was enough to soothe her. Listening to his slow breathing lulled her back to sleep eventually, too exhausted for another nightmare.

She picks up her phone, squinting as the light hits her face.

Work emergency. Will be back soon, order takeout and have them give it to George.

So it was Ainsley she heard leaving. She sits up carefully pulling her hair up out of her face. Her phone chimes again

And don’t leave!!

She bites her tongue staring at her bags in the corner of the room. Gil and Malcolm carried all that she’d need for the stay for at least a week. The memories of last night hang over her head precariously, like a rope ready to snap.

She takes her medicine with the glass of water on the nightstand.

Her eyes fall on the shirt from last night. Gil had her change when they arrived and, truthfully, it helped her feel lighter. Yet the note in the pocket still weighs on the back of her mind. There was only one possible way he’d know how she took her tea. It was such a small detail even Malcolm, at his age, wouldn’t remember much less Ainsley. She’d stopped drinking tea for a while after his arrest. It took her years before she found a blend she liked again.

Nobody should know that.

And yet.

Jessica rubs her eyes, dread threatening to push her down into the covers where it was safe and warm again. The thoughts taste foul as she files through. She needs to go see Martin, he’s the only one with the answers. If Gil knew there would be no chance he’d let her go anywhere near Claremont, for perfectly good reasons. Hell, if Malcolm and Ainsley knew they wouldn’t let her out of her sight. Ainsley will only be gone for a short bit, if her texts are accurate.

Now is her only chance.

Getting dressed takes slower than she’s happy with. The pull makes her breath catch in her throat more than a few times. She eyes the wheelchair next to the bed for a moment. She knows the doctor’s order, but around Martin showing weakness at all is a loss. It gives him control of the conversation.

Giving him any sort of control is the last thing she wanted.

She gathers herself, dressed as she normally would. She uses makeup to cover what she can. However some of the scrapes are still so sore that she doesn’t bother. She grabs the note, giving herself a few beats to change her mind and stay. Finally, when she deems herself ready she sweeps out into the living room, opening the front door doing her best annoyed mother tone.

Her eyes settle on the officer patrolling, ready to put on the performance of her life. “Will you drive me to Claremont? My son insists that I shouldn’t be left alone and he’s visiting his father.”

“Sure thing Mrs. Whitly.” The officer, George, grins at her.

“Wonderful.”

The ride there is silent. She practices what she will say in her head over and over. Not that any amount of practice will prepare her to speak to Martin again. It only gets worse as she’s escorted through the halls. She can feel his presence long before she reaches his cell; it’s choking, a cavern that threatens to swallow her and her entire family whole.

“Jessica!” He gasps as she steps in, like he hadn’t known she’d be coming. The shock doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “Mr. David didn’t mention you’d be visiting today. I’ve got to say, you’ve looked better.” He gestures vaguely, talking about the scratches on her that she couldn’t cover with makeup. She’s just thankful that she could cover the bruises. “I thought for sure that our children, Malcolm especially, would have you on lockdown. Though, I suppose that never stopped you before.”

She bites the remark that’s on the tip of her tongue. If she wants answers she’ll have to appeal to him. “Malcolm is on the case, Ainsley had some kind work emergency and had to leave.”

He tuts, tilting his head. “Sneaking out? Giving them a taste of their own medicine, huh?” He straightens, narrowing his eyes oh so slightly. “Now don’t tell me you visited just to chat. Not that I’m complaining but come on, I would have put on my good cardigan.”

“No.” He purses his lips at her rejection, but doesn’t interrupt. “Last night there was a body in the kitchen-”

“Someone broke into our home?” My home. She aches for the rebuttal but the answers are too important and she doesn’t have enough time before Ainsley realizes she isn’t there. She will text Malcolm and he’ll no doubt pull every resource he has to find her here, of all places. So she sets her jaw.

“There was a note on my nightstand when I woke up next to a cup of tea that said, just how you like it.” His brows furrow before an understanding washes over him. She thinks, just for a moment.

“Classic stalker behavior.” He shrugs. “Who knows how long he’s been watching you.” She swallows, the thought making her heart freeze. His aloof behavior is betrayed by the years of visits between him and their son. He knows. “And where was the Lieutenant?”

The question scratches her world to a deadly halt. All of the anger at what had happened; the days she was trapped, the injustice of Freddy’s death, her family being threatened. All of it topples over with the words he meant as a knife to her most cherished relationship other than her children.

“Wouldn’t he be there to protect you?”

“Malcolm was.” Darkness washes over him and she watches all the fake humanity drain from his eyes. Barely contained rage makes the room feel colder. She doesn’t allow herself the step backwards that would make her feel more comfortable. “Malcolm was asleep in the chair in the corner of the room.”

“Malcolm was there?”

“Of course he was there! You know Malcolm! He wouldn’t fucking leave let alone sleep in a different room!” She lets out a shuddering breath. “He wouldn’t- he can’t-” Her words jumble and anger is making her shake painfully. Her core aches and she is almost certain if she doesn’t calm down she’ll accidentally pull stitches. “He was in my home. He was in the goddamn kitchen. He was in my room where we were sleeping!” Martin tilts his head, it’s the disapproving tilt. One that she’s seen hundreds of times when a curse slipped out in front of Malcolm or Ainsley when they were so young. He always hated when she cussed. “Malcolm, god he was so tired he didn’t even stir when I woke up.” She can feel the tears coming down but she’s hopeless to stop them now. She’s in an absolute spiral. “God knows how long he was there. How many times he walked past Malcolm. It could’ve been Malcolm.”

The last words are an almost incoherent sob. She had come here, every intention of holding her ground. And here she is having a fucking panic attack in front of her serial killer ex husband. A bitter laugh escapes her.

“It could’ve been Malcolm.” She repeats. “And every time I remember I don’t see that poor boy’s face. I see Malcolm’s. Our son.”

A hand reaches out stroking the tears from her cheek. It takes her far too long to connect the touch to Martin. “Jessie-”

She rips herself away the second her mind connects the dots. The sudden movement causes a new wave of pain. She curses again leaning against the furthest wall to regain her self control. “Stop!” She shouts, getting the attention of Mr. David. “Stop acting like you fucking care.” It hurts too much. She feels like she’s going to stop breathing at any second. When he looks at her with that much sympathy it’s too much. It reminds her of being hunched in the bathroom, morning sickness taking a toll on her. He stayed with her, holding her hair. That sympathy is not only fake, it’s toxic. Another way to gain control.

“That’s not fair.”

“Isn’t it?” She snaps. “You know. You know who it is and you let us be hurt by him. What did you do Martin? What the fuck did you do?” The room holds impossibly still for what feels like an eternity. He heaves a sigh, defeated.

“Lieutenant Arroyo wasn’t the first to catch me.” The words stop her in her tracks. She watches him warily, not trusting a single word he says. “I never met him, but I received a call, a year or two before.” Her stomach sinks, the year or two before was when she’d noticed his growing absence. “He had connected me to a missing woman, able to pin me at her last seen location.” She swallows, realizing he isn’t moving. No shifting head, wild gesturing movements. It’s the truth. “He wanted money.”

“Oh god.”

“I told you I was funding a project at the hospital. Every month I would send him money for his silence.” She holds her breath. “When I got arrested the money stopped, but the calls didn’t.”

“What.”

“He would threaten Malcolm and Ainsley. He was a belligerent drunk. From what I could gather after he lost that money he lost everything, wife divorced him and took the kids. He drank to forget.” He twists his shoulders back, fixing his posture. “I helped him again. Got him into rehab. From what I could tell, he got his life back together.”

“And became a serial killer.”

“Well not all of us can be perfect, Jessie.” He continues with a shrug, “Never got the wife back but found his faith in religion. Not to keen on it myself but to each their own.”

“Where is he now?”

“From last I heard? He got his job back.”

Just like that the world stops spinning. Her pain makes way for horrific clarity. The black clothes with the covered badges. Malcolm and Gil’s frustration over his ability to get in and out of the park despite there being patrols all over the city. How he got into her home without alerting anyone. “He’s a cop.”

“Yes.”

Anxiety clamps down on her stomach. The man has been right there all along. None of them had even suspected. Hell, it could’ve been the man that drove her here. She suddenly, ironically feels herself not wanting to leave. She can’t seem to move. Her feet feel too heavy. Her mind and body aching from overexertion. 

“Jessica?” She hears Martin call to her but she feels too far away to respond. Only the wall behind her is holding her up. “Jessie.” The annoyance laced in his tone exacerbated as she hears the door to the hallway slide open. “Jess!” Panic.

The door opens beside her and Malcolm and Ainsley step in, looking equally alarmed and agitated. Their eyes fall on her, and she sees the color strip from their faces. Malcolm is on her in a second, hands holding her up by her elbows. She must look too pale because he looks like he’s ready for her to faint.

Ainsley, on the other hand, whips around to Martin, eyes accusatory. “What the fuck did you do to her?” She should stop her, a part of her thinks. Yet she still doesn’t move. It’s Mr. David who grabs Ainsley by the middle pulling her back over the red line towards safety. Whether it’s her own or Martin’s she’s not entirely sure.

“Mom. Hey, mom. Look at me.” She does. “We gotta go. Ok?” No, they can’t. It’s not safe. How did they get here? “Gil’s waiting outside. They wouldn’t let him in, but he’s going to take us back.” She relaxes a little. She needs to warn them about the cop. She needs to. But she feels lightheaded and her heels are far too unstable. “I got you, it’s ok.” And he smiles, that gentle smile when he swears that everything will be alright. “Ains, come on.”

She’s braced on both sides by her kids as she walks out with Martin shouting behind them.

[lo-55]

Shattered Chains of Fate Ch. 4

Loss.jpeg

Night has fallen on Chaldeas. Though the globe still casts its red glow across the room, the doom of humanity, it’s too late and Ichigo has been awake for too long for the grief to wash across him like so many waves right now.

He’s summoned another servant today, with the help of technology and Saint Quartz and Cu Chulainn, of course. It was maybe  his fault that he now had two celtic servants. One a caster with vicious loyalty but a habit of hitting on girls, and another that avoided women like the plague and followed Ichigo like the most desperate of puppies.

So now he has four servants to keep up with, and so he’s  tired .

They go off to the next singularity soon. Somewhere in England, in the late nineteenth century. He should really be resting. Getting ready for the next fight. Letting Olga Marie try an fail to teach him even the simple but powerful magecraft that she and Cu specialize in.

Instead, Ichigo finds himself standing in the doorway to the Chaldeas observation room, looking not at the ominous depiction of their future, but the man standing in front of it.

Romani Archiman. Dr. Roman. His shoulders are tense and drawn and his hair is out of its usual pony tail. He looks as tired out as Ichigo feels. When no one’s watching, right now, his green eyes are dull and his humor has faded. When had he last slept? When had any of them?

Mash kept reminding him how important it was to get proper sleep, and maybe it was easier for demi-servants than it is for humans. He doesn’t know. He never thought to ask.

Ichigo comes to a stop beside him.

It is a testament to his exhaustion that Roman doesn’t even notice Ichigo enough to react until he’s been standing there for nearly a full minute. When he does he jumps, startling and in the space between breaths Roman’s demeanor shifts. His eyes crinkle with a smile and he turns to Ichigo, a dozen times more cheerful than he’d been mere seconds before. It’s a startling contrast. From one face to another in less time than it took Ichigo to even realize he’d seen him looking so serious.

Roman was not a serious man. He had a tendency to jump around and get overly excited over seemingly nothing at all. Like cake, and slacking off and a blog he’s obsessed with that is, somehow, still posting online even though the world outside is nothing more than ash and fading memory. Ichigo personally suspects that it’s a prank put together by Da Vinci.

That artist is something of nuisance.

“Ichigo!” Roman’s smile is hard to spot as a fake, when Ichigo doesn’t know to look for it. Now that it is, it’s still hard but he can see the slant to his eyes, the tiny purse of his mouth. Ichigo is no genius, but he likes to think Roman is his friend. And so he does his best to learn to read him.

“Did you need something?” Roman asks, peering curiously at him. Something under Ichigo’s skin hums and crawls. The hiding sets his teeth on edge. Maybe it's because Ichigo himself is such a straight forward person, but he doesn’t much chair for people who hide like this.

And maybe it’s hypocritical, but at the moment he, frankly, doesn’t give a shit.

“You need to sleep,” Ichigo says, his jaw set in a stubborn line.

“Oh! Ah, I just have a little more work to do here before I can do that. See, Sonya wasn’t feeling well earlier and-”

“Roman,” Ichigo grabs his elbow and watches the man jump, like he’s been shocked. He acts like no one’s ever laid a hand on him before in his life.  “Go to sleep. We’re not going to a singularity tomorrow. You can afford rest.”

Still, Roman’s smile turns, tilts, like he’s confused, and this close Ichigo realizes that he’s thrumming with anxiety.

  No wonder he can’t sleep.  

Ichigo is not a genius. And he’s not the best at offering comfort, especially not at times like this. This is a time when they have to step up, when there is no other choice for them than to stand together, and he can’t say he’s entirely sympathetic with the doctor.

But he pulls him, by the elbow, not giving him time to argue as he manhandles him towards the hallway that leads to the dorm rooms. Most of them are empty now, their occupants frozen in cryogenic coffins. Anyone who isn't working is frozen, in fact. All of the staff that had died during the initial explosion had been dragged out, sometimes in pieces, and laid in the snow and ice outside the facility. It would preserve them for the time being. And with Ichigo around, so too were the ghosts.

It had started with Marie, but by now most of the dead staff have started to drink in his reitsu, to supplement themselves. If they take enough, they can even interact with the world around them, though it leaves Ichigo exhausted if too many do it at once. It’s like vampires, but they're eating his soul instead of drinking his blood. And in any case, it keeps the chains in the chest from eating their way up.

Marie had explained, very vaguely because her family specialized in astronomy not ghosts, that if those chains vanished entirely they would have less ghosts and more ghouls. Which was bad.

They pass twelve of them on the way to their destination.

“Ichigo, please,” Roman tries to tug his arm out of Ichigo’s hand, but out of the two of them it’s no contest who the stronger one is. “I have work-”

“You’re no good if you work yourself to death!” Ichigo snaps. He closes the door behind them with a tap to the pad on the wall and tosses Roman bodily onto the bed.

Roman scrambles to sit, blinking at their surroundings in confusion.

It’s almost the same as the last time they’d been there, during their first meeting ever. The only difference is that there’s a pair of jeans in the corner and a picture of his sisters and his mom on the desk under the window now.

“This is…”

“My room,” Ichigo finishes for him. He runs his fingers through his hair, his customary scowl in place. This was probably stupid but-

“You said you come here to relax, right? To goof off and slack on your duties. Well, relax. Marie’s still around so it’s not like you’re the acting director anymore.”

Roman gapes at him like a fish.

“But- But-”

“Shut up,” Ichigo orders tersely. He’s already second guessing his initial reaction but he wasn’t gonna leave Roman there to stare at their doom and he doesn’t have the damn poetry of words to convince him that they’ll rise above their challenges. “And go to sleep. Chaldea will be here in the morning, and so will the past.”

Roman slowly gathered his limbs together underneath him. He looks at Ichigo, confusion written across his face and it’s all Ichigo can do not to snap at him. Roman is a doctor and grown ass man. He should know better than to neglect himself.

To be fair, Goat Face is also and doctor and grown ass man, and Ichigo doesn’t trust him to so much as feed himself.

“O-kay,” Roman says at last, drawing the words out and his face finally softens, with fondness and truth. Some of the lie slips away. “Okay. But what about you, Ichigo? You need to sleep too. You’re supporting multiple servants and multiple ghosts, now.”

Ichigo hadn’t even thought about that.

He shrugs, stuffing his hands into his pockets. “I dunno. I can just sleep in a chair or something.”

“No!” Roman shakes his head. “No, that’s not acceptable. As your doctor I have to advise against it.”

“ ‘as your doctor’? What the hell kinda crap are you going on about?” Ichigo scowls deeper.

“You need to sleep, in a real bed. Honestly. We can just share.”

“Excuse me?”

“Like a sleep over in a movie!”  

“... You were homeschooled, weren’t you?”

“Eh?!”

“Fine, whatever,” Ichigo was too tired to deal with this. In the morning he’ll kick himself, and maybe Roman, but for now all he can think of is turning the lights off and getting some sleep, at last.

And if it’s easier to sleep when the living are next to him and not when he’s haunted only by figurative ghosts instead of literal ones, no one will even be the wiser.

*

It’s not so much a house as it is a room where he can simply exist.

It’s small, single story and a basement that still smells faintly like lightning and copper and a strange magecraft. One that he can’t quite place, one that he’s never encountered before.

Ichigo doesn’t ask about the old owners and Waver Velvet, who gets pissed every time Ichigo doesn’t call him something stupid like Lord Elmeloi the fifth or whatever, hadn’t volunteered any information.

Ichigo spends a few minutes looking around. There’s a fold out couch in the living room and the kitchen is stocked with none perishables and frozen meats. The bedroom has runes carved above the door and the window, offering Ichigo a modicum of protection from what might be out there. There’s a bed big enough for his whole family and then some, and the closet has a few changes of clothes. Three suits, of all things, and a familiar mystic code.

White and black, it’s a body suit he’d been given early on. His Chaldea combat uniform.

The material feels like silk but Ichigo knows better than to think it is. It’s tough enough to hold up to arrows and fire and more than he wants to think of. He’d only taken blunt force trauma when he’d worn it. There were three spells woven into the fabric, and Ichigo wonders what it will be like to wear it again before he dismisses the idea.

Ichigo wonders just what Waver had thought Ichigo was going to be doing here, that he needed this.

He goes to the basement.

It’s bigger than he would have expected, and there are weapons lined on the walls. Spears, swords, and bows, and a range setup with dummies stuffed with straw.

There are no windows, to hide him from curious eyes. Any non-mags who finds out about magic is sentenced to death, and that is part of why Ichigo hasn’t told his family about his escapades. His wars.

Kon walks past him at the foot of the stairs. Along another wall is a shelf built into the stone foundations, filled with texts and materials that Ichigo can recognize instantly.

He’d never been good at spell work on his own, but he can use the magic equivalent of chemistry just fine. And, on top of that, after Babylonia a certain goddess had magnanimously taken time out of her ever so busy schedule to teach him the graceful art of gem magic.

Or rather, a stuck up deity who Ichigo had bribed to be his friend had taught him how to shove magic energy into rocks he could throw at people to blow them the fuck up.

Combined with the runes that Cu had spent years drilling into his head, Ichigo could survive a regular mage battle fine on his own, if he had time to prepare. And war has made him paranoid, so he starts taking stock of everything that he’d been given.

Evil bones, dragon scales, eternal gears, crystals of several types and a mystic gunpowder. A few feathers, and a jar of scarabs. Chalk, too, and strong thread that’s more like fishing line.

There’s also, definitely for the best, a fire extinguisher in the corner.

“What kinda place is this, Ichigo?” Kon finally asks. He pokes at a jar of red liquid on top of the thick desk that Ichigo has been given. It’s all and all not very personalized, but for Ichigo’s purposes it’s more than enough. Especially given that Ichigo’s purpose was to sit somewhere where his dad wasn’t. Where he didn’t have to think about the spirits or the hollows or the shinigami, however briefly that might be.

“It’s just a house, Kon. A… friend of mine owns it. Think of it as our secret hide out,” Ichigo waves his hand around, idly.

“A secret hide out huh… I get it!” Kon bounced towards him, his soft paws scuffing lightly on the concrete floor. “This is a place to bring girls!”

Ichigo snorts and punts the plushie towards the stairs. “What girl is gonna hand around a creapy basement with you, huh? What are you a serial killer?”

“More like a lady killer! Or I could be, if I just had a body to call my own. Hey, you said I could borrow yours, remember!”

“I didn’t forget. Sorry, we’ve been busy,” Ichigo steps over him and climbs back up to the totally normal looking house above, with Kon on his heels. He lets out a soft breath. It feels too warm above ground, but Ichigo opens the windows and lets the sunlight pour inside upon his skin, lets the wind pull at his hair and dance through the drapes. “I’ll let you have it tonight, okay?”

“But nothing in this town ever happens at night!” Kon whines. When Ichigo sits on the couch he climbs up to flop across his lap, pouting.

“Just try to stretch your legs, and you can have some time on the weekend, deal?”

Kon considers him suspiciously before he nods, once.

“Deal.”

They sit together in the sunlight, in the foreign house, with the spring air cooling them until his phone goes off. Rukia, of course, because work doesn’t give him much of a break.

It’s alright. Sometimes a few minutes to breath is enough.

* *

Rukia Kuchiki is  not the first Shinigami that Ichigo has ever encountered.

There was another, a man who had taken to following their group around North America.

They met in 1783. He was… strange. And admittedly, it was a strange situation that they had found each other in. He’s pretty sure Shinigami don’t normally hang around Alcatraz, but what does he know? The island is infested with all sorts of monsters and guarded by one of the oldest heroes of written legend.

Beowulf. Powerful and vicious, battle hungry but not necessarily cruel. He’d even let them pass into the fortress after just a ‘test’ fight against a dragon.

They, or rather Ichigo, find the Shinigami with Sita, sitting next to her in the deepest prison of Alcatraz. Florence Nightingale is somewhere above them, charging headlong after him with Rama strapped to her back. He’s in bad shape, his curse slowly consuming his body, and Sita is their only chance to save him. Even without Beowulf the prison is crawling with dangerous creatures of all types.

Ichigo finds Sita first.

But she is not unguarded and Ichigo curses himself for leaving his servants upstairs to handle the chaos there.

Ichigo is more than capable of handling celtic soldiers, who fall beneath his vicious attacks and his steadily strengthening magic. The more he uses it the stronger it gets, and his body is adapting quickly to the strain it puts upon him. It’s only been a year or so and he can already go toe to toe with most average mages. A simple soldier with a spear is well within his abilities.

This man, Ichigo can tell with a second of inspection, is not.

He doesn’t have the same energy as a servant. And he’s dressed in clothes that aren’t celtic or american. He’s dressed like he’s from japan.

A black kosado and hakama. All black, with curly brown hair that’s nearly past his shoulders and brown eyes that almost fool Ichigo into thinking that he’s harmless.

But people are more themselves when they aren’t being watched, and this man, older than Ichigo and, he realizes, most certainly dead, has no idea he’s been seen.

He looks at Sita like she’s some kind of puzzle, like some game that he doesn’t know all the rules to. Ichigo stays a moment, and watches him watch her until Sita realizes that she has a visitor.

“Oh!”

She leans forwards on the bed, and right through the stranger, who half turns to look at Ichigo over his shoulder. He’s not interested in him though, not really. He can see it.

Roman is hiding something.

Something important, and he doesn’t know what but he does know now how to recognize when someone is hiding something. Even if it wasn’t for Roman, it’s not only heroes he’s summoned. There is an assassin class, and his heroes have their flaws. Their secrets. Each singularity is it’s own mystery and they are full of liars and tricksters and more than ever before Ichigo has a bone deep appreciation for people who are plain and true.

Ichigo crosses his arms over his chest and stares right at the ghost.

“You’re Sita, right? Rama’s wife?”

“My Lord Rama? Is he here?” she rushes to her feet, all red hair and fire the flutters like an ember on the wind. Not like Rama, who burns anything in his path if he must.

Ichigo nods, once. He lets the stranger inspect him too. There’s the smallest amount of stubble around his chin, like he hasn’t shaved in a while. And he’s armed. Saber class.

“Yes. But he’s injured. We need your help to heal him.”

Ichigo finally breaks eye contact with the ghost. He steps backwards and points his fist at the lock on the door. Sita hurries to brace herself and he shoots it off with a vicious Gandr. When he uses them on living things, he’s lucky to stun them. On inanimate objects, they blow up. He doesn’t get it, but that’s his life. Becuase fuck him, obviously.

“Yes!” Sita agrees eagerly. Her smile is equal parts soft and fierce. “If I can be of use to him, then I’ll do whatever I can.”

“Okay,” Ichigo stands away from the prison door. “Stand back,” he orders, and she steps back into the cell, against the door. The ghosts watches him raise his hand, holding up his fist at the door. The mystic code hums across his skin and he feeds his own mana into it. There’s a flash of pale blue and red and the lock explodes in shards of steel, just as they’re joined by others.

Rama comes stumbling around the corner, his fine clothes stained with blood and his body frayed at the edges. He looks bad. The hold in his chest is starting to gape and glow gold at the edges.

Ichigo hears the ghost suck in a sharp breath and he takes a step towards Rama before Ichigo cuts him off, blocking him from his friends. Sita rushes to him.

“Sita!” Rama reaches out around him and Ichigo can’t understand how he’s even on his feet. How deep does his love for his wife run? “Damn it, my vision is blurry. I can’t see anything…”

“I’m here!” Sita falls to his side as Rama collapses, finally succumbing to his festering wound. Ichigo watches, his hands clenched at his sides as Mash explains about Cu Chulainn Alter, and his Gae Bolg.

Ichigo stands back, with his Cu at his side. The caster leans on his staff, watching Sita gently stroke her husbands hair. They will never meet, and it drives pain into Ichigo’s chest on their behalf.

“Well. Fuck.” Cu says bluntly.

Ichigo snorted. “Yeah. That sums it all up pretty well.”

The ghost tries to take another step, but Ichigo catches his hand.

He spins, his brown eyes wide. “You- You can see me.”

“Well yeah. No shit,” Ichigo says aloud. Caster peers at him curiously, but Ichigo just taps the corner of his eye. A ghost, and Cu nods and leans back again. Even amongst his heroic spirits he’s an oddity. Not all of them can see ghosts. Only the ones that attack them, and more than once has Ichigo had to forcibly guide them into striking true.

Cu is a bit better. He hasn’t told him explicitly but Ichigo suspects that Scathach is somehow related to the afterlife. The land of shadows sounds like it should be full of ghosts.

Ichigo let’s go when the ghost pulls at his hand, peering at Ichigo. It’s funny, watching someone pull a metaphorical mask onto their face. This one is a kind person, someone who’s harmless, but Ichigo can still see them. He is armed and his eyes betray him, as eyes so often do.

Sharp and intelligent. Like a cat watching him.

“I suppose you do have some reitsu. But to be able to see me, is still not an easy feat.”

Ichigo frowns. “I do? It feels like all of it’s being sucked out by everyone at Chaldea…”

“Excuse me?” he blinks at Ichigo a couple of times.

“Nevermind. There’s just some people who are sucking up my reitsu so they don’t disappear, you know?”

And now even the ghost was looking at him like he’s crazy. Great. Awesome.

The glittering glow of Sita’s body dissolving interrupts them, and Ichigo turns to face his servants with a hard clench of his jaw. Rama slowly sits up, sorrow over taking his features. Even in a holy grail war, he will never meet his wife again.

“We should go,” Ichigo says quietly. “We still have to go east. We have to finish what we started. Rama, are you ready?” Ichigo goes to him, and offers him his hand. Rama takes it and stands.

“Yes. My body does not falter. I renew my vows now, Master of Chaldea. I, Rama, King of Kosala, will fight at your side. I shall not be defeated again. This I swear!” He bows his head to Ichigo, this proud, powerful king.

“Yes,” Liz steps up, a noble countess with her chin lifted and her eyes defiant. “We will win, for you our master!”

“We will rip out the root of the infection,” Nightingale agrees, smacking her hands together. Her red eyes burn with a ferocity that would make lesser men tremble.

Mash nods, shortly and firmly. “I will put my faith in Master, and follow his lead.”

“You already know that I will strike down your enemies,” Medusa adds, her long hair swaying with the promise of poisons.

“Lead the way, Master,” Cu claps his shoulder and Ichigo looks each of the mover in turn. Finally, he speaks.

“I swear I told you to use my damn name. You’re all so dramatic.”

Cu laughs at him, and Ichigo starts the long walk. From Alcatraz to Washington.

Only now they have a tag along. The ghost insists on following them along, because apparently Ichigo and the singularity is dangerous enough to warrant his attention. Which is  great .

“What do I call you then,” Ichigo asks, side-eying his newest companion.

He tilts his head, sending brown waves spilling across his shoulders.

“Mmmm. Kyo,” he says after a minute.

“...That is  not a real name.”

* * *

“So, your friend, the Lord, how do you know him?”

Ichigo looks up at Rukia. She’s standing over his bed that night. Chad is asleep in the corner, passed out after a study session run long.

“Who, Waver? We met a while ago.”

Ichigo scoots back on the bed, until his back is to the wall and he can sit, criss cross, looking at her. Waver had come to town earlier, on business as much as to see Ichigo. They’d talked, briefly, in front of the school earlier until Ichigo had had to rush off. Not before Waver had extracted a promise to meet up with him a few days in the future. Apparently there was some weird shit going on in town that had nothing to do with Ichigo and his friends, but was now his problem because he was a mage.

A two bit one, but still.

“How?” Rukia asks, narrowing her eyes at him if only slightly.

Ichigo considers telling her everything, but it’s a bit too much to believe.

‘I time travelled for three years trying to stop the incineration of humanity and I met him as a demi servant and his old servant because he fought for a holy grail and oh yeah did I mention i punched god?’

Yeah, no. Even shinigami didn’t go time travelling. He’d checked. It didn’t help that most shinigami were so out of touch with the living world that even three hundred years ago they didn’t know much about human magics or the goings on. Before the fall of the age of gods humans and spirits had been closer, had almost lived together. Ereshkigal had told him some of how it worked, four thousand years ago, but he’s certain things have changed. For one, she is clearly not in charge of the afterlife anymore. Which begs the question of just where she had gone.

To the reverse side of the world? Or somewhere else entirely?

“After Chaldea,” he says instead, picking over his words with as much care as he can, “After the explosion of Chaldea, their patrons, the Clock Tower in London, sent someone to see what was happening. And to take stock in the situation. Waver was the one that they sent.

“Apparently he gets the ‘problem children’ a lot.” And that was what they were, really. He and Mash, they were just teenagers. Even now. Eighteen….

Eighteen is not enough years for what he’s seen, what he’s done. For the choices he’s had to make.

“No wonder they sent him for you,” Rukia snorts at him, but there’s a smile at the corner of her mouth and Ichigo fights not to return it. Instead he scowls, as he usually does.

“Yeah, yeah,” he waves his hand dismissively at her. “I’m going to get a drink. Do you wanna come with?”

“No,” she shakes her head and he stands and leaves her in his bedroom. His dad is in the clinic. He’s been avoiding Ichigo for weeks, ever since that day in the cemetery and Ichigo is fine with that. He’s still angry.

Yuzu and Karin are up in their own room, and the lower half of the house is quiet. Ichigo pours himself some water and takes a few minutes to calm himself. Waver has him on edge, and more than that…

Something is coming. He doesn’t know what, yet, but his instincts are hissing in the back of his mind, louder and louder ever since he took Rukia’s power as his own. Something is something. Something dangerous. Something deadly. Some change he has no idea how to see or stop.

His cup is covered in a thin layer of frost.

Ichigo stares down at it.

The cold spreads across the surface, white eating over the glass. Elegant swirls of frozen leaves spread out from his finger tips.

He pours out the water and puts the cup away, trying not to think about it.

Because even with Ichigo, even with magic and ghosts and all the other shit in his life, he’s never frozen anything. He isn’t fucking Jack Frost.

He goes back upstairs, trying not to think about it, and helps Rukia rouse Chad to send him on his way home. There’s work to be done. A smarter man would ask about the ice. Would mention it to Rukia. Would wonder if the two aren’t connected.

And Ichigo is not stupid, but he’s maybe a little too used to strange things happening and learning the why at a later date.

* * * *

The acrid smell of burning flesh sears into his mind. Into his soul. Choking him, smoke curled into his lung like an ash made cat that tears claws into the soft tissue.

It’s red. Red, red, red everywhere. Fire singes along the edges of reality. The earth hovers, red and burning and doomed from the start. Doomed from babylonia, doomed from the present and the now.

Mash lays in front of him. Crushed, broken. No shield, no armor, just a dead little girl, reaching for his hand.

Yuzu and Karin are sprawled apart from eachother and they never should be, never should be, because they are twins, they were born together nothing should ever tear them apart-

Isshin. Isshin and his mother, they lie beside a river that runs with fire instead of water. Bloody, broken, staring at Ichigo.

The air shifts and the glittering shine of gold spins around him with a scream. His servants, his friends, cut down and torn apart and left only as glitter that roars their betrayal at him. At his failure. He is the master, the center of power, but he cannot fight on his own. He is powerless in the face of the hulking monster that drags itself out of the rubble to kill him.

He takes a step back, fear clogging his throat. Lahmu crawl across the broken rubble of Fuyuli, of Uruk, of Rome and London and Camelot. His foot hits something. He doesn’t look down, he doesn’t need to. Orange and green and white. White and gold and black. Romani, laid to waste.

He is helpless. Powerless. His command spells are gone and he has failed. Lost.

Fire roars at his throat and-

He’s punched in the face by the smell of perfume.

Ichigo looks up at the sky. Pale blue, a few whisps of cloud floating across it.

He drinks in air. Air that tastes like flowers instead of ashes and death.

Something soft touches his shoulder and it’s only familiarity that keeps him from lashing out.

Lavender eyes peer down at him. It’s his hand on his shoulder. His Caster.

His Merlin.

“Wha- I’m in a dream?” Ichigo sits, slowly, and Merlin helps him up. A warm hand on his shoulder and guilt in his eyes.

“Yes. I’m sorry,” Merlin shakes his head, mournfully. “I normally call you here before they can set in, but I was distracted this time…”

“Distracted,” Ichigo repeats dumbly. “Wait. So every time you’ve brought me here, it’s because I was going to have a nightmare?”

“I did tell you, once. Incubi are made of dreams. And I, as half of one, gain my sustenance out of them as well. Bad dreams are sour, so I don’t want yours to-”

“Cut the crap,” Ichigo elbows him lightly in the side. “Just tell me the truth. We’re friends and you don’t want to see me suffering.”

Merlin can only stare at him for a second. “... I always forget how brazen you are, Ichigo. You never have minced your words. You really consider me a friend, do you?”

“Of course I do! And don’t try to give me any shit about we can’t be friends because I’m human. I’m not anymore, remember. I’m a shinigami.”

“Yes, yes. And isn’t that ironic? I, unable to die, and you a creature made of death.”

“You make a bad philosopher. Stick to being a dreamer, Merlin.”

Merlin merely laughs at him, a softness in the wind, and Ichigo sits with him until the sun comes up outside his bedroom window.

* * * * *

What was with people and coming in through his window?

Ichigo stares at the man, Urahara, that is sitting on his window sill. Kon is having a minor panic attack in his arms, flailing around. Rukia has left. Vanished with only a note to tell them not to look for her and if she thinks Ichigo will listen to it, she doesn’t know him very well at all. Ichigo has never been one to abandon his friends, even if they don’t explain what’s happening or why they’re in trouble.

Ichigo will go after her, but first he needs to figure out how to turn into a shinigami again. Kon is no help, he’s too busy running around for Ichigo to dig his pill form out of his plush body. And this man…

His timing is too good. Is he some kind of clairvoyant, like Gilgamesh? Or just a man with far too many cards in his hand to play?

Whatever the case, Ichigo is strangely glad that he’s here. Without Rukia’s glove and with Kon losing his mind, Ichigo needs help to get out of his body.

“So you’ll pop me out of my body,” Ichigo says, eying his cane, “Just because Rukia is a regular customer. Is your shop really that slow?” He definitely has too much time on his hands.

“That’s right!” the man practically sings and Ichigo could swear for an instant his eyes were lavender instead of grey. He’s like a strange mix of Merlin and Da Vinci.

And isn’t  that a scary thought?

“...Yeah, okay. I’d appreciate the help.”

Kisuke pushes his cane through Ichigo’s chest and he pops out the other side like a weasel.

Ichigo carefully lays his body in bed and covers it up. It’s almost two in the morning and normal humans are asleep, including his family. He picks a few small rocks out of his school bag, simple stones with straight lines carved onto them. He eyes Kisuke, still sitting in the window.

“When I get back from this, I’ve got a couple of questions for you,” he says, marching up to Kisuke, who flicks his fan out over his mouth. Only his eyes are visible and those are still hidden in shadow.

“Oh? I can’t imagine what you’d ask a simple shop keeper like me…”

“Plenty,” Ichigo says plainly. He plants his hand next to Kisuke’s head and leans over him. “But for now. Get out of my room.”

He pushes him straight out the window, and onto the lawn beneath. Ichigo figures that he’s probably tough enough to take a little tumble. He trusts Kisuke to be fine before he jumps out the window after him. He needs to get to Rukia. He can feel it. Something is happening.

His instincts hiss that he needs to  move .

He follows the feeling of coolness and wind and snowflakes that he can almost see. It’s joined by another feeling, something clean and pale and just a little bit angry, thin threads that wrap together to be stronger.. Uryuu.

He needs to hurry.

Ichigo sprints across the city, pouring on his speed. Faster and faster until he swears he’s running on the wind.

He turns the corner.

Uryu on the ground, Rukia not far. Two Shinigami. Red hair and black. The red head with his sword lifted above Uryu’s head, ready to strike.

Ichigo swings his sword off his back and the streets cracks and erupts beneath the sudden force of his power. It throws the shinigami, Renji Abarai, off of his feet.

“Huh? Who are you? Who’s orders are you here on?” he barks.

Ichigo ignores him. He touches Uryu’s shoulder, making sure he’s still in one piece, and pours Mana into his human body. It should be enough to jump start his own healing process. Mana transference is about all Ichigo is good for anyhow.

“What did you…?” Uryu looks up at him, bewildered.

“Later,” Ichigo says. He blocks the blow that comes from behind, bracing himself against the ground.

“I get it,” Renji pushes down hard, his eyes wild. He feels like fire and venom and bone. “You’re the one that stole Rukia’s powers! Because of you, she’s going to be executed!”

Ichigo’s blood runs cold. Rukia. Executed? For helping him? For giving him the power to protect his friends, his family?

No. He will not allow it.

“That’s bullshit!” Ichigo throws him back, power surging through him. His own anger and the energy that Rukia has given him. Cold coursing through his veins. “Rukia was just helping, she saved us! Isn’t that what your job is?!”

“She broke the rules is what she did. What’s a few human lives to a shinigami? She should have never done that.”

A few human-

Ichigo throws himself at Renji with vicious abandon. Renji is fast but Ichigo is strong, Rukia is strong, and it’s her power that lets him swing his sword with utmost surety.

Still, it’s hard to keep up when Renji won’t shut up. Something about menos and children and then he asks Ichigo’s swords name.

He frowns and racks his brain. That feels like something he should know. On the tip of his tongue. His sword. Rukia’s sword. Does it have a name?

Renji takes his silence for ignorance and he’s not wrong.

He puts his sword in front of him and it glows faintly red. The taste of fire and bone is stronger.

“A shinigami’s zanpakuto is the true form of their soul, it’s their true power. And this is mine! Now Roar, Zabimaru!”

Ichigo watches the sword change, grow fangs and cracks. A Noble Fantasm? No, it’s much weaker. He looks at Renji, looks harder at his power. He’s strong, probably stronger than Ichigo but is he stronger than Ichigo and Rukia together? This will have to be a battle where he can’t rely on brute strength.

The sword swings and the cracks pull apart until it’s a glorified whip with teeth and Ichigo jumps back to dodge it. The stones weigh heavy in his pocket and his mind whirls. No longer a saber, no longer capable of simply attacking and slashing until he’s won.

“Give up already! You’re 2000 years too young to beat me!”

And maybe Renji would be right. Maybe he would be too much for Ichigo to handle, in another life. Maybe if he really was just a fifteen year old kid, shihakusho more green than black, he would leave him laying in a puddle of blood without breaking a sweat.

But Ichigo is not fifteen. He is eighteen and he has fought eight wars. He has ended extinction and walked the land of the dead, and demons, and stood amongst stars. He has fought and bled and killed and died, and he has done it all for his family, his friends.

And now.

Now these two are trying to take another friend. They are trying to steal Rukia, to punish her for saving him and giving him strength enough to fight.

And he will not allow it.

His temper howls, blood rushing into his ears and battle fury washes over his skin.

Beneath it, beneath that hot fire that has driven him for so much of his life there’s something else. Something cold and foreign, frost on a window pane in summertime, snow floating around a campfire.

He lunges for Renji.

Renji is forced to release his noble phantasm, his zanpakuto. It lashes out, a segmented whip that bites the pavement with terrible teeth. Ichigo takes it in stride, catches it’s glinting teeth in his own too-long blade and twirls it like spaghetti around a knife. The teeth catch and hold, Renji’s eyes go wide and Ichigo yanks him forward with his zanpakuto.

He takes one hand off his own sword and drives it into Renji’s jaw. His teeth click and blood spurts between his lips before he drops like a lead balloon.

With Renji at his feet Ichigo turns to face Rukia and the man in the white cloak. He tilts his long blade, letting Renji’s zanpakuto slide off. On the ground it glows faintly red and returns to its original form.

“Are you next then?” Ichigo asks, his voice careful and calm even as the wrold inside him rages. Plans pick up and he reads this mans strengths. He’s leagues ahead of Ichigo but even still…

Ichigo is not the type to run. He is not the type to give up. No matter that Rukia is screaming at him to. He won’t-

He twists and blocks the blow he had barely ever seen, his sword moving faster than his mind.

Surprise registers on the man’s face, muted and little more than a twist of his mouth and a twitch of his eyes. Ichigo shoves him away, but he wasn’t fast enough.

Blood seeps out of his back. The cut it shallow, it won’t slow him down but the fact remains. He got hit.

Faster, whispers a voice in the back of his head. A memory, a premonition. He blocks the next attack but only just and under the force of the drawn sword, his own begins to crack. No. No, he will not lose, not like this.

He shoves the man back and flings one of the stones at him, shooting a burst of Mana through it. The man in white has to move fast to avoid the fire that erupts in front of him.

“Ichigo?” Rukia stares at him, her mouth open. “What was that?!”

“I’m not that great at magic,” Ichigo admits, tossing another stone up and down in his hand. He never takes his eyes off of his enemy. “In fact, I wouldn’t even call myself a real mage. I’m pretty second rate at this stuff. But this much… This much I can do.”

He shoots another stone at the shinigami in front of him, who’s name he never did get, and grins when he’s forced to release his own zanpakuto. He’s glad about it, but Rukia is screaming at him.

The air fills with glittering flower petals and Ichigo tastes steel, feels the weight of ‘Duty’ and ‘Honor’ and the scent of sakura blossoms wash across his skin.

They surge at him, a tidal wave of power, danger. Each one is a blade and Ichigo cannot dodge of block them all. Even still, he will not run. He will-

  Protect Rukia!  

Fine.

Cold chases through his body, Rukia’s power surges. Ichigo gives his strength over to it, pours his reitsu into the sword as he once did his saber’s and the sound of bells echoes around him.

A ribbon flutters graceful in front of his face and he swings, running on instinct alone.

The wave of flower petals is stopped in its tracks. Frozen in a circle of ice that reaches towards the sky.

Ichigo is aware, from the shock on the faces of the people around him, that he’s just done something impossible. Again.

Oh well.

He turns again to the Shinigami, bringing his blade in front of him. Not his, Rukia’s. He was going to save her-

“Rikujōkōrō.”

Ichigo shouted when light, six straight rectangles of it, slammed into his stomach. He froze, unable to move. The ice shattered and the blades inside of it floated back to their master, reforming into a single sword. This time, Ichigo couldn’t block. He could do nothing as the blade pierced him twice, and the light faded.

He tried. He did. He would crawl if he had to but-

“Stay alive, for just a little longer, Ichigo. And if you follow me, I will never forgive you.”

He can recognize what she’s doing. She’s drawing the man, Byakuya, and the newly awakened Renji away from him. She is protecting him, and the helplessness is acid on his tongue.

He was left, bleeding, dying, on the streets of Karakura.

* * * * * *

[the-delta-42]

Ghosts from the Past

Ghosts from the Past

Beckett glared down at her station, pointedly ignoring the Captain, and the Captain vice-versa. She was vaguely aware of Boimler’s happy little hums as he worked and how Commander Ransom was glancing between both her and the Captain as if he was waiting for something to happen. At the moment, everything was peaceful.

That peace was broken when the ship was rocked to one side and an automatic red alert sounded. Beckett released her grip on her station, looking down to in put a new heading, she found that her hands were dirty, covered in dust and soot. The next thing she noticed was that her sleeves were rolled down and one was torn. She then noticed that it was her old uniform, black with a single red band around the wrist. Captain Jonas was demanding a damage report from Ops, while Commander Alias was checking the Ship’s structural integrity. Beckett vaguely heard that the USS Columbia had been destroyed and its hulk is what collided with the ship.

The ship rocked again, making her head connect with the console. Suddenly, Beckett was on the Cerritos, with Commander Ransom’s hand gripping her shoulder. She felt herself being hauled to her feet and moved towards the turbo-lift.

“I’m fine.” Slurred Beckett, not noticing the look that was exchanged between Captain Freeman and Commander Ransom.

Shaxs checked Mariner’s console.

“Appears to be a left over mine from the war.” Said Shaxs, before wiping the blood off the console.

“Damage?” Asked Freeman, looking over at Boimler.

“Minor damage to the underside of the saucer section, Captain.” Said Boimler, “I thought all the mines were dismantled after they surrendered.”

“Don’t trust Dominion,” Grunted Shaxs, going back to his console, “or Cardassians.”

A Cardassian lieutenant threw the Bajoran a filthy look.

The Captain sighed, “Renew our course, keep an eye out for anymore mines, Ensign.”

“Aye, Captain.” Said Boimler, before freezing and turning back to face her, “Captain, if you don’t mind me asking, what was Mariner talking about?”

“In regard to what?” Asked Freeman, sitting back in her chair, “If she was fine, then it was in reference to her concussion.”

“No, about The Columbia and The Serengeti.” Said Boimler, making Freeman and Shaxs stiffen.

“Just a couple of ships that were lost, nothing to major.” Dismissed the Captain, using her PADD send a notice for a meeting with the rest of the Senior staff.

A sudden moan echoed throughout the bridge, making everyone look at Ransom’s seat.

“Hm, doesn’t even sound like him.” Grunted Shaxs.

GOTP

Mariner tried not to groan when the light from the tricorder scanned over her eyes. Doctor T’Ana growled as the Ensign winced.

“Stop doing that, if you keep it up, I won’t be able to get a proper scan because you’re not staying still.” Growled T’Ana, while Tendi fluttered around the sick bay, checking up on the other patients.

“Doc, I’m fine.” Whined Mariner, trying to get off the bio bed.

“You have a concussion and your skull is fractured, now hold still.” Snapped T’Ana, placing a hand on Mariner’s shoulder and forcing her down into the bed, “Tendi, hold her still.”

The Orion moved to stand by Mariner’s head, glancing apologetically at her friend, Tendi placed her hands either side of Beckett’s head and held her still as T’Ana went over the head wound with a dermal regenerator. Beckett blinked and she was suddenly on the USS Argentina, with Dr. Solek scanning her.

Tendi removed her hands, inadvertently jerking Mariner back to the present.

“Okay, you need to be on light duty for the next couple of days,” Said T’Ana, “bother Nurse Westlake if you have any other pains.”

Beckett sat up, non-verbally acknowledging the Chief Medical Officer. Commander Ransom had left as soon as he had handed Mariner to the medical staff. T’Ana picked up a PADD and frowned, before quietly telling her staff that she was needed elsewhere, and that Nurse Westlake was in charge.

Beckett took a deep breath and stood up, waiting for another tremor to shake the ship. When nothing happened, she took another step and within moments she was walking the corridors of the Cerritos, casually undoing the top of her uniform as she approached her bunk. After hauling herself up onto the bunk, she lied on her side and pried a panel off the wall, carefully manoeuvring a PADD and a book out of the hole.

The PADD had a series of letters on it, all from the same person, with the most recent ones unread. Beckett glanced at the PADD, before opening the book. The first thing she saw was Lieutenant Commander Hur, along with Ensign Smythe, she flicked through the book, finding pictures of other Starfleet officers and crew members, until she came across a picture of her with another girl next to her. Both Beckett and the other girl had many visual similarities, same eyes, same face structure, same grin, Beckett glanced down at the caption underneath the picture.

Ensign Sarah Mariner & Lieutenant Beckett Mariner

Beckett’s throat started to tighten up, as tears started to burn her eyes. She took a shuddery breath, as she attempted to stem the flow of tear falling into her bunk. Beckett curled into a ball, subtly rocking herself.

GOTP

“Computer, display Starfleet Service record, Mariner, Beckett.” Said Captain Freeman, as she and her senior staff were gathered in the conference room. Boimler quietly stood in the corner, having entered just before the senior staff to clean the surfaces, only for the Captain to deadlock the doors and soundproof the room.

Mariner’s record appeared on the screen, listing five ships, each a different class and her various merits and demerits, along with a note for her demotion to Ensign.

“Display Postings during 2373 to 2375.” Said the Captain, as a section of Mariner’s record highlighted and was enlarged, “Read out the text.”

“Posting; USS Argentina, Akira Class Heavy Escort. Commanding Officer; Marcus Jonas, Captain. Executive Officer; Maria Alias, Commander. Science Officer; Maria Alias, Commander. Chief Medical Officer; Solek, Commander. Chief Engineer; Hur, Lieutenant Commander. Chief of Security; Beckett Mariner, Lieutenant. Operations Officer; Sarah Beckett, Ensign. Tactical Officer; Beckett Mariner, Lieutenant.” Said the Computer, as the commanders frowned.

“Computer,” Said Captain Freeman, her voice strained, “Display and read the current postings of the Senior Staff of the USS Argentina.”

“Marcus Jonas, Captain, current posting; Rear Admiral, Deep Space 11.  Maria Alias, Commander, current posting; KIA. Solek, Commander, current posting; KIA. Hur, Lieutenant Commander, current posting; KIA. Beckett Mariner, Lieutenant, current posting; Ensign, USS Cerritos. Sarah Mariner, Ensign, current posting; KIA.”

“Computer, was the USS Argentina, involved in any major conflicts.” Questioned Commander Ransom, leaning forwards.

“USS Argentina served in the Dominion War, served with distinction and was named the Flagship of the Seventh Fleet.”

The temperature in the room dropped, Boimler’s grip on the tools he was carrying loosening slightly.

“Computer, how and when did the Officers on the USS Argentina die.” Questioned Billups, while the Captain looked as if she wanted to be sick.

“Maria Alias, Deceased, Cause of Death; Console overloading in close proximity, Conflict; Battle of Tyra. Solek, Deceased, Cause of Death; Sudden decompression of deck 14, Conflict; Battle of Tyra. Hur, Deceased, Cause of Death; Dilithium chamber decompressing in close proximity, Conflict; Battle of Tyra. Sarah Mariner, Deceased, Cause of Death; Hull breach on Deck 1, Conflict; Battle of Tyra.”

“Computer, are there any notes attached to the USS Argentina?” Asked Dr. T’Ana, her claws releasing the arms of her chair.

“Lieutenant Beckett Mariner is demoted to Ensign after physically assaulting a senior officer.” Said the Computer, just as Boimler’s tools fell out of his hand.

Everyone jumped and looked at Boimler.

“Brimler?!” Yelled Shaxs, “What are you doing in here?!”

“I, er, well, um-” As the Bajoran stomped towards him, “I came in here to clean, but then you all came in and locked the door, so I was stuck and couldn’t get out.”

“Ensign, you know Mariner fairly well, don’t you?” Said the Captain, still looking at the screen.

“N-not particularly, we work together sometimes.” Said Boimler, making the Captain pinch the bridge of her nose.

“Ensign, cut the bullshit.” Said Freeman, spinning her chair to face Boimler, “The two of you are practically joined at the hip, if one of you goes somewhere, the other is not far behind.”

Boimler swallowed, as the Captain leaned forwards, “Has Mariner made any remarks about the Dominion War, either directly or in-directly?”

“W-well she has said she’s seen things.” Said Boimler, getting a groan from Freeman.

“Anything specific?” Questioned the Captain, barely containing her exasperation.

Boimler shook his head.

“Computer, unlock doors, remove sound proofing.” Said the Captain, making the computer beep twice, “Dismissed.”

Everyone got up to leave, except the Captain, who remained in her seat. Boimler quickly gathered his equipment and rushed out of the conference room.

Carol remained in her seat, only moving when she heard the doors close after the ensign left. She let out a heavy sigh, The Cerritos hadn’t seen action during the Dominion War, being deemed inefficient during battle scenarios and ‘not important enough’ to be put on active duty. She’d heard from Ian that the Quito had been placed on Medical duty, only going in after the battles were won. She had mistakenly assumed that Beckett had been with them.

Carol had friends that had either been killed or had someone that had been killed, it broke her heart when two Officers arrived to inform her of Sarah’s death, but now knowing that she’d almost lost both nearly broke her.

“Computer, hail Admiral Ian Mariner on my private channel.” Said Captain Freeman, she wanted to know if Ian knew about Beckett’s service.

GOTP

The ship suddenly shook at it dropped out of warp, the jovial mood drying instantly as the ship shook again.

“Shield’s up, Red Alert!” Barked Captain Jonas, as the MDS shorted out.

“Shield’s up, Captain,” Said Beckett, as the ship shook again, “initial scans complete, reading 248 Dominion and Cardassian Vessels.”

“Damn.” Swore Jonas, turning back to the view screen, “Helm, evasive pattern Alpha-4.”

“Aye, Captain.” Said Sarah, turning to the Helm controls.

The ship suddenly shook with a greater magnitude, making Beckett’s head slam against her console. Captain Jonas demanded a damage report from Ops, while Commander Alias was checking the Ship’s structural integrity. Beckett vaguely heard that the USS Columbia had been destroyed and its hulk is what collided with the ship.

“Mariner, get your sister down to sickbay.” Ordered Jonas, as Sarah got up.

“No,” Slurred Beckett, trying to keep herself standing, “I’m fine.”

“Bullshit.” Said Sarah, putting one of Beckett’s arms around her shoulders.

“Deck 14.” Said Sarah, as soon as she and Beckett were in the turbo-lift.

Beckett blinked in and out of consciousness, waking up to Dr. Solek running a dermal regenerator over her head wound.

“I don’t suppose you’ve got anything for the headache, doc.” Groaned Mariner, vaguely aware of Sarah and Mike arguing.

Solek pressed a hypo spray against her neck, “That should deal with the pain for now, Lieutenant.”

“A head wound like that; she should remain here.” Said Mike, while Sarah shook her head.

“We’re out numbered at least 2-to-1, Beckett’s needed on the bridge.” Argued Sarah, as Beckett, hobbled over to them.

Mike opened his mouth, only for Beckett to put her hand on his arm.

“Babe,” whispered Beckett, getting Mike to look at her, “I’ll be okay.”

Mike sighed, and quietly acquiesced. Beckett gave him a quick peck on the lips, before leaving sickbay with her sister, both stumbling at the ship shook.

“Bridge.” Said Beckett, as soon as she entered the turbo lift.

The two arrived on the bridge to Commander Alias spraying something with a fire extinguisher. Both Mariner’s took their stations, Beckett immediately firing a salvo of torpedoes at a Keldon class warship.

There was a sudden explosion from the science station, sending Commander Alias flying. The woman landed, with her neck hitting the Captain’s chair with a crack.

“Bridge to Engineering.” Said Jonas, immediately checking on his First Officer.

“Engineering here.” Came a distinctly non-Tellarite voice. It belonged to a human cadet, Sam something.

“Where’s Chief Hur?” Demanded Jonas, as another console exploded.

“He’s dead, sir, Dilithium explosion in the face.” Said the Engineer.

Jonas groaned, before tapping his combadge, “Bridge to Sickbay.”

There was silence, until the ship shook again.

“Ops, what’s the current status of Sickbay?” Said Jonas, as Beckett fired at a Dominion attack ship.

“The Glenn, Cicada and Sebrova are gone, Sir.” Reported Beckett, as Sarah checked one of her consoles.

“Sir, deck 14…just decompressed.” Reported Sarah, making Beckett freeze.

“What?” The young woman asked, weakly.

“I’m sorry Be-” Sarah was cut off when the bulkheads in front of her suddenly went, sucking her out into the vacuum of space.

An emergency forcefield suddenly burst into life. Beckett stared at the space Sarah had been occupying moments before.

Beckett was suddenly shaken out of her trance when the Captain put his hand on her shoulder.

“Lieutenant!” Barked Jonas, “We can mourn later, but right now, we have no time for emotion!”

Beckett nodded minutely, before looking at her console, “Sir, the Star Ships Discovery, Sulu, Sutherland, Totem, Destiny, Sentinel, Vancouver, Macedonia and Churchill have all just dropped out of Warp.”

“How many of ours can get out?” Said Jonas, going to the helm.

“Six or Seven, sir.” Said Beckett, as the Captain took the helm.

“This is the Argentina to the Fleet, fall back, head toward Federation space at best possible speed.” Ordered Jonas, as the USS Argentina started to turn around.

“The fleet are acknowledging, Captain.” Reported Beckett, before two explosions caught her attention, “Sir, USS Cardiff and USS London have just been destroyed.”

“Well, 14 is better than nothing.” Grumbled Jonas, as the ship went to warp, arriving at Starbase 615 after a few hours.

Jonas looked out the hole in the bridge, “Wonderful, we’ve warped in just in time for Captain Picard and Admiral Paris to see our sorry asses.”

Beckett didn’t say anything from her place on the floor next to her console.

Beckett was shaken away by a worried looking Tendi. Beckett saw a whole crowd of ensigns gathering around them.

“What?” Snapped Mariner, glaring at everyone.

“Mariner,” Said Tendi, cautiously, “you were screaming.”

Beckett was glad it was dark, so no one could see how red her face was.

“It was nothing, go back to sleep.” Said Mariner, rolling over so she was facing the wall. Mariner heard the crowd slowly disperse. She waited another few minutes before rolling over and carefully swinging her legs down and quietly creeping down the hall, unaware the Boimler was following her.

Beckett quietly slipped into Sickbay, thankfully finding it empty. She immediately started rummaging around the draws of medication. Finding the desired vial, Beckett grabbed a hypospray. She looked down at the draw, before grabbing a handful of vials and slamming the draw shut. Shoving the vials in her pocket, Beckett left Sickbay, unknowingly being seen by Boimler and Dr. T’Ana.

T'Ana stood still for a moment, before she tapped her combadge.

“T’Ana to Commander Ransom.”

GOTP

“I had my suspicions.” Said Ian, as Carol sat pinching the bridge of her nose, “She returned to the Quito a changed person, I just assumed that she was on clean up duty.”

“You mean like the Quito was?” Asked Carol, looking at her husband.

“Yes.” Responded Ian, “But to actually hear she was on one of the fourteen, it’s horrifying.”

“Her record states that she was serving alongside Sarah, specifically during the same battle that Sarah was lost in.” Carol leaned further into her chair, trying to gage Ian’s expression, “I’m surprised that, given her service record, she was demoted for assaulting a Senior Officer.”

“I’m not,” Said Ian, darkly, “It was Nechayev.”

“Oh, her.” Groaned Carol, her face going into her hands, “How did she get to Fleet Admiral, everyone who’s worked with her or known of her hates her.”

“I was surprised that Beckett lasted till last year, before knocking her teeth out.” Said Ian, smiling, “Something similar happened with you, if I remember correctly.”

“That was an Orion and it was an away mission.” Giggled Carol, before her combadge beeped.

“Ransom to Freeman.”

“Freeman here.” Said Carol, frowning.

“Dr. T’Ana just saw Mariner in sickbay,” Said Ransom, “Apparently, she took a handful of diphenylmethane vials from one of the draws and a hypospray.”

Carol sat in her chair silently, before leaning forwards, “Who else knows?”

“T’Ana and I have already alerted Shaxs to the situation.” Responded Ransom.

“Have Shaxs take Mariner to one of the guest quarters, the sooner the better.” Said Carol, standing up, “Have a security team check her bunk and get me a list of all the Officers that have experience with counselling.”

“Aye, Captain.” Said Ransom, before cutting the connection.

“The Quito will be joining you shortly,” Said Ian, getting up from his chair, “I’m going to try and get Admiral Jonas to join us, if Beckett went under the radar, I want to see his entire crew manifest for the entire Dominion War.”

“I guess I’ll be seeing you shortly.” Said Carol, before the connection cut off. She sighed and leaned forward, resting her forehead against her knuckles.

T’Ana had told her that drugs were going missing from sickbay for the past few months, sometimes it was pain killers, other times it was anti-depressants and sometimes, like now, it was sedatives. Carol really hoped that Starfleet Command would take her suggestion of Security cameras seriously, although she doubted that they would.

GOTP

Beckett carefully stashed the vials in the wall, before taking the hypo spray and pressing it against her arm. Before she could inject herself, the hypospray was snatched from her hand and she was yanked off her bunk. Mariner yelped, waking the surrounding ensigns, creating the sight of her dangling from her wrist, which was being held in a vice grip by Shaxs.

“I don’t suppose you could give that back and we can just forget anything happened?” Asked Mariner, hopefully.

Shaxs just shoved her into Ransom and a couple of security officers.

“Really?” Squawked Mariner, as Security grabbed her upper arms and practically carried her away from her bunk. The group passed Boimler in the corridor, before they carried her into a turbo lift.

Tendi and Rutherford shook sleep from their eyes, as Shaxs and a security officer started searching Mariner’s bunk.

“Wha? What’s happening?” Slurred Rutherford, before he accidentally rolled off his bunk.

“Mariner’s been arrested.” Said Tendi, as the female Trill started tapping the wall panels next to Mariner’s bunk, with one of them making a hollow sound, before prying the panel off the wall.

“Wow.” Said the Trill, before looking down at Shaxs, “You gotta see this.”

The Trill then started to pull different things from the wall.

“Legal, legal, legal, illegal, illegal, how the hell did she get one of these?!” Exclaimed the Trill, pulling a Mek’Leth that had what looked like dried blood on it, out of the wall.

Shaxs grunted, before picking up a bottle of blue liquid, pulling out the cork and smelling it.

“Romulan Ale.” Said Shaxs, before smelling it again, “A good brand as well.”

“The Doctor can sleep easy now, seeing that none of the drugs were actually used.” Said the Trill, before she started tugging on something, letting out small grunts as she pulled. She pushed the object down, rotated it and pulled it out.

“A book?!” Said the Trill, before she started flicking through it, “A picture book?”

A PADD fell out of the book, turning on as it hit the floor.

“Ah, crap.” Said the Trill, jumping down to pick it up, her thumb accidentally hitting play on a video that was on the screen.

“-and here we have Lieutenant Mariner and her wonderful fiancée Lieutenant Richards, enjoying a wonderful lunch together as we travel through the stars.”

The voice was similar sounding to Beckett’s, with the exception that it had an almost giggly quality to it.

“Sarah, what did we say about you recording on that?” Everyone recognised Beckett’s voice, even if it sounded slightly different, “I can’t keep telling the Captain that the PADD’s are faulty because you recorded over a briefing.”

“That was one time.”

“Every couple of weeks.” The new voice was male, after it let out a bark-like laugh.

“So, any feelings about the next assignment?” It was clear from her tone that Sarah was changing the subject.

“Oh, it’s going to go down in history.” Said past Beckett, “One that’s going to be celebrated and honoured for years to come.”

“I can see it now,” Said the male voice, “Gran! Gran! Tell us about the day we got our planets back!”

“Well, joking aside,” Came Beckett’s voice, laughter still clear in her tone, “I’m sure that the Seventh Fleet and our victory at Tyra will be what everyone’s needed since this war started.”

The Trill finally managed to hit pause, looking as if she was about to throw up. Shaxs glanced around, spotting the ensigns staring at them.

“Everyone, go to bed!” Snapped Shaxs, before gathering everything up and charging down the corridor. The book was left on Mariner’s bunk, before Tendi gingerly picked it up.

“Should we tell them they left this behind?” Asked Tendi, quietly.

“Let’s just leave it on the bunk for now.” Said Rutherford, rolling back over, opting to ignore the world around him.

GOTP

Mariner was deposited onto a chair in one of the guest quarters of the ship, a quick glance around told her that anything that could’ve been used as a weapon had been removed. Mariner scowled, as Ransom left the room with the Security officers, locking the door behind him. She folded her arms and waited for the Captain to make an appearance and bitch about how she was dragging the family name through the mud.

Ransom arrived on the bridge, carrying a PADD with the list of all Officers that had counselling experience.

“Mariner’s in Guest Quarters Gamma, the rooms been deadlocked and made child proof, anything that could be used to harm anyone has either been bolted down or removed.” Said Ransom, handing the PADD over to Captain Freeman, “The Doctor said the drugs will most likely leave her system in the next few hours.”

Freeman nodded, her eyes scanning each name and the associated rank that followed it.

“Commander, five of these Officers have left the ship.” Said Freeman, crossing off the names in her mind.

Ransom shifted, glancing to his feet in embarrassment. Shaxs walked onto the bridge, clutching the PADD that was found in Mariner’s bunk, “I think you’re going to want to see this, Captain.”

Freeman took the PADD and glanced over its files, noting the unread letters and the video that was paused mid-sentence.

“I’ll be in my ready room.” Said Freeman, walking off the Bridge, “Mr. Ransom, you have the Conn.”

Down in Sickbay, Dr. T’Ana, Nurse Westlake and Tendi were sorting through the vials. Most had been mixed together, which left them in a dangerous state, fortunately the diphenylmethane was practically untouched, with the exception on the one in the hypospray.

“She had enough to knock out a Terran Equine,” Growled T’Ana, going through the vials, “it’s as if she built up an immunity to it.”

“Well, it’s been five years since the war ended,” Said Westlake, “There could be a chance that she was doing thing before she was on the Cerritos, perhaps even before the war ended.”

“She was screaming in her sleep,” Said Tendi, getting a look from T’Ana and Westlake, “it happened just before she was arrested.”

“It could also be that she’s forgotten the war ended,” Said T’Ana, going through the vials, “I looked into her service history, there was a period where she’d been captured with a couple of Klingons.”

“That would explain why she’s made suicide combinations.” Said Westlake, before handing the vials over to T’Ana, “A couple of those would kill someone fairly quickly, the others appear to go for the slow approach.”

T’Ana shoved the vials into a machine to work on separating the liquids, before freezing.

“We’re missing one.” Said T’Ana, suddenly making Westlake and Tendi freeze, “Computer, monitor Ensign Beckett Mariner’s life signs, report if there is any change.”

The computer beeped.

“We need to check her bunk again.” Said T’Ana, stalking out of sickbay.

GOTP

Beckett scratched at her arm, hissing slightly as she drew blood, she felt the craving for the hypospray that Shaxs took from her. She needed the hypospray. Any hypospray. Beckett froze, swearing that she could hear Jem’Hadar marching down the corridors. They’d taken the ship, and most likely killed the majority of the crew.

She’d been deemed a target of high importance by them in the past, she didn’t know why, she just knew she needed to get out and she needed to get out now. Beckett quickly started to rush around the room, checking each wall and piece of furniture for a way out of the room. She could wear she could smell the burnt flesh that came with their energy weapons, the sound of their polearms cutting through the officers that lined the corridors.

She heard Captain Jonas yell, before going silent. Beckett frantically scrambled around the room, before readjusting herself and feeling the weight of a hypospray in her pocket. It was one of the slow ones, but she didn’t have time to go and find one of the fast-acting ones. Beckett placed the hypospray on her arm and injected herself with it. The screaming had stopped, and everything was going quiet. Beckett curled into a ball, as a searing pain flared to life in her chest.

The doors suddenly sprung open, Dr. T’Ana and Nurse Westlake rushing into the room.

“We need to get her to sickbay, stat!” Came T’Ana’s muffled voice, before someone gathered Mariner up in their arms and started sprinting down the corridor. Mariner was not embarrassed to say that her final thoughts were on how firm the sprinters chest was.

T’Ana rushed after Ransom, while Westlake grabbed the hypospray off the floor and checking the contents, noticing a small amount of the liquid pooling at the bottom.

Tendi jumped as Commander Ransom rushed into Sickbay, closely followed by Dr. T’Ana and Nurse Westlake bringing up the rear, holding a half used hypospray. Tendi’s heart stopped when she saw a shaking Mariner, who’d started to foam at the mouth. Ransom deposited Mariner on a bio-bed, just as T’Ana ordered Tendi to restrain Mariner.

Tendi did the best she could to restrain her friend, silently hoping that everything was just a really bad dream. Tendi didn’t even realise she was crying, until another nurse relieved her. Nurse Westlake finished identifying the components of Mariner’s self-made poison. Quickly throwing an antidote together, T’Ana took the hypospray from Westlake and all but jammed the instrument into Mariner’s neck and injecting the serum into her bloodstream.

Beckett stopped seizing almost instantly, allowing for the Medical staff to place her on her side. Tendi absently recognised it as the recovery position, given the number of times she had to perform the same practice on fellow cadets who’d drunk so much they passed out.

“Right, now that’s been dealt with,” Said Dr. T’Ana, rounding on the security officers, “did none of you think to check her pockets when you put her in there?!”

There were some guilty murmers, before Sickbay’s doors shot open, admitting Captain Freeman and two Starfleet Admirals. The dark-skinned Admiral ignored the sudden salutes from the command crew and stepped closer to the bio-bed.

“How is she?” Asked the Admiral, looking down at Beckett’s prone form.

“If we’d been any later, she would be under and sheet.” Said Dr. T’Ana, quietly noting that Captain Freeman seemed to be retraining herself.

“Have her family been informed?” Asked Commander Ransom, looking at T’Ana.

“They already know.” Said Captain Freeman, stepping up to stand beside the Admiral.

“Great, are we going to tell them that she didn’t die or…” Ransom trailed off, waiting for the Captain to speak.

“They already knew.” Said the Admiral, as Boimler and Rutherford entered sickbay, after getting a message from Tendi.

“How?” Asked T’Ana, looking between the Captain and the Admiral.

The Captain looked around, “What is said does not leave those bulkheads.”

After getting a nod from the rest of the crew, Freeman continued, “Ensign Mariner is my daughter.”

There was a collection of noises from the assembled crew, Shaxs, the security officers, Tendi and Westlake gasped. T’Ana yelled “I knew it!”. Ransom gulped and Boimler whined. Rutherford just blinked, before stepping closer to Beckett.

“Is she going to be alright?” Asked Rutherford, getting looks from the other crew.

“How are you not surprised?!” Demanded Tendi, scowling at Rutherford.

“When it comes to Mariner, nothing surprises me anymore.” Said Rutherford, before looking down at Beckett.

The other Admiral, who’d remained silent, looked at Rutherford closely, “Cadet Rutherford?”

“Ah, well, Ensign, but who’s keeping track, er, sir.” Stuttered Rutherford, getting a curious look from the others.

“Figures.” Muttered the Admiral, “He was a Cadet on the Argentina during the war, he was also one of the fifty survivors from Tyra.”

“Wait, you were there too?!” Exclaimed Boimler, getting everyone to look at him, “How many of my friend have been in a war? Tendi?!”

“I was fresh out of the Academy last year!” Protested Tendi, before Mariner groaned.

Beckett braced herself as she slowly started to sit up, only to gag and vomit on the other Admirals shoes.

“Nice to see you as well.” Groused the Admiral, getting Beckett to look up at him.

“Captain?” Asked Beckett, lightheaded, “I think that mine hit us harder than we thought, Chief Hur should take a look.”

Everyone froze, realising that Mariner thought she was on the Argentina.

“No need.” Said Jonas, looking down at Mariner.

“Okay, do you know where Dr. Solek is? I have a massive headache.” Groaned Mariner, clutching her head, “If Solek’s not available then I’ll take Mike or he’ll take me, whatever.”

“You might want to sit down.” Said Jonas, as Mariner started to stand up.

“Can’t.” Strained Mariner, “Got a tactical review to complete and a call to make.”

“The War’s over.” Said Jonas, getting an alarmed look from Beckett, “The Dominion Surrendered.”

“Great,” Moaned Beckett, “The war ended and everyone saw it except me.”

“It ended in 2375.” Said Jonas, “What year do you think it is and when?”

“2373, we’re supposed to be heading to Tyra,” Said Mariner, “They have a small fleet of ships, so retaking it should be easy.”

“The Dominion had 248 ships there,” Said Jonas, as Beckett’s eyes widened, “It was a massacre, almost the entire crew was killed.”

Beckett suddenly seemed to regain her bearings, before gagging and throwing up again.

“Oh fuck.” Groaned Mariner, “Has anyone got anything for me to wash this taste from my mouth?”

Tendi hurried off and returned with some water.

“I meant something stronger, but whatever.” Said Beckett, hopping to her feet and staggering slightly. She collided with Commander Ransom and immediately felt his chest, “Why is a brick wall in sickbay?”

“I’m not a wall ensign.” Said Ransom, making Mariner jump.

“Oh, it’s you.” Sighed Mariner, before looking around and spotting the Captain and the Admiral, “Captain! I didn’t pass out on the bridge, did I?”

“You can stop the whole ‘I don’t know who you are beyond rank’ shtick.” Said T’Ana, smirking at Mariner, “You’re mother already told us.”

“Oh.” Said Mariner, before looking over at her mother again and spotting the Admiral and paling, “Fuck.”

“Language.” Scolded the Admiral, folding his arms.

“Whatever happened, I didn’t do it!” Said Mariner, as soon as the Admiral stopped talking.

“So, you didn’t steal drugs from sickbay?” Asked Jonas, silently daring Mariner to deny it.

“Nooo…” Beckett trailed off, sounding unsure.

“Try again.” Said Jonas, his frown deepening.

“…yes.” Beckett’s voice had become small. Jonas sighed and stood to his full height.

“I honestly thought that had stopped when the war ended,” Said Jonas, his arms going behind his back, “Did you ignore the counsellor’s advice?”

Beckett stared at his blankly, “What counsellor?”

“What couns-You mean to say that in the five years that you’ve been serving, you never once got recommended to a counsellor?” Said Jonas, staring at her, “Didn’t anything show up during your physicals or at least your mental check-ups?”

“No,” Said Mariner, “I haven’t had a physical or mental check-up since Solek.”

T’Ana suddenly appeared behind Mariner, who suddenly realised what she just said and found herself being scanned. Mariner glared at Jonas, who smirked in return.

“Alright, everyone who isn’t medical staff, get out!” Snapped T’Ana, before collaring Mariner, “Not you, you have an overdue physical.”

Mariner silently pleaded for help, and was subsequently ignored.

GOTP

Despite what the Captain said, the news that Beckett was her daughter spread through the ship like wildfire.

“If they’re related, why is Mariner an ensign?”

“Did she really throw up on an Admiral’s shoes?”

“Why do you think she’s been so busy?”

Of course, all the chatter died down whenever Mariner actually appeared, given how she reacted when someone from Gamma shift tried to get a promotion by trying to convince her to talk to the Captain. He wound up in sickbay with a fork shoved into his hand and a glass decorating his head.

Not to mention the incident when the Captain walked into the bar and found Mariner mixing a concoction of drinks together, while sitting on a pile of unconscious ensigns. Beckett had given a vague explanation that translated to “They thought they could get a promotion by talking to me and got violent when they found they couldn’t.”

Mariner eventually staggered into the bar after going a few rounds with Shaxs.

“Reminded me to never smack talk Shaxs again.” Groaned Mariner, slumping over next to her friends, “I’d rather fight Jem’Hadar.”

Things were slowly getting back to its own version of normal.

Then Admiral Jonas turned up.

[pepethehobbit]

VDS College AU

Okay so first of all, Hi everybody. I have never written anything in my life before, at least not a fan fiction, so please be gentle with me. Also notice that English isn’t my first language, so if there are any mistakes I am sorry and I am asking you to please point them out to me. In general, any constructive criticism is welcomed.

I originally wanted to wait for vds week to post this but I finished it and I would really like your feedback and reactions. I am truly very nervous, I usually don’t put myself out there, so please be kind, yeah?

Now to the fic itself. It’s sort of a little cracky, but not really, I tried my best okay? I was inspired by a fic called “I have hella feelings for you” by MacksDramaticShenanigangs on AO3. It’s an evak fic and it’s really funny and angsty, it has it all, you should all go read it. She was inspired by one particular tumblr post which you can find here.

Okay anyway, enough from me, I hope you enjoy the story, I had certaintly had fun writing it and for my first try, I actually kind of like it. Apart from the title, please ignore the terrible title, I couldn’t come up with anything else.

Speechless

It was Lucas first real day at the University of Antwerp and also the day he saw him for the first time. The week prior had been solely for orientation and no real courses had started. It was just a way to show the freshmen how the Uni works and a chance for getting to know your fellow students. The group he was sorted into was full of other art students like him. There was one student though who he clicked with immediately. He had platinum white hair and always wore, as far as Lucas could tell, a black leather jacket and chunky Dr. Martens. Lucas and Sander discovered that they share a portraits class together and decided to meet in front of the building before classes would start.  

So that’s where Lucas found himself right now, in front of the art building, waiting for Sander with a coffee in his hand. He was feeling a mixture of excitement and regret. He was truly happy that he could finally begin his new life, to study what he loves and away from the controlling grasp of his father’s hand. But did he really have to pick his first class on a Monday at 8 o’clock in the fucking morning? His thoughts went back to his friends back in Utrecht and he decided to text them about his poor life choices, throwing in a miss u guys for good measure. Obviously there was no immediate response, as they probably were a bit smarter than to take 8 am classes. When he looked up from his phone he was greeted with the sight of Sander jogging up to him.

“Hey Lucas, I am so sorry I’m late. Did you wait here long? I’m sorry but Robbe was being his extra cuddly self this morning.” said Sander in a way of explaining that made Lucas think he was supposed to understand.  

Lucas was a bit confused by this statement as he had no clue who Robbe is. “No worries, I only got here 5 minutes ago. But let’s go inside, I don’t want to sit in the first row.”  

They found some free seats at the back of the classroom and while they were sitting down Lucas asked who Robbe is.

“Oh, yeah sorry, of course you wouldn't know. Robbe is my boyfriend, we just moved in together. Everything is still a bit stressful with unpacking and we are waiting for the kitchen to arrive, so he needed some morning cuddles.” While Sander was talking Lucas noticed how his voice filled with excitement and how his smile got considerably wider as he talked about his boyfriend.  

Lucas was kind of jealous. Not of Robbe of course. But he wished for that kind of intimacy and love in his life. He knew he was gay and there were a few hook ups here and there back in Utrecht but never anything serious and always hidden from the outside world. His friends and his mum knew but he wants to have a person that would make him happy and that he could show off with pride. He doesn’t want to hide anymore.

“The kitchen should be there by Wednesday, and we are planning on throwing a housewarming party on Friday. You should come. I’ll introduce you to Robbe, I’m sure you guys will get along great, I can feel it.” Sander was grinning as he said it and Lucas easily agreed.  

“Yeah sure, I would love to come. I’ve never been to a housewarming party, anything I should bring?” Before Sander could answer the professor walked in and the class started. Sander whispered: “We’ll talk later.”  

The next one and a half hours were filled with mostly boring organizational stuff and one homework assignment. The professor wanted to have an overview of his students’ skills. After class Sander had to rush to his next course and yelled over his shoulder as he ran the other way that he will text Lucas the address for the party and that he looks forward to introducing him to Robbe.  

Lucas waved him goodbye and headed to the campus cafeteria, he didn’t have time for breakfast this morning and just bought a quick coffee to feel more awake. On his way there a group of three boys caught his attention. Actually it would have been hard to overlook them as they were laughing loudly and gesturing wildly with their skateboards in their hands.

But one of them in particular made Lucas steal a second glance. He was tall, maybe even taller than Lucas, brown eyes, a jawline that could cut glass, a smile that made Lucas’s inside fill with butterflies and dark brown hair that looked so soft and fluffy that Lucas had the sudden urge to go over there and pull his hands through it.He wore a red sweater that looked like it experienced a lot of love throughout the years and loose hanging jeans.

Lucas stopped dead in his tracks as he stared at the beautiful stranger. He only vaguely noticed the other boys, one with blonde curly hair and the other with a red and black striped jacket. The boys continued talking and it looked like they were trying to convince Hot Guy to do something. He was vehemently shaking is head while laughing as the others were nodding their heads enthusiastically and making a look around you motion with their arms.  

Lucas noticed that he was still staring at Hot Guy and quickly snapped out of it, he didn’t want to be creepy. And he had places to be and was actually really hungry now. One last look at the boy with the most beautiful and kind looking eyes Lucas has ever seen and he would be on his way.  

Only now Lucas was directly looking into them. An expression came across Hot Guy’s face that looked pleasantly surprised and caught off guard at the same time. Hot Guy held his gaze for what felt like forever and Lucas knew he was doomed. He needed to get going or he would develop a useless crush on someone that was probably straight anyway. So he quickly looked away and continued down his path to the cafeteria trying to get those eyes out of his mind.  

He was nearly at the entrance when he felt someone tap on his shoulder. He turned around and was once again met with Hot Guy’s face. Only now up close he was even more beautiful than Lucas could have seen from afar. He didn’t know what to do as he kept staring up at him in shock. Turns out he actually is taller than Lucas, if only by a little bit.  

Before he had a chance to say anything though, Hot Guy just raised his hand in the universal sign of expecting a high five while lifting his eyebrows expectantly. Lucas was dumbfounded, stared at him for a while longer and then just raised his own hand to slap it against the strangers. Because what else are you supposed to do when the most beautiful boy you have ever seen just comes up to you and silently demands a high five.  

Lucas is still in shock but the moment he wants to pull his hand away Hot Guy links their fingers together, swings their now joined hands back and forth a few times and says:  

“Hi, I’m Jens. We’re dating now. Love you, babe!”  

Before Lucas had a chance to respond or to even fucking process what the hell just happened, Hot Guy winks at him, let’s go of his hand, puts his skateboard on the ground and skates back to the direction he came from.  

Lucas was speechless. Truly and utterly speechless. What the hell? He looked after Hot Guy, or Jens apparently, as he skated away so smoothly Lucas was a bit jealous of his skills. He turned a corner and Lucas couldn’t see him anymore. Still being in shock he began to shake himself out of his stupor. He started to laugh as he saw how ridiculous this whole situation was. A few faces turned his way while he just continued to silently shake his head in amusement and disbelief of what the hell just happened.  

He stood in front of the cafeteria a while longer still unable to process what that was until the growling of his stomach finally brought him back to reality. He went in, bought himself a croque and sat down near the window to look outside to the other students still mingling around the lawn. Another smile began to spread on his face as he began to recall the feeling of Jens holding his hand tightly in his own.  

This is ridiculous, Lucas thought. Don’t get attached, that was just a stupid joke, there is no way that Jens was actually interested in him. Still the situation made him smile and secretly there was a part of him that hoped he would see him again even if the rational part of his brain tried to drown out these thoughts. As he ate his croque Lucas was unable to stop smiling.

The following days were normal. Nothing out of the ordinary happened. He hadn’t seen Jens again and Lucas tried to forget the incident as well as he could. He had met with Sander once in a break between classes to eat lunch. As much as he tried to forget Jens, he found himself telling the story to Sander. He told him he saw him before he was approached by him and that he thought that he was beautiful. Sander smiled knowingly at him but didn’t say anything and let Lucas continue. Lucas finished with: “Well I know it was just a joke anyway and I know he wasn’t serious, how could he have been, he doesn’t know me.”

“That sounds like there should be a but somewhere.” Sander smirked at him. He has this expression as if he knew something Lucas didn’t.  

“No, there is no but. Sure, he was the most beautiful man I have ever seen, but it was a joke and I shouldn’t get my hopes up in ever seeing him again. This is a big campus with lots of students. I am sure he pulls stuff like this with a lot of other people.” Lucas tried hard not to sound jealous, because that would truly be a bit pathetic. Jealousy for hypothetical people? Get a grip, Lucas.  

“Well now I am just offended, what about me? I am clearly prettier than Jens.” Sander smiled teasingly at Lucas but something else caught his attention. “Wait, wait, wait, I didn’t say his name was Jens, Sander!” Lucas saw a flash of an “oh shit” expression cross Sander’s face and before Sander could say something back, Lucas nearly shouted in surprise: “You know Jens! Holy shit! How? Is he a friend of yours? Did he tell you about that already?” There were some more questions racing through his head right now but before he could utter them Sander stood up abruptly and mumbled an excuse of being late to meet with Robbe.  

“You can’t just drop a bomb like that and go Sander, who is he? I want to know him!” Lucas said in disbelief. But Sander was already on his way, at the exit he looked back at a still very much in shock Lucas and said: “I’ll text you the address for our party tomorrow. Who knows, maybe your mystery man will be there. Then you can ask him yourself.”  

And with that, Lucas was left speechless for the second time in just one week.  

His initial plan to forget about Jens turned out to be quite hard after Sander had accidentally revealed that he knew the person that had left him so amazed. With the connection to Sander, Lucas let himself hope that he would have a chance of getting to know Jens. The rational part of his brain told him that he shouldn’t go to that party, Jens will be there and Lucas will just embarrass himself in front of him with his obvious crush. But his heart told him to go and to take the chance. Even if Jens really was only joking and he wasn’t the least bit interested in Lucas, it was still a great opportunity to make new friends here in Antwerp and maybe even laugh with Jens about the whole situation. Without revealing Lucas giant crush of course.  

So, that’s how he found himself in front of an older looking apartment building looking for the doorbell of Driesen and Ijzermans being rather nervous. What if Jens was really there? Or worse, what if he wasn’t? He was just about to contemplate leaving when a girl with platinum blonde hair like Sander’s arrived at the door and asked: “Are you here for the housewarming party as well?” Lucas took that as his sign that he should just suck it up and give it a chance. He smiled at her and said: “Yes I am. I’m Lucas. I met Sander at orientation week and he invited me here.”

“Oh so you are an art student as well? I’m Zoe by the way.” She said it while she pressed the door bell and a few seconds later they were buzzed in. They held small talk in the elevator all the way up to the top floor. Zoe apparently was Robbe’s old roommate and they knew each other from school. She now also studies law at the University of Antwerp.  

When they arrived at the top floor the door to the flat was already open, signalling any visitors where the party was happening. They could hear the music and faint conversations from the hall. Zoe confidently entered the flat and was immediately greeted by a boy with brown, long, wavy hair, in clothes that were at least one size to big for him.  

“Robbe! It’s so nice to finally see you again, it’s been way to long.” Zoe exclaimed while she hugged him hello. Sander appeared behind Robbe and hugged Zoe as well once his boyfriend was done cuddling his old roommate. He noticed Lucas standing somewhat awkwardly at the side of the doorway and ushered him inside.  

“Hey Lucas, you came! I wasn’t sure if you really would after our last conversation.” At that Robbe looked a bit confused. Sander turned to him and just said with a certain conspirational and suggestive tone to his voice: “Robbe, that’s the Lucas, the one your best friend and I told you about.” At that Robbe’s confused expression turned into one of recognition and he hugged Lucas enthusiastically in greeting.  

“Oh Lucas, of course. I have heard so much about you.” Now it was Lucas turn to be confused, because he genuinely doesn’t have a clue as to why Robbe would be so excited to meet him. Also who is Robbe’s best friend, how does he know Lucas and why would he talk about him a lot? It doesn’t make any sense.  

He tried to shake himself out of his confusion, just greeted Robbe in return and told him that Sander basically never shuts up about him as well and that he feels like he knows him already. At the mention of Sander talking about Robbe, he just blushed and looked up into his boyfriends eyes. Sander leaned down and pressed a quick but firm kiss to Robbe’s lips and it seemed like Robbe needed a few seconds to come back to earth.

“Anyway, it’s really nice to finally have a face to put to that story. Make yourself comfortable, drink anything you want, beer is in the fridge and if you want to smoke we have balcony.” At the last part of the sentence Robbe wiggled his eyebrows suggestively making it clear that he did not talk about smoking cigarettes.  

Lucas laughed at that. “I do actually have some with me. I don’t trust you Belgians with something so precious as weed.”

As Robbe laughed Lucas noticed someone coming out of a room, stepping into the hall and he had to suck in a breath. It was him. Jens. Hot Guy. But not in his red sweater this time. He was dressed in a blue button down, with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. His rather loose hanging pants from the first time Lucas saw him were replaced with tighter black jeans and that just really wasn’t fair to Lucas. His hair though looked still as soft as Lucas remembered and he is again overcome with the urge to run his fingers through it.  

“Robbe, what is taking you so long? I thought we were gonna smoke.” Jens made his way over to them and Lucas tried to prepare himself as best as he could. But nothing could have prepared him for the glory that is Jens up close. He must have already drank a fair amount, his cheeks were flushed slightly red and when he saw Lucas he stopped dead in his tracks and swayed a little having to hold on onto the wall next to him.  

It seemed like Jens got his chill back rather quickly though. He threw his arms up around both Sander’s and Robbe’s shoulders, standing in the middle of them. He didn’t look at them but held Lucas gaze steady when he uttered the sentence that would leave Lucas speechless for the third time this week. All of these moments had something to do with Jens.  

“Robbe. Sander. Allow me to introduce you to my future boyfriend.”  

Lucas gaped at him, not really knowing what to say, while Sander and Robbe laughed at this ridiculous comment. But then Lucas saw an opportunity. Didn’t he say Jens and he were already dating? He looked up at Jens and tried to infuse his gaze with as much confidence and cheek as possible.  

“Future boyfriend? I thought we were already dating?” At that Jens’s smile grew wider and he stretched his hand towards Lucas and said: “I’m Jens.”  

Lucas smirked at him and took Jens’s hand in his for the second time this week. “I know. What kind of boyfriend would I be if I didn’t even know your name?”  

“Well, looks like our help is not needed here anymore. We’ll leave you to it.” Sander pulled Robbe and Zoe, who was still standing next to Lucas with an amused face, away from the doorway and further into the flat leaving Jens and Lucas alone in the hall, still holding each other’s hands.

They stared at each other for a few moments without saying anything. Lucas noticed that the blush was still present on Jens’ cheeks and a hoop earring that he hasn’t seen before, that somehow just made him even hotter. It was becoming a bit awkward just standing there, staring at each other but Lucas for the life of him did not want to stop. He scrambled his brain for something to say but was saved by Jens interrupting his thoughts.  

“I must say, you are at an unfair advantage. You are definitely the better boyfriend. I don’t even know your name.”  

Right, yeah. Lucas totally forgot to introduce himself. He felt like they knew each other already, it was really weird what Jens made him feel in these short interactions they had until now.  

“Well that’s just rude. You always go up to random boys, claim them as your boyfriend and forget to ask their names?” Lucas said instead of introducing himself. He had way too much fun with this situation. He was finally talking to Jens, he seems funny and if Lucas is reading the signs right he is even flirting with him a little bit.  

“You were not a random choice.” Jens mumbled under his breath and looked down at his hand. Lucas wasn’t quite sure if he heard that correctly.  

“What did you say?” Lucas asked but instead of answering Jens just pulled at his hand that he was still holding and led him into the flat. As he walked in front of Lucas with their joined hands he turned his head back over his shoulder to look at Lucas and asked: “Wanna smoke?”  

There really only was one simple answer to that question. “Sure” Lucas said with a grin on his face so wide it could split his face in half. Jens answering smile was just as wide and he pulled Lucas through the kitchen onto the balcony. Thankfully they were the only ones with this idea, as they were alone once again as they stepped into the cool night air. Lucas was not quite ready to share Jens yet. He wanted to get to know him more.  

“This is actually a little bit embarrassing, again. I didn’t bring any weed.” Jens looked at him sheepishly and Lucas had to laugh.  

“You invite me to smoke with you, without having anything on you? That was a great plan really, you really have thought this trough, haven’t you?”  

Jens tried to level him with a look that Lucas read as “I am not impressed” and Lucas just raised his eyebrows at him in return in a playfully mocking way.  

“Okay, yes, I admit, not one of my best moments. Maybe I just looked for an excuse to be alone with you some more, you are my boyfriend after all. I don’t like sharing you.” Lucas was truly baffled. How could Jens seem almost shy at one moment and then just say stuff like that with a confidence that Lucas wishes he had. Lucas just tried to keep up with the banter and not completely melt at the sight of Jens so close to him.  

“Oh you mean the boyfriend you still don’t know the name of?” Lucas said with a cheeky smile up at Jens.

“Because you won’t give it to me.” And that was just the perfect opportunity for Lucas to tease Jens even further.

“Woah, woah, woah, that’s moving a bit fast don’t you think? We haven’t even kissed yet.” Lucas can’t help the pleased smile as Jens is having a coughing fit and trying to control his breathing again. He didn’t know where his confidence was coming from but he liked that it seemed to have an effect on Jens. The blush that went away when they stepped onto the balcony is back at full force as he sputterd out incoherent sentences.

“That’s not what I… I just wanted… That came out so wrong! I mean not that I would mind if we did, you’re gorgeous. Oh god sorry I’m making you uncomfortable, you barely know me and I just…”  

Before Jens could continue though, Lucas decided to save him. “Jens, oh my god, shut up.” He laughed while he says it, took his hand in his again and introduced himself. “My name is Lucas. And I actually have some weed we could share. It’s better than your Belgian shit anyway.” Lucas got his already rolled joint out of his pocket, lit it up and took his first drag.  

At that, Jens seemed to return to his chill demeanour and relaxed his shoulders again. He huffed out a relieved laugh and said: “Come on, you probably haven’t even tried Belgian weed. Don’t knock it till you tried it. Next time, I’ll bring the weed. I promise.”  

“Next time?” Lucas couldn’t help but ask, as he really wanted to see Jens again after tonight. He handed the joint over to Jens and he didn’t make a great effort to avoid their fingers brushing over each other.  

Jens smiled at him in a way that can almost be described as fondly. He took a drag, exhaled the smoke, looked Lucas in the eye intently and said: “Yeah next time. You really expect to never see your boyfriend again?”  

Lucas laughed at that but it came out weak. He didn’t know if this is still just part of the joke for Jens or if there is a part of him that really wants to see Lucas again. He just had to ask.  

“Why did you do it?” He looked down at his hands, avoiding Jens’ gaze while he waited for the answer.He didn’t specify what he was talking about but Jens knew anyway.

“Honestly, it was a dare. My friends came up with it. I was supposed to go up to anyone, give them a high five and say that we are dating now and then just leave without saying anything else. I didn’t really wanna do it, but I thought the idea was funny.”  

Oh. Well, that definitely wasn’t the answer Lucas was hoping for. Part of him thought about this as well. That it was a prank would be the most logical explanation for it. But the other part of him had hoped that Jens did it because he was interested in Lucas.  

“Oh, okay.” Lucas didn’t know what else to say to that. He must have done a poor job of concealing the disappointment in his voice as Jens chuckled, lifted his finger to Lucas’ chin to make him look him into his eyes again. Lucas saw amusement there and maybe also a bit of hope.  

“But then I saw you.” Jens said in explanation as if this would clarify any of the insecurity in Lucas’ brain.  

“What do you mean?”  

“Well, I didn’t want to go up to just anyone and do what I did with you. I thought the idea was ridiculous and I would only embarrass myself. But then I saw you… and I don’t know. I wanted to talk to you. So I decided to suck it up and accepted the dare. It was just an excuse to hold your hand really.” Jens explained with a chuckle. He then looked into Lucas’ eyes with hope and an edge of vulnerability.

“Oh, okay.” This time it was not disappointment filling his voice but absolute wonder and amazement. He didn’t know what to say to Jens so he just continued to stare into those beautiful brown eyes. Jens’ hand was still under Lucas’ chin. When did their faces get so close? He saw how Jens’ gaze dropped down to Lucas lips and as if on instinct Lucas couldn’t help but pull them between his teeth to wet them. He inched his face closer to Jens, dropping his gaze to his mouth just as Jens looked up into his eyes again. The corner of Jens’ mouth curled up as he made the distance between their lips even smaller. Lucas could feel the other boy’s breath across his lips. They were only inches apart now and Lucas was desperate to know how those soft looking lips would feel on his own.  

The balcony door opened and two other boys Lucas didn’t know stepped on to it. Jens and he scrambled apart in shock and looked at each other sheepishly.  

“Hey, one of you have a lighter?” One of the boys asked. Lucas, glad for the distraction, gave his lighter to him so he could lit up his cigarette. He was still trying to process the intensity of the moment he and Jens just shared.

“Thanks, man. You planing on sharing this?” He asked with a smile and pointed to the joint still in Jens hand which wasn’t even lit anymore. Jens looked at Lucas for confirmation as it was his weed. Lucas just nodded and for the duration it took to smoke the rest of the joint he found himself trapped in awkward small talk with these two boys and Jens. He just wanted to be alone with Jens again and maybe finally find out what those lips feel like on his. But the moment was gone and Lucas couldn’t help but feel disappointed.  

When the boys stepped back inside, Jens and him followed them. But before Lucas could step back into the kitchen, Jens reached for his hand and linked their fingers together. Lucas looked up at him in surprise. Jens only shrugged with his shoulders and motioned for Lucas to follow him to the living room, where many people were already dancing.  

And so Lucas spend the rest of the evening dancing with Jens and talking to him and his friends on the couch when they needed a break. He found out that Jens is Robbe’s best friend and at that he leaned into Jens’ space and whispered in his ear: “So you talked to Robbe about me, huh?” Jens only blushed and pushed him away just to pull him close to his side again. He found out that Jens is studying music, has lived in Antwerp his whole life, that his baby sister is called Lotte and that he loves her a lot. He found out that Jens came out as bisexual in the last year of high school where he just kissed a boy in the middle of a party for everyone of his classmates to see. Everything he found out about Jens that evening made his crush on him grow even bigger. He wasn’t just the most beautiful boy he had ever seen, he was also funny, confident, loving and just the nicest person Lucas has ever met. During the evening they sat closer and closer together, Jens never let go of his hand and sometimes he would play with Lucas’ curls in a way that it seems he doesn’t even realize that he was doing it. Lucas loved these moments the most.  

When the party died down and it was time to leave, Jens insisted on walking Lucas home, even though it was only a fifteen minute walk.  

“You really don’t have to. I know the way.”  

“Do you though? You just moved here, I need to show you the way around the city.”  

And who was Lucas to say no to such an offer. The walk home was spend in comfortable silence. Here and there Jens pointed something out to Lucas, a great cafe at the corner or the best place for fries in the city. Lucas tried to remember these tips but it was currently hard for him to concentrate on anything other than the feeling of Jens’ hand in his.  

When they arrived at Lucas’ dorm building, Jens turned toward Lucas and just looked at him nervously.  

“I… I had a really great time tonight. God, that sounds so lame.” Lucas just laughed but before he could say anything in return Jens continued. “Okay just let me say this. I just… I just want you to know that… that it may have started as a joke, but I would really like to see you again and take you out on a real date. If that is something you would want, I mean. You don’t have to of course. I know I am not your boyfriend or anything, that was just a joke. And even if you were my boyfriend you are of course not forced to go anywhere with me and you don’t need to fee-”  

Lucas just couldn’t wait anymore. A rambling and nervous Jens is just about the most endearing thing Lucas has ever seen. He pushes himself on his tiptoes into Jens’ space and presses their lips together. His hands go up to Jens waist and stay there even when he pulls back. He looks up at Jens who still has his eyes closed and his mouth hangs open a little, as if he is waiting for another kiss.  

“I really want to see you again too.”

At that Jens opens his eyes, looks at Lucas in disbelief and awe, like he can’t believe his luck. He smiles and pull his bottom lip between his lips as he asks: “Yeah?”  

Lucas answering smile is just as dopey and wide and he can’t help but look at the way Jens bites his lips. He wants to kiss those lips again. “Yeah.” Lucas says with a definite and happy tone in his voice. He has never been more sure of anything in his life.  

“That’s really good. Not gonna lie, it would’ve really sucked for me if you didn’t want to see your boyfriend again.”  

Lucas laughed out loud and Jens looked at him in wonder. Lucas hands travelled from Jens’ waist up to his neck in an attempt to pull him in even closer. Jens came willingly and encircled Lucas’ back with his arms. This time it was Jens who closed the distance between them. He rested his forehead against Lucas’ and just breathed him in for a few seconds. The intensity of this moment threatening to overwhelm both of them, but then Jens leaned his head down to capture Lucas’ lips once more.  

As Jens’ lips glided smoothly across his own, as Jens hugged Lucas so tightly there wasn’t even an inch of space between them, as Jens let out a soft moan when Lucas bit his bottom lip gently, as Lucas was finally able to feel the soft curls of Jens’ hair between his fingers, that’s when Lucas decided that he would never want to stop kissing Jens.

[crystalninjaphoenix]

Threads

A Stitched Story

JSE Fanfic

And we’re back with this! A longer part, I suppose, but hopefully not too long. The main group finally meets up with Jackie again, finding things aren’t quite right over with him. And there’s these creepy things crawling all over, what’s with that? And where’s Marvin? Well, I can tell you now, he’s not having a good time either. Anyway, hope you guys like this! There’s not as much action as the previous part, but still some, and a lot of dialogue, too ^-^

Tagging @septic-dr-schneep for inspiring this AU with this post.

Read where it started: Stitched Together | Season One | Season Two

Previous Season Three story: Torn Apart | Tales to Tell

Taglist (finally): @bupine​ @violet--majesty

Nine o’clock in the morning, and the day had already gone off the rails in multiple ways. The group gathered in the living room of Schneep’s apartment. Chase and Jack sat on one of the sofas, and Schneep and JJ sat on the other, opposite them. They’d brought in snacks, mainly chips and oven-made fries, but nobody was touching them in light of the discussion.

“Look, we have no reason to trust this stranger or his word,” Schneep was saying. “He could be lying.”

“Yeah, but why would anyone lie about something like this?” Chase countered. “‘Hi, your friend who died has come back to life and really wants to see you,’ what could possibly be gained from that?”

“And he’s not really a stranger,” Jack added. “I think I kinda remember Jackie mentioning him before. Said he was a detective, or something.”

Schneep rolled his eyes. “It does not matter in the end. He could still be lying.”

 But I have to agree with Chase, JJ signed. Why would he do so?

Chase looked at JJ, startled but relieved. He waited for Jack to translate Jameson’s signs for Schneep before continuing. “Yeah, and it’s not totally out of possibility, is it? When we thought we defeated Anti before, Jackie and Marvin reappeared. Maybe now that Anti is gone for good, they came back somehow.”

Schneep folded his arms. “If we say they have come back in some way, there is a high chance they will not be the same, given how...odd they were last time.”

Chase glanced back over at JJ. “Yeah, uh, we’ve...thought about that.” He waited for JJ to jump in, but there was nothing. “But...I mean, we should still check it out, right? Stacy gave me this guy’s number, I can call him to see what’s up.”

“Yeah, that sounds like a good idea,” Jack added. “See for ourselves what this guy’s like. Or, uh, hear. You know?” 

“Yes yes, we can do that first.” Schneep nodded. “What was his name again?”

“Malcolm,” Chase said, picking up his phone and copying the number from his notes into the dialer. “I’ve never met him before, but then again, I don’t really know all of your guys’ friends either.” He could’ve been at the funeral, but then again, Chase didn’t think he would have remembered him if he was. He was a little...distracted at the time.

“Yeah, I think I’ve heard him mention that name before,” Jack said. “Or I’m just thinking about Marvin instead.”

Speaking of which, where would Marvin be? JJ asked. The two of them were, well, stuck together, weren’t they? But this stranger only called us to talk about Jackie.

“Uh, maybe the two of them just...separated?” Jack suggested.

“Guys it’s ringing,” Chase shushed. Everyone else fell silent.

The other end clicked as it was picked up. “Hello?”

Chase swallowed a lump in his throat. “Hi, it’s Chase. Are you Malcolm? Uh, I think you called my, um, ex?”

“Oh yeah!” The man on the other end sounded friendly enough, if not at all familiar. “Yeah, that was me. Sorry about that, by the way. I have no idea why he remembered your ex’s number and not yours.”

“Right, ha,” Chase laughed nervously. “So, uh...did you really...I-I mean, did Ja—is he really, uh, is Jackie—”

“No I get it, it sounds insane,” Malcolm said. “But yeah, Jackie is...alive. I-I don’t know how, but he is. I can probably put him on, if you’d like.”

Chase felt the bottom of his stomach drop out. “Uh...yeah, you can do that.”

“Great. Hold on a minute.” On the other end he heard what sounded like a hardwood floor. A door opened, and Malcolm’s voice came through, the words muffled. A few seconds later, a different voice came through the line. “Chase? Chase?”

It took him a moment to respond. The others were all staring at him intensely, Jack actually leaning a bit closer as if he could hear what was happening in the call. “Uh...yeah,” Chase finally said. “It’s me. Is this—”

“It’s you!” Jackie’s familiar voice was bright. “It’s you, you! Where are you? I can’t find you.”

“Uh, y-yeah it’s me,” Chase said. “I’m, uh...I’m on my way.”

“Here?”

“Yeah, to wherever you are.”

“Hurry! Where are you? Tell me!” Jackie insisted.

“Um...can you hand the phone back to your friend?” Chase asked. “So he can tell me where you are.”

“Where are you?!” Jackie repeated.

“I’m going there, I just need to know where there is,” Chase persisted. “Can you tell me or hand the phone so your friend can tell me?”

Jackie groaned, sounding disappointed. There was a vague sort of shuffling sound. “Are you still there?” Malcolm asked.

“Yeah,” Chase said. He glanced around at the others. “So...I guess we’ll be stopping by.”

“That would be great,” Malcolm replied. “Jackie is, uh...he really wants to see you. I’m at 756 Windscape Lane, it’s on the west side. My roommate will be out all day, but I took the day off work so I’ll...be here. With Jackie.”

“756 Windscape Lane,” Chase repeated, giving the others a significant look. JJ immediately took out his phone and typed in the address. “We’ll be there soon.”

“Great. See you then.” Click. The call ended.

“So...” Schneep said slowly. “Was he telling the truth?”

Chase looked up. “Well...y-yeah, he put Jackie on the line, and...well it sounded like him. I’d know that voice anywhere.” He paused. “I...I guess it could have been a trick somehow, but it...sounded like him,” he repeated lamely.

JJ took a deep breath. Well, we should at least check it out, shouldn’t we?

“Uh, yeah,” Chase said, giving JJ a slightly startled look. “The address isn’t that far from here, I think. But I don’t have my car so we can’t drive, and it’ll take a while on the bus—”

“I think I could get us there,” Schneep interrupted. “Or at least close.” The air seemed to shiver around him. “I have been practicing, after all.”

“Right, sounds like we’re all good, then,” Jack said. “Do we need anything? JJ, you want a scarf for your face?”

That would be nice, JJ said.

“Well let’s hurry, then,” Chase said. “I said we’d be there soon.” And he wanted to see what this was all about. See if there was anything to hope for.

— — — — — — —

“Stupid power outage,” Yvonne muttered. She was laying on the sofa, pointing her flashlight at the ceiling and making patterns with the circle of light. “Stupid crazy shit happening in the world.” She sighed, and looked over at the nearby armchair. “How’re you hanging on?”

Marvin was curled up in the chair, hugging his mask to himself. He didn’t respond. In fact, he hadn’t said anything at all since that weird comment about “puppets” an hour or so ago.

“Great, glad to hear it,” she commented, looking back at the ceiling. If she could just figure out what was up with his soul, and with those strange strings. She had the feeling they were connected with each other. Sighing, she turned to face the coffee table. Earlier, she’d grabbed a few books from her shop downstairs that she thought might help. Hadn’t had the...initiative to look at them yet. Now was as good a time as any. She reached over and grabbed one, flipping to the table of contents. “Hey, it’s Rituals for the Curious Soul Mage. Remember this?”

Marvin turned to look at her. Still didn’t say anything, just...staring.

“Course you do,” Yvonne mumbled. “You took a spell from it.” The book originally had a lock holding it shut, but one day, shortly after a visit from Marvin a few years ago, the one where he dropped off his mask at her apartment, the lock had suddenly disappeared. Recalling this, she flipped to one of the spells. There were a few pencil notes in the margins that weren’t in her handwriting. Yvonne scanned over the spell and the notes, and paused. “Wait a second.” She sat up straight. “Marvin, you didn’t...you didn’t actually do this, did you?”

He just kept staring at her.

“Look, I’m all for reading up the theory, but you didn’t actually do it, right?” Yvonne repeated, maintaining eye contact. “You knew how dangerous this was, right? Tearing up a soul is—it’s just—” She stopped. “Oh my god, you actually did it,” she whispered. “That’s why your soul is—oh my holy fuck.” She read over the page once again, running her finger along the title: Transference Ritual. “Who’d you convince to be the other...” Slowly, she trailed off. “Your flatmate. Both of you died at the same time, you...shit. Fuck shit.” She snapped the book closed. “What happened to him? What happened to you? Why are you back now?”

Finally, Marvin shook his head slowly. “I don’t know where the other me is,” he said quietly.

Yvonne buried her face in her hands. “It’s fine. It’s—I’ll figure it out.”

Marvin tilted his head, then looked out the window. “Shards?” He asked. “Where did we go?”

“I still have no idea what you’re talking about,” Yvonne sighed. “But I’m closer. It’s fine. It’s going to be fine.” She picked up the book again and reopened it to the same page. Maybe she could learn something from this spell.

— — — — — — —

Meanwhile, on the west side of the city, the air seemed to shimmer, and all of a sudden, four men popped into existence on the sidewalk. One of them immediately bent over and covered his mouth. Another pressed his hands to his head. “Oh god, I don’t feel so well,” the last one muttered.

“What? You were all fine when I took you to the apartment!” Schneep protested.

“Maybe it’s like...you can’t do too many at once?” Jack asked, shaking his head. “But yeah, doesn’t matter, I still feel like my insides want to be on the outside.”

“Same,” Chase muttered, straightening. “And dizzy too.” He squeezed his eyes shut and opened them wide. “Okay, but it looks like we’re here. Uhh...what was the address again?”

JJ pulled his hands away from his head and signed 756 Windscape Lane.

“Right, 756.” Chase nodded. “Looks like we’re already on Windscape Lane. Nice place, I guess. Quaint.”

It’s an older section of the city, JJ explained.

“Well, we’re at 740.” Jack pointed at the number on one of the nearby houses. “We’re close. Let’s go.”

It was just a couple blocks’ walk before they reached their destination. The town house labelled 756 looked just like any of the others on the street. Chase hurried up the short walkway to stand on the threshold. He glanced behind him. Schneep was clutching Jack’s arm for stability, and JJ was adjusting the scarf around the lower half of his face. Jack nodded for Chase to go ahead. Chase nodded back, and turned around, ringing the doorbell.

A few seconds later, the door was opened by a black-haired man in a purple hoodie. “Oh hey,” he said.

“Hey,” Chase said, recognizing the voice from the earlier phone call. “Sooo...I’m Chase.”

“Malcolm. Nice to meet you.” The other man held out his hand for a shake, but slowly withdrew it when Chase didn’t take it. “Uh...I wasn’t expecting a whole group. It’s fine, though. Come in, come in.”

The group entered, finding themselves in a dim hallway lit only by a couple candles on a table. “Man, it’s so dark in here,” Jack complained. “I can barely see anything.”

“Oh no, what a nightmare,” Schneep drawled.

“...sorry,” Jack muttered.

Did you just quote Avatar? JJ asked.

“I think he did,” Chase said.

“Uh...I think I’m missing context for this conversation.” Malcolm looked between the group. “Anyway, yeah. The power’s out. Sorry about that.”

“I think it’s a citywide thing,” Chase shrugged. “It was out at the last two places we were.” He hesitated. “So...where’s, uh...”

“Upstairs,” Malcolm said, anticipating the question. “He’s been hanging out in our spare room. Haven’t told my roommate yet, because honestly I don’t know what the fuck to say about this.” He pulled his phone out of the pocket and switched on the flashlight feature. Pointing it to the side, the beam landed on a staircase leading upward. “C’mon, I’ll show you.”

A quick climb up the stairs and they were in another hallway. Malcolm led them all the way down to the last door on the left. He opened the door slowly, shining his flashlight inside. “Hello? Jackie? Your friends are here.” The room was dark, of course, the only light coming from a battery-powered digital clock. It was hard to even see the vague shapes of furniture. Malcolm glanced back at the others. “I’ll uh...open the window.” He darted inside. Curtains rattled on the rod and morning light flooded the room, landing on a figure sitting on a bed and looking downwards.

Chase and Jack exchanged looks, both reluctant to go inside. But after a bit, Chase took a deep breath and stepped inside first. “Hey, uh, Jackie?”

At the sound of his voice, Jackie’s head snapped up and whipped towards him. Chase stopped in his tracks. It was definitely Jackie. Wearing his favorite red hoodie and a pair of jeans, brown-haired and blue-eyed like he’d always been. Jackie smiled wide, the expression so familiar it ached, and ran right over.

“Ja—oof!” Chase stiffened as Jackie wrapped his arms around him in a tight hug, momentarily at a loss for words. After the initial shock of seeing and feeling Jackie alive again, he was starting to feel the panic at the skin contact sinking in. He looked at the others with an expression of panic on his face, practically begging for them to tell him what to do about this.

Jack nodded, and walked inside the room, Schneep following behind, still gripping his arm. “Uh, hey Jackie. So...you’re back?”

“Hmm.” Jackie glanced over at Jack and Schneep, not letting go at Chase. “Others.”

“Uh...yeah, we’re the others,” Jack said slowly. “You, uh...you okay?”

Jackie didn’t answer. Chase started to squirm, pushing at Jackie’s arms. Malcolm, standing back over by the window, cleared his throat. “Yeah, so...he’s been acting weird like this ever since he showed up here.”

“Weird like what?” Schneep asked.

Malcolm waved vaguely at Jackie, still attached to Chase. “You know...he keeps talking weird and disconnected, or not talking at all. I think his memory’s fuzzy or something, he didn’t...didn’t remember his name at first. I have no idea what’s going on.”

“Can someone get him to stop?” Chase whisper-shouted at the others. “It’s—” He yelped. Jackie had suddenly grabbed his wrist. Sharply jerking it back, he stammered out, “Uh, Jackie, don’t—please don’t do—I-I mean I’m glad to see you too, but—but don’t—”

“Where’d they go?” Jackie asked, brows scrunching together in confusion.

“Where’d what go?” Chase asked, trying to lean back.

Jameson finally stepped into the room. I hate to ask this, but...he wasn’t like this before, was he?

Jack shook his head, momentarily at a loss for words. “Not at all...I mean, he was always a touchy-feely kind of—actually no, that sounds wrong, I mean he liked to hug people a lot. But he’d stop if you didn’t want it. If he didn’t, Marvin never would’ve lived—”

“Marvin!” Jackie suddenly shouted, looking around as if he expected to see him nearby. “Where is me? Us? The missing parts.”

“He’s been doing a lot of that,” Malcolm muttered, rubbing his temple like he was getting a headache. “Lots of talk about me and us and something missing.”

“That is...odd,” Schneep said, narrowing his eyes. “Jackie, can you stop that? You are making Chase uncomfortable.”

Jackie growled. “No. He’s ours.” He squeezed Chase tighter, not noticing or not caring how his uncomfortable expression turned to one of genuine distress.

“Well that’s...unsettling,” Jack said.

Jack. Jameson stepped closer. Maybe you could use your soul vision on him?

“Huh? Oh yeah.” He’d almost forgotten to try that. The weird soul vision was just normal to him now. With that reminder, he closed his left eye and watched the world turn monochrome. Out of the corner of his eye he noticed Malcolm’s soul glowing a bright violet, but he was more concentrated on what he was seeing in front of him. Last time he’d looked at Jackie’s soul, it had been a random mess of red and blue shards. Now? Well, the soul was still broken, but the pieces were mostly red, and they seemed larger than before, almost holding together a shape. Almost. They still weren’t a solid light like all the other souls were, and about a fourth of them were still blue. “Okay, that’s...still concerning, but not as concerning as it was.”

“Uhh...once again, I’m missing something,” Malcolm said.

“It’s a long story,” Jack said. “What’s important is that...Chase, are you okay?”

Chase didn’t answer. He’d slowly gone very pale, shaking a bit and breathing faster and faster. Once again, Jackie paid no mind to this, content to keep hugging him tight.

“This does not seem good,” Schneep muttered, pushing away from Jack. He walked over to Jackie and Chase and slowly reached out. Once he made contact, grabbing Jackie’s arm, he started physically trying to separate them.

Jackie suddenly shrieked, turning his attention to Schneep. “No! You can’t!” He shoved Schneep away, sending him stumbling backwards. “Stupid us̀el̴e̡s͝s doctor! He’s ours!”

“Jackie!” Schneep gasped.

“Hey!” Jack stepped forward. “Just drop it, Jackie! And leave Chase alone! Look at him, can’t you see you’re freaking him out?” Chase was rapidly blinking back tears as he tried to keep from hyperventilating. “I get you’re excited to see him, but you can’t do this.”

“We can do anything,” Jackie said in a low voice. “He’s ơu͝r̡s̕.” Without warning, he grabbed Chase’s bandanna and started pulling. Chase made a startled squeak that turned into something more choked as the bandanna didn’t come undone.

A bright blue light suddenly burst in between Jackie and Chase, growing into a sphere made of lines of runes that slowly pushed them apart. Once they were separated, Jameson slowly lowered his hand. Chase, are you okay? He asked.

Chase covered his mouth with his hands, breathing heavily. “I-I’m...gonna...” He walked over to the bed and sat down on the edge, saying nothing more.

“Um, okay!” Malcolm looked back and forth between JJ and the spot where the sphere had been. “Excuse me for interrupting the moment, but what the fuck’s going on here?!”

“Magic is real, that is what’s going on here,” Schneep said curtly. “Jackie, no.” He lunged forward and grabbed Jackie by the back of the hoodie, just in time to stop him from walking over to Chase. “At least I can feel him like normal,” Schneep muttered. “Not like last time. I know where he is.”

Jackie, very obviously upset at being grabbed, started to turn around. He was probably planning on hitting Schneep at the very least, but he stopped halfway through, staring at the window. His eyes widened, and he suddenly laughed.

“Uh...that does not sound like a happy laugh,” Schneep said. “That sounds a bit...evil.”

Jack, Jameson, and Malcolm looked over at the window in unison. There didn’t seem to be anything there, so Malcolm, standing closest, edged up to it and looked out the glass. “I don’t see—wait what the fuck?!” He jumped back, just in time for the others to see something green crawling up the side. “What is that, string?!”

“String?!” Jack ran over to the window. Bits of green string were climbing along the edges of the glass, wriggling like snakes. The sight made him a bit sick, memories of Anti flashing through his mind as he slowly backed up. “What is that?!”

“I thought we’d established that it’s string,” Malcolm said. “The real question is, what’s it doing here?” His eyes widened. “Wait, is it—?!”

The window swung open. Quickly, the bits of string climbed inside, dropping to the ground and inching their way across the floor.

“It’s me!” Jackie said, delighted. “Parts of missing pieces!” He started to walk towards the string, but Schneep grabbed him, pinning his arms to his side. Jackie scowled. “Stop it! I need it!”

“I do not know what’s going on,” Schneep said, “but it sounds bad! What is happening?!”

“It’s weird string!” Jack continued to back away from them. “A bunch of them! They’re—oh god, that’s creepy, they’re like little worms.” His head followed their movement. “And they’re heading for Jackie!”

Malcolm ran over and slammed the window shut, trapping a few strings on the other side. “Well I’m guessing we don’t want that, so what do we do?!” He looked over at Jameson. “Can’t you do the same sort of thing you did to separate them?!”

Jameson jumped in surprise, then nodded, throwing out his hand. A disc of blue sprang up in front of the strings’ path. When they tried to squirm around it, JJ curved the magic around them, until eventually trapping them in a dome of blue light. Problem solved, he signed shakily.

“Okay but seriously, what is this?” Jack asked, inching closer to the strings contained in their magic dome.

Jackie managed to shake free of Schneep’s hold and immediately lunged forward. Schneep cried out and tackled him. The two landed hard on the floor. After a few seconds of wrestling, Schneep managed to pin Jackie to the ground.

Chase, looking only slightly less pale, glanced over at the strings. “Hey, they look like, um...you know...” He laughed nervously. “You know, the last time, when Jack pulled the string out of Anti? They look like that did, but lots of them.”

“God, what have you guys been up to?” Malcolm muttered.

“Huh. Actually, they do,” Jack said to Chase. “What does that...?”

I wonder, Jameson signed, if it is the same string.

“Wait, what?!” Jack whipped over to look at him. “JJ, that’s—is that possible? For this string to be the same? I mean, it wouldn’t have duplicated or anything, would it?”

“Hold on a moment.” Schneep paused. Jackie tried to take advantage of this and try to climb to his feet, but Schneep realized what he was trying and grabbed him again. “The—ach—the strings, I snipped them up, remember? Into many little pieces. I thought...I thought that would destroy him.” He hesitated again. “Maybe it...did not?”

Momentary silence filled the room. Then Chase said, in a voice quiet enough to be barely heard, “Maybe...in order for him to go away completely, we have to completely destroy these strings.”

Schneep nodded. “That...that would make sense.”

But how do we do that? Jameson asked. These aren’t normal pieces of sewing thread, they’re magic.

“We can figure something out,” Jack said decisively. “In the meantime.” He looked over at Malcolm. “Do you have, like, a jar or something we can use?”

“Uh...I don’t know if we have a jar, but I’m sure there’s something in the kitchen.” Malcolm edged around the room, giving everyone else space. “I’ll just...go look.” And he hurried out of the room.

“Alright. Amazing,” Schneep said. “But also, what do we do about—ahk!"

Jackie had managed to shift around and punch him in the face, whipping his head to the side. Schneep, startled, momentarily loosened his grip enough for him to wriggle out and climb to his feet. He darted straight towards the spot the strings were imprisoned on the floor. His hand flung out like he was throwing something. And something did fly out of his hand, though he wasn’t holding anything. Bits of jagged red light sprayed outward, sharp edges scraping along the edge of the blue magic dome until it burst like a popped balloon, all the strings flying outward.

“Wait, what?!” Jack gasped.

Jameson staggered back, eyes wide, but then jumped into action, diving forward and once again knocking Jackie to the ground. Jackie cried out, surprised, but reached out. One of the strings crawled forward, making contact with his hand and wrapping around his fingers.

“No!” Chase suddenly dashed forward, pulling off his hoodie and throwing it over the strings. It covered them all, and he quickly swept them up, holding his hoodie in a ball close to his chest. “God, they’re still wriggling.” He shivered.

Jackie’s expression brightened. “Chase! Chase. Chase Chase Chase.” He held out his hand, the string now tightening around his wrist like a woven bracelet.

Chase stared at him, then without looking away, gestured for Jack to come closer. Jack hurried over, and Chase passed the hoodie to him, still balled up to prevent any of the string bits from falling out. “H-hey, Jackie,” Chase said, smiling nervously. “How...what’s up?”

“I...I don’t remember,” Jackie whispered. “But hey. Come here. Please?”

JJ looked up at Chase, alarm in his eyes. Chase swallowed nervously, then nodded. After a moment’s hesitation, Jameson backed away, letting Jackie sit up straight. Chase scooted a bit closer, and Jackie immediately snatched him, wrapping his arms tightly around him.

“Chase...” Jack said softly, gaping.

“It’s fine,” Chase said hoarsely, giving Jack a wavering smile. “Go down and find that Malcolm guy, give him the, uh...hoodie.”

Jack didn’t move for a long while. But slowly, he backed up, leaving the room.

Schneep slowly walked over, offering JJ a hand to help him up, which he took. “This is all wrong,” he muttered.

“Y-yeah, no shit,” Chase mumbled. “Jackie wasn’t magic.”

Schneep frowned. “I was not talking about that, but yes. Perhaps being stuck with Marvin for so long had some...effects?”

That would make sense, I suppose, JJ agreed.

“Maybe,” Chase said quietly. He was trying very hard to keep breathing at a regular pace. Jackie’s hug was...suffocating. But also, he got the feeling that Schneep and JJ were giving him these...strange looks. Well, obviously Schneep couldn’t look at him, but it was something in their expressions. “You, uh...you two okay?”

“Are you okay, Chase?” Schneep countered.

“Hey, I’ll...live.” By this point, Jackie seemed to have significantly relaxed, closing his eyes. For whatever reason, he’d been able to distract him from the weird string things, and that was all that mattered. Speaking of which...“Hey, weren’t there more of...those? That got stuck outside?”

The two others stiffened. Jameson glanced over, then walked up to the window and peered out. After a moment, he pushed it open and leaned out, looking down and to the side. Then he pulled back inside and shut it. Well for whatever reason, they’re gone now, he signed. And then he tapped on the glass, no doubt saying the same thing in Morse code for Schneep.

“What? Where did they go?” Schneep asked.

“Y’know at this moment I don’t really care about that,” Chase said plainly. “We can deal with that later.”

The other two shifted uncomfortably. JJ tried to exchange a look with Schneep before remembering he couldn’t respond in kind. Schneep folded his arms and went to stand by the door. Jameson stayed at the window. And Jackie didn’t seem at all eager to let Chase go, so they remained on the floor, waiting for Jack and Malcolm to return.

— — — — — — —

The power in the city didn’t come on for another few hours. When it did, it came back in patches, depending on which section had managed to repair the mysterious damage done at the junctions. Yvonne’s shop was fortunately close to one of the repaired sections. Around noon, she sighed in relief as the lamps in her living room came back on. She was getting tired of straining her eyes to read books by flashlight. “Well, guess now’s a good time to take a lunch break,” she said, setting a book aside. “You hungry, Marvin?”

“Hmm?” Marvin hadn’t moved much from his position. But he nodded slowly. “Yes. Food.”

“Food is good.” Yvonne stood up and stretched. “C’mon, to the kitchen.” She walked over and grabbed his hand, pulling him to his feet. Together, they went into the apartment’s small kitchen. Marvin hovered in the corner, still holding his mask close, while she searched through the cabinets. “Don’t know if I have anything you’ll eat, you picky bastard,” she muttered. “Uh...I guess some pasta. You want some pasta?”

“Does it matter?” Marvin asked.

“Well not to me, but does it to you?”

“Does it?”

“Does it?”

“Does—”

“Okay, never mind, fuck, I’ll just make spaghetti,” Yvonne groaned. She grabbed the box and a pot, filling it up with water and setting the noodles on the stove. 

After a moment, Marvin walked closer, standing behind her and looking over her shoulder. She glanced over at him. “Uh...you know what they say about watched pots and boiling,” she said, trying to make it a joke.

Marvin blinked. “...no? I don’t remember that one. I-I don’t remember...there are things missing, still, without the other half.”

“Uh...right.” Yvonne said slowly. “Well, I”m just saying, we don’t need to watch it. We can just...sit down. At the counter, here.” She took a seat on one of the stools, patting another to indicate Marvin to do the same.

He didn’t. Instead he turned around and walked back into the living room, probably going to wait in there.

“...well, you can do that, too,” Yvonne commented. She sighed, and leaned back against the counter. What did he mean about the other half? Perhaps...she’d seen the way his soul looked in the Lens, the way it was...broken. Was only half of his soul there? That would explain some of the weirdness with his memory. There was evidence that the memory and the soul were linked, though it wasn’t clear if the soul affected memories or vice versa. In fact, a lot of people, even soul magicians, were still unsure what the soul was. The common consensus so far was that souls were like summing up someone into a single entity, like compressing their memories, beliefs, personalities, and everything else into a small, magical something. But it was also something different from all that, different from the mind, which was evident in how mental magic and soul magic were completely unrelated branches.

She continued to think over this as she watched the pot of noodles boil, and eventually turned the stove off, grabbing the strainer. As she poured the spaghetti into the strainer, she wondered if everything strange about Marvin could be explained by the strange way his soul had been broken. And that, the breaking of the soul, was likely related to the failed transference ritual. Though...it still didn’t explain why Marvin had actually died, or why he was back now...

In the other room, Marvin started laughing.

Yvonne paused. That wouldn’t have sounded so weird, with the Marvin she’d known before. But this was a different Marvin. Though his laugh was the same, it was...she hesitated to admit it, but it was creepy hearing it now. Abandoning the pasta, she walked back into the living room.

Marvin was standing by the window. Which was now open. That was odd. She’d left it closed ever since those strange green—

She shrieked as she saw the bits of string wriggling into the room. Less of them than before, but still concerning. What did they want?! Getting over it, she straightened. A Sending had taken care of them last time, it will this time as well. “Marvin, get away from those!” she shouted, rushing forward.

Marvin glared at her, snarling. He made a sweeping motion with his hand. There was a blast of cobalt-colored light, and suddenly glowing blue strings were shooting out from his hands. Yvonne hesitated for just a moment, surprised, but it was long enough for the blue strings to wrap around her, pinning her legs together and her arms to her side. She gasped, and lost her balance, landing hard on her side. What was this?! This wasn’t a spell that Marvin knew! At least, not before the transference ritual must’ve gone wrong. She tried to fight against the magic, but it simply wound tighter, and she was panicking too much to get a good grip on a spell of her own. “Marvin!” She shouted. “What are you doing?”

He didn’t even look at her. The green bits of string were now inside. Marvin reached towards them, and the string crawled up his arms, wrapping around them, heading upwards until they reached his neck. They burrowed under the bandages Yvonne had wrapped there, loosening them until they fell. Marvin shivered, closed his eyes, and laughed again. “Missing, missing, more complete, complete!...nearly c͝o̵mplęt͞e.”

Yvonne managed to sit up, pushing herself against the wall. “Marvin...?” she asked softly.

Marvin’s eyes snapped open, his right eye now glowing bright green. Reaching up, he pulled off the bandages. The strings had woven into the cut on his neck, crudely stitching it closed. “We...I found more missing pieces,” he said, voice tinged with static. “And yes, yes, I remember. All the others, all the pu͡p͠pe̢t͢s.” He clenched his fists, trembling slightly—but not with fear, with anger. “We hate them so...ś̕o̢͡ much. Why? That’s still missing. I need to find that, too. But I...I know that now.” He laughed. “Which do we find first? The puppets or the shards?”

“Marvin...” Yvonne repeated softly. “What are you talking about?”

“You’re his friend,” Marvin said, tilting his head. “He came here often, he...his mask.” He looked back over at the sofa, the ceramic cat-shaped mask discarded on it. Slowly, he reached over and picked it up, turning it over in his hands. He gripped it firmly, and—

CRACK!

One half of the mask fell back to the sofa. Still holding the other half, Marvin pulled out the ribbon that would’ve held the mask in place. He put it up to his face, covering the left upper half. One of the strings from his throat unstitched itself and crawled upward, becoming the new ribbon holding it in place. “And the s̀ho͟w ͢goe͞s̴ o͏ń,” he whispered, running a hand along the ceramic, magic slowly staining it blue instead of white. A smile twisted his face.

Yvonne stared in shock. What...what had those strings done? Mentally, she finally started running through some spells, looking for one that’ll help.

Marvin stared right back at her, and after a moment, approached. Yvonne tried backing up, but she was already backed against the wall. Slowly, Marvin bent over, his face inches from hers. “Hold tight to everything,” he whispered. “Before it fades away. There will be nothing left but a bleeding hole inside your chest.” And with a final flash of a grin, he disappeared in a flurry of white noise.

The blue strings of magic disappeared, and Yvonne hurried to her feet, looking around. She ran a quick detection spell, finding no other soul in her apartment. Once she was sure of that, she hurried over to the sofa, grabbing the other half of the mask.

What happened to Marvin? What had he become?

— — — — — — —

It had taken a few hours to convince Jackie that holding Chase’s hand was just as good as hugging him. Now, with the group gathered in the town house’s parlor room, Jackie and Chase were sitting on the sofa, with Jackie holding tight to Chase’s arm and leaning his head on his shoulder. With the strings out of sight, he seemed content to just hang around. Still, the others kept giving him uneasy glances, especially Jameson, standing in the corner. Jack and Schneep had taken the two armchairs, and Malcolm was pacing the length of the room, thinking over the very brief explanation the others had given him.

“Do you think that maybe we need to cut them up further?” Schneep asked. His scissors had appeared in his hands at some point, and he was now turning them over.

“No, I don’t think so,” Jack said. In his lap was a metal water bottle, its lid duct-taped closed. He gripped it tight, feeling the strings moving inside. “I think if we cut them up further, it’ll just be harder to keep track of them.”

“Ah. I suppose that makes sense.” Schneep frowned. “What will they even do?”

“Well...there’s this one around his wrist,” Chase said tentatively, holding up Jackie’s hand so the others could see the tight string bracelet. “They, uh, were all moving towards him. And he wanted to get to them. A lot like last time.”

Perhaps if they all get to him, Anti will somehow return again? JJ speculated.

Jackie giggled. “I have no idea what you’re saying. Do I know this language? Did I forget it?”

“I don’t think you did, buddy,” Jack muttered. 

“Okay, so.” Malcolm stopped pacing, turning to look at the others. “Can we burn the crazy magic string? Is that possible?”

“I do not think so,” Schneep shrugged. “But I suppose we could try.”

“What happens when we do get rid of them?” Chase asked. “Will, uh...he...” He tried to push Jackie’s head away, only for it to land right back on his shoulder. “Stay like this or change or...?”

Nobody answered that question, the silence filling the air. Until it was interrupted by a doorbell. Malcolm groaned in frustration. “God I swear if any other crazy shit happens to make me question reality I’m going to go straight to bed, I don’t care anymore,” he muttered as he headed out to the front door.

“Uh, okay, so,” Jack said. “Back to JJ’s question. If the string get to him, will Anti return?”

“But I’m a͟lready͝ ͝ḩer̕ȩ.”

Silence once again. Everyone looked over at Jackie. They had to let it sink in that yes, he had just said that. Chase leaned away, looking suddenly sick. Jameson adjusted the scarf around his mouth and stared at the ground. “Well that was the creepiest thing you have ever said,” Schneep mumbled, gripping his scissors.

“Um...Jackie.” Jack inched his chair a bit closer. “You’re not...you’re Jackie, not anyone else.”

“No, we are someone else, too,” Jackie insisted.

In the third silence that ensued, the group could hear talking, coming from the direction of the front door. And it was getting closer. Malcolm poked his head into the room. “Hey, uh, someone’s here to see all of you,” he said.

“What?” Schneep asked.

Who could that be? Jameson asked.

“Yeah, I agree with JJ, who is it?” Jack asked.

A figure stepped out from around Malcolm. An older woman, with a dark braid of hair down her back and her eyes glowing a slight purple. “Sorry for dropping in on all of you like this,” said Delyth Mae, magician. “But we really need to talk.”

[stillebesat]

Meeting Romeo

Sanders Sides: Virgil, Roman.  A Prequel to: A Work of Art Blurb: It was unfortunate really, but someone had to tell the Romeo standing on the street that his Juliet he’d come to listen to day after day no longer lived in the apartment complex. It might as well be Virgil.  Inspired by: An Anon who asked: okay, I ADORE "A Work of Art" but I have questions. Like... how did Ro and V meet? What was the start of their relationship like? Fic Type: General, Human!AU Overall Fic Warnings: None.

In a smooth, well practiced movement as he approached his apartment, Virgil perfectly framed the familiar handsome figure standing on the sidewalk in front of the building on his phone’s camera screen and snapped a quick picture.

Romeo’s back and about to be heartbroken. He captioned the image with a quirk of his lips, posting it online before he’d taken two steps. 

It would be unfortunate really. The poor fool had been standing outside his complex for the past month and a half like many other love-struck simpletons had over the years, his heart obviously captivated by the demonic angelic voice of Virgil’s neighbor, famous Broadway Singer, Mary Lee Foster. 

Well. He supposed her last name wouldn’t be Foster anymore since the singer had gotten married last week and moved out to some mansion with her new husband, Lee.

Mary Lee and Lee. That wouldn’t be confusing at all to people.

Virgil slipped his phone into his pocket, pulling his hood further over his head, exhaling.

It was unfortunate she’d chosen to move out now. Romeo had been a great source for his Cryptids in the Big City vlog because the dude never showed up in the same outfit twice, even if he did keep that same dreamy-eyed love struck look on his face every time Virgil caught him staring up at the complex while Mary Lee’s constant singing wafted down to the street below. 

Because of her marriage, this would probably be the last time he’d see Romeo and Virgil would have to find another source to keep his followers entertained since he’d had to put his My Roommate is a Cryptid posts on hiatus with Steve, the now Master Chef, moving out four months earlier. 

Well, it wasn’t like Virgil couldn’t easily find another roommate. With the constant inflow of people moving into the city to follow their dreams there was a never ending flow of applications coming his way whenever he posted the Room for Rent sign in one his windows facing the street. 

But so far...none of them had had that IT factor that Virgil was looking for. The right combination of characteristics that would keep his followers online entertained...without stressing Virgil out sharing his living space with them. It was a tricky balancing act. 

“She’s gone you know.” Virgil remarked as he approached, fighting to keep from laughing at how Romeo, dressed today in a prince’s uniform of all things, jumped at his voice.

He had that effect on people. 

“By Odin’s Eyepatch.” Romeo swore, his ears turning pink as he placed a hand over his red sash. “Where in the blazes did you come from?!”

Virgil raised an eyebrow, shooting a thumb over his shoulder. “From up the street, Princey. You so captivated by her that you forget other people exist?” 

Romeo blinked. “Her?” 

It was his turn to frown. Surely the dude wasn’t that dense. “Mary Lee? Famous singer. Girl you’ve been listening to? She moved out a week ago, Romeo. Got married.” 

“Oh. Uh.” Romeo raised a hand to rub the back of his neck, ears growing nearly as red as his sash. Which judging by how the color was creeping over his eyebrows meant that this guy was wearing some sort of foundation to hide his full on blush.

There was a good reason to be embarrassed, Virgil supposed. It probably wasn’t everyday Princey here got called out for staring. 

Romeo shook his head, looking back up at apartment complex. “The girl who misses her High C half the time? I--I wasn’t here...for her.” 

Virgil scoffed, shoving his hands deeper into his hoodie pockets. “Mhmmm and I’m Batman.” 

Romeo made a face. “Did your batcave burn down then, Bruce Wyane? I didn’t think your hideout was in the middle of a city.” 

Oooh. Virgil smirked. Getting touchy. “No need to be embarrassed, Princey. Lots of guys have stood where you’re standing--”

“I said I wasn’t here for her, Dr. Gloom! I was---” Romeo gritted his teeth, shaking his head as he turned away, loudly exhaling. “Forget it. It’s stupid.”

Oh, no way was this guy leaving now without giving him an answer. If it wasn’t for the girl then why-- Virgil moved in front of him holding out a hand. “Can’t be stupider than what I thought you were doing before, Romeo. Come on. Tell me.” 

Princey scoffed, trying to step around him. “Why does a gremlin like you want to know?” 

“This gremlin, which thank you for the compliment by the way, lives here and is very curious. So you can’t blame me for wanting to know after seeing you pining away day after day after day after day--”

Romeo groaned, throwing up his hands. “Stop. Geez! It was the the sign, alright? I was staring at that.” 

Huh? Virgil pushed his hood off his head in case the fabric had distorted the Prince’s voice. “Come again? A sign?”

Romeo let out a defeated sigh, gesturing towards the complex. “The For Rent sign up there. I was staring at that, okay? Just--” He shook his head, lowering his voice. “Daydreaming about living there. It’s just a--a perfect location. Close to school, my job, most auditions--” He trailed off, struggling a shoulder. “I told you it was stupid.” He muttered. 

Of all the things he expected, Virgil would never have thought that Romeo was staring at his For Rent sign this entire time. “Well…have you applied at all?” He asked, still trying to wrap his mind around the concept. Surely he would have noticed--he couldn’t have missed an application submitted by this guy--had he?

Romeo gave a bitter laugh, shaking his head. “Like I can afford to live here on a waiter’s paycheck, Bats. The landlord would kick me out faster than I could move in.” 

A waiter? He’d been to dozens of restaurants in the city and none of them had the variety of costumes Virgil had seen this guy wearing. “And your job requires all these--” He gestured to the Prince costume. “Outfits?” 

Romeo shook his head, running his fingers through his hair. “No--auditions. I’m an actor. I just got done with one.” 

Actor. Virgil fought the urge to roll his eyes. He should have known. He’d had his fair share of applicants say they were aspiring actors. It never turned out well. “Ah.”

Princey gave a polite smile that didn’t suit his face at all. “Mhmm. Hope to make it big one day, get my name in the lights.” He waved a hand vaguely around. “Yadda yadda, it’s not an uncommon dream here, so you’ve probably heard that before.”

Virgil gave a low chuckle, nodding. “Oh, only a thousand times or so.” Yet he found himself intrigued anyways. Here he’d been lamenting that Romeo would no longer be coming around...only to find out that the guy was more interested in his For Rent sign than in Mary Lee. “Is that what’s stopping you? Just the rent?” 

Romeo raised an eyebrow. “I just told you I’m a waiter, Count Woe-laf. Of course it’s the rent. What person in their right mind would feel comfortable living with a guy who may or may not have the money ready by the first of the month when most of my paycheck is dependent on tips? They’d have to be-” 

“Crazy?”

Princey nodded, looking up to the sign. “...Yes.” 

It was crazy. Virgil could feel his heart rate increasing at the mere thought of the guy missing a payment. 

And yet.

His posts about Romeo had been some of his more popular ones with his followers. To have this guy as his roommate...it had some potential. A lot of potential actually. It would mean he could finally resurrect his cryptid roommate series.

But seeing Princey on the street was one thing, living with him would be a completely different monster to tackle. Virgil tugged at the strings of his hoodie. “What if money wasn’t an issue? Like...the landlord wouldn’t mind it being...late, so long as you paid by the end of the month or something? What else would stop you from applying to be this guy’s roommate?” 

Romeo frowned, raising an eyebrow as he turned to Virgil. “Stop me?”

“Like...things you think would annoy him? What do you do that you think others would hate?”  

Romeo ran a hand through his hair, giving a half shrug. “I don’t know, man. I would--” He shook his head. “I would have said singing as I do have to practice for auditions and roles that I get, but if they’ve lived next to--”

“Mary Lee.” Virgil supplied.

“Yah her. I doubt they’d have a problem with me doing the same. Especially since I’m barely home as it is, what with my classes and my job and all my auditions.” He ticked the points off his fingers. “I’d be more of a ghost roommate than anything honestly.” 

Well...that upped his cryptid status for sure. Only seeing this guy at odd hours would make it interesting, especially since Virgil didn’t keep normal hours himself. Plus if the dude was barely ever home...there would be less of a chance of him getting annoyed by Princey’s...antics. 

“I see. So you’d be the leaving an empty jug of milk in the fridge, rotting dishes in the sink, and dirty towels on the bathroom floor sort of ghost roommate?” 

Romeo wrinkled his nose. “What?! No!--okay the milk one maybe, but I’m working on that! But it’s not like I...I---” His eyes narrowed and he pointed a finger to Virgil. “Why do you even care, Bats? I answered your question about why I was staring, why would you--” 

Took him long enough. Virgil drew in a breath. Time to bite the bullet. “Well…it’s my For Rent sign.”

If only he could pull out his phone and take a picture at how big Princey’s eyes got. Because he was sure no human’s eyes were supposed to grow that large. Virgil’s fingers twitched in his pocket, tempted to snap a picture anyways. The guy would find out soon enough how often he used his phone...if he still wanted to apply that is.

Romeo licked his lips, chocolate colored eyes darting between Virgil, the apartment, and back to Virgil again giving him a quick once over. “...oh.” 

Virgil smirked, fighting to keep his own uncertainty hidden from Princey. He knew he wasn’t much to look at compared to this guy. But their conversation had gone well enough up to this point. He didn’t dislike the dude...yet. Was intrigued with--well what living with Romeo would be like. “Still interested in joining the batcave, Robin?”  

Roman ran a hand along his sash, biting his lip. “You...wouldn’t say no?”

Virgil tilted his hand back and forth. “I mean, you still have to pass a background check.” He wasn’t naive enough to trust the guy flat out just because he put on a Prince costume. “Sign a contract. You’ll probably want to first see the inside of the place and your potential room. Oh. And--” He gestured to himself. “Not mind having a gremlin as your roommate.” 

Princey’s ears went dark red at that comment. “I didn’t mean--”

Virgil tugged his hoodie back over his head, hoping that he wasn’t making a mistake in giving this guy a chance. “I said I was cool with the nickname, Romeo.” It wasn’t like he hadn’t been nicknaming the guy right back without Princey throwing a fuss. He turned for the front doors, pulling his keys out and jangling them as he moved away. “So you wanna come inside and check out the place or are you content to keep this dream of living here just a dream?” 

He jumped, barely stopping himself from hissing as Princey suddenly appeared right beside him, bumping his shoulder. “Well if you’re offering, Batsy.” He winked, a bounce in his step as he raced up the stairs to the main doors. “I wouldn’t mind checking out this secret hideout of yours.” 

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