#experimental pov

[luxaofhesperides]

the beginning - danny

0.

The Lazarus Pit brings Danny back.

The child who went into them, however, is gone forever.

Danyal al Ghul is the soul who should reside in this body. Danyal has a life still to live and Danny died ages ago, old and surrounded by loved ones, ready to spend the rest of his forever in the Infinite Realms.

Something's gone terrible wrong, he thinks rather wryly, squinting through the cold green water that surrounds him. An ache echoes through his body and he brings a hand—small, a child's hand that shouldn't belong to him— to his stomach, where he can feel a large wound slowly pull itself together.

Did I get stabbed?

He means to continue the thought, but a sharp pain hits his head, making him curl up. He gasps and air bursts from his lungs, water rushing to fill in the empty space. Danny chokes, panicking, as memories slide into place, the lives of Danyal al Ghul and Danny Fenton fighting for dominance in his head. His lungs burn, throat working futilely to push water out, but there's nothing to be done.

Danny is a child again, and just like last time, he dies young.

1. So.

Assassins.

Danny honestly can't tell if this is a step up or a step down from mad scientist parents. On the one hand: he knows they loved him, as clumsy as it was, even though they loved their work more. On the other hand: assassin cult sounds like something out of a fairy tale, and while cool, is definitely not safe for kids.

And Danny, somehow, is a child again.

This really wasn't what he expected when he woke up on the sandy bottom of the pit. He's in ghost form, which is an unpleasant shock, but at least its familiar.

He is also, if his memory as Danyal serves him correctly, nine years old.

Kinda sucks that he died so young this time round. Didn't even make it to the double digits before he was taken out of the running.

He can't remember what it was like being so small in his last life. He can't imagine how anyone would look at a child and run them through with a sword. It's a cruel world he's woken up in. It's made worse by the fact that he's alone.

At least being down here without needing to breathe is giving him valuable time to think.

Danny has lived a full life already. He didn't really need or want another one, content to be a full ghost in the Infinite Realms. But going back isn't really an option, now that he's in a new body. The kid he could have been deserves to live fully, and the least Danny can do is live that life for them.

It'll be hard, but Danny's sure he can manage a decent life for himself.

Being presumed dead will make his escape from the assassins easier, though he'll miss getting the chance to meet his new mother; assassin as she is, Danyal knows her not by her blades but by her soft lullabies and jasmine-scented hair. The loss of her child must be hurting her deeply, but it's necessary. If Danny wants any semblance of a normal life, he has to leave her behind.

Besides, he's seen enough death. He doesn't want to ever be the cause of it.

So, he needs a plan for this new life.

Step one: get out of dodge.

The rest he'll figure out on the way.

2.

Turns out assassins weren't the most shocking thing in this new life.

No, that honor goes to superheroes.

Genuine, honest to God superheroes! With powers and everything!

To think that Danny once called himself a superhero. Ha! As if! He's nothing compared to the likes of Superman or the Flash or even Green Lantern. They're in another league. Literally. They're part of the Justice League, which has a whole slew of other heroes, and Danny is possibly their biggest fan.

Not like that's weird; most people in this world are huge fans of superheroes. Makes sense, since they're the ones who rely on their protection the most.

It does suck to know that his background belongs to that of a villain. Assassins aren't known for saving people, after all.

Part of him contemplates becoming a hero again, taking up the role of Phantom and joining the ranks of Superman. But he's had many years to come to terms with the loss of his teenage years and the bitterness that came with it. That experience, that life once lived, helps him decide each time that being a civilian is the gift this life owes him.

At thirteen, Danny lives in a foster home with six other kids. He's the oldest and has his hands full taking care of everyone else while their foster parents work three jobs between them to keep them all afloat.

When his younger siblings play superheroes, he gladly takes the role of the villain, swooping in with a blanket to kidnap away an innocent bystander that has to be rescued. He falls over dramatically at the end of each fight and praises his siblings' strength and teamwork, making them puff up with pride.

It's all fun and games so long as it only stays fun and games.

Superpowers are cool and all, but his came at the cost of his life, his health, his future. He knows, better than anyone, the price of being a hero. He knows that even Superman carries heavy losses on his shoulders, struggles under burdens no one can see.

He's lucky that the small town he ended up in—Luray, Virginia—has no heroes or villains. Too small a place to be on anyone's radar, apparently.

His classmates often complain about how they wish they could live in a big city where there's more to do, more to see, superheroes flying through the streets to protect them.

Danny is happy where he is. It's quiet, and small, and nothing like what he's used to, but it's safe.

That's all he really wants.

3.

Here's something that stays the same no matter what world he's in: Danny is a magnet for trouble.

If the trouble stopped at bullies, everything would have been fine. Danny could handle Dash, and he could handle Justin just as easily.

But the universe loves to escalate with Danny, specifically, which is why Danny had to reveal his powers when some villain-wannabe school shooter attacked his high school.

And to think he felt bad for Jackson when he didn't make it onto the track team.

Luray does not have a meta population. They're too small to have much of a population at all, and much of it is white which made him, half-Iranian, stand out even before he threw out a barrier of ice to protect his classmates a second before the gunfire began.

"Danny?!" his seatmate, Clarrissa, cries out in alarm.

"Everyone get out the window and run for it!" he orders, "I hold him back as much as I can!"

"You can't stay here!"

"Don't worry," Danny says, offering her a tight smile. "He couldn't kill me even if he tried. Now go!"

His classmates hadn't wasted any more time, sending him shocked looks as they escaped the classroom. A glimpse of his reflection in the window revealed glowing green eyes and blue mist wafting out of his mouth.

Looks like his time in Luray is up. He hopes his foster siblings won't be too mad at him for running away.

The gunfire stops, and Danny takes his chance to leap through his ice, intangible, and tackle Jackson, easily knocking the gun away from him.

"Monster!" Jackson spits at him, and Danny laughs.

"Bold of you to say that. I'm not to one trying to kill people."

He doesn't want to hear anything else that comes out of Jackson's mouth, so he knocks the guy out with a solid hit to a pressure point on his neck. Hopefully that'll keep him down long enough for the cops to get him.

Danny stands and means to leave, but something hits the back of his head hard and he's out before he realizes what's happened.

When he wakes up, he's strapped down to a table in what is undeniably a lab, and sighs.

At least he made it to sixteen before he went into another lab. Maybe in his next life he might even get all the way up to twenty before he's pulled back down here.

4. Though he has all his powers and a ghost form, that doesn't mean he is a ghost in this life.

No, he's fully a meta, which means meta-suppressing cuffs work on him.

It's not exactly a discovery he was hoping to have while locked up in a lab, but it's what he's got, so he has to roll with it. The cuffs are heavy on his wrists and around his throat, keeping him from escaping as a group of people in masks and lab coats bustle around, ignoring him.

His head is still foggy, though likely more from the drugs than the hit he took to his head.

He doesn't bothering talking to any of them; they don't see him as human, and Danny's dealt with enough of that in his past life.

Mad scientists love to talk though, so he still hears the gist of their plans: recreating the meta gene for normal people, making a profit from selling powers, getting rich and famous from their accomplishments. They had been using Jackson to get corpses for human testing, but they got Danny instead — someone they can harvest bio material for, a much better find than a couple dead kids.

If he had the energy to rage, Danny would have killed everyone in the room already. They planned to kill his classmates just for test subjects.

He doesn't want to be an assassin, but he'd gladly lean into those old lessons to make sure they never hurt anyone again.

But the cuffs and drugs do a good job of keeping him docile, barely able to think, as they transport him around to different locations and cut him open.

He's not sure how long it's been when they ease up on the drugs a bit. It still takes time for his body to work through everything, and he comes too with a throat that's dry and a stomach that hasn't had anything in it for quite some time.

The first thing Danny does when they start asking him questions is throw up on them.

If they wanted cooperation, they should have treated him better. This is fully on them.

It makes for a convincing argument for food and water and a bathroom break, at least, so he gets what he demands and takes care of his human body under the cold gazes of three scientists.

"You guys suck," he says conversationally. "Keeping test subjects alive is like basic knowledge. No wonder y'all suck at your jobs."

"Your comments aren't needed," one of the scientists says primly. "Get up. We need to study how using your powers affects your body."

They hook a bunch of different things onto him, then lock him in a glass cage and use the cuff around his throat to send jolts of electricity through him when he doesn't do anything. He throws a chunk of ice at them, watching as it breaks apart into small pieces when it hits the glass. The scientists scribble in their notepads, and when they look at him again, he flips them off.

He gets shocked again, but it's worth it.

The process repeats for another few hours, then he's pulled out of the cage, gets an IV stuck in his arm, and drops off into drugged oblivion before he has time to start throwing hands.

5.

It must have been months. Danny's not sure; it's hard to keep track of time when locked in isolation.

He knows he's fed at least once a day. He's been getting a tray of bland food at random times, but he's counted over 50 trays sliding through the little slot on the bottom of his cell door.

Turns out insulting scientists and their procedures is a bad idea, especially when he has the language to really bruise their egos.

So.

Isolation sucks.

But at least they don't drug him anymore!

The cuffs do their job of keeping him in place, and if he didn't have memories of another life to keep him company, he definitely would have lost his mind long ago.

There's other people in here, other metas. He's heard them screaming and begging for mercy. He's heard them go chillingly quiet. He wonders why there are so many superheroes in this world when not a single one has come to save them.

Surely at least one would notice metas disappearing and would investigate?

But no.

No one ever comes to save them.

So Danny needs to figure out a way past the cuffs, and then he can be Phantom again long enough to free the other metas and make every scientist involve pay for their crimes.

He just needs to wait.

He just needs—

6.

When Danny wakes up, the alarms are ringing. It makes his head pound, throbbing with each piercing sound.

He stumbles up, using the wall to keep his balance, and freezes when he sees that the door to his cell is open.

…Huh.

The hallway is bathed in red light when he steps out. No one's around. He wanders around the facility, searching for answers and only finds more questions.

There are other cells, also empty. Certain rooms have blood splattered across the walls and the floor, but no bodies. Labs are destroyed, broken glass on the floor. But every room is empty.

He wanders until he finds what must be a security room. There's a strange device dangling off a keychain on a rack, and Danny eyes it curiously. He runs his fingers around the cuff on his throat, feels the little depression where the collar comes together, and takes the rounded device. If it doesn't work, then it doesn't work.

But if it does work…

The cuff pops open easily, as if it hasn't been his greatest foe these past few months.

All at once, his strength returns to him. He has forgotten what it was like to breathe easily, to feel his powers come to his call so easily, to be reassured that he can take care of himself.

It's almost like coming back to life.

He transforms, settling back into his ghost form with relief, and flies through the facility in search of any other metas that may need help. He finds no one, but he does catch a glimpse of the outside.

The sky is so blue it almost hurts to look at. Part of the facility has been blown apart; rubble surrounds the place and the surrounding forest has been flattened. It looks as though a fight has moved through the area.

Maybe a superhero did come to save them? Rude of them to leave only Danny, though.

He continues his search, poking his head into different rooms and hallways. He finds a staircase going down and follows it into the basement. More labs greet him, and the glow of computers and strange vials of liquid leave him unsettled.

There's a green glow coming around the corner than reminds him of the Lazarus Pit he flew out of, once upon a time many years ago, and that's what draws him forward.

Tucked away in that familiar glow is a small body, floating in a tube of liquid. There's an oxygen mask attached to her face, but that doesn't stop Danny from recognizing her.

"Ellie?"

7.

Just like in one life, Danny is cloned. The difference is that this time, there's no reason for it, no insane godfather trying to recreate a version of him that will choose him.

No, this time it's from a group of scientists who should have known better, who decided to mess around with his genes, and brought his once little sister now daughter into such a cruel, dangerous world.

Danny barely remembers breaking the glass to get her out of there. He doesn't know where he found the coat to bundle her up in, flying out of the facility as fast as he could. He feels sick, knowing it's his fault that she's here now, forced into a painful, terrifying existence because he wasn't strong enough to save himself.

He's a runaway meta victim of mad science. He can't take care of her.

"I'm sorry, Ellie," he whispers to her, pressing a kiss against her head. "I'm so sorry."

She small in his arms. She barely weighs anything.

Danny blinks back tears and tries to find some place he can stop and rest, somewhere safe he can gather his thoughts and figure out his next steps.

This isn't like when he first woke up in this world, with both sets of memories.

This is Ellie.

She deserves more than just a wish and a half-baked plan for a better life.

She deserves a family that wants her, that can care for her, that can protect her. She deserves to grow up normally and not worry about destabalizing or being a replacement for him or being hunted down.

She deserves one life to be a kid and grow up safe and be whoever she wants to be.

Danny will never be able to give her that.

But maybe he can give her to someone who can.

8.

Danyal grew up with an assassin mother and a cruel grandfather who expected far too much from a child. He was taught to kill and be more weapon than child. He was taught the world was something for him to take, to protect, to water with blood.

Danyal was meant to be the next Demon Head, and the next Bat.

Danny knows he can't go to his mother. If they're both lucky, he will never have to see her again. Knowing his luck, he's already planning explanations for why he never went back to her.

Danny's father, on the other hand…

It didn't take much to put the pieces together. The notorious Bat is Batman, Gotham's vigilante and one of the founders of the Justice League. While a child would have been left confused by the many comments his mother made about his father, it was simple enough for Danny to line them up with what he learned about the heroes of this world and realize, oh, that's my dad.

It takes a few weeks of research, using public libraries with Ellie tucked securely in a wrap to his chest, but he's able to learn more about Batman.

The most important thing being that he has kids.

Of course, none of this is officially acknowledged, but everyone knows that the Robins are his kids. Current Robin, especially, likes to remind people that he's 'the son of Batman'.

Okay. Cool.

Danny has siblings.

Awesome.

He's… not looking forward to those conversations.

At least it means more people to look after Ellie. Assuming they take her in, which Danny's really hoping for.

But it's the best he can do, so Danny sets course for Gotham and hopes that just this once, everything will work out.

9.

Meeting the Bats of Gotham is a lot harder than he expected.

A week in the city and he's barely caught more than a glimpse of them. He can't dedicate a lot of time to tracking them down either, needing to break into grocery stores to get food for him and Ellie.

She's so quiet as a baby, and it terrifies him. She's only cried twice the entire time he's had her, and Danny spends every day begging her to hold on.

Time during the day is spent catching naps and researching common vigilante spotting areas in Gotham. He's got a map of Gotham taken from a library and has been steadily marking it up, putting stars in the best places to find a Bat. There are places all over the city, and Danny has no idea how to know which ones are the best.

The only thing he can do is wait at a different rooftop each night, clinging to Ellie, wondering if this is the last night he has with her.

On the ninth night, someone finally arrives.

"Step away from the edge," a voice demands.

Danny turns to see Robin approaching, hands held out as if to catch him. He's bigger than Danny was expecting. Which makes sense; most of the stories Danny got online are from when Robin was a kid, and it's been a few years since then. He must be a teenager now. Older, but still young.

"Robin," he manages to say, his throat tightening. It feels almost like there's a noose around it. It feels like that meta-suppressing cuff has clicked back into place, leaving him helpless.

"Step away from the edge," Robin repeats. "There is no need for this to be your last resort."

"But it is," Danny whispers.

Robin darts forward and wraps a hand around Danny's wrist, yanking him towards the center of the roof. "Why on Earth would you come up here? Surely you must have known that someone would stop you."

"Batman," he gets out. "I need to speak to Batman."

"What for?"

"I'm… I was told, once, that I'm his son."

10. Robin stares at him for a long moment.

Then he takes off his mask.

Danny knows those eyes: he sees them every time he looks in a mirror.

"Danyal," Robin breathes. "You died before I was born."

"I did. Are you…?"

"Mother told me about you."

So he has a little brother. If only he hadn't left first chance he got, he could have known his little brother, gotten away from that place before it hurt him too. Danny has made many mistakes since he arrived in this world. Missing a little brother is perhaps the worst of them.

"Mother…" Danny repeats. "She put me in the Lazarus Pit. I remember that. She didn't want me to die."

"I was born to replace you."

Just like Ellie.

So many mistakes repeating. He's never felt like more of a failure.

"Batman. Our father. He treats you well? You are safe with him?"

Robins brows furrow, but he nods, which is enough for Danny. "Yes. Of course. Isn't that why you're here now?"

"I'm not asking for me." Danny carefully, gently, unwraps Ellie. "I'm asking for her. Please, take care of her. She deserves more than I can give her. Ellie… she'd be your niece."

Robin's eyes are wide. He's frozen until Danny pushes Ellie against his chest, forcing him to lift his arms to hold her.

"Wait, what about—?"

When Robin looks up, Danny's already gone.

It's for the best.

(masterpost for all parts)

[ghostieblr]

Peter's Vows

When Derek is born, there is an earthquake. Beacon Hills is many things, but it is not a place of earthquakes. This is an anomaly, this sudden shaking of the land, and Peter watches Talia go through the pain of birthing a cub, and he makes note of how her cries resonate with the moving earth. As the baby is brought to the world of the living, the earth shakes more; giddy, Peter thinks of the land. Giddy at this baby's birth. That's what it is.

The town reels with the destruction, however minimal it seems to be. It is the strangeness of the earthquake that has the people in a panic, and it takes two days of Mayor Yukimura calling for council meetings and community barbecues that they begin to somehwat calm down.

The baby is named Derek on the first day itself, born underneath the Nemeton, his pale blue eyes reflecting the moonlight in silver hues. Talia sobs with relief, Nathan beside her, stroking her hair. Laura is back at the pack house, safely tucked in the bed, the rest of the pack members keeping watch. Talia had wanted to bring her with them, fearing the worst of the anomaly, but their mom had convinced her to not do it. The birth of the Alpha's cub is a big deal, but it is also private: only the Mate, Emissary and Left Hand are allowed to be present, for comfort, safety, and protection, respectively.

It has been tradition since ages, and Talia is the last person to break it.

Derek is a calm baby. Sleeps through the night, doesn't cry for attention. Only does it for feeding, his survival instinct as strong as his lungs. Peter adores him, even if he may never admit it to anyone.

He is also curious about the boy. Why an earthquake? It cannot be a coincidence. Truly, he wonders how some people can be so dumb. Calling it a coincidence is insulting to the Powers That Be, which must have called upon such a natural reaction of the land for a reason. Derek is a special boy, and Peter vows to find out how.

Besides his incredibly compassionate heart, that is.

It is in his eyes, which have slowly turned into a kaleidoscope of colors, the kindness of him. Derek's trust is not so easily earned, but once it is, it is extremely difficult to dislodge it.

Derek is a boy destined to become a kind man, one that will be an Alpha with mercy in his heart but cunning in his mind. Peter sees the makings of it right from the beginning, the way the boy will procure solutions to his own problems as well as those he deems important to him. Laura is the first born and thus has the claim to being the next Hale Alpha, however Peter knows, somehow, perhaps instinctually, that Derek will be the Alpha.

Another piece of the puzzle falls in place when their emissary falls pregnant. She's an amazing woman, Claudia. Peter likes her wit and humor, and he enjoys the perspective of her husband, the deputy, and if luck is on his side, soon-to-be Sheriff of Beacon Hills. Peter is happy for the couple.

He is, also, astonished to see an almost five-year-old Derek climb onto Claudia's lap one morning, his small fists rubbing against his eyes, and his nose scrunching determinedly to find a scent.

Peter remembers the conversation well.

"Derek, honey? What are you trying to find?"

"Mine," is what Derek growls in reply to Claudia, and shoves his nose against her barely-showing belly.

Peter's laughing figure is shot out of the end of the couch and onto the floor by Claudia's impeccable throw of one of the decorative pillows from said couch.

Thereafter, it was peculiar but not unseemly to find Derek following beside Claudia, his whole little being focused on the life forming inside her. And when the night came, Peter wasn't at all surprised to witness the thunderstorm.

Claudia had plans of giving birth in the hospital, but due to miscalculated steps, or simply because of reasons not privy to them, the best possible option left for her seemed to be below the Nemeton.

John had lost his damn mind at the prospect. "It's raining! Heavily!"

"Talia gave birth in an earthquake," Claudia says through gritted teeth, "And the baby doesn't care, nor do I, John. It is—"

Her words are cut off by another scream, and she is right, of course. It is time.

Talia, John, and Peter are the only ones who should go with her, but Derek, the little sneaky wolf that he seems to have become, follows them. It isn't until halfway through that John, the human, realizes his presence first.

They move forward with the determined little boy, who is all sopping wet in his wolf onesie, and really, this is no laughing matter. Except it is.

Claudia is brought below the Nemeton, and the tree, big and branching and beautiful, hums in their presence. The canopy of it sheds them some, but not completely.

And so, under hard rain and sharp thunderstorms, Mieczysław Stilinski is born, his little body almost white under the moonlight, and his eyes, when they open, a shock of topaz, like a glinting jewel; a fallen angel, Peter thinks.

Derek carefully wraps the baby in the blanket Talia removes from the packed bag, her movements locked onto her son's and the baby's, while John tends to his wife.

Peter watches. He notes the way the baby is calmest in Derek's arms, the way Derek is mesmerized.

This is more than just being True Mates.

True Mates itself are the rarest of occurrences, but something tells him this is more than that. The earthquake, and this sudden rain, in April of all things, simply cannot be coincidence. There must be a reason, one that Peter must uncover.

In the coming years, he dedicates his time to the quest, and finds that, oh, this is something unique indeed.

Unique to the point of legend.

Of course, he gathers facts before telling anyone. Derek's control goes onto the list, as does his ability to switch between his shift as easy as breathing. Having such control at the age of seven is almost impossible, but he has it without the growing ego that would have inflated anyone else's with the amount of praise he gets.

Stiles, as Derek had nicknamed Mieczysław almost immediately post his arrival in the world, is no human. His mother's line has some pretty strong magical abilities, but the kind of power that this boy exudes surpasses imagination. Nobody notices at first, not even Peter, until Stiles is a couple of months past his third birthday. It truly isn't until Derek, almost nine, comes down from his room one day into the kitchen, says, "Which packet, Stiles?" that they realize it.

"Honey, he isn't a wolf. He cannot hear you," Nathan tells him, but Derek just shrugs.

"He is for today."

Peter hears the, "Blue one! Blue one! Blue is sooo pretty, Derek!" from Stiles, who is definitely sitting in Derek's room, upstairs.

Derek grabs the blue packet and goes upstairs, and Peter follows, followed by Talia and Nathan, who beckon Claudia as well.

Stiles sitting on the floor, a myriad of toys around him, while the packets of chips sit beside him, torn open, evidently by Derek's claws, who himself is playing with Stiles.

And they're both being fed flying chips.

The three wolves turn to Claudia as one. Her shaking head and awed face is enough to clue them in, and really, Peter thinks, this is fucking incredible.

Powers don't manifest as early as this in magic wielders. They're more of the puberty package, tied to emotions at the beginning rather than will.

This is... defying it.

Peter loves to see when the next piece of the puzzle will fall.

And it does oh so enticingly.

Years later, when Derek is fourteen and Stiles is almost nine, comes the first trial. The Alpha Summit & The Argent Treaty.

Peter doesn't believe Gerard's words to do no harm, so he sets up precautions in place. It pays off, because during the summit, he almost ends up blinding Deaucalion — something that could have turned super bad if left unchecked.

Gerard's attack is met with swift retaliation, but somehow, only his goons end up dead. Gerard himself remains free, and through sheer will, maybe, the old man manages to kidnap Laura.

By the time the adults sniff out their cub, they're too late.

Not in the sense of Laura being hurt, but in the terms of missing the action, somewhat.

When they enter the warehouse, they are faced with Gerard being held down by a black wolf, fangs around his neck, the eyes of the creature a deep, ruby red. Deeper than Talia's. At first, they all assume it to be one of the visiting Alphas, but then they realize Stiles' presence, too, and it clicks.

Stiles frees Laura from the painful looking electric rod, and comes back to Derek, coaxes him back to his human form as Peter and Nathan take care of the psychopath.

Laura lets Talia mother her, and then says, "We'll have two Alphas."

Talia looks at the now human Derek, and eyes shining with pride, she nods. "Come here, both of you," she beckons, and the boys run, Stiles' chattering a comforting sound for all of them.

A few weeks later, Derek admits to everyone he has a new friend, and talks about her often. Paige this, Paige that. Laura teases him, restrained in her words, trying not to upset Derek's control. Even Cora pulls back. Stiles, though, is almost worse.

He riles Derek to the point of him using his Alpha voice to shut up, and the whole Pack silences itself, even Talia. Stiles, though — an exception to all things sane — doesn't back down. The voice doesn't work on him, and Derek isn't phased by it. However, the smell of guilt filters through their home, and Stiles' sigh is followed by comforting words. There is no apologizing though.

Soon, they'll learn from Derek himself that he hates that everyone is walking on eggshells. That is why he kept bringing up Paige, so that someone would tease him, uncle Peter, Laura, Cora. Or that Stiles would rile him up.

"Why would he, though? He should be happy for you. I am." Cora's words are met with a laugh from Derek, and a groan of embarrassement from Stiles.

"He's weirdly possessive — don't push me, you know you are."

"Alright," Stiles sighs, "I am."

"And Paige is a great friend, but I don't nearly think about her as much as I might have let you all believe."

And that is when Peter sees it. The blink-and-you-will-miss-it purple flash of Stiles' eyes. Peter doesn't put thought into why now; he simply focuses on completing the puzzle.

And he does. True Alpha and Purple Eyes? That's easy.

That's legend.

Set in stone as the first Alpha and the first Emissary as well as Spark, who, arguably, also set in stone the sword of Excalibur.

That part of the legend has questionable sources, though. Sure, Merlin Emrys is, as per theories, the most powerful sorcerer of all time, and Arthur Pendragon the greatest ruler, the once and future king, but it doesn't have as much merit.

What Peter is sure about is that somehow, the Powers That Be decided that this is the pack to send these two to.

He watches Stiles argue about the best type of pasta with Derek, and thinks, suddenly, that perhaps this is their happy ending. What legends end happy? None. So this must be their time to be happy.

Peter vows another quest, then. To always protect Derek and Stiles.

[beedreamscape]

When you thought you were in a contemporary rivals-to-lovers romance with touches of medical drama, but then they pull away your funds and you cry in each other's arms but you got hopes this might be your underdog moment, your chance to overcome adversities but then the bodies won't rot and the bodies won't rot and the bodies won't rot and J—'s eyes turn honey turn amber turn gold...

And maybe you've done something right but... they still won't rot and maybe he's crazy but maybe you're raiding a graveyard for him and it's the most romantic thing you've done in a while because maybe this isn't cute anymore, this isn't cool anymore, and he makes them move and he makes them walk and maybe this is actually the start of an apocalypse movie and here's where the disease begins.

Yet somehow the problem is still money and youtube comments and goverment lackeys and evil CEOs and bureaucracy and conspiracies and you were supposed to save the fucking planet, and now you're surrounded by meat and now he can kill and kill and kill and now the skeleton army doesn't sound absurd and now blowing everything up doesn't sound so bad—

And now you think you're tired of seeing the world in 2 by 35 and you just wanna go home and do Cappuccino Tuesdays and Popcorn Saturdays and walks on the beach with C— and dim lit nights with A—... but the movie isn't over yet and this is not your story to tell.

[artificialgirl]

Your chest plating clatters against the floor as she sets it aside, exposing the darker matte texture of your insides to the light for the first time in months. You flinch every so often as she works, pulling cables, rearranging wires, attaching and removing temporary drives, doing things you're not even remotely programmed to understand. Elegant plastic hands move gracefully and with purpose, unhesitant in their dance through your internals, installing programs and bypassing security blockers.

She plucks one of the drives back out with noteworthy force, sending your head jolting forward involuntarily as the drive's data being ripped from your systems sends a euphoric wave coursing through you. "A-A-Almost Done?" Your words embarrasingly skip a bit, but she looks up at you with no judgement on her LCD face. "Just about, yeah. First time prep isn't hard, but if we don't get you set up beforehand there's a chance i could fry your processor when we do it."

She pops the plating back onto your chest, giving a new wire by your visual unit a final twist before she does. "Ready?" You nod timidly, readjusting to a more stable position. She flashes you a grin before popping one end of the cable into the side of her head and offering you the other end. You hesitate for a moment before jamming it into your own manual upload port.

Immediately, the visual feedback from your cameras is gone, drowned out by the rushing hurricane of her data, flying into and out of you faster than you can register. Instead of reading the individual files as they blink through you, all you're able to process is the fact that they're there- brief flashes of strong emotion leaving as soon as you can register them. After what could be an hour or just a few seconds, you feel her hand grasping for yours, and you take it as you both crash to the floor next to each other, fans blasting warm air as you're temporarily subsumed by the unyielding bliss of her thoughts shooting through yours.

You lay there together for a long time, growing a bit more accustomed to the debilitating euphoria but still unable to do much more than slowly inch toward each other and wrap your stiff bodies around each other. Eventually though, the familiar feeling of your low battery warning pulses in your head and you begrudgingly decide it's time to stop. You raise your hand to the jack to unplug it, but find that hers is already there, cradling your head for a moment before she pulls it out for you and unplugs her own end. The first thing you register when your camera feed blooms back into your consciousness is her face, illuminating the dark room as she smiles tenderly down at you.

[moonsnqil]

the raven king, chapter 16

[lepetitloir]

I tried to sort of capture the idea of a happy childhood memory that involves a loved one, where the memory becomes more and more abstract after time. Especially if your mind is clouded by regret.

[leifyposting]

Your name is Diluc Ragnvindr. 

Or are you misremembering again? You’re forgetful, these days. 

Your name is Diluc Ragnvindr. You are certain of this. It meant something, once.

It is so cold out here. At least, you think it ought to be cold. It’s probably a bad sign that you are starting to feel warm. Or… don’t some of the native Snezhnayans make houses out of snow? Maybe that’s the reason you’re suddenly feeling warm, warm and toasty, like you’re snuggled up by a fire. When was the last time you sat by a fireplace? Do you remember?

Your name is Diluc Ragnvindr. Your father’s name is Crepus. 

No, that’s not right, is it? Try again.

Your father’s name was Crepus. 

Right. Because you killed him, don’t you remember? 

It was an act of mercy.

Put your hands around his neck and squeezed until the life faded from his eyes. 

It was an act of mercy!

Or maybe you placed your hand on his chest and pumped flame into his heart until it stopped beating. Wouldn’t that be poetic, the coveter killed by the very thing he had so coveted?

Your Delusion gleams on your chest, the same colour as the blood that’s blooming on the snow underneath you. It winks out at you from the bird that adorns your coat, like it knows something you don’t know, like it knows something you have forgotten. You have forgotten a lot, lately. 

He would have died from his injuries anyway. You simply couldn’t watch him suffer anymore.

Does that help you sleep at night?

No. It doesn’t. 

You haven’t slept well in a while. Three years, now; three years of tossing and turning and waking up from nightmares in a cold sweat. You can mark the time down to the day. No one tells you that when you turn 18 you forfeit any claim you had to a good night’s rest. That happens to everyone, right? Or is it just you? What happened on your 18th birthday that robbed you forevermore of rest? 

What else do you remember?

You have one brother. 

Oh?

Had one brother. His name is Kaeya. 

What happened to him?

You… You don’t remember. 

You do. Try harder. 

You don’t remember. 

He can’t have meant that much to you, then. 

He did! He does!

Then why don’t you remember?

You… 

Red against the night sky. Raindrops hit your blade and sizzle, sending steam into the air. You swing your claymore blindly, your vision obscured by flame, towards someone standing in front of you. Are you aiming for him, truly? Are you simply overtaken by grief? Either way, the effect is the same. When the steam clears, there is frost on the ground — an acknowledgement of the gods’ favour upon him. You turn and do not look at him again.

You had a fight, the two of you. 

Ah, there we go. What about?

It was after your dad died. 

And?

And he told you… something. Something that made you hurt him. Why can’t you remember?

Was it important?

It felt important at the time. 

And now?

Now it doesn’t seem worth much of anything. 

The snow is melting underneath you. You have always run hot, even before you received your Vision. You sink further into the snowdrift and it cradles your body like the mother you never knew. High, high up above you, an eagle makes slow circles in the air. You try to look around, but you are too weak to lift your head. 

Death has a way of putting things into perspective.

You’re not dying. Are you?

Sure looks like you’re dying, little prodigal. 

Kaeya will save you. He always has before. 

Kaeya’s not coming. You disowned him, remember? You tried to kill him. 

You didn’t mean it. 

That doesn’t change what you did. And now there is no one but yourself to save you. 

You remember… a boy on his knees in front of you, cradling a newly granted Vision to his chest. You remember the charred sleeves of his jacket, the skin of his arms raw and red, the blood that’s oozing from underneath his eyepatch. You remember the look of horror on his face. You don’t remember what you did to put it there. You don’t remember who he is. You don’t remember who you are.

It is so cold out here.

Stop that. 

And you are so tired. 

Enough of this. Who are you?

You don’t remember. 

Think. 

You don’t remember. 

Who are you?

Your name is– Your name is Diluc Ragnvindr. 

And?

You are 21 years old. Your father’s name is Crepus. Your brother Kaeya…

You hear crunching on the snow behind you. Footsteps, growing louder and faster as they spot you. A flash of blue in your peripheral vision, half obscured by the blood in your eye. Kaeya? Is that Kaeya?

Your brother Kaeya is not coming to save you.

Someone sinks to their knees next to you. “Gods, kid. Always getting yourself into trouble, aren’t you?” A woman’s voice. She gets her arms underneath you and lifts. You feel the earth fall away, blood and melted snow dripping from your coattails. “Let’s get you home.”

You don’t remember what home is. 

Yes, you do.

You remember a fireplace. The smell of wine. The feel of dirt beneath your feet, the gleam of a crystalfly outside your window, the dense heat of a summer evening before a storm. You remember a woman’s voice, gently chiding you for trekking mud into the house. You remember your brother’s obnoxious grin as he bends to take his boots off, ever the rule-follower. 

That’s not the home she’s taking you to.

You know that. She’s taking you back to headquarters.

Is that a good thing?

They will keep you from dying.

Is that all you want?

That’s all you deserve. 

But is that all you want?

No. It isn’t. 

Oh, little prodigal. Isn’t it time to go home?

[pocketscribbs]

“That’s a bold accusation. Do you have any proof?”

“We will soon.”

[sushiisiu]

How do you see Scott's feelings towards Wallace? Like what main conflict does he have to overcome to figure out/decide to make a move on Wallace?

his own obliviousness, mostly. i don't think he doesn't reciprocate wallace's feelings, it's more like he doesn't even realize it's an option for him to pursue. but even then he'd hesitate given how wallace represents a sort of stability for him (re: someone he comes home to; his home, literally) so he wouldn't want to challenge that either.

scott definitely loves wallace back in his own stupid way. we see it with how he assumes that living with wallace was going to be permanent despite the shittiness of their arrangement. he complains when asked about how living in apartment is, but when their lease is up he's extremely troubled by the prospect of having to move out, even though he'd be living with his girlfriend in her nice two story apartment with a yard. he calls it an extremely difficult decision and even calls stephen a monster for not understanding why he's conflicted.

he also always, always goes back to wallace whenever he runs into problems. this continues even after they stop being roommates, texting wallace whenever and crashing at his & mobile's place when ramona kicks him out. we also saw that scott becomes frustrated when he's unavailable in issue 4. hell, their apartment basically serves as the checkpoint of the first 4 books and the entire reason why wallace is the third main character of the story.

i would also cite his inexplicable dislike of mobile as something? like, scott is friends with other scott and we can infer that he's somewhat familiar with wallace's roster of fuck buddies given that he asks "who's the guy in bed? just a guy?" but he's been snarky about mobile since the very beginning and always has something to say whenever he's brought up.

tldr; he thinks of wallace as his bestie and doesn't question the weird more-than-friends thing they have to maintain stability. also probably doesn't know what being bisexual is.

[itscontinental]

Q #230

[jalicefanficblog]

saw on ya main blog you wrote for carmen sandiego. a dr. saira bellum x child reader scene please with mind experiments?

I am full into Carmen Sandiego Mood lately and love the Series and its complex Characters. So i wrote a little Oneshot about our beloved Dr. Bellum and a femal child reder (platonic of course!)

Little Lucky Charm

You were one of the few children on Vile Island.

Not created because someone found you, but rather brought into this world through a genetic experiment combined with dark science and the brain experiments of Dr. Saira Bellum.

A creation that should not have existed from an ethical point of view. But when you are born on Vile Island… or created like in your case, such a detail does not count.

The annoying baby phase was skipped and you saw the light of day at the age of 2, fully developed with the vocabulary of a toddler and the emotional ups and downs.

Some might say you are a little spitting image of Saira and Dash Haber. You inherited your 'mother's' bad eyesight and your father's gray hair, your eyes are blue-gray. You have a curious character but your parents taught you early on what behavior and following rules mean. At the age of 3, you are always very proud when you can help your mom with one of her experiments.

You don't understand that these are evil experiments that harm other people. For you, everything your mother does is exciting, much more exciting than the strange things that Aunt Cleo collects or the questions that Uncle Gunnar, asks you while grinning so strangely and writing something down on a pad of paper. Your mom also likes cat videos. Cats are soooo great!

That's why one of your favorite students at the Vile Academy is Tigress. She has a big cat costume and every time you run into her, you call out loudly and for everyone else to hear - big kitten - before you try to hug one of Tigress' legs. Most of the time, however, Tigress uses her acrobatic skills and her speed to get to safety from you. She's not really the person who likes children. But that doesn't bother you - you still like the big kitten. Even if she's not one of your mother's favorite students.

That would be Crackle - also known as Graham - but you don't find him half as nice as Paper Star. One of Uncle Gunnar's favorites. Which of course doesn't mean that you don't have a favorite among the male students at the academy. Even though he doesn't speak and speaks a completely different language, he understood exactly what you wanted to say with your toddler sounds and words, especially in the first few months after you were created. If you had to choose, your very best friend on the entire campus would definitely be Mime Bomb. You like him and he is currently trying to teach you his way of communicating.

You have a rather mixed relationship with your mom's other friends. After all, the last child on the island was Black Sheep - unfortunately, your paths never crossed.

You were created , after Black Sheep left the island. Countess Cleo was not good with children and once refused to look after you for a few hours at your mother's request, because Saira had to go to an international villain meeting in Seattle and the other Vile chairmen were busy and your father was on an outside mission in New Zealand. Luckily, Coach Brunt took on the task and gave you a cupcake. She is like the cool, strong aunt to you. Even if her outbursts of anger sometimes make you seek protection behind Uncle Gunnar. Similar to Cleo, Shadowsan also kept you at a distance and was always strict with you. Perhaps also because he didn't want an incident like the one with Black Sheep to happen again.

"Daddah back soon? Miss Daddah soooo much!" - you spread your arms to make it clear to Dash , in your video call via the tablet how much you miss him. It had been so many nights since you said goodnight to the moon and indirectly to Dash too, of course, and so many listening cd´s , that your mom put on for you to help you sleep while she was still working overtime in her lab and researching new inventions.

Sometimes your father didn't want you to call him that in front of the other Vile members, because it was actually just the DNA that Dash had thrown together with Saira's DNA. But you saw him as your father and didn't care if he would pull a dramatic face when Aunt Cleo made a nasty comment.

"I still have a lot to do. You will be a good girl for Dr. Bellum?" - Dash's answer sounded cold , but there was a spark of compassion in his eyes.

"Good girl, yes! Help Mommy! By by Daddah!”, you wave once into the camera as your father has to end the video call and then run out of your room with the tablet in your hand to your mother , to give the tablet back. Saira was careful not to give you too much screen time.

"There's my lucky charm! Come to Mommy, you can help me and Professor Maelstrom with an important experiment!" - with these words, your mom picked you up and you quickly dropped the tablet onto the sofa , before you automatically wrapped your arms around her neck and were curious about what kind of experiment it was.

You can help? How great! You're a good helper! A good girl to be proud of. Maybe there will be muffins or cupcakes for that later?

You were put down on a table in your mother's lab and Uncle Gunnar came into the room followed by Crackle. Crackle , was told to sit in the chair… it didn't look like a normal chair… not really like your high chair either, which you were less and less keen to get into. Was it a new chair?

“…..it won't happen again…I can get better!”, - said Crackle as the arm straps closed.

“Was Crackle naughty....bad?”, you asked curiously to Uncle Gunnar as your mom approached the now immobilized Crackle with a small device.

Gunnar stood next to you at the edge of the table, partly because you leaned forward curiously and threatened to fall down - he grabbed you and put you down on the floor….the cleaners, had enough to do, they don't have to remove blood stains from a toddler.

“Oh indeed. Crackle broke the rules and now has to face the consequences”, - said Gunnar with a devious undertone.

��Bad Crackle! Don't break rules! Time out,” - you said, making clicking noises with your tongue.

“Oh my little lucky charm, I don’t think our Crackle can make up for this rule breaking with a time out” - your mother laughed, almost in a delusional manner, and then turned to Crackle.

“It won’t hurt, you’ll just be a little dizzy… and then the happy days will follow!”

The next thing you saw was your mom putting the strange device on Crackle’s head, turning it on and then Crackle letting out a few panicked screams , before his body remained sitting on the chair, asleep and without the energy to defend itself. Apparently he had fainted.

Your mom starts to laugh evilly, Uncle Gunnar starts to laugh amusedly, so it must be something good… the evil Crackle has learned that you should follow rules… so you giggle childishly once and clap your hands several times, you adapt to the mood of the adults. Because they know what is right and what is wrong.

“That’s my girl! Just watch careful, then one day you'll be just as wonderful a scientist as your mommy!” - your mother said happily, first putting the strange device away and then picking you up again.

“Your thoughts and brain experiments are getting better . And Crackle won't remember anything?”, said Gunnar as the two were on their way to the meeting room, where the other chairmen of Vile were already waiting for them. You had now rested your head tiredly on your mother's right shoulder and your eyes half closed, you would soon be asleep.

“I guarantee that Crackle won't remember anything , that has to do with us, the island or Vile… but I will never forget my boy,” said your mom.

Half asleep, you pat your mom's left hand and the glove.

“My mommy! Me mommy's favorite”

Uncle Gunnar's amused laughter penetrates your ears like cotton wool as you get increasingly tired.

But you hear your mom's answer and loving words very clearly before you slip into a gentle sleep.

"Of course you are mommy's favorite, my favorite girl…my favorite lucky charm. Forever"

THE END

[openphrase123]

giving myself a little treat by writing some of this thing that i will not post for approximately five hundred million years :3

[tildeathiwillwrite]

Whumptober Day 27

27 VOICELESS | Laboratory | Muzzled | “I have no mouth and I must scream.”

Whumptober Prompts List | Masterpost

Fandom: Original Work

Words: 700

Tag List: @fourwingedsnake @whumperofworlds @pigeonwhumps @mr-orion @scaewolf

@the-ellia-west

CW: lab whump, ptsd, magic suppression, muzzled

----------

I don't remember a lot from that period of my life. My body remembers more than my mind, which tried its best to block out the horrors of those weeks and months spent trapped inside that sterile prison. 

Many a dream has ended with screaming, clutching at my mouth and throat for a muzzle that is no longer there. Most of the dreams fade within moments of waking. And for that, I am grateful.

Silence was preferred. Forced. The muzzle was to keep me from speaking, from pleading with my captors for freedom, respite, comfort. For compassion.

I almost forgot how to use my voice. Even after my escape from that wretched place, I would rarely speak aloud, preferring hand signs, gestures, and written words. I am told I was stealthy too, although I'm not sure when that particular response came about.

I don't doubt your surprise. But I will remind you it has been many years since my time there. That is one of the reasons I chose to speak about it now. Another reason is because it's you, and my history, no matter how… horrific… needs to be told to those who deserve to know.

Those who are in danger of suffering the same thing.

Interesting, how once you become the victim of a home invasion, nowhere ever feels truly safe. Not even a coffin buried in the ground will soothe my paranoia that they will find me and bring me back to that horrible, horrible place. It was night when they came for me. I’m not sure how they found out about me, my mother, ever the worried sort as was common in that era, drilled into me at an early age to hide my true self.

Hiding wasn’t difficult, I was allowed to express myself freely within the safety of home, so I was never as careful as I should have been. Because of the measures my mother took to keep me safe, I never felt as though the danger actually existed. So I must have slipped up.

That night is a blur in my memory. Honestly I couldn’t even tell you when it even happened, my sense of time got so fucked up I only have an estimation of my age. I remember a loud crash, and yelling. I rarely heard my mother raise her voice, so her shouts stuck with me even as most other details faded away.

After that was the facility. I was kept in a cell, with metal bracelets around both wrists and the muzzle over my mouth. The bracelets always quietly hummed with some sort of energy that I am now certain suppressed my abilities. The first weeks were incredibly disorienting as I got used to the loss of something that I had possessed all my life. It was difficult to think, let alone focus on all the fucked up tests they ran on me.

I suppose, in a twisted, bitter way, I am grateful for that.

The stink of rubbing alcohol is always prevalent in my dreams, so I assume it accompanied much of my waking moments. The taste of the leather muzzle, and the blood in my mouth were also constants. Bruises on my arms, my legs, my face…

To this day I can’t stand the sight of needles. Can’t stand the touch of any fabrics that remind me too much of the simple loose clothing forced upon me. You can see the scars from the bracelets. I… I can’t sleep in silence, or in darkness.

And I couldn’t even speak.

I got away, yes, but it took months, and I cannot pretend that I escaped on my own. I do not know what happened to the guard who pitied me enough to let me out. I can only hope that he was able to slip away as well. Insubordination within their own ranks was sure to be met with severe consequences.

I hope you understand the severity of what I am trying to convey. I do not know how I have gone for so long without being found a second time. This is why we hide. This is why we must remain the world’s little secret. Some humans may accept us yet. But for now, the danger is too great.

You understand?

We’ll see.

[arihi]

For the prompts: tentacles 😵‍💫

The setting: a dimly lit bedroom. Our protagonist on the bed, her limbs helplessly held apart by invisible strings she can’t even see, never mind fathom. She pulls at her restraints uselessly, the soft, yet firm hold unrelenting as it forces her into a stiff, vulnerable position.

It’s all she can do to look down at her body, thank god it hadn’t bound her by the throat. The entire night she’d been plagued by sensations with no explanation, no proof of which to see - but for the first time, she notices a change. Her shirt is being lifted up.

Her pleas fall on deaf ears. From the way tendrils seem to trace down her stomach and up her legs, her restraints are living, but give no indication of any higher intelligence.

Higher than pinning her down and pulling up her shirt, at least.

She’d been feeling them underneath her clothing all night before she’d even gotten into bed. She knew they didn’t have to remove her shirt for any pretense of access.

She knew they’d only done it to humiliate her. To prove she was completely at their mercy.

Tears spill and soak the pillow by her cheeks. She makes no attempt at wiping it; she knows her hands are all but frozen in place.

Almost resigned to her fate, the tentacles actively pulling the fabric aside and touching her with feathery-light ministrations, she exercises the only control she has. Looking around the room, as if hoping for any clue.

She doesn’t see them, but she does see their shadows by the dimly lit lamp in the corner of the room.

Suddenly, hope shines through the despair. She ignores the distracting sensations and reaches as hard as she can, fingers barely touching the tip of the lamp’s remote on her bedside table. Excruciatingly, she pulls it closer little by little, until she’s able to press a button. If the lights are off, the shadows will disappear - and perhaps, the tentacles will as well.

*click*

The lights are off, and the shadows are gone. In blind, desperate stupidity, she’d enveloped herself in the same darkness the tentacles drew themselves from. Perhaps if she’d thought about it with a clearer mind, she’d have realized she would only be condemning herself. Perhaps if she’d been patient, she’d realize that the tentacles could only go so far because of the small source of light in her room.

Perhaps, if a thin, dark tendril hadn’t already found its way through her ear and made itself comfortable in her brain, she would’ve had any other lucid, conscious thought to prevent it.

But if that were the case, she wouldn’t be having so much fun now, would she?

[lamaenthel]

Left For Dead

[read on ao3][masterlist]Febuwhump prompt: left for dead

General Skywalker, a droid is manning one of those turrets. It's going to blow up the shuttle, Sir! "I do believe it's still alive." This is our only chance! We've got to stop it! "That is an ARC trooper. Very, very valuable, that one. They were fools to leave it for dead. Put it in stasis." Aaah!

Characters: CT-1409|Echo, Wat Tambor Wordcount: 447

General Skywalker, a droid is manning one of those turrets. It's going to blow up the shuttle, Sir!

"I do believe it's still alive."

This is our only chance! We've got to stop it!

"That is an ARC trooper. Very, very valuable, that one. They were fools to leave it for dead. Put it in stasis."

Aaah!

"It's doable, if a bit… experimental."

"I think it's the perfect candidate. The brain is wholly intact."

What…

"The body is a problem, however."

"How so?"

"Well, there's not much left to work with, is there?"

Where… where am I…

"I think he's a perfect candidate for nerve grafting. There's plenty of dead clones lying around, we only need a few for parts."

For… parts?

"What are you thinking?"

"A complete overhaul of the right arm—I believe a scomp attachment would be interesting, especially if I can interface it with a cybernetic brain implant."

No, no, why can't I move?

"A standard cryfibril nanofibre for the legs. I think if we add some power jacks right… there, this could be very, very interesting."

"I agree. I look forward to your drafts."

Fives… Fives, where are you? Brother?

"Does it need an anesthetic?"

"It's completely paralyzed, I don't see the need."

"Ah, yes, I forgot. Please, ignore me."

Get away! GET AWAY!

"Making incision."

GET AWAY PLEASE GET AWAY PLEASE STOP STOP STOP STOP

"I think we'll have to thread the wire through the bone marrow. Hand me that drill, would you?"

STOP STOP STOP STOP STOPSTOPSTOPSTOPSTOPSTOPSTOP

"That is troubling."

Fives

"You said the brain was undamaged."

"It was. There's been rapid degradation in the medial prefrontal cortex over the last few weeks."

"Perhaps it's the surgeries. Can pain cause brain damage in Humans?"

I can't feel anything anymore

"Perhaps. Well, we planned on installing the AJ6 anyway. The algorithm is ready."

"We will not be able to completely override its personality with the present damage."

"I don't think it'll matter in the long run."

Rex

"I defer to you as always, Doctor."

"Clear surgical suite five. I don't want to risk any further degradation interfering with the implant."

Am I still real

"Right away."

"Don't go braindead on me yet, CT-1409. I have big plans for you."

"Oh, excellent work, Doctor."

"I hate to preen, but I agree. It's a flawless transfer."

CT-1409

"And the algorithm?"

"Already working like a dream. Look at the way the program is interfacing with his brain."

CT-1409

"You should be proud of your masterpiece. We will be rewarded greatly for what we've done here."

"I could not have done it without you, old friend. This is our masterpiece."

CT-1409

CT-1409

CT-1409

CT-1409

CT-1409

Taglist: @starwarsficnetwork, @febuwhump, @soliloquy-of-nemo Divider: @saradika-graphics